Flirty, Fun Erotica
"IN FLAGRANTE DELICTO I. Arriving Singapore," a sex story by Sandra Annette Slater
Late June’s afternoon sun had just begun to burn off the lingering California gloom. On the poolside terrace of his parents’ Marin County home, the tip of Mark Vargas’ finger navigated a cursor across his MacBook’s 17-inch display while his girlfriend surveyed the page full of vintage video screen-captures.
“Click on that one,” Cheryl urged, pointing to the screen-clip of two bejeweled middle-aged women mid-step and each locked arm-in-arm with a mustachioed suitor in a three-piece suit, sans tie.
Inside, Mark’s mother had arrived home early from tennis at her husband’s country club. She saw the 20-year-olds through the family room’s open sliding doors, and stood, staring at them. Breathe, Marcia, she told herself. Just what are Mark and his friend up to out there?
With their backs to his mother, Mark sat at the white acrylic patio table next to his classmate from Menlo Park, Cheryl Sullivan, who stood giggling in a revealing two-piece swimsuit, her hand on her companion’s chiseled shoulder. She was unaware of the silhouetted parent watching from inside the house. Mark was starting goalie on the water polo squad at Gonzaga University; Cheryl a cheerleader for the men’s basketball team. They had both just completed their junior years and were home for the summer.
Marcia could see the computer screen from where she was. The man in the movie removed a gold chain necklace from the braless actress’s blouse before he raised the crepe fabric above her natural breasts, which he then zealously licked and nibbled. On cue, the other woman, displaying a crystal teardrop lavaliere with matching earrings, unfastened her evening cardigan and bra before fellating the actor’s partial erection, its unretracted foreskin protruding through the zipper on his pants like a Cyclops serpent’s gazing head.
Should I fidget or cough? Marcia wondered if she should get their attention, but instead opted to watch quietly and undetected. Suddenly, she sensed an outdoor shuffling sound as six of Mark’s water polo teammates – three from each side – appeared from the courtyard’s open wings. Oh my God, Marcia mouthed to herself as the muscled athletes stepped out of their Speedos, clad only in Gonzaga tee shirts with bulging penises in various stages of arousal.
Approaching the table while stroking their erections in silence, the water polo team gawked at the monitor as the threesome onscreen alternately suckled and tongued each other. When the yet clothed actor gently penetrated the uplifted, willing anus of the supine naked brunette, Marcia’s noticed that her son’s purple Speedo was wrapped loosely around his ankles.
“Enough…not in my house!” Marcia shouted from the house just as Cheryl was reaching down to caress Mark’s swollen member.
Mark turned sharply in the chair, facing his mother while trying to cover evidence of the receding excitement between his thighs with the palms of both hands. “Mom, it’s okay,” he snapped angrily. “We’re only masturbating.”
***
Marcia jerked forward in her first class armchair, awakening from the unsettling daydream. After nearly 19 hours, with a change of planes in Hong Kong, she was slouched over the lone leather lounger, her shoeless feet resting on an ottoman that converted into a flat bed in the nose of a Cathay Pacific Airbus’s main deck.
“Ms. Vargas,” the Asian airline attendant explained in practiced English, “I apologize for the turbulence. It is expected to end soon. We will be landing in Singapore in about one hour.”
Cords of smooth jazz resonated through her noise cancelling earphones as Marcia cleared the in-flight work area of printouts, BlackBerry, iPad, and the half-full wine glass of Chardonnay she had consumed. Her mind began to drift. The executive often reflected about the stress of balancing her career with a husband of 23 years and family, but the long flight from San Francisco amplified the feelings of restlessness Marcia had over the absence of passion in her marriage. These days, she often fantasized about college life and permissive sex.
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Twenty-year veteran of the food industry and lawyer by training, Eugene Pearce was CEO of Bay Area Global Nutraceuticals. With a headful of salt-and-pepper hair, he appeared fit and youthful for his early fifties, a compelling leader with an executive presence and the swagger of an on-camera George Clooney.
