“Thank you,” I said, “I'll be there in half-an-hour to collect it... Okay! Yes, I see... the keys will be in the locked cabinet... Yes, I've still got the code from last time.” I put the phone down, pleased that the dealer had serviced my car but a little annoyed that it had taken so long. It was now 8 PM, and, being an autumnal evening, it was dark already.

The garage was located in the town's red-light district, so not the most salubrious place for a high-end dealership, but at least it kept their costs down.

Wasting no time, I put my coat on and left the house, driving the tiny, underpowered car that I had hired while mine was being seen to. I was looking forward to getting my Mercedes back and that brightened my mood.

The car hire depot was a couple of hundred yards from the dealership. I parked up at the former, dropped the key into the key deposit box and then took a deep breath, knowing that to get from there to the dealership I would have to run the gauntlet of the “ladies of the night”. And, my God, they were out in force that evening!

I had barely gone ten yards before I was propositioned by a young woman, probably no more than twenty years old. Despite the chill in the air, she was wearing nothing but a scanty dress that revealed most of her ample breasts as well as a good part of her shapely thighs. “Do ya like what ya see, darling?” she called out, blowing a kiss with one hand, while raising the hem of her dress with the other. “I've got condoms, love, if that's what worries ya. Tell me what ya can afford...”

Facing her, I shook my head and held up both my hands, palm outwards, indicating to her to back off—I had no interest. “Suit yourself, love,” she taunted, “Ya won't do betta! Ya missing out big time!”

I turned from looking at her only to find myself confronted by another young woman, of similar age, and also skimpily dressed. “Where you bin all me life, mister? You look like a man what wants it! What can you pay?”

“Not interested!” I mouthed, while deftly side-stepping past her.

Then there was another... and another... and yet another! All about the same age, all speaking with the same rough accents, and all inadequately clad for a chilly evening, displaying more flesh than fabric. Each was hawking her body, not to the highest bidder, but to anyone willing to pay. All incomes were catered for, for those desperate enough.

I was nearly at the dealership when, abruptly, out of the shadows emerged another woman. I couldn't make out her face, but I could tell she was older, despite being dressed much like the twenty-year-olds.

Her body was shapely, and she wore a black dress that finished midthigh. But what really caught my attention were her stockings—despite the poor light, I was sure they were purple, and I was instantly reminded of my ex-wife, who had a penchant for purple stockings.

As she moved to get closer to me, like her younger companions, she raised the hem of her skirt, causing me to see her stocking tops and to catch a glimpse of her black panties.

“I'm more experienced than they are, sweetheart,” she cooed. Her accent was more refined than her associates and sounded familiar. “You'll have a good time wi—”

She stopped mid-sentence, causing me to raise my gaze from her stockinged legs to take in her face, now partially illuminated by a streetlight. It was heavily made up, in an unsuccessful attempt to make her look younger, but I was staring into the eyes of my ex-wife, Sue.

“My God!” I uttered. “What the...”

“Dave...” she replied. She was as shocked as I was, and she took a couple of steps back, seeking to return to invisibility of the shadows.

“What... what the hell are you doing?” I asked, astonished. “What's brought you to this?”

She stopped and shrugged her shoulders, saying, “As if you care, Dave.”

“But I do,” I replied. “We may be divorced, and you sometimes treated me like shit, but I wouldn't wish this life on anyone, Sue. You're how old now? Yeah, you're sixty-three years old, for God's sake. What are you doing on the streets?”

“What? You think I can't compete with this young trash,” she replied, huffily, pointing in the direction of her twenty-year old competitors. “I could teach them a few tricks. But I don't need to tell you that, do I, Dave? Eh? I could show you a good time now, if you're up for it.”

She was flirting with me and ran her tongue around her lips. But, at the same time, I could tell she was putting on an act of bravado and she was as uncomfortable being a prostitute as I was seeing her in that role.

“Look,” I said, as firmly as I could. “Someone your age shouldn't be doing this. You should be at home, in the warmth, with your feet up.”

“Yeah, my punters say that, sometimes. Why we doing this behind a wall, they ask, can't we go back to your place? What, my pokey caravan, do they mean, with my husband listening in?” She gave a laugh, but it was a mirthless one.

“What the hell would your husband say, if he knew you were on the game? What's his name? Er... hmm... I remember, it's Kevin, yes?”

She snorted derisively. “You don't think Kevin knows, Dave? You've always been naive.”

“What? He lets you do this?”

“Expects me to do this, more like,” she retorted, with a flash of anger.

