The woman hurried towards me, then when she was close enough for there to be eye contact, she pulled up. For a moment I thought she was going to run away. Then she put one foot in front of the other, moving at a snail’s pace.

“Martin?” she asked, extending a cautious hand.

“And you must be Meghan,” I said as we shook.

“Sorry I’m late. Only…”

“Think nothing of it.” I glanced up at the town hall clock, as I had done at intervals for the past quarter of an hour, registering each passing minute, assuming Meghan had got cold feet. The woman was clearly nervous, her feet restless rather than chilly, but that was understandable.

“Gosh, this is awkward,” she said.

“No worries. It’s not like I’ve ever done anything like this before. Honestly.”

“It’s not that,” Meghan said. “Although I’ve never…” She made a vague gesture at the bronze representation of some kind of mythological beast of antiquity where we’d agreed to meet. “Either… This…” I smiled at her, in what I hoped was a friendly, encouraging kind of way. “It’s just… I was expecting someone else.”

This was an odd one. “So if you weren’t expecting to meet me, even though we agreed to meet here at this hour, who were you expecting to meet?”

“This is so silly!” The woman rubbed her cheeks. “What was I thinking?”

I confess I felt a little put out. I’d been flattered that Meghan would want to meet me, but now it transpired she hadn’t – or at least that’s how it seemed. Still, the mystery intrigued me, and having made time in my diary, I had nowhere else to be. “Tell you what, there’s a decent café just down there,” I said, pointing. “Since we’re both here now, why don’t we have a coffee and you can explain how you came to arrange a meeting with someone while expecting to meet someone else. How does that sound?”

Meghan looked a little uncertain, turning an appraising eye on me, as if trying to work out if it was safe to be seen with me. Then she relented. “I suppose… Since we’re… Gosh, I feel like I’ve lured you here under false pretences.”

The café was to the best of my knowledge the only one left in town without bearded baristas and a burdensome surfeit of choice. Since it was mid-morning, it was also far from busy, affording Meghan and I a degree of privacy right at the back.

“So,” I said. “Who am I supposed to be?”

“My husband,” Meghan said quietly, deliberately avoiding my gaze.

“Your husband?” Curiouser and curiouser.

“Yes.” She clasped the cup between both hands and lifted her eyes. “It’s so silly,” she sighed.

“Well my interest’s certainly piqued.”

“It’s just…” She sipped from her cup before replacing it on the saucer. “Your writing style. It reminded me of my husband’s.”

“Now that I take exception to,” I said with a smile. “The merest suggestion that my offerings are less than unique.”

That seemed to put Meghan more at her ease. “Perhaps I just saw a similarity because I was looking for one.”

“And why would you do that?”

She took another sip. This could take a while, but I was happy to let it. “The thing is, my husband’s been spending so much time in his study of late… One day I crept in while he was in the bathroom. I got the name of the site, but not his user name…”

“And so you set up your own account,” I guessed. “To find out if he was getting up to things he shouldn’t behind your back.”

Meghan nodded. “I didn’t know what to think. I don’t want to think the worst of John, but…” This time she drained her cup and turned her gaze to the window. Drops of rain were sprinkling the cobbles. “So I tried to work out which account was his. And when I came across your stories…”

“There was a stylistic resemblance?”

“Certain turns of phrase that no-one else uses, perhaps. It’s so hard to know. And then when we got to corresponding… I was so sure. And now it turns out I was just deceiving myself.”

I began to feel a little sorry for the woman. The state of her marriage was none of my business, and I didn’t want to pry. “You certainly left some very appreciative comments. Were they for John’s benefit?”

She turned, a look on her face as if she was horrified to think I would think such a thing. “No!” she exclaimed. Then, lowering her voice, “I did… I do enjoy your stories. Very much.” Her face reddened, as if she’d only just realised what kind of stories she was praising to the author’s face.

“I’m not one to judge,” I said. “I write the blasted things, after all.” I was thinking that Meghan might have stumbled onto things she hadn’t expected to like and was still conflicted about liking them.

“Yes.”

A silence followed. The kind of silence one might expect between two strangers, one who concocts kinky scenarios for pleasure, and another who enjoys those same scenarios, very much. Being in the actual physical presence of a reader, there were things I thought I might ask, but I also didn’t want to embarrass Meghan.

In the end, she was the one picking at a conversational thread. “Do you find it easy? Coming up with ideas? Making something of them?”

“Ideas are everywhere. You don’t even have to look most of the time. It’s getting them into shape that’s the thing.” I paused. “Why? Are you thinking of joining the writing community.”

Meghan laughed. She had a rich laugh, like expensive china. “What is it people say? That everyone has a novel in them.”

“A clutch of stories at least.”

Now that the embarrassment had faded, the conversation flowed more freely. We drank a second cup of coffee each, and then, as the waitress turned having delivered a third, Meghan followed my wandering eye and read my mind. “Do you often populate your stories with real people?”

