Party girl

I called Kim on Thursday, to tell her that my trip was cancelled and that I would be coming to Emily's birthday party on Friday. She told me that, although she was pleased that I wasn't going away, she didn't want Emily to be embarrassed in front of friends and family, so was concerned about me being there. I was full of soothing reassurance that I would embarrass no-one, including John. She could simply present me as an old friend, as she had done when I met John. She seemed slightly reassured but not much. Frankly, I was going to turn up anyway. I was just trying to avoid John and Kim looking slack-jawed in shock if I turned up unannounced again.

I wasn't sure what was meant but 'party, but it turned out to be one of those parties where about eighty percent of the people were friends of the birthday girl. The rest were the parents and other 'adults', keeping a watchful eye out for drugs and pretending to be 'cool'. Alcohol was, however, flowing freely and I had brought my own drugs anyway. Music was thumping out in all of the downstairs rooms, except the kitchen. I spotted Kim in the hallway and weaved between the party-goers to say hello.

"Kim!" I said, loudly, as if greeting a long lost friend. After the obligatory air-kisses, on each cheek, I gave her a long-lost-friend-hug, slyly dropping my right hand to give her bottom a playful squeeze. Kim, who had clearly had a few drinks, emitted a half-giggle and swivelled her head round quickly, to see if anyone had noticed.

"Let me get you a drink," said Kim, breaking off the hug and leading me by the hand, through the throng, towards the kitchen.

Michael was coming out of the kitchen. He greeted me in that time-honoured manner, "oh it's you!"

"Mum, I'm off," said Michael.

"Must you?" said Kim.

"I promised I would stay for a bit and I have. But I really can't take much more of Emily and her stupid friends," said Michael.

"She's your sister!" said Kim.

"Yeah but she's not my friend," said Michael, making his way towards the front door.

"They used to get on so well," said Kim sighing.

At that moment, John appeared next to us. He didn't exactly look pleased to see me but I greeted warmly. I asked him how the English Open Golf was going. I hate golf but it is another of John's sporting passions and it isn't difficult to bluff one's way through. I pushed the right buttons and John quickly relaxed and became and animated, talking about the golf. While he was talking, I pulled my hand out of my pocket and gave his crotch a quick, discreet squeeze, to check whether the chastity device was still in place. It was.

"Didn't find the key? Or do you just like it and have locked it back in place?" I asked.

"Didn't find it," said John with a frown.

"Be a good, well-behaved, boy tonight and I will let you out tomorrow," I whispered into his ear. Another frown. "Up to you," I said, "but now I must mingle."

And mingle I did. I have to say I am rather good at mingling. Age is no barrier. The art, as I have noted before, is to get people to talk about themselves and empathise with what they say. I have never felt any genuine empathy in my life but it is easy to fake. Actually, I think my detachment makes me come across as more empathetic than most people because I am not tempted into talking about myself. The trick is listen properly, agree with what the person says, supported with some well-chosen, but not outlandish, lies to establish common interests. It's always a good idea to reflect back the person's own words. It sounds transparent but, believe me, it works.

Anyway, I was busy being charming when someone tapped me on the shoulder. It took me a moment to realise it was Emily. She was older looking than in the pictures I had seen. She was slim, bordering on skinny. Her hair was dark, dead straight and down to her shoulders, framing the sharp features that bore more than a hint of Kim. She was wearing a single piece, black linen, sleeveless dress that barely covered her bottom. Her legs were bare, atop black flat pumps. She is gorgeous. I smiled, recalling how slutty her mother was at the same age.

"You must be Harry," she said, extending her hand with a smile.

"Indeed I am," I said, "and you must be Emily?"

"And indeed, I am," she said, adding, "I've heard a lot about you."

"Oh really, " I said, "any of it good?"

"Afraid not," she said.

"Oh dear!"

"Michael told me that you are wanker," said Emily

"Oh dear, did her say anything else?" I asked.

"Quite lot for him, the little shit," said Emily.

"Maybe, I should leave now," I said, jokingly.

"Oh please don't," said Emily, "if Michael dislikes you as much as it seems, we will probably get on very well indeed!"

Echoing Kim, some weeks ago, she said she she wanted to know 'all about me.' But with someone at such an exciting point in their life, between school and university, it wasn't difficult to turn it around and get her talking about herself. As we talked, she flirted with me. I wondered whether Michael articulated any suspicions about my relationship with Kim. She wouldn't be the first daughter to try to steal her mother's lover. I kept my distance, physically and verbally, adopting the old, 'playing hard to get' approach. I did, however, allow my eyes to tell a different story.

Kim, who was now quite drunk, broke up our tête-a-tête, sidling up beside and putting her arm protectively around my waist. "Sorry, darling," said Kim, " I am going to have to take him away from you, there's someone I want him to meet."

I raised my eyes, signalling, 'I've got no choice.'

Emily gave a shrug that signalled, 'I understand. Mum's drunk. There's no point arguing."

"You know we could always pop upstairs, unnoticed, for a little while," Kim whispered into my ear as me walked away. The context made the offer too good to refuse.

We returned to the party, both a little more crumpled than we departed, with Kim sporting a big, soppy,  post-orgasmic grin. She made a beeline for John. I saw her take her hand from somewhere below her waist and raise it to John's lips. He hesitated and gave a lick. Kim grinned, looked across at me and winked.

I was about to tell them that I was leaving when there was a tap on my shoulder again. "We didn't finish our conversation," said Emily.

"I'm not sure we should," I said.

"Why's that said Emily," with a pout.

"Because you are far too attractive," I said.

"When did that become a bad thing?" asked Emily.

"It's not," I said, "but I am a friend of your mother's and you are very young. I don't want to get into trouble."

"What sort of trouble did you have mind?" said Emily, flirtatiously.

"Oh, you wouldn't like the sort of trouble that I like," I said,

"Maybe you should try me," said Emily.

Kim arrived, as she had done before. "I was just leaving," I said to Kim.

"Oh, must you?" she said, as genuinely as a drunk is able.

I was insistent that I had to get up early and really had to leave. As I was making my excuses, I felt Emily's bony hand press something into the palm of my hand. I slipped it discreetly into my trouser pocket.

I said a polite goodbye to Emily, and walked with Kim to the Kitchen, to say goodbye to John. With the three of us together, I gave Kim a key to the chastity device. I told John that it was now up to Kim whether he was released and for how long. I gave Kim polite kiss and a hug, shook hands with John and off I went.

Outside I pulled, what turned out to be, a piece of paper from my trouser pocket. It was a mobile telephone number, followed by the words, "Call me. You wont be disappointed. Emily XXX"

Consummation

A mistake that normal people often make is to think that there is something called ‘the truth’. Religions say they have it. Parents ask their children for it. Policemen want it. Politicians go to war over it. The truth is that there is no such thing as the truth. There are only different narratives. Narratives about the past and narratives about the future, all seen through a personal lens of assumptions, values and prejudices. And, take it from me: that’s the truth.