“This isn't right, so why not come back to my place? We can have a coffee or something?”

“I need to earn money, Dave.”

“No, you need to take stock, Sue, and figure out where your life's going. So, come back to my place—your old house.”

“You'll have to pay the going rate, Dave. I'm not cheap and I don't do tricks for free!”

“For crying out loud, all I'm doing is offering you coffee, Sue! I'm not paying you for sex.”

I could now see that there were tears in her eyes. Despite her defiant language, I could sense that she hankered after sanctuary, and my house would provide that. She nodded, and a faint smile crossed her face.

“I need to collect the keys to my car. They're locked in a security box just down the road.”

oooOOooo

Keys picked up, she was soon in the passenger seat of my Merc and we were on our way back to my house. Despite the darkness, I knew she was crying, and I passed her a tissue.

“Do you want to tell me what's going on, Sue?” I asked. “I do still have feelings for you, despite how you messed me around.”

“Erm... Kevin and I... we aren't getting on well, Dave,” she blubbed. “He gambles... and he loses, like all gamblers do, eventually. It's a mug's game. Our... our house was repossessed last year, and we're now stuck in a damn caravan on a trailer park. It's... it's a miniscule caravan, Dave. It's like living in a ruddy cardboard box!” she sobbed.

“Oh, God, I'm sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah, and... and when he's not gambling, he's drinking! Often drinking and gambling together. Drinking encourages him to gamble, and then, when he loses, he drowns his sorrows in more drink.”

“Noooh! He's spiralling downwards.”

“Yeah, and... and he blames me.”

“What?”

“He said I drove him to drink.”

“That's rubbish. He's making excuses.”

“What can I do? I... I can't make him see reason and I can't leave him because I've nowhere to go. The next step down from a caravan is sleeping on the streets, Dave!”

I wanted to say that was actually what she was already doing, but I bit my tongue. “Is he pimping you, Sue?”

“I hate that word, but... yes, I suppose he is. He says it's the only thing I'm qualified to do. The only thing I'm any good at. He expects me to bring home two hundred quid a night to keep us fed and to feed his habits.”

“How much have you earnt tonight?”

“Just a hundred pounds, so I'm short.”

“Does he ill-treat you?”

“No... not as such, no, but he gives me the cold shoulder and doesn't talk to me for days when I don't earn enough. It's a miserable life I lead, boxed up in a pokey caravan with a heartless husband who's drunk most of the time.”

oooOOooo

We had arrived back at my home and made our way to the front door. It was several years since she had last been here and I could still remember the day she walked out, leaving me.

Once inside, I turned up the heating, fearing that dressed the way she was she needed warming up. Her crying stopped and she seemed to cheer up and gave me a kind smile, probably recalling that this had once been her safe haven—until she'd stormed out in a fit of temper.

I took off my coat and shoes and led her into the lounge, suggesting she made herself comfortable while I went into the kitchen to make coffee. I could remember how she liked it—plenty of milk but no sugar.

“Hurry up, Dave,” she called, sounding quite chirpy. I congratulated myself on making herself feel better. My good deed of the day!

As I carried the coffees through, I did a double take. Her tiny black dress was now spread out on the floor, and she was standing alongside the sofa, legs provocatively apart, dressed in a black basque with long suspender straps stretched taut and supporting her purple stockings. The basque gripped her tightly and accentuated her large breasts to the point where they were nearly squeezed out of the top, and I thought it wouldn't take much for a nipple to pop into view. Her feet were encased in four-inch heels and she was wearing tight black panties embellished at the front with a little pink bow.

My penis was waking up. She and I had enjoyed some wild sex in the past and that seemed to be what she was offering me now.

“£100, Dave,” she confirmed, speaking softly and in a sultry voice. “I know you want it.”

She reached down and grabbed my tool through my jeans. Her fingers felt for the head and began pressing and fondling it. In no time at all, I was completely stiff. With her other hand, she unbuttoned my jeans and pulled the zip down. Using talents she had honed on the streets, she soon had my jeans around my ankles.

I reached forward, to put an arm around her and pull her towards me.

She took a small step back, shaking her head. “Uh uh! First, I need to know if you'll pay me, Dave.”

I had never been with a prostitute, and I had never paid for sex, yet I couldn't resist the offer. It was a lot of money, but her fingers were still stroking my penis and she was driving me into a frenzy of excitement.

“Yeah!” I screamed. “I'll pay, damn you! You have my word.”

