What She Wanted

'Fuck, it's weird being back here.'

The man turned and looked at his wife, eyes searching for signs of comprehension in her face. She furrowed her brow and scrunched up her face before her brain solved the conundrum.

'Oh,' she said. Then grinned and playfully slapped him. Right there in middle of the fruit and vegetable section of the supermarket.

No secrets they had agreed when they got married. So Jack had told her; he'd told her about his immediate previous girlfriend. Or rather, he had confirmed to her what they'd got up to; what he and his last girlfriend had done - and where they had done it. He didn't need to tell her about her, per se, because Jack's previous girlfriend, the one before he'd got married, was his wife's close friend. Jack met Sarah, his wife, through Rachael, his previous girlfriend. Apparently, according to Sarah that is, Rachael and Sarah shared a lot of secrets. A lot.

As they walked through the fruits, Jack thought back to Rachael. Beautiful, quirky, individual Rachael. He'd liked her, she was truly beautiful, she was truly crazy and she was truly intelligent. Oh, and she was absolutely sex mad. A man could not really want more.

Jack did want more though, or at least he wanted different. He wanted her best friend. He wanted Sarah. Sarah: beautiful Rachael's best friend; not beautiful like Rachael, but certainly attractive and most definitely very funny, with a smile that lit up her face like a firework lights the new year sky.

He met Rachael one Friday in a pub after work. Normally on a Friday afternoon he'd be off to climb artificial rock faces in a disused church. This week though, the church was closed, a new rock face being put in, so he went with work to the pub just outside the office. He was waiting at the bar to get a round in: it was his round his colleagues had argued, because he never bought a round. The fact that he was never there, made no difference to the situation his workmates had laughed. Go get the round in.

So there he was in the pub leaning against the bar, enjoying the coolness of the place, eyeing up the row of pumps on the heavily scarred old counter and deciding which beer to go for when she appeared beside him like a desert mirage.

'Hello,' he smiled at her without thinking.

'Hello,' she'd smiled back.

Silence. He looked away, felt uncomfortable about holding this beautiful stranger's gaze. Didn't want to seem like he was staring. Which he was.

He stole another glance. Man, she was beautiful. Long golden hair trailed over her thin, cotton summer dress, that hugged small pert breasts which needed no artificial support; nipples that strained against the slight material in the cool pub air, eyes that looked azzurri blue and tanned skin borne of plenty of hours under ultraviolet light – whether natural or artificial.

'Ah fuck it,' he actually said out loud, 'don't suppose I can get you a drink?'

She laughed: 'Oh fuck it?', she repeated a glint in her eye.

'Yeah, fuck it. You're bound to say no, but if I don't ask I might always regret it.'

'I'm bound to say no am I? Hmmm.' She rested her elbow on the bar and her chin in her hands. 'If I'm bound to say no, knowing how contrary I am, I might just have to say yes.'

She thought a while with a faux puzzlement on her face then grinned. 'You know, I think you can get me a drink,' she finally said. She liked his kindly face, his lovely rich voice and cultured accent. He didn't have a bad body too she decided, as she quite openly looked him up and down. Jack wasn't sure whether to be shocked, pleased or both at being checked out by such a woman. Or by any woman for that matter.

'What's your name?' she asked him.

'Jack,' he said.

'Rachael,' she replied, holding out a hand. She held his hand with a good firm grip. As they shook she said, 'Tell me, Jack, do you like fun?' and he felt a tingle through him as he answered in the affirmative at her devilish smile.

He'd taken the beers to his colleagues who'd been watching him chat to the beautiful woman and who watched with a mixture of open mouthed amazement and, in the case of his male colleagues, bare faced jealousy as he told them something had come up and he might be back later.

He spent the next three hours talking to Rachael, who drank in every detail he was giving her. At times, she seemed to be interrogating him, wanting to know what he did, where he was from, what he liked, where he was educated, where and how had he grown up. She had patiently watched him, nodded where necessary, clearly hooked on what he was saying.

At half past eight, she upended the remnants of her wine into her mouth, suddenly stood up and calmly told him she had to go. His stomach flipped that she was suddenly going to disappear from his life, just like that. She touched his arm and leaned closed to him. 'You're lovely, Jack, I'm going to see you again. See you at eight o'clock on Tuesday in the Lion.' He looked relieved and overwhelmed; as she kissed him on the cheek it sent a little shock though his being. She sashayed away, her peach of a backside swayed in the thin cotton dress, tiny panties visible and he grew hard at the thought of her naked. Maybe on Tuesday night he thought. Then: no, get real. She's so out of my league. I'm Kettering Town and she's Brazil – we're not even in the same competition.

Tuesday crawled around. The weekend, for once, seemed interminable and the first two days of the working week even more so. When Tuesday