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I haven’t yet described how I became involved with the Canadian, and surprise, surprise I am not going to do that here. Why? Because the gentleman in question is sufficiently well known in his own country, and well connected both there and here, and does have a small, deserved reputation for risqué behaviour, that it might be possible to identify him in my description of our first meeting.

The incident here began as a conversation we had one rainy afternoon as we lay in bed, after he had gone down on me, as he always did first, and then made love to me in the usual way.


“Have you ever gone out without your clothes on?”
“No. But I did once come home without my dress and my pants on.”
“Really. Tell me about it.”
“It was in July, about a month after we married. I remember it was a very wet night and we’d gone to a pub for dinner for a friend’s birthday.”
“What were you wearing? Describe it to me.”

He rolled over onto his back, eyes fixed on the ceiling, his left arm lying across me, hand stroking my pubic mound, now and then a finger sliding down into the wet centre, stroking upward over my clitoris. This was a game we’d played before; post coital question and answers. He asked me questions about my life, and I lied or told the truth, depending on how personal the question was. I don’t think he ever guessed which of my answers were a fabrication, as I stuck as close to the truth as possible. I always suspected that it was his way of getting himself excited enough to regain an erection.

“It was short-ish,” I continued.
“How short?”
“Just above my knee.”
“Were you wearing any knickers?”
“What colour?”

“Silk? Nylon? Cotton?”
“Go on.”
“The dress had a fine pattern of-“

“Was it tight fitting?”
“No, not really. It fit, but didn’t hug.”
“Red? Blue? Green? Whi-“
“Pale green.”
“Your hair was long then, wasn’t it? And you weren’t blonde either, were you? ”

“Yes it was long.”
“I’d have liked to see you with long hair. Were you wearing heels?”
”Low-ish heals…. ”

“Okay. I’ve got the picture. Go on. Hold up, did you have sex before you went out to dinner. I mean after you had put on your make-up and your silk underwear, did your husband fuck you?”
“Yes,” I lied. “He came up behind me, pulled down my panties, pushed me over, so that I had my head resting on the bed and entered me from behind. How did you know?”

He laughed softly. ”I always slip it into my wife before we go out to dinners and official functions. The more expensive and exclusive the function, the more I enjoy the thought of her walking around bare-assed all evening, with my sperm oozing out of her swollen pussy, and dribbling down her legs. Both of my children were conceived that way; one on the way to a do at the embassy, and the other to a $1000 a plate charity dinner. On the way home we usually find somewhere quiet; down a little used track, or in a deserted car-park, so I can spread her legs and lick up what’s left of the ooze. I usually get a little head too. Not enough to make me spurt in het mouth, but by the time we get home I’d have a boner that’s so stiff and solid, it’s almost exquisitely painful. As soon as we get in it’s up with her skirts and I’m at it like a rabid dog. Man…. that’s always so fucking hot.”

All the time he was talking he was rubbing furiously at my swollen clitoris with his index finger, almost but not quite bringing me to a climax. I reached out and ran my hand under the sheet that covered his groin; his penis had thickened again.

“Carry on with your story first,” he said, blonde eyebrows arched. “The dress was pale green, almost knee length and you were wearing panties.”
“Yes. At the table we sat down next to each other, and all through dinner he hand his hand on my thigh, now and then pulling up by dress and stroking my wet crotch. It was very distracting.”

“Does he do that sort of thing often?”
“Yes. But sometimes it can be quite embarrassing, when he does something like that in inappropriate places.”
“Do you enjoy it?”
“Sometimes it can be very exciting.  However, on occasion he carries it a bit too far.”

He laughed, rolled on his side facing me and changed hands on my groin. “I’m afraid it’s a man thing, darling; especially if he’s lucky enough to be married to a very beautiful woman, who’s designed as you are, and with a more than averagely hot, sexual temperament. He’s a very lucky man.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Oh, it is. Just imagine being in a marriage where your husband hardly touches you at home and never outside the house. My first wife for instance was pretty enough, but she had a biannual libido and guarded her pussy like it was the doorway to a vault full of precious gems. She would have stabbed me in the balls with a table fork, if I’d gone so far as fondling her leg under the table at home. I can’t imagine what she’d have done if I’d tried anything out of the house; they would have found bits of my body floating down the Patomac. Anyway, go on.”

I bit my lips as his finger parted my labia and slid inside, curling upward toward my G-spot.  My knees jerked as he began a slow come-hither action wit the soft tip. “Ah…..as we were about to leave he leaned across and whispered in my ear, ‘go to ladies and take off all of your clothes and put on my rain coat.’ I was a little surprised, but I was very turned on my then, and it wasn’t the first time he’d asked me to do something like that. So I got his long, oiled coat off the hook and headed for the ladies. When I came back my dress and underwear were rolled into balls in the coats deep inside pockets.”

“And did no one ask why you were wearing your husband’s coat?”
“I suppose they accepted that as it was still raining heavily and my dress was very thin, so borrowing is coat wasn’t so strange.”
“I wish I’d been there,” he sighed, his thumb to circling my clitoris at the same time as his finger strolled the upper wall of my vagina.

“Would you consider walking through London in nothing but your coat and a pair of high heeled shoes?” he asked.
“I might consider it, but I wouldn’t actually attempt it.”
“Can’t or won’t.”
“Both. Why should I?”
“Just for the hell of it.”
“I’m a thirty year old, married, professional woman with a lot to loose, so why should I do something like that?”

“I can see that the idea intrigues you. I wouldn’t have suggested it if I didn’t know it would be something you might enjoy.”
“Enjoying it is one thing. But the risk is huge. Suppose someone recognises me?”
“There’s no fun without a little risk. I’d offer to make it worth your while, but so far you’ve refused to let me buy you anything. What can I do to convince you to do it?”

He leaned over and kissed me on the mouth, then trailed a line of kisses over my neck, my breasts, belly, lingering at my navel and then down to my pubic mound and finally……..