“I trust you,” she replied, softly. She began to unbutton my shirt and soon that joined her dress on the carpet. “Why don't you step out of your jeans, big boy,” she urged. I did so, and was now standing in just socks and boxers.

She dropped down onto her knees and grabbed the waistband of my boxers with her teeth. Jerkily, she pulled them down far enough that they slipped to the ground, revealing my erection in its full glory, the tip dribbling precum.

She stood up again. “Your turn,” she urged. “Use your teeth.”

Obediently, I knelt in front of her and gently took hold of her panties using my mouth. Carefully, I tugged them down to reveal her neatly trimmed bush. I caught the sweet, musky essence of her juices, and I knew she was aroused. Sure, I had agreed to pay her, but I could tell she wanted sex with me as much as I wanted sex with her. I was not just another punter and there was still chemistry between us.

Then my nose detected the scent of something else, and I remembered that she had done at least one job that evening, earning herself £100. What I could smell was semen, and whoever had had sex with her had done it without a condom.

She read my thoughts. “He wanted it without protection, so I charged him extra,” she casually observed. “Why don't you clean me out so you can start afresh, Davey boy?”

My God, she wanted me to lick up another man's spunk!

“What?!” I asked.

“You always enjoyed me humiliating you, Dave, so get on and do it. Come on, you've done it before!”

She was right, when we were married, humiliating me was a specialty of hers. Often, she would flirt with other men, in my presence, and a few times she had even slept with other men, with me in another room. And, as she had reminded me, on one of those occasions, she had insisted I cleaned her up afterwards. I had done so, but reluctantly, suspecting that she would withhold sex for weeks if I didn't comply with her demands.

Her knickers were now around her ankles, and she kicked them off. I looked up at her pussy and it was glistening. Some of it was her own juices but there was also a milky residue. I knew what I had to do and, with her standing and me kneeling, I set to work with my mouth and tongue.

She began squirming as I cleaned her, causing more juices to appear. Several times, I focussed more attention than was needed on her clit and she responded accordingly. She was becoming more aroused and unsteady on her feet—she placed her hands on my head for support, and also to push my face deeper into her vulva.

Unexpectedly, she pushed me away, screeching, “Fuck me, Dave, fuck me!”

She dropped down on to the carpet on her back and spread her legs. I wasted no time mounting her and she guided my hard-on into her vagina. I started pumping away, and she wrapped her arms around my torso while bucking in time with my thrusts. We had been going for a few minutes when, suddenly, she let out an almighty scream as she orgasmed. I came at the same time and for several seconds we embraced each other tightly while we rode out the climax.

We were both breathless with me still inside her. It was a couple of minutes before either of us spoke. “That's £100, remember, Dave?”

I was hoping she'd forgotten, but I'd given her my word. “Yeah, okay!” I replied.

“And then you can give me a lift back to the trailer park because I've missed the last bus because of you, you knobhead.”

I withdrew and, while she lay there, I went into the bathroom and grabbed some toilet tissue to wipe up the mess I'd made. Then she put her panties and dress back on.

I gave her the money she wanted. She took it with a faint smile, commenting, “I knew you'd pay, Dave. Your brain was always overruled by your prick.”

Half-an-hour later I was back home, having dropped her at the entrance to the park. Nothing much had been said in the car, and we said a curt goodnight to one another without exchanging kisses. It seemed both of us were lamenting the evening and I didn't expect to hear from her again. She probably regretted me discovering how far she'd fallen, and I was regretting paying her for sex.

oooOOooo

I had difficulty going to sleep that night, turning over in my mind how I had paid to have sex with my ex-wife, and, rather than being grateful for my financial assistance, she had humiliated me by making me first clean up the spunk left by her previous client. What troubled me more was that I'd complied with her wishes and shamed myself, but then the sex we'd had reminded me of the good times we'd enjoyed together.

The next morning, I went to work as usual, but was distracted by my brain still running over the events of the previous evening. I returned home and cooked myself dinner. Just as I'd finished eating, so the doorbell rang. I was not expecting anyone, but I went to the door. Standing there was Sue. She smiled at me, but said not a word. Her face was again caked in make-up in an effort to appear younger, but she would have been better off acting her age because she was innately attractive.

She was dressed this time in tight, black, shiny leggings. Actually, to say they were tight was an understatement. They clung to her as if she had been vacuum-packed and I could clearly see the outline of a camel toe. She smiled seductively at me and pushed her way past me, her bottom swaying provocatively as she went, with the leggings sucked into the crack of her bottom and accentuating the curviness of her shapely hind quarters. Above the waist she was dressed skimpily in a black basque, most likely the same one she'd worn the previous evening.

