The sun gradually dipped below the horizon, imparting first an inky twilight
upon the landscape and then a humid darkness. Mosquitoes, which were
particularly heavy this season thanks to a wet winter without many frosts,
made their appearance as well, feasting on the legs and arms of the guests.
The temperature dropped from the low nineties to the low eighties and then
even further when a pleasant breeze kicked up from the south. The guests of
Mr. Remington actually seemed to loosen up a bit with the coming of the
night, making more frequent trips to the bar and coming out to the dance
floor in ever increasing numbers.

The band played on as the evening progressed and I continued to dance almost
exclusively with Suzanne Remington, when we weren’t hitting up the bar for
more drinks that was. Finally a slow song was played – “Waiting For A Girl
Like You” – and she and I found ourselves facing each other as the other
couples held onto each other in intimate embraces. I took a glance over at
Mr. Remington, seeing that he was still holding on to Aaron Rivers’
girlfriend, who didn’t, I might add, seem to be upset by his advances. I
looked back at Suzanne and she held her arms out to me.

“I love the slow dances,” she said. “Would you?”

“I’d be honored,” I assured her.

I put my hands on her lower back and she put hers around my neck. We pulled
together, our thighs touching lightly, her breasts pressing against my
chest. I could feel the heat coming off of her skin from our exertions and
could smell the pleasant, exciting odor of her perspiration filling my nose.
My penis, which had pretty much behaved itself for most of the night,
suddenly awakened and began to fill with blood.

“This is nice,” Suzanne said dreamily, her chin resting on my shoulder as we
swayed to the gentle beat. “Nobody’s danced with me like this in years.”

I pulled her a little tighter to me, unable to help myself, feeling the
firmness of her skin beneath her dress, feeling her legs push a little
harder into me. “It is,” I agreed.

We didn’t talk much more during the dance but we shared a certain sort of
communication nonetheless, a communication that was dangerous on a primal
level. She snuggled her head up against my neck, her chin resting on my
shoulder. I could feel the moist warmth of her breath against my skin, a
sensation that was far from unpleasant. Her arms tightened up around my
neck, her soft fingertips softly caressing me in a manner that could only be
described as sensuous. She pulled in tighter, allowing me to feel the full
press of her breasts against me. I could feel the weight of them, the
softness of them, the feminine intimacy of them as they rubbed in gentle
circles on my upper stomach. I could also feel the push of her soft thighs
against mine, the whisper of her thin dress gliding up and down, back and
forth. More blood rushed to my penis, turning it into a full-fledged
hard-on that pushed insistently into her stomach.

“Mmmmm,” I heard her whisper in my ear, her voice with a tremor of
excitement in it, “it feels like you’re enjoying the dance as much as I am.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, a little bit of sobriety coming back to me, and with
it, nervous embarrassment. This was my boss’s wife I had to remind myself.
This was madness. I tried to pull away a little bit but she wouldn’t let
me.

“No, no,” she whispered, her lips just touching my ear lobe, just enough to
leave a kiss of saliva on it. “Don’t pull back. It’s been so long since
I’ve felt a man react like that to me, and I’m just drunk enough that it
feels really good.”

“But I don’t think Mr. Remington would appreciate it very much,” I whispered
back.

“Then don’t rub it against him and he’ll never know,” she told me, snuggling
in even closer and giving a deliberate grind against my groin.

I almost groaned at the sensation. I stopped trying to pull away from her.
It just felt too damn good to hold her in my arms, to feel her softness
pressing into me. As the song played on the caresses on the back of my neck
grew softer, more sensuous, and her slow grind against my erection continued
until I was almost panting with desire for her. Had she been anyone else, I
would have kissed her, just angled my jaw downward and put my lips to hers,
but I restrained myself from this despite the fact that I suspected that was
exactly what she wanted me to do.

Finally, to both my relief and my consternation, the song ended, forcing us
to break apart. We did so with a certain reluctance. I looked around in
the darkness at the other couples on the floor, who were also breaking apart
from their own dances. I could sense the disapproval and the disbelief
radiating from most of them at my blatant flirtation with Suzanne.
Apparently our indiscretion had not gone unnoticed. But Mr. Remington, in
whose name the disapproval was being registered, remained oblivious and
uncaring. He was escorting Rivers’ girlfriend over to the bar, his hand
resting on her lower back, just above the swell of her shapely ass. No one
seemed to be projecting hostile feelings at him for his indiscretion. Not
even Aaron Rivers himself, who was standing over by the food table talking
to one of the other accountants. An interesting bit of hypocrisy on my
colleague’s part I thought bitterly.

