Insatiable Mrs. Pillsbury

* * * *

I thought about that conversation as I walked from my room to the main convention room in the hotel, where the afternoon presentations would take place.

I wore an emerald-green dress that I judged to be about three degrees sexier than appropriate for a corporate training program like this one. It showed a bit of cleavage--more than one typically would show in the office. The hem was an inch or two farther above my knee than a woman my age would usually wear among co-workers. Plus, of course, I wore no panties. Cool air tickled my uncovered pussy as I walked to the main convention room. Maybe I was unusually brazen for a corporate executive. But I wasn't just Kristen Johnson. I was Mrs. Pillsbury, and nobody could stop her.

The orgasm I'd received from the room service guy had done nothing to temper my horniness. I was no more than 30 minutes removed from satisfaction, but my loins still blazed with need. Years of experience in the corporate environment fortified me in walking steadily down the hallway despite my distracted state, greeting my colleagues on the way to the convention room with bland pleasantries, but my body burned inside with still-unfulfilled desire.

Finally, I entered the expansive room where the afternoon presentations were to take place. A stage stood at the far end of the room, with a microphone on a stand its only feature.

"Kristen!" a voice called my name.

I turned. My supervisor, Hector, a company vice president, waved at me from a table at the back of the room, far from the stage. When our eyes locked, he beckoned me over with his hand. I couldn't say "no" to my boss, so I walked toward him. I caught his eyes sweeping over my body in the sexy dress as I approached. Hector was older than I, in his 50s, with silver hair, but he was still lean and handsome, and more than once I had caught him eyeing me. Nothing had ever happened between us, but I had wondered a few times if, under the right circumstances, something might.

He rose from his seat when I reached the table and pulled my chair out to help seat me, like a gentleman. I was surprised. One didn't get that kind of treatment too often at a tech company.

Hector and I struck up a conversation about nothing in particular, and I was sufficiently engrossed in our talk that I barely noticed when someone sat down at the table to the right of me. I glanced that way briefly, and it was Dave, my boyfriend! He pretended not to notice me, as he engaged in a conversation with a woman, whom I didn't recognize, who sat to the right of him.

I sat at the table between Hector, on my left, and my boyfriend Dave, who had fucked me only two hours earlier, to my right. This was going to be interesting.

Our circular table was covered in a red cloth that extended well beyond the perimeter of the table and completely concealed our laps. It was a good thing because my dress was short enough that somebody strategically positioned at a table in front of me might have been able to see that I wasn't wearing any panties. Fortunately, that wasn't a problem.

I ignored Dave, who was talking to his companion, and I gave my full attention to Hector, my superior, who seemed to be flirting with me, but in a surprisingly subtle way. Subtlety was a quality I never expected, and seldom encountered, in a man. Either they were interested, or they weren't.

A waiter dropped off a bowl of mixed nuts at our table and took drink orders.

"Dylan's presentation is next, isn't it?" Hector asked. "He's one of yours, isn't he?"

Hector stared into my face with an inscrutable smile as the words left his lips, and I wondered if there was an ulterior meaning behind his words.

"You could say that, I guess," I replied.

A screech pierced the room as one of the company higher-ups, Milton Friese, tapped the microphone at the front of the room. He said a few forgettable words before introducing Dylan, who nervously approached the microphone. I figured it was his first time speaking in front of such a large crowd.

I was proud of him, and I paid careful attention to his speaking for a few minutes, until a hand suddenly landed on my right thigh under the table. It was Dave! I turned subtly toward him, and he stared straight ahead, watching Dylan's presentation, giving no sign whatsoever to me of the presence of his hand on my bare skin.

I wasn't about to refuse an opportunity, even in a crowded hotel convention room. I swung my legs wide to give him greater access to my body.

My right leg swung toward Dave, but my left leg bumped into Hector's leg, and into the fingers of his hand, which rested on his thigh.

I don't know how to describe the feeling, except that it was electric. Each of my bare thighs was pressed against the fingers of my two male companions at the table. I pushed my right leg up, to signal to Dave that his overtures were welcome, while with my left leg, I remained discreet, to see what Hector would do.

Oh, my goodness, I was bad. I wanted both men to have their hands on me, under the table, in the crowded convention room, at the same time.

