Prosecco and Animal Lust

The idea when Steve and I got married was that I would continue to work at my job in the city library but that the real money would be coming in from his job at a prominent merchant bank. Since what I'm about to tell is true and I will have to refer to people who will be recognisable from the details I will be providing, I'd better not actually name the bank, but it's one you've all heard of, and it's safe to say that the people who work at the level Steve was about to enter when we got married generally do very well. They especially do well out of the big so-called crises that can leave the rest of the population in such misery and destitution.

As a liberal arts graduate at the tender age of 22 when Steve and I met I wasn't well disposed towards him on account of the industry he'd thrown his lot in with, but he wooed me with his sense of humour, flowers and romantic meals and mini-breaks. A girl's gotta eat, right? And in truth, being with Steve was fun. I must admit I was taken aback when his present for me on my first birthday after meeting him was a lingerie set from Stella McCartney's black satin range, but I figured who was I trying to kid being coy? We'd been dating two months and I knew I wanted him. It wasn't as if I was a virgin or anything. I'd had six lovers at university - including a guy old enough to be my father, so allowing myself to be seduced by this sexy man who was obviously keen on me and who clearly had a bright future ahead of him made sense. It didn't hurt that he was great in the sack too. He did things to me no one else had done and we probably knew after the third or fourth fuck that each of us was the best the other had ever had. Saying yes when he proposed the following Christmas with a humongous ring from Tiffany's was a no brainer. We married in May and although we could clearly have lived very easily on his amazing salary, I actually enjoyed the narcotic pull of a daily grind and I decided to keep on working in the academic research section of the city library.

Steve's first big kill for the bank came on the back of the Euro crisis in 2014. A French speaker, Steve knew people in the Paris bourse who had access to all kinds of information they couldn't legally directly profit from. However, if it was published in a public source, they could act on it as it would then be deemed public domain. The European Union has never defined public resource, so the most obscure technical journals that are read by a mere handful of people can qualify, and it was in one of these, published in Luxembourg in French and available online for only four days over an Easter weekend, that certain information about the direction of the Greek bailout was aired under the guise of a contingency plan a named US bank might adopt if Greece were forced to exit the Euro. You probably remember the rest. The Euro rallied for twenty-four hours and gained four cents on the dollar before the plan was officially panned by both Christine Lagarde and the Federal Reserve. The Euro tanked again and eight people were left to decide how to spend the 14.3 million dollars they had made by betting on the Euro for the peak period of six hours during which it was at its apex. Steve was one of them. His cut was 800,000 Euros. Not a bad down payment on a house for a newly married couple!

I didn't know the ins and outs at the time. All I knew was Steve's bosses were more than satisfied with the work he had done. It was, strictly speaking, all legal and there was no risk that anyone involved would reveal anything embarrassing about how they had made the money since they had all done very well out of it. The only losers were those who had been left hanging when the Euro crashed again. Well, them and the entire population of Greece, but it's a dog eat dog world, right? Steve's success in the Greek deal caught the interest of a firm the bank used for subcontract work in Portugal. At the time the southern Europe economies were looking shaky, and a couple of interested parties wondered whether a similar trick couldn't work in Portugal if the timing was right. Steve decided the conditions weren't right and advised against it, but he was overruled by his direct line manager. Steve did manage to avoid putting any of his own money into what happened but that didn't stop a minor shit storm erupting when the scheme (which involved floating rumours of a takeover of a major Portuguese transport company) failed to make any money. In fact it did make about thirty thousand Euros but that was seen as an insult compared to what the main players had been expecting. Steve escaped with his reputation intact as he was able to point to his advice not to proceed, but a guy called Nigel clearly bore Steve a grudge and accused him of short selling the plan so he could look good in the aftermath of its failure. Steve explained all this to me one night in Belem and although I couldn't follow all of it I was able to take an instant dislike to Nigel and make all the sympathetic noises Steve expected of me.

Fast forward six months to the late fall of 2014. Steve was at a conference in Seattle and I was in the library when I got a call on my mobile.

"Hi, is that Sara?" said a very pleasant sounding male voice.

"Yes, Sara speaking. Who is this?" I replied.

"Oh, I'm so glad to meet you - if only by phone," replied the voce. "I'm a colleague of your husband Steve. My name is Nigel de la Tour and I wondered if you knew how I could get in touch with him. His usual hotel in Seattle doesn't have any record of him staying there this week and I'm guessing he's bought a SIM card for the US because his mobile is on Voicemail the whole time."

I knew Steve was actually staying at the home of a colleague in Tacoma for the conference and driving in with him for the sessions they were required to attend. In fact, it was really just a junket for him but what the hell? He'd earned it. I wasn't going to tell Nigel that so I pretended not to know anything about it and was about to hang up when he said.

"Well the problem is I need to get off to Moscow this weekend and I'll be gone for a week but Steve really needs to have the signed Level Ones for the Berlin project by Friday. I was wondering if I could drop them off with you. They're not the sort of thing I'd like to just leave at the office."

I didn't know much about the Berlin project, but I knew it was big. Steve had said even the name was designed to put people off the scent. The project was somewhere else in Europe completely. I had thought Nigel's company's role in this project was very minor, but clearly if he had possession of signed documents at Level One, he was more involved than I thought. Steve would be back on Thursday night. Today was Monday so I figured I'd better accept them and keep them at the house for Steve's return.

"OK, I guess you can leave them with me. Do you know where the city library is?" I asked him.

"I know you work there, Sara, because Steve has often talked about you. I've even seen your wedding pictures, but I'm afraid I can't leave this sort of document with you in a public place and have you take public transport home. I need to make sure they're secure. Could I drop them off at your house?"

Steve showed Nigel our wedding pictures? That was news. I was a bit thrown by that. Our wedding pictures were a bit of an embarrassment. The light had caught me wrong and you could clearly see my black panties through the dress in most of them. Only the group shots were the sort of thing you'd display on the mantlepiece. The others were strictly our eyes only! Still, if Steve had felt secure enough with Nigel to show him our pictures, maybe the fences were mended and they were on good terms again.

"Sure, OK." I heard myself saying. I should be home by about 6. Can you come after that?"

"Shall we say 8?" he said. "I have to do a conference call with someone who insists on existing in a most inconvenient time zone!"

I laughed at his mock exasperation. "OK, 8 it is," I said. "I'll have some wine chilled so you can de-stress after your call."

"Mmmm. Temptress," he cooed. "No, I'd better not do that. I can rarely stop at one glass especially in the company of a beautiful woman. But maybe a glass of water and I'll be on my way."

I laughed. I was warming to this guy. He was a charmer.

"I'm serious!" he said in mock protest. "I've seen those sinful pictures, remember? Anyway, 8 sharp."

And with that he rang off. And I realised I was grinning like an idiot.

I got home and jumped in the shower. I dried my hair and looked in the mirror. I'm 26 and I don't believe in false modesty. I look pretty good. I have long chestnut brown hair which I wear straight. I'm slim and long legged. I'm also super fit. Tennis is my game and I can beat most of the guys at the club except Steve and a few others. I also swim so I'm in good shape. I have a flat stomach and 34B breasts. To my surprise I found myself moisturising and doing a bit of make up. This isn't something I normally do on a week night. I also decided to shave my legs. I usually do that in the bath but this time I just stood in the bathroom and ran the Ladyshave over my thighs and calves. Then I decided to trim my bush. I have it semi-shaved but it had grown a little since my last appointment. I tried using the trim function on my Ladyshave but after fifteen minutes it wasn't looking good so I decided to shave it completely and let it grow back over the next few days for Steve. I applied the after shave gel and soothed it into the skin on my calves, thighs and crotch. I ran my fingers over my pubis and brushed my labia. It felt good and I probably would have stayed to give myself a bit more pleasure but I saw by my watch that it was already 7:40 and I didn't have time for that.