The dancing went on for another forty-five minutes or so, during which time
I enjoyed four or five fast dances and one more slow dance with Suzanne.
During the slow one we once again pushed our bodies together, breasts to
chest, groin to stomach, and she once again gave me a tremendous erection
that almost throbbed with intensity. Just as the song was coming to a
close, she reached between us for a moment, her fingertips seeking out and
finding the bulge in my shorts. She gave it a gentle squeeze, palpating it
up and down in a way that made me groan in her ear.

“This is so nice,” she whispered to me, her tongue reaching out to lick at
my earlobe again. “The things I could do with this.”

I pushed my pelvis into her hand, trying to increase the contact. She
obliged me by squeezing a little tighter.

“Sit with me when it’s fireworks time,” she said softly, her tongue actually
probing inside my ear for the briefest second. “Sometimes all of those
explosions scare me.”

At last the band finished up the tune and cranked up one last fast dance –
“R.O.C.K. in the USA” – for their grand finale. By the time the last
instrument jangled to a stop my erection had subsided to about half-staff.
It would go down no further than that.

Mr. Remington, still oblivious to the activities between his wife and his
junior accountant, broke himself away from Rivers’ girlfriend long enough to
take the stage and grab one of the microphones. In a drunken, slurred voice
he announced the beginning of the glorious and final stage of the party: the
fireworks show that he had arranged for at great expense and trouble.

“This will be a professional quality show,” he said proudly, having to hold
onto an amplifier to keep from falling over, “different only in scale from
that you see on New Year’s Eve in Heritage. I have the same pyro-tic… uh,
pyro-tok… uh… fireworks guys that do that show with the very same
fireworks for your enjoyment. So let’s turn off all the lights, find a
place to sit that faces the pond, and let the action begin.”

“Let the action begin,” Suzanne said with a giggle.

Someone inside the winery clicked off all of the exterior lights, instantly
plunging the night into a near perfect blackness. There were no
streetlights or anything else in the vicinity and the only illumination was
from a quarter moon that hung in the sky behind us. Everyone found seats on
the lawn near the barbeque and the picnic tables. I started towards the
main group but Suzanne grabbed my arm and pulled me in a different
direction.

“Let’s sit over here,” she told me, guiding me to a spot at the very back of
the crowd, more than fifteen feet from any other person and well out of
their view unless they happened to turn all the way around.

I sat down on the grass, my legs sprawled out before me. I felt a little
nervous about just what she had in mind. The fact that she was the boss’s
wife came back to me again, making me wish I hadn’t started hanging out with
her in the first place. This nervousness was increased when she did not sit
down next to me as I’d figured she would. Instead, she plopped down in
front of me and slid backwards, compelling me to open my legs. She slid
back until her firm bottom was pushing softly against my crotch, her hands
resting on my knees.

“This is cozy,” she said with a sigh, leaning back so that her back was
against my chest.

“Yes,” I said nervously, knowing that Mr. Remington would seriously
disapprove if he saw us seated in this manner. But at the same time the
feel of her body against mine, coupled with the alcohol in my system,
clouded my better judgment. Blood began to fill my manhood once more,
making it bulge outward again and press against her butt. My hands,
seemingly of their own accord, dropped down onto her lower thighs, just
above her knees. The skin there was deliciously soft, deliciously feminine.
She made no protest at their being there.

We sat like that for the next two or three minutes, not moving, not talking,
me enjoying the feel of her firm legs beneath my fingers, her presumably
enjoying the feel of my hard-on pushing into her ass. And then the first of
the fireworks arced up into the sky from the center of the island. It shot
out from just behind the stand of trees and bushes, a purple flare that went
up five or six hundred feet and then exploded in a brilliant star of lights.
The flash momentarily lit up the night, just long enough to catch the
briefest of glimpses around us. The concussion followed a second later, a
loud boom that rattled the chest. The crowd all gave an “oooh” at the sight
of it.

Two more shells quickly followed, and then two more right behind it. The
flashes and booms continued, as did the “oohs” and “aahs”.

Suzanne didn’t ooh or aah. Instead she slid back against me a little more,
increasing the pressure on my turgid cock. She began to shift back and
forth slightly, just enough to impart an unbearable friction upon me. I
didn’t ooh or aah either. As more shells went up my drunken horniness got
the better of me. I began to move my right hand up her leg.

I did it slowly at first, as it was only accidental, my fingertips gliding
gently over the front of her thigh until they encountered the hem of her
dress. She made no move to stop me; in fact she opened her legs a little,
allowing me a corridor between them. I was quick to take advantage of this.
I slid my probing hand inward, onto the baby-soft skin of her inner thigh.