To put it bluntly, she was dressed like a whore—a slut who was on the game, plying for clients. Except she was advertising her wares not in the street, but in my house.

“Come in, why don't you?” I sarcastically remarked, rolling my eyes.

She turned to look at me. “Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, knobhead!” She smiled as she said it, and took a step towards me.

The next thing I knew, she had her arms around me and her tongue burrowed its way into my mouth. Our tongues intertwined, and I squeezed my hand down the back of her leggings, which grasped me so tightly I could then barely move my fingers. As we kissed, so my hand felt the warmth and bare flesh of her buttocks. If she was wearing panties, they were thongs.

Suddenly, she withdrew her tongue and took a step back, in the process painfully ripping my hand out from inside her leggings.

“Look, Sue,” I exclaimed, assertively, “I'm not paying you for sex again. Once was one time too many.”

“You don't have to pay—I've made other arrangements.”

“What do you me—”

“Strip, Dave,” she ordered in a sultry voice.

“What?”

“Strip, I said! Everything off! Everything!”

Being bossed around by her in that way was arousing me. Sure, I had stripped for her the previous night, but it had been done seductively, with her doing the unbuttoning and unzipping. Her tone this evening was different—more authoritative, more controlling.

I couldn't help but recall occasions like this when we were married and she wanted me naked, sometimes as a punishment, and sometimes simply to humiliate me.

Despite not knowing her plans, I obeyed her and soon I was standing in front of her sporting nothing except an enormous erection.

She reached into a small bag and pulled something out which she flung in my direction. “Put them on,” she commanded.

I caught whatever it was and looked at it. It was a pair of black panties, and I could tell from the pink bow at the front that they were the ones she'd been wearing the day before and which she'd put back on after we'd had unprotected sex. I glanced at the gusset and could see the encrusted residues of my semen, along, I presumed, with that of her earlier client.

“Don't just stand there, put them on!” she hissed.

“They won't fit!” As I said it, I realised I wasn't actually refusing to wear them. In fact, the prospect appealed to me, but I genuinely felt they were too small.

“They'll stretch,” she exclaimed, impatiently. “Do what you're damn well told for once.”

With my fingers trembling, I stepped into the scanty undies and pulled them up my legs. God, they were tight, but she was right, they stretched. Soon, somehow, they were in place, except the top half of my erection was protruding obscenely from the waistband. The elastic in the waist and legs dug into my skin, almost cutting off the circulation, and I was sure that I would be left with deep indentations when I got to remove them—or, rather, when I was permitted to remove them, more to the point.

“Upstairs!” she ordered.

Before I could say anything, she was leading the way. She marched into my bedroom and flung open the wardrobe door.

“Take everything out and shove it in the spare room!”

“What? Why?”

“Do as you're told! I've a punter coming in five minutes and I want you out of sight! In that wardrobe!”

“What?! You can't do that! You can't have your damn clients coming here.”

“You're the one who didn't want me out on the streets, Dave, so I'm doing what you said. Knobhead!”

“This is not a brothel, Sue! It's my home.”

“Yeah, sure, and tonight you get to listen to me entertain a customer. You used to like being cuckolded, didn't you?”

Strangely, I suppose I did. It was degrading yet arousing. Nevertheless, this was something different she was imposing.

She could detect my hesitation. “If you're a good boy, or a good knobhead, more like, you might get to enjoy sloppy seconds.”

At that moment the doorbell rang. It had to be her customer.

“For God's sake, do what I've said. When I get up here, I expect you to be in that goddamn wardrobe with the door closed.”

She had painted me into a corner. Events were moving fast. Either I went downstairs and created a scene by telling the customer to get lost, or I did what she wanted. My brain said do the former, but my dick decided I should do the latter, and, as she would have predicted, my dick won.

Quickly, I emptied enough stuff out of the wardrobe to fit in, sitting crouched up on the floor. Barely seconds after I had struggled to pull the door closed, I heard Sue enter the room and she was accompanied by someone with a heavier footfall.

“Money first, darling,” she said. “It's £200, as agreed.”

“That's a fucking lot of money, babe,” he retorted, in a slow drawl.

“But it's what we agreed, darling, for unprotected sex and a very special experience.”

“Yeah, right... and he gets to hear, yeah? Can he see?”

My God, not only was I going to listen to them having sex, but her client knew I would be listening!

