It started, as things like this often do, with a bad marriage and too much to drink.

Nicola and I worked together, a couple of desks apart in an open-plan office. She was a woman that you might easily overlook. Sensible cardigans, flat shoes, hair almost always tied back in a simple ponytail. She would talk about her husband's snoring, the kids' school and the various after-school clubs she had to take them to, the leaking tap she had asked her husband to fix for six months and he still hadn't.

Other women in the office would listen sympathetically and offer arbitrary advice or suggestions, but were not really interested or listening properly. I would listen, and think about the curve of her neck when she tilted her head back on the rare occasion that she laughed at something. She was quiet, but on occasions, if a rude joke or innuendo were made, she would really try to stifle her laughter, almost ashamed of enjoying it.

The first kiss happened at a Christmas party, as they often do. She had worn a really nice red dress, the first time I had seen her in something that wasn't beige or navy blue. She had had a few too many glasses of wine, and we were chatting near the coat rack in the lobby; everyone else was dancing or at the bar. She was talking about her husband, complaining about him as usual, and I smiled and nodded.

"You think I am just some bored housewife, don't you? Everyone does," she said.

"...I think you are wasted on him, if I am honest," I replied with a friendly smile. I really did mean it. Nicola was such a lovely woman.

She kissed me. It was clumsy and a bit desperate. It took me by surprise. I kissed her back, my hand on her hip, feeling the curves that a mother of 3 children was bound to have; they were soft and pleasant. She pulled away suddenly.

"I'm sorry!" she said, looking embarrassed, and before I had a chance to say anything, she hurried away and went home, and I had to make an excuse for her when the rest of the team asked where she had gone.

The second kiss was at a team dinner a few months later. Same sort of pattern, too much to drink, sat in close proximity, and her accumulated frustration and me giving her the time and attention that her husband clearly didn't very often anymore. This time, she pressed me against the wall outside the restaurant as we went to leave. Her hand lay flat on my chest, and her mouth was hungry. I let it go on longer than I should have, and I touched her hand on my chest and could feel her wedding ring. I pulled away and said that maybe we should get separate taxis home.

In the days that followed, the text messages started. Innocent enough to begin with. Just about work, or silly in-jokes we had from working in such proximity. But after a while, they changed. Messages quite late at night, occasionally after midnight, when I knew her husband would probably be asleep and she was lying awake in the dark, messaging me.

I can't stop thinking about your hands, when they touched my hips that night.

I didn't reply for a day or so; eventually I did.

Nicola, you are married. This isn't fair to either of us. You have young children; I don't want to be the reason for breaking up a family.

She replied almost immediately: I know, I know. I'm sorry. I just....I need something. He hasn't touched me in 18 months. You always seem to care.

Eighteen months! I read her message back several times as I lay in bed, my cock hard at the thought of fucking her and giving her the release she had been denied for so long. Wondering how she would look naked, what sounds she would make. Wondering if she had been touched at all in that time or not.

I texted her back: If we slept together, you would catch feelings. You know you would, and I am not looking for a relationship. I can't break up a family, and I don't think I am the answer.

I know. I just...I need to feel wanted.

Nothing more was said for a few days. I thought about it a lot though. An idea started to come to me. I wasn't sure if it was a good thing for Nicola or if I was just being selfish and wanting to have my cake and eat it. But the thought wouldn't go away... Layla.

I had known Layla for about a year. She was an escort that I had sought the services of a while back, during a dry spell and when I was feeling a bit low. She was a sex worker, but over the year, she had sort of also become a friend in a very blurred lines sort of way. We met occasionally socially, not just professionally. She understood men. She also understood women, more than most and certainly more than I did.

I called her.

"Hey stranger! You want a session soon? I am free on Thursday," she volunteered.

"Not for me, well, not just for me." I explained the situation to her, about Nicola, the unhappy marriage, the kids, the kisses, the text messages, the 18 months of nothing.

She listened to me and didn't interrupt, letting me tell her the full story. When I finished, she considered it for a moment.

"You want to fuck her, but don't want her to fall in love with you?"

