Sweaty Mess to Sweet Success

Author's Note

: Hello Literotica lovelies - I ' m a long time reader, first time contest enter-er. This story is for the

Summer Lovin' Story Contest 2022

, and should appeal to anyone who likes a little character building before the juicy stuff. Hope you enjoy! Your votes and feedback are much appreciated!

*****

The blast of muggy air hit Bianca in the face like the world's grossest water balloon as it dumped her through the revolving doors of the airport into the brutal sunshine of an August afternoon in Dallas. "Jesus fuck," Bianca muttered aloud, "I hate summer."

Her pupils flitted across various signage until she spotted something that pointed to passenger pick-up. Despite the withering heat, Bianca strode at her usual confident pace in the direction the sign indicated. She made walking in 4.75 inch Louboutin patent leather pumps look like a Sunday stroll in slippers.

Glancing at the time on her phone, Bianca realized that deplaning and retrieving her suitcase had taken way longer than expected, and her strut slipped into a hustle. Her heels clicked rapidly on the concrete as her roller bag bumped along behind her. She

had

to make it to the lake before the yacht left the dock.

Bianca had hoped to have time to stop by her hotel room and change before heading to the corporate event. She was wearing her typical traveling attire for a work trip: an ivory blouse tucked into a charcoal pencil skirt; a burgundy moto jacket that bordered between edgy and professional; and sheer pantyhose tinted just enough to prevent her pale legs from blinding people. The outfit was perfect for the cool cabin during a flight, but an extremely poor choice for a gathering in the sweltering Texan heat.

Most of the time, Bianca had an uncanny ability to avoid situations that might cause her to sweat. Her business travel involved heading from one air-conditioned place to another: office buildings, taxi cabs, hotels, restaurants. At home, her thermostat was set to a cool but comfortable 69 degrees. She went out on weekends when she wasn't working, but typically stayed inside -- in movie theaters, shopping malls, museums, and cafes. The bulk of her vacation was saved for the winter; she had ventured to a different ski resort every year for the past 11 years, since she was old enough to rent a car without having to pay a young driver surcharge.

Bianca's impulse to control her temperature went beyond the surrounding environment; she also practiced breathing techniques to remain tranquil in even the most stressful situations.

Nevertheless, here she was, loathing the feeling of perspiration gathering between her breasts and nestling in the lacy fabric of her bra.

Under any other circumstances, she would have made an excuse to bow out of a trip like this, but this particular event was too important to miss -- Adam Merrone, Damanco's Chief Strategy Officer, was going to be here. He was responsible for deciding who would take over the recently vacated role of VP of Strategic Development for North America. In other words: the position Bianca had been eyeballing for the past two years. She was well qualified for the job, but savvy enough to realize that her qualifications alone wouldn't cut it; she had to play the personal politics game.

So she had come here. To the deep South. To attend an outdoor event where she needed to charm the hell out of some bigwig. "All while sweating my fucking ass off," she grumbled. She didn't normally curse so much, but this weather brought out the worst in her.

*****

Bianca swiftly made it to the Uber pick-up area and checked her phone to see how much longer it would be before her driver arrived. Three minutes - perfect. She scanned the app to see what kind of car she should be looking for.

"A Plymouth Horizon?" she scoffed, "Do they even make those anymore?" She glanced down the line of cars and spied a powder blue hatchback that looked like it had seen better decades. "Ugh, I guess not."

When the vehicle was a few car lengths away, she slunk toward it and hovered uncertainly by the rear door. She watched the shadowy head of the driver lean across the seat and crank down the window on the front passenger side.

Bianca arched an eyebrow. "Holy shit," she mused quietly, "I don't think I've seen someone manually roll down a car window this

century

."

A man's voice chimed from the window. "Bianca?"

"Yes, that's me," she replied. "Can you please put my bag in the back? If it took that much work to open the window, I can't even imagine what you have to go through to open the trunk."

He chuckled, "Sure thing." As he stepped out to grab her bag, Bianca slipped into the backseat and shut the door quickly, hoping to seal herself in a cocoon of blissful air conditioning. Sadly, the old car was struggling to combat the temperature outside.

"I'm in Texas, for Christ's sake," Bianca groaned, "Why can't my Uber be a gas guzzling SUV that could put icicles on my twat?"

