A pound of apples and satsumas; half-a-pound of carrots and onions; a cauliflower and a bag of potatoes please, Joey.” Zoe Cooke stood shivering on the pavement in front of me. She was buttoned up against the elements in a huge red duffle coat.

It was indeed freezing cold and business was slow. It was one of those days where you could easily pack up and admit defeat. In fact, I think it would have been a relief. But life goes on.

I’ve known Zoe for years. She must be in her late twenties and a regular at the market on Saturday mornings, but it was nice to see her without her ape of a husband Alfie. She always appeared so withdrawn when he was around.

It’s something that has always amazed me. Why do girls always seem to be attracted to the loud-mouthed bully? Surely a decent level of intelligence and a good sense of humour scores above thuggery, but apparently not.

I placed the items in brown paper bags and set them down on a pile of peppers at the front of the stall.

“Anything else Zoe?” I asked, noticing her eyes wandering.

“I think that’s about all,” she said, picking up a large cucumber from a box, and absentmindedly letting it slowly glide between her gloved thumb and index finger. “I’m freezing, I think I’ll go back to bed.”

“Taking that with you?”

“What?”

“The cucumber,” I said, pointing at the object in her hand. She looked down and began to laugh.

“I should be so lucky,” she added and then blushed as she realised what she had just said, making me smile.

“Luck may be closer than you think,” I chirped over her shoulder and I could see my dad warming his hands around a mug of tea. He looked over in my direction, smiled and shook his head.

“What do you mean?”

“Well that’s for me to know, and for you to find out.” It’s a line I’ve heard many times, and it makes her bite her bottom lip, she placed the cucumber back in the box and looked me up and down, sizing me up. I’m sure she had heard the rumours; nothing stays a secret around here for long and on my part, I never admit or deny anything.

“And what does that mean, Joey Potter?” she asked, and I could tell by the dilatation of her pupils and the soft blush of her cheeks that she was warming to the subject.

“Well, it could mean anything you want it to.”

Her eyes scoured the area for eavesdroppers. As I said, one whispered word around here can be twice around the block by lunchtime.

“West Ham are playing tonight,” she muttered under her breath, piquing my interest.

“I know.”

“Are you going?”

“No.”

“Alfie’s going,” she said, and it felt like a flashbulb going off in my head. The implication appeared too obvious, which surprised me and stopped me in my tracks. I’ve had a bit of a crush on Zoe for a long time. She’s from around here but has always been different, a little separated from the rest.

On many occasions I’ve watched her jog around the local park, her dishwater blonde hair tied up in a ponytail, swishing like a horse’s tail between her shoulder blades, dancing to the rhythm of her movement and whatever is playing through her headphones. She could be in a world of her own and seemingly unaware of the attention that she attracted, as one by one, heads would turn to leer, her tight yoga pants clinging like a second skin to her shapely bottom.

“Call in if you fancy a hot cup of something,” she said as she began to walk away. Even hidden under her thick winter coat, the haughty sway of her hips as she walked is enticing. I continued to watch, waiting in hope. And then it happened. She glanced back over her shoulder at me and grinned. Did that really just happen?

I should be used to it by now, these wonderfully unexpected moments creeping out of the shadows and presenting themselves to me. I have no idea how this all happened, but I have developed this fascination for older women.

It is strange and at times quite baffling. I’m not sure if it’s because of their experience, or their very apparent and glaring desperation to seek something away from the norm. But it is captivating to watch, as they transform themselves from loving housewife and mother to very willing adulterer. At the end of the day, it’s a moment of no strings attached pleasure for both of us. Add in the jeopardy of being caught by an unsuspecting and very jealous husband, and it’s quite an intoxicating mix.

Dad walked back across the market as a light snow begins to fall, swirling around our heads as he hands me a steaming and very welcome mug of coffee.

