Doing A Carol 32
Dear Diary.
It’s the day of Jerry’s Christmas dinner.
We’re staying in an exclusive suite for the night where our meal is being held in one of his clients’ plush, privately owned boutique hotel that’s hidden within the seductive shadows of those intimidating silver, nondescript skyscrapers which creates the concrete and glass bouquet of the City of London.
This is an ideal location for everyone as it’s central for most of his work colleagues to travel to or to stay over as the hotel have given us a considerable discount on their rooms, plus we can get all glammed up and partake in a few festive drinkies without having the worry about transportation or indeed, how to get home in one piece.
I still haven’t decided on what to wear, so I’m taking my Louis Vuitton matching luggage set and stuffing them with a selection of outfits. That way, I can choose the perfect outfit, which will depend on what mood I’m in. And recently, as you know, my mood has been rather hot. Spicy hot!
We, I mean Jerry, has pulled the boat out and hired a chauffeur for the evening who will be picking us up at our house at 4pm, which will give us enough time to gracefully sail through Olde London Town in style and check in to our luxury lodgings for 5pm.
The dinner isn’t booked until 8pm, along with pre drinkies and nibbles in the bar, so that will give us a few hours to relax, use the hotel’s facilities and faff about as always.
Normally, the meal is relaxed and informal, though can be a bit boring, even when some of the men do bring along their bland, yet pleasant wives to mix up the staid ambiance, the conversation generally revolves around domestic chit chat about house, home and hobbies, along with the ubiquitous effervescent work talk about portfolios, stocks, bonds and financial forecasts flowing over the champagne bubbles. But it wasn’t this time.
Let me set the scene.
We arrived on time to the hotel, where we were greeted at the rose lined entrance by Pascal, the gracious and handsome, silver slicked back hair Italian owner. We’ve met a few times at various functions and he’s always been pleasent and a joy to be around. A real charmer, in fact.
In the past, I’ve never looked at him in a sexual way, as I was an amateur, a meer shadow of myself back then.
But now, though still in my early awareness period where the Spring bloom of my wants, needs and desires are still wrapped within the protective glistening blanket of the fairy frost, I’m suddenly aware that I’m subtlety checking him out whilst he’s in midflow with Jerry.
I do have to admit that he does look like he’s hiding something fierce within his tight grey pinstripe trousers.
Question.
Is that something for me to investigate, hunt down in this cut throat urban jungle, trap, tackle and control the beast at a later date? Well, that’s something to ponder over whilst enjoying a nice cup of tea and biscuits, isn’t it?
With a hand shake completing their chat, Pascal then turns to me and offers us a festive glass of mulled wine to sample, in earnest for tonight’s festivities. Well, it’s rude not to say no to something that’s hot and wet, is it?
With the Christmas aroma from the drink seeping up my nose and making me feel a bit heady, Pascal takes his chance, closes in and compliments my outfit.
‘You look radiant my dear,’ he said as he slipped his hand underneath my jacket to gently grip me around the waist, resting his hand on my jeans clad hip. ‘Doesn’t she Jerry?’
‘Yes she does.’ He raised his glass to me. ‘I’m a very lucky man.’
‘Indeed you are.’ Pascal gently squeezed my waist, still leaving his hand in place. ‘A very lucky man.’
As always, Pascal’s plays the perfect host who knows what to say and how to please his customers.
Well, I’ve not been there yet, so let’s see if he’s that pleasing, shall we?
I think he must like my new style. Yes, that must be it. What else can it be? Am I now giving out secret signals that only randy men can decipher?
‘Thank you,’ I joined in with the compliments, allowing our host to enjoy the moment.
It’s nice to know that I’m still attractive at my age. Well, Michael and Steve already know that, don’t they?
Although saying that, it’s rather a turn on with a guy holding me intimately in front of my husband who’s oblivious of the sexual chemistry bubbling away between us.
‘There’s something different about you. But I can’t seem to put my finger on it,’ Pascal smiled.
No, but you’ve got all five of them clinging on to me, you dirty bastard!
‘I’ve also said that,’ Jerry harped in, ‘haven’t I?’
‘Yes you have, often,’ I replied. ‘Though nothing has changed except for my wardrobe.’
‘That must be it.’ Pascal released his hold but ‘accidentally’ slid his hand across my arse to cup a sneaky feel.
‘Yes, I have been treating myself to a new look. Mid life crisis and all that,’ I joked.
I twirled around to show off my pert arse framed perfectly in my skinny tight jeans that were tucked into my black knee high heeled boots (very Eastern European in style) with a flimsy cream silk blouse barely covered by a heavily embroidered black jacket.
‘And you’re worth every penny,’ Jerry smiled.
I smiled back.
‘Of course I am,’ I said, interacting with their macho banter. ‘Although I’m not just a walking clothes horse you know.’
‘Of course you’re not,’ Jerry stepped in and kissed me on the cheek, obviously to keep me on his side. ‘And I’m very proud of you too.’
‘Thank you.’ I looked through the steam of my drink to Pascal who was clearly staring back at me. I guess trying to catch a glimpse of my boys flowing free underneath my silk blouse.
‘Are you ready to see what we’ve done for you?’ Pascal asked as he ushered us to a private dining room hidden behind a shabby looking bookcase to see if we were happy with the table setting and the artful decorations that I had specified. It was. And more!
‘Oh Pascal. You’ve out done yourself. Truly,’ I cooed, spinning around in delight.
‘Anything for you,’ he smiled.
Does he know too? Has ‘he’ seen my pics too? I doubt it. But hmm. I shall keep that last comment in mind. It may come in handy one day.
‘Thank you Pascal,’ Jerry said as they shook hands again. ‘We’ll see you later.’
‘I will look forward to that,’ he replied as he kissed my hand. ‘I cannot wait to see more of you.’
#dingacarol #talesofahotwife #kinkyklobber