The woman stared up from the recliner at the study's ceiling tiles, their geometry an irritating counterpoint to the tumbling thoughts beneath her silver bob. Consternation creased her exquisitely manicured eyebrows. "Surely one should not behave in such a manner, should one? It’s simply not proper." She brought cherry polished nails to one cheek and gave it an idle scratch. "At fifty-five, one should know better. But what would you have done?"

Rebecca Delaney glanced up from her notes over the top of oval Ted Baker glasses, cocoa eyes registering a flicker of annoyance before settling on the well-dressed woman several feet from her. "You're paying for my time, not the other way round, Lady Mallory."

Her client gave a dismissive wave before returning the hand to her toned abdomen atop the white blouse that seemingly magnified the intensity of her dazzling blue eyes. "Yes, yes, but hypothetically."

The psychiatrist paused then sighed. "Hypothetically, adultery has been pretty much frowned upon the last few thousand years."

Mallory pulled a face. "Don't get all pious with me, Miss Delaney," she snapped. "One knows it's wrong."

"And yet, here we are."

Lady Mallory clucked and snaked a hand down to her Louis Vuitton, retrieving the pack of Superkings and a gold lighter. When Rebecca shook her head and pointed at the No Smoking sign above the door, the woman paused only momentarily, drew out a stick anyway, fed the tip between ruby lips and flicked the flame. She took a deep drag, the end crackling and burning bright orange, before allowing thick wisps of exhaled grey smoke to billow into the warm study.

Rebecca coughed. "Lady Mallory, you may be many things, but I can assure you that beyond the law is not one of them."

The older woman turned her head to meet Rebecca's stare, remnants of smoke curling from her nostrils like a depleted dragon, rolled her eyes and extinguished the cigarette on the back of her lighter "First scripture, then the law. What next? Lines from Anna Karenina?"

Bristling inside, Rebecca focused on her amber paperweight and wondered how many years she'd get for applying it to Mallory's skull, then breathed deeply, seeking calm. She found it on the fourth breath, brushed a thread from the slate skirt that hugged her bare thighs and crossed them. "Shall we return to the reason for your guilt?" Her eyes flashed across a circled name in her notepad. "This Antonio."

Mallory returned the part-used cigarette to the box, snapping it shut with slender fingers, and shook her head, a wry smile breaking out. "It's ridiculous really, verging on pathetic. The bloody gardener? It's so Diet Coke. So cliché."

"Cliché or not, do you want to talk about him?"

The woman sighed then nodded, pursing her lips. "One tried not to let it happen. Charles is a wonderful man. Kind and loving. Considerate. Good in bed, no complaints there."

She tailed off and Rebecca gave her a moment to collect her thoughts before prompting. "But?"

"But he's a Rolls Royce, honey. Solid. Dependable. Reliable. And sometimes a woman needs something a little less… refined. A Maserati with the top down. Zero to sixty in a few seconds. The wind in one's face, careening around the mountain hairpins, pistons hammering beneath the bonnet. I'm sure you appreciate the metaphor."

Mallory paused, slid her gaze across to Rebecca once more and curled her lip. "You're judging me!"

"I'm here to listen, not judge."

"Yet you are." She exhaled sharply, masking a cackle. "This sad, rich bitch, with her perfect life, acres of land and stables, who falls apart when the gardener makes eyes at her. It's painted all over your face."

Rebecca looked at her notes and said nothing as Lady Mallory continued, calmer as if the outburst hadn't happened. "If one may be blunt for a moment, Miss Delaney, a question for you?"

Rebecca locked eyes with her client. "I ask the questions."

"Yes, but... indulge me. Please."

The psychiatrist thought for a moment and nodded her consent. "If it will help."

Mallory took a deep breath as the two women maintained eye contact. Both were well educated, Rebecca's Kings College master's degree in Psychiatry displayed prominently on the wall between two heavily-stocked, dark wood book cases. Mallory held a University of Edinburgh botany degree and was a consultant scientist to the Royal Botanic Gardens. When she wasn't in therapy. She let the breath out. "Have you ever been fucked, Miss Delaney? Royally fucked?" The question caught Rebecca off-guard, but she retained her professional dignity as Mallory ploughed on. "Not sex. Not a polite roll in the hay on a Sunday afternoon, but fucked until you almost suffocate from the intensity. From the excitement." She paused. "Just… fucked."

"Maserati fucked?"

