Quite an Uplifting Speech

One

It felt strange but good to be back in the office after so long. I missed the buzz of the workplace, the banter with the guys and the evenings in the pub after work. As a result, I was one of the first to take up the offer of getting back in. A fair few had joined me as things began to get back to normal - or as near as they could.

The 'New Normal' seemed to be the universal term for it. Whether or not it would be any different remained to be seen.

Quite a few people I knew loved the idea of working from home and had become used to it. No nasty commutes at the mercy of Transport for London and the rail franchises that provide the unreliable services into the capital. And no telling looks if you were back from lunch late or sloped off home or to the pub a few minutes early.

Some were still reluctant to come back after so long and I couldn't blame them. We had been through a lot in the last year and a fair few had fallen foul of the disease that swept over us in a tidal wave. Most of them had recovered fully. One or two still felt the long-term effects and sadly, three that we knew of in the eight regional offices across the globe would never again have to worry about commuting to work. None of them had been in the 'at-risk' category - a salutary reminder that the fell disease could strike at random and bring devastation in its wake.

We had been back for two weeks and it was a big day. A rallying speech by Madeleine Colton, our CEO, to welcome us back, remember our fallen colleagues and look to a brighter future. It would be a stripped-down version of her usual addresses -- only around sixty of us would be there in person, in one of the smaller conference rooms in our huge Canary Wharf offices. Over four hundred of us had attended the previous company meeting, prior to the pandemic, at a plush Park Lane hotel with hundreds more watching down the line in our other locations.

This time it would be a little less ostentatious, with smaller gatherings in each office and many dialling in from home.

As ever, when waiting for one of Madeleine's events, time dragged. She was a skilled orator and everyone looked forward to her inspirational words. This time, we needed them more than ever. We needed to hear her calm, measured and warm Yorkshire accent reassure us that the future was rosy after the dark days we had endured.

I glanced at my watch -- one-thirty. Still ninety minutes until we assembled on the floor below. As colleagues chatted aimlessly around me, I recalled the previous meeting over a year ago. At the time, we all thought it would only be a short gap until the next one. How wrong we were.

It was February 2020. Most of continental Europe was locking down. Everyone could see it coming. At least everyone except for those that were elected to govern the country. While they delayed and dallied, things got worse by the minute and nothing was done to stop it. As with the rest of us, Madeleine knew all too well what was about to unfold and decided we should go out with a bang before everything ground to a halt.

The 'Park Lane Bash,' as it became known, was a blow-out by any standards. Even for a company known for its excess in celebrating success, it was extravagant. There was a fin de siècle feeling about the whole thing. A last waltz. The end of an era. We knew that all too soon, things were going to be very different.

We just didn't know how different.

Madeleine and some of the heads of department tried to keep our spirits up before the real partying began with speeches about how we would get through it individually and as a whole. After the formal part of the evening, the food was amazing and the banter at the dinner table laced with gallows humour as we tried to make light of the oncoming storm. It was a company directive that people from the same departments and divisions were kept apart and it was nice to converse with colleagues we barely knew over fine food and wine. Over the years, some strong friendships had been made as a result.

This time, six of my seven dining companions were great fun and the table rang with laughter and good humour. The seventh person was an exception -- a taciturn woman of around forty years old, the Deputy Director of our newest office in Mumbai, India. They had only been on board for a few months and she was in London for the director's meeting that preceded the event. She was certainly a very elegant and attractive lady, but Indira Chandra seemed to look down her long, aquiline nose at the rest of us as though we were a bunch of unruly children. She may well have been right, but given the circumstances, maybe a little leeway was required.

Once the dinner was finished and the covers band struck up, she disappeared for long periods, which was at odds with the usual company culture of mixing and fraternising. I wasn't a great one for dancing myself but was prepared to put up with it for one night as a relatively new girl in a neighbouring department had caught my eye.

