Fred thought that it was really kind of Stu to invite him to his flat-warming party. They got along well enough at work; they'd both joined the tech firm at around the same time. Stu fresh out of college, Fred after a successful first career at another company, now looking for a new challenge. They'd landed in the same team and struck up an unlikely friendship. It didn't seem to matter that Fred was old enough to be Stu's father; they trusted each other - Stu appreciated Fred's breadth of experience, and Fred respected Stu's drive and determination to understand all the new frameworks and tools that were coming out.

The backpack was a little heavy; a box of beers and a couple of bottles of champagne turned out to weigh more than Fred had expected. But he'd never be so rude as to turn up empty-handed. It was just a short walk from the Tube, and the early evening air was cooling. Fred ran his hand over his salt-and-pepper beard, brushing away an itch.

The flat was a new-build out in Noth East London, practically Essex. A bit of a trek from home, but Fred remembered the horror tales Stu had told about trying to buy the place, so congratulations felt in order. He wouldn't have missed this for anything, he wanted to celebrate with his friend. He remembered what it had been like, moving into his place with his then fiancée. Happy times. He was a few minutes late, but he pressed the intercom, and Stu buzzed him up to the fifth floor.

Not so late, it turned out; it was just Stu and Joe there. Some of the friends had cancelled, others would be along later. So they popped some beers, sat around talking shit, with X-Factor being projected against one wall, muted.

They were nearing the end of the second beer, having demolished one pizza already, when the buzzer went again. Over the next half-hour or so, several couples and groups arrived. They all clearly knew each other well; Fred felt a bit like an outsider, so was happy to nurse a beer and introduce himself to people as they wandered his way. With such a young crowd he'd expected to feel a bit of a loner, but - as in the office - he just acted as himself, let his wry and slightly dark sense of humour show, and they warmed to him. It didn't feel awkward at all.

///

Heather looked down at him as she knelt astride his waist, his cock buried deep inside her. Such a beautiful man. She'd just had to take him one last time before leaving. She was late, but no fucking way was she giving this cock up before they'd brought each other again. She bounced on him, driving her tight cunt over his long, hard length, slapping her clit into his pelvic bone. He held her tits in his rough hands, mashing them as he growled and cursed at her.

Come for me, you bastard, and bring me off. She could feel the sweat running down her back, her legs tiring. He sat up, took one nipple in his mouth, and fed. She threw her head back, tossing her hair aside, and let him ravage her. He had one hand in her hair, the other reaching down her back, cupping her arse, finger stroking into her crease and probing her butthole.

She was so close, but she needed more. She climbed off, knelt on the bed, arse high and tits on the mattress. He knelt behind her, slapped his hand across her arse, then ploughed roughly into her from behind. This is what she needed. His fat cock stretched and pounded into her, balls slapping her clit with each thrust, cunt filled with his meat. He had a filthy mouth, calling her a bitch, a dirty whore, ordering her to take him. She flicked at her clit as he drove into her, smothering her face in the pillows, as the pleasure finally tore through her and she clamped around his pulsating cock.

The fire warmed her whole body, and she collapsed to the bed, quivering. He looked as if he'd passed out from exhaustion. She glanced over at the clock. Shit, it was after eight already; Stu was going to be so pissed.

Wiping herself off with his duvet, she dragged her ripped skin-tight jeans over her legs; her thong lost in the flat somewhere. She found her bra, thank god - she was far too blessed to be able to go without - but her blouse was ruined, an early casualty of last night's passion. She grabbed the dude's shirt and tied it up under her tits, and made for the door. "See ya, lover," she called back.

She didn't even know his name.

She met Mo and Sahar at the entrance to the Tube. Sahar looked pissed off. "Where the fuck have you been?"

Heather smiled. "I got tied up with that guy from the club."

"Literally, I'll bet," Mo replied. "You've not even been home, have you? Slut."

"Guilty as charged," she admitted. "Come on, we'll be late."

///

More people were arriving all the time. The latest trio made it about a dozen twenty-somethings in the flat, drinking and laughing. Stu introduced Fred to the new friends, whom he said he'd met at college. Sahar was an Indian girl, coffee-coloured skin and long black hair. Mo was of middle eastern origins, a smartly dressed young man with a wide mouth. And there was Heather - white, heavily tattooed on the extensive amount of skin on display, purple hair up in a bun. Eyebrow and lip piercings, and when she spoke Fred noticed her tongue had been done as well.