Dave wasted no time. His hand slithered over to the inside of my thigh, and it began moving inward, toward the gap between my legs. Slowly. Oh, so slowly.

I shifted in my seat so I could move my left leg against Hector's hand in a way that wouldn't seem too obvious--or so I thought. I wondered what he would do. He did nothing. Time moved at a snail's pace. All my senses were on high alert. Dylan seemed to have hit his stride during the presentation, but I could no longer pay attention to him.

I feigned a yawn and a stretch, which resulted in rubbing my bare left knee against Hector's hand. I pulled it away, as though it had been accidental, and after taking a sip of water and a bite of nuts from the bowl, I withdrew my left hand from the table and placed it under the tablecloth, directly on my knee. I guessed that no more than an inch or two separated Hector's hand from mine.

My heart beat faster.

Meanwhile, Dave's firm hand moved slowly up my bare thigh, until it hit the hem of my short dress. The hand didn't stop there, since the angle at which I'd opened my leg to him offered a clear invitation for further exploration. Dave accepted the invitation. His hand moved under the dress, sliding quickly upward and inward until a finger touched my bare pussy.

"Oh!" I said, involuntarily.

Hector looked at me.

"You OK?"

"Yes," I said back to him, in a strangled voice, barely containing my surprise.

Dave's forefinger began tickling the nub of my clitoris. My body shifted. I didn't want Dave to stop, but it would take all of my powers to control myself.

I glanced around. Our table was at the back of the room, so there was no one behind me to see what was going on under the table. The people at our table and at the tables to the side of us were all looking forward, watching Dylan's presentation.

I felt like a bad boss, as well as a bad wife. I was supposed to be watching Dylan's presentation so I could give him a helpful critique, but I couldn't take my mind or attention away from what was happening to me under the table.

Dave's finger worked against my exposed flesh patiently, touching and tickling me.

I shifted in my seat again and it brought the finger of my left hand, still on my knee, against the fingers of Hector's hand. This time I didn't pull back.

He responded! His little finger moved up and down, caressing my fingers unmistakably.

The game was on. Where to take it? I responded to Hector's finger by caressing his fingers back, and a second later he fully entwined his fingers with mine.

Hmmm. I was concerned about where his hand would go. I couldn't very well let him put his hand under my dress, or his hand would encounter Dave's. That wouldn't do. I had another idea.

It was time for Kristen to step aside and let Mrs. Pillsbury take control. I clasped Hector's hand in mine and pushed left, until our hands lay together, fingers tangled, on his lap. I unclasped his hand and laid mine on his thigh. It was hard and muscular. Hector had a great physique, and I figured he worked out, and it sure felt like it. I began to knead the muscles of his upper thigh with my hand.

Then my hand moved to his inner thigh and snaked inward, toward his crotch.

Dave's finger, meanwhile, had wormed its way inside me, and it undulated against the flesh of my vagina. I would have lost it, except my simultaneous encounter with Hector gave me something to divert my attention from Dave's finger. Still, the ministrations of Dave's questing digit sent waves of pleasure through me, and my arousal soared.

I was so bad! Playing with two men at the same time, under the table, neither knowing about the other.

My husband was going to love it when I told him about it.

My left hand crept further up Hector's thigh, aided and abetted by the spreading of his legs and the push of his right leg toward mine, until my hand stopped at something tubular and firm. His cock! It was hard for me already, and I was sure it was bent uncomfortably within the confinement of his pants.

Hector placed a strong hand over mine and guided my hand further until it lay directly over his cock. It was difficult to tell for certain, but it felt big. It was unmistakably hard. I squeezed it under his pants, searched and found the contour of his shaft, and slid my fingers up and down it.

My hand felt Hector's hand move over mine and push it down a bit. I knew what he was doing. He unzipped his pants. My fingertips felt his fly opening, contacting the cool metal of the zipper as he pulled it down.

I glanced at Hector's face. His expression remained impassive and fixed ahead toward Dylan, who kept talking but whose words completely escaped me. I was, to say the least, too preoccupied to absorb anything that Dylan said.

When the zipper was pulled all the way down, my left hand went to work. It dove into the fly of Hector's pants. I could tell Hector wore loose-fitting boxer shorts, probably silk, making my task easier than it would have been had he worn tight-fitting briefs. I grabbed the bare flesh of his cock, encircled it with my fingers, and fished it out of his pants. I felt it spring forward at its release.