“Watch yourself there, son,” he says, looking over in the direction of the disappearing Zoe, “she could be trouble, and that Alfie’s a bit tasty. You don’t want to get caught up in something you can’t handle.” I laugh, but he’s right. The path I’ve chosen is going to bring me trouble, that much is obvious, but what can I do? The possibilities are seemingly endless and way too appetising.

The old Seaman’s Hall clock chimes three, and finally the old man gives up and gives the signal to start packing up the stall. Many of the market traders gave up long ago leaving only the brave, desperate, and stupid; I’m not too sure which category we come under.

I watch as Archie and a small gang decked in claret and blue, cross the market square in a fog of e cigarette vapour on their way to the match. As he walked past, he gave me a wink and I smiled back. Everything about him screamed confrontation. His peaky blinders style, the dress, the hair, the hipster beard.

Archie is a bit of a local hero around here. He boxed for the area, and by all accounts was a pretty good prospect until he lost his licence in a drunken brawl. Dad was probably right - Archie’s potential level of violence is way out of my league.

******

I was at home at last and I soaked in a hot bath. Both mum and dad were out for the night, and I had no idea where my sister Siobhan could be. So, I was left to my own devices. The sudden buzz of my mobile phone shakes me from my reverie.

Sally: Bon soir, sexy. Are you at home?

Me: Yes

Sally: Where?

These texted conversations between us have become a regular and very welcome erotic diversion. I’ve grown accustomed to the format; it rarely differs. I know what she wants to hear, and I know how she likes to play.

Me: Where do you want me to be?

Sally: I want you to be here with me.

Me: Doing what?

Sally: Doing whatever you want.

Me: And what would that be?

Sally: I want you inside me.

Me: What do you want inside you?

Sally: Your big, thick cock. I want to be fucked by your big, thick cock.

Me: You could always come over and wash my back.

Sally: What?

Me: I’m in the bath. I have the place to myself.

I follow this by sending her a photo of my cock peeking out of the bubble bath.

Sally: Mmm I’d love to join you darling, but I have a tedious function to attend with hubby.

This was also followed by four photographs of herself. The first showed her pulling a sad face. The second has her standing in matching blue underwear in front of her bedroom mirror. In the third photo, she is holding up a flashy blue dress, in the fourth a black one of a similar design.

Sally: Which one?

Me: Try them both on and see which one gets me hard.

There was a long pause, in which I presumed she was either trying on the dresses or had left the conversation altogether.

Me: Are you still there?

Suddenly my phone buzzed, and two more photos appeared of her modelling both dresses in front of the mirror.

Sally: Which one?

Not being a fashion expert, I choose the one that matched her underwear.

Me: The blue one. Especially if you wear stockings and no knickers.

Sally: Is that what you want me to do?

Me: Yes.

Sally: You want your slut to go to an important banquet, amongst all those dignitaries at Mansion House, without her underwear?

Me: Yes, and I want pictures.

Sally: Are you hard?

Me: Yes.

Sally: Show me.

I hover my phone over where my erect penis is being kissed by the soap suds, carefully I press the white circle and send.

Me: Look what you’ve done.

I stare expectantly at the screen, waiting for a reply that doesn’t come. The whole situation makes me smile to myself. The very thought of this respected woman attending a grand function, possibly mingling with heads of state or even royalty, without her knickers makes me laugh.

Lying back, I wallow in the warmth of the water that surrounds me, mesmerised by the light wisps of steam floating around me as they catch on the cool air. Closing my eyes, I hold my breath and submerse myself completely, shutting out the world, letting my thoughts flow back to the last time I was with Sally at 184 Harbinden Road.

******************

It was a Monday morning. Against my better judgement, I had stayed over, mainly because Sally had drunk too much and made me an offer that I couldn’t refuse.

“Stay and you can do what you want. I’m a blank canvass. I’ll do whatever you want me to do. I won’t refuse anything,” she’d said, letting the thin straps of her dress slide over her shoulders, which allowed her dress to fall from her body.