Having hand-picked his direct reports, Pearce hired the fiery Marcia Vargas in 2006, noting that, like him, she had earned an undergraduate degree from Boston College. Seven years his junior, the 46-year-old Vargas was not only savvy, but quick-witted and, at times, alluring—and she had earned her recent promotion to Chief Logistics Officer.
It rained for nearly an hour after Marcia’s flight landed midday on Wednesday, and the tropical heat lingered during the breezeless afternoon. After a shower and change of clothes, she was eye-catching, seated with her iPad and a mineral water in the hotel’s Writers Bar. Most of the tables were occupied in the elegant colonial lobby lounge that celebrated authors who stayed in Singapore and wrote about the island city-state just north of the equator. Time to enjoy a quiet luncheon—just my charming, demanding boss and me, Marcia thought, contemplating the ambience of the exotic venue surrounding her.
“Guess I’m at the right place,” Marcia exclaimed when she looked up to see her smiling supervisor. He wore gray slacks with a navy blazer over his white polo shirt. She extended a right hand.
“If it’s Singapore, it’s gotta be Raffles Hotel,” Gene declared, declining the handshake. He bent down and embraced his trim team-leader. “Welcome to Asia. Our meeting isn’t until six tonight. Let’s order you a Singapore Sling,” he suggested, after a fleeting glance at the distinctive goblets filled with cherry-colored cocktails in front of a younger couple sitting at an adjacent teak table-for-two.
“You look terrific and settled, Marcia Vargas,” Gene said as he seated himself. He noticed the fresh caramel highlights in her shoulder-length auburn hair; the slight cleavage above the scooped neckline of her black satin sheath dress further stirred his interest. “I got in yesterday from Honolulu where the wife and I were relaxing for a couple of days,” the CEO revealed. “Is this your first visit to the East?” He tried not to stare at the sweeping arc of Marcia’s breasts beneath the gathered bodice.
He doesn’t really know me at all, Marcia thought. She had vacationed with her husband on Thailand’s Phuket Island where they celebrated their twentieth wedding anniversary in Bangkok three years earlier. Seize the opportunity—on business with a handsome boss, halfway round the world—who knows what could happen, she rationalized. But the journey’s urgency remained a mystery to her, and she was anxious to learn its purpose.
As instructed by the CEO’s admin who had phoned ten days earlier, Marcia carved out five compressed days on her Outlook Calendar, executed a boilerplate Nondisclosure & Confidentiality Agreement, and was surprised upon receipt of the emailed itinerary that she would be going to Southeast Asia overnight, then to Australia at week’s end, followed by a flight home to the west coast with the chief executive in time for the Fourth of July.
Gene ordered a Hendrick’s Martini and the Singapore Sling for Marcia. When the drinks arrived, he slowly stirred his as he began to explain the work that was to be done. Speaking in a near whisper, just loud enough to be heard above the refrains of the piano and bass musicians in the background, Gene rested a palm over the knuckles of Marcia’s left hand and laid out the classified plan.
“I want you to present Global Neutraceutical’s supplement sourcing strategy to a local attorney and a group of investment bankers I’ve engaged to advise about a potential acquisition in Australasia. Simply refer to the confidential project as ‘Boomerang.’ Did you bring the procurement printouts? We’ll finalize a PowerPoint presentation on your iPad over lunch. There’s a parlor in my suite, where we’ll do the presentation this evening before dinner. Can we keep the presentation, including questions, to about an hour?”
“Of course,” Marcia answered, making direct eye contact with her superior. She was flattered by the invitation to partner with the CEO on a significant transaction in the southern hemisphere.
“We’re on the Qantas 9:40 morning flight to Sydney tomorrow and should arrive at our hotel before midnight. We’ll tour two processing plants first thing Friday. I know it’s an aggressive timetable. Are you up to it, Ms. Vargas?” Pearce asked, motioning in the direction of the waiter to bring a wine list and requesting menus.
