London Nights Adulterys Respite

1

Mac didn't notice the thin rain quietly soaking him to the skin as he wandered the streets of London that night – he felt too sick in his stomach for the drizzle to bother him. His wife was about to shatter the boundaries of their marriage, and there was nothing he could do to keep her from doing it.

He should never have done it – it had been unethical from the start, he accepted that now. Sitting down at the computer at home, he should have closed the browser window on seeing his wife's email open like that. But he hadn't – curiosity had got the better of him.

Perhaps this was all some kind of punishment for his lack of trust.

They had been married five years now - surely that meant she shouldn't have been keeping secrets from him? She shouldn't have had anything to hide in her email, and there shouldn't have been any issue with him looking in her in-box.

Ethical or not, he had looked and he had found. And now here he was, tailing her like a cheap private detective as she wove her way through the narrow streets of Soho.

He should have bought an umbrella – he was getting drenched here – but it would have made things more difficult. Hiding when she turned her head, keeping in the shadows when there was a danger she might spot him.

For a little while, he wandered if, perhaps, this was all some kind of ghastly nightmare. She kept walking in circles, down streets she'd already been. No real destination. Maybe she'd decide against it, decide against meeting

him

.

Maybe she'd come back to Mac, quietly forget about her attempted adultery.

As the rain began to clear for the first time in two hours, and his wife perched in a coffee shop for a latte, Mac felt his heart lifting – damn, she was beautiful. He'd resolve to spend more time at home, tell his bosses that the workload they had given him was too much, it was killing his personal life. He'd take a damn pay cut if he had to.

Her beauty made him wince, even after five years of marriage. Her golden hair flowing down one side of her head, her gentle blue eyes, delicate mouth, the thrilling rise of her breasts under her blouse.

Making love to her was the single most amazing experience he'd ever had. Being with her was so amazing that it hurt to be apart from her – even for just a few hours. And yet every day he went through it just so he could provide for her, put enough money away so they could have the family they'd always wanted.

Maybe he should just go in there, tell her he'd been allowed home after all, that he'd happened to be passing... she would be suspicious if he did, though. Bad idea. He should just go home, light some candles, crack out some champagne to celebrate their love –

Who was that?

A man, approaching her in the coffee shop. Recognition on her face, though Mac couldn't make out the man's face. The man, stooping to kiss her cheek – no, her mouth.

Mac's heart suddenly sank. More than that – it dropped, it collapsed, it imploded. She was meeting him, she was meeting him now, and there was a sudden brightness, an excitement in her face at meeting him.

Another kiss, this time longer, like two naughty teenagers, a dream for them but for him, a living nightmare in an innocuous London street.

2

Mac felt shell-shocked as he watched the two of them step into a taxi, a move that could have meant anything from a simple trip to dinner to the quick step towards illicit sex in a hotel room somewhere. He had to suspect the worst, based on the body language of his wife and her fellow co-adulterer.

Someone had stuffed a flyer in his hand as he had stood there watching, he hadn't even bothered to refuse it, his mind was so far away from reality now.

It was a leaflet promoting the "Charlie's Angels" club, and it made him realise he was now wondering in one of London's more seedy areas, in Soho. What was his wife doing getting into a taxi with a man here, in the city's red light district?

Safe enough meeting place: wouldn't expect anyone they knew to be there. Logical enough.

Usually he'd feel strange to be here, but right now he found that he really didn't care – his whole world was collapsing around him. Looking at the flyer, he even felt revolutionary stirrings – his wife had ruined their marriage, so why shouldn't he go to a strip club, entertain his own lust?

It might just take his mind off the crushing truth for a few blessed moments.

But no, it was horrible. How could he go to such a dirty, seedy place, where the girls were leered over by old, perverted men?

Walking through the shadier streets of Soho, he felt the warmth of embarrassment stealing over him – although this was where the sex shops were, the bohemian nature of Soho also drew above-board types out, media types, artistic types, and with them the more respectable bars and restaurants – thriving on the slightly risqué nature of the area.