“She’s pretty,” I said. “She’d make an excellent character in a story.”

“You don’t even know her!”

“Then it won’t be her. Just inspired by her. The difficult part is finding a waitress scenario that’s not too clichéd.”

Meghan was staring at me in a certain way. “Do you look at all women as potential characters in one of your stories?”

I should have known better. I’d walked right into this, allowed myself to become too comfortable. “Not exclusively.”

Meghan blew on the coffee and stared hard at me as she took a sip. “Will you be using me in a story too?”

“Unless it offends your religious beliefs or you’re minded to set your husband on me,” I said, hoping the joke would smooth over any offence I may unwittingly have caused.

Meghan turned her attention to the street outside. It was no longer raining, but it was still deeply overcast and a white delivery van was obscuring most of the view.

I gulped down half of my cup. This was a café for atmosphere, not for hot coffee. The truth was that I would write any woman into a story who took my fancy, seeing them as little more than putty to be moulded by my febrile imagination.

Meghan turned back to face her coffee, cradling her cup with the same nervous embarrassment as when we’d first met. “Maybe I wouldn’t mind,” she said.

“What?”

“Being… written into a story.”

Well now, this was interesting. “Are you sure?”

“No. But if you did, I couldn’t stop you, could I?”

That was undeniably true. It was just as undeniable that Meghan was the kind of woman I would gladly place at the heart of a tale of perversion at the drop of a hat. She’d come dressed in shape-denying jumper and slacks, but those dark flowing curls framing a full, round face, eyes the colour of an ambivalent sky and that might gleam with playfulness in circumstances where she felt more at ease, softly curved eyebrows, a delicate nose, her mouth dominated by a bottom lip that seemed to tease a man by its mere existence. All that and her long, delicate fingers – I realised suddenly that I could happily sit and just look at her all day.

I shook myself free of such imaginings. “Wouldn’t it count as non-consensual?”

“That hasn’t stopped you before, has it?” Said with a smile.

I wanted to ask questions, but suddenly I couldn’t. The conversation turned elsewhere while my mind secretly pursued avenues I wasn’t sure were safe to tread.

Not until we were outside. Not until we were about to say goodbye. Not until Meghan said, “Well, maybe you weren’t who I expected, but it was… interesting.”

Only then did I begin to babble incoherently. “I have an idea. It’s not… It’s… You’ll probably think I’m being… It’s not something I normally… But…”

“Anyone would think you were trying to make an indecent proposal,” Meghan said with a knowing smile.

Knowing that she expected the sort of thing I was on the cusp of offering and didn’t seem put out about it calmed me down a bit. “I was thinking. You’ll probably say no. I’m sure of it, but…”

“Just say it.”

“Would you sit for me?”

“Sit for you?”

“Yes. While I write. Just sit opposite while I write. Write you into a story, I mean.”

Meghan frowned. “I’m not sure I follow.”

“Just sit. While I write. Like, I don’t know, a muse or something. Like I’m painting your portrait, only…”

“Only being written as some kind of raving nymphomaniac.”

“Yes. No. I don’t know.”

Perhaps thirty seconds passed with Meghan looking like she was interrogating her own feelings. Then she said, “Do you know, I’m actually tempted.”

“But?”

“I’m married for one thing.”

“And?”

“And I assume this… sitting would be at your place.”

I could see her point. A married woman visiting a man she knew to write sometimes excessively depraved stories. “I wouldn’t lay a finger on you. Scout’s honour.”

“You were in the scouts?” She sounded both amused and incredulous.

“You can come up and see my badges,” I said, nervousness fading along with the realisation that had been there all along that it was a mad idea that she would never agree to.

“I’ll think about it,” she said. Before I’d worked out if I believed her or not, she’d given me a big hug. “Take care, Martin.”

“You too,” I said, thinking as I watched her walk away that she was just being polite, that this was the last I’d see of her.

~

It took eight days, then the short message appeared in my inbox. “OK. I’ll sit for you. One rule: No physical contact.”

I was overwhelmed by my own elation. In the two weeks since our meeting, I’d allowed myself no hope. That’s not to say I hadn’t thought about Meghan. I saw her in my mind’s eye about fifteen times a day, and I had innumerable scraps of stories on my hard drive to prove it. None of the attempted stories worked.

I was of course already acquainted with her profile. As far as I could tell, there was little or no fabrication. Her age was down as 45, which I would have guessed, and her relationship status was married. There was no telling if she really was a Capricorn or not. I had some idea that such people were supposed to be ambitious and conservative; but since I had no faith in such things, I doubted it was much of a guide to her character. She liked TV shows that I’d hardly even heard of, and we weren’t in the least bit compatible as regards music and movies, but that wasn’t likely to be of any consequence.

Of greater interest to me was that regardless of her initial reason for joining being to find out what her husband was doing, she had since been more active than one might expect. I read forum posts and all of the stories she’d favourited, trying to conjure one of my own that would match the picture of her I attempted to create from her activity. In this I failed miserably. I hoped very much that seeing her again in the flesh would unlock the story that I still felt lurked within. I hoped I wouldn’t disappoint her.