More than an hour of strategic planning passed, followed by a shared entrée of lamb ribs with juniper berry paste and a New Zealand Pinot Noir. Conversation naturally shifted to things like paying for children’s college and the foibles of marriage. Fueled by the spirits and wine, the colleagues’ banter was sprinkled with laughter. Then Gene positioned his hand over one of Marcia’s knees. “Sydney is hosting a lifestyle and health expo this weekend. Want to go with me when it opens Friday afternoon?”
Exhale, Marcia, she reminded herself, grinning at the executive’s unexpected, bold invitation. “Ah, that sounds more like a sex expo than a health fair,” she submitted. “I think I’ll pass.”
“Sydney’s a lot like San Francisco. It’s an opportunity, Marcia, to experience the Aussie culture,” her boss suggested in lawyerlike fashion, producing a printout from the breast pocket of his blazer. “I downloaded this from the Internet. You’re partially right,” Gene admitted, scanning the paper. “It’s billed as a ‘couples-friendly exposition that explores adult lifestyles and sexuality.’ Come on, it’ll be fun—and it’s my treat.”
Untitled 2 by Justin Thai
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Impressing the CEO’s advisors in Singapore with her Boomerang presentation and successfully navigating tours of food supplement processing operations in Sydney, the logistics’ executive felt adventurous in the wintery air of a mild July day Down Under. She also felt in kinship with her imposing boss.
Would my husband, obsessed with improving his golf handicap, tear himself away from the links of Marin Country Club and invite me to a sex fair? Marcia mockingly asked herself as the two exited a cab in front of the VIP port to Hordern Pavilion. Gene held open the door and reached for her hand.
“G’Day, and welcome to The Hordern,” a youthful, female attendant greeted them. She was dressed like a college cheerleader in a white sweater, with the words SEXPO 2010 printed across her fitted top in maroon script. She hung VIP lanyards over their necks. “I’m Catherine, and if you’ll wait with the other guests under the canopy marked ‘Reception,’ I’ll formally introduce you to the exposition shortly.”
Marcia and Gene took their seats under the awning. There were a large number of men already seated, a few, smaller groups of women, and a number of scattered couples. Another coed-aged greeter handed out green fabric tote bags with the words “Compliments of Astroglide” printed in purple above the rendering of a curved vial of the advertised personal lubricant. Inside, there was an assortment of pamphlets. There was also a sample of lube.
“Didn’t you call this a health and lifestyle show?” Marcia asked lightheartedly. “So why the young lady’s SEXPO logo on her pullover, and what are we supposed to do with Astroglide?” she rhetorically inquired.
Gene didn’t get a chance to answer.
“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. If I can have your attention, please look inside your VIP bags and take out the single-page overview of the exhibit hall, courtesy of The Sydney Morning Herald, one of our presenting sponsors. Please follow along with me so I can ensure an enjoyable visit,” hostess Catherine instructed.
“Our arena offers rows of booths, featuring every imaginable sex toy manufactured on the planet, as well as condoms and lubes. Closer to the interior is an area devoted to fetishes, along with the latest lingerie and fantasy outfits. Marked in the upper right of your handout, check out the small stage where you’ll find pole dancing instructors. This is beside the section for clothing-optional resorts, retreats, and even some nude cruises. In the open center of the hall, look for displays advertising new adult film releases from studios around the world. And say hello to featured actresses who will be signing take-home posters throughout the afternoon,” Catherine continued, occasionally referring to her manuscript. Her voice resembled a silky voiceover infomercial on AM radio.
“Let me guess,” Marcia whispered into Gene’s ear. “She’s referring to sex divas who go by first names like Bambi or Jasmine!”
“So you’re a porn aficionado?” Gene whispered back.
“Not really,” Marcia replied, a teasing tone in her voice. “But I’m into toys.”
Catherine’s instructions continued. “Two enclosed theater tents on either side of the arena are screening continuous adult DVDs, and later this afternoon local bands will perform on the Global Beat Stage adjoining the roped-off Attendee Café. The café will offer a variety of food and beverages. If you take the nearby escalator, there’s a VIP lounge on the mezzanine level above Wicked Studio’s booth from Los Angeles—be sure to drop by for complimentary tequila shooters. Finally, help yourself to giveaways as you visit with our merchants—whom also accept major credit cards for purchases—but first look for discount coupons included with your souvenir bags,” Catherine concluded. There was polite applause from a handful of frisky businessmen from Japan.
Initially, Marcia tried to avoid eye contact with attendees and exhibitors, feeling sheepish in the sexually charged environment as she leisurely followed Gene down a perimeter aisle then up into the interior of diverse adult-oriented vendors.
Like freshly harvested vegetables at a farmers’ market, the adult toys were plentiful. There were dildos, dongs, masturbation sleeves, remote control vibrating eggs, and anal probes of every dimension and texture—“Health aids,” Gene observed—along with battery operated vibrators in unique shapes and sizes, some with suction cups and electric plugs, some with cordless remotes.
“Just stop me, Marcia, if you see something interesting,” the CEO urged as they shuffled forward. They were surrounded by what appeared to be an inquisitive mix of men and women, anywhere from 18 to mid-60s, who were stopping, chatting, and, when something piqued one’s interest, test-operating the variable speeds of handheld phalluses or poking simulated latex vaginas.
As the opening day crowd thinned, Gene paused in front of a stand with a large fuchsia sign marked Paradise Fantasies. A middle-aged pitchperson with an Aussie accent named Rhonda (or so her nametag read) held a humming Rabbit Vibrator upright. One palm supported the toys’s illuminated base controls, and two fingers of her other hand were wrapped around the rotating bearings just beneath the vinyl gyrating glans. “G’Day mates. Have you seen our multifunction Impulse Snow Bunny?” Rhonda asked, inviting Marcia to inspect the distinctively shaped, white, molded erection. “This model is kickass – every woman should own a Rabbit,” the presenter opined, her Australian inflection slightly rising at the end of the statement, as if she were asking a question.
Marcia rashly inserted the tip of her pinky between the quivering, whitish ears of the pseudo rabbit-head connected to the center of the masturbator. Go slow; maintain control. Am I out of my mind? Marcia asked herself. Sensing her guest’s reaction, the demonstrator affectionately moved the rotating cockhead against Marcia’s cheek.
“Hon, here…you try it,” the vendor implored, passing the whirring cordless vibrator to Gene. Looking at Marcia’s face, her supervisor delicately pressed the length of the erection-like revolving shaft against her arm just above the wrist. “How’s that, love?” he asked, winking at her.
“I can think of more imaginative places to enjoy it,” Marcia responded flirtatiously.
“Unfortunately, I’ve got to return a call from Singapore and go to the bathroom,” Gene said. “I’ll meet you around 2:45 this afternoon at the VIP lounge for a tequila shooter.” He gestured above the exhibit floor.
He just doesn’t know me, Marcia mused about the smug Eugene Pierce as she moseyed around the cavernous arena alone. Forgotten memories of ecstasy popped up in her mind…the Napa Valley bed ‘n breakfast where Marcia enjoyed explicit DVDs with her husband and, after tonguing each other’s anuses, settled into a spoon position as he daringly penetrated her lubricated behind with his excited, oiled cock, inserting a pulsing dildo in her vagina at the same time…the Four Seasons Resort in Santa Barbara where, wrapped in plush robes within the privacy of its eucalyptus spa, she knelt before her spouse with the ardor of a porn starlet and devotedly fellated him until he ejaculated over her nose and chin.
