The Training Seminar

I’m sitting in a boring sales meeting my company arranged to motivate employees for the big holiday selling season. I’d managed to miss the last three, but I’d run out of believable excuses, so here I was, forced to be subjected to another dull class in motivational techniques.

After five years of being the number one sales manager in my district, there’s nothing I haven’t heard before, but at least I’m getting paid to sit on my ass for three hours. I shift uncomfortably in my chair trying to stay awake as the guest speaker, a Mark something or other, drones on and on about setting quotas and new products, which were only recycled items from previous years. They’re not paying me enough to put up with this torture, but I smile when asked a question and pretend some level of interest, if only not to insult the guy who is probably getting paid a hell of a lot more than I am to bore me to death.

Damn, I wish this Mark guy would quit asking me stupid questions. Of course I know the answers, I wrote the damn manual for God’s sake. I wonder if he knows this, and is only teasing me. He keeps throwing me oddly intense stares and a cute little grin with each annoying query. I resist the temptation to stick my tongue out at him when I answer, to let him know I’m aware of the game he’s playing. But that would be unprofessional.

I check my watch for the third time in the past fifteen minutes, counting the seconds until we break for lunch. Another excruciating hour to go, damn. I look back to the podium and see him watching me in disapproval. I feel as if I’d just been caught cheating in class. Did someone turn off the air conditioner?

I wish I’d worn pants, but decided to impress any corporate heads who might attend the meeting, so I wore my dark blue suit, which I knew brought out the subtle tones of my sapphire eyes. I wore my straight auburn hair pulled back and professional, but under cover of my jacket I had to free myself from the confines of my bra. Bras must have been invented by the same sadist who created these faux leather chairs my legs are sticking to.

I move to a different position and out of the corner of my eye, I catch the speaker staring at me. Is it my imagination, or is this guy’s attention focusing a bit too much in my direction? He’s not bad looking. Appears to be in his late forties, nice full sandy brown hair and without the usual middle-aged middle I normally see on men in my department.

His voice isn’t the common monotone of most speakers I’ve been subjected to. From the way my colleagues seem to be hanging on his every word, he certainly can command an audience. He does have nice hands and strong fingers, which he uses quite well to stress certain points in his presentation. I playfully wonder how they would feel stressing other, more intimate points?

A small shiver rushes though me and I pretend it’s the temperature of the room causing a chill as I pull my jacket over my shoulders. Why is it every time I look up, I see his eyes burning into me? And why is it that no one else in this room of over a hundred people seems to notice?

Ok, it’s only my overactive and very bored imagination, but the moisture which is beginning to seep through my panties is not a fantasy. I start to check my watch again, but freeze when I hear him call my name to come up to the podium to help him with the video portion of his presentation. What the hell does he need me for? But I have no reason to refuse, other than being unsure whether my knees have the strength to carry my body up the steps.

Accompanied by the applause of co-workers, I manage to make my way to the podium He smiles as I join him on the stage and motions for me to stand next to him, when he hands me the video control switch, his fingers brush lightly over my hand, accidently, I think. But accident or intent, my breathing is becoming a bit difficult.

I mentally chastise myself for my crazy thoughts, clear my tightening throat and try to concentrate on his instructions as to how he wants the show to proceed. His directions are simple, but there is something in his tone that is almost a warning that I’d better get it right the first time. And what’s worse, I feel as if there would be serious consequences if I didn’t do exactly as he said.

This is ridiculous! He’s only some jerk hired by my company to waste our time. I’ve already seen this video, and standing up here is demeaning. I’m just about to hand him the button and return to my seat, when the room goes dark and the projector lights up the screen. My eyes haven’t adjusted to the darkness, but I feel him move closer, his breath on my neck as he whispers in my ear, "Now, do exactly as I told you. No mistakes."

I press the switch and watch as each frame changes in perfect timing with the recorded description of each new product line. I’m beginning to think he only picked on me because I was sitting in the front row, until I feel his hand raise the back of my skirt and proceed to caress my ass. This was most definitely not my imagination. Startled, I missed his last cue, and was immediately reprimanded by a sharp slap which, fortunately could not be heard over the loud, obnoxious holiday music blaring from the speakers.