Originally, I wanted to spin together the narratives of John, Kim and myself into one yarn of shared truth. But I couldn't, in my own mind, find a satisfactory way of doing so. I am not good at long-range planning. I am impulsive. I tend to make things up as I go. I get what I want, by telling people what they want to hear, as long as it suits my purpose. But that creativity is in the moment, not in the future. Finding a way to spin a new yarn was nagging away at me.

On Friday, it was a spontaneous decision to suggest to Kim that we wouldn't tell John what we found on his PC. There would be no tears of confrontation, recrimination or angst. Instead there would be a tool that could be used to manipulate John; a weapon if you like. Kim would be inside John’s head, without him knowing it. I was already inside his head.

This train of thought lead me to an insight. I had intended to disappear from John’s cyberlife, when I started to cuckold him for real. On Sunday, I had thought, I would simply be Kim’s new lover, slowly acclimatising John to his future as a cuckold. He would have no idea that I was the person he chatted to and nor would Kim.

But I am impatient and I realised that there was a fast forward button. John and I could share a different narrative to the one that Kim and I shared. And those narratives need never come together.

***

It was just after midday. John was barely in the front door when he first laid eyes on me, sitting in his Living Room.

“John, this is Harry,” said Kim, introducing me to John, “we used to work together at Bart’s. He tracked me down on Facebook.”

“Harry Powell, pleased to meet you,” I said, with a broad, but not too ingratiating, smile. “She’s still as gorgeous as ever, isn't she? You are a lucky man, John.”

“Thanks...” John began. 

Kim interrupted. “Harry has to be at a conference nearby on Monday,” said Kim, hurriedly, “and I said he could stay over. I hope that’s okay?”

“It’s fine,” he said wearily, his brain not quite engaged.

Kim poured us all a generous glass of red wine, before going to the kitchen to prepare lunch, leaving John and I to “get to know each other”. 

This was the plan that Kim and I had agreed upon. What happened next, wasn't. When Kim was out of earshot, I leaned forward in my chair and looked John in the eyes. “The time has come John. I am going to make your dreams come true. I am going to turn you wife into a dominating slut.”

John stared at me open-mouthed.

“And you are going to watch me fuck her, just like the docile little boy that your are... aren’t you John?” I said. 

John’s mouth moved but instead of words, there was just this odd gargling noise. I looked at him, fascinated, as his face contorted and his body twitched.

“Oh come on John,” I continued, “you and I have talked about this enough on Friday nights. We both know it’s what you have dreamed of. But no need to call me Sir in front of Kim. Not just yet.”

I leaned back in my chair, as Kim came into the room. “Everything okay?” she said, with breezy anxiety, looking at John and then at me.

“Couldn't be better,” I said. “It turns out John and I have a lot in common. Isn’t that right John?”

"Great!" said Kim, looking towards John for reassurance.

John looked like a man who had been whacked around the side of the head with a large plank of wood. “Yes, yes we do,” he said through a dissonant daze.

Dinner was a bit awkward but I stuck to the game-plan that I had agreed with Kim, flirting and making mild physical contact whenever the opportunity presented itself. A touch her and touch there. Each time, Kim glanced at John, to see if there was any objection. There wasn't. 

After the meal, we moved from the dining area into the living room. Kim sat down on the sofa. I sat down beside her, after shooting John a ‘don’t you dare’ look. Kim and John had both drunk quite a lot of wine, to calm their respective nerves. I had pretended to drink. 

I initiated a stream of small-talk; something in which I am well practised. Kim was blurting out her words like a machine-gun. John talked like an engine trying to start; bursts of spluttering words, followed by silence, then suddenly spluttering into life again. And while this was going on, I was increasingly touching Kim, who tensed and looked at John every time I did so.

I decided that it was enough of first gear and timid plans. It was time to fast-forward through what I had agreed with Kim. I slid my hard up Kim’s skirt, onto her thigh, and leaned over and wrapped my mouth over hers.

“You don’t mind, do you, John?” I said, as I broke off and looked at him. 

“No....uh...not at all,” he said, the words barely escaping his throat.

“She’s sexy woman isn’t she John?” I said.

“Yes, yes she is,” he said.

“There, I told I didn't think he would mind,” I said, turning back to an open-mouthed and stunned looking Kim. Okay, so I had moved a lot more quickly than we had agreed. But we all knew where this was heading and soon no-one would care about nor remember plan-A.

My hand moved inside her blouse and I whispered into her ear, “tell him to get us some wine.” She gave me a ‘I can’t do that frown’ but I said, “go on, just try it out.” And so she did. John responded by silently going to get the wine. “Venus in Furs,” I whispered into her ear, as my fingers entered her. She may have been anxious but her wetness told its own story.

Kim and I began to make out on the sofa, John staring on silently. Kim kept glancing at him, to gauge his reaction. As we began to fuck, Kim noticed that John was touching himself, through his jeans. “Tell him, he can get it out but not come,” I whispered to Kim. This she did and this he did.

Kim lost herself, her pupils completely dilated, her mouth lolling open, as I fucked her harder and harder, on the sofa, in her living room, in front of her silent masturbating husband. It was quite a scene...for a first time anyway. I studied John as I fucked. Of course, he couldn't help himself when her heard the way that Kim orgasmed, screaming out, without inhibition, as I had taught her. And as she did, I too let myself go and filled her up.

There may have been some discontinuities and puzzles left in the old narratives but that was forgotten. A new narrative had been started.

***

That night, john ‘slept’ in Michael’s room. I took something to ensure that I could go all night without sleeping. Unbeknown to Kim, I slipped some of the same into her drink. Thus we fucked nosily all night, with John in the room next door. 

Picture this

Not only had John bookmarked lots of sites, he had also downloaded lots of images. When I say lots, I mean hundreds. It must have taken him forever. I can only assume that whenever he saw something he liked, he clicked and downloaded it. And being an anally retentive sort, he had considerately catalogued them into albums in Google's Picasa picture management software. Now, Kim was flipping through them, fascinated.

She flicked through them quickly but slowed, tilting her head this way and that, as she looked through an album named 'femdom'. To be frank, I knew this was an ingredient in John's fantasies but I hadn't realised the extent of his interest. The album was subdivided into categories with names like: classic, inter-racial, cruella, amateurs, pro-doms, bondage, pain and water-sports. Kim paused at a picture of a young, slim, leather-clad woman, in impossibly high heels, holding a riding crop and standing over a naked man who appeared to be cowering.

Kim turned to me, frowning. "Is this how he wants me to be?" she asked, with a tone of disbelief.

"In his dreams, maybe," I said. "But you need to overlay these glossy, stylised images onto the conversation he had with that bloke on-line, where he imagines that it is you who is cuckolding and dominating him; not some idealised mannequin. I think what's important is not the actual image but the idea it portrays. Let's look at the amateurs and see if the women are...errr...more normal."

As Kim, continued to flick through the pictures, I stood behind her, kissing her neck. I reached around, fondling her breasts, gently teasing her nipples between my thumbs and forefingers. There were more than enough pictures to keep it going for a while. I reached down and found her clitoris, rolling it around with my finger to the rhythm of the mouse click. 

"Stand up for a second," I said, then slid underneath her, sitting down on the chair. I pulled her hips back towards the chair and entered her as she sat down. "Let's look together," I said. And so we did, fucking as we flipped through all of the albums, with me adding a crude commentary of encouragement, suggesting how we might bring the image to our own reality.

