I wriggle my tight red dress up to my waist so that my wet pussy doesn’t mark my dress. I book my regular table at a quiet hotel, while on the phone...I set up meetings for the next couple of days. My mind wanders back to the demure Miss James and the plans I have for our pleasure. My Aston purrs up to Miss James as she appears on the footpath. I like punctual people. The door opens and as the internal light comes on, I watch her modest skirt ride high up her thigh exposing a shapely pair of. And fuck, who was I to argue? That’s when I’d stood up, and put my foot up on the coffee table. I started… just talking. Or more like giving a speech. Something about how it shouldn’t matter who we were to each other. I was a man, and she was a woman, and we both wanted to do it, so let’s just do it. God, it had seemed so simple! My logic was flawless! I ranted that all that mattered was that we wanted it. That people should be free to fuck whoever they liked, whenever they liked, for as long. More

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