So there were more people walking through here than just the types that haunted the strip clubs and the adult video stores, sex shops. Did they know he was thinking about going to a strip club? Could they tell? Did they think he was a dirty old man, too?

Damn it, he didn't care – how could he care? The sensation of humiliation was stronger from what his wife was up to than from anything he could do as a 'single' guy in Soho. No – she was challenging his manhood, her actions clearly stating he was not man enough for her. This was merely restoring that manhood.

He got to the doorway marked with a red neon sign that read "Charlie's Angels". It didn't look very glamorous, didn't look like the kind of places you saw in the movies. It was just a depressing doorway. A guy went in – old, older then him. Gloomy, downtrodden. Almost a tramp.

Was he really reduced to that?

Mac wavered on the curb. He couldn't decide. His stomach felt full of molten lead as the indecision, excitement, horror and grief burned at his insides. Come on, it wasn't illegal to go into a place like that. It wasn't something to put in your memoirs, but there was nothing wrong with looking at young girls willingly taking off their clothes. It wasn't like his wife could take the high ground in this.

He was just about to cross the street over to the club, when he noticed the car driving along the street, faster than it should have been. He stepped back, up onto the pavement to wait for it to pass – he hated this hesitation, this delay. If he was going to go in, better to go in quickly, so people didn't notice him on the street.

But while he stepped back onto the kerb, he saw that there was someone who was not doing so. She had crouched to tie up a shoelace – just in the wrong place.

The driver wasn't looking – not that he or she would see the girl crouching in the street, dressed as she was in dark clothing. The last thing Mac wanted to do was draw attention to himself. Not then. Not in that part of town.

There was an accident about to occur, though.

He had no choice.

"Hey!"

He stepped into the road, his back to the girl, facing the oncoming car and waving his arms like a lunatic.

It all seemed to happen in a flash. The girl looked up, startled but suddenly shocked, seeing the approaching vehicle. A dull-grey Mercedes, which shouldn't have been in that part of town. The driver saw him – how could the driver not have? But a little too late.

The girl was saved, but Mac was hit.

3

"Drink, sir?"

Mac woke to find himself in a strange place.

"Uh...sure. JD on the rocks would be great."

It was a smallish place – not huge, at any rate. There was a bar, some tables – at which sat a smattering of other men – and a stage, on which danced a beautiful girl. Come to think of it, there were quite a few beautiful girls in the place. Not wearing much, either.

Had he died?

No – he saw the man who he had witnessed going into the "Charlie's Angels" club over the other side of the place. The drinks mats showed the same seedy neo logo displayed over the doorway – someone must have taken him into the club.

He felt the bruises down his legs after a few moments, and gladly took the Jack Daniels from the young lady that offered it, drained the glass and asked for another. Sure, these places sold drinks at prices akin to the Amsterdam diamond exchange – that was the way a lot of them balanced the books – but he needed alcohol. The fuzzy cushion to soften the pain of the accident, and more so the pain of losing his beautiful wife.

There was some comfort in looking at the girls, too.

Sure, it was a little strange, he'd never been in such a place. But down here, he did not feel the humiliation he expected to feel being in such a club. He thought perhaps it was because everyone else was there for a similar reason – either to get the same thrills or to give those thrills. There were no judgements being made.

This was quite an experience – his wife was younger than him by ten years, but these girls were young enough to be his daughter, almost. Their bodies were so incredibly lean, breathtaking in their beauty and athleticism. He felt his cock filling with the lust induced by the dancer on stage and the girls wandering around the club. Stunning. All that velvet skin, the exquisite curves. It wasn't real – and yet it was real. They were far too beautiful for any of those men to ever hope to get for themselves, and yet here they were taking their clothes off for them.

The swell of their breasts, the flat toned stomachs, the enticing triangles of their abdomens pointing down at their hidden delights, hidden only by the slightest scraps of g-strings.

Everyone was here for the girls down here, and the fact that it was all happening was unremarkable for all concerned. It was only remarkable for Mac, who had never been to such a place before. The alcohol helped. He wasn't much of a drinker – and that was telling, the booze now going to his head – but it was undeniably a comfort at this time. It helped reduce the number of thoughts he had concerning his wife – although, it didn't totally wipe them out.