“He won't see,” Sue clarified, “But you'll get to see him, when we're done.”

I was struggling to understand how she had manipulated me into this embarrassing situation.

“Come on, give me your money, please, darling... thank you! Now strip off. You need to get a move on. Two hundred quid only buys you ten minutes and the clock's ticking.”

For a few seconds, there was some scuffling which I took to be the client getting undressed, or at least taking his trousers and underwear off. Sue was possibly doing the same. Then I heard them getting on the bed.

“No, you idiot, there's no time for foreplay. I want you inside me, darling! I'm gagging for it. I need you—I'm desperate!”

“I can't wait, babe. I love an older bird, and I bet you could teach me some new tricks.”

“I could, but you've paid for straight sex, so get on with it.”

The bed started creaking, and both Sue and her punter began making noises. I could picture him thrusting away, riding her, while she bucked in synchrony with his pounding.

He continued making what he considered to be romantic small talk. “You're beautiful, babe... I do like older women... you're so tight... you're squeezing me so fucking hard... are you close to cumming, babe?”

“Yes! Yes!! For God's sake, yes, I'm close! I can't hold on any longer! Hurry up!” she yelled, lying through her teeth.

He let out a shriek, and she an ear-piercing yell. “Oh God!! Oh God!!” she screamed at the top of her voice. It was all faked, of course, but her customer was happy. The entire session had taken no more than a couple of minutes.

“How... how was that, babe?” he enquired. “Was I good? The best you've ever had?”

“You... you... were the best ever, darling. I've... I've never been pounded so hard before. I thought you were going to come out the other side. You were fantastic.”

“Yeah, thought so,” he boasted. “So, your husband's in there?”

“Yes, go and look. And, if you ask him nicely, he might clean you up.”

What?!

I heard him get off the bed and an instant later the wardrobe door opened. I blinked madly as the light from the bedroom flooded into the cupboard. It took several seconds for me to see him properly. He was early twenties at most, overweight, greasy hair, terrible skin, but he had the air of someone overconfident and arrogant.

He stood in front of me, naked from the waist down, his penis slimy and still trailing fluid in a long strand.

“Did you enjoy that, mate?” he sneered. “Listening to a real man fucking your wife?”

I didn't know what to say.

“Answer me! Did you enjoy it?”

“Er... yes, yes, I did,” I replied, feeling I had no other choice.

“Sir!”

“What?”

“Call me sir! Did you enjoy it?”

“Er... yes... sir! I enjoyed listening... sir.”

“Get the fuck out of the wardrobe.”

I wriggled out of the confined space, forcing my cramped muscles to start working again. My dick was still erect and protruding from the top of the panties.

“Fucking hell!” he exclaimed. Turning to Sue, who was still lying on the bed, he continued, “I see what you mean, babe, he's a fucking sissy— he wears knickers. I can see why you wanted a real man to satisfy you, not this arsehole.”

“Yes, that's right, darling, I needed a virile young man who could fuck my brains out,” Sue remarked, giving me a surreptitious wink.

“Well, I was only too pleased to oblige, babe. Any time you want a good pounding, I'm your man.” Then, turning to me, he added, “Lick me clean, slut,”

I looked at Sue, who shrugged her shoulders and commented, “It's what the gentleman's paid for, Dave, so get to work. What the customer pays for, the customer gets.”

Resigned to what I had to do, I started cleaning him up, nearly gagging as I did so but thankful that at least he was now almost flaccid and wasn't expecting a blowjob.

“Now get dressed, darling,” Sue said to the man. “Dave will show you out. I can't wait to see you again. Don't leave it too long. I'll miss you...”

“Likewise, babe! I'll be looking out for ya.”

oooOOooo

Five minutes later he was gone. Dressed only in my ex-wife's panties, I had had to go downstairs and show the guy to the door.

I made my way back to the bedroom, anger bubbling up inside me. “What the hell was that about?!” I yelled, as I entered the room. “You had no bloody right to entertain your losers in my house and no right to involve me in your sordid games.”

She was sitting up in bed, with the sweetest of smiles on her face. What's more, she was completely naked, having removed her basque and stockings.

“Don't pretend you didn't love that, Dave. You were as stiff as a ramrod when you came out of the wardrobe.”

“Well... yes, but—”

“Come and join me on the bed, darling.” She patted the mattress and curled a finger, summoning me over. “It would be a shame not to use that erection, wouldn't it? I can see how worked up you got.”