Now it was mine to play with!

I did.

I squeezed it--that delightful, pulsing, veiny, hard shaft. My hand moved down until it hit his pubic bone and was tickled by his pubic hair. Then it rebounded up the shaft to the swelling, bulbous tip, where my thumb felt a dollop of precum at the peak of the cock head.

I had no ruler handy, but I could tell it was a big cock, longer and wider than either Dave's or my husband's. It squirmed like an untamed beast to my touch.

Speaking of squirming, my pussy, all this time, shivered at the treatment it received from Dave's insistent finger. It plunged into me in fast spurts, challenging me to hold my body still against the repetitive beats of its pressure. Like Hector, I stared forward at Dylan, on the other side of the room, trying, with little success, to concentrate on what he said.

But a girl can only do so much multitasking.

My focus shifted back to Hector's hard cock, gripped by my fingers.

It pulsed in my hand. I thumbed the tip, tapping a dollop of emergent precum, running that dollop between my thumb and forefinger before spreading it over Hector's shaft to slick my handiwork. My left hand swept over Hector's dick in ever speedier strokes. I glanced at Hector. He looked ahead, to the other side of the room, but the tightness in his face gave away his distraction. I guessed it wouldn't be long before he came.

In the meantime, Dave's finger brought my pussy closer to orgasm. I could have sworn I heard wet moist sounds emanating from under the table as his finger moved swiftly in and out of me. I hoped no one else heard those sounds. Dave's finger moved skillfully inside me--it should have, because in previous encounters I had taught him how to use his finger on me. I knew what I liked, and I had no hesitation in training men how to please me.

It took every ounce of concentration and self-control I had to remain still in my chair at the table as one man frigged my pussy while the other had his cock stroked by my hand.

I silently started a contest, to see who could make who come first. My orgasm was fast approaching, thanks to Dave's skillful movements, but I wanted Hector to come first to my hand. So I milked his cock harder with my fingers as my hand moved up and down on his shaft. I felt Hector's thigh shiver under my arm. Excellent! His legs opened wider, and I directed his penis straight and forward so that when he came he wouldn't mess up his pants. I wanted him to come all over the carpet under the table. Probably, nobody would see anything right away, and when the staff saw the stain later they'd probably assume somebody spilled some bechamel sauce.

I glanced at Hector and was glad to see my attention was having its effect. He could barely contain himself, his face a tight mask of arousal and concentration, and his hands tightly gripping the edge of the table.

Stroke, stroke, stroke. Come on, Hector. I had no idea what the fallout of this under-the-table tryst with a company vice president would be. I would deal with that at another time. It was Mrs. Pillsbury's job to create messes, and it would be Kristen Johnson's job to clean them up later.

It was all I could do to concentrate on Hector's cock, because my legs suddenly spasmed from Dave's steady, rhythmic fingering of my pussy. My orgasm was close.

I gave Hector a few more hard squeezes, and then I felt his cock pulse under my hand. I felt him ejaculate even if I couldn't see or feel the cum spurting out of him onto the floor. I wondered how big his load was. When he was done, I ran my hand over the tip, and sure enough, it was covered in sticky goo. I scooped up as much as I could in my hand, closed my fist, and brought it toward my lap.

Just then, my own orgasm finally happened. I stifled a squeal as my body rocked to Dave's expert touch. Fortunately, I wasn't a squirter, so I didn't have to worry about messing up my dress or the carpet. Dave kept finger-fucking me mercilessly even after my orgasm began, forcing me to grab his wrist with my right hand and pull him out of me. We exchanged a quick, silent look. Then all three of us looked forward, as Dylan wrapped up his presentation. My body stopped quivering. After Dylan concluded, everyone in the room clapped appreciatively. I took the opportunity to pull my left hand out from under the table and put it to my lips, where I lapped up Hector's sticky cum that coated my palm. Nobody appeared to notice, as far as I could tell. I wiped my hands up the best I could with a napkin, and in a few minutes, I stood up and walked over to congratulate Dylan before the next presentation began. I told him to stop by my room at the end of the day so I could give him an evaluation, even though I'd barely listened to what he'd said. Fortunately, I'd gone over it with him enough beforehand that I knew it well, and I figured I could wing it with the evaluation.

