People watching is hard to beat. Take that couple across the street from Café Charlot where I sit enjoying the last fingers of Parisian sun casting long shadows along Rue de Bretagne.

They're dressed up, probably for the theatre. Polo shirt and slacks. Evening gown. Drink and meal before the performance. A cocktail after. Then back to her place.

They're young. Married. Likely to one another, but no guarantees. She's the more confident of the pair and would take charge in the bedroom. I stir in my shorts at visions of her shucking the dress and climbing on top of him in provocative underwear. Sliding forward to straddle his face. Grinding panties to his mouth and nose as he feasts on her trapped musk, fresh juices blooming through the fabric. Her escalating moans pinging off the walls as he tugs her panties aside and…

“Is this seat taken?”

I shield my eyes, admiring the statuesque, curvy chic beauty. Designer sandals. Short turquoise summer dress barely concealing the swell of her chest. Strong jaw, full lips, cute nose on which rest large, oval sunglasses. And an endless espresso mane tumbling from beneath the wide-brimmed straw hat.

Flashing her a smile, I invite her with a sweep of my palm. “It is now.” I scan nearby tables. “There’s such limited space. Feel free to join me.”

She considers. Scrapes the chair on the pavement so it's facing away from the café and sits, taking off her hat and shades and scooping hair clear of the chair back. Voluptuous thighs disappearing beneath the hem of her dress don't help my erection fade. Pretty sure she notices because she smiles after regarding me, top to toe, alongside her.

“Watching the world go by?”

I just nod.

“I enjoy that too.” Flicking caramel irises across me again, she adds. “But it's more than that, non? It’s a lifestyle. Addictive. Especially in my city of romance and intrigue and sex.”

I meet her gaze and smile. “Drink?”

She holds her thumb and forefinger up an inch apart. “Juste un petit verre.”

Signalling the waiter, I order. “Je prends deux Cognacs, s’il vous plâit.”

He acknowledges and sweeps away. She regards me. “For an Englishman, your accent is good.”

“Merci. Been here a while. Six years.”

“And what keeps you here?” She crosses her legs and the dress rides an inch higher.

I swallow, trying not to stare. “Business. But also the atmosphere. The people. The French attitude. Like him over there, lighting his cigarette directly under a No Smoking sign. Only in France, eh?”

“Some regard that as arrogance.”

“I prefer spirit.”

“Mmmm.” She scratches her thigh with a lacquered fingertip. “Je m’appelle Sabine, by the way.”

“Darius. Enchanté.”

She seems amused. “So, Darius. What about her? Eleven o’clock.”

Swivelling my attention, I study the woman across the street. “The poor thing with her heel wedged in that storm drain? She's been working late, probably. Scurrying back to her husband for dinner. Or maybe,” I turn to my companion after the woman frees her shoe and continues, “she’s been having an affair at the office.”

“Scandalous. What makes you conclude that?”

“See how she’s flustered? How she holds herself? That's not just lateness. She's masking guilt.”

Uncrossing her legs, a smile plays across Sabine's cerise lips. If she'd been opposite me instead of adjacent I'd be able to see up her dress. “Ohh, you're good.”

The waiter places two paper coasters and our drinks. “Deux Cognacs, Monsieur.” Slides the bill docket on a silver tray alongside with practised ease. “Merci.”

I acknowledge. Sabine sips, her throat rippling as she stares across the street. “Do them.”

I follow her gaze. “The professional couple out for a night on the town?” She nods. “No. It's your turn.”

She smiles. Appraises them. “They're married, but there's a subtle dynamic. See how he's half a step ahead of her the whole time?”

“Good observation.”

The pair turn towards us and stop at the crosswalk in front of the fromagerie.

“Ohh la vache, she has bruised knees. That changes everything.”

“In what way? She doesn't look the type for manual work.”

“No. She crawls for him.”

“You think?”

“Without doubt. Look at her poise. Her power. Boss in the boardroom. Kitten in the bedroom. She’ll do anything he says with that collar around her neck.”

“Mmm. You're good at this too.”

“Female intuition. And the ring in her choker.”

“Ah yes. Delicate and snug. Easy to overlook. Do you think he takes her for walkies round their apartment and then makes her kneel for him?”

Over the tumbler, she eyes me first, then her. “For sure. Look at her demeanour as they cross.”

“I see it.”

“Plus, those lips are made for sucking cock, non?”

“Can’t argue there. Do you think she'd take it all?”

“Definitely. He’ll tug her leash if necessary. Haul her onto him. Make her choke until she takes every inch.”

“Female intuition again?”

She grins. “No. It's what I'd want.”

I thicken in my underwear. “You have a collar?”

“Oui.”

“Leash?”

“Oui.”

I let a slug of brandy fire my throat, eyeing the untanned band of skin on her ring finger when she puts her drink down. “Still use it?”

A sigh escapes pursed lips. “Not since he left me for her.” She mimes giant bosoms.

The couple reach our side of the street and turn towards the sun. Sabine tracks their path, probably watching his sculpted arse. Mine is trained on the woman's backside, wiggling in the tight skirt.

When they're out of eyeshot, I turn back. “Do you miss it?”

“Oui.”

My focus shifts from the intensity of her stare, to Café du Marché on the opposite corner. “How about him? The guy over there in the khaki shorts and flannel shirt. He’s been watching us ever since you got here.”