A smile crept across Mallory's face, revealing deep crow's feet that the facelift hadn't been able to disguise. "Maserati fucked."

The study was silent. Not even a ticking clock. Rebecca insisted on two things for her workspace: a clock that didn’t tick so that clients wouldn't be distracted by the time, and insulated walls so barely a whisper filtered in from the city outside. Heavy-duty soundproofing also had its benefits from the inside. Her mind flashed back to Julian. The five-figure salary Julian who knew how to party hard and how to use his equipment harder, spreading an eager Rebecca over her desk not five feet from where Lady Mallory lounged. She recalled the times she waited up into the small hours for the socialising Julian to tear off her underwear and hammer her from behind against the wall of her Aldgate student flat. The heat from him flexing her insides. The sweat as their bodies bucked, his hand clutching her hair, breasts squashed, deforming against the cool plaster with each savage thrust. The shrieking and begging and coming until they were both drained, her reward having to cover up the bags under her eyes the next day with make-up.

There were also the lazy Saturdays hand-in-hand by the river; a picnic followed by finding a secluded copse in the park where the talented Julian could bury his magnificent tongue in her silky folds until she panted towards the sun-kissed sky as quietly as she could manage through exquisite release. And the nights she'd cried herself to sleep after finding the bastard Julian hadn't reserved that tongue solely for her. Oh she knew about being royally fucked, in more ways than one, but when she didn't provide an answer, Mallory continued. "That is Antonio. Brutal. Raw. Thrilling. You know what he makes me do?"

Rebecca said nothing.

"He makes me kneel on all fours like some primitive animal. Edge of the bed, naked except for the Jimmy Choo's. Makes me wait. Anticipate. Want. Like his prey. Exposing one's bottom that way, solely for his pleasure, and swaying it at his command is most degrading, yet somehow deeply liberating. One can feel his stare burning into the flesh, his desire rising," a smile flickered, "among other things. And after that, you know what he does?"

Experience afforded Rebecca the luxury of knowing when to remain silent as clients were making rhetorical statements.

"He spanks me. Open palm, stinging slaps. Both cheeks in turn, left then right, left, right. Relentless, until a question mark hangs over the ease of being able to sit the next day. But each time, one becomes hotter and wetter with excitement, never wanting the pain to end but craving the last strike because that is when he steps in and… fucks. No restraint. No finesse. Just grabs my hair and ploughs in with seven inches of delightful, thick Italian sausage."

The psychiatrist shuffled in her seat. "So how did it start?"

Lady Mallory gave a snort. "That's the irony, darling. Charles hired him. We needed a handyman to keep the grounds in shape after Sebastian left. The flowerbeds are my domain, the rest requires maintenance of a less delicate touch. After all, one does not wish Tatler to pen a follow-up on how our-" she mimed finger quotes "-'ostentatious blend of contemporary chic and tradition' slid into ruin."

"Quite."

Mallory allowed herself a tight smile. "Antonio just turned up for work and Charles did the introductions. The seed was sown at that first meeting in our entrance hall. Those dreamy brown eyes, dark hair, olive complexion and toned physique did things to one's insides. And the way he looked in my direction. The hunger. The intensity."

She shivered and seemed lost for a moment, adopting a faraway look, then snapped back. "Finding excuses to stay home when he was there was easy. The living room overlooks the lawn where one could watch him working up a sweat. He never knew. At least, he never said."

Mallory twitched, perhaps reflexively, hand reaching for her bag and its nicotine-infused contents, then withdrew. "One time," she began with a quiver to her voice, "there was such a heat, such a desire inside my body that it became overwhelming. One knelt on the sofa beneath the window and watched him in just his shorts, biceps rippling as he started the mower, tan physique glistening in the sun. Felt my underwear becoming damp and had to dig a hand inside them. It was so… impulsive. So unlike anything one had felt before, fingers circling and thrusting to the illicit thought of this man's body."

"And the guilt stems from watching him? Or from masturbating to him?"

Mallory considered the question. "A little of both. And the sex of course. Oh the sex."

Rebecca shifted in her seat again, uncrossing her legs then thinking better of it in case her rising arousal at Mallory's story was revealed. "Go on."

The aristocrat regarded the uniformity of the ceiling tiles once more and continued. "After the tremors had died down between my legs, one decided the man might like a cold drink. It's that cliché again, but it seemed appropriate. He finished it like the bottle contained the last drops of liquid on Earth, then looked at me oddly. One realised too late that staring wide-eyed was probably inappropriate. He smiled at me. 'Are you okay Lady Mallory?' he said, wiping his mouth on the back of that firm hand that can deliver such pleasure to my rear. 'Anything I can do better?'"