Kim was close to orgasm as we started to look at a sub-category of the cuckold album, named 'humiliation'. I don't know whether the pictures had any impact on Kim but she happened to orgasm on a picture of a man, gagged and bound in cage, while two men took a woman from each end. 

***

Kim had to go to work, so she went off to have a shower, while I took the opportunity to download John's address-book onto my memory stick.

***

I came back on Thursday evening and, between fucking in various rooms, some light bondage games and protestations of love, we talked about what we have found. Or rather, I got Kim to talk about her feelings. The essence was that she had a mixture of doubt, anxiety and excitement. She said she felt more alive than she had done for many years and didn't want to go back. But she really wasn't sure whether it was a good idea to involve John. Maybe, we should keep it our secret, she told me, and no risk what we already have.

"I'll tell you what," I said, "we will not even mention what we have seen: the conversations, the websites and the pictures. We'll just do a gentle, low-risk test of  how he reacts to you having a lover, when he gets back on Sunday. We'll do it in such a way, that you only carry on if you are certain that it works for both of you. We'll make sure that there is an escape-hatch that causes no embarrassment to either of you. And if things work out, I don't see any reason why we would ever need to tell him what we found."  I hope you liked the unsubtle use of the word 'we'.

I told Kim my plan and she agreed that it was what we would do. Needless to say, I have no intention of turning back at this point. John deserves what's coming to him, whether he likes it or not. We'll get to 'not' at some point anyway.

***

Friday morning, Kim left me at John's PC, doing my email, while she went to work. The week had exceeded my expectations. Teeing up John's introduction to his new reality was gratifying. But what pleased me the most was that Kim now found it normal to fuck me in her own home and trusted me enough to leave me there alone.

But there was one more bonus yet to come. After Kim had left, I was sitting at John's PC, in John's dressing gown when I heard the front door open. It turned out to be Kim and John's son, Michael, who had come to pick up some clothes.

"Who are you," he asked suspiciously.

"An old friend of your Mum's," I said.

He eyed the dressing gown. "Are you staying here?" he asked.

"I did last night," I said.

"Does dad know?"

"I am sure he does," I said.

This sounds like a cordial exchange, given the circumstances, but I was doing my best to sound contemptuous of his questions. To treat them like an unwelcome distraction from something important. The conversation went on for a little in the same vein, with me bring as obnoxious as I could. I wanted Michael to dislike me and I believe I succeeded. I think the reason is why is obvious but, if not, it will become apparent in due course.

Bring on the geeks

Unsurprisingly, Kim was dressed to please when I arrived, yesterday evening. She was also very keen, to please in other ways and was on her knees, unzipping me, as soon as the door was closed. I did not speak as she got to work.

It was her who spoke first. Looking up at me, she said, "perhaps I should be punished for yesterday?"

I raised my eyebrows. "Are you really sure that you want to play that game?" I asked.

"I'm sure," she said. No smile, no laugh. Instead, a look of anxious sincerity.

"Okay, just remember that you asked," I said. She nodded.

I took a fistful of hair from the nape of her neck and pulled her up onto her feet. Then, still holding the fist of hair, I guided her up the stairs and into the bedroom. I put her face-down onto the bed and rummaged around in the draws of the dresser, to find some stockings or tights. I secured each wrist with a stocking tied as tightly as practicable. I started to spank her with my hand, carefully gauging her reaction as I did so. She squirmed a bit and her buttocks were reddening but it was still clearly playful.

"Not hard enough for you, slut?" I asked.

"No," she said in a barely a barely audible whisper.

"I can't hear you!" I said. "Do you want it harder? Speak up?"

"Yes," she said. She could hardly get the word out, such was her anxiety.

"Perhaps I should use my belt on you? Do you want that?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Yes what?" I persisted.

"Yes, I want you to use your belt," she said. I was tempted to press on to get her to say 'please' and 'Sir' but I didn't want to push her too far.

Now, a belt can be a very severe tool, even on someone experienced. I was, therefore,  pretty gentle; though it probably didn't feel that way to Kim. After about a dozen strokes, I was tempted to take her anally; something I hadn't yet done. But, again, intuition told me not to go too far, too quickly. I kissed her neck, her shoulders and then kissed up her arms to her wrists, untying first one and then the other.

As I rolled her over to face me, I could see that her eyes were slightly moist and her face had a faraway look. Though it was a physically mild experience, it had obviously been an emotionally intense experience for Kim. I held her gently and entered her similarly gently. I wanted to be tender but was important to associate the intense emotions, from the spanking, with sex and not something separate. I told her I loved her and made love to her slowly, until she came back from her daydream, when we fucked to a climax. This time it was Kim's turn to say "I love you."

After that we ate, drunk some wine and fucked some more, until it was too late for me to go home.

***

This morning, I asked Kim if I could use her PC, to check my email. She told me that I could use her work laptop but that it was old and very slow. I asked about the large-screened Sony PC I had seen in one of the rooms off of the landing.

"That's John's PC," she said, "but it's password protected. God knows why?"

"Maybe he's got something to hide?" I said, sounding jokey.

"I don't know. He said it's to stop me and the kids from messing it up but I would love to know what he gets up to on a Friday night," said Kim.

"How old is the PC?" I asked.

Kim's expression told me that she thought this an odd question but she answered anyway. "He bought in the January sale," she said. Probably Windows 7 or Vista, at worse, I thought.

Now, I am not technical but I know someone who is. The Geek is a subject who is a partner in a large international management consultancy. Ordinarily, a partner in that sort of firm would have left his technical skills a long way behind, as he moved up the ranks. The Geek, however, manages a practice that specialises in stuff like security and something he calls forensics. He's still an über-geek. Even if he cannot help personally, he has loads of socially inadequate pointy-heads, who work for him, that he can enlist to help me when I need something geeky.

I fancy that tomorrow, Kim will get her wish and find out what John does on a Friday night.

Three little words

When I selected John and Kim as my next subjects, I expected that I would be using John to manipulate Kim. Discovering Kim's premarital past as a slut turned that plan on its head. I am now wondering how far I can get her to go without coercion; my instinct is that she will go quite far.

I am tempted, at this point, to indulge in a discourse about the spectrum of persuasion, from manipulation to coercion, the thin line between them, and their respective pleasures. I touched on this in my very first post and feel a slight qualification is necessary. First, I never promised to be consistent. Secondly, I am starting to think that my subjects might offer a heady mixture of both. We'll see.

With this in mind, I met with Kim today for some more consolidation and little more exploration.

For the third time this week, I went to Kim's home. I had not set up a role-play nor had I set any expectations about how she would dress. I had a hope but not an expectation. The hope was fulfilled. Kim opened the front door, further than she had on Wednesday, dressed as a total slut. We looked at each other with mutual pleasure. This time I didn't linger to long on the doorstep. I was keen to find out if she was already wet. And she was; very wet indeed

After telling her how much her appearance pleased me, I took her by the hand and lead her straight upstairs to the bedroom for a good, hard, slut fuck. After a decent pause for recovery, I rolled her onto her back, took both of her hands in mine and pinned them to the mattress, palms up, each side of her head.

