It was Christmas Eve, and the company had let us out at noon, so a bunch of us headed for a local restaurant/bar to have an 'unofficial' Christmas get- together. The politically correct 'Holiday Party' would be after the New Year -- probably because it would be cheaper then -- but we were more interested in lifting a few with friends than checking the corporate block.
There were only a half-dozen of us, so we sat at the corner of the horseshoe bar and argued and complained and gossiped and sucked beer. By two o'clock, everybody had a buzz on -- and Jeff Baxter was well-lit.
"I've got the next one," Rachel Weisman announced, and hopped down from her stool and bent over it to get her purse -- and got the oddest look on her face. I was sitting around the corner, on the other side of Mort Sampson, and Rachel had the other half of the corner; I leaned up to see what was going on. "What's up, Rache?"
"N--nothing..." But she still had that look on her face. I stood up on my stool so I could peer over the bar...
Jeff was rubbing Rachel's ass! There he sat, next to her, painting her butt with his palm, giving it good coverage, right there at the bar! I looked back at Rachel; she was pink with embarrassment and humiliation -- but she WASN'T rushing to get up! Very slowly and deliberately, she reached down and dug in her purse, poking around in her wallet, extracting a couple of twenties, making sure everything was neat and organized, then playing with the bills for a moment before slowly standing back up. As she climbed back onto her barstool, Jeff turned to me and resumed pontificating about how the Lakers were going to pull it out and the Celtics weren't gonna do it again this year -- just like nothing had ever happened.
Now, Rachel is a big girl, brunette, five foot seven or so, and most of her is to scale -- but plus size. She wasn't thin -- probably weighed two hundred or so. She wasn't blubbery, but if you peeled her down you would find that she was well-insulated, for sure. The face wasn't remarkable, but wasn't ugly, either -- just plain. She had nice hands -- smooth looking. She had at least a size 'C' rack -- probably 'D' -- and it was real and her bras tended to look like they were having a tough time keeping it up close to where it was supposed to be. She either lived with her mother or visited her every day, from conversations I'd had with her or overheard; 'Mom' seemed to be the center of her life outside work. Given the fact that Rachel was in her late twenties or early thirties, that was sad, in a way.
Mort and I decided independently to paper over the episode and we resumed our various discussions as if nothing had ever occurred -- but it wasn't over. Rachel consumed her next beer in record time -- Mort, who was a two- fisted drinker, had barely consumed half of his, and I wasn't even close -- and announced brightly, "I'm ready for another -- anyone else?" Then she got down off the stool again and went for her purse, bending over the stool as before.
Mort and I were watching; Jeff took his cue from us, looking to see what we were looking at. Discovering Rachel's ass once more conveniently positioned, he started mauling handfuls of it.
Betty Sellars, a forty-something bleached blonde who worked in the warehouse, let go with a snorting giggle, having detected the situation for the first time; she'd been talking up Bob Braddock during the first round and never noticed. Now, she and Bob looked on as Jeff thoroughly tested the consistency of Rachel's buttocks, laughing and pointing.
Rachel locked eyes with me and turned fire-engine red -- but she STILL took FOREVER to pull a twenty from her purse. When she finally got back up and sat down, Jeff resumed more or less ignoring her, pointing out flawed plays in the basketball highlights on the TV screen.
Mort looked over at Rachel and asked mildly, "Rachel, you ain't numb anywhere, are you, Honey?"
Betty erupted in another cackle while Rachel blushed and whispered, "No."
Mort nodded. "Jeff ain't botherin' you none, is he?"
"Oh, that?" Rachel pretended to pass it off. "No. He's a little drunk, that's all."
Mort nodded again. "Yeah. Mark, (that's me, by the way), Rachel's right. Some of us shouldn't be drivin'."
"Yeah," I agreed. "Let's get a case of something next door at the liquor store and go over to my place. We can watch ESPN on my TV." I have a 42" HDTV. "That way nobody gets arrested."
It took thirty minutes for everyone to get organized and all of the bottles emptied; Mort and I hit the liquor store and hauled Jeff, in particular, out of there. Betty apparently had Bob on the run so they took off for parts unknown, but I took Rachel in my car and Mort managed to pour Jeff into his pickup. Rachel was definitely tipsy, and with good reason -- she'd more or less doubled up on everyone after Jeff felt her up the first time. As for me, I'd begun to have evil thoughts...
My apartment had an island bar between the kitchen and the living/dining room, so we ended up there, me on the service side and mort, Rachel, and Jeff seated left to right in front of me. After some thought and conniving, I fished out beers and opened them way over on the end of the bar to Mort's right, and then handed Jeff his beer before pretending to get wrapped up in the TV which was on the wall ten feet to Mort's right.