It was the sudden hiss of the shower being turned on that woke me. Only a tiny sliver of light from the en suite bathroom cut through the utter darkness of my bedroom. Reaching down, I feel along the lushly carpeted floor in search of my phone. It was six o’clock in the morning and a triumphant grin danced across my face, as I began to recollect. Scrolling through my phone, I found an album’s worth of photos that provide enough evidence to confirm that it wasn’t a dream.

There was one slightly blurred photo looking down at the top of her distinct redhead, her nose nestled in my pubic hair as her mouth devoured my cock. Another had her laid out before me, looking up into the camera’s lens, her eyes holding an almost animal-like quality as I buried myself inside her. Her moans of pleasure were still clear in my head as I continued to scroll. Each photograph brought back another memory.

My hand snaked down under the sheets, feeling the hardened spunk that is matted in my pubic hair and lay crusted on my skin, further serving to confirm our activities.

Rolling out of bed, I carefully inched my way in the darkness towards the window, peering through the gap in the curtains at the street outside. House lights were slowly blinking into life as the world awakened, oblivious to the scandal that had occurred inside number 184.

The sound of the shower died to a drip, and the bathroom door opened. Sally was shrouded in a cloud of grapefruit scented steam, silhouetted against the backdrop of the brightly lit tiled room, a white linen towel precariously wrapped around her body.

She stopped and looked across at me, her wet hair hanging down over her slightly surprised expression. Perhaps she wasn’t expecting to see me awake so early, or maybe was she was hoping to avoid me by dressing and leaving the house as I slept, possibly leaving me a note on the bedside table, or it could just simply be my naked vulnerability. Her eyes appraised me, starting with my face, then slowly working their way down, taking in every hair and freckle, before stopping at my exposed groin.

“Quite the specimen,” she said, turning on the dull lamp on her dressing table on her way to joining me at the window, her hand resting on my bare hairless chest. “Good morning darling.”

“Glad you approve.”

“Oh, you were more than I could have ever imagined,” she purred. I replied with a self-satisfied smile while pulling at the loose knot that held the towel together over her breasts, watching it fall on to the carpet.

“Not happening Mr Potter, I need to get a wiggle on,” she said, as she turned and walked back towards the dressing table. Everything was a performance. The exaggerated sway of her hips as she moved across the carpet, making her round bottom twitch. The slight jiggle of her naked breasts as she arched her back that was reflected in the large oval-shaped mirror as I watched, captivated.

I flopped down on the bed as the show continued, watching her begin to get dressed. Opening the top draw of her dresser, she chose a pair of black I flopped down on the bed as the show continued, watching her begin to get dressed. Opening the top draw of her dresser, she chose a pair of black panties. “Panties Joey,” she had once scolded me, “knickers is such a course word don’t you think ?”  She stood with her back turned to me as she pulled them up towards her hips.

She then donned a simple black bra which, as she joined the clips at the back, pulled her breasts together in the most glorious of cleavages.

“Are you actually going to watch me dress?” she said into the mirror as she skilfully stepped into a black suspender belt.

“You're making me hard Sally, can’t you see?” And she was. She lazily gazed over to where I lay, grinning at my predicament as she sat and carefully pulled the matching stockings up over her legs, connecting them to the suspender strap clips.

Opening the doors to her wardrobe, she meticulously considered her options, as my attention was once again drawn back to my phone. Opening the photos app, I scroll down to videos, pressed play and turned up the volume.

“What do you want?” I heard my voice ask. Looking up at her, I waited for her to react. She was staring at her image in the full-length mirror that stood under a corner of the room, zipping up the back of a tight knee-length purple dress. On the video, I’m rubbing the head of my erect cock around her wet opening.

“What do you want?” I ask again.

“Your cock.”

“My what?”

“Your big cock.” Sally turned and looks at me. From her expression, it was easy to read that she was less than impressed.

“Where did you get that?”

“Don’t you remember.”

“No. You have to delete it.”