The man who had been with her had been ten years her junior.

How could she?

"Private dance?"

The girl standing before him now was exquisite. He thought he recognised her for some reason, but with a little booze inside him he could not remember.

Her perfection was awe-inspiring, and he could hardly believe it was real, standing so close to him. He felt things stirring seriously between his legs and felt bad – was that allowed in a place like this? She was so pretty – large eyes, elfin face, long cocoa hair. She wore a cute, girlish set of pink-and-white checked underwear, which seemed almost scientifically engineered to inspire men on to lustful thoughts.

"Sure," he said, realising that his hesitation risked turning into a leering pause.

She smiled – a warm and genuine smile, sweet as molasses. How could such a beautiful girl be reduced to earning money this way? How was it that she wasn't a model, or an actress?

"I've never seen you here before," the dancer said as she led him by the hand through to the private rooms. He wondered for a moment if she was cold, or if she felt strange walking around in just bra and panties. She must have been used to it, though.

"I've never been to a place like this before," he said, then, as she flashed a look that suggested she couldn't quite tell if he was kidding her, he explained. "I was married."

Just before they entered the room, she ran her eye over him and grinned, saying cheekily, "Whoever she was, she shouldn't have let you go, honey!"

Inside, the room was small, comfortable, pink. The walls were all mirrored, including the door, while most of the room was taken up by a pink velvet seat that curved around the circular wall and a small table – built, no doubt, to take a dancer's weight.

She gestured for him to sit, and he placed himself down in the centre of the seat, directly opposite the door. The music from the main room of the club continued to play, and the girl hopped up onto the little table to start dancing.

One-on-one, he felt the embarrassment return, the warmth of a blush spreading across his cheeks as he watched the young beauty move, her hands sweeping over her pale skin, drawing his eyes with them to her pert breasts, her flat stomach, the "V" of her crotch covered only by a scrap of white silk.

He realised he could smell her perfume in that close little space – sweet, sugary, it added to the exquisite site to stir his blood, and he found his cock growing thick inside his trousers.

Would she see it? Would she have him thrown out if she realised?

Then, perhaps after she'd decided he'd settled enough, she stepped off the table to approach him – Mac was desperately worried she'd notice his erection, but there was nothing he could do, she was so stunning. She looked him straight in the eye and was close enough to touch – her supple, tender curves so staggeringly enticing, he could hardly believe this was real.

"My name's Anna," she said, almost a whisper in his ear. He felt her breasts brush gently against his chest – his shirt in the way, of course, but still it was enough to send a shiver of desire through his frame.

"Mac," he replied.

"Nice to meet you, Mac," she said, and suddenly she'd slipped her bra off over her grapefruit-sized breasts, and he was seeing her cupping herself, then exposing hard, pink nipples as she reached behind to rid herself totally of the item.

Then she stepped down onto the floor behind the table, and slunk like a scandalous floozy around the table towards him – and he felt so turned on. It was so dirty, so wrong, so against his upbringing, and yet after what his wife had done, he felt it was so very right. She stood in front of him, between his legs, her scent stronger, her near-naked perfection right there in front of him. Incredible.

"Your hands have to stay there beside you," she said, "those are the house rules."

"Okay," he said.

"But I can do whatever I like," she flashed him a naughty grin and stooped over him, her little breasts hanging so near to his face he could almost reach out and take her stiff little nipples in his mouth.

Then her breasts did trace over his face – her skin so amazingly soft, smooth, her perfume sweet and enticing. He shivered with desire,

For a while, she stood there and moved her body slowly, sensually along with the music. She almost seemed to get lost in the moment, away with the beat, the melody, but then she was obviously aware of him being there, and she was making the most of her body in bewitching him.

While he was not allowed to touch her, and he kept strictly to his side of the bargain, she seemed to enjoy the contact she was allowed with him – trailing herself all over him, straddling him, pressing herself against his face, his chest, even his hard cock. He was embarrassed the first time she came into contact with it, but then she let out a low moan and flashed him another one of those impish looks, and she ground herself against his cock – shocking but delighting him.

