The following Monday Tom reported in for work and was told he no longer needed to use a butt plug, since he was now 'stretched enough to be useful.' Tom was thankful, but oddly let down at the same time.
"You know, Thomas, it occurs to me that we have had this... special relationship for -- what, two or three months now? I think it's time I finally met your family. Do you have any children?"
"No, sir. Our daughter Susan married months ago, so it's just Marge and me living there now."
"Well, I promised at the beginning I would protect your reputation, and I will continue to be on my best behavior. Would you and your wife consent to be my guests at Leonardo's this evening... or tomorrow evening, if that is more convenient. I don't intend to force her to be there, I offer as a gesture of goodwill for the excellent job you've been doing ever since the... incident."
"Are you sure, sir? Leonardo's... that's one of the priciest restaurants in town."
"As I said, you'd be my guests. Consider it a bonus for the fine work you've been doing for the firm, officially and unofficially."
"Thank you, sir. I'll check with her this morning and see what she says. Anything else, sir?"
"No, just be here at the usual time, dressed and ready for duty."
Within 30 minutes of returning to his desk, Tom was on the phone to his wife.
"Leonardo's? Oh, Tom, that's way out of our price range. Besides, I have nothing to wear, I'm in no shape to show up at a place like that!"
"Marge, Marge, relax. He's invited us to be his guests. if you feel you need to go shopping or get your hair done or whatever, we can afford it now. If it's too soon, he said tomorrow would do just as well. He simply wants to meet you and show his appreciation for all the extra hours I've been putting in."
"I really could use a new dress... and if I went to the salon in the morning... You say tomorrow is soon enough?"
"Yes, dear. Treat yourself to a spa day and some shopping -- within reason -- and I'll let Mr. Taylor know that we'll accept his invitation for tomorrow."
As Tom was stripping down and changing into the lingerie, he was able to tell his boss that the invitation for tomorrow night was accepted. Then he knelt in front of the other man and offered oral service for a minute or two, before being told to bend over the desk for a quick humping. He was slightly disappointed to not end up with a repeat of the huge orgasm of the previous rimming, but knew better than to complain about it.
That night, his wife was quite excited about the prospect of the following night's outing. She was a bit put out by Tom's lack of response to her displays of affection, but Tom plead fatigue from the long hours he had been putting in. (After all, he could hardly explain about the metal device surrounding his genitals, now could he? If only she knew how badly he wanted to provide her the pleasure she sought from him.)
The next day was back to the usual routine, ending with Taylor shooting a strong load of sperm-laden fluid down Tom's throat. Afterward, he said "The reservation tonight is for 7. Try not to be late."
"From her remarks last night, sir, I think Marge would skin me if I were even a minute late."
At 5 minutes before the appointed hour, Tom escorting Marge into the sumptuous surroundings of the city's premier dining establishment. He couldn't help thinking to himself that her time the last two days had been put to excellent use. From the stylish pumps on her feet, to the dress that perfectly showed off her figure to good advantage, to her tasteful makeup, to the new hairdo, she looked perfectly fabulous! Tom himself felt slightly under-dressed for the evening, but his wife looked like she was born to fit in with the monied crowd they were joining.
As the waiter led them to Mr. Taylor's table, Tom's boss spotted them and stood to greet them with a beaming smile on his face.
"Marge, this is my boss, Mr. Taylor."
"Thomas, we are not at the office, There's no need for such formality." He bowed slightly to kiss her hand. "I'm Jason, Mrs. Wilson, and I'm delighted to meet you. Thomas, you never told me you were married to such an exquisite creature!"
Marge felt herself blushing from the compliment. For her part, she was equally impressed by what she saw. Standing there holding her hand (for just a trifle too long) was a man about 6'1" who seemed to radiate confidence, competence and leadership. His chiseled good looks and perfectly groomed hair combined with an intense blue-eyed gaze that had her thinking of the trashy romance novels she had read as a teen. A second or two later, she manage to unlock her gaze from his and sit blushing (again) at the table, as the waiter handed them all menus. She and Tom looked, but couldn't bring themselves to order anything, especially after seeing the prices for everything.
Mr. Taylor -- Jason, she mentally corrected -- noticed their discomfort and came to the rescue. "I'm sorry, I'm being a terrible host. May I order for everyone? Yes? Jacques, we'll have the veal scallopini, and a bottle of Pinot Noir. Any recommendations on the vintage?"
"Perhaps the Chateau Margot, '57?"
"You still have a bottle? That sounds excellent."
"Oui, monsieur."
"Our meal will be awhile in coming. Would the two of you care to spend the time on the dance floor? The music is lovely, and it just seems like it's going to waste, with so few couples on the floor."
"Oh, I'm a terrible dancer, " said Tom.
"He really is, you know. Back when we were dating, I tried my best to get him to dance with me. The second time I succeeded, he nearly broke my foot. I've learned my lesson since then."
"Thomas, I'm nearly ashamed for you. However did you manage to win such a beautiful woman without being able to dance with her?"
"He had other charms back then, most of which he retains and shows off on occasion."
"You've been married how long, and no dancing?"
"Twenty years, next month. I've been keeping up my fitness classes, though. If I ever had a partner, I think I could hold my own."
"That sounds suspiciously like an invitation. If you won't dance with her, Thomas, do you mind if I do?"
"Not at all. This is her night, the two of you enjoy yourselves."
"Mrs. Wilson? I'm sorry that sounds so formal! Marge... that's almost worse. Marjorie, is it? Marjorie, will you do me the honor?"
Tom watched the two dancing and laughing together for what seemed like hours, but they returned to the table a minute or so before their waiter brought their order. The veal was exceptional, the light red wine complimented it perfectly, and the conversation was lively. Marge and Taylor -- that is, Marjorie and Jason -- tried repeated to draw him into their chat, but Tom felt like a fifth wheel as they discovered a mutual interest in the symphony, ballet and theater. By the end of the evening, Marjorie was positively glowing, and it was only with reluctance that she bid their host good night.
The next day, Jason -- Mr. Taylor -- was in an especially good mood. "Thomas, I am absolutely captivated by your bride! Her looks, her charm, her mind... I have never met a woman who so excited me. I was up half the night thinking about her. Even the sight of you reminds me of her, and I need to think a few things over carefully. Get to your office and get to work. I may have a request of you tonight, we'll see."
After a rather boring day, Tom reported to Mr. Taylor's office.
"Close the door and come here. No, don't bother to change, I need to talk to you. I've been thinking all day and I have a favor to ask of you. This is not a demand, but I really need to ask you for something... something I have no right to ask for. I know it's too soon after last night's dinner, but could you... perhaps.... possibly persuade your wife to invite me to dinner? Not tonight, obviously: as I say, it's too soon. But perhaps some time this week?
"If she declines, I won't hold it against you. I have no reason to hope that she would be the least bit interested. But if she is, I want desperately to meet with her again."
"I don't think you have to worry, sir. She seemed quite taken with you... she spoke of nothing else last night."