Mallory shook her head at the thought and gave a nervous laugh. "Ha! Asking him to work naked crossed my mind. Thankfully, common sense prevailed: 'No Antonio, you're doing a wonderful job. Cannot ask for anything more.' But he tipped his head to one side slightly. Something in my tone must have given me away."

"What makes you say that?"

"Because he had that look in his eyes. The one that all men use when regarding the object in front of them as a prize and not an equal. A sparkle, his irises catching the sun's rays, penetrating my soul as if he could read my thoughts. 'I do other jobs around the house' he said."

Rebecca hid her smile at the cheesiness of the encounter, the storyline on par with the low-budget porn film that she and Julian had watched one night prior to finishing up a sweaty tangle of limbs on his leather sofa as the movie played to itself. Julian had told her to dress in her most revealing and provocative clothes. She'd chosen the white lace thong and balcony bra beneath a low-cut pastel top that displayed plenty of cleavage framed by her long brown locks. The tennis skirt finished the look. With a few cheeky flicks of the hem to reveal her smooth, tight rear, she teasingly modelled for him before settling down, legs tucked beneath her, to watch the film.

Their underwear hadn't stayed on long. At Julian's insistence, she sucked his glorious cock to hardness, soon finding herself on her knees facing the TV with him pounding into her sopping pussy, gripping her exposed buttocks as the home-alone pornstress was treated likewise by the 'repair man'. Rebecca loved the sensation of being filled with Julian's girth, especially the extra deep pushes that made her breasts sway, and signalled the build-up to his climax, pressing the perfect spots to trigger her own shuddering orgasm. She pushed the memory away and cleared her throat. "So you invited him in?"

"Not at first. Turned and hurried inside without looking back."

"But later?"

"After some time to reflect, yes. A few days, maybe. He was magnetic."

"And?"

She chewed her lip. "He accepted the opportunity to fix the dripping tap in the bathroom."

"And you seduced him?"

Mallory shut her eyes a moment. "Yes. But he didn't take much seducing. A low-cut black sundress with raspberry underwear was all it took. Agent Provocateur."

"Of course."

"Watching him work from the en suite doorway caused flutters deep inside. Every fibre of my body seemed heightened. One leant against the frame, kicking the heel of a foot back and forth, deciding how, and if, to go through with it. Cheating felt so wrong at first, but the flooding hormones drowned out any rational thought. The more he worked, and the more small talk exchanged between us, the more his sexy baritone made my body scream that it wanted to feel him against me… no, not want; need. To lose control. Scenarios played themselves over and over in my head until there was no more space for thought. That's when instinct took over. Clouded my judgement. Made me draw my foot slowly up the doorframe behind me, knee pointing in his direction, which afforded a glimpse of my underwear from his position beneath the sink."

Rebecca couldn't imagine acting like that for anyone. The things she'd done with Julian were all initiated by him. She'd never taken the reins, just taken whatever he gave. That thought triggered a memory. Then another. And another. Increasingly faster flashes of their times together raced through her mind until she froze. All of a sudden the stark reality of her one-sided relationship compared with the brazen act that Mallory was about to describe made Rebecca feel empty. A pang of guilt struck her chest, tightening inside, like it was all her fault. Like she'd selfishly driven Julian into the knickers of another woman by being all take and no give.

The psychiatrist took an involuntary deep breath. Maybe he'd wanted someone stronger. Someone more domineering and confident. More of a risk-taker, like Lady Mallory, willing to put status, money and power on the line for a torrid affair with a man she barely knew. Hell, the biggest risk Rebecca had taken recently was mixing her darks and whites in one load. She almost cried out at the obviousness of the revelation. Being so afraid of losing him, she'd chained up her real self and forced away the best thing that had ever happened to her.

The tragic irony was that she could have been the girl he desired. She knew she had a dark streak to which he would have responded, but she'd unwittingly suppressed it. In fact, to such an extent she'd become the perfect example of subservience; what she thought he wanted. And in the end he'd become bored and looked elsewhere. Stupid stupid stupid.