Before her aggravation could boil over, Bianca closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, picturing a majestic iceberg in her mind. Meanwhile, she heard the front door open and close again, a heavy plop into a fabric seat, and the click of a seatbelt.

"Sorry, Miss," came the driver's voice, "You look like someone who's used to traveling in much more style than this." Bianca could tell he was embarrassed. He was absolutely right, but she didn't want him to feel bad.

She shrugged and offered, "No, it's fine. I'm fine. I'll just be back here, picturing gelato and snowy mountaintops in my mind."

The driver laughed at what he assumed was a joke, but then trailed off when he glanced in the rearview mirror to see Bianca's eyelids down and her lips pursed in concentration.

He cleared his throat and changed the subject. "So it looks like we're headed to... Lewisville Lake, is that right?" It was rhetorical small talk. He started following the directions on the app before his passenger replied.

Bianca was tempted to ignore him and focus on her meditation, but decided to be polite. "Yep. From what I heard, my company chartered the biggest damned boat on the lake for dinner and a sunset cruise."

"Oh yeah? Who do you work for?"

"Oh, um, Damanco. You heard of them?" Bianca responded with feigned nonchalance. She didn't want to sound pretentious, but knew that the name of the conglomerate typically raised eyebrows.

"Yeah, sure, who hasn't? Big company -- I imagine they throw a good party. For how many people? Like, 50?"

Bianca smirked. "Try quadrupling that. They're bringing in senior management from all around the country. Many of us have never met each other in person."

The driver let out a low whistle. "Is there a special occasion?"

Bianca had been so focused on her own ambitions for this trip, she had to rack her brain to remember the main purpose of the event.

"Er, yes," she mumbled as she tapped her temples, "The founder is retiring. I guess they wanted to do his farewell celebration in his hometown."

The driver inspected in the mirror how Bianca's dark lashes drooped across her pale cheeks. He noted, "You don't seem too excited about it."

Bianca's lids popped open at the remark and the driver snapped his attention back front. She didn't look at him, though. She peered out the side window and grimaced when she realized how slowly they were crawling through traffic.

Her voice took on a steely tone as she replied, "I came here on a mission."

Her mind went over the practiced conversation she would have once she found Adam Merrone; how she would come across as effortlessly casual, bitingly witty, and strikingly astute. She knew she might only get a few minutes of his time, so had to make a quick and stunning impression.

Most people would get butterflies in their stomachs anticipating such a task, but Bianca was practically unflappable.

She leaned back in the seat and closed her eyes again. "After I accomplish that," she added, the corners of her mouth turning upward, "I'm up for a little fun."

The driver relaxed when he sensed his passenger doing the same. "Ha!" he spouted, "That's what I like to hear." The conversation dwindled after that, and they continued the rest of the ride in silence.

*****

Almost an hour later, they steered into the parking lot of the marina. The driver pulled over, put the car into park, and got out to retrieve Bianca's bag. Bianca remained seated, bracing herself before hopping back out into the humidity.

The driver wheeled the suitcase to the right side of the car and waited for Bianca to emerge. As the moment dragged on, he awkwardly shuffled from side to side and then finally decided to get back in the car.

He peered at Bianca's reflection in the mirror -- which revealed her eyelids squeezed shut and her palms pressed together in front of her nose -- and grinned.

Suddenly Bianca yipped, "Let's DO this," threw the door open, grabbed her suitcase, and set off toward the water in her notorious strut.

The driver shook his head, not quite sure if she was being silly or serious. He leaned over and laboriously rolled down the passenger side window. "Good luck," he called to her retreating figure. "Hope to see you again soon, Bianca!"

She paused mid-stride. "Yeah, you too, thanks for the ride, uh --" she tried to remember the name she saw on the Uber app. She had been so focused on the stupid car, she had barely looked at his name. Hell, she had barely glanced at him the whole drive.

She recalled his name was something short; started with a vowel... Ian? Aaron? Eddy? No, those weren't quite right.

Ah-ha! She finally remembered, turned back toward the car, and called out, "-- Andy!" Bianca realized belatedly that he had pulled away before she finished her sentence.

"Forget him," she shrugged, "Time to put my plan into action."