A time was agreed. One hour, Meghan said, just to see how things went. I would have been happy with fifteen minutes, and set about cleaning the flat forensically. This time she was punctual. I let her in, making a point of standing back to let her pass without touching. It felt awkward this not hugging, not even shaking hands.

“Would you like something to drink?” I asked. “Tea, coffee, fruit juice, mineral water?”

“No thanks,” she said. “I had a coffee on the way.” Then, looking around, “So where would you like me to sit?”

I indicated the end of a three-piece. Everything felt appallingly awkward. Perhaps a little light levity was called for. “Would you like me to fetch those badges?” She frowned, evidently not remembering that part of our conversation. Why should she? Clearly a different approach was called for. “You look stunning.”

It worked, but I wasn’t expecting her to look quite so gratified. “I thought you’d think so. I re-read some of your stories. You have a very particular type.”

So she’d gone fishing for clues about me, just as I had about her. There was something oddly titillating about that. “Is it that obvious?”

She smiled with her eyes, but not with her mouth. “Is there any particular pose you’d like me to adopt?”

“No,” I said. “It’s enough just to look at you.” I crossed my fingers mentally that it would prove so.

Meghan kicked off her shoes before sitting down, leaning against the armrest and folding her legs under her. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her, not even when I sat myself down in an armchair, put my feet up on the table and rested the laptop on my thighs. Heart beating I dredged up the courage to ask. “I did have another idea.”

“Oh?” Her eyes widened a little. “Nothing too inappropriate, I hope.” Her tone suggested she was not entirely averse to something mildly inappropriate. That was good.

“I thought you might choose the story category,” I said.

“That could be dangerously revealing,” Meghan replied. “But since you offer, hardcore.”

This came as no surprise to me. A lot of Meghan’s favourite stories were hardcore. “And what should I call you?”

“Meghan. It’s my name, after all.”

“I thought I might protect the innocent.”

“Is that how you see me?”

“Is there any particular situation or… activity you’d like me to…”

“It’s sweet of you to offer, but… Just do your worst.”

“You want to watch who you say that to. A man might get ideas.”

“Isn’t that the point?”

It was, but I already had the ideas. It transpired that all I really needed to make something of one of them was her blessing and her presence. Being able to type easily and accurately without looking at the keyboard, I was free to keep my eyes on her. She’d definitely made an effort. Her dark curls swept down over her shoulders as before, but today she was wearing a white blouse, unbuttoned just enough for the ends of her hair to tease a hint of décolletage. If she’d been shapeless in the café, her curves were now obvious. For a moment I even wished I was a painter rather than a writer, since no words could adequately describe the way her black skirt had ridden up to reveal an expanse of thigh through expensive looking black nylon. She was wearing more make-up too; not in an exaggerated way, just enough to heighten the blue in her eyes and give more volume to her lips.

“Do your worst,” Meghan had said. Having read my stories, she must realise what that might mean. My fingers danced across the keyboard as my eyes slithered all over her. I have no illusions; I’m sure I looked unconscionably predatory, like a starving man suddenly presented with a rump steak. Meghan sat very still, watching me intently.

It could have made me nervous; instead I was filled with another sensation. I’d written stories that involved real people carefully disguised, but never with that person right in front of me, a willing participant to being moulded like putty and subjected to whatever debauchery I chose to involve them in. The fact of having someone consenting to be used in such a way was new to me, and only heightened my authorly omnipotence.

Almost intoxicated by Meghan’s presence and where I was taking her in my imagination, I lost track of time, dumped back to earth when she suddenly said, “I should be going.”

I lifted my eyes from the stretch of nylon. “Of course.”

There was a glint in her eye. “But before I go, can I hear what you’ve written?”

She wanted it a little more than her voice suggested, I realised. “I’m not sure,” I said.

“Just a tease. Please!” It was odd how she could look so eager and yet sound so unperturbed.

“Be warned. I took you at your word and did my worst.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.” She cocked her head to one side, the tip of her tongue teasing her bottom lip.

“All right,” I said. “One or two paragraphs.”

I leaned back and placed my hands behind my head, staring hard at Meghan across the desk. A lot of women pass through my office, and she wasn’t much different to many of those others; married, at a certain time of life, seeking excitement yet not quite sure exactly what kind.

She was also very different. There was something special about her, unconnected to the curve of her arse and the stretch of nylon on her legs. I stared hard at her enticing lips and the modicum of cleavage on display. Covered by her blouse as they were, I could tell that her tits were special too, the kind my men would love to get to grips with.

But the specialness went beyond tits and arse and other physical attributes. Something about her made me want her, more than I’ve wanted perhaps any other woman who sat opposite me in my office. It’s not been unknown for me to shag one or other slut, married or not, right there; hump them over the desk or have them lay on it while I finger their tight little pussies and suck their clits until they cream themselves. I could easily have done something like that to Meghan, being rock hard just looking at her. But a special lady deserves something special, and though I wanted her, it would be unfair of me to keep such a lady to myself.

