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His wife offers him the right price to fuck his male friend.
He knew he couldn't bluster his way with this woman. As they pushed the empty soupbowls away, her knee brushed his, deliberately, he thought:
- So Mr President. Can you handle a real woman?
She was a bit older than him, maybe early thirties. He'd been with older women, but nobody like her. He smiled his best seductive smile:
- If you mean by that, can I handle you Samantha, the honest answer is, I dinna ken. You're out of my league. But -- he laid his hand over hers -- I would like to discover.
The main courses were served. They hardly spoke as they ate, but her leg moved occasionally against his. Her intent was clear, or so he hoped. But his rising excitement was tempered by his own sense of inadequacy at the situation. Who the fuck was this enticing woman, who could put and hold him exactly where she wanted him? Who'd made it her business to know so much about him, could peer into his emotional innards like a disdainful vulture?
Cutlery scraped empty plates. Another bottle of wine appeared. He hazarded:
- You want a sweet Samantha? Cheese? Anything?
She chuckled low in her throat:
- Sandy, when I stopped you at the door earlier, you said you were all mine. Do you want to be? Just for tonight?
His cock jerked hard. Fuck.
He took her hand in his, noting her long fingers:
- Yes. I didn't mean that before, but I mean it now. As I want you to be mine.
It was all strangely ethereal.
- You'd better be careful. My husband says I'm a spider, and you know what female spiders do. And he doesn't know I sometimes play: I'm very discreet. Now, drink up.
She filled their glasses. Jesus, he'd never been anywhere like this. Deeply exciting. Darkly intimidating. He wanted this woman who'd discovered how to control him.
- Cheers. It has to be an away game for me, I can't take you to my, our, flat. Is yours presentable? I'm a bit fussy.
At least he knew how to keep his living space in order:
- Well, I hope it passes your test. Tell me something. Who did you cancel on to eat with me tonight?
- You don't know her.
So there was substance to the rumour then. He shrugged:
- Not an issue for me.
- The answer is yes. I play both ways. Not usually with men though, I'm pretty faithful to my husband in that. I like the power I have over my women partners. Can't do that with him, he's very traditional.
- I realise you're enjoying playing with me.
- Don't worry, you won't be a notch on my bedpost Sandy. Though I know I'll be one on yours. I can just hear it: 'Did you hear, he fucked that stuck-up English bitch'.
- We had a long political discussion, that's all anyone will ever know.
- Thank you for that. Might grow to like you Sandy.
Her pupils were liquid as he gazed into them, somewhere indefinable between green and amber. His fingers lifted to her face, stroked her cheek. She moved her head suddenly, trying to catch them in her mouth, but his other hand came up and stilled her head. Stroked both her ears, gentled behind them. His right hand left her, fastened round his glass, nudged her nose with it:
- I'm glad. I just might be getting to like you. Now come and sit beside me.
Her eyes dropped and she moved, into the shelter of the thick sandstone wall beside him. She sat, head slightly bowed, till his arm went round her, drew her close, fondled her breast through the Fair Isle jumper. Her mouth moved to his and they melted together, breathed each other as the kiss deepened.
She broke from him, corked the nearly-full bottle, put it in her shoulder-bag:
- I think we should go. Let's get the bill and be out of here.
In the taxi they embraced lasciviously. His hand moved up her thigh, awkwardly straining against the tightness of her business suit. When he eventually reached her cleft, it was sodden. She moaned as he searched there, under the panties, into her wetness. She made no move to touch where hardness strained against his trousers.
When they entered his flat the phone was ringing. He knew who it was and ignored it. She turned him to face her, one eyebrow raised again: