Polly glanced at her watch as she stepped into the house. Good, she had plenty of time to
indulge herself before Lucan came home. She shut the door and ignored a bill that lay on the
All day she’d steamed through her to-do list, knocking each thing off with a tick of
satisfaction. She’d even forgone lunch, choosing to eat her salad at her desk. Her colleagues had
soon taken the hint, when she’d given one-word answers to their chatty questions, she just wasn’t
in the mood.
Some solo fun was what she needed before Lucan walked through the door. He’d toss his
keys into the ceramic bowl on the dresser in the hallway, hang his jacket in the cupboard and
then plant a chaste kiss on her cheek. She’d bet money on him commenting on “thank goodness
it’s the weekend,” then he’d put on his old Oasis t-shirt and worn jeans, and pop a beer.
She’d cook, they’d watch TV, then it would be their usual Friday night missionary sex
beneath the duvet. The highlight of his week, he always told her afterwards as he pulled his
boxers back on.
Trouble was, their sex routine had become so stale if it were bread it wouldn’t be any
good for even the ducks. He tweaked her nipples, rubbed her clit for thirty seconds and then
pushed in. After that it was a predictable four minutes until he came.
Polly never did.
She’d tried to push him onto his back so she could climb on top and get herself off,
encouraged a little oral fun with a sexy whisper, even hinted that they take a trip to a sex shop for
some toys. Her suggestions were met with a big strong body that had only one plan for their
bedroom sequence and, much to her dismay, had fallen on deaf ears.
Maybe she hadn’t been firm or loud enough.
For as long as she could remember, frustration burned hotly through her veins. It was an
itch she couldn’t scratch. A longed for possession she would never afford. And she had no idea
what to do about it.
Until, that was, a few weeks ago.
She’d been scrawling through Facebook on her laptop when she’d seen a Gucci handbag
on sale—the GIF flashing excitedly—and clicked the link. Only it wasn’t a handbag sale, not by
a long shot. Before she knew it a porn site had filled her screen and the wails of a woman in the
throes of climax echoed around the room. She’d been alone but still glanced about the kitchen,
embarrassed at the wild cries of release.
As she’d watched, heat had traveled up Polly’s spine and her cheeks had flushed. She’d
squirmed on the seat and curled her toes in her fluffy pink slippers. The woman on screen was
getting a good seeing to, the black man she was with pounding into her hard and fast. The
camera angles were rude and crude, up close and personal. A big dark cock disappeared over and
over into her wet, pink pussy.
Polly had stared wide-eyed, knowing she should turn it off. The link could be full of bugs
or viruses or whatever else infected computers. But she couldn’t, she was utterly mesmerised.
The woman’s breasts jiggled, the camera gave a shot of the man’s ass cheeks as he thrust
with ever-increasing speed.
Polly clenched her internal muscles as another shout of “It’s here, oh yes, oh yes, fuck
me, fuck me harder,” rattled from her laptop speakers.
The man groaned, deep and guttural, a sound that spoke to Polly. When had she last
heard Lucan moan like that? He seemed to hold his pleasure in, a few panting breaths, a low
rumble in his throat perhaps. Why couldn’t he let go? Allow his release to be unharnessed and
escape wild and free. It wasn’t as if they had any children to worry about, their house was their
own, they had all the privacy a married couple needed.
Quickly Polly dumped her work-bag on the counter. She reached into the fridge for a
bottle of Chardonnay and poured herself a large glass. Then, with her laptop under her arm, she
headed up the stairs.
The cat was on the bed. “Tilly, come on, out you go. I don’t want an audience,” she said
as she tugged the covers.
Tilly voiced a quick complaint then sauntered from the room. She’d likely been asleep all
day so Polly didn’t feel guilty. Her own needs were greater and they needed seeing to.
After taking a few more big sips of wine, she began to strip. When she was down to
knickers and bra she flicked on the shower in the en suite. She had at least an hour and a half
before Lucan came home. The traffic was always heavy on the ring road on a Friday with
everyone escaping London for the weekend. Perhaps he’d be even later than she expected. But
she couldn’t count on that, she had to presume he’d be in at the earliest time possible.
She pulled the curtains closed, even though it was still daylight, then shucked her
Humming a happy tune, she twisted her hair on the top of her head and stepped into the
stream of warm water. She filled her palms with coconut scented shower gel and rubbed it over
her breasts. Her nipples spiked and she held her face to the water, letting it tap on her eyelids and
run over her lips. Her breasts were heavy and had always been very sensitive, especially on the
outer curves. She adored having the skin there lightly brushed, stroked, caressed, because it sent
a tingle to her clit. Shame Lucan only thought it was her nipples that needed stimulating.
Had he always been that way?