Unaware of Rebecca's inner turmoil, Lady Mallory continued. "Of course Antonio stopped working and looked up. Stared. Not eye contact, not initially at least. Just focused on my centre; the prize being revealed inch by inch. The longing in his expression drove me on. Have you any idea the sense of power it delivers to be desired?" Rebecca shook her head, still hollow that she'd only just analysed her own relationship nine months too late, but Mallory wasn't looking. "It's electrifying to be wanted. To see his excitement building. To hold such authority. Given the state of my arousal, one doubts he would have required x-ray vision to see through the wet, translucent material anyway.

But it was clear he was hooked on the mere idea of my body offered to him.

"Putting down the wrench he began slowly crawling towards me like… like a fucking Alsatian, never diverting his eyes. Each foot of distance he covered felt like a mile, until he was close enough to smell me. It was so depraved, but in that moment, marriage forgotten, one would have let him do anything. Anything at all."

Something in Mallory's story began to affect Rebecca. She squirmed in her seat a little and felt moisture between her legs, seeping into her underwear. An itch she knew would soon need to be scratched, yet Mallory still had over ten minutes of her session remaining.

The woman on the couch once again reached for her bag and, once again, pulled back. Lifted her hand to nibble a nail instead, then thought better of that too. "The thing that is most vexing is that one didn't stop. Didn't want to stop, nor know how. A driverless car, consumed by desire, powered by lust. He knelt there inches from my feet, inches from my core, and simply said, 'Take off your panties.'" She paused, as Rebecca held her breath for the next words. "And one did as he commanded, slowly at first then quicker, sliding them all the way down, stepping from them and throwing them at his knees."

Rebecca exhaled, the imagery in her mind of herself doing the same in front of a faceless stranger. Could she do it? Would she? Maybe that dark-haired guy from the café she'd seen a few times. She was quite sure he fancied her, and he was alright to look at. Would he respond to her throwing her underwear at his feet? Seemed a little forward. Somehow cheap. But there was indeed some part of her that switched on at the very thought of acting the slut. A dirty circuit, long since forgotten, fizzing to life, connecting her mind with the tingling tips of her nipples and the button between her thighs. Maybe she did have it inside her to come on strong. To take what she had denied herself all these months. The psychiatrist tried not to sound too eager, but there was a slight tremble to her voice. "Do you want to talk about what happened next?" She silently prayed yes.

There was a pause and a breath as Mallory reminisced about the moment, her hand idly tracing her abdomen. "He pounced. Was on me in seconds, face buried between my legs. And there was nothing one could do but grip the architrave, head tipping back as his tongue circled. It was truly intense. One had not been desired in that manner for a long time… a long time. Years, maybe. He fulfilled a need that had lain dormant, a genie trapped in the pit of my stomach. And once released, there was no putting it back in the bottle. Couldn't have been more than a minute before my first orgasm crashed onto his firm tongue."

Across the room, Rebecca re-crossed her legs for what felt like the fortieth time, well aware of her own wetness drizzling into her knickers. She squeezed and released her thigh muscles in a rhythm; a poor substitute for touching herself, but the only act possible under the circumstances. It only elevated her need, never quenched it. Part of her wanted Mallory to shut up so she could bundle the woman from the office and tend to her own eager centrepiece. Another part wanted to hear more of the story to heighten the free-flowing thoughts that had taken root, like a dark virus infecting her libido. She shook her head to try and clear it. Forced herself to focus and remain detached. "How did the helpessness make you feel?"

Another smile crept across Lady Mallory's face. "Conflicted, yet alive. Powerless to stop it, and all-powerful to have him under my spell. When my legs stopped quaking he stood, lifting my dress at the same time and dropping it into a pile at my feet. He just remained there transfixed, appraising my body, making me shiver with anticipation. Finding no brassiere, he bent to drag a nipple into his mouth, stubble scratching at my exposed flesh, my mind electrified. His big hands traced my body, each touch sending shudders up one's spine. He stepped into my space and our crotches touched, his hardness obvious. Grinding against it seemed the most natural thing in the world to do. So wrong, but impossible to resist. His lips grazed mine, his manly scent an aphrodisiac that drove my hands to his back, clawing him to my body."

Rebecca cleared her throat again. "And did the guilt present itself then?"

Mallory laughed sharply. "The only thing that presented itself then, darling, was his thick cock. He unleashed it, so strong, so veined and… dangerously desirable. Seconds later it was in me, ramming, thrusting, my back forced against the doorframe over and over as he nuzzled my neck. His hands found my breasts and there was nothing one could do but gasp as we fucked. And fucked. And fucked. The thought of Charles didn't even enter into the equation, and maybe that's the most worrying aspect. In that moment, nothing existed except our bodies slamming into one another, until he tensed and erupted inside me. My second orgasm followed, more powerful than the first. The only things preventing me from crumbling to the floor were his strong arms and fat cock propping me up."

