She stripped out of her scrubs in the hospital locker room, tossed them into the soiled laundry bin, and stepped into one of the twenty identical shower stalls, pulling the plastic curtain shut behind her. The hot, just shy of scalding water hit her surprised skin and began washing away the disinfectant smell of work, to replace it with the rose scent of her perfumed body wash. She loved this wash, the way it lathered up thick and white with her body pouf sponge, the way it made her feel human again. This was her favourite moment of her day, feeling as if all the stresses of work were swirling down the drain along with the soap bubbles. With counterclockwise circular motions she massaged and scrubbed herself, lifting each heavy breast in turn to scrub beneath, then sliding the shower pouf lower to scrub her belly, buttocks and inner thighs, working her way down her legs to her feet and betwixt each pedicured toe before rinsing the shower pouf and hanging it on its hook.

Rubbing some of the body wash between her hands, she washed her pussy and ass, feeling her own hard clit, closing her eyes and spreading her legs a little bit. , She started circling her straining, engorged clit with her left hand, her right holding her naked outer labia open, water cascading over her breasts and belly and cunt. She leaned against the cool tile of the shower wall and closed her eyes, forgetting everything that needed to be forgotten, feeling just the water and the swollen needfulness of her sex. Pushing two fingers up inside herself, thumb still teasing her clit, fucking herself faster and faster, until finally she came, a giant wave of comfort and release sweeping over her body and mind. She was flushed to her fingertips as she stepped out of the shower, partly from the heat of the water, but mostly from her orgasm.

Walking towards her locker, she tossed the towelling into the soiled linen bag, striding naked and confident across the room. Her body was no great marvel, not after three children, but it was nonetheless beautiful, and in her walk one could see the echoes of someone used to turning the heads of strangers. She was possessed of a classical hourglass figure, with heavy breasts crowned with dark rose pink areolae, a relatively narrow waist and wide, childbearing hips. Her mid-back length dark brown hair was currently piled up and held in place with a black claw clip, awaiting further attention.

Standing at her locker, she thought about what she planned to do this evening. Short red dress with flyaway skirt, or black silk sheath dress. She chose the latter, both because she knew the dress made her look like a goddess fallen into a world of mere mortals, and because it could be both conservative and stupidly sexy in turn, depending on what, exactly, was required in any particular situation. It flattered her curves, falling to just above her knees, offering the viewer a tantalizing view of her upper thighs when she sat down. Perfect, she thought.

She applied her deodorant and perfume, enveloping herself in a soft floral haze of scent, then pulled on a pair of black lace with red and purple embroidery accented tanga cut panties. Fuck, I am hot, she thought, as she reached behind herself to fasten the bra. And she was hot, the pale swell of her heavy breasts above the black lace of the bra a beckoning temptation to sin.

Now her attention turned to the dress. Removing it from its hanger, unzipping the back, slipping the slippery, sexy fabric on over her head in a rustle of silk, pulling it down over her breasts, shimmying it over her hips, finally smoothing out the fabric and zipping up the back. In this dress she felt invincible, and fabulous--fabulous and eminently fuckable. And ‘eminently fuckable’ was the look she was going for, tonight. It had been too long, and she needed desperately to feel the wonderful feeling of a cock filling her cunt.

Taking a pair of black, Cuban heel, seamed stockings from her locker and sitting down on the wooden bench behind her, she carefully unrolled each stocking over each pedicured foot and up the length of each leg. She loved Cuban heel stockings, loved how they accented her long legs and loved the looks she received whilst wearing them. Dressed, she reached for the pair of black heels at the bottom of her locker, slipping them on and standing up.

She picked up her purse, phone, and keys and closed and locked her locker. Her dark hair now pinned into a low chignon, she stopped once more to appraise herself in one of the full-length mirrors in the locker room. Plain gold hoop earrings, plain gold omega link necklace, simple stainless steel Citizen Eco-Drive watch gracing her thin right wrist. She was still aglow in the aftermath of her self-induced orgasm, and required just a light sweep of lipgloss before she decided that she was done, and, smoothing her dress once more, she walked out into the bowels of the hospital, towards the parking garage and her car.

She knew where she was going tonight. Lot 3, a local high-end bar that made no pretenses about being anything but a bar, offering both a six a.m. and six p.m. Happy Hour. It catered to both the wealthy hipster kid crowd as well as the chronic alcoholic crowd without bias. Lot 3 served strong drinks to men seeking temporary refuge from the stresses of their ordinary lives and fruity frothy drinks to lightweights seeking only to start their night of partying off with alcohol before moving on to other, more interesting mind-altering drugs.

Her eyes adjusting to the intentionally dim interior, she scanned the room for her prey. There. There at the end of the bar, staring blankly at the polished wood and brass, sat a middle-aged man, unremarkable on first glance but more than remarkable on second. He was wearing a charcoal grey suit, clearly of the tailored variety, that hung perfectly on his frame, and his white French cuffs were held together with 14kt gold signet cufflinks. Small details, yes, but details that gave away his position in the world, nonetheless. His dark brown hair, cut quite short but obviously by someone other than the barber at the corner shop, was greying at the temples, lending him an air of wearied worldliness. She watched carefully as he ordered a Glenlivet double, neat.

“Glenlivet, eh?” she said, sliding onto the stool next to him. “Twelve or eighteen?”