“Or what?” I giggle, but it’s clear that she is not amused. Quite the opposite in fact.

“This isn’t a game Joseph. You can’t have that on your phone.”

“I wonder what Mr Powley would say if he saw this?” As if with perfect timing, her recorded voice came through the tiny amplifier.

“Oh my god,” she whimpered, “Oh my fucking god. Just there. Do that.” Again, I look over the top of my phone at her, with her arms folded across her chest, and then back at the screen.

“Do what Mrs Harrison?”

“Do that. Fuck me. Fuck meee,” she breathed, her eyes closed as her body spasmed below me. I remember it. I remember it all so clearly. The exquisite feeling as her pussy tightened, the warm sensation over my cock.

“Give me the phone,” she said, impatiently holding out her hand, “give me the fucking phone.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll delete it,” I reply, reading her body language, realising that I may have gone too far and that she didn’t believe me.

Despite this, I started rubbing my cock in front of her, testing her resolve, but unable to resist pushing her a little further.

“I’ll delete it if you suck my cock.” I’m fully erect, and for a split second, I thought she would; in fact, I’m sure I saw a smile on her face as she took a step forward. But I will never know. Her phone began to ring on her bedside table. She walked around the bed and stared quizzically at the screen.

“David?” she said, her voice urgent. It was obvious that she was not expecting a call from him. Whatever was being said on the other end made her pace nervously across the floor, occasionally her eyes darting towards me, her face a mixture of confusion and excitement.

“And you had no idea?” she asked, followed by a flurry of comments which with no context made little sense. “Wow. Yes, of course. No, of course not.” And then she looked over at me, “yes he is,” she grinned, “I think you’re going to like him.” David’s disembodied voice mumbled something down the line which made her chuckle.

“Yes, goodbye David. Love you.” It was those final two words as they ended the call that intrigued me. How could she possibly say that she loved him after what we had done?

She stood in a daze in the centre of the bedroom, staring into space, clutching her phone to her breast.

“Good news?” I asked, breaking the spell.

“Yes,” she replied blinking in my direction, “very,” she added, trying to process whatever information she had just been given.

“Go on then,” I pressed, making her laugh out loud.

“Even if I told you, you probably wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

“I’m sworn to secrecy. This has to be understood.” She spoke like a child, unable to contain herself, desperate to let it out before she exploded.

“You have to tell me now,” I said, my interest piqued, as she sat on the end of the bed, half turned towards me.

“What would you say if I told you that you have fucked the wife of the new Chancellor?”

“Who?”

“I knew it,” she said, unable to control her mirth.

“What?”

“David is the new Chancellor of the Exchequer. There is going to be an official announcement at mid-day today from number ten.” She said the words and then waited for my reaction. Again, bursting out laughing at my less than ecstatic expression.

She crawled up the bed towards me, kissing me first on the lips, then pulling back the bedsheets and lightly kissing the head of my now deflated and listless penis.

“We will have to be even more careful now,” she said, and I knew she was right. “I have to go. You know where the shower is; there’s tea and coffee downstairs if you want it. Slam the door on your way out.”

I watched her collect a huge bag full of exercise books from her side of the bed and then proceeding towards the door. “Promise me that you won’t say anything to anybody,” she pleaded, walking out on to the landing, then turning quickly. “And promise me that you will delete what’s on your phone. My life has changed with that phone call Joey. If something like that got out, then …” She paused, lost in her thoughts. “Well, it doesn’t bear thinking about.”

“Already done,” I said, holding up the phone. Now wasn’t the time for humour or tease, I could feel the tension in her voice.

“Thank you.” She smiled as she hurried down the stairs. I heard a rattle of keys, a slamming of the front door and finally, the sound of her car engine as she left.

Quickly I scrolled through the contacts on my phone, pressing a name.

“Hi, Dad.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m fine. Now listen. Go down to O’Brien’s and stick a huge wedge on David Harrison to become the next Chancellor of the Exchequer.”