I wonder if she's got any more; he thought to himself. The shirt was tied tight enough, and the ripped jeans practically painted on you'd think you'd be able to tell. Do try not to stare, you old letch, he thought.

Stu wandered back in from the kitchen, champagne bottle in hand. "I think that's everyone," he said, "so let's christen this place!" He popped the cork, denting the plaster ceiling slightly, and splashing a jet of bubbly straight onto the carpet. "Oops," he said, clamping his mouth over the bottle; that just resulted in foam jetting out of his nose. Choking, he handed the bottle over to Mo, who took it back to the kitchen to grab some flutes.

Another drink later, and someone had pulled YouTube karaoke videos up on the big projector and fished out some Rock Star microphones. Joe was leading off with a particularly bad rendition of Sex on Fire. The gang yelled out the chorus; Fred stood to the side, singing along to himself. He did love a good bit of karaoke.

"Let's get some classics going," Stu said, calling up a playlist and hitting random. Fred expected some Beatles, maybe the Beach Boys... But first up it was a Spice Girls track, properly cheesy. Then he realised - this might be retro for them, but to him it was just music, the stuff he grew up with. But at least that meant he knew most of it; even the awful stuff. Especially the awful stuff.

But it was catchy, and he found himself singing along; group numbers with the others, and he gave his best Ricky Martin a spin.

Enjoying himself immensely, he didn't notice the time until it was too late to do anything about it. He caught up with Stu in the kitchen. "I'm not gonna make it in time for my last train," he admitted.

"No worries, man. I made up the spare bed for ya. It's cool. Here, have another beer!"

"Cheers!" He texted home to his wife to apologise. He'd catch all kinds of shit for it tomorrow, but since there was nothing he could do about it now, he decided to enjoy the rest of the evening.

///

"You've got a great voice," Heather shouted to Fred. She'd plumped herself down on the sofa next to him and was trying to make herself heard over the tortured-cat sounds of the group murdering I Will Survive.

"Thanks," he shouted back.

She wasn't normally into older men, but this Fred was pretty buff. Rugged face with a nice trim beard. Big hands. And a confident manner. She couldn't help wondering what those hands would feel like on her, whether that beard would be soft or rough as he drew it over her thighs... Shit, I'm so horny. I thought that session earlier was going to be enough, but no. Just try not to drool on him. But fuck, look how he's looking at me. Raw lust burning in his eyes, like he wants to eat me alive. And fuck, do I want him to...

That gaze - a deep burning lust, a desperate hunger - reached in through her eyes and made her pussy flood and clench. She loved how such a simple thing - a tilt of the head, brushing her hair aside, stroking a tongue over her lip - could put that look in a man’s eyes, fill them with such need.

"D'you wanna have a go together?" she asked.

He choked on his beer. "Excuse me?"

She nodded to the screen. "A duet."

He coughed himself back to normal. "Sure," rising from the sofa. "But I get to choose."

///

He stood, microphone in hand, as the intro to Private Emotion played out. He'd taken his cue from the earlier Ricky Martin success, hoping she'd know this one. She looked confident.

And hot. Smoking hot. Fred was sure she was flirting with him. But then, Fred thought every woman was flirting with him. He lived his life constantly horny, ever frustrated that his wife was not the same. She'd had a strong sex drive when they met, years ago; but it had diminished with every passing year. Fred's stamina may have faded, but his desire still burned strong, largely unrequited.

She swayed as she sang. Fred checked out her bubble butt, wrapped so tight in those jeans. How she didn't rip through the material, he had no idea. And the shirt, clumsily tied across her tits, gave a great show of her deep cleavage and tight stomach.

If only I were twenty years younger, he thought.

Then he caught himself. If I was, then what? Then I'd just be too shy to do anything about it, he admitted. And now? Now, I'm too married to do anything about it.

It's a private emotion that fills you tonight, he sang. Fuck, is it ever. His hard-on pressed uncomfortably against his trousers. He was glad it was dark.

He watched her face as the song ended. She looked in his eyes, licked her lips. Come to me, she sang. Cum to me.

///

Fred felt himself falling asleep - partly from the booze, but mostly he just wasn't as young as he used to be. The group had scattered; some on the balcony smoking, a couple making out in the darkness of the kitchen, some had left, a few zonked out on the sofa. Fred had retired to the guest room, leaving the stragglers to chat and push on through to the early hours.