"I should punish you for being such a dirty slut in your marital bed!" I said, playfully.

"Chance would be a fine thing!" said Kim.

Her answer was along the lines I expected, so I was ready to flip her over and administer a mild spanking. There was no real pain but I was only interested in establishing the principle, on this particular occasion. When I finished, I slid my fingers into her, to gauge her response.

"You've done this before?" I said.

She looked back over her shoulder with a smirk. "Not for a very long time," she said.

"Maybe you like being tied up as well?" I asked, with a raised eyebrow

The chuckle that this elicited told me all that I needed to know. Her stocking came off easily, in just two movements. One. Two.

"On your back," I said, mock sternly.

She rolled over and as she did so, she offered her wrists. I bound each one gently with a stocking and secured them to the headboard. She could easily of slipped out of her bonds but made not attempt. Like the spanking, it was just playful but, similarly, it established a principle, to serve as a base-camp for more challenging adventures. For now, it was just a game. A gentle ripple in the vanilla.

***

There were a couple of other things that I wanted to achieve today so, after we fucked, I suggested we go out to lunch. 

"I'll just have a shower," said Kim.

"Oh, no, no," I said, "I want you to go as you are. Well fucked and dripping with me." Kim looked at her slut clothes with apprehension. 

"Wear something modest but, perhaps, no underwear," I said. We dressed, Kim without underwear, and went to the pub where we had our first 'date'. 

Over lunch, I asked about the children. Kim told me that they don't get on. If one of them says they like something the other will dislike it and vice versa. It wasn't always like that, she said. Up until the boy was thirteen, they were inseparable. Maybe he started to resent his sister when he realised how clever she was going to be, she said. But whatever it was, it had now festered into a genuine dislike and they were rarely home together. I sympathised, of course.

It was beautiful afternoon and after lunch, we went for walk, just as we had done that first time. And just like that first time, I pulled her close to me and kissed her.

"I love you," I lied, as I had lied before.

"And I love you," she said, reciprocating, as she had done before.

The first time that she uttered those three words was in a state of post-coital bliss, as reflex to my words. So what else could she say now?  Whether she meant it or not didn't really matter. She probably did mean it in those specific moments, but not in a lasting way. However, people have a deep seated need for consistency. Having taken a position, they feel obligated to stick to it. Moving in another direction causes dissonance. So whether she really had fallen for me or not, she had twice repeated those powerful three words. She will find it increasingly difficult not respond similarly when I give her the same cue. And you know what happens when something is repeated often enough?

A true vocation

Kim did not disappoint. She answered the door wearing a translucent cream coloured blouse, over a lacy black brassiere, a very short red skirt, very high red heels and what I assumed to be red hold-up stockings. She was well made up with scarlet lipstick and long earrings. She held the door in a half-open position, half-hiding behind it.

Role-plays are a great way of resetting norms. Initially, it provides the opportunity to set aside inhibitions and explore those dark corners. Over time, repetition blurs the boundary between the role-play and reality. Repeated frequently enough, the role-play becomes a new reality. If the subject is reluctant then it may take many repetitions. Often, however, the subject is releasing an inner desire that one taps into, and then the transition can happen quickly.

Managing this does take some skill - particularly reading people; knowing when to push and when to draw back. Reading people was something I developed and honed when poker was my main source of income. One quickly learns to differentiate between confidence and fear, between weakness and strength, between predator and prey. A lion doesn't have to be empathetic to choose the weakest or slowest wildebeest. That's just observation and natural selection.

But one did't need those skills to notice that Kim's feet were planted shoulder-width apart. Or to notice that her hips were pushed forward. Or to notice that her chin was tilted upwards. The excitement was plain to see. I could almost smell her.

"Open the door, slut," I said, "let me get a proper look at you."

She opened the door wide. I did not hurry to go inside and ease her nervousness at being seen. But, equally, I could tell she was aroused by the risk. I so wanted to take her for a walk, dressed as she was, but it was way too soon for that.

"You look good, slut. I am pleased," I said, as I went inside. She smiled, pleased at the affirmation of her aptitude for the role.

"Thank you, Sir," she said.

Her use of the word 'Sir' was, to a large extent, a reflex, trained into anyone who serves customers and patients. It wasn't, like John's use of the word: an acceptance of submission. However, as it was spoken in response to the epithet 'slut", it was a pleasing show of deference, in this context.

Kim walked towards the foot of the stairs but I had other ideas.

"Aren't you going to offer me a drink," I said. At his point I gave her a theatrical wink to remind her that it was a role-play; I didn't want her to think I was bossing her about.

She lead me into the living and I sat down in an arm chair, drinking it my surroundings, as I had done on Monday, in the hallway and in the bedroom. I was particularly interested in the family photographs, of which there were relatively few. Except for the wedding photograph of Kim and John, they were pictures of the grown up children and just one of the young children together. It's too early to know whether the choice holds significance but I will make it my business to find out.

I asked Kim for a glass of red wine but she came back with two glasses.

"Did I offer you a drink, slut?" I said.

"No, Sir," she answered, obviously shocked at my dominant tone.

"Put it down and get on with it, slut," I said, opening my flies, and emphasising the word 'slut' to remind her it was just a role play.

She went down on me and I gently pushed my fingers into her hair, massaging her scalp. Gradually, I took her hair between my fingers, twisting it into my closing fist. I tightened and twisted slowly, until I was pulling her hard onto me. At the same time I talked to her constantly and as crudely as I could, telling her what a slut she is and what I was going to do to her.

As I came close to climaxing, I used the fistful of hair to pull her to the ground. I lifted what there was of the skirt, pushed aside the gusset of her thong and entered her hard and deep. She was was what I can only describe as dripping. As I  felt her tighten around me, my eyes sought out the family pictures. The sight of the family watching Kim, dressed as a slut, being fucked in the family home was more than enough to trigger the stain I would leave behind.

My face was inches from Kim's, as I felt her spasm, an after-shock, gripping my penis. I hugged her tight. I showered her face with kisses. She gave me that beatific smile that women have when they have orgasmed really hard.

"I love you," I lied.

"I love you too," she said. I kissed away the solitary tear.

"You were the perfect slut," I said.

"Was I?" she said, grinning, with false modesty.

And so went upstairs, where, reassured that she was cared for and valued, the line between Kim and the slut blurred completely.

Trust

I just finished speaking to Kim on the telephone. She told me that although she was nervous, yesterday, about taking a stranger into her own home, she found it extremely arousing to be fucking me in her marital bed. She told me that she contemplated leaving the bedclothes unchanged but chickened out, in case John, literally, smelled something. Obviously, the fact that she contemplated this slight cruelty to John was encouraging.

I told her I was disappointed that she still regarded me as a stranger, as I was very fond for her and not just sexually. She reciprocated the expression of fondness, as I expected. I added quickly that I understood her reservations and was glad she had decided to trust me, despite them. Incidentally, I thought I had picked up a gas or electric bill yesterday. It turned out to the the telephone bill. What joy! Don't you just love the way that BT lists all of those favourite "friends and family" numbers together in a group? So considerate.