“That feels nice,” she whispered to me between concussions. “You have
gentle hands.”

“I give a great massage,” I replied to her, giving a little harder squeeze
on her thigh.

“How interesting,” she said. “I have something that could use a nice
massage about now.”

Able to take a hint, I slid my hand higher up her leg, beneath the hem of
her dress and onto her upper thigh. She forced her legs open a little more
at my intrusion, so that her knees were now nearly as far apart as mine.

It was here where the team of Ukrainian pyrotechnicians made their first
error of the evening. They lit off one of their shells but instead of
flying straight up it flew ninety degrees to the right, going up at a
shallow angle. It streaked out over the vineyards and then exploded about
sixty feet off the ground.

“What the hell was that about?” I heard Mr. Remington – a stickler for every
last detail – demand in his gruff, manager voice while the other members of
the party chuckled.

A drunken Ukrainian apology came drifting over from the center of the
island. A moment later another shell went up, this one more or less as it
was supposed to.

I ignored the brief departure from the plan, instead concentrating my
attention on the sensation beneath my fingers. I had reached the edge of
her panties and I let my hand roll inward, so that the back of my knuckles
were pressing against the crotch of them. I could feel dampness on the
cotton material. Suzanne sighed at the contact and pushed her pelvis
forward a bit, urging me on. I rubbed up and down a few times, gathering
her wetness on my skin, feeling the damp heat of her, making her moan
lightly.

Slowly I turned my hand back to the neutral position and probed under the
elastic at her crotch with my index and middle fingers. I felt more
wetness, and crinkly hair. I probed further, at last coming to her
saturated slit, which I rubbed up and down a few times, relishing the feel
of the slippery, swollen lips. Still receiving nothing in the way of
protest from her, and confidant that I was unobserved by the others, I put
my index finger between those lips, searching out the source of the wetness.
Millimeter by millimeter, I inserted my digit into my boss’s wife’s pussy,
feeling the muscles clench at me, hearing her breathing kick into higher
gear.

“You have no idea how good that feels,” she panted to me. “Keep doing it.”

“My pleasure,” I assured her, probing in a little deeper.

I began to move my finger in and out, imparting a little twisting motion to
my hand as I did so. She really seemed to like this. Her wetness
increased, soaking my hand in her juices and her hand began to squeeze
tighter on my knees.

Just then another one of the fireworks went awry. This one apparently was
launched too close to one of the trees. It hit the trunk and bounced to the
right where it hit another tree and then headed directly towards the winery
building itself. There was a high-pitched whine as it passed less than
fifty feet over our heads. It missed the roof of the winery by less than
ten feet and exploded over the road, showering a row of palm trees with
flaming debris.

“Goddammit!” screamed Remington in outrage. “What the hell are you people
doing over there? Are you trying to kill us?”

“Sorry,” drifted the Ukrainian voice. “Won’t happen again.”

“It goddamn well better not!” Remington threatened. “I paid you assholes
two grand!”

I couldn’t help but chuckle at the display but Suzanne hardly seemed to
notice it.

“Put another finger in,” she told me. “Do it harder.”

I slid my middle finger into her alongside its neighbor. I began to push
and pull with more force. A distinct squishing noise was now audible with
each stroke.

“Yes,” she moaned, pushing her crotch to meet each of my strokes. “I love
it. I fucking love it.”

The fireworks started back up again. Two of the shells went up just as they
were supposed to but a third was launched at an improper angle. It shot off
to the left this time, streaking out over the adjoining property and
actually striking the ground before it exploded. This prompted another
scream of outrage from Remington and another drunken apology from the
island.

Meanwhile, Suzanne reached back with her hand and had put it on the bulge of
my cock once more. She was now squeezing and stroking me through my shorts,
driving me into a frenzy of lust. Unable to help myself I lowered my lips
to the back of her neck and began to kiss her there, nipping and biting and
licking right at her hairline. She began to pant faster.

Suddenly, as another barrage of fireworks went up into the sky, she pulled
my hand free of her. It was dripping with her juices. She took her other
hand off my cock and then reached up under her dress. She shifted and
shuffled for a moment and suddenly her white panties were in her hand. She
set them down on the grass next to us and then turned to look at me in the
dimness.

“Take out your cock,” she told me.

“What?” I asked, looking around at the others in the strobe effect of the
fireworks. “We can’t… you know…”

“Do it,” she said pleadingly. “I have to have you. Take it out! Please?”