"Something like that, yes," I replied, slightly embarrassed by how easily she had deduced what I was trying to achieve.

"So you need me there to make it transactional, so she knows it's just physical and not romance?"

"Pretty much." I nodded.

"There is a word for that; it's called an arrangement."

Despite her probably judging me for it, she was in, as long as we could convince Nicola. I went to Layla's apartment a couple of days later to discuss it in more detail. She walked around comfortably in a silk robe, her hair wet from a shower. We discussed how the evening would need to proceed should we go ahead with it. She sat next to me on the sofa and asked me to describe Nicola in detail.

"She's forty. Three kids, fairly plain-looking most of the time, but when she dresses up, she's…"

"Attractive?"

"Yeah, but not like you. She's...softer, curvier."

Layla leaned forward. "And she's desperate. That's the key. Desperate women do as they are told."

"Well, she follows instructions at work to the letter, so maybe she will here as well?"

"Layla stood up. "OK, here is what we do. You text her. You tell her you want to have sex with her, but only if she can keep emotion out of it. She will probably protest, but she will agree, because she is horny and lonely. Then you tell her about a third party joining, a friend of yours, to keep things from getting too intimate. She will be nervous, but she will agree, because she would already have said yes to the idea of sex with you."  

"And then I tell her the rules we discussed?"

"Yes, the rules are very important. She needs to know exactly what is expected of her, again, so it lacks emotion that she can cling on to."

The following day, I texted Nicola.

I've been thinking about what you said. If we do this, I need to know that you can keep it separate...emotionally separate.

She replied: I can, I swear I can.

I don't think you can. Not just the two of us. It would get messy.

There was a long pause before her next reply: What are you suggesting?

A friend. Somebody neutral; she would be there so it isn't just us, so it stays purely physical.

There was another very long pause, then I saw the 3 dots appear and disappear, as she typed, then stopped, then typed again. Finally: Who is she?

Someone I trust. You don't need to know her name; you just need to show up and follow the instructions.

Instructions?

Yes. Sorry if this sounds harsh or heartless, but I need to make sure that this stays purely physical, with no emotion. You will arrive. You don't speak unless you are spoken to. You do as you are told at all times. At the very least, I, but probably both of us, will have sex with you. We might do other things as well. Afterwards, you leave and never mention it again.

She didn't reply for 2 hours. I thought that I had lost her with the quite matter-of-fact rules I had laid out. Eventually she replied.

Where will it be? Is it formal? What should I wear?

I knew that we had hooked her when she asked that. I told her to look as sexy as possible. Ultimately we wanted her to get the attention she craved, and to feel desired. To feel sexy. So I told her to wear a nice dress and the nicest underwear she has. Stockings and a garter if she has them, and high-heeled shoes. I gave her the address and told her to come around the following day at 8 pm. To tell her husband she had a work function to go to.

The next evening, I waited at Layla's apartment for Nicola to arrive. Layla was dressed how I normally requested her to be dressed in our private sessions. Black nylon stockings and a garter, black lace underwear and her signature high heels. Her blonde hair was long and loose, and her lipstick was perfect.

"Do you think she will show?" Layla asked, sipping a glass of wine.

"I don't know. I gave her the address; she seemed nervous."

"Nervous is good; nervous means she will follow orders."

She sat beside me, and I rested my hand on her thigh, feeling the softness of her nylons. "You remember the plan?" I asked her.

"Of course. She arrives, she does as she is told. We fuck her, and you finish inside her ideally."

"She might not be on birth control. She is married, and her husband had a vasectomy years ago, I think."

"So, she'll worry about it. That adds to the risk, to the thrill. The knowledge that you are filling her up and she'll have to go home and pretend nothing happened.

I nodded. She was right. I picked up my wine glass, and Layla raised hers to toast me.

"To the unravelling of a bored housewife!" she said as she clinked my glass.

At 7:45 pm, my phone buzzed with a text from Nicola.

I am on my way....is this really happening?

I typed back: Yes. You remember the rules?

I remember.