“Well—”

“He was rubbish, Dave. You heard what was going on. He barely lasted a minute before he shot his load. I believe you could last at least ten times longer. Come on... I reckon you can make me have a real orgasm, like you did last night.”

I ventured towards the bed, while she carried on seducing me. “Keep the panties on, just lower them a couple of inches. I love you wearing my panties, Dave.”

We engaged in some foreplay, with me fingering her pussy, caressing her labia and stimulating her clit, while also sucking one of her nipples. In response, she caressed my dick, bringing it back so it was fully hardened.

She was still oozing fluid from the punter. “What a big boy you are, Dave, but you'll slip inside so easily,” she chuckled.

She was right, and my manhood slid effortlessly inside. The lubrication ensured that I felt little friction, which was going to increase my staying power. We enjoyed good sex, and Sue didn't expect me to pay. It was almost like the old days.

oooOOooo

Post coitus, we lay side-by-side on the bed, both deep in our own thoughts. Then, Sue broke the silence. “You don't mind if I stay the night, do you, Dave? Otherwise, you're going to have to drive me back to the caravan, and that's unfair on you.”

“What about Kevin? Won't he wonder where you are? He might get worried.”

She laughed. “Nah... he was out drinking with his mates tonight. Probably won't even be able to find his way back to the caravan, and if he does, I doubt he'll notice I'm not there.”

“I don't believe that for a moment, but, yes, you can stay the night.”

“Thank you, darling... I'm still very fond of you, you know. And you're magic in bed. Give me a kiss and cuddle, and let's see if I can't get us both worked up again.” She reached down and grabbed my penis, expertly manipulating it with her fingers.

oooOOooo

It wasn't until about 9 AM the following morning that we both woke up, and I found that my hand was still cradling one of her breasts, and one of her hands was embracing my balls. At least it was Saturday, so no panic about being late for work.

“I'll make us some breakfast,” I said, getting out of bed. I was still wearing her panties, and I went to take them off.

“Keep them on, Dave—please! I'll grab a shower and I'll be downstairs as quick as I can.”

Once in the kitchen, I put some bread in the toaster and got the coffee brewing. She appeared in the doorway, dressed just as she had been the previous night, with her very tight, shiny leggings and her constraining basque. But, incongruously, she was devoid of make-up.

“You look fantastic, Sue,” I remarked. “You didn't need all that warpaint on your face. It wasn't doing you any favours.”

She smiled, clearly pleased with the compliment I'd made. “You don't mind if I have a banana?” she asked, taking one from the bowl on the worktop.

Holding it up, she commented, “Do you remember that time we shared a banana? We ate it together, you at one end and me the other.”

“Yeah, how could I forget?” I replied, grinning.

“And do you remember that your end had a flavour that wasn't entirely banana?” she giggled.

I certainly did, but, had I forgotten, I was reminded as she rubbed the fruit on the outside of her leggings, pushing it deep into the crevasse of her camel toe.

“I remember, but that time you'd peeled it, and you didn't have leggings on,” I retorted.

She laughed. “We could still have some fun together, Dave! What do you say if I move in permanently?”

I wasn't expecting that, and I wasn't sure what to say. After all, it hadn't worked out well the last time but, on the other hand, we had enjoyed a great deal of kinky sex. And, as we were not married to one another, it would be easy to split up again if—or maybe when— we once more hit problems. Carpe diem, I thought!

“Yes! Let's do it, Sue!” I answered, enthusiastically.

“There would have to be some rules, Dave...”

“What rules?”

“Rule number one would be you chuck out all your boxers and we share my underwear.”

“Uh?”

“Yeah, I wear the panties one day, and you wear the same pair the next day,” she grinned, looking down at my crotch. “That tent pole appearing in your jeans tells me you like that idea, Dave.”

She was right, but I teased her. “What if I chose not to?”

“Then rule number two comes into play, and I spank your bum until you comply with rule number one.”

“So, a win-win!” I laughed, recalling times in the past when she'd given me bare bottom spankings.

Then I added, “Rule number three is that you give up your street work.”

“Agreed,” she replied. “But rule number four is you pay me to have sex with you.”

“Hmmm... I'm not sure about that, Sue.”

“You'll get mate's rates,” she laughed. “And if you don't pay, or can't pay, then I invoke rule number two.”

“Oooh,” I muttered. “I think we could have some kinky fun, Sue. Shall we go back upstairs?”

“Later, Dave. We need to collect my stuff from the caravan and hope Kevin is still sleeping off last night's booze. Then the merriment can really start...”