Unable to resist a woman begging, I reached down and unzipped my shorts,
pulling my hard-on through the flap and baring it to the night. It was too
dark for her to actually see it, but her hand went directly to it anyway,
finding it my feel. Her fingers grasped me, stroking up and down, smearing
the pre-come that had oozed out over the shaft. Now it was my turn to
groan as I felt the touch of someone beside myself for the first time in
forever.

“Sit still,” she told me. “Let me do it.”

“Okay,” I grunted, actually fucking into her hand.

She turned back towards the island and raised her butt up. With her free
hand she pulled the back of her skirt upwards, baring her naked ass and her
dripping crotch from behind. She eased herself backwards, until she was
sitting on my lap, her back to my chest. My hard-on was now between her
thighs, the shaft nestled against her wet lips. She raised up a little
more, pulling upward on my cock, until the head was pushing between her
lips. Teasingly she rubbed me back and forth a few times.

“Do it,” I commanded, putting my hands on her waist and pulling her
downward.

She came down willingly, my cock sinking slowly, deliciously into her tight
box. We both groaned at the connection. My lips went back to her neck as
my hands began to prod her to move up and down.

She began to rise and fall, slowly at first, with short strokes. Her juices
were now running down my cock, into my shorts and probably staining them. I
didn’t care. The friction of her tight passage felt so damn good.

Out on the island, the fireworks continued to ignite and the Ukrainians made
another error, this one much more dangerous than the other. One of their
fireworks hit the top of a tree as it launched and was deflected back
towards the ground. It hit just on the shore of the pond, less than fifty
feet away from the nearest of the crowd. It bounced back up again and
streaked over our heads, twisting and turning and showering us with sparks
and smoke. Everyone except Suzanne and I hit the dirt. It then slammed
directly into the winery building where it exploded with enough force to
break a window. Glass fragments came raining down on those sitting near the
building.

“You assholes!” Remington screamed at them. “That is enough! Stop
lighting those things and get off of that island immediately!”

But the Ukrainians didn’t listen to him. Instead, they lit off another two
shells, both of which managed to make it to the quadrant of the sky to which
they were assigned. Remington didn’t say anything else.

I continued to fuck Suzanne through all of this, my pelvis rising up and
down while hers ground atop me, clenching and releasing my cock. Though a
few pieces of burning firework had drifted down around us, we had been
untouched by the barrage.

“Make me come,” she told me. “Oh God, make me come!”

I began to pull her down harder into me, grinding myself upward with more
force. Our strokes became faster and the juices from her pussy began to
flow more copiously, until both of us were drenched in them. She turned her
head towards me and started kissing me, her tongue shooting into my mouth
and attacking mine. I returned the kiss greedily, no longer caring that
anyone who happened to glance over at us during one of the fireworks flashes
would easily see what we were doing.

We kissed and fucked, our tongues probing each other’s mouths, our crotches
mashing together in a wet union of cock and pussy. My hands left her waist
and wandered beneath her skirt once more, traveling upward, over her hips,
through her pubic bush, across her soft stomach, and up to her breasts. I
pushed them forcibly beneath her bra, grabbing her tits roughly, squeezing
them and pinching the hardened nipples between my fingers.

“Yes, yes, yes,” she panted into my mouth.

She came just as another errant firework streaked off to the south of us and
blew up in a row of grape vines. Her pussy clenched around my thrusting
cock, her hands tightening against my legs, her teeth clamping down on my
lower lip nearly hard enough to draw blood.

“Mmmmm, ohhhhhhh,” she groaned, shuddering all over, her legs spasming
between mine.

Her clutching vise upon my tool set me off as well. Just as her spasms were
dying down, mine began. I began to thrust upward with more force, actually
bouncing her into the air now. In response she grabbed the bottom of my
thighs in order to leverage herself down upon me.

“Come in me,” she told me, biting at my lip again. “Shoot your come in my
cunt!”

The filthy mouth on her high-class face served to speed my release. The
waves of pleasure began to build within me, rising to a peak of ecstasy. I
let out my own groan and my hands squeezed extra-hard upon her tits. The
peak was reached and the pleasure exploded outward. I began to shoot, blast
after blast of hot come into her clutching pussy.

“Ohhhh,” she moaned, feeling it. “That is so fucking hot!”

I shot what seemed a gallon, until it was overflowing and running down into
my crotch. Finally the last dribble spurted out and the last thrust of my
pelvis wound down to a halt. I slumped down a little bit, feeling our
combined juices soaking into my shorts and my crotch. She slumped against
me, giving me one last teasing kiss.

Just as she eased off of me and back to the ground the Ukrainians made their
final mistake of the night. They launched one of their fireworks into one
of the island’s trees again. This one bounced back and forth between
several of the trees and then went straight down, right to where the
Ukrainians were all standing.