This left Rachel without her beer, which sat, already open, off Mort's right elbow. I then ignored her quiet attempts to get my attention for the next couple of minutes. Mort looked up at me and I shook my head fractionally and he turned away, also, even to the point of ignoring Rachel's hand on his arm. Finally, Rachel lurched up to reach across in front of Mort...
Her ass came up off the stool, right in Jeff's face -- and Jeff blinked and put his beer down and dropped both hands on her ass.
Rachel looked at me and said in a strangled voice, "Can I have my beer?"
"Oh, I don't know," I replied, knowing the conversation would extend things as well as she did, "are you sure you haven't had enough?"
"I'll slow down," she promised, her eyes telling me that she knew that I knew.
"That might be a good idea," Mort opined. "Wouldn't want you to miss Santa Claus." He leaned in and laid his lips on her neck, which was right in front of him.
Rachel looked like she'd been electrocuted! "M--M..." She never did finish saying 'Mort' -- she just looked back and forth from him to me, bug-eyed, while I grinned at her. I handed her bottle to her and she murmured, Thank you," faintly before slowly settling back onto her stool. Jeff, released from his trance, looked up and slurred, "Is the Pistons game on?"
I chuckled and handed him the remote. "I'm gonna put out some snacks." While I collected chips and peanuts and popcorn and stuff, I watched Rachel out of the corner of my eye. She couldn't even LOOK at Mort; did I mention that Mort is black? A nicer guy you've never met, but Rachel was thoroughly scandalized -- and aroused, I was willing to bet...
The brainstorms kept right on coming; I took the snacks over to the coffee table -- which was in front of the TV. A couch faced the TV from behind it and I had a recliner off to the right. This setup worked better than I even hoped...
I got back to the bar and Jeff whined, "What the fuck did you put shit over there for? We're over here!"
I pretended to be nonplussed. "I thought..." I shrugged. "Rachel, would you go get the peanuts off the coffee table?"
"Sure..." She got up and headed over to the couch, hips swaying.
Jeff gave out a grunt and got up behind her, beer in hand, and followed her to the couch. Rachel bent over the back to see if she could reach the peanuts, throwing her right leg out behind her for balance -- and Jeff grabbed her ass again! I got up and headed around the bar, arriving just as Jeff mused, "Rachel has the sweetest ass, don't you think? I follow that ass up and down the hallways at work all the time, watching it do that little figure-eight move and jiggling in them thin pants she wears..." He handed me his beer bottle and collected a handful of her other ass cheek.
Rachel gave me this 'deer in the headlights' look and I grinned and went, "Oops!"
"Mark..." she croaked.
"Rache, if you didn't like it, you'd have slapped the shit out of Jeff two hours ago," I chided her.
"If this gets out..."
"It won't be me and it won't be Mort -- right, Mort?"
"Right!" Mort nodded from his new position looking over my left shoulder.
"Jeff, on the other hand, you might have to negotiate with," I allowed, "but you seem to have something he wants." Jeff was sliding his hands under the elastic waistband of Rachel's pants.
"Jeff, Honey..." Rachel pled.
"I just wanna feel it some -- you tease me with it all the time..." Jeff whined.
"I ... didn't know..." Rachel muttered.
"Well, it's WORK, you know? Sexual harassment, and all that shit. I couldn't exactly say 'Oh, Baby, show me that big white ass!' now, could I?" Jeff muttered.
"I guess not..." Rachel bit her lip.
"It's just us -- and you KNOW you want it!" Jeff wedged his hands under her waistband and pushed her pants -- and her panties -- to her knees. "Ahhh, Jeezus!" he whispered, "will you LOOK at that!" His palms returned to the white moons of Rachel's now bare ass.
I turned to Mort. "Put these on the bar, willya?"
Mort grunted, "Oh!" and put his beer on the bar so he could take mine and Jeff's. I knelt beside Rachel and tugged her pants down the rest of the way.
Rachel eyed me and opened her mouth; I forestalled her with, "You know you like it and WE know you like it -- you can lie and get all stuffy and make everybody unhappy, or you can get a little something special from Santa this year. What's it gonna be?" Rachel shut up and lifted her foot so I could remove her shoe and pull her pants off the leg. While I shuffled around behind her and Jeff so I could get at the far side, I said, "Mort, why don't you park yourself on the couch?"
While I helped Rachel out of the other leg, Jeff mused reverently, "I'd crawl naked a mile through broken glass to smell that..." His hands were giving Rachel's ass a workout. Rachel spread her stance a bit as she came out of the second shoe and the pants and panties came away, telling me that this was going to go the distance. "Man, what a sweet looking box!" Jeff breathed. All Rachel had on below the waist was her knee-highs -- and they were drooping around her ankles from contact with her pants. She had one of those little bifurcated belly rolls; it didn't show much when she stood up, but bent over like this, it hung there ... I couldn't see her twat; I was off to the side.