I returned to my table, and the hours passed slowly as the speakers droned on and I anxiously waited for time with my cub. The delay drove me crazy. I was still on edge from my finger-fucking orgasm, and I wanted more. Hector and Dave still sat at either side of me. An hour after our last tryst Hector's hand found its way to my bare knee, and I could tell he wanted to explore my body, but I didn't want to have to explain when his fingers found Dave's newly deposited cum in my vagina, so I took his hand in mine and moved it off me. I wanted to spend more time with Hector later, but not now. Hector and Dave behaved themselves for the remainder of the presentation.

When the last speaker finished, I stood up and circulated around the tables and lingered for a few minutes to fulfill the usual company small-talk obligations. As soon as I could, I retreated to the elevator and went back to my room.

I had half an hour before Dylan would show up, per our agreement. I showered and primped and slipped the silky kimono over my clean, eager body. I left my room in the sexy outfit to get a bucket of ice down the hotel hallway, which I carried back to the room to keep the champagne cold until Dylan arrived. I pulled out a notebook and pen and laid them conspicuously on the desk to add a touch of plausibility to my earlier claim that I just wanted to talk to Dylan about his presentation.

Soon, everything was ready. Dylan would arrive in 15 minutes, and I had one more thing to do.

I shucked off the kimono and laid it gently over a chair, and I pulled a tripod and remote control out of my small suitcase. My website followers counted on daily posts of nude photos, and I hadn't posted anything so far that day. I put the phone/camera on the tripod at the foot of the bed, then I climbed onto the bed, faced the camera, and spread my legs.

For the millionth time, I thought about what I was doing.

I was a successful 40-something executive, educated and well-compensated, yet here I was, spreading my legs so I could post photos of my pussy to the Internet. I'd long since grown accustomed to doing it, but it was never completely normal. There was always that little "what the hell am I doing?" moment. But that was part of the fun--that knowledge that I was defying convention, rebelling against others' norms, and getting sexy with the world on my terms. And I had my husband's full support, of course. I couldn't have done it without that.

Before hitting the remote button, I looked down, between my legs, at my pussy. The lips were open, a little bit, and conspicuously swollen from the attention they'd been given earlier from Dave's finger under the table. My subscribers would be getting an exceptionally good look into Mrs. Pillsbury's pink and well-used depths. The thought made me tingle inside.

I quickly took the pictures, and with a few flicks of my fingers on my phone uploaded them to my site.

I wanted my subscribers to get their money's worth. If their comments were any indication, they did, but I had to keep up with the constant demand.

I put the tripod and remote away and slipped my kimono back on. Just a few minutes awaited before Dylan's arrival.

My phone buzzed. It was a text from Rick.

"Ready for your cub?"

"I am so ready," I texted back.

"Go easy with him."

"'Go easy' is not my style," I texted, adding an emoji with a tongue sticking out for emphasis.

"You're incorrigible," he replied.

"That's what you love about me."

"It's one of many things. Have fun."

Moments after our text session ended, a knock sounded. I squared my shoulders, pushed my unfettered, silk-clad breasts forward, and walked to the door.

It was Dylan, looking as vulnerable and cubbish as ever. I held his gaze. He couldn't help himself, however; his eyes strayed to the barely silk-covered hard bullets on my chest.

Oh, I wanted him.

I stepped aside from the door to let him in.

When he reached the middle of the room, near the bed, he turned around, facing me, and with a sheepish, guileless face, he said, "So how did I do?"

"You did great!" I said, jumping just enough that I knew he'd be able to see my breasts shake under the kimono. Sure enough, his eyes strayed from mine to my chest, even if just for a second. It was enough to satisfy me, for the moment.

"Everybody I talked to like the presentation," I continued. "You should be proud. Let's celebrate."

I walked to the table with the champagne on ice and two glass flutes, swaying my hips in a way I hoped was pronounced enough to catch his attention but not so much to be obvious.

I popped the cork of the champagne bottle and filled two glasses, handing one to Dylan, sitting on the edge of the bed with my own, and patting the bedcover at my side to beckon Dylan to sit next to me. He did, obediently.