Kim had called me to say that she was free this afternoon and wanted to repeat yesterdays excitement. I lied that I couldn't make it today. I was very tempted to say yes, to consolidate yesterday's gains, but as I am a firm believer in the laws of supply and demand, I declined. Instead I suggested that we meet tomorrow, on condition that she pretends to be a cheap slut welcoming me into her home. If one could hear a grin over the telephone then that's what I heard.

Home sweet home

I walked into the cafe this morning about ten minutes before it was due to close for the post-breakfast break. Kim was open-mouthed in surprise, as she approached my table.

"Aren't you pleased to see me," I asked.

"I am...I am," she said hesitantly, "I didn't expect to see you until lunchtime."

"Ah, we need to talk about that," I said. "Just something light for me. Granary toast and marmalade, please." Her eyes narrowed and she pouted her lips, in fake petulance.

As she went back to the counter with my order, the eyes of the men at the next table followed her. This was a far cry from the sexless woman that I first encountered four weeks ago. Granted, she was dressed for work but she dressed and moved like a woman with confidence, with ride in her appearance. Gone was the shapeless blue overall. Instead, she wore a tight off-white apron, over a figure-hugging black jumper that accentuated the curves of her ample breasts. Below that, she wore cream calf-length trousers that seemed designed to draw attention to the ankle chain, sitting above the sensible but not too sensible black patent shoes.

She came back to the table with a concerned look. "Is there a problem with lunchtime?" she asked quietly.

I looked at my watch evasively and said, "I need to make a quick 'phone call. I'll be right back." I left the cafe, waiting for the final customers to depart, before going back in.

"So," she said, "what's the problem?"

"Let's talk in my car," I said, "can you leave now?"

She went back to the counter and chatted briefly with the chef who kept sneaking glances at me, over her shoulde. She turned and came towards me, looking sightly flushed. I made sure that my hand lingered on her hip as I opened the cafe door and ushered her through it.

In the car, I lied that I couldn't meet at lunchtime. I told her I was free all morning. I stroked her cheek and I told her how much I was looking forward to seeing her. Her hand reached inside my jacket, as I leaned forward to kiss her. I pushed my tongue deep into her mouth as I caressed her breast.

"Christ, I need fucking," she said.

"Well, let's go somewhere now," I said.

"Can we get a hotel at this time of day?" she asked.

"Doubt it. What about your place?" I asked disingenuously.

I felt her body tense with apprehension. "I'm not sure about that," she said hesitantly. "Maybe we can meet for lunch tomorrow?" My hands roved over her body and kissed her neck as she spoke.

"The rest of this week will be difficult," I lied.

This ping-pong chat went on for a little while until her libido got the upper hand over her logical brain.

As we approached her house, I began to drink everything in. The street name. The types of cars. The address. Going through the front door, the adrenalin hit my veins, opening up my senses and slowing time, like in a car crash. The smells, the furnishings, the pictures and the letters on the hall stand - every detail I could take in. As we moved towards the stairs, I slipped a utility bill, unseen, into my pocket.

In the bedroom , she was ravenous, almost tearing the clothes off of me. On her back, legs wide apart, she paused suddenly. I asked what was wrong.

"I don't have my diaphragm in she," she said. "Give me five minutes."

"I have had a vasectomy," I said, pointing to the scar. "But I have some condoms, so I am not asking you to trust me."

She needed it badly, so she trusted her medical eye and she trusted me.

At this point, you could be forgiven for thinking that I could have easily used a knife, some time long ago, to self-inflict a fake vasectomy scar. You would be right in thinking that I am capable of such deceit. But you would be wrong in thinking that, in these days of DNA testing, I would want to risk a knock on the door from the Child Support Agency, god knows how many years into the future. It is just not worth the risk of me impregnating subjects personally.

And so we fucked every which way in Kim's home, in Kim's bedroom, in Kim and John's bed. Another boundary crossed.

Lady in red

After Monday, I was in regular communication with Kim, through email, text messages and some short telephone calls. Every interaction was about sex and her desirability. Monday's emotional outpouring was necessary but now I wanted her to let go and move on. I told her how much I wanted her. I sent her erotic pictures. I asked her about her fantasies. And I asked her whether she would play a game with me. She agreed.

The game meant that we had to meet somewhere well away from where she lives, so that risk of getting recognised was negligible. The game was simple. I wanted her to pretend that she was a high-class "escort" and I would pretend to be a wealthy but shy businessman. The businessman had certain preferences that he found difficult to articulate but was known to tip heavily if his needs were met. We met in the bar for a glass of champagne before lunch.

One of my objectives was to get her to feel sexy, to feel sexual and wanted, despite not being happy with her shape or weight. Under the pretext of helping her to see how a high-class escort dresses, I sent her some links to escort sites populated by real women who do it for a mixture of the thrill and the cash. Some of the women on the site are very classy and some are not. Some are slim but many are not. Kim compares well enough against the majority. I urged her, look at their faces and their body language. Someone is sexy because of the way they act, their sexual confidence, I told her. Another objective, of course, was to see what she would be like as a whore, if I decided to turn her out for real at some point in the future.

I had told her that the fictional, shy businessman liked red. She she did not disappoint, in an elegant red dress that crossed over at the bust, a wide black belt hanging loosely on her hips, red high heeled shoes and scarlet lipstick. She must have been on quite a shopping trip. I couldn't wait to see what was underneath. She was marvellously in character from the start. As we went to lunch, she sashayed to the restaurant, turning heads and soaking up the lustful eyes of every man in the place.

"See how they envy me," I whispered into her ear. She smiled with pleasure.

Over dinner she stayed in role, confidently asking me about my background and my business, before moving on to enquire about my sexual preferences. I played along and enjoyed seeing her describe the range of acts that I might enjoy. She was very impressive. As indeed she was upstairs in the bedroom, resplendent in Marks and Spencer's finest red and black lacy brassiere, with matching thong and red hold-ups. A little more confidence and practice and I could get quite a lot for her.

It was me that broke my role play, tired of pretending to be shy and nervous. Kim and her play-character became one, as she sucked and fucked like a whore. When we were done,she laid back on on the bed grinning like a Cheshire cat. Sweaty and sticky, well-used, still in the now disarrayed underwear, she just grinned and grinned.

"By the way," I asked, "leaning close to her, "what did you make of Venus in Furs?"

"Horny, very horny," she said.

It was my turn to grin.

We will meet again on Friday, before I leave for a week in Las Vegas, where I will be the guest of The Gamblers who are playing their favourite tournaments in the World Series of Poker.

Silence is golden

As I start to write this, it is nearly 7 PM and I haven't heard from Kim. This is very good news. She has had almost two days to cancel and hasn't done so. I'll be surprised if she cancels tomorrow but one never knows. I wonder if she noticed that the place we are meeting has a few rooms for bed and breakfast? I have taken the precaution of booking the nicest room, in case things go better than expected.

I chatted to John earlier today, to see if Kim had said anything. I have to say that I did wonder how She avoided arriving home on Monday, smelling of alcohol. But John didn't mention it, so he is either complicit or in the dark. Either works fine for me, though I have a preference for the latter.

