Headhunter

His first sight as he opened the door to the room was her sitting demurely on the end of the bed clad in only a basque and hold-up stockings, a glass of wine in one hand and a small smile playing across her lips.

He turned his back to close the door and took a deep breath before turning around and responding to her casual 'hello'.

She was just as he had imagined and yet he was afraid. This was it. The moment he had been awaiting for so many years during the barren wasteland that was the sex life within his marriage.

His first infidelity.

His first opportunity to have sex as a pleasure rather than a granted right. Not feeling like a nuisance, a duty to be done or almost a rapist but as a desirable and very much wanted man.

She watched him lean back against the door. Taking some comfort from the solidity of the wood behind him and she smiled, empathising with the hesitance of his guilt... or at least his fear of being caught.

Reaching behind her, she grasped the cuffs and, stopping only to place her empty glass on a table, walked towards him with the instruction to hold out his hands. He tried valiantly not to stare at the strip of pale flesh between the end of the basque and the beginning of the lace-topped stockings but to no avail. As she moved, his eyes were riveted on the thin slit with its brown-haired border.

Dragging his attention upwards, she secured each shackle roughly around the requisite wrist, lifted his hands above his head and hooked the connecting chain over the clothes hook on the door behind him. Her body so close it was almost touching... but not quite. He was intoxicated by the smell of her perfume, could feel the warmth of her breath on his cheek and was acutely aware of the proximity of her barely confined breasts as she stretched up to place his trembling palms on the top of his head.

He exhaled deeply and felt the relief of her taking charge of the situation. She was initiating, she understood that any blame had to be all hers.

Standing in front of him, she brushed her lips across his and her fingers began releasing the buttons of his shirt, liberating the thick dark hair on his chest as she buried her face in it and continued the downwards path of her kisses. His heart was beating so fast and furiously that they could both almost see its palpitations below his left nipple. Her lips paused there for a moment trying wordlessly to reassure before moving inexorably onwards.

Her fingers on his waistband, his zipper, his naked thighs. Helping him step out of shoes, socks and other encumbrances and then kneeling before him to admire. Her gaze took in the rampant rigidity of a member that had not stood to attention in the presence of a real woman for some time.

His heart was pounding and the blood rushing in his ears. He remembered the fantasies he had played out in his mind with a multitude of women and the sudden realisation that this was not a cyber moment made him long for her touch with the fiercest lust he had ever experienced. He watched her hand reach out almost as if in slow motion until the tips of her fingers were millimetres from his skin. Screwing up his eyes, clenching his muscles, he willed her to close the distance and, when she complied, a tremor ran through him.

Her single outstretched digit traced the dimple down his frenulum and played over the shaft to the base, followed around the outline of each ball before repeating the journey in the opposite direction.

She sat back on her heels and loosened the straps of the basque, freeing two perfect breasts for his delectation. It was then that he realised how it must feel to be a volcano, desperately trying to control the effervescence in his groin that was threatening to erupt. He had hoped that he would be in control, but years of even the most blatant virtual flirting are still very different to the physical reality of a half-naked woman in the same room. Most men would have tried to think of other things. The imminence of his infidelity. The guilt of his betrayal. The much-feared ghost of the possibility of impotence in her presence.

But he did not care. Secure enough in his ability to continue to please after such an eventuality and he had waited so long for this service, it would seem churlish not to experience the full performance. There had been various internet dates who had promised their attentions but not fulfilled, leaving him to continue his regular routine of solitary wanking, whilst he searched for a willing partner, and he had hoped that he would not be too sensitive if ever he was successful.

However, in the face of a real female, her mouth warm around his cock head, the pressure of her lips slowly moving up and down, her tongue licking and sucking at the tip, he was powerless to prevent the inevitable... The point of no return was reached and passed more quickly than he had ever imagined and he was lost.

When his frenetic breathing and gasping moans indicated that the moment was nigh, she moved her head away and watched as it bubbled up out of him, pumping warm and sticky over her exposed decolletage. The remnants dribbling down her enclosing hand and wrist, connecting them with its final viscous tendrils.

It was always the most likely outcome, but there was no shame, only her encouraging giggle of approval as she licked her fingers...