When I saw her boogying energetically with Shaun Price, I knew I was out of luck. The look on her face said it all and once Shaun had his claws into someone, no-one else had a look-in. I had a few stumbling hops with girls I knew and as the evening drew to a close, reluctantly had to admit that I would not be taking anyone back to my room at another hotel a couple of blocks away. The late booking of the shindig meant we were scattered over a few nearby hotels and some lucky people would only have a short elevator ride to their homes for the night.

Having been blown out for the third or fourth time, I headed back to the dinner table to refresh myself with some of the generous allocation of wine that remained. The enigmatic Ms. Chandra sat all by herself, tapping at her phone. I had barely spoken to her all night thanks to her reticence and aloofness. Having partaken of a fair amount of said wine, I wondered if maybe she would grace the dancefloor with me.

As I poured myself a cheeky glass of Merlot, she never even looked up from her phone. That clinched it for me. She obviously had no interest in making any effort to mix, so I decided to press the issue and force her into either accepting my invitation or be seen as the party-pooper by her refusal.

In the interests of the spirit of the company's ethics, I would try and break her layer of permafrost and ask her to dance. The hour was getting late and there could only be about three songs left, so it would be a short ordeal one way or the other.

It didn't need an expert in body-language to read her expression of disdain as I spoke her name with my hand outstretched and nodded to the dancefloor. For a moment, I thought she was going to refuse, but maybe she too remembered the company ethic and rose from her seat, reluctance oozing from every pore.

Her fingers barely brushed mine as I led her to the floor. I tried to coax her into the throng, but she stayed resolutely on the edge, close to the table we had occupied. It was as awkward as I expected as I set up my usual, graceless sway and she studiously ignored me, never making eye contact. I felt it was only the proximity of the table behind her that stopped her from backing away from me.

But I was surprised at the grace with which she danced. Her arms and upper body moved in elegant, sinuous curves. Almost like a Bollywood dancer, her arrogant, aloof expression only added to the allure. She seemed to flow with the music and I found her quite mesmeric. Her sheer silver cocktail dress contrasted with her café au lait skin in a very appealing way. Once warmed to her task, her silky, waist-length black hair shone under the lights and glitterballs and I suddenly began to see Ms. Indira Chandra in a very different light - even if it was pretty obvious that the feeling was not reciprocated.

As the first song ended, I fully expected her to return to her seat. Then the band leader announced their last up-tempo song of the night before the inevitable last, slow smooch, and to my surprise she stayed on the dance floor.

The same pattern followed as the band tore it up and did a very passable version of Chic's 'Le Freak.' Ms. Chandra lost herself in the funky beat as the guitarist channelled his inner Nile Rodgers, and though the bass player was no Bernard Edwards, he tried valiantly and carried the groove. I could barely take my eyes from her as she moved in perfect time to the music, in a world of her own.

Little by little, the band took it down before moving seamlessly into a slow burn for the final song of the night. Now, I really did expect her to turn tail towards the empty dinner table, but she moved towards me and with only the briefest of looks, took me in her arms, her head turned away from me.

Utterly stunned, I put my arms around her slim shoulders. If I was hopeless at energetic dancing, I was a complete disaster area when it came to the more intimate stuff. I never knew quite where to put my hands or what was the correct etiquette. However, I knew that at least two long-lasting relationships in the office had begun over these last dances, and briefly wondered if this may give me the chance to cement Anglo-Indian relations.

I knew before the first chorus that I was in trouble. That close, her musky perfume and the smell of her soft, silky hair acted as something of an aphrodisiac. Add to that the sleek, shiny fabric of her dress beneath my wandering hands and her warm breath against my neck and I realised I was fighting a losing battle. Then there was the soft press of her breasts against my chest and, despite my clumsiness, her still sinuous movements. As we slowly gyrated together, I couldn't but wonder what she would feel like in a more intimate clinch.

Then the inevitable happened, and for me that has never been a good thing. I am what some people would call 'well-endowed' and in certain circumstances, it can become very apparent very quickly I am somewhat aroused. This was no exception, and as Ms. Chandra was a tall woman, I knew it would not be long before she felt the press of something long and hard against her taut stomach. I tried to will it down, screaming inwardly for it to desist, but to no avail.

