Michelle sighed, an exasperated exhalation of pent-up frustration. She pushed her morning plate of rock melon and yoghurt aside, barely touched, the scraping noise of ceramic on stone shattering the silence permeating the kitchen.
Glancing up, Michelle saw the barely suppressed flinch and fleeting shadow of irritation cross Hank’s face. She knew he hated that noise. HATED it. She didn’t care, enough was enough.
Even when angry Michelle looked great and she knew it. She had made quite the impression at the company Christmas dinner some six months prior. All the “old boys” had been sure to let Hank know their thoughts on the subject, their tongues loosened by copious amounts of alcohol in celebration of another successful year for the firm. When she had arrived to meet him back then, her black cocktail dress had hugged her small frame tightly, highlighting the hours she spent at the gym and pool each week. At the start of the evening, they had tried not to stare at the cleavage peeking through her plunging neckline, or the black patterned stockings leading up to her fashionably short hem line. By the end of the Christmas party, with the champagne flowing freely, the lads were not as worried about hiding their admiring stares. Finally, Hank had to rescue Michelle from the senior vice president, who had clearly had one Cognac too many.
The cab ride home from that party had been a blur. Hank, seemingly fuelled by the lustful, envious stares of his colleagues had been unable keep his hands off her. With the bright lights of the city barely faded, his hands had moved to her thighs, playing with the elastic straps holding up the black nylon stockings that had been such a hit at the party. Michelle had been in the far left corner of the back seat, Hank in the middle beside her, a forgotten Christmas hamper on the far right. Hank had leaned over her, partially blocking the view of the driver who had seemed oblivious to the sexual advances in the back seat. Hank’s fingers had pushed further, past the straps to the black panties that Michelle had recently purchased, specifically for the Christmas party. They were a delicate and expensively made semi-translucent material, something Michelle had only become aware of when looking at herself in the mirror earlier that day. Her lower lips had been clearly visible through the material, sitting below a thin manicured strip of hair that had been also visible in the light.
Hank hadn’t seen any of that detail in the darkness of the cab but he had felt her smoothness as he pushed her panties aside, in his alcoholic clumsiness the thin panty material had ripped, but in the heat of the moment neither had cared. With uncharacteristic haste, he had pushed his fore and middle finger into her mound, slightly cocking his fingers he pushed up and into her as her wetness encouraged him further. Thrust after thrust his fingers had stroked inside her, as his mouth sought hers, his tongue matching the thrusts of his right hand. She had groaned as he drove into her.
Writhing beneath his touch, Michelle had sunk her teeth into his neck and playfully bitten him. As she had raised her eyes from the love bite she had noticed the silent watchful eyes of the hire driver in the mirror. Whether it was the alcohol, the admiring men, or something else, Michelle had been shameless, staring back into the mirror. She had clutched Hank’s shoulder and ground her hips into the palm of his hand, biting her bottom lip to quell the scream that had been growing from her thighs to her chest.
All too soon the car ride had ended, the scent of her sex heavy in the back seat. Legs giddy with lust, Michelle had staggered from the cab as Hank handed the company card to the driver for payment. After he had driven away, the two of them, intoxicated by both the champagne and the fumes of their sex, had entered their home. They hadn’t made it to the bedroom…With her cocktail dress pulled up to her
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