He lay in the bed, thinking back over the night. Of Heather, the way he'd imagined she was looking at him. Nonsense, of course - he could be her father; she wouldn't think of him that way. The paradox of age - he still found twenty-somethings as attractive as he always had, but it just didn't work the other way around.

Regardless, the thought of her kept him awake. He'd have to do something about it. He reached down to the floor, grabbed a sock, and took matters into his own hands. Thinking of her, kneeling for him, taking him between those full pouting lips, in the way his wife now refused to do. Bending her over the back of the sofa and ploughing into that magnificent arse. Imagining how those heavy tits would sway as he pinned her to the bed and thrust deep inside her tight pussy. All the time moaning his name, telling him how big and strong he was, how he satisfied her in a way that pathetic boys her own age never could.

He came like thunder; a brilliant flash of pleasure, and deep rumbling, pulsing and throbbing that seemed to roll on forever. He hadn't come that strongly in months; the flood of endorphins brought welcome oblivion.

When he woke, the sky had lightened to a navy blue, although the stars were still visible. Too early to start the day; he was still exhausted... But there was a pressure low in his belly that he could not ignore. Curse my aging body and bladder, he thought, pulling his boxers back on for a quick trip to the bathroom.

The other occupants of the flat were dead to the world; Fred saw a few bodies in the lounge as he passed towards the bathroom. He relieved himself and made his way back to his room.

As he stepped through the door, it was shoved closed behind him; then she was there, pressing herself against him, pushing him back onto the door, crushing her boobs on his chest and forcing her tongue into his mouth.

"Fuck, I'm so horny..."

"No, Heather, please, I can't..."

"Shit, you're huge." She stroked her hand across his cock, through his boxers, then started to pull them off him. "I need you. In me. Now."

He ran his hands down her shirt, tucked them underneath, cupped her arse; he wrapped his palm round the firm cheek and his fingers reached into the crack. Finding no knickers, and her undercarriage soaking wet, the lust flared white-hot, burning through his objections, his conscience. He grabbed her arse in both hands, lifted and spun and pinned her to the wall, then thrust fast and hard inside her. This wasn't nice or gentle. No foreplay, just hard fucking. They both needed it raw.

"Oh shit! Fuck yes! Harder!!" He clamped his mouth over hers, cutting off her dirty talk mid-flow, in case she woke the others. She lifted her legs, wrapped them round his waist, ankles crossed at the small of his back, as he drove up and into her. She was no weight at all. It had been a quarter-century since he'd taken a woman like this. The urgency, the desperation, was almost frightening. She was so tight, yet took him so easily. He felt himself pulling at her walls, clamped round him, each time he drew back.

He needed more. He wanted to bury himself inside her. "The bed," he said, and lifted her away from the wall, walked to the bed with her still impaled on his dick, and they collapsed onto the sheets together. She raised her arms over her head, presenting her tits; he clamped her wrists to the pillows with his strong rough hands and feasted on her breasts. Her arms were covered in roses, and her tits in spider-webs, it looked like a tattooed bikini top. He ravaged her, driving into her, through her, almost wanting it to hurt. With his wife, he had to be soft and gentle to hold back. With Heather... The harder he thrusted, the greater the reaction. He watched her eyes as she struggled to focus; her mouth gaping, gasping; her hands clawing at his back, driving him on. And her mouth, her beautifully foul mouth, urging him to greater efforts.

He grabbed her legs, pulled them forwards so he knelt behind her arse and drove into her. She was shaved, a tattooed skull over her mons with her pussy as the mouth. He bottomed out inside of her, slamming her cervix with each thrust, determined to stuff his entire length inside her. She came, convulsing round his cock, but he didn't even slow down. For once, he didn't care about the woman's pleasure or pace. This was for him. He grabbed her tit with his spare hand, covering her pierced nipple with his palm, mauled at the flesh, feeling her tight walls milking his cock as he did so. When he came, it was sudden and strong and raw, and he barely checked himself from yelling in triumph and waking the others.

He collapsed onto her, spent, exhausted, but feeling great. Feeling a way he hadn't felt for years. Probably for longer than she'd been alive.

"Fucking hell, that was intense," she said, spooning into his side, stroking the hair on his chest. "Your wife's one hell of a lucky woman."

Guilt stabbed at him a little. "You'd think," he mumbled. Well, he was available any time his wife wanted him. He looked at Heather, a sheen of sweat over her inked body. "Fuck, sorry, that's not like me at all. I..."

"Shit, don't apologise. That was a great fuck. I've not been taken like that for days!"