"If you could do anything to me – never mind the rules, what would it be?" she asked him after a while, a whisper in his ear that he suspected at first was a paranoid delusion.

Then she looked at him with a hint of impatience, wanting an answer. She leaned in, her cheek gliding against his so that he could utter his reply in her ear.

"I'd taste you," he said, and immediately felt the hot tickle of embarrassment creep through his body.

She didn't react. She paused for a moment, and said softly: "And how would you do that?"

The girl was pressing herself against his hard cock again, and he felt so much wonderful stimulation flooding through his veins that he quite forgot himself, saying: "I'd go down on you and pleasure you with my mouth, until you're screaming."

Almost immediately he'd said, it started, shocked at what he'd said. He didn't know what had came over him – he never usually said things like that, he'd never spoken to his wife like that before. Somehow he felt different here, freed from his usual boundaries, independent.

"Mmm... I'd like that," she whispered in his ear, moaning, almost purring like a cat.

But then this was such an unusual experience – a beautiful stranger, almost naked, allowing his eyes to traipse all over her incredible body – those perky little breasts, her pussy covered by just a scrap of pink-and-white cotton.

Suddenly, her fingers were hooked into the waistband of her panties and she was slipping them gently down past her hips, peeling them away from a light puff of hair between her legs and then down her, thighs, her calves. She was naked – he felt his pulse quicken. Wow.

She danced for a while, allowing his eyes to drink in her nudity, before she went in close again to give him even more of a tease, turning, bending, flashing her behind, trailing her breasts over him, yet hardly ever losing eye contact. He couldn't believe what she was showing him – her sweet almost hairless pussy, her pink pussy lips for heaven's sake! She used her panties as a prop, like one of the seven veils or a ludicrously small towel, tracing it over her curves to draw attention to here or there.

Then she hopped up onto the seat with the grace of a gymnast, and he was looking up at her, his new goddess, and he trembled as she stepped over him, poised one foot either side of his lap. She moved gently, gyrating her hips, and he thought he could see moisture on her pussy lips, glistening slightly in the lights.

She continued her act with the soft panties, trailing them over her shoulders, her waist, her pussy, pressing them against her vagina as though moving herself towards orgasm.

She bent forward, and whispered in his ear again, saying this time only: "Taste me," before trailing her panties over his face instead of her body. He could detect the aroma of her pussy under the cover of her perfume, and it sent a burst of energy through his body – she was unmistakably turned on – weren't these girls supposed to be disinterested, dispassionate, when it came to work?

Then she brought a certain part of the panties over his nose, his mouth, and he could feel the dampness, the unmistakable moisture from her pussy.

He drew in a deep breath saturated with her secret scent, and then opened his mouth, tasting her savoury juices.

"We're not allowed to do this," she whispered, "but the security camera's angled so they can't tell in this booth."

He wandered what she was talking about, and then suddenly her legs were either side of his head and her sweet pussy just above his face. He could smell her arousal, and looked up to find a little unspoken question in her expression. He craned his neck slightly, indicating his approval, and she sank slowly onto his mouth, her pussy instantly surprising him with its heat.

He rested his head back against the back of the seat, and allowed her to take the lead. She moved slowly, gently, stroking his lips and face with her labia, filling his sensual world with her wetness, her sweet arousal.

It was strange having such intimate contact with someone other than his wife – similar, but different. It was so incredible, though, savouring her like this.

He loved to hear the young girl's cute moans as he pleasured her, he loved to savour her tangy juices. It was similar enough to make him suddenly feel comfort, that there were more fish in the sea even though his marriage was over. And yet different enough to give that added thrill, a thrill that harked back to the dawn of man where instinct was evolved, instinct requiring the spreading of the genes in as wide a circle as possible.

Anna was so wet, her pussy flooding with nectar even before he slipped his tongue out from his mouth and started to stroke it across her sensitive labia. She led his action, but he also did his part, straining his tongue to maximise her pleasure.