Now, years later, Marcia often celebrated her sexuality alone, encircled by scented soy candles in the solitude of her hot tub. She used a quivering, waterproof iVibe that she positioned beneath the spa’s illuminated aqua jets and pressed against the length of her tumescent clit.
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Half-filled tradeshow bags at their sides and tipsy from sipping shots of El Tesoro Añejo Tequila with salt and wedges of lime above porn central, Marcia and her mentor exited Hordern Pavilion hand-in-hand chuckling over the spectacle of their experience together.
“Take us to Darling Harbor,” Gene instructed the cabby. He lightly grasped Marcia’s hand in the retreat of the taxi’s backseat.
“He means Darling Harbour,” Marcia brashly corrected in earshot of the driver, emphatically slurring the Aussie pronunciation for the marina, a popular pedestrian precinct of restaurants and pubs. Then she leaned across and spontaneously kissed her leader on his lips. “Thank you for the invitation, Mr. Pearce. I had fun at SEXPO today.”
An hour past sunset they settled into a corner booth at the popular Fish & Wind Co., They enjoyed the sweeping views of Cockle Bay, as well as freshly prepared ceviche, with signature seared ahi and crab cake appetizers, accompanied by perfectly chilled pints of Modelo Especial Pilsner.
“I’ve changed our flights home. We’re booked on the new Airbus A380 late afternoon tomorrow, around 3:15 to Singapore,” Gene said.
“Is that the new double-deck jetliner?” Marcia asked.
“Yes, and our reservations are for a first class suite that ought to be spectacular,” Gene added in a conciliatory tone. “…Champagne and a designer bedspread with a flat-screen TV…”
“I read about A380 suites in the Financial Times. We get the privacy of full-sized beds on Singapore Airlines?” Marcia was delighted.
“Spot on, my dear, but it’s a double bed! You’ll have to change planes at Changi Airport, since I’ll be staying in Singapore for a few more days, and you’ll have another stop in Seoul, but I want us to experience the A380 together—at least part of the way. It will be worth the extra dinero and flying time,” the boss advised. “Let’s head back to the Marriott. It’s only a 20-minute walk from the waterfront.”
A rather ordinary, highrise hotel at the end of Hyde Park, Gene had scored junior suites on the twenty-second executive level with floor-to-ceiling windows framing a stunning panorama of East Sydney and Woolloomooloo Bay.
Approaching the Marriott from across the park and holding hands on College Street like campus sweethearts, the attractive couple window-shopped and people-watched, strolling through New South Wales’ central business district where tourists and students had enjoyed the abbreviated daylight of a recently passed winter solstice.
Take it slowly, Marcia. Let go of your heart; get a grip on your head, she thought as they shared the hotel’s elevator absent any conversation up to the concierge floor.
“Want to enjoy a nightcap together, Marcia?” Gene offered. “Penfolds Australian Grange rivals French Bordeaux!”
“Tequila and beer were enough today,” she begged. “No grape tonight—I can barely keep my eyes open.”
Sliding a plastic security card into the slot of her corner suite’s hallway entrance and opening the door, they stepped inside together. Gene cupped Marcia’s chin with his hand and tenderly drew her mouth to his before an audience of shimmering city nightlights framed by the shade of former docklands at the head of Sydney’s famed harbor.
“I learned things today at the exhibition about a woman’s pleasure, and I want to take you where you’ve never been before. I’ll open up the interior door between our rooms—I’m very attracted to you, Marcia. Come on, Carpe Diem, mate. We can sleep in tomorrow; our flight leaves on the late side,” the CEO pleaded. His hand pressed against her breast.
Relax, Marcia, she deliberated. Fantasizing about secret lovers and covert trysts is one thing, but you can’t sleep with your boss. She lifted his hand from the fabric of her ivory cotton blouse. “No, Gene, not tonight,” Marcia sighed.
To be continued....
Copyright 2011, Sandra Annette Slater
Published with permission from author on OystersandChocolate.com. Copying or reprinting this work in part or in whole without permission is illegal.