At 7:55 pm, Layla stood at the window and looked down onto the street. "Taxi just pulled up, a woman getting out, brunette, black dress and heels, looking at the building like she wants to run away!" she described the scene to me.

"She won't run."

"She is looking at her phone, looking round to see if anyone can see her."

I had to laugh at the description, as it sounded exactly like me, the first time I came round to see Layla, making sure nobody saw me approach the building, in case they knew who and what Layla was. I understood how Nicola was probably feeling.

"Oh, she's coming towards the building now, " Layla said as the doorbell rang.

I stayed on the sofa, and Layla went to the door. I heard Nicola's voice, tentative.

"Hi, I err..."

Layla interrupted, warm but firm. "Shhh. No speaking unless spoken to, you remember the rules?" she asked.

Nicola paused and then said, "Yes, I remember."

Layla led her in. She looked really beautiful. Vulnerable and desperate, and undoubtedly nervous. She saw me and her lips parted, ready to speak, but she caught herself and said nothing.

Layla walked around her, like she was appraising a piece of furniture or a car in a showroom. She ran her hand down Nicola's back. "You followed the dress code perfectly, very good," she said to her, making her shiver. "Turn around, and bend over the table, palms flat."

Nicola hesitated and then did as instructed, hands on the table, her ass pushed out a little. Layla lifted Nicola's skirt, which rode up, and I saw the tops of her tan stockings and some black underwear stretched over her ass. Layla hooked her fingers into the elastic of the knickers and pulled them down slowly, letting them pool at her ankles.

Nicola felt very shy, bent over the table, her knickers round her ankles like a naughty little girl, and her cunt exposed to a work colleague and a perfect stranger. She felt vulnerable, but the liquid dripping from her told us that she was certainly excited.

I remained sat on the sofa, facing Nicola. "Stay there," Layla instructed her. "Don't move, you watch first."

Nicola nodded. Layla approached me on the sofa. Kneeling on the seat next to me, she unzipped my trousers, and my cock was already rock hard. She took me in her hand, expertly stroking the length of me and then lowered her mouth onto me, taking me fully in. Her technique was, of course, very well practiced; she took me to the back of her throat without gagging. I watched her blonde-haired head bobbing on me, her lips sliding softly over my shaft. I looked up and saw Nicola, silently watching. Her eyes were wide, and I saw her forcefully swallow as she watched.

Layla looked up and saw me looking over at Nicola. She pulled my cock out of her mouth and turned to Nicola. "You like watching, don't you? You like watching me suck his hard cock?"

Nicola didn't answer; she stood there, paralyzed. Layla stood and walked over to Nicola, taking her chin in her hand. "I asked you a question."

"Yes," Nicola whispered. "I like watching."

"Good, keep watching."

Layla came back over to me. She pulled her underwear down and stepped out of them, kicking them to the side and sat on my lap, straddling me and let herself sink onto my cock, taking me inside herself, moaning as I entered her. With her hands on my shoulders, she rode me, rocking her hips, looking me in the eye. "Do you think she is wet?" Layla asked, loud enough for Nicola to hear her.

"I think she is soaking," I replied between gasps.

"She wants your cock, doesn't she?"

"Yes, she has been thinking about it for months, probably."

Layla laughed, "Well, she is going to get it, but not yet."

She rode me harder; the sound of her thighs slapping against me and the wet squelch as my cock thrust in and out of her were joined by the sound of Nicola breathing quickly at the table. Layla came hard, her nails dug into my shoulders as she orgasmed. She climbed off of me, her legs shaking, and knelt in front of me, and stroked my cock until I came in her mouth, which she dutifully gulped down.

Layla started walking towards Nicola, who was still bent over the table, and ran her hand over Nicola's ass. "You have been so good and patient."

She knelt behind Nicola, gently kissing her buttock, and I got up from the sofa and moved towards them. I watched Layla reach between Nicola's legs and her fingers found Nicola's cunt. She moaned a guttural moan I had never heard from her before.

"She is soaked," Layla said, holding up her fingers. "Absolutely soaked!"

"Taste her," I said.