I went into the bedroom and opened my panty draw. With a freshly shaved pussy the only option is silk. Cotton feels too raw. The only silk panties I had were my wedding day ones - the black ones from the photographs. I slipped them on and looked for the matching bra but couldn't find it. Damn! There was a knock at the door. I quickly threw on a silk blouse and skirt combination from J Crew. The blouse had a Chinese dragon design and the skirt came halfway down my thighs. I went downstairs to the front door and looked through the viewer. No one was there but I could see the evening paper on the porch floor. Clearly it was time to pay the monthly paper bill but the paper boy hadn't hung around for more than a few seconds after knocking and was now gone. I still had ten minutes. I walked into the kitchen enjoying the feel of the cold stone tiles on my bare feet. I put a bottle of Prosecco in the fridge. Then I took it out again and poured myself a large glass. On a whim I lit a scented candle. I love our kitchen. It's the best room in the house for me and I often sit there reading with a candle lit in the evening if Steve's away. It's my own little world. I sat there sipping my wine and waiting.

At exactly eight I heard a car pull up into the driveway. I looked through the window. It was light blue Mazda sports car. Nothing too flashy but the guy getting out of it oozed class. A dark blue suit, loafers, white shirt with no tie. The man was tall and slim with dark hair and was carrying a briefcase. He left the car door open and hopped up the steps and knocked. Three knocks. Confident. Assertive.

My knees went a bit weak as I got up. I had finished my wine without even realising it. Having had nothing to drink all day since my morning glass of orange juice I was hydrated only with Prosecco. That was clumsy. I hoped I wouldn't appear tipsy to Nigel and I stood straight for ten seconds collecting my thoughts before walking to the door and opening it.

"My my, you're even more beautiful in the flesh than in those pictures!" said the man. He held out the briefcase. "Nigel at your service. I don't want to intrude on your evening so if I could just leave these with you I can be on my way. There's no need to sign for anything. I'm sure I can trust you."

He smiled and turned to go back to his car, the door of which was still open.

"Don't you want your glass of water?" I said.

He stopped. The he turned and looked at me. "I was forgetting my manners," he said. "That's very kind. Thank you. He closed the door of his car and locked it with the remote key. "Please lead me on in."

I led him inside. It struck me as my bare feet made contact once more with the cool stone tiles that I wasn't wearing very much. A thin silk blouse, a silk mini skirt and a pair of tiny silk panties were all that covered my nakedness from this tall, dark, handsome stranger. He interrupted my thoughts.

"Lovely place you've got here, Sara." He said this as we entered the kitchen.

"Thanks. We like it a lot" I replied.

"I'm still in a flat," he went on. "But I'm looking at a lovely place in the Surrey Hills. Just can't decide how to do it up. It's a bargain but it needs a complete overhaul, and I don't think Ikea is going to suit it."

I laughed and opened the fridge. I pulled out the Prosecco. "One won't hurt, will it?" I asked. The truth was I was suddenly nervous and I wanted a glass myself.

"One would be lovely," he said. I must say I love your blouse. Do you know what that says?" As he said this he pointed at the embroidered Chinese characters above the dragon's back. His finger touched the silk and the top of my breast. Not on the nipple but close enough for him to realise I wasn't wearing a bra.

"No," I said. "Do you?"

"Actually, I do." He replied. Then he stopped and held my blouse between the thumb and forefinger of each hand straightening it out so he could read the whole phrase. "Dong fang hong" he read.

"What does that mean?" I asked. Conscious that I was standing two feet away from a strange man who was holding my blouse while I held two glasses of Prosecco in my hands.

"It means the East is red", he replied. "I think it's an old phrase from China's Communist past. You're not a Commie are you?"

I laughed and gave him his glass. "No, not a Commie. Although I think you and I probably wouldn't see eye to eye on politics, Nigel."

"Ah!," he said letting go of my blouse in such a way that his little finger lightly brushed my nipple. "Well, I'd argue that point if it wasn't terribly impolite. But the truth is I have never once voted in my entire life. Though if I did, it probably would be for the Labour Party."

I motioned him to one of the high stools in the kitchen and settled into the one opposite. My blouse had come undone at the bottom and I was aware I was exposing my belly button, but I left it undone. Nigel was beginning to intrigue me. I would have thought he was a Tory through and through, but he hadn't sounded ironic or mocking when he said he would vote for the main left of centre party in the country.