She picks up her drink, sniffs and takes a sip. “I believe it's your turn.”

I tilt my head. “Unless he's Interpol and you're on the run, I'd say he fancies you. Either that or he's wondering why you selected me. You're clearly waaay above my pay grade.”

She tips some amber liquid back, letting the glass linger on her lips before licking them where alcohol glistens. “I like this place and needed a seat. Besides,” she levels her stare, “you invited me.”

“True.”

Sabine regards the guy again. “What's he thinking? Does he think we're an item or strangers?”

“He's probably waiting till one of us leaves, then he’ll make his move.”

“I don't see it. You really think he fancies me?”

“Who wouldn't?”

She eyes me, leans in and whispers, “Do you think it would change matters if he knew I'm not wearing panties?”

My half-mast erection engorges against the shorts and there's a glint in her eye. “It affects you.” She straightens and slips her feet apart. “Shall we test if it works from a distance?”

Creeping her thighs wider, the dress bunches two inches from her hips. The guy casts a look either side, then slithers down in his seat fractionally for a better viewpoint.

I shake my head in disbelief. “Well there's your answer.”

Goosebumps form on her forearm. “Oh he doesn't know for sure yet. Maybe if I widen my legs a little more?” The dress creeps north and I swear stray hairs peek from beneath the hemline. “There. Now he knows.”

I snap my focus from her creamy thighs. Lucky bastard's wide-eyed attention is locked on her pussy. I take a drink to wet my throat. “Wow. I… what do you reckon he's thinking?”

She releases a stuttery breath. “I think you're right. He wants to fuck me. It's written all over his face now.” Her gaze across the street intensifies. “But he can't have me.” She claps her legs shut. Demurely pulls her dress down to a barely decent level.

“You do this a lot?”

“Do what?”

“Torment strangers in public.”

She bites her lip. “Oui.”

“Why?”

Sabine turns her chair half towards me and I fight to keep my attention on her face. “It thrills me. I get a charge, you know? A frisson. Especially when I know the effect it's having.”

I regard my lap. “It seems you’ve got your reaction from both sides of the street.”

“So it appears.”

I glance across the road. “My god, is he touching himself?”

Sabine follows my stare and giggles. “Mmmm, that’s so hot. I bet he's wondering what I'm going to do next. Will I show him more? Or will I,” she slides her eyes to mine, “show you? And if I do, where would that lead?” My cock swells and her eyes widen. “See? Imagination is powerful. Sex is more about mindset than anything else.”

I rearrange my position in the chair but it only serves to rub the material, exciting me further.

Sabine reaches toward the pitcher of ice water on the table and rummages, holding up a single glassy cube between us. “What would happen, for example, if I take this freezing ice,” she guides my focus lower following it, “part my thighs, then cup my, ahhh, hot pussy, slipping the ice inside and guiding it, oh god that's cold… deeper with a fingertip?”

I'm mesmerised as she shuffles forward and fully splays her wares. “What do you see?”

I swallow. “Your… your bush is soaked and the molten ice is drizzling from it. Dripping to the floor between your feet. It’s… decadent and beautiful.”

“Yeah? Imagine how it tastes. Your tongue buried inside me, cheeks soaked. Chasing inner heat. Then imagine your big dick plunging all the way in and fully out. Splitting me over and over. Pounding me while we kiss, sharing my juices. Stifling my cries.” She eyes me, squirming. “If you were given that opportunity, what would you do?”

Sinking another finger of Cognac, I breathe, “I would ruin you.”

“Mmm. Promises, promises. How?”

“I’d make you suck my cock.”

“Make me?”

“Yes.” I strain my shorts. She drips. “Seems the thought of that makes you wet.”

“Seems the thought of that makes you hard.”

"Touché." I lick my lips. “You’re a naughty girl aren’t you?”

“No, I’m an angel.”

“With a dented halo. What if I fasten your collar and leash? Tug you forward onto me. Make you take every inch down your throat, even if those pretty eyes water? Would that excite you?”

Her nostrils flare. “More than you can imagine.”

“And how about if I haul free, shove you on all fours and spank your ass until it glows pink? Would you beg for more?”

“Absolument.”

“Then would you beg to be fucked?”

Her eyes lid. “Yesss. Anywhere you choose.”

“Fuuuck. Anywhere? Even your… your ass?”

“Ohh oui. Especially there. J’adore. I'd be your filthy little salope.”

Sabine closes her legs, ice remnants and juices still dripping onto the pavement. I'm granite in my shorts.

“I can't believe we're discussing this. Such a fantasy.”

She trails a fingertip from thigh to mouth, toying with her lower lip. Shuffles to the seat edge, knees towards me and spreads. Starts touching herself. Her pussy is a matted mess and I swear her arousal drifts over the Parisian city air. “How about tonight you treat this married slut as yours? Carte blanche.”

I snap my stare to her eyes. “I thought you said—”

“I lied. That's my husband across the street. And he loves to watch me being destroyed. Can you be that man for me? Right now. We only live a couple of streets away.”

My mouth opens and closes a few times. “I… I don't…”

She lifts a juice-scented finger to my lips. Turns over her hat and slithers from its inner rim a thin black strip of leather. Hasp and pin one end, metal hoop in the centre.

Sliding the accessory across the table, she bites her lip. “One night. Make me scream. Make me beg. Claim me.”

Her hand covers mine. “Please.”