Days. My god. He'd not been taken like that since... Since before he was married, he realised. Shit.

He pulled her up onto him, and she leant down and kissed him, tenderly this time. She sat up in his lap, stroking his cock between her moist lips; up and down from tip to base, bringing him back to hardness, ready to slide him back inside her.

///

She'd woken from an intense sex dream; riding Fred while sucking off the dude from last night. Her heart was pounding and her clit tingling; she reached under the shirt and started to stroke herself towards completion. It was the early hours of the morning. Could she wake him, to make his part of the dream real? She needed a good fuck; too horny to go back to sleep.

She heard a noise - a door opening. She sat up, looked down the corridor, saw Fred heading to the bathroom. This was her chance. She rose from the couch, crept along the corridor and snuck into his room, intending to surprise him by lying naked and provocatively across the bed. But he got back much faster than she expected, so she just jumped him as he walked back in.

Now he lay, spent and content, as she played with his chest hair. It's like he thinks it's over, she thought. Oh no, mate - that was just the entrée; the main course is yet to come. As he pulled her back on top of him, she placed her pussy over his cock, which lay flat against his stomach. She felt her lips wrap around his shaft and slid back and forth, smearing their juices back over him as they talked. Hard again now. She felt him rocking his pelvis, trying to guide his fat cock back inside her. Oh, no you don't, not yet. She steadied herself with a hand on his chest, over his fast-beating heart, as she teased him.

She reached down to where her lips slid over him, ran her fingers across him, and took their combined secretions to her lips. "Mmmm," she said. She saw the lust burning in his eyes. "Fuck, I love cum," she said. A little white lie; she didn't mind it, but she didn't crave it either. But she knew what he wanted to hear; to see; to feel. Driving that lust gave her power, turned her on. She took his hand, ran his fingers along his length between her lips, and brought his slimy fingertips to her mouth. She flicked her tongue over them, felt his breath catch and his cock twitch, then sucked them right to the back of her mouth, deep-throating his hand.

"Oh fuck, you cocktease," he breathed.

She giggled, shaking her tits. "Am I being a bad girl?" she asked, head thrown to the side, pouting. "Are you gonna punish me?"

He shook his head. "Sorry; I don't play those games. You’re no little girl. And please, don't call me daddy. It weirds me out."

She shrugged and lifted more of their cum to her lips. "Your wife - does she spit, or swallow?" And sucked his fingers back into her mouth, working her tongue over them, feeling the pulse in his dick growing stronger and faster.

"Neither." Heather raised an eyebrow, and he elaborated. "She won't let me cum in her mouth. Not that she sucks me anymore, anyway. I get to come inside her pussy, or more precisely into the condom in her pussy. When we have sex at all, which is never."

You poor bastard, she thought. She's his wife, for fuck's sake; doesn't she love him?

She slid further down, along his leg, until she lay across him, cock nestled between her tits. It was so slippery, and she worked her tits back and forth over him, kissing his toned stomach as she did so. His breathless "oh fuck" made her clench down below. But she'd started something now, and she was going to finish it; her cunt would have to make do with her fingers while her mouth took its turn on his cock.

Fuck, she loved how they tasted. She licked his cock, holding it in her hands as she ran her flat tongue up the long, hard length of him, sucking his tip between her lips before running them back down. Took each large, heavy ball into her mouth and rolled it ever so gently as her hand stroked him.

"Jeez, what you do to me... I'm too old to come this much..."

"Fuck that," she said, and forced his thick cock down her throat. She'd not found a cock yet. She couldn't deepthroat and had no intention of failing now; she relaxed as she felt his head blocking her airway, and looked at him with watering eyes, bobbing and stroking the base of him, caressing his balls, bringing him to the edge.

"Fuck, here it comes," he said soon enough. She pulled back off so that she could take it across her tongue, sucking her cheeks in as he unloaded his salty-sweetness into her mouth. When his cock stopped pulsing, and started to soften, she took her mouth back off him, and let him see his cum sliding around her tongue. "Holy fuck. A dream come true." She closed her mouth, swallowed, showed him it was empty. He pulled her up to him, kissed her passionately.

"I'm going to need a few minutes," he admitted.

She took his hand, guided it between her legs. "While you wait..."

She gasped as he slid his thick middle fingers into her, stretching them out into a V and pushing against her walls. He took a third, slid it in alongside them, forcing her open. "Holy fuck," she said. It was as thick as his cock, as thick as all her fingers were. She trembled, wondering what it would be like to try and take his whole hand...