I also wanted to check  how his orgasm denial was going. He lied that he had been chaste. I knew it was unlikely, so challenged him on it and he caved. This actually left me with a dilemma. I wanted to punish him both for his failure and for the lie. Unfortunately, I don't really have mechanism to do so at the moment. So I resorted to telling me that he had cheated himself and that he had greatly disappointed me.

I know this sounds a bit limp but it does have a positive side. He now routinely addresses me as "Sir" and it would be good to train him to feel bad when he disappoints. But maybe that's a rationalisation? It doesn't matter to much. Once I truly own him, he will fear disobeying me for good reason.

My goal for tomorrow is modest. A few more snogs and a commitment to meet for a third time. But who knows, maybe I will get lucky? I often do.

Path of least resistance

I called Kim this morning, on her mobile, to get her through the guilt that was inevitable after yesterday. She said she was fine but I could tell she was on edge and unsure of what to say or do. I reiterated that I really liked her and would like to see her again.

"I would really like to," she said, "but it's just not fair to John. I don't want to lie to him."

"Well maybe you shouldn't," I said.

"What do you mean."

"I mean, maybe he wouldn't mind?" I said. Silence. .

Of course, I didn't expect her to ask John if he minded. I did know, however, from talking to John, that the general topic had come a few times. John's urges were too strong and deep-seated, to stay buried forever. Unfortunately, his ham-fisted attempts to explain himself always ended in Kim's tears. After that, his shame meant that John would bury his desires for a few years. But the pressure inside him would build up again and erupted into the open, as it had done when I came across him. My purpose was simply to help her join the dots in her mind.

"I have a present for you," I said, to break the silence.

"Oh, really! she said," as if she had just woken up, "what is it?"

"Well, actually, two presents," I said. "Both are books I think you will really like."

"That's a really kind thought but..."

"Did you enjoy yesterday," I asked.

"Yes, much."

"Then meet me for lunch on Thursday, to collect your presents. And that will be it. I'll never bother you again if you don't want me to," I said.

"I'll think about it."

"OK, I'll wait for you at the same place, the same time on Thursday. Call me if you are not going to make it."

She agreed, taking responsibility for the next step. If she does nothing, we meet. I know she wouldn't just not turn up. To avoid the meeting, she will have to make contact and say no. The easiest thing to do is to meet and that's what I think she will do. The path of least resistance.

Good things come in threes

I arranged to meet Kim at a gastropub in the country, with a river and woodland walk nearby. It was a public holiday in England today, so timing was a slight misstep on my part. I contemplated delaying until another, quieter day but "bird in the hand" and all that. Fortunately, illness has no respect for public holidays, so at least Kim's didn't have to make up an excuse for going out, as she would be doing that anyway to see her patients.

I turned up early, to ensure I was there when she arrived. I sat facing the door. As Kim came through the door I stood up and smiled. She was wearing black jeans,  a paisley blouse and black pumps with a slight heel. As she got closer I could see that she had taken the trouble to make-up and was wearing modest ear-rings. She didn't look great but she had clearly made an effort. I stretched out my arms in greeting. She responded, as the middle-classes are programmed to do, by taking my hands and doing an air-kiss on each cheek. Mwa. Mwa.

"You look great!" I said.

"Thanks, just swapped my nurse's blouse for this one. Otherwise it's my uniform really."

I raised my eyebrows. "Shame you changed. I love women in uniforms," I said.

"Your jacket is my car," she said. "Don't let me forget. After all, it's the reason we are meeting."

"Is it?" I said, enjoying blushes.

As she sat down, I poured her a glass of wine.

"I shouldn't, I'm driving, " she said.

"Go on, one wont hurt."

Needless to say, it didn't stop at one glass. In turn, I asked her about herself, her family, her husband, her likes, her dislikes and her dreams. With the help of the wine, she talked freely and candidly, as people often do to strangers, when those closest don't really listen. She might love John but she wasn't what I would describe as happy.

We ate, talked and drank for about two hours. When it felt appropriate, I said, "I really like you."

"I like you too," she said, smiling with obvious pleasure.

"What would you say, if I told you that I engineering that whole dry cleaning thing, just so I could meet you again," I asked.

"I wouldn't believe you but I wouldn't be upset if you did," she replied. And she just sat there, smiling, slightly inebriated.

As I called for the bill,  a concerned look broke on her face. "I'm not in a fit state to drive,"she said.

"Nor am I," I lied, as I had taken care to drink very little. "There's a lovely walk along the river, let's walk it off". She agreed without hesitation.

It was quite busy but when we got to a quiet spot, I took her hand and pulled her towards me. I honestly think I heard her sigh as I kissed her, holding her tight. I could feel her heart pounding. The adrenalin and alcohol running through her veins meant that, from here on in, she would associate me with excitement, danger and passion. First impressions stick.

Of course, she made the usual objections, along the lines of "I shouldn't be doing this," but I applied my "three times rule" and snogged her three times. Soon, I will make love to her three times. Perhaps no more than that before I fuck three times and many, many more. But that will be the beginning of her journey into the dark corners of my mind.

Before we parted, I asked her if I could see her again. She said, unconvincingly, that she "wasn't sure it was a good idea." At that very moment her mobile rang. It was John. She was flustered and lied that she had just come from seeing a patient. I was pleased that I was there to witness that lie. Two more lies and we are on our way.

Turning the motor

I forgot to mention that I had a bet with John on the outcome of Saturday's rugby. It was a close run thing but the team I picked scraped home. John's forfeit was to deny himself orgasm for a week. Orgasm denial is a powerful tool when dealing with sexually submissive men. It increases the intensity of their sexual desires and hence their submissiveness. Immediately after they have orgasmed, the rational brain kicks in and they can get regretful and guilty about things they have said or done. So denial increases malleability. I believe that John will try to stick to his forfeit but, as I am keeping his sexual brain stimulated, he will fail at least a couple of times. It will interesting to see whether he tells me when he fails.

It was in that context that I spoke to him this morning. Firstly I wanted to see whether the progress we made on Friday evening had stuck. At first, he avoided calling me "Sir" - consciously I suspected. But once he was reminded, he stuck in the groove and repeated his polite request, from Friday, without hesitation..

My other objective this morning was to find out more about his relationship with Kim, in advance of lunch tomorrow. He told me he couldn't remember the last time they had sex; they have just gotten out of the habit and don't make time for it. This could be good or bad news. It is can be good if she is feeling sexually frustrated - I wonder whether she masturbates? But it will bad if she is become completely sexually dormant. If this is the case, it can take time and patience to get the motor running again. Unfortunately, I go away for a week in two week's time. I would hate to start to turn Kim's motor during  the next two week, only to see it cease up with guilt while I am away.

I will try to get her motor purring before I go. I want to have her at least three times, preferably more before I go away. My experience is that three times is the magic number. After the first time there is always guilt. Coming back for a second helping shows that the experience was pleasurable enough to want to repeat it, with guilt held in check. The third time is commitment. The pleasure of the experience outweighs the guilt and the subject wants to experience that pleasure on a regular basis. And then, once it becomes a new normality, I can start to push the boundaries to get what gives me pleasure:  irreversible changes both their lives.

