Swindon, Wiltshire, UK. Alex Trimmer (real name: Alexi Trimouk) contemplated the sparse contents of his small kitchen and lit another cigarette. A flimsy net curtain fluttered in the window. Alex was – in the parlance of Cold War thriller writers – one of the spies who came in from the cold, trading a sinecure in the Russian Embassy in Sydney for a poky little terraced worker’s cottage in the once-great railway town of Swindon.

Admittedly he had £500,000 distributed amongst half-a-dozen savings accounts across the town, but fleeing a comfortable job and sacrificing a loving wife and a handsome teenage son was a high price to pay. Plus the paranoia of forever looking over your shoulder – at a bus stop or in a supermarket check-out queue – to see if you were being tailed. After Litvinenko and Skripal, it was inevitable, Alex reasoned, that sooner or later they would be coming after him. Avuncular Uncle Joe’s successors bore the same deep-seated grudges against traitors as he had done back in the 1930s purges.

Alex’s moody reverie was interrupted by a knock on the front door. “Good morning! Mr Trimmer? I’m Leslie Anne, Elsie’s daughter.” He was being addressed by a tall young blonde of about thirty, with a very trim figure and a lovely smile. She carried a supermarket carrier bag.

“Is everything alright?”

“Well, not really. Mum had a nasty fall in the house yesterday, you see. Nothing’s broken but she’s very shaken up. The doctor has told her to rest her leg for at least a week.” Leslie Anne held her arms open and smiled. “So here I am!”

Alex Trimmer was a little non-plussed by the news of the incapacity of his quiet and stolid cleaning lady, but courteously invited her daughter into the kitchen, where he brewed up a fresh pot of coffee. He discreetly took in her appearance while waiting for the kettle to boil. The young woman certainly had a stunning figure. Her firm breasts pressed against her crisp white blouse, beneath which the outline of a black half-cup bra was clearly visible. As he placed the coffee mug in front of her he picked up the aroma of an expensive French perfume.

She took a sip. “So where would you like me to start?”

“Err, are you certain, Leslie Anne? I’m sure things can wait until your Mum has recovered.”

“I wouldn’t hear of it; nor would she! She explained her routine to me before I left. Kitchen first, then your bedroom and en suite bathroom, landing and stairs next, finishing by vacuuming the hall carpet. Mum said I wasn’t to go into your office.”

“Well if you’re quite sure?”

“Positive. Just so long as I can pick up the kids from school at 3.30.”

Since Leslie Anne was a woman with a mission, Alex Trimmer put up no further resistance. “As you wish. Finish your coffee and I’ll go up to my office – but I’ll leave its door ajar in case you call out for anything.” She smiled her agreement and he went upstairs.

Alex Trimmer’s daily routine on his office laptop was always the same. Check the weather forecast, pick up any emails that had arrived overnight and then visit his favourite website which specialised in adult erotica. The best stories were always illustrated. Today’s top story featured a sex act he had always enjoyed: male ejaculation onto naked female breasts. The accompanying clip was highly arousing, with the male porn star shooting copious ropes of his semen across the woman’s breasts. Her firm dark brown nipples reflected her pleasure.

Alex rubbed his crotch and prepared to unzip, then froze. He was suddenly aware that Leslie Anne was close by, hoovering the landing - directly outside his office door! She appeared in the opened doorway, now wearing a white cotton housecoat. “Oh my, but wasn’t that a lovely big load he just shot over her titties?” she observed with a wry smile. Then looking down at the huge bulge in his slacks she added with a giggle: “You obviously enjoy that sort of stuff!”

Alex Trimmer shuffled nervously before switching the laptop off. He gave Leslie Anne a half-smile of acknowledgement, too bashful to speak.

“Fancy doing it for real?”

“Who?”

“Us, silly. You and me.”

“Where?”

“In your bedroom, of course. I’ve only got my bra and panties on under this housecoat.”

She pulled the coat’s belt loose to reveal the lace-trimmed black half-cup bra and matching panties with a scallop-edged split crotch opening. With one hand she provocatively spread it wider, revealing the slit of her smoothly-shaved quim. He could see that it was already moist. “Look, I’m getting wet already!”

Realising the old man was ‘frozen’ to his desk chair with embarrassment, she took his hand. “Come on, sweetie, I’ve made the bed and the room’s lovely and warm. Let’s go and be naughty together, shall we?”

Their frenetic love-making was all Alexi Trimouk could have dreamed of. It was many years since he’d done anything as good - and ten times better than any porn clip. He rolled onto his side, exhausted.

“Why don’t I pop down to the kitchen and fetch us a couple of drinkies?” Leslie Anne cooed. “We could have ‘Round two’ in the shower if you like. Got any wine?”

Without opening his eyes, he replied: “You’ll find a very nice Italian white at the back of the pantry.”

She sprang off the bed. “I’ll be right back.”

She located the wine bottle and poured two large glasses. Then seated naked at the kitchen table, Leslie Anne removed a small unmarked white carton from the bottom of her carrier bag and withdrew its single vial of Novichok serum.