I find my size a blessing and a curse. It has scared off a few girls over the years and also attracted a fair few more. I was glad I couldn't see her face, nor she mine, as I knew I must be blushing at my indiscretion. For a moment, she danced on as if oblivious or too polite to notice. I was appalled but didn't want to break the clinch as it would have been so obvious as to why. To make matters worse, she was from a different culture. I usually had no idea how an English girl in a situation like this would react until I was either slapped or kissed. All I could do was pray I hadn't crossed an unwritten line. And to cap it all, the woman was the bloody Deputy Director of one of the overseas offices. It had disaster written all over it.

Then she reacted.

Her body stiffened in my grasp and she stepped away slightly, opening a gap between us at hip level, though still maintaining her grip on my shoulders. We swayed on unsteadily for a few more bars of music, then it became too much for her and she broke away from me, her nostrils flared.

I fully expected a hard slap across the face but she merely glared at me for a long moment, then spoke in a soft voice that barely carried across the music. "James, isn't it?" Her expression oozed contempt.

I nodded, wanting the ground to swallow me up.

"Well, James. All I can say is, you are a very rude man." And with that she turned tail and walked the few steps back to the table. She snatched her bag from the back of a chair and I took what I expected to be my final sight of those tight buttocks encased in that gorgeous, sleek fabric.

It was approaching one o'clock on Saturday morning. It was a very long time until work resumed on Monday and I was going to have all of that time to consider whether I would still have a job by then.

The music phased out into white noise as she opened her bag and pulled out a room card. As she turned back to me, I expected a final, well-deserved volley, but she merely shook the card out from the cardboard envelope, which she then threw down on the table with a dismissive flick of her hand.

As the band played on, she gave me a hard stare, then glanced back at the envelope. Everything then went into slow motion as her head swung around once more, long hair swirling around her shoulders. I swallowed hard as she raised one eyebrow and looked towards the elevators. Then she walked slowly towards them, absently tapping her key-card on her other hand. She pressed the call button, never looking back. It took a few seconds for the doors to open and she stepped inside. Just as they closed behind her, she turned and held up both hands to me, fingers splayed.

To emphasise her gesture, she mouthed two words. "Ten minutes."

In a daze, I crossed to the table and picked up the envelope. Written on it were the words, 'Ms. Chandra. 714.'

Room 714. Ten minutes. Had I just got that lucky?

Behind me, the band milked it for all they were worth, repeating the chorus ad infinitum as couples smooched and in some cases snogged. I poured myself another glass of wine and hid an almost full bottle under my chair. She had been drinking red and I hoped we may need it later. I quickly dialled up the company website on my phone and found the 'News' section. I scrolled down to a few months earlier when the opening of the Mumbai office was announced. Sure enough, there she was, her hair wound up around her head in an elaborate swirl, wearing a beautiful dark green saree.

She looked amazing and her smile was radiant as she gazed out of the small screen, soft brown eyes alive with life. I then realised I had not seen her smile all through the meal or afterwards. I hoped I would get to see more of it very soon as she looked stunning. The brief bio gave her age as thirty-nine. Given the article was over nine months old, she was probably forty now, but having seen her close-up, there was no way she looked her age.

Had a hot looking woman, some fourteen years my senior, really just come on to me?

The band finally ground to a halt to a smattering of applause and I picked up the wine bottle and headed for the elevators. No way did I want to get caught up in the rush. We were in the hotel basement and no doubt people would soon head upstairs and start to disperse to other hotels in the area. I didn't want questions to be asked or suspicions raised.

I called the elevator and tried to calm my racing heart and hoped Ms. Indira Chandra was not setting me up for a fall. As the doors opened and the disembodied voice vouchsafed we were on floor seven, I saw a sign that pointed off to the right, to rooms 701-725. I followed the corridor around a few convoluted bends and took a deep breath as I approached room 714, wishing I had taken the opportunity to visit the ablutions in case I had spinach stuck to my teeth or red wine dribbles on my dress shirt.

I tapped softly on the door and stood back a few feet so as not to appear too intimidating. I had rehearsed my opening line on the way up.