The psychiatrist was having trouble holding her thoughts together and it took a long moment to formulate a question. "So how was it with Charles later?"

Drifting in and out of the past in her mind, Mallory eventually answered. "We made love. He didn't seem to notice the extra wetness that indicated he wasn't the only person inside me that day. One did one's best, but the guilt hit then, the reality of my actions solidified when imagining it was Antonio beneath me instead of my husband. Tears welled at the betrayal, but my head was only filled with thoughts of what our next passionate encounter would entail. One was already drugged by his masculinity. And the time after that was even more intense than the first… oh the things Antonio did to my backside ought never be repeated."

Rebecca was sure the Lady would willingly continue in greater detail now she had begun, but doubted her own body would remain in check throughout the retelling. "Quite a story, Lady Mallory. Should you wish to relate other encounters in the interests of working through the guilt, please feel free. You know what they say about a problem shared. But sadly we’ll have to leave it there for today. I need to prepare for my next client. In the meantime we should focus on what you want out of this… tryst."

The woman nodded absentmindedly, her body perhaps in the same state of arousal as Rebecca's as the psychiatrist continued: "Clearly it can't continue if you don't wish to hurt Charles, so you need to think it through."

"One knows what is at stake, Miss Delaney," she cut in testily.

"And I know you know. But the reality is that you have choices to make. And they can only come from reflection, from weighing up the options. I'm not here to make those decisions for you, I'm here to aid the reflection process; an impartial ear to aid with perspective."

"Mmmmm. So what is your perspective? How does one break the cycle after such an incredible experience? Life is, after all, for living; and one feels more alive than ever before."

"There are things you could try. Perhaps role-play with Charles will abate your extra-marital desires?"

"Pffft, Doctors and Nurses? Hardly, darling!"

"Don't knock it. The situations can be as ordinary or fanciful as you like."

The aristocrat considered this and eventually nodded with a defeated sigh. "One has devoted one's life to Charles and our children. It would be unfair to not honour that commitment despite this… Italian blip, however exciting it is. Abstention does, however, require strength to resist the urges. Strength and resolve that may not be present in this old body." She patted her thigh.

"Strength comes from up here, Lady Mallory," Rebecca offered, tapping her temple. "As for anything else, I can only advise. Believe it or not, many clients present similar encounters and many have responded well to spicier times with their spouses. From an all-expenses weekend at a health spa, to dipping into a fantasy jar and acting out a scene once a month. Or however often you need. Maybe you deserve to try it for both your sakes?"

Again, the woman considered this, gave a resigned nod and a further long sigh before swinging her legs to the floor. "Thank you, Miss Delaney. One appreciates your candour and balanced analysis, as always."

Rebecca gave a curt nod as Lady Mallory retrieved her bag, clearly itching for the remainder of the cigarette, and stood. Rebecca smoothed her skirt and stood too, cutting across the room to open the door for Mallory, eager to usher the woman away. There was no next client, but she felt no remorse for lying. "Same time next week?"

"Yes please."

"Until then, Lady Mallory. Be well."

"And you, Miss Delaney."

With that she stepped out of the office and Rebecca swung the thick door swiftly shut, the silence once again filling the space. With hardly a pause she pressed her back against the wood, hoisted her skirt at the front and skimmed exploratory fingers across her knickers. They were wetter than she had given herself credit. How could such a brazen story turn her on so much? She ran her fingertips across the material, tracing the outline of her lips beneath, her clit already proud, begging to be touched.

She slid her fingers beneath the stained cotton, seeking her sensitive jewel and gasping when she found it. Slick with juice, her digit circled, periodically dipping between her drizzling petals to lubricate it more. Her mind was inexplicably filled with images of men taking her body. On beds, against walls, in alleyways. It had been so long since she’d felt a real, solid cock, almost convincing herself that true satisfaction came in the shape of claret and her own company. Normally able to compartmentalise her work from personal life, Lady Mallory's experiences had destroyed that illusion in under sixty minutes.