"I told you," he hissed, "No mistakes."

"I’m sorry, but..." I never was able to finish my sentence as he proceeded with the next section of slides, all the while rubbing the sting from my backside. I forced myself to concentrate on his presentation so as not to miss the next video change, until I felt his finger begin to encircle the small, dark opening and then slowly slide into my ass. I gasp and momentarily clos my eyes, almost missing switching the picture on the screen. I hit the button just in time. What the hell was he doing and why don’t I stop him? That was the question. The answer was, I didn’t want him to.

"That’s right, stay focused." I could hear the evil laughter in his voice and it was all I could do to not to fall off the stage. I felt another finger join the first one and I was shaking all over as he began to fuck me while everyone was watching the video only three feet to my right.

He shifted his position and began rubbing his thumb over my clit and into my now soaking cunt. I began moving against him, so very close to orgasm. Another second and I would have started singing quite a different Christmas Carol, but suddenly, he removed his hand, replaced my panties and motioned for the lights. I only barely noticed we had reached the end of the slide presentation.

He professionally thanked me for my help. Giving no indication that anything out of the ordinary had occurred, he announced a thirty minute lunch break. I made my way cautiously down the stairs, trying with great difficulty not to make eye contact with anyone who might have guessed what had been going on. To my relief everyone seemed much more interested being the first in the chow line than hanging around. Everyone except Mr. Finger Fuck himself. I began gathering my things when I felt him behind me.

"I noticed you weren’t paying attention to my seminar, Julie." He almost sounded offended.

I turned around to tell him exactly what I thought of his stupid moves and his boring seminar when I found myself staring into a pair of the most hypnotic hazel eyes I’ve ever seen. Three inches away from me under the flourescent lights, they sparkled with tiny gold flecks. I couldn’t move. It took every ounce of strength for me to reply.

"I’ve heard all of this before."

I wanted to tell him off, to tell him what he had done was unprofessional and I was going to report him, but what I really wanted was for him to finish what he started.

"I’m very good at what I do. I could teach you a few things, like respect."

Before I could reply, he pulled a chair out from the table, sat down and threw me over his knee. I felt my skirt rise over my ass and in one movement, he had my stocking and panties down to my knees. I don’t know what surprised me most, the fact that he would take such a chance of doing this in a public hotel room where anyone could walk in on us at any moment, or the loud crack of his hand on my ass, or how little pain and enormous pleasure I was getting from all of it. I moved my hips so that I could feel the roughness of his pants pressed against my now throbbing clit. I could feel him getting hard under me and wondered for a moment if it was true what they said about a man’s hands being an indication of the size of his penis. I didn’t have to wonder long.

Mark picked me up as easily as if I were a rag doll and bent me over the table. I heard him unzip his pants as his fingers returned to where they had been moments earlier. I hoped the cleaning crew would mistake the stain on the table cloth for spilled water, as the orgasm that had been halted moments before now overtook me in waves. I was dizzy with pleasure as I felt his hand come down on my now very tender cheeks again and again.

"Tell me what you want, beg me to fuck you. And it’s sir."

I grabbed the edges of the table, fearing my shaking body would cause it to collapse. Somehow I found my voice, quivering with the words he wanted me to say.

"Please, sir. Fuck me, now."

"And you’ll pay attention in class."

Mark put the fingers of his other hand inside my cunt and I drenched him with a flood of orgasmic juices. I would have told him anything he wanted, done anything he wanted so he wouldn’t stop. But talking was becoming impossible. In between gasps of orgasmic ecstasy, I managed to say

"And, I promise I’ll pay attention in class."

I felt the tip of his cock position itself at the entrance to my soul and when he thrust it inside of me, I screamed with the mixture of pleasure and pain as he took me as he’d promised and taught me things I’d never known. When I felt his orgasmic tremor fill me, I knew I would never miss another training seminar again.

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