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oldart7Nobody had even kept me on the verge of orgasm for so long, keeping me teetering on the edge until I was ready promise anything to be allowed to cum. The end, when it came had be screaming and convulsing and crying like someone in fit.
He lay back and watched as I uncoiled from the ball in which I’d curled, as aftershocks continued to erupt.

“How about next Friday?” he suggested, when my eyes opened.
“I c-can’t.”
“Why?”
“I’m having dinner with my friend.”
“The pregnant one?”
“Yes.”
“The following week then.”
“I-I don’t know. I’ll have to see.”

*

I’d had a sense of déjà vu as I’d gone to the sports club to change into my alter ego. It was a well practiced routine now. The receptionist didn’t bat an eye when I finally emerged, perhaps assuming that I’d gone in before her shift began.

Out on the street commuters were heading home, like salmon swimming up stream to spawn. I hailed a black cab and told him to take to Parliament square.
I glanced at my watch as the taxi pulled over to the curb; I was early. Crossing the road I headed for underground station.

My pale coat covered from neck to mind calf; my heeled shoes threatening to send me into a swan dive as I negotiated the stone steps down into the bowls of the earth. Small rivulets of perspiration trailed over my back, then over my buttocks and down my bare legs.

Heads turned, eyes staring in wide disbelief at the woman wearing a buttoned-up coat in mid August, when the temperature had soared into the high twenties at mid-day. How could they know that beneath the voluminous coat she was as naked as the day she was born?

Sliding my ticket into the slot, I retrieved it when it popped out the other end, then stepped through as the little gate popped open.
On the escalator the man behind me was standing a little too close, his white shirt open exposing a thick undergrowth of curly blonde chest hair. The man in front turned his head, grinning up at me, nostrils drawing in the vapours of my perfume. I could see the questions in his grey eyes; where was I going? who was I going to fuck?; was there a chance he might be next in line?

A blast of warm air shot up from the tunnel below, rippling the hem of my light coat, lifting the edges.
I pulled at my sleeve and looked at my watch as I stepped off the sliding stair-case.

The tube was just pulling in as I exited the tunnel.

“Mind the gap.”

It was standing room only. Pressure from the tall man behind me pushed me forward; an elbow from the woman in front grazed my breast dragging the rough material across my erect, sensitive nipples; a lecherous smile from the twenty something man to my right, his dark brown eyes interrogating and intrusive.
The carriage was a sweat box, the thin polluted air reeking of hot bodies, stale cologne, cheap perfume and body gasses released in a confined space, sent my head into a spin. Women fanned with hats or magazines, men wiped the leak from their brows with the backs of their hands and wiped the hand on their trousers.

I took shallow breaths, closed my eyes and clung to the relative coolness of the aluminium pole, the tube rocking and juddering as it shot into the darkness, the passengers swaying like puppets on invisible strings. Even then I could feel the eyes licking at me, invisible hands lifting the hem of my coat, exposing my naked ass for all to see.

A screech of brakes, bodies dragged forward by the inertia, legs braced for the inevitable backlash as the train juddered to a final halt. An audible sigh of relief as the doors slid open, exchanging the odour of confined bodies for the arguably less noxious diesel and hot metal aroma.

“Mind the gap!”

The sound of many heels on concrete reverberated in the echoing tunnel; a Polish musician on a saxophone sitting on a camp stool, an old flat cap weighed down by a few brass coins, gazed at me as I waddled by on unfamiliar stilts.

Up into the sunlight the cooling evening air rushed up under my coat cooling the petals of my crotch, caressing my bottom. Car horns brayed, sirens wailed, snippets of conversation as commuters came into range and then passed on.

“And then I said to him…..”

“But how could he after all yo………”

“We are going to have find another fifteen thou……”

“No way man, I’m not gonna fucking let that bitch…..”

A taxi crawled by, my hand half emerged from my pocket to stop it; to bring this charade to a halt. It would be so easy to go back, change into who I really was, reclaim my decency, collect my car and go home to my husband; except he wasn’t there.

Why the fuck was I doing this? What did he have in mind? Why was I behaving like a pawn in his game of chess? I felt naked, exposed, vulnerable, out of control, but perhaps that was the idea.

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