Still staring at her in such a way as to leave no room for doubt that I had ungentlemanly designs, I pulled open a drawer and pulled out two sheets of paper stapled together which I laid before her. “This, Meghan, is a standard Fair Game contract. I want you to read through it very carefully. If it’s not for you, then so be it. If it is…”

I sighed. “It needs a bit of work.”

“Don’t stop!”

“Just a tease, you said. Besides, don’t you have to go?” I didn’t want her to go. I wanted her to sit, practically motionless on my sofa forever, or at least until I’d finished the story.

“I want to know what happens next.”

“Then you’ll have to come back.”

“All right,” Meghan grumbled, unfolding her legs and placing her feet on the floor. “Let me see when I can fit you in.” A few nimble taps on her phone later, she looked up. “Thursday evening?” she suggested.

“I’ll be here.”

~

“Sorry I’m late,” Meghan said when she finally arrived on the Thursday evening. “Things got a bit mad at work.” I was just grateful she hadn’t abandoned the project. “I had a coffee on the way,” she added, before I had time to offer anything. She was dressed in exactly the same way as the previous occasion she’d been here.

Except she wasn’t. When she curled her legs beneath her on the sofa, the skirt rode up to reveal stocking tops. Her eyes brightened with delight at the sight of my half open mouth. “I don’t imagine you need any extra encouragement, but I thought it couldn’t hurt.”

“You’re right, I don’t, but the effort’s much appreciated.”

I was lying. I was wishing she hadn’t. Everything was premised on there being no touching. I’d promised not to lay a finger on her, but I wanted to. I wanted to lay all eight fingers and two thumbs on her, stroke and squeeze and… I hoisted the laptop into position, wondering what she was playing at. She was married, after all. Our initial meeting had been a mistake, and now this…

Fortunately I could always write, and I plunged straight in; fingers dancing on the keyboard, eyes fixed on her stocking tops. Her skirt had ridden up so far that I could even see the red trim of her underwear. “Do your worst,” had been her words three days ago, and now I felt that nothing but the most outrageous scenario would do. Using my fingers to place her in a scandalously obscene situation was the only way I could stop myself from doing the forbidden thing and laying them on her.

After about an hour of staring hard at her breathtaking curves while typing in a frenzy and with her steady gaze fixed on me, Meghan suddenly stretched out her legs on the sofa and tugged at her skirt, as if she’d suddenly rediscovered her modesty. “I have to go shortly,” she said. “Read to me.”

“My pleasure.”

I hurried my steps, catching up with Meghan and falling into step beside her. “There’s somewhere you need to be,” I told her.

“Steps, step,” I sighed.

“Never mind. Just get on with it,” Meghan replied.

“It’s my lunch hour,” she objected, without so much as looking at me.

“You signed the contract. Fair Game means Fair Game.” Meghan didn’t answer, but when I said, “Turn right here,” she did so without any further objection.

The narrow alley was a dead end with a staircase leading down to a basement, but that didn’t become apparent until we’d turned right again. Red brick on either side. I grabbed her arm, making her stop, then pushed her back against the wall. Aside from the momentary squeeze of her arse in the crowd at the station, I’d not touched her. I did now, placing my hand on her thigh and pushing her skirt up. “Stockings!” I observed. “What a lovely surprise! It’s almost as if you were expecting me.”

“So what happens now?” Meghan breathed.

I slid my hand round, grabbing a hand full of soft, pliant buttock. She had the kind of arse that no man could look at and not want. “What happens is that you do as you’re told.” There was a vaguely defiant look in her eye that made me get my other hand behind her, fondling her buttocks, lifting, as if trying to hoist her off the ground. I pushed myself against her for good measure, making sure she could feel how much I wanted her. I put my lips up against her ear. “You’re fair fucking game, Meghan, and you’re about to get your first real taste of what that entails.”

I could hear her swallow. “I need my lunch,” she said.

I took a step back, moving my hands away from her arse, enjoying the look on her face as I unzipped her jacket. She was wearing her blouse the same way as in my office, just the hint of cleavage. I pulled her forwards and spun her around. In an instant I had both hands on her tits, digging my fingers into them while I pushed the throbbing gristle against that arse that any man would want. My lips were back up against her ear. “Don’t worry,” I told her. “You won’t be going hungry, I guarantee it. I just hope you aren’t a vegetarian.”

A little smile played on her lips throughout. When I looked up, she said, “Is that all I get?”

“Oh no, you get so much more.”

“Then read on, please!”

“I thought you had to go.”

“But I want to know how it ends.”

“I haven’t reached the end yet.” I paused, delighted at the way she batted her eyelids, trying to manipulate me. “There won’t be an end unless you sit for me again.”

