.. she graduated. She's moved on." Hm." He didn't say anything else, and I took my mug to a table and picked a paper out of the rack by the door. I skimmed through, read the comics, gave the Page 3 girl a second, longer glance ... but her tits were too large for my taste and drooped. She'd never pass the pencil test.I swallowed the last of my coffee just as she walked in and went up to the counter. Something twisted in my chest and I stood; leaving the paper and the mug on the table, I walked away. She was a client. Just a client. Don't look back.I strode up the valley. The sound of the water tumbling over the weirs, the wind in the trees, the autumn colours, the birds singing their territorial challenges ahead of the coming chill ... none of it mattered. Normally, I'd stroll along, absorbing every sensual impression, pausing to try to identify the tiny flitting shapes of birds. That day, not even the iridescent flash of blue of a kingfisher held my attention.I had to pause as I. Or what she had talked to him about for an hour or why she had followed him to his car — a red convertible, of course. It suited him perfectly. It was flashy, luxurious, sexy.Nor could she explain why she had willingly, no, more than that — eagerly allowed him access to those places only her husband should know. But she could tell you it was the best sex she had ever had.He had driven to a quiet, remote picnic area, taken a rug from the back seat, laying it on the ground before removing her dress and bra, locking his mouth over hers, forcing his knee between her thighs, pushing her down on her back. Almost magically he had lost his clothes, the shirt and jeans appearing neatly on top of her dress, without him breaking contact with her mouth. His hands were rubbing her through her knickers, sliding across the sodden material before dragging them off and shoving his thick cock into her aching wet pussy, filling her, stretching her, fucking her far deeper than Arnold could. She moaned.
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