His text, confirming the time, date and location for our meeting, concluded: Please wear a suit. I’ll be in a single-breasted dark blue suit. My reply read: See you on Friday at noon as arranged. I’ll be wearing a grey double-breasted pin-stripe suit. I wondered if I’d arranged a sexual ‘meet’ with a clothes faddist.

Our only contact had been via an adult chat site. We’d ascertained that we lived within fifty miles of each other, were both married but relished the idea of pleasuring another man through mutual masturbation. It was Alan who suggested the hotel.

Perched on a small hill overlooking the market town, the Castle Mount Hotel had seen better days: jaded but not yet decrepit. I parked up and headed for Reception. The desultory remains of wedding confetti mingled with the shingle on the drive. Above the entrance was proudly displayed four motoring club stars, but as the sign was enamel and chipped, I guessed it was probably pre-war!

The hotel’s entrance lobby was lined with dark-stained mahogany panelling and faded velvet drapes. Pride of place was a large etching of the town, which I recognised to be the work of John Speed. After logging my car’s registration, I asked the pretty young receptionist for directions to the Lounge Bar.

“At the far end of the corridor, sir. And will you be joining us for lunch?”

“Can I let you know?”

“Of course.”

The sombre and near-deserted Lounge Bar was High Victorian, with a threadbare Turkey carpet covering the entire floor. I almost expected to see Miss Haversham seated in a wing chair by the huge log fire. The bar’s sole occupant was my chat site contact, Alan, reading Country Life. I nervously approached.

“Hi, I’m Mark. You must be Alan.” We shook hands.

“Good morning, Mark. Welcome to the Castle Mount Hotel.” As the barman approached our table Alan asked: “What can I get you to drink?”

I shrugged. “A glass of the house white would be fine.”

Ignoring my suggestion, my new friend told the barman: “Let’s have two of your Mojito cocktails, Sam.”

“Certainly, sir.”

Alan nodded at the departing barman. "Good man, that: ex-army. RSM in the Sappers I believe. Find us ok?”

“No problem.”

“How long can you stay today?”

“Wifey is expecting me back by 4.00pm.” Alan pulled a long face at this news and resumed his seat in the alcove.

The barman delivered our cocktails with a flourish. Two cylindrical glass coasters, filled to the brim with a colourless concoction. I stared at them nervously.

“Ever had a Mojito?”

“Can’t say I have. What’s in it?”

“White rum, sugar cane, soda water, a slice of lime, crushed ice and – most important – fresh mint. I suggest you drink it through the straw as the high-octane stuff is on the bottom.” Lifting his coaster, he gestured a toast. “Bottoms up!”

With satisfaction Sam eyed us from his bar and continued polishing glasses.

Alan reached into an inside pocket of his jacket and withdrew a pocketbook. “Got a holiday snap here I thought you might be interested in.” He flipped the book open and took out a small print. “I’ve only just mastered the art of ‘selfies,’” he confessed as he handed me the picture. It showed him naked, legs astride and sporting a lovely erection – a good seven inches, I guessed. Uncut and hooded. He was wearing black fishnets and suspenders.

I handed it back. “Mmmm, very nice. Do you like to wear lingerie for sessions?”

“Love it. They’re wifey’s actually – though she has no idea that I borrow them.” He glanced down at my crotch and gave a rueful smile. “Getting nice and hard, I see.” I nervously stroked my hand across my bulge and blushed.

“So where are we going to go?” I asked.

“Your car? Drive somewhere quiet? I know a spot by the river.”

I pulled a face. “Sorry, I’m not keen on car wanks. I had a nasty experience some years ago in a lay-by.” He seemed disappointed by this news and sighed. “Well, we can hardly book a room upstairs. My local reputation would be shredded!”

“How about the toilets?”

“Here or in the town?”

“Here.”

He signalled to the ever-attentive barman for re-fills. “Bit risky, isn’t it?”

“Let me go and check them out,” I offered.

I sought directions to the Gents from the receptionist and entered an empty cavernous white-tiled space, smelling strongly of cheap disinfectant. Glazed mosaic Victorian urinals lined one wall, while along the back wall was a row of six mahogany-panelled cubicles, with leaded light doors, all empty.

When I got back there were two fresh Mojitos on the table, accompanied by plates of nuts and crisps. Alan raised his eyebrows expectantly. “Any good?”

I re-took my seat on the banquette in the bay window, making sure this time that I sat a little closer to my companion so that our hips were touching. I could feel the clips of his suspenders through his trousers. After taking a long pull on my rum cocktail, I gave him the news. “A distinct possibility, I’d say.”

“Oh yes?”

“Clean, deserted, no cameras and – according to the cleaner’s schedule – not due to be checked again until 4 o’clock.” He smiled at this last observation. “Fancy giving it a try?” I asked coquettishly, rubbing a knuckle over his suspender clip. “I can’t wait to see you in your wife’s underwear.”

“Why not!”

We finished our drinks, stood up and shook hands and left the bar. separately. Fortunately, the young receptionist was taking a telephone booking. We separately entered the toilets. I gestured to the furthest of the vacant cubicles. The toilet seat and its surround were dark mahogany, forming a sort of bench.

Once the door was locked Alan sat down and slid his trousers off to reveal a delicious dark blue lace ensemble: stockings, suspenders and skimpy panties, from which his large cock was already peeping. Pulling it free, he stoked its head and smiled, clearly an invitation for me to suck it.

I slipped off my jacket, rolled it up as a kneeling cushion and dropped it onto the tiled floor, eager to taste his manhood. His glans was already oozing the first droplets of pre-cum. I slid my coiled tongue inside his hood and began to devour this man’s huge cock. Gently clasping the sides of my head he groaned quietly. I knew it would be a rapid conclusion.

Alan’s flood gates opened, filling my mouth to overflowing with his delicious-tasting warm semen. I briefly savoured it, then swallowed it wholesale, running the final remnants around my lips for him to kiss. We reversed our roles, with me standing on the toilet seat and Alan standing in front of me. As he was running his tongue slowly down my shaft while stroking my ball sack, we heard the entrance door to the toilets swing open. The interloper approached the urinals to relieve himself.

We both froze, recognising the military footfall of the RSM. Several moments later a basin tap could be heard running, followed by the banshee wale of an automatic hand dryer. The toilets’ entrance door was finally swung open and peace was restored. Alan resumed his cock-sucking, using his spare hand to massage himself stiff again. Looking up at me imploringly he whispered: “Cum over my face if you want - I love ‘facials!'”

The request triggered an almost instantaneous response, with several jets of my spunk splashing over his face. I bent forward to lick some up and we kissed again. Then we both sat side-by-side on the long toilet seat, taking it in turns to wank his lovely fat cock. I cupped my hand to catch his second emission, spreading it over the inside of his thighs. Then I dropped onto my knees to lick it off. My new lover mopped up the remnants of our combined ejaculations with his rolled up panties and handed them to me. “Here you are – a souvenir of our first session.”

I popped them into my jacket pocket. “Thanks, I’ll use them tonight as a wank towel.”