*****

It didn't take Bianca long to figure out where to go. She followed signs boasting the corporate logo until she found the correct dock. Her eyes widened as she examined the yacht. It really was the biggest damned boat on the lake.

A stout man stood at the bottom of the ramp that led up to the deck, his hands folded behind his back. Bianca assumed by his posture and attire that he was a waiter or a... worker. What do you call the people who work on a boat anyway? Boatmen? Pirates? Seamen? She snickered at the last thought -- despite her professional demeanor, she was not immune to immature humor.

"Welcome aboard, ma'am," chimed the worker, "Great timing -- we'll get underway in about 15 minutes."

"Thank you," responded Bianca with a sigh of relief. She had made it with time to spare.

Bianca felt the underside of her hair clinging to her sweaty neck and shuddered in revulsion. Twisting the long blonde waves into a clump and holding it on top of her head, she inquired, "Which way to the restroom, please? I'd love to get freshened up before we set sail."

The worker smirked slightly and decided not to correct her terminology -- this was not a wind-powered vessel. "Yes, of course, ma'am. As you exit the ramp, head to your right all the way to the ster-- er, the back of the boat, and you'll see one near the stairs."

Bianca thanked him again and made her way to the head. She wheeled her luggage into the cramped space and closed the door behind her.

There was not much room to change, but she was petite, flexible, and creative -- she was sure she could manage. She propped the bag on the sink and unzipped it.

She was pleased to see that her ensemble for the event was at the top, neatly tucked under the elastic X-shaped straps. Her skin almost sighed in relief, as she envisaged herself slipping on the sleeveless cerulean blouse and nautical striped skirt -- articles that would take full and flirty advantage of any breezes on the boat.

Bianca pulled at the buckle on the strap, but it didn't budge. What the hell? It normally popped open with ease. She tugged harder -- no luck. Harder still.

As she struggled, the air in the tiny room became oppressive. The clothes on her body felt ten times heavier than they did a minute ago, and beads of sweat collected on her upper lip. In desperation, Bianca pushed and yanked at the straps like a madwoman.

It opened! A moment of delight crossed her face, followed by panic as she watched her carefully curated outfit rocket toward the toilet. Her attempt to stop its descent was a comical juggling act, each item escaping her grasp and tumbling into the bowl.

Bianca bit back a scream; forced her shallow breathing to lengthen, deepen. Her mind's eye focused on an icy tundra.

"Fuck it," she huffed, "I still got this." Bianca shuffled out of her jacket and shoved it into her suitcase. She already felt freer, lighter. She peeled off her moist pantyhose -- quite a feat in the small space -- and chucked it in the trash.

She debated whether to remove her underwear -- her "power panties" -- a cheeky crimson pair that made her feel like a goddess and her ass look divine. She had thought it would give her a boost of confidence in her conversation with Adam Merrone. But her crotch had been cooped up for too long in the heat, and as a result, the silky article was sopping for all the wrong reasons. So she slipped it off and hurled it into her bag as well.

Bianca looked herself over in the mirror. This wasn't quite the picture of poised perfection she had hoped to portray to Adam. But she had to admit that the climate had given her cheeks a pleasant rosy hue, and the dampness on her skin had created comely curls around her face. "I can work with this," she winked at her reflection.

*****

And work it she did. Over the next couple of hours, Bianca chatted and charmed her way through cocktails, hors d'oeuvres, dinner and dessert. Of course she was hot in her long-sleeved blouse and her tight skirt, but she was also -- metaphorically --

on fire

. She engaged her colleagues both intimately, so they felt a personal connection, and demonstratively, so that people nearby would be drawn into her conversations.

She put on this performance across all three decks, meeting dozens of new people, and tried her best not to look outwardly disappointed when she would discover each time that they were not Adam Merrone.

During a rare moment when she was not actively engaged in conversation, a lanky gentleman with bushy brows hobbled over to her. She recognized him from a multitude of corporate materials she had seen over the years (including, of course, the recent presentation during dinner) -- this was Damanco's founder, Benjamin "Slim" Johnson.

Bianca beamed broadly at him, "Congratulations on your retirement, sir!"

Slim barked, "Thank you, little lady!" Slim's gaze briefly touched on her smile, traveled down to her slender legs, and then rose again, settling in at her chest. "You must be the Bianca I've heard so much about tonight."