///

Finger-fucking was something Fred knew well; since his wife lost interest in having to "clean up" afterwards, mutual masturbation was pretty much the only action he got any more. With her, anyway. He watched Heather's face as he thrust, corkscrewed and splayed his fingers, gauging her reactions to know what to do more of and what to abandon.

"You know," he said, wondering how far he could push his luck, "oral isn't the only thing she won't give me." He took his other hand, stroked down her side; across the spider's webs that ran from her breasts to her waist, over her hip, and grabbed at her arse, pulling the cheek aside so he could stare at her bud, twitching as he worked his fingers in and out of her cunt.

"I ain't that easy," she said, despite his experience to the contrary. "You want this arse. You gotta earn it."

He raised an eyebrow. "And how should I do that?"

She smiled, a naughty smile. "Where's the fun if I just tell you?"

"Bitch," he chuckled, and his mouth dived onto her breast.

He felt her back arch as he drew his teeth over her nipple, fingers curled and stroking down the front wall of her pussy, and he smiled. She might have had more partners than him, but he'd brought his wife this way hundreds of times. He'd been making women come with his hands before she was even born. Who had more experience than whom, really? Hearing her moans, her fingernails clawing at his back, he slowly slid down her body, kissing across her tits, her stomach, her abs. Licking across the belly piercing and continuing down to his soaking wet hand. I'm gonna give that skelly a French kiss it'll never forget.

He wrapped his lips round her clit, sucked, and flicked his tongue over her. She drew her legs back, hands behind her knees, pulling them up to her tits, ensuring maximum exposure to his skilled mouth. Fingers driving inside her, tongue working her over and lapping up her cream, it wasn't long before she came, snatching at his fingers with her cunt.

But he wasn't finished. He was barely started.

Broad, thick strokes of his tongue ran over her lips, over her clit. The more he cleaned her, the more she made for him. He drew it from her depths with long thick fingers, a bear going wild for honey. He brought his other hand down, ran circles over her clit as his other fingers dived into her, stretched her out, as he kissed and licked over her lips. He took one finger out; this gave him the flexibility to really pound the remaining two into her, faster and faster, as his mouth ravaged her clit. "Ohmygod ohmygod yes yes yes yes!" and she was coming again, pulsing round his fingers.

He slipped round, lay between her legs, and replaced his fingers with his tongue, sliding it into her to lap at her directly, scooping her juices from deep inside; his hand taking up duties on her clit. She was whining, keening, tossing her head back and forth. She grabbed his head, pulling at his hair, forcing his face into her; he growled, sending shivers through her pussy and up her spine. He ate her like he'd never taste a woman again, feeling her shuddering under his lips, her legs twitching as one orgasm rolled into the next, coming on his face over and over.

"Okay," she breathed, "you've proved your point." She raised her head, looked into his eyes, seeing his mouth clamped over her sex. "Take my fucking arse," she ordered. He felt under his chin with his fingers; she sure was wet down there. He reached further between her cheeks with a fingertip, found her bud twitching as he stroked through her lips with his rough tongue.

Not yet, he thought. Not just yet.

He brought his face away, saw her lust-filled eyes staring back at him. He flipped her over onto her knees; she presented to him. On her back, in profile as if to pounce, was the source of the webs over her tits - a tarantula, beautifully inked in tramp-stamp style across the small of her back, furry legs reaching for her hips, eight eyes giving him the death stare. But spiders held no fear for him. He took a moment to enjoy the sight of a hot young bitch displaying herself to him, pussy and arse, while she gazed longingly over her shoulder at his aching cock.

Soon, my friend. Soon.

He knelt behind her and resumed his oral attack on her pussy, licking across her clit and through her folds, probing her depths, working his fingers in rhythm with his tongue and lips. He heard muffled cries; saw that she'd buried her face into a pillow and was screaming into it.

Nearly there.

Fingers deep inside her, he licked and sucked along her pussy, away from her clit, and kept going. Even through the pillow, he heard her cry of "Oh FUCK!" as he drew his tongue across her arsehole. Fingers inside her, tongue teasing at her forbidden bud, he felt her squirm; she pressed herself back against his mouth as his tongue started to probe her arse.

She sprayed the bed as she came once more, jets of fluid splashing over the sheets, as Fred kept working her over. She was trembling, as if she'd caught a nerve. Then her leg gave way, and she collapsed onto her side on the bed, quivering.