Layla brought her fingers to her lips and licked them, getting a mouthful of Nicola's juices. "Mmm, sweet, creamy, you try," she said back to me, running her hand through Nicola's wet folds to gather some more. She fed it to me, and I devoured the delicious nectar.

"Nicola, you taste so fucking delicious," I told her, seeing how much she was getting turned on, and wanting her to feel desired and wanted.

Layla pulled Nicola's legs slightly wider and lowered her face toward her, and Nicola's knuckles went white as she gripped the table, at the feeling of Layla expertly lapping her tongue over Nicola's pussy, slurping at her folds, and rubbing her clit, knowing exactly what Nicola needed to feel. I saw Nicola start to get into it and push her hips back onto Layla's face.

Nicola got close to orgasm, her moans escaping her without control. Layla pulled away, making Nicola whimper at the loss. Layla grabbed my face and kissed me deeply, letting me taste Nicola on her lips. "Now you," Layla instructed me.

I knelt and took over where Layla had finished, and licked slowly at Nicola's pussy lips, which were wet and swollen. I ate her pussy, savouring her flavour, her thighs clamped round my face.

"Please," Nicola whispered. "Please, I need to...I'm going to..Oh!"

"No speaking!" Layla said sharply. "You know the rules."

Nicola's plea immediately stopped, and I pulled away from her. She was very close; I could feel it in the tension in her. She wanted to come; she needed to come.

"She's going to cry," Layla said, almost amused. I looked up, and Nicola's eyes were welling up, and a tear slid down her cheek; she was biting her lip, trying to hold it in.

"Do you want to come?" I asked her. She nodded frantically. "Do you want my cock inside you?"

"Yes, please, I do!"

"We don't have any condoms, so it will be unprotected. Is that alright?"

"Yes!" she sobbed. "Please, I don't care, just please let me cum!"

Layla knelt beside Nicola and took my cock in her hand, and guided me towards Nicola's entrance. I teased her a second longer, and Layla started running her fingers in a circle on Nicola's clit. I drove into her with a single slow thrust.

"Mmmph!!" Nicola cried out as her pussy gripped me. I fucked her slow at first, as Layla fingered her. Then I fucked harder, as Nicola almost openly sobbed, pleading for an orgasm.

"Cum for us, Nicola, good girl, Cum for us, you deserve this," Layla said, coaxing it out of her.

"Oh, oh my god! Oh my fucking god!!" Nicola screamed as the climax crashed over her. Eighteen months of build-up hit her in almost violent waves as she gripped the table as I carried on fucking her through it, her pussy warm and soft as my cock stroked her inner walls.

"Oh fuck! I'm gonna cum, Nicola! Deep inside you!" I groaned as I reached my edge and I ejaculated hard inside her, my cum filling her. I stayed inside her for a moment as we both breathed heavily. Eventually I pulled myself out; cum dripped out of her cunt and down her thighs. Layla leaned in, greedily licking the semen as it trickled down Nicola's thigh and then took my cock back in her mouth, sucking the last remnants from me.

"Did you enjoy that, Nicola? Do you feel better?" Layla asked her.

"Yes....I needed it," she replied meekly.

Layla pulled Nicola's panties back up, trapping the last bits of cum inside her.

"Now," Layla said. "You remember the rules. You go home, you never speak of this. You go back to your husband and kids, and you pretend tonight didn't happen."

Nicola looked at Layla, looked at me, nodded, and quietly said thank you. Layla walked her to the door, and Nicola stepped outside, waiting for her taxi, the cum still warm between her legs and her knickers soaking wet. Fortunately, her husband would probably be asleep when she got home and would be oblivious to the state of her underwear; she did the laundry anyway.

Layla turned to me. "Well, that was fun! She came so fucking hard; I have never seen a woman orgasm like that, and I have had several couples visit me before!" she confessed.

I said my goodbyes to Layla and wondered how Nicola would be at work, or if she would even show up the next day.

I sat at my desk the following morning, awaiting Nicola's arrival. She arrived exactly when she always did. She actually was dressed a little more confidently, not hiding behind a cardigan... but true to the rules, she never said a word.