She was irritated at his lack of eye contact, yet flattered by his comment. Bianca chose to respond sweetly, "Oh really? What are people saying about me?"

The Texan licked his lips. "They said that you were an... impressive woman, and I had to come... check you out."

Bianca had to resist a sneer. She was no stranger to ogling, and flirtatious banter was definitely in her wheelhouse. But this guy was just too piggish, and as subtle as a cinder block.

"Tell me," he continued, "Was

this

a deliberate choice? If so, bravo on your boldness!"

Bianca felt like she was missing a punchline. "What do you mean?"

Slim lifted his eyes for a moment to assess her reaction. He began to guffaw. "Oh ho! So it was not deliberate, it seems. We're just very lucky, I guess." He resumed staring hungrily at her breasts.

Bianca furrowed her brow and glanced down. To her horror, she realized that she had sweated completely through the fabric of her creamy blouse, which was clinging chaotically to her cleavage. Her thin bra, similarly soaked, had done nothing to disguise her dark areolas. She suddenly grasped that she had spent most of the party as the winner of a wet t-shirt contest she didn't even know she had entered.

She instinctively crossed her arms -- a move she typically avoided so she didn't appear standoffish -- and excused herself. Slim's exuberant cackle faded as she put distance between them.

This was not part of her plan! Bianca needed breathing room to consider her next move. She recalled seeing a door near the kitchen that looked like it led to a private outdoor space, and quickly made her way to it, avoiding people as much as possible along her way.

******

The dining room was empty when she arrived. The sun was on the verge of setting and the party guests were crowded along the railings outside, eager to absorb the golden hues and snap a sunlit selfie.

Bianca made her way to the back where she remembered seeing the door. A small sign on it read "Staff Only." She assumed this was where the crew went for smoke breaks and solitude away from the passengers. She didn't care that she shouldn't be there -- if this was the only place to escape her colleagues for a hot minute, so be it.

She turned the handle and slowly pushed the door outward, peeking through the crack before stepping outside. The space was small and vacant, and not visible to the other decks. Exactly what she was looking for.

Bianca strode straight out and peered over the edge at the water glimmering and churning below her. It was lovely.

She relaxed for about three seconds before she remembered her indecent state, brought on by her abhorrent sweat. "Oh FUCK you, summer!"

She undid the top three buttons on her blouse and fanned herself with the lapels, causing the air to flow more freely around her sticky breasts. It helped, but it wasn't enough. She unbuttoned the rest of the way and started to shrug her arms out of her sleeves, when she heard a purposeful cough behind her. Bianca wheeled around with her eyes wide.

A man stood up slowly; he apparently had been sitting on a crate next to the door, hidden from view when Bianca had looked outside. "I'm so sorry," he offered, his head tilted at a sheepish angle, "I should have announced my presence a bit sooner."

Bianca knew that she was trespassing, but instead of being contrite, she went on the offensive. She spat, "What are you doing out here?"

The man hooked his thumbs into his belt loops and sighed, "I had to get away from other folks. Too much business talk. I was hoping this would be a different sort of party." He tossed Bianca a wry smile.

Bianca paused before responding. She was vexed that he had quietly watched her for a while without her knowledge, but her brain hadn't taken time to evaluate whether he was a creep or had just been caught by surprise.

She looked him over. His long sleeves were rolled up past his elbows, revealing thick, tan forearms. His dark jeans accentuated his narrow hips; a slim fit, but not stupidly skinny. Most of the men she had met that evening had sported slick leather dress shoes, but this guy had gone the casual route -- black canvas sneakers with a crisp white band around the sole. Overall, his clothing said he cared about his appearance, but didn't give a shit about corporate dress codes.

Finally, Bianca assessed his face. Good lord, his

face

. That smile he was flashing accentuated a strong jawline under a spray of black stubble. His prominent cheekbones directed her scrutiny up to his astonishingly blue irises, gleaming under dramatic, dark brows. She'd have thought he was a model if it weren't for the unruly mop of mahogany hair that tumbled across his scalp.

Well, if he

was

a creep, he was a damned attractive one. And to his credit, his gaze had remained respectfully above her neck, despite her state of undress.