“What?”

“Don’t ask. Just do it.” The line went quiet, but I knew he was still there. I could almost hear the cogs whirling in his brain.”

“Okay. How much?”

“Dad, it’s a sure thing.”

******

Suddenly I could sense a presence in the bathroom with me, acutely aware that I was no longer alone. A muffled voice alerted me, and in a state of mild alarm, I resurface, wiping the soap from my eyes, blinking into the room.

“For fuck’s sake Joey, don’t you ever close the door?” Siobhan was leaning against the washbasin, staring down at me. My attempt to cover myself with a white flannel proving futile, the damage already done.

“I see the rumours are true then,” she said, a half-grin on her face.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she said, laughing and opening the mirrored bathroom cabinet.

“I thought everyone was out.”

“Obviously.” She laughed again, making the most of my embarrassment.

Siobhan is eight years older than me, the age gap proving difficult, and it has meant that we have never been particularly close. I’ve never thought of us as truly brother and sister; she has always felt more like an older family friend, a cousin or even a babysitter.

By the time I started primary school, she had already moved on to secondary school. When I also moved to secondary school, she was at work. I guess I have always been a loud, annoying little brother, robbing her of the limelight. But currently, she was enjoying the awkwardness of my position.

Although surely the easiest and most obvious thing for her to do would be to leave, she didn’t. Instead, her gaze alternated between the fake tiled lino flooring and what was hidden underneath the inappropriately sized flannel. 

She probably only stood there for sixty seconds, but it felt like an hour. It was as if she wanted to say or do something but couldn’t quite summon herself. Then she left, shuffling slowly towards the door, before stopping and talking with her back to me.

“You will be careful won’t you Joey.”

“What?”

“Just be careful.”

***************

The night was bitter with a biting wind blowing off the Thames and through the alleyways. My hood was up, but my head down, staring at the pavement as I stay in the shadows. I’m a muddle of mixed emotions. Part of me was convinced that this was a huge mistake, and another part of me drawn like a moth to the flame. With every step, I could feel my confidence ebbing away. What if I had misread the signs and it really was just an innocent offer on a cold day? What a fool I would look. But then I thought back, the look in her eyes as she spoke. Those sapphire blue eyes burning into me from under the hood of her coat. I know I’m right.

Turning the corner into Greenfinch lane, I could see her house. Number fifteen. I delivered groceries to them last Christmas. My phone vibrates in my pocket. It’s a message from Sally. As I open it, a selfie of her filled the screen. Her dress was bunched around her waist, showing her smooth waxed pussy and her black stocking tops.

Me: Thank you. Shall I share it?

Sally: Don’t you dare.

Sally: Where are you?

Me: Outside a friend’s house.

Sally: Are they with you?

Me: No.

Sally: Male or female?

Me: Would you be jealous if it was a woman?

Sally: Is it?

Me: Yes.

Sally: Are you going to fuck her?

Me: Do you want me to?

Sally: No. Your cock is mine.

Sally: Do I know her.

Me: No.

Sally: Is she younger than me?

Her question stumped me. Did she want me to tell her the truth, or were we just playing?

Me: Yes. I’m going to fuck her until she cums like you do.

Sally: Does she suck your cock like I do?

Me: No. No one does.

Sally: Thank you.

Me: How is the party going?

Sally: Boring. Surrounded by people full of their own self-importance. But I must go now.

Me: Have fun.

The front room lights of the house shone behind its closed curtains. In my mind, I had prepared two scenarios. One had her tottering around the house in six-inch heels, waiting for me to arrive. As the doorbell rings, she welcomes me in, wearing a matching black Basque, thong, suspenders and stockings, every inch the willing slut. In the other, she opens the door wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, takes one look at me and slams the door in my face laughing.

The black front door stood in front of me. I took a deep breath and put my heart on the line. This was no each-way bet, it was all or nothing; winner takes all. I rang the bell.