"Please, fuck my arse! Now! Fuck it hard, I need it so bad! Please!"

Fred smiled and knelt behind that glorious, desperate-to-be-fucked arse. He lifted the cheek and guided himself towards her rear entrance.

Starved of sex at home, he’d been consumed with doubts. Did women actually like sex? His wife didn’t, at least not anymore, and he worried that she never had. He knew porn wasn’t real; fiction for the male gaze, actresses paid to please, to act aroused. But those sex-positive women he followed on his secret Twitter account - were they for real? Were they actually men, getting off on writing filth? Or women forced into posing for the camera by abusive boyfriends?

But here was Heather, throwing herself at him, happily swallowing his load, begging him to take her up the arse, restoring his faith. Sad for him, trapped in a loving but sexless marriage; but better than the mental torture of living in an absurd conspiracy.

He wet the tip of himself in her pussy. God, she felt so good, so tight. He couldn't help himself; grabbed her legs and pulled her over him, driving his full length deep into her, working her juices back over him. She grabbed the pillow, brought it back to her face, as he lubricated himself in the warm depths of her cunt.

But that wasn't what either of them wanted. "Stop fucking teasing! Fuck my fucking arse, for fuck's sake!"

He withdrew, slid his thumb into her cunt, pressing over her clit with his palm, and used his other hand to steady himself as he pressed his cock against her rear opening. He looked up at her face; flushed red, nostrils flaring, mouth full of pillow. Eyes begging him to hurt her.

He shoved.

Her mouth opened, and the pillow fell out as she gasped and growled, his fat cock stretching her arse open as he forced it inside. "Holy fuck yes!" she said, pulling the pillow back to her face as he slid deeper into her guts. A few powerful strokes and he'd buried himself completely inside her arse, stroking in and out from root to tip.

Fucking hell, so tight, so hot, he thought. Her sphincter constricted round his cock so strongly that it was nearly painful, and he worried for a second how she felt. But he saw her crossed eyes, fists balled in the covers, tits shaking; felt her cunt convulsing round his thumb, clit throbbing. She felt fucking fantastic about it.

He pounded that arse. He knew Heather didn't want it gentle and slow; she wanted it furious and rough and primal. He slammed his cock into her, making her body jolt each time he slapped into her leg, tits bouncing with each jerk. He watched her pert butt cheeks as he drove his length between them, and couldn’t resist the urge to slap that juicy backside as he fed his hardness into her. This wasn't going to last much longer. He grabbed round her waist with his hands, used that to steady her as he drove into her forbidden depths for a few last strong thrusts before his balls boiled over and he poured himself deep into her bowels.

He fell forward onto his arms, cock clamped inside her twitching arse, as he felt her coming down from her own climax. She rolled onto her back, tucking her leg over his head, and lay panting on her back, pussy twitching and her heaving chest rocking her boobs up and down. Regretfully, he slid his softening cock out of her arse, and he fell onto her, kissing her deeply before rolling aside himself, laying his head on her chest.

She stroked his head. "You okay, old man?"

"Give me a minute," he panted. "And less of the 'old', little girl."

"Yes, daddy," she said, and got her arse slapped for her cheekiness.

The sun was now fully up. How long had they been fucking? A couple of hours, maybe? Jeez, he'd not had a session like that for... Well, probably never actually.

Rising from the bed, he leant over and stroked her face. "Thanks," he said, weakly; a pretty lame goodbye to someone who'd taken him in every hole. But it was all his washed-out brain was capable of. He grabbed his boxers, then looked down at the mess his cock was in. He shrugged, wiped himself off as best he could on his underwear, then tossed them at the bin. He pulled his jeans over shaking legs. "I'm so sorry; but I have to go. I have to get back to my family." He felt like shit. Surely he owed her breakfast, at least? But she just shrugged.

"WhatsApp me?" she said. He nodded; but knew that it would be a bad idea to keep in contact. He'd have a hard enough job not obsessing over her, over the memory of this night, as it was. Far worse if he could contact her whenever he wanted. He didn't want to be that sad, lonely old man.

The bedroom was wrecked; sheets loose and stained and bunched across the bed and the floor, soaking wet from their sweat and cum. What would Stu think when he found it like this? How could he face him at work on Monday?

"I'll deal with it," she said. "You go."

He pulled his shirt over his head, slipped his boots on, heading for the door.

"See you at the next one?" she asked, smiling.

THE END