After what seemed like an eternity, the door opened and she regarded me with an amused expression on her face. "James, what a nice surprise. Have you come to apologise?"

I inclined my head; glad I had the perfect opening for my intended line. "Indeed Ms. Chandra. I would like to apologise profusely and sincerely for my rudeness on the dance floor." I held up the wine bottle. "Maybe a peace offering?"

"Maybe. Please come in so we can discuss the matter in private." She stepped back from the door and I took a few steps forward into her room and pushed the door closed behind me.

Those soft brown eyes smouldered into mine as she regarded me, hands on her hips, wide nostrils flared as they had been down in the ballroom. I gave her the wine, which she put on a small table next to the door.

It was her turn to take a deep breath. "I will accept your apology, James. You see, the thing is, I just fucking love rudeness. Quite honestly, the ruder the better." She took a step forward. "And don't get me started on how that fucking cock of yours felt against my belly."

Another step and she pushed me hard in the chest. I stumbled backwards and the door crashed against my back.

"I want that cock in my mouth. In my dirty little cunt. In my tight ass. In short, I want you, James. However rude you are, you are no match for me. You started this -- I'll decide when it's finished, do I make myself clear?"

God, that dirty talk in her clipped Indian accent was such a turn-on. I just hoped I could live up to her expectations. "Perfectly clear, Ms. Chandra."

"Good. How big is that thing, James?"

"Just under ten inches."

My revelation was met with a non-committal shrug. "Fuck it, I've still never got to fuck one in double figures. Never mind, it's usually ten centimetres, so nearly ten inches will have to do."

Then she pinned me to the door and the best weekend of my life so far began.

The first time was purely a rabbit-fuck. No finesse, no foreplay - unless her dragging me backwards across the room by my bow-tie is considered to be foreplay. Her panties had been dispensed with before I arrived, so once my trousers hit the floor, it was up with that lovely silver dress and away we went. Seeing my erection glide in between her beautiful, coffee-coloured outer lips was such a turn on. Long legs clamped around my buttocks and I was urged on in English and Hindi until we both shuddered to a climax within seconds of each other.

We lay in a tangled heap, panting for breath and she purred. "I told you I like rude, didn't I?"

I kissed her on the nose. "You certainly did."

Her grin was pure wickedness. "Then how's this for rude? How's this as a taste of things to come?"

With that, she held herself open so I got my first real view of the wonderful contrast between her darker skin and her pink inner lips. Two fingers slipped inside then withdrew, slathered in my mess. She held them to her lips and sucked them clean before going back for a second load. This time, she scooped out a lot more and let it slowly dribble into her open mouth from her fingertips as I watched on, feeling this was going to be a very special night indeed.

The woman was utterly feral and by the time we finally succumbed to sleep as dawn broke, I had heard much more dirty talk from her, a lot of it in Hindi. She was the first woman to take me all the way in her mouth with ease. At one stage, as she lay on the edge of the bed with her head back, long hair trailing on the floor, she proudly pointed to the spot on her throat I had reached. It made me want to gag just looking at it, but it felt bloody marvellous.

Around nine o'clock next morning, I woke to a fabulous sensation down below and when I pulled the single sheet from around my waist, she grinned up at me around my morning glory, her hair tangled around her face. She looked about eighteen and I thanked God I had asked her to dance and had my little indiscretion.

I stroked her face. "Erm, look Indira, there's a slight problem."

If it was possible to frown around someone's erect cock, then she managed it. I assumed the muffled words she tried to form were, "What problem?"

I held up my wristwatch. "I need to check out of my hotel by ten. I'm afraid that the company paid for a very expensive changing room for me last night. It's ok, it's only two hundred yards away. I'll be back before you know it."

She pulled me out of her mouth with a pop and slapped my wet erection down on my tummy, a sulky look on her face. "Hurry back then. I've got a lot more plans for you before I leave tomorrow."

I took her spare room card and was back within twenty minutes. When I returned, she was propped up on her pillows, legs wide apart, a huge black vibrator throbbing away between her legs. She looked up at me and shrugged. "Your fault -- I got bored."