the other, slipped off her high-heeled shoe and began to rub the sole of her foot. As she did so, I caught a heartstopping glance of thigh. I warned myself to stop it, but stepped over to her anyway. She pushed her hair out of her eyes and looked up at me.
"That," she said, "feels fucking ace. If a little cold," she added with a shiver. It was next to impossible for me not to notice that her small, braless breasts were crowned now by rapidly hardening nipples. She caught me looking and glanced down.
"Bruce Lees," she said and then, for clarification: "Hard nips." I laughed out loud. She was completely unabashed, which disarmed me totally. This was hardly appropriate, but the unease was giddily exciting.
"Haven't heard that for ages," I said and indicated for her to scootch up. "Mind if I sit down too?" She shuffled up as I sat down.
"So," she asked, still rubbing her bare foot, "I'm Caroline. And you are...?"
"Paul," I said. I proffered my hand. "Pleased to meet you." The question sounded stupid, but smilingly she took my hand - then suddenly pulled it away.
"Shit - sorry. Been rubbing my sweaty foot with that." She looked at her hand with an expression of amused distaste.
"Doesn't bother me. I'm not exactly a Right Guard advert am I?" I asked - lifting my arms to reveal the sweat patches. She giggled.
"You're funny. Listen," she said, and now she was looking directly at me, and there was a subtle shift in the atmosphere between us. "I know a nice bar. Quiet music this time of night. Suitable for oldies like us. Fancy one more before beddie-byes?" I couldn't help myself now. There was definitely some excitement coursing through my veins. The stop-start tiredness had vanished as I read the look in her eyes.
"OK." I said simply. She nodded. We stood up and she put a slender arm around my waist to steady herself as she got back in her shoe. As we walked, we exchanged further laughs, with an increasing edge of double entendre. I knew before long we were likely to be crossing a line. We halted at the top of the steps that led down to the bar.
"You sure you want to do... this?" she asked. In context she meant 'are you sure you want to go here and have a drink' but I was sure that she was thinking something else. I knew I was. I nodded and we went in.
The bar was dark and warm and snug. As she promised, it was quiet and the music played at a discreet volume. Stax Atlantic soul records. Right up my alley. We found a table and sat down opposite each other when she said, suddenly.
"I need a wee. Be right back." I watched her slide back out from under the table and sashay over to the toilets. Her arse moved slickly under the sheer white dress. If she was wearing knickers, they were pretty small. Everything looked smooth from here. As she pushed her way threw the door, I started to realise what I was doing. I was a married man, in a bar with an engaged woman I'd known for about half an hour. We'd left behind the people we were out with for some seclusion. Whilst we'd said nothing implicit, sex was increasingly behind our conversation. We were flirting. And seriously. Maybe it was best if I just got up and left? Walked back to the hotel and had nothing to hide from my friends or my wife when I woke up. At the same time, I was aware that my cock was sitting, more than flaccid in my trousers. This was one of those moments that told you what kind of man you were.
Even as I mulled it over she was back. As she sat back down, she reached under the table and pressed something into my hand. Something warm and silky. She said nothing, but her eyes were fixated on mine, shining with what looked horribly like sexual excitement.
"I thought you might have speculating about my knickers from behind." she said. "Just to answer your question." She nodded downwards at the table. Suddenly, my cock wasn't just slightly alert, but was pulsing. Hard. Filling with pressure and sudden desire.
I pulled back from the table slightly and
"That," she said, "feels fucking ace. If a little cold," she added with a shiver. It was next to impossible for me not to notice that her small, braless breasts were crowned now by rapidly hardening nipples. She caught me looking and glanced down.
"Bruce Lees," she said and then, for clarification: "Hard nips." I laughed out loud. She was completely unabashed, which disarmed me totally. This was hardly appropriate, but the unease was giddily exciting.
"Haven't heard that for ages," I said and indicated for her to scootch up. "Mind if I sit down too?" She shuffled up as I sat down.
"So," she asked, still rubbing her bare foot, "I'm Caroline. And you are...?"
"Paul," I said. I proffered my hand. "Pleased to meet you." The question sounded stupid, but smilingly she took my hand - then suddenly pulled it away.
"Shit - sorry. Been rubbing my sweaty foot with that." She looked at her hand with an expression of amused distaste.
"Doesn't bother me. I'm not exactly a Right Guard advert am I?" I asked - lifting my arms to reveal the sweat patches. She giggled.
"You're funny. Listen," she said, and now she was looking directly at me, and there was a subtle shift in the atmosphere between us. "I know a nice bar. Quiet music this time of night. Suitable for oldies like us. Fancy one more before beddie-byes?" I couldn't help myself now. There was definitely some excitement coursing through my veins. The stop-start tiredness had vanished as I read the look in her eyes.
"OK." I said simply. She nodded. We stood up and she put a slender arm around my waist to steady herself as she got back in her shoe. As we walked, we exchanged further laughs, with an increasing edge of double entendre. I knew before long we were likely to be crossing a line. We halted at the top of the steps that led down to the bar.
"You sure you want to do... this?" she asked. In context she meant 'are you sure you want to go here and have a drink' but I was sure that she was thinking something else. I knew I was. I nodded and we went in.
The bar was dark and warm and snug. As she promised, it was quiet and the music played at a discreet volume. Stax Atlantic soul records. Right up my alley. We found a table and sat down opposite each other when she said, suddenly.
"I need a wee. Be right back." I watched her slide back out from under the table and sashay over to the toilets. Her arse moved slickly under the sheer white dress. If she was wearing knickers, they were pretty small. Everything looked smooth from here. As she pushed her way threw the door, I started to realise what I was doing. I was a married man, in a bar with an engaged woman I'd known for about half an hour. We'd left behind the people we were out with for some seclusion. Whilst we'd said nothing implicit, sex was increasingly behind our conversation. We were flirting. And seriously. Maybe it was best if I just got up and left? Walked back to the hotel and had nothing to hide from my friends or my wife when I woke up. At the same time, I was aware that my cock was sitting, more than flaccid in my trousers. This was one of those moments that told you what kind of man you were.
Even as I mulled it over she was back. As she sat back down, she reached under the table and pressed something into my hand. Something warm and silky. She said nothing, but her eyes were fixated on mine, shining with what looked horribly like sexual excitement.
"I thought you might have speculating about my knickers from behind." she said. "Just to answer your question." She nodded downwards at the table. Suddenly, my cock wasn't just slightly alert, but was pulsing. Hard. Filling with pressure and sudden desire.
I pulled back from the table slightly and
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