Meghan swung a leg over the edge of the sofa. “I don’t know if I dare,” she said. “Who knew you were such a pervert?”

“Anyone who’s read my stories?” I suggested.

Meghan got to her feet. “Does Sunday work for you?”

“Sure.” Then I remembered the man I’d almost forgotten in my obscene desire for his wife. I had a vague idea that married couples did things together on a weekend. Having never been married, I couldn’t be sure. “Won’t your husband mind?”

“John works odd hours,” Meghan replied. She didn’t seem to appreciate the concern. More than that, the reply sounded rehearsed rather than spontaneous. I ignored the voice in my head, more concerned with getting her back in a good mood.

“Thank you for doing this.”

Megan gave a funny little smile. “Three o’clock?”

“For you, madam, any time is the perfect time.”

~

It was more like ten past three when Meghan showed, but I would have forgiven her virtually anything. She had a cardboard beaker in her hand. “Hold this!” It was borderline scalding, even on the outside.

Meghan took her coat off, and it took my breath away. She’d abandoned the office look for black faux leather leggings, stiletto heeled ankle boots and a top patterned in celestial blue and yellow which appeared to be a size too small, making it look as if the thing was permanently groping her well-rounded breasts. She gave a spontaneous twirl. “What’s the verdict?”

“Hotter than this safety hazard you’ve bought,” I said, handing her back her coffee.

“I aim to inspire.”

By now she knew where the living room was and took the lead, sitting in her now familiar seat. Not wanting to waste any more time on small talk, I sat down myself, placing my feet on the table and the laptop on my thighs and began to type.

“You’re quick off the mark today,” Meghan observed.

“You aim to inspire,” I said, “and inspire you do.” The woman gave a secretive little smile before sipping from the beaker and placing it on the table. Then she adjusted her body, pulling her legs up onto the sofa and turning, ending up on all fours, putting a stunning view of her rounded, shiny behind right before my eyes.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“I take my work seriously, and if my job is to inspire…”

I swallowed hard. What was it I’d written? She had the kind of arse that no man could look at and not want. It was true. It was all I could do to stop myself from going across and running my hands over the shiny material stretched across Meghan’s perfect buttocks.

No touching! I threw myself into the story, enflamed by frustration. To make matters worse, Meghan took it upon herself to give her arse a little wiggle from time to time. Abiding by the rules was torture. I hammered on the keys, transforming all of my pent up desire into words on the screen while I kept my eyes fixed on her all but irresistible behind.

“Is there anything else I can do to inspire you?” Meghan had been on all fours for a quarter of an hour.

I stopped typing. There was a whole host of things in my head I might want, but voicing any of them would jeopardize the rules. “Just be yourself,” I said, thinking that it made me sound as if I was writing a self-help manual.

Meghan turned, sitting down properly, legs crossed as she took a sip of coffee and grimaced. “How can something so hot go lukewarm so quickly?”

“Oh I don’t know, in my book you keep getting hotter by the minute.”

Meghan flashed a smile that told me she was very well aware what kind of effect she was having on me. She didn’t speak, just attended to the top, unbuttoning it. She was looking amused, no doubt because of the expression of absolute astonishment on my own face. She pulled the garment open, leaving me to stare in even greater awe at her chest, where a black, lacy triangle bra was transparent enough for the sight of erect nipples to make my fingertips tingle. And yet I mustn’t touch.

“How hot does this make me? Am I a safety hazard?”

“Undoubtedly.”

“Then it’s just as well I trust you.”

“Not to take advantage of you?”

“Other than in writing.”

Her hands were on the move. Fingers were circling, the sight enough to make my lips tingle. She was playing with fire. “How much do you trust me?”

She returned her hands to her lap and tilted her head to one side. “Enough that I’d let you handcuff me. If you wanted to.”

Not just playing with fire, more like inciting arson. “I’d have to touch you to do that.”

“I didn’t think of that.” But she had, her voice told me that.

Once again I defied every instinct, pressing down hard and fast on computer keys. Meghan had an inscrutable look on her face. I stared at her legs and at her swollen nipples as I typed, my frustration spilling out onto the digital page.

Twenty-five minutes passed. Then Meghan broke the silence once again. “It goes without saying that you’re aroused when you write,” she said. “But do you ever do anything about it?” She made a swift gesture with her hand. She was killing me, and she knew it.

“It happens,” I admitted.

There was a glint her eye, the playfulness I’d imagined the very first time we met. “Just pretend I’m not here,” she said.

She was asking for the impossible. “Here I was trying to preserve some element of decency.”

Once again Meghan ran fingers over engorged nipples. “Maybe I’m beginning to think decency is overrated.”

What was a man supposed to do? I stood up, feeling slightly embarrassed as I unbuckled and unzipped, Meghan staring with bright eyes as if I had become her plaything, rather than me toying with her, albeit in my head. I sat back down, the laptop hot against my thighs. Meghan slid across the sofa, sitting very close to me now. She leaned forwards, staring hard at what was by now a worryingly volatile erection. I stared hard at her face, trying to divine her state of mind while I resumed typing.