Remington’s yell of outrage was easily drowned out by the screams of panic
from the Ukrainians themselves. The firework, which had yet to explode, had
landed right in the midst of their supply of unfired goods. They broke and
ran, busting out through the shrubs as if they weren’t there and diving
headlong into the water of the duck pond, where they began swimming madly
for shore. They were about halfway across when the firework exploded,
igniting the rest of the stockpile that was stacked around it.

Suddenly fireworks were streaking off in all directions. No less than five
of them streaked directly towards the crowd. Some went into the air and
slammed into the winery building, others skipped over the water and flew
only feet above our heads. Shrieks of simple rocket motors and booms of
concussions filled the night. Flaming pieces of gunpowder and cardboard
were flying everywhere.

This time I did get down, pulling Suzanne with me. I landed with my face
directly against her discarded panties, the smell of her musk in my nose. A
firework exploded less then thirty feet above me, showering me with burning
debris. I had to stamp out several small fires on my clothing with my bare
hand. Suzanne had to do the same. Despite the danger of the situation,
both of us were laughing madly as we listened to the panicked screams of the
others.

A few more explosions rocked the night and then it was over. The roof of
the winery building was afire in two places, the shingles smoldering with
smoke and flame. Two or three fires had also sprung to life in the
vineyards, which were dry this late in the season. But the most impressive
fire of all was on the duck island. Most of the fireworks that had been
ignited had exploded right there and had showered the dry palm trees and
brush with flames. They had lit up like tissue paper in response and were
now blazing away, the flames shooting thirty or forty feet into the air.
The Ukrainians, perhaps knowing when to cut their losses, had all made it
safely to shore and were now nowhere to be seen.

“Is everyone all right?” I heard Remington yell at the crowd, most of whom
where still in a state of shock at what had happened.

Several people cried out that they had been wounded but no one seemed to be
seriously injured.

I looked over at Suzanne, who was still giggling as she lay next to me on
the grass.

“My husband throws a hell of a party, doesn’t he?” she asked playfully. She
picked up her panties and balled them up.

“You got that right,” I told her, giggling a little myself.

She looked down at my crotch, which was now plainly visible thanks to the
various fires that were burning. “You’d better cover up a bit,” she said.

My cock, now wilted but still quite wet, was hanging out of my fly. If it
had had a face, there would have been a satisfied expression upon it.
Quickly I stuffed it back inside and zipped up. I could do nothing however,
about the huge wet patch that ran from my upper thighs to nearly the button.

“I think it’s about time I made my leave,” I told her. “You’ll give my
regrets for not saying official good byes?”

“Of course,” she told me with a smile. “It’s been fun. You’re a good
dancer.”

“Maybe we can dance again some day,” I said.

She gave a cynical smile. “Maybe,” she said, without much conviction. “But
in the meantime, why don’t you take these to remember me by.” She handed me
her panties.

I took them and stuffed them into my pocket. A moment later I was walking
towards the parking area and my car. Five minutes later, though I was
undoubtedly well beyond the legal limit for driving in the state of
California, I was on the road.

As I headed for the highway I passed several fire engines and ambulances
heading in the opposite direction.

+++++

That was pretty much the end of my career at BR&D. Somebody – probably more
than one somebodies – had apparently seen what Suzanne and I had been up to
and reported it to Remington. Or maybe Remington himself had seen us. I
don’t know. No one ever told me. No one ever said anything about it to me.
But all the same I found myself ostracized at the firm. No one would talk
to me anymore and I wasn’t given any more assignments of any importance.
Two weeks later I was told by a senior partner (not Remington) that things
just weren’t working out with me, that I wasn’t quite BR&D material. I was
given a decent severance package of course, but I was fired all the same.
Truth be known though, I didn’t really care.

These days I’m still an accountant but I work in Sacramento now for the
State Franchise Tax Board. I actually make more than I did at BR&D although
the potential for advancement is no longer there. I’m doomed to spend the
rest of my career there making $75,000 a year with only step and cost of
living raises to look forward to. I still don’t care. I live comfortably
and, most important of all, I work forty hours per week. No more, no less.
I go into work at 8:00 AM, Monday through Friday, and I emerge at 4:00 PM.
There are no exceptions, no mandatory overtime, no pressure from above. To
me it is paradise.

I never saw Mrs. Remington again although I heard that Mr. Remington
divorced her about a week after my severance speech. I still have her
panties though and every once in a while I still take them out and give them
a little sniff. The smell of her still remains on them to this day.