He looked up, surprised by this sudden apparition of a woman next to him. “Eighteen, may I buy you a round?”

The words fell from his mouth almost of their own accord, surprising him and pleasing her. She nodded, and indicated to the barman that she would, indeed, have what the gentleman was having.

The drink arrived quickly, and she nodded her thanks to the barman before turning to her new companion.

No wedding band, but the faint outline of where one had once been lingered on his left ring finger. Recently divorced. Thus the slightly sad atmosphere surrounding him. He didn’t flinch away from her foot running up his lower left leg, though, so she knew that he had had women flirt with him, if not make love with him, since his becoming single. That, or he was too far into his Scotch to care.

It mattered not to her, because she had one goal, and one goal only, in mind. Placing her glass on the bar, she leaned forward, just enough to expose a hint of cleavage, and whispered into his left ear, her glossed lips just touching his skin, a little tease, a prelude of things to come.

“Take me home. Fuck me, use me, I’m yours to do with what you will.”

He looked up at her now, clearly jolted out of whatever reverie in which he had been lost. His greyish-blue eyes widened at her words, even as she ran her left hand up his right leg, as if in affirmation of what she had just whispered into his ear.

“Pardon?”

“You heard me, love. Now the only question that remains is, do you take me up on my offer or not?”

Her answer came in the form of the man signalling for his tab, placing his black American Express card on the bar before the barman could even arrive. She had not worn a coat, but he was quick to call for his, a heavy black cashmere overcoat. It lay over his left arm now, as he hurriedly signed for the tab.

She finished her Scotch in one go and turned to him, appraising him again. Taller than her six feet (plus a good four inches, in the heels she had on), manicured nails, the careful manners of a man born into wealth--or one who wanted others to think that he had been born into wealth.

They stepped out into the cooling summer’s night, walking slightly apart at first, the gap between them narrowing with each of her steps, until his left arm was brushing her right breast. Upon reaching his car, she pinned him against the passenger side door, kissing and nuzzling his neck, running curious hands down over his chest and belly to rest on the growing bulge in his trousers.

“Do you see all of those security cameras?” she asked.

“Yes,” he responded, hesitantly.

“You know someone is watching us then, yes?” her voice making it more of a statement than a question.

“I do,” he said, and she could see by the sudden flush in his cheeks that this knowledge excited him not just a little.

Taking his hand and sliding it beneath her dress, she whispered again.

“Do you feel how damp you’ve made me? How very much my body wants yours, and now?”

He nodded mutely, his hand pressed against her panties, damp with the sodden heat radiating from her sex. That was all he was aware of now, the scent of her perfume and the scent of her sex, drifting towards his nostrils like the beckoning call of a siren.

“Do you think it’s fair to leave me like this, all the way home?”

In response, he slipped two fingers beneath her panties, sinking them into her tight, desperate cunt. “Fuck…” was all he could manage to say. Already, her hands were fumbling with his belt buckle, tugging down his trousers and the boxers beneath to expose his hard cock. She was breathing harder now, his fingers grazing her clit as her own fingers had done just hours ago in the shower.

“Here. Now,” she said, beginning to hike her dress up over her wide hips. Turning them both around so that she was facing the car, she lifted the hem of her dress, exposing her black lace panties and the pale curve of her ass. She heard his sharp intake of breath at the sight, then felt his hands on her hips, the tip of his cock nudging her cunt through the thin fabric of the panties. “Please…” she said, almost whimpering with need.

He obliged, pushing aside the fabric of her panties, and with a single thrust, was buried deep inside her swollen wanton cunt. She groaned, pushing her hips back into his, wanting him, all of him, inside of her. In response, he reached around, slid his left hand beneath her panties and stroked her clit gently, then pinched it abruptly as she shoved herself back into him.

She growled her approval, her body begging for more abuse, and he gave it to her, slamming his cock over and over again into her wanton cunt, sentences of pain punctuated by exclamation marks of pleasure each time he squeezed her clit.

“Oh… fuck…” were the only words she could manage before her orgasm broke over her. Her cunt clenching at his cock, every cell in her body suddenly electrified, she pushed her hips back hard into him one last time before he exploded inside of her, bathing her tight pussy walls in his semen, collapsing against her as she collapsed against the cool metal of the car door.

They stood like that for several minutes, before she straightened up, smoothing her dress down over her legs once more. He was breathing hard, leaning against a neighbouring car, watching her, his damp cock still exposed, his boxers and trousers about his ankles.

Finally, he seemed to realise where it was, exactly, that he was, and he hurriedly pulled up his boxers and trousers and fastened his belt, tucking in the tails of his pressed white Oxford collar shirt as he did so. Now he stammered out the words she had been waiting to hear.

“So, we never properly introduced ourselves to each other.”

She smiled, a wan sort of smile, and replied, “No, we didn’t.”

Having said that, she turned and began to walk to her car. She could hear him calling for her as she walked away, but she did not stop, she did not turn around.

“Please... Miss…”

She walked faster, feeling his cum leaking out of her cunt and down her thighs, until she finally reached her car. Unlocking the door, she once again heard his pleas, and starting the ignition, she drowned them out.

She had gone out tonight with a singular purpose, and that purpose had been fulfilled. This release of tension was all she needed, was all she wanted, and was all that she was willing to give.

She pulled out of the car park, and with a satisfied smile on her face, drove towards home.