Rebecca was surprised that the self-pity at uncovering her failings with Julian was so short-lived. Enduring nine long months of denial, then rocketing through the remaining steps to recovery in less than half an hour hadn't been on her to-do list. But her pussy ached for something inside it, the cravings reignited by her client's passionate tale. With everything to gain and nothing to lose like Mallory, she wanted her own Maserati lover. Maybe two. It was a filthy thought, but if anything could be salvaged from her time with Julian it was that she now remembered the sheer love of being screwed. And Mallory had given her the spark to chase that goal. To seek. To seduce. To fuck.

Her fingers worked overtime, roughly circling, building towards release. But it wasn't enough. She needed something more. Something stronger.

Tearing herself from the door, she charged to her desk, hiking her skirt fully above her hips in the process. Facing the corner of the large slab of oak, palms on its cool surface, she stepped in and pressed her groin to the right-angle. The desk corner connected with her clit and she ground against it, throwing her head back and groaning to the ceiling. Perfect.

Lifting her hands to her tits, she massaged them through her thin blouse, panting into the study as she imagined seducing men and fucking them. In bedrooms, against furniture, on balconies, stretching her pussy. Maybe she'd even put her tight derriere up for grabs if the right man showed interest. The dirty thought of Rebecca-the-slut being pleasured, losing control as her anal virginity was taken, fuelled her actions. She crushed her clit against the table, pinched her erect nipples, body awash with hormones, mouth hanging open, beginning to gasp for air as her orgasm closed in.

Second by second the pleasure grew until she was teetering on the edge of her mind, balanced, weightless, and ecstatic, like the nerve-shredding moment of silence at the pinnacle of the first rollercoaster climb, the ratchet clatter having given way to the inevitable, gradual acceleration into freefall. She held for as long as her body could take before one final, savage grind against the table corner sent her spiralling. The lights went out and a rushing wind tore through her ears as the waves of orgasm thrashed her shores.

The rush built in intensity and peaked, her stomach lurching and convulsing briefly, mouth agape. At the bottom of the first dip she remained motionless for several seconds, then cried out into the room, squeezing her chest in rhythm with the grinding of her clit against the unforgiving desk. Chemicals flooded her body and brain, a wide grin replacing the 'o' of release as every part of her being spasmed, contracting and releasing in unison.

In her mind, she was being ravaged. Panties torn from her body, invading dicks thrusting, hands roaming and tongues duelling in hot embraces. And she begged. She sat on men's faces, grinding her sticky centrepiece onto eager mouths and noses, their tongues exploring. Every porn film she'd watched with Julian came alive in her mind, with her as the star.

Yes, she wanted the attention. The sudden clarity was blinding. She'd willingly acted the slut when Julian drove her to it, now it was her turn to take the wheel. Her time to rekindle those overpowering feelings of being consumed by lust, of taking from men what she'd allowed her break-up with Julian to virtually undermine. To live again.

As the contractions slowed, the pictures remained burned in her visual cortex, a flickering reminder of her power before they too began to gradually fade. She released her grip on her breasts and slumped onto the tabletop, breathing heavily against its unflinching surface. It took a short while for the strength to return enough that she could push herself upright, chest still heaving, a sheen of sweat making the blouse clammy.

Her knickers were drenched. Useless. Tentatively standing without the aid of the desk, she rolled the wet fabric down shaky legs, the comparative cool of the office against her matted pubic hair a stark reminder of the heat within her body. Balling up the panties she hurled them across the room, making a satisfactory splat against the bookcase and plopping into the wastebasket.

In that instant, she decided she wasn't going home. Not tonight. She was going to grab some food from the Italian place across the road, sink a Peroni and see where the night took her. Mallory was right; life was indeed for living. And the living were about to get a taste of Rebecca Delaney, reawakened, rejuvenated, returned from the brink of celibacy and, for one night at least, raring to do whatever it took to make up for lost time.

She wiggled the skirt down over her slender hips, checked her make-up, primped her hair, unbuttoned the top of her blouse a notch, grabbed her bag and secured the office, a spring in her step as she took the stairs to the ground floor two at a time.

At the bottom she stood in the street doorway, savouring the sensation of the cool night air tickling the hair of her exposed wet pussy lips. Drifting fragments of dance music were carried to her ears on the breeze, along with bursts from the hubbub of a hundred raucous conversations in nearby beer gardens, punctuated by boisterous laughter. It all filled her mind with dirty possibility.

She waited, poised, gathering her thoughts. And then, as a droplet of juice oozed from her tender slit onto her thigh, she stepped out onto the street, head raised, ready to give the city hell.