Since I seemed to be running things, I decided to bump things up a notch. "Jeff, she's up too high -- it'll look better if she leans over the couch arm. Besides, Mort can't see nothing..."
"Yeah..." Jeff took Rachel by the hips and moved her sideways -- and Rachel followed his hands obediently. In a second or two, she was draped over the right couch arm, basically with her head above Mort's lap. "Oh, yeah! That's nice!" Jeff crooned, pleased with the result. He dipped a hand between her spread thighs and her pussy made a wet, squishy sound. Somebody was gonna get fucked...
I came around front and stood next to her and said, "You look kinda funny, overdressed above the waist like that..." I reached down and collected a tit, feeling it through her bra. "Let's clear the decks some." Rachel looked up at me and I could see fear and arousal warring in her expression. "Just relax, Honey -- you're among friends -- and it looks like Santa is gonna fill both legs of your pantyhose THIS Christmas! Let's get that jacket off..." She had on this little bolero suit jacket that went with the pants; she obligingly lifted one hand and then the other so that I could tug the three-quarter-length sleeves down off them and remove it.
"What a sweet beaver!" Jeff gusted, his fingers making squishy noises in her slot. Rachel's nostrils dilated and she started sucking air in through them rapidly as her face reddened and her eyes -- locked on me -- got glassy.
"Blouse next, I think," I announced. It was one of those high-necked things, frilly. I unbuttoned it; Mort got the cuffs. Rachel looked like she was thinking about looking at Mort, but just didn't have the guts ... Once again, Rachel obligingly shifted from arm to arm to facilitate removal, and I went straight to the heavy bra, unsnapping the clasp. It dropped off, settling around her wrists and I whistled, "Will ya look at those nipples!" Rachel's hooters hung down probably six inches from her chest; her brownish areolas were crinkled tight and a half-inch of stiff nipple stuck out from each. I reached in a grabbed one, squeezing gently, and Rachel whined deep in her throat. Yeah, this was going ALL the way!
"Say, Mort," I said conversationally, "since Rachel is so well-positioned for it, why don't you do a 'Myth Busters' thing and let her see for herself if the legends about black guys' dick size are true or not?"
Mort, who was mauling Rachel's left nipple while I did her right, looked up at me. "I, uh, dunno ... I don't want to..."
"Huh! Must not be too big ... Maybe Rache doesn't want to know, then. How about it, Rache? Do you have an inquiring mind?"
Rachel tried, but she could NOT bring herself to look at Mort. On the other hand, she COULD look at me -- and croak, "Yes!"
"Well, there you go, Mort -- Rachel wants to know..." I grinned, waving.
"Shit..." That was all he needed; Mort undid his Dockers and lifted his ass just enough to shove them and his underwear to his ankles, revealing his stiffie. Now, it wasn't world-class, but it was a wee bit bigger than mine -- wider, mostly -- and that made it somewhere between seven and a half and eight inches long and about as big around as a roll of Christmas wrapping paper -- quite decent, actually. Rachel ogled it cross-eyed from a distance of about three inches, gave a gasp, and her legs started jumping. Now it might have been Mort, and it might have been Jeff's fingers in her gash -- but I'm betting it was both; in any case, she let out a wail and her eyes rolled up and she started humping Jeff's fingers like a bucking bronco and my apartment suddenly smelled like Airwick's Wet Pussy plug-in. VERY stimulating! Then she collapsed with her face in Mort's lap with her nose in his balls.
"I'm gettin' a piece of this!" Jeff announced, and started hauling at his clothes. He got naked pretty damned fast for a drunk guy; by the time Rachel started trying to get her legs back under her, he was positioning hr at the hips to take a dick.
"Jeff!" I snapped, "Gentle! I'm betting Rachel doesn't get ridden a lot! Don't tear it up!"
"Uh, yeah, right..." Jeff got a grip.
Rachel looked up at me with big, wet eyes and whispered, "Mark..."
"What, Honey?" I shifted my attention from watching Jeff nose his cock into her clam.
"You won't think ... less ... of me..."
I froze. She might as well have hit me on the forehead with a sledgehammer! "Are you trying to tell me something, Honey?" Rachel had the hots for me? Since when?
"I ... No..." She looked away -- but a tear dripped onto Mort's leg. She gave a little grunt as Jeff wedged the door open with the head of his cock. Okay, THAT was a lie -- but then, I'd asked a stupid question, hadn't I?
I took her by the chin and tilted her face up to look at me and kissed her on the nose. "I engineered this -- it's partly my fault. No, it won't change anything. You have a good time -- you don't get a lot of this, do you?"