'I'm going to fuck you!' Lucinda straightened and laid him full length on the bed.

'But...' Her finger was swiftly to his mouth to indicate that she was expecting silence and it was going to be enforced.

'There are to be no buts!' She was now kneeling on the bed beside him, staring firmly and almost wickedly at his face. 'I've had two years in which I've not felt the warm, soft strength of a prick inside me, and I'm fed up with frigging myself silly with an inanimate dildo or a sodding vibrator. I must have paid Duracell fortunes for batteries. Now that I've got a sort of a man where I need him, I'm not going to waste the chance of giving myself a good and proper fucking. I don't care about you. If you want to enjoy it. That's fine!' She waved a finger menacingly. 'Do I make myself clear?' He nodded quickly and meekly, and then placed his hands to protect himself.

Moving to his waist, she quickly undid his belt and unzipped his fly, which caused him to lift himself so that she could undress him. She disapproved and wagged a finger. 'Wait! Remember, I said I was going to fuck you! You do as I say!' She now turned her attention to his shirt, gently unbuttoning the front and then sliding each hand and arm from its sleeve, before pulling the cotton garment from under him. 'There, that wasn't so bad, was it?' She mopped his brow in a mock gesture of care then carefully placed his hands palm-downwards at his sides.

She now made him wait, as she rose from the bed and proceeded to repair the extensive damage to her make-up and hair sitting on the stool in front of the mirror. She saw him stir in the mirror and quickly motioned that he remain as she had instructed. He concurred without protest. After she had finished by reapplying lipstick to her mouth and nipples, she stood up, adjusted and realigned her pants and stockings in the mirror, before moving to face him, hands on hips, from the foot of the bed.

Try as she might, she could not look altogether threatening and she knew that he knew it. In fact, it was all he could do to keep a straight face, as she carefully removed each of his shoes and socks, gently tickling the sole of each naked foot as it was revealed. 'I'm not...' Again she silenced him, before pulling his trousers down his legs, to leave him naked except for his underpants.

'They're not a very sexy colour.' She had climbed on to the bed and was pointing and laughing at his cotton slip, in a typical dark blue colour beloved of Marks and Spencer. 'I bet you're the sort of man, who wears one of those awfully practical, thermal vests in the winter?' He nodded and winked cheekily. 'I thought so!' She examined him in detail. 'You know, I've seen loads of naked male bodies; young, old and middle-aged, fat and thin, hairy, smooth and just bald; black, white and very indifferent. You name it. I've seen it. Look!' She proceeded to probe each of his ribs, finishing by poking her fingers into a rather well-rounded and flabby stomach. 'You should be ashamed of all this! I must be worth better! She poked again, much harder! 'But you'll have to do for the meantime! You're all I've got!'

At this he smartly sat up. 'Cheek!' She pushed him firmly back down and quickly grabbed his slip and tried to complete his undressing, only succeeding when he raised his hips. She asked him to repeat the latter gesture, so that she could raise him into a more prone and exposed position, by the adroit use of a couple of strategically placed pillows.

'Now!' She was kneeling alongside and leaning over him, with her left hand quietly playing with and solidly maintaining his erection. 'I have a serious question to ask. I'm clear in that after the rape, I got my doctor to give me all the tests and I didn't have anything, that I wouldn't want. How's this little fellow's health?'

'Not bad!' He was surprised, she hadn't silenced him. 'When Catherine died, I renewed and rearranged a few insurances to cover the debts she left. They tested me for virtually everything and they only told me the only problem was that I was a little heavy for my height.' He winced as she dug her nails into his penis. 'Ow! That wasn't fair!'

'Does the condemned man, have any last requests, before I fuck him to death?' She was still trying to be very serious, but a very solid grin was creeping onto her face.

'Yes!' His left hand moved from the bed to between her thighs and gently stroked the smooth bare flesh above the stocking on her left leg. 'Please, miss! Can you leave your stockings and heels on?'