“Aren’t you going to…?” Again that hand gesture.

Truth seemed like the best policy. “And bring this little session to a premature end?”

Meghan looked as if she was considering this. “You’re right,” she said. “This is very cosy. It would be a shame to ruin it.”

I pressed down on keys, practically subjecting the keyboard to G.B.H., staring hard at Meghan, who in turn never moved her eyes from my throbbing cock. From time to time she shifted slightly, running a hand up her leather-clad thigh, adjusting her boobs or every now and then allowing the tip of her tongue to moisten her lips.

I don’t know how much time passed. A lot. Meghan was so close I could have reached out and touched her, yet I mustn’t. But I could type her into any situation I liked, and that was precisely what I did.

Eventually the woman leaned back. “Are you ready to read to me yet?”

“Not quite yet. There are a couple more things Meghan needs to experience.”

Her eyes glittered. “Please hurry! I can’t wait!”

“Never rush an author,” I told her.

She pouted, but leaned forwards again, studying me intently as I studied her. By the time I’d reached the point where I felt comfortable making the break in the story, my balls were aching. “Ready for a taster?”

Her eyes sparkled. “Please!” She leaned back, a big smile on her face, waiting for me to read aloud from the screen. I placed the computer on the table and launched into what I’d written at random.

“What are you doing?” Meghan cried from inside the spandex hood that had so abruptly been pulled over her head.

I was delighted. This show of reluctance would do nothing but spur my men on. “You’re fair game, you little slut,” Banger growled. “You know it and we know it.”

Meghan’s arms were being fastened behind her back. She didn’t put up a fight physically, but she did say, “Please don’t hurt me!” As long as she didn’t use the safeword.

“Get her indoors!” I said. I fancied Meghan started at the sound of my voice. The men lifted her, carrying her over the threshold like this was her wedding night and she’d just married a whole biker gang. The door slammed slut.

“Where do you want her, Guv?” Basher asked.

“I think we’ll have her in the bedroom,” I said. “What better place to take care of the adulterous slut than the conjugal bed?”

It was at this point that Meghan startled me by taking things yet another step further. Her legs parted and she slipped a hand inside the hem of the faux-leather leggings. I watched the movement in the material, scarcely able to believe my eyes. “Don’t stop,” she said. “I’m enjoying it.”

So I could see. I continued, watching the shifting material as her arm moved.

Carrying a body upstairs is not easy, but my men are experienced, and without too much ado they got Meghan in the bedroom, standing her on her feet, but only long enough for one of them to pull her leggings and knickers down to her knees. Then she was dumped on the bed.

Hands immediately went to her tits, groping those marvellous mammaries through the red top. “You can’t do this!” Meghan exclaimed.

“We can do anything we like,” Duke laughed. “And we’ve got the contract to prove it. Remember?”

There was of course no answer to this, except the safeword, should Meghan choose to use it. She didn’t. She chose not to say anything. That didn’t stop Basher from deciding, “We need something to shut the slut up!”

I was ahead of him, having already found Meghan’s underwear drawer. The hood was pulled up far enough for two pairs of her own panties to be stuffed in her mouth. She made a bit of a fuss at first, until Basher told her not to make it worse for herself. “They stay in there until we decide there’s a better use for your mouth,” I told her.

“Mmmmnnngggffff!” Meghan replied, wriggling as if trying to effect an escape. That made the guys laugh. Hands continued groping her as we all took it in turns to undress. Not only those luscious tits, but also jammed down between her thighs. There was real heat there.

“That’s not quite right, is it?” I mused.

“It sounds very right to me,” Meghan replied.

When we were all ready, some of the guys got on the bed and rolled her over. Slash was the first to take the opportunity to slap her arse. Others followed his lead, making sure she was given a good spanking. I shoved my hand between her thighs again, managing to find her entrance with a finger. Meghan was whining. It sounded like reluctance, but I have enough experience of these married sluts to know how much they want it. I pulled my finger up and pressed it between Meghan’s buttocks, against the tight hole. “When you’re fair game, you get each and every one of your pleasure holes thoroughly seen to,” I informed her.

There was a reply to that: “Nnnnggghhmmmmmmnnnggg!”

The men laughed, hands administering more slaps. Then Meghan’s ankles were grabbed, hands pulled her down the bed until her knees were on the floor. This time I took the opportunity of spanking her, good and hard myself. “We need to see the slut’s tight little cunt dripping with spunk,” I announced. “So who’s keen on stepping up to the plate?”

Every last one of us had our hard cocks at the ready, but it was Banger who reacted first. Meghan whined as he shoved his big bulb up against her.

I fell silent. There was still movement inside Meghan’s leggings. She had a very particular look on her face. “Don’t stop! Please don’t stop!”

“I have to,” I told her.

“Why?” As if she couldn’t work it out.

