We met under Freddie, 3 p.m.
On Tottenham Court Road.
He took my hand, we walked a bit,
Him leading, as we strode.
Down a back road, to a pub,
Called the Bricklayers’ Arms.
It would prove to be a challenge here,
Resisting his broad-shouldered charms.
He ordered us a round of drinks
And then we found a seat.
In the back, there was a dart room,
Deserted and discreet.
A table in the corner,
It was comfortable, quite snug.
The excitement was heady in the air;
I wanted him like a drug.
We chatted and we laughed a bit,
He sipped the beer on tap.
With white wine rushing through me now,
I lunged across his lap.
My hands slid over his chest and arms,
His fingers, they slid inside me.
His voice was growling in my ear,
“You taste delicious, Sweetie.”
Red lipstick smearing wildly,
From his neck up to his lips,
He pulled my hair and gripped me hard;
I ground against his hips.
Arms so strong and forceful,
One hand pinned both my wrists.
Telling me to cum for him,
With a kiss, I could not resist.
He was in control now,
I was firmly over his knee.
He described how we would fuck,
And spanked my arse roughly.
The hours passed but we could not stay;
We were both out on the sneak.
We finished our drinks, I wiped his face,
Good god, my knees were weak!
We adjusted ourselves and got up to leave
This delicious, sordid scene.
Hot and buzzing, still unaware,
It had all been caught on screen.
As we left, the barkeep nodded
And pointed upwards, for us to see.
The punters grinned, gave us a wink,
Instant stars on CCTV.
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