The Full English Breakfast plus baked beans

Kim greeted with a broad smile, this morning, and was clearly pleased to see me. Her hair was washed and not tied back, as it had been in previous days. She was wearing a little make-up. I would like to claim responsibility for the improvement but, in truth, have no idea what prompted it. Maybe it was just a celebration of  it being Friday. We engaged in a little small talk and I ordered a Full English Breakfast, plus baked beans. 

I took off the jacket of my light grey suit, folded the jacket in half and laid it over the back of the chair to my right.  I placed my bag just to the right of the chair, where I could reach it with my foot. When Kim came with the over-laden plate, it was a simple task to nudge the bag, unseen, into her path. Knowing she was going to trip over the bag, I was already on my way out of my seat, to protect my clothes, the jacket excepted. The air was filled with sausages, bacon, tomatoes, black pudding, eggs and a hailstorm of baked beans. Kim clattered to the ground and plate smashed into uncountable pieces. 

I helped her to her feet, making physical contact for the first time. She looked in horror, her hand raised to her mouth, as she saw my jacket covered in a Full English Breakfast plus basked beans. I was still holding her hands as she began to apologise profusely. I squeezed her hands, "don't worry, don't worry. It's nothing, it will clean up fine." The apologising continued at pace and I took the opportunity to give her a reassuring hug. I wondered when the last time was that someone hugged her with the lustful desire that I harboured. Was she too fraught to realise that she was in the arms of a man who wasn't her husband? I let the hug linger, past a natural point of reassurance. I let her feel the contact of my body.

After I let her go, she said, "I'll get it dry-cleaned straight away. There's a really good cleaner in the High Street who owes me a favour. It will be ready in a couple of hours." We then did the verbal dance of me saying "no, please don't bother, it's completely unnecessary" and and her insisting "no, it was my fault and I want to fix it." This was one little joust I was keen for her to win.

"OK," I conceded, "but I am about to leave for a long-weekend, so will not be able to pick it up today." She looked mildly panicked and I added, "but I can come back on Monday."

"But I'm not here on Monday."

"Oh dear, are you going away?" I asked

"No, no, I am just not working here."

"How about we meet for lunch?" I almost hear her mind whirring. "We can talk about Doris Lessing?" I added in a jokey manner.

She paused a long time for thought and I thought I was going to lose it, before finally she said,  "yes that will be nice, I'll look forward to it."

"Splendid, give me your mobile number, just in case something goes wrong. Oh, and where should we meet?"

"Oh I am not sure," she said.

"Do you have an email address?" 

"Yes I do."

 "Well give me your email address and mobile. We can arrange it over the weekend. I'm away but will still have email access." I look forward to it I said, taking her hands softly for a moment.

"Yes me too, " she said, withdrawing her hands at no great speed.

And so I left the cafe with her mobile number, her email address and a date for lunch. My only problem was that I was still hungry.

Ham and Cheese Omelette

I want Kim to think of me as someone she can talk to. Someone who is interested in her. Interested in what she thinks and feels. Especially what she feels. Usually, this would take a much longer period than I have available. But there is no point in making excuses. It is simply a greater challenge. If, however, I have not made sufficient progress by the end of tomorrow, I will draw back and slow down rather than jeopardise the whole project. I do bore easily but John and Kim aren't the only toys in my box.

So, this morning, I asked Kim to recommend what she thought was the best breakfast on the menu. She suggested a ham and cheese omelette. Done. I ate slowly, aiming to finish when things were quiet. When Kim came to collect my plate, I asked her some deliberately dumb questions about the Lessing book. I sought her opinion and showed my delight at the way her answers enlightened me. My preparatory work for this was to read more of the book and this, frankly, made my hair hurt.

Time for the next step. Getting personal. Would she withdraw through offence or embarrassment? No risk, no gain.

"I hope you will not find me terribly rude but you seem a bit too, err, good to be working in a cafe." I had agonised a lot about the choice of words. "Good" was sufficiently ambiguous.

For moment, I thought she was going to shut down. But after a thoughtful pause she began to talk. As she did so, I stood up and eased a chair out from under the table. She took the invitation and sat down; as did I. She explained that her "real job" is as a District Nurse. She first worked at the cafe to help out when her friend, the owner, was sick. Her usual day was spent visiting infirmed, mostly old, people. She found that she enjoyed the hustle and bustle and since then has helped out a couple of times per week, or sometimes longer if her friend asked her. Also, boarding school is not cheap and it helps.

"Well, I'm glad you do work here," I said, "otherwise I would never have gotten to the bottom of Doris Lessing,"...theatrical pause..."or seen your lovely smile."

This further risk was rewarded with a smile that she struggled to hide and a lot of accompanying blushing. Job done. Big day tomorrow.

Eggs on toast

It's been a long day. It takes about and hour to get to the cafe where Kim works, so the round trip takes a decent chunk of time out of my day. I'm not complaining. Nothing worth having comes without effort. I just had a lot of other stuff on today.

Most men think that women will like them if they, the men, demonstrate how great they are. So the men talk and talk at the target of their lust, or, occasionally, their affection. But let's be honest, it is always lust at the beginning. Anyway, this approach is wrong, wrong, wrong. Women like men who they believe are interested in them.. This means men who listen and, crucially,  demonstrate that they have listened. Gazing at her vacantly in bored silence is not listening. In fact, it's not even being present. You need to be able to tell her what she told you. And sometimes you do exactly that, to show you have understood.

My key objective this morning was, therefore, to get Kim to talk a bit. Given that she is only working there until Friday, I had to take a bit of risk to get the flow going. Before I go on, you have to understand that John has given away lots of information that seemed innocent to him but which will be invaluable to me. So this morning, instead of turning up with a newspaper to read, I had a well-thumbed copy of "The Golden Notebook" by Doris Lessing. I don't recommend that you read it. It is just awful. But John told me that Lessing is Kim's favourite author. The risk I ran was that the book made it smell of a set-up. By the way, in case you are wondering, you can buy second-hand books from Amazon. Deception for the lazy.

Kim came to take my order. Nice smile. I was reading the book when she arrived but was careful not to show what is was. But when she came back with my eggs on toast, I put down the book face up.

"Oh, Doris Lessing!" said Kim, in surprise.

"Do you disaprove," I asked unemotionally.

"No, no, she's my favourite."

"You're kidding," I said feigning excitement, "I was given this by a friend yesterday and haven't been able to put  it down. I didn't even bother to buy a newspaper."

And then she sat down momentarily on the edge of the chair opposite me. She sat down, whilst she should have been working, and quietly told me why it is such a great book and why Doris Lessing is sooooooo brilliant. And even though I had read the first three chapters of the wretched thing and had spent half a day researching Doris Lessing, all I had to do was listen and agree with what she said. You might think that this was so transparent as to be idiotically doomed. But men, if you think that, you have a great deal to learn about women.

And that was pretty much that. Another generous tip. Back tomorrow for more of the same.

Before I forget, I should mention that I had a quick chat to John on-line this evening. If Kim has mentioned the amazing  Doris Lessing coincidence or, indeed, the tall, handsome new stranger then he is not letting on.