I stood up, reaching across the table, grabbing the beaker of coffee and ripping the top off it. It was all too much, the sight of her in those glossy leggings, impertinent nipples only nominally protected, imagining what her fingers were doing inside those leggings – quite aside from the product of my own fevered imagination.

Her hand came out of the leggings. Her fingers glistened as she put them up to her mouth, her seductive lips. I grabbed my cock with my free hand. In no time I was grunting, adding cream to the by now undrinkable beverage.

“I guess I’ll have to come back another day to hear the rest?” Meghan didn’t sound too disappointed.

“One more session and I’ll have the whole story,” I acknowledged, sounding nowhere near as suave as I wanted to, and feeling a little vertiginous. Meghan was getting to her feet. “Feel free to finish what you started,” I added, feeling even as I said the words that they were a little beneath me.

“You wish!” She was holding her top, pulling it on and buttoning it with surprising speed. “But if you’re anxious to complete the story, I could drop by tomorrow after work.”

“If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you were anxious to know what Basher, Banger and the rest have in store for Meghan.”

She smiled. “I think I’ve got a pretty good idea. Tomorrow evening then?”

“Tomorrow evening.” Even mere minutes after ejaculating, my cock stirred at the prospect. I wondered what she was going to tell her husband, but didn’t want to ask. Working late would be the go-to excuse, I imagined.

Soon all that was left of her was the scent of her perfume. She took the beaker with her. I have no idea what she did with it.

~

“I could murder a coffee. I didn’t have time to buy one on the way.” It was just past six. I’d been waiting with the laptop set up in position for over an hour.

Today Meghan was back to her regulation office clobber; heels, nylons, black skirt, white blouse. I looked her over with no sense of shame. She smiled in return. “It’ll have to be instant,” I said.

“The sooner the better.”

I let her find her own way to the living room. It didn’t take long for the kettle to boil. I made two mugs, not sure if I wanted one myself. I remembered from the beaker that Meghan took her coffee black. One mug in each hand I went back through to the living room and almost dropped them.

“A little extra inspiration for a grand finale,” Meghan smiled, clearly amused at my astonishment. She sat as cool as a cucumber in her customary spot, legs crossed, topless and skirtless. I went up to her, handing her the mug, staring hard at her naked breasts. She cradled the mug, eyes glistening with glee. “I can’t wait to find out how it all ends.”

No touching, I reminded myself. No touching. I went round the table to my own seat, placing the remaining mug on the table. Meghan was eyeing me quizzically. “Aren’t you going to show me your arousal?” she asked.

“I wouldn’t want to put temptation in your way.”

That made Meghan laugh. “What’s a little temptation between friends?”

She was determined to play with fire, it seemed. But I would do whatever she wanted. I got back up, and this time I stripped naked. She was practically naked herself, so it seemed to even things out. As I sat back down she slid across the sofa, coming close to me as she had last time, leaning over and staring with intense interest at the erection she’d brought on. Her boobs swung out beneath her, and I kept my eyes on them as I placed the laptop on my thighs and began typing.

After about five minutes, Meghan leaned back in the sofa. With a gleam in her eye she let her legs come apart. Her black knickers were semi-transparent. I stopped typing, just staring. Meghan smiled, moving her hands. She grabbed the garment, pulling the crotch out and bunching it before pulling it in between her labia. I swallowed hard, completely absorbed, absurdly thinking that the fabric and her pussy lips resembled a yo-yo. Meghan tilted her head to one side. “No slacking,” she said. “I really do want to know how the story ends!”

I forced myself to type, all the while staring at her perfect boobs, neutral face and dissolute labia. Knowing that I wasn’t allowed to touch her made my desire all the more ferocious, and for the last time I poured it all into the story. Every now and then she ran fingers across her breasts, making sure to tease her engorged nipples. Occasionally she ran a hand up a nylon thigh, and from time to time she gave a little tug on her knickers, making her labia all the more conspicuous.

It took a little over an hour for me to bring the story to its conclusion. There was nothing I didn’t want to do to the woman sitting in front of me, displaying herself while staring at my hard cock, and in the story I subjected her to as much as I possibly could.

“Done,” I said.

Meghan licked her lips. “Read to me,” she said.

I was afraid to, afraid that I’d gone too far. But if she wasn’t trying to goad me, why sit practically naked like this? I was aching to get my hands on her forbidden fruit. Then another thought dawned on me. If she could tease…

“I don’t think I will,” I said.

That took her by surprise. “Please!”

“It needs editing, polishing,” I said, not wanting to make things sound like payback. “After that, I’m happy to read the whole thing to you before I publish.”

She pouted. “That’s just mean!”

“You can’t blame me for making an excuse to see you again. Regard it as something to look forward to.”

Meghan seemed to be thinking. Then she got to her feet, moving towards the door. I didn’t stop her. She wasn’t going anywhere without her skirt and blouse. I sat there, acutely aware of an obscenely rhythmic throbbing, waiting for her return. It didn’t take long. She’d fetched her phone and was holding it up to her ear.