***

She now stood menacingly above him on the bed, with a red-stilettoed foot on either side of his thighs. Slowly, she started to slip the tiny pants, stretching the elastic and sliding them down her legs, until she was able to delicately step out, leaving her sex uncovered and totally naked. She then teased and played for a few seconds to make sure she was absolutely ready, before dropping quickly to her knees and plunging precisely, so that she skewered herself on his erection.

Immediately, his hands moved to her waist to provide balance, but she swiftly declined by pushing them away very firmly. 'I've worked at much greater heights without any form of support!' He laughed and she used her weight to silence him. 'I would like you to count as I fuck you.' She liked using the word and was heavily stressing the k.

'Does counting turn you on?' He was remembering the shirt buttons. 'Or did that posh school you went to...' He was cut short as she raised herself a few centimetres, just maintaining contact before thrusting downwards deep and hard onto his pelvis. He winced, but she smiled like a demented Cheshire cat, as she felt the first solid pressure of real sex, since well before the death of her husband.

'Is that one?' She nodded and then withdrew and thrust again, but harder and longer this time.

'Two!' He now splayed his arms and hands wider, as he did not want to be responsible for catapulting her ignominiously onto the floor, but he could still feel the exquisite grip of those strong nylon-clad legs on his body and the scrape of her heels on his thighs.

'Three! ... Four!' She was now totally lost in concentration, as she pushed harder into his body.

'Five!' She just erupted after no apparent build-up into an intense orgasm, which had little to do with any love and all to do with power, pleasure, passion and her own satisfaction.

'Six! ... Seven! ... Eight!' She was not stopping her thrusting and continued to grind slowly up and down, gripping him with her strong muscles and inducing orgasms like pearls on a string.

'Nine! ... Ten! ...' She had now become exhausted, and she pulled his hands to her sides for support.

Losing count, he took over the drive and penetration, lifting her upwards, precariously balanced and locked onto his erection, with all her weight pressured between her clitoris and his pelvis. She had two maybe three more forceful orgasms, before he exploded deep inside her, stopped his thrusting and collapsed exhausted, dripping in sweat and breathing heavily, back on to the bed. As he released her from his grip, she toppled and overbalanced on to his chest, kissing him passionately and digging her nails and teeth into anything sensitive she could find.

***

It was light when he woke and he immediately turned to find, wake and perhaps kiss or make love to her. But she was gone!

Why did he always have relationships with ladies, who can never find the time to give him the pleasure of at least seeing them in the morning? Even Catherine always had to get up and do something however banal, rather than wait until they were both relaxed and ready for the day.

Finding his glasses, his watch told him it was just before seven and he switched on the television to see, if the politicians and decision makers had managed to improve the mess they had made of the world. As this was America, there was plenty on murder, rape and the execution of criminals, but nothing on the tragedies of Bosnia, Palestine and Northern Ireland. The only European story was a trivial one about a cat that was something like fifty pounds overweight in Shropshire. No wonder the Americans were so uninformed about anything outside their own back-yard.

He decided he had better have a shower, get dressed, perhaps call Wendy and home and then have an early breakfast, as there was much to do. He still had to solve the puzzle of Derek and Gaynor's non-appearance and he would have to find and properly thank Lucinda for last night. He wondered if she would consent to have a proper dinner that night. Would it be followed by a complete night, only interrupted by interesting diversions of their own making?

As he entered the bathroom, he saw and then smiled at the short and to the point message scrawled on the bathroom mirror in a fetching pink. 'Back at 8, Your Turn, Lucinda XXX'. He scratched and tasted the message to confirm it was last night's lipstick, so at least the redhead, the trapeze, the picnic and the sex hadn't all been a dream. He decided that as she was coming back at a civilised hour, he would just shower, brush his teeth, don a dressing-gown and then return to the bed to make a couple of calls, watch the excruciating television and await her plans.

Copyright 1999 by Ewart Higgins