Full English

Although I arrived early, the cafe was busy. The customers were mostly men, mostly middle-aged and mostly, it seemed, manual workers. There was a smattering of blokes in their early twenties, mixed in with the older guys. There were a couple of old biddies sitting alone. I was intrigued to see how Kim interacted with the men.

She was busy when I walked in and didn't see me sit down at a table. Her mousy brown hair was pulled back tight but was not long enough for a pony tail. If she was wearing make-up, it didn't show. And she was wearing a shapeless blue overall, the like of which I hadn't seen since school dinners. Needless to say, she wore flat brown shoes. I had been wondering whether she might be working at the cafe to meet men but it was pretty obvious that she had no interest in them or vice versa.

I pretended to be reading the paper and only looked up when I sensed her presence hovering over me.

"Made it in time today then?" she said with soft, but genuine looking, smile.

I returned the smile and simply said, "Full English, please." Even if she hadn't seen me the day before, I would have been conspicuous. I was the only person wearing a suit and rather good one at that. Not flash but well-cut. And good sensible, lace-up, City shoes with no funny square or pointy toes.

From then on, I was simply warm, friendly and courteous. Lot's of "pleases" and "thank-you's" - a nice contrast compared to her usual ill-bred customers. When I paid, I left a generous tip. I was, dear reader, the complete gentleman.

And that was that. Mission accomplished. My apologies if I have disappointed the prurient amongst you. I hope you were not expecting me to seduce her over the Full English and be rutting her hard, on all fours, before the morning was over? A nice image, i grant you it will take a little time and patience. But stick around and you will not be disappointed. That said, you might be shocked and stay away when you realise what I have in mind for her. And him, of course.

All's well that ends well

It took me well over an hour to drive to the first of the candidate cafes. It was pretty busy. I couldn't see any sign of Kim, so I decided to sit down and order a coffee. I felt I needed it anyway. After ten minutes there was still no sign of her, so I slugged down my coffee and waved to waitress. As I paid, I chanced my arm.

"No Kim today," I asked. She screwed up her face in incomprehension. "Kim?" I repeated.

"Don't know her," she replied.

Back to to the car and on to the next place. Same story. On to the third place. Same story again. I've now had three cups of coffee and am getting a little frustrated. I started to wonder whether John has been stringing me along.

Getting parked for the fourth place was a nightmare. By the time I got to the cafe, I am proper narked and ratty. But I retain some presence of mind and know that I am not going to be able to charm the knickers off Kim in this state. I go back to the car, sit and take long, deep breaths.

Composed but not at my best, I return to the cafe. I'm literally sick of Coffee. I look around anxiously. Still no Kim. When the waiter comes to ask me for my order, I blurt out, "does Kim work here?" I realise, as I said it, that if the answer is yes, then plan A is fucked because I have revealed I know who she is.

"'Fraid not," says the waiter.I am relieved. "What can I get you?"

"Sorry, I was looking for and old friend, " I say. "I don't wish to be rude but is there another cafe around here?"

He laughed. "No problem. The only other one I know is in the High Street."

What the fuck? "Err, isn't this the High Street?" I ask him?

"Only since the stupid council renamed it as part of their stupid regeneration plan. The original High Street is around the corner, near the bus garage. They renamed it Garage Street. Very creative. Locals still call it the High Street."

"Right," I said, slowly drawing the word out. "Well thanks, I appreciate it." My calm returning, I looked at the menu board and dropped the cost of a coffee onto the table as a thank guy. The guy looked at me as if I was an idiot and shrugged.

Isn't it funny? A minute before I was annoyed because I didn't find what I expected. But now that the expectation was restored, I was really happy. It's like being neutral about something you own until you lose it. Then you get it back and are all happy. Anyway, I digress.

I walked towards the glass door of the fifth cafe with a spring in my step. Coming towards me from inside was Kim. She reached up to a sign, hanging on the inside of the door by a chain. It said 'Open' and I knew what the other side. I clasped my hands together in front of me and slowly mouth the word "please." And then, "Coffee". As if I fucking needed it! She look at me with a slight smile. I buckled my knees as if I was going to kneel and beg. "Please," I mouthed again.

This time she laughed and opened the door. "I'm really sorry," she said, "breakfast rush is over and we are closing for thirty minutes."

I made a pained expression.

"There's another cafe round in the High Street," she said.

I was about to object but caught myself and said, "but waitresses are not as good looking around there," smarming it up big time. I nearly said 'not as sexy' but didn't want to push my luck at this early stage. Anyway she blushed but I could tell you was pleased.

"Sorry," she said, turning the sign.

"No worries," I said with a cheesy smile.

Things had not quite gone as I planned but the overall outcome could not have been better. I had made her smile. She was will remember me when I come back tomorrow. And then the day after. And the day after. And the day after that. I will become her favourite, charming customer.

Every picture tells a story

The picture of Kim is interesting. It is a full length and looks as if it has been clipped from a group picture. She is smiling but looks uncomfortable. The smile is somewhat forced. She is wearing a cream dress, with what look like large navy spots. The dress doesn't suit her. The hemline is way too low: well below the knee. She is a good deal overweight but not grossly so. This is the image of a woman who does not like having her picture taken. She lacks self-confidence in her appearance. She is ideal.

Thank god for rugby

Thanks to the wonderful sport of rugby, I not only have a picture of Kim, I also have a very good idea of where she will be working, every morning, for all of next week. Can you feel me grinning?

John loves rugby and I can bluff it pretty well. It is a big rugby weekend in Europe, with two cup finals. John was only too pleased to talk to someone who agreed with everything he said. One objective was to find out roughly where Kim would be working next week. From previous conversations, I already knew that they lived in a small town in a certain county in the South East of England. Also, John had told me that "Kim sometimes "helps out in the cafe in the High Street." Now, I'm not sure whether he meant that its literally named "The High Street", which is not uncommon in England, or whether he used it as a general description. But, I reasoned, with the help of Google Maps and its streetview capability, I could have a good go at finding the location of the cafe if I knew their local station.

This was slightly tricky because he wanted to talk about the matches this weekend. I, however, had a reason for wanting delay that part of the conversation until later. So given that one of the matches is in the Welsh national stadium, I got the conversation round to the merits and  demerits of various national rugby stadia. Now one of the demerits of England's national stadium, Twickenham, is its awful location on the edge of town. I know John goes to there every year for the internationals, so I instituted a moan-in about the difficulty of getting there.

Bingo! John said something along the lines of "it's not too bad for me going as I am only twenty minutes from Waterloo on a fast train from my local station. But coming back is a bugger because it's usually outside peak times, so trains are more infrequent and I have to go to the main station. It's only a ten minute drive but I have to get a cab or ask Kim to collect me." That narrowed it down to one or two stations. Then I took a virtual walk with Mr. Google. I have four candidates where I think Kim may work.

So on to my second objective. I turned to the subject to sex and indulged John's fantasies with some adventures from my past and suggestions about some from his future. Knowing he was getting pretty horny, I suckered him into a bet on the result of yesterday's rugby match. If he picked the winning team, I would send him pictures and some video clips of some of my adventures. If he lost, he would send me a picture of Kim.

He lost and is, I have to report, an honourable man.