“Hello, darling … Yes, it’s all going fine, except … Martin’s being so mean. He won’t read to me.”

I saw in her eyes that she was enjoying this, enjoying watching as the true nature of things dawned on me. Her husband knew and had probably known all along. He’d been in on it from the start. That would explain a few things, but ruminating on those was for later.

“He says he wants to edit and polish it before he reads the whole thing to me … Yes … All right…”

Megan pushed a button on her phone before laying it on the table. Immediately there came a male voice. “This is John, Meghan’s husband.” He sounded nervous.

“Good evening, John.” It felt strange, speaking to a man whose wife was standing before me in just stockings, heels and knickers bunched up between her labia.

“This story of yours… I understand you need to do some editing and such.”

“Yes.”

“Completely understandable, however impatient my wife is.” He broke off. I waited, unsure what to say. “I have an idea, an offer perhaps.”

“Yes?”

“Why don’t you come round and do a reading for the two of us together?”

This wasn’t something I could possibly have imagined even half an hour ago, but the idea appealed to me. I felt an instant curiosity, wanting to meet this man who was happy for his wife to visit me and sit for me and have me imagine all manner of filth about her while she exposed herself to me. “With pleasure,” I said.

“Would this Friday at eight suit you?”

“Absolutely!”

“Excellent! I’ll leave it to Meghan to give you the address.” He paused. “Is my wife being an unbearable tease?”

“A tease, certainly. Unbearable…” Yes, it was unbearable, having her here, flaunting herself and having agreed not even to touch.

When John spoke again his voice was a mixture of nervous tension and sexual excitement. “Is she making you want to fuck her brains out?”

Meghan rolled her eyes. “And he’s normally so well-spoken,” she said.

I locked eyes with her as I answered her husband. “Oh yes, I want to fuck her brains out alright.”

“That wasn’t part of the agreement,” Meghan said, but nor was her next move. She was in front of me in half a second, lowering herself. In another half second she’d wrapped her luscious boobs round my cock and was massaging it.

Taken by surprise, I gasped, then murmured, “I thought we agreed on no touching.”

“We agreed that you couldn’t touch me,” Meghan said. I didn't remember our agreement being that exactly, but I wasn't about to argue the toss.

“What’s happening?” John’s voice said from the phone. “Talk to me darling, tell me what’s going on!”

“Are you enjoying that?” Meghan asked as the head of my stiff cock poked up from her soft tit flesh.

It was a redundant question. “Fuck, yeah!” I grunted. “Oh fuck, that’s good!”

“Meghan?” John said. “Martin? Please talk to me!”

His wife got to her feet. “Stand up!” she said, beckoning me.

I got to my feet. In a flash Meghan was holding my cock in one hand while pulling on her knickers with the other. “You really are something!” I exclaimed. She was rubbing my thick head in her oily slit, squeezing the shaft with considerable force.

“Meghan?” John’s voice sounded desperate over the phone. “Martin? Speak to me! Please tell me what’s going on!”

“I’m cumming!” I grunted, feeling absurdly like a porn floozy. I was ashamed of not being able to hold out longer, but I’d been on edge ever since Meghan had revealed herself to me topless. “Oh yeah! I’m cumming!”

“Martin? What’s happening? Where are you cumming?”

Meghan was holding my spongy head against her clit, letting the first of my seed wash over her nub. A second spurt followed quickly before the woman began rubbing me against her bald mound as the rest of the creamy load issued forth.

“Martin? Meghan? What’s happening?”

“Oh, Megan!” I groaned. “You’re a marvel! It feels so fucking good cumming on you!”

Meghan continued working her hand, sliding my helmet through the seed that had already accumulated before letting go and quickly pulling her knickers into place.

“Please, someone, tell me what’s going on!” John suddenly sounded like man on the verge of an ejaculation himself, albeit one of desperation.

“Let’s just say that there’s a big stain in my panties for you to inspect later,” Meghan said, giving my cock a final stroke as she turned.

“Oh, darling!” John exclaimed. “Please hurry home!”

“I’ll see you when I see you,” Meghan told him. “Love you!”

“Please hurry!”

She cut the call, then turned to me. “I suppose I’d better get going,” she said.

“Stay as long as you like,” I said, knowing that she wouldn’t.

I watched as she quickly put on her bra, blouse and skirt, suddenly resembling a professional again rather than the intoxicating tease she was so inordinately good at being. I followed her to the door, resisting the urge to touch, even though the rule seemed to have been rendered obsolete by events.

“14 Ambler Avenue,” she said. “Don’t be late.”

“I'll be there on the dot,” I told her. "I wouldn't want to come prematurely."

She smiled and leaned in, giving me a peck on the cheek. Then she was out of the door and away, no doubt to show her husband the stain in her knickers, as promised. I returned to the living room to clear away the mugs of coffee that neither of us had drunk from.