"My dad was a communist," he suddenly said after a couple of sips of the Prosecco. "The reason why I was able to read those Chinese characters is because they appear in a famous poster we used to have a copy of in our living room. Dad was an intellectual. Mao's crowd would probably have lynched him if he'd ever seriously joined the revolution or anything like that, but he always felt an affinity with the common man and he was fond of saying the Chinese system was far more human than the Soviets."

"Really?" I responded. "Even after the Cultural Revolution and the Hundred Flowers Campaign?"

"Well, those were turning points of course," Nigel replied. "But I think he felt that although one man could pervert the way the system was working, the system itself was still pure and represented an ideal we should strive for."

He drained his glass and offered it to me. "I wonder if I might have another?" he asked. This is exceptionally good Prosecco.

I poured him a second glass and myself a third. I was aware of his eyes burning a hole in my back as I walked over the the fridge. I was enjoying this feeling of warmth flooding through me. Partly the Prosecco and partly the idea of being alone with a strange man wearing the sexiest clothes I owned and not quite knowing what was happening.

"Did your father speak Chinese then?" I asked Nigel returning to my stool and turning to face him. Another button had come undone. He could now see my entire flat white stomach. I let him look. I saw a small bulge in his crotch and he made no attempt to hide it.

"No," he didn't really do that," he replied. "He did teach me paper cuts and anmo though."

"Anmo?," I asked. "What's that? Some form of origami?"

He laughed. "No, not origami. That's Japanese. It wouldn't be proper for me to show you anmo, seeing as you're married and everything."

That really piqued my interest. "Oh really?" I said. "So tell me. I'm not shy".

This was true. I reached for the bottle again. A third button popped on my blouse. I caught him looking. The bulge in his crotch moved. I started drinking my fourth glass of Prosecco. I was fast losing my inhibitions. My speech was a little slower, though not slurred. I was emotionally alert though and wanted to know what anmo was and why he thought it improper to talk about it to a married woman."

"Well, I guess the usual translation is massage", Nigel said. "But it's really an entire philosophy built around knowing the body's lei lines and pressure points. It's actually quite fascinating, but I hesitate to demonstrate. It might be misinterpreted."

"By whom?" I said. "There's no one else here. We're alone here, Nigel."

He raised an eyebrow at that and I realised that actually it was I who had said something that left me open to misinterpretation.

"Well, I know," he replied. "But you're married to one of my colleagues, Sara. You might tell him and it could get a bit awkward if he knew I had given his wife a massage."

Neither of us had said that and he knew it. But now he had put it on the table it sounded natural. I realised my blouse was now held together by a single button. He could see the outlines of my nipples through the thin white silk. He drained his third glass. It would now be irresponsible of him to be driving home anytime soon. My panties, still hidden from view beneath my short silk miniskirt were wet. My pussy was shaved. I was light headed and horny and he had a huge hard on.

"Well, what if I didn't tell him, Nigel?" I said. "What if it was just our little secret."

"Well, that would be very good, Sara, because I already have a secret from him," he replied.

"What's that?" I asked.

Nigel poured himself another glass of the Proseccon. He emptied the remnants into my glass and touched the rim of his glass against mine in a cheers motion. "Steve doesn't know that I have seen your wedding pictures, Sara. He didn't show them to me. I found them in his desk drawer one lunchtime when he'd asked me to fetch his car keys. Later that day I snuck them out and made copies of them on the scanner".

"Why would you do that?" I asked. As I did so the last button on my blouse gave way. My nipples were erect and less than eighteen inches from his face.

"Because you looked so incredibly beautiful in them I longed to own them even by stealth. I wanted to be able to look at you and admire you. I know that sounds weird."

"Actually, it sounds very sweet," I said as he leaned forward so that his lips were less than an inch from mine.

"Do you still have those black panties?" he whispered.

"See for yourself" I replied.

His hands moved to my skirt and pushed it upwards. My black satin panties were soaking wet and my thighs glistened.

Our lips brushed together and them our tongues touched and he pushed his mouth against mine and kissed me passionately for the next minute, his hands stroking my breasts and stomach, and neck and hair, and then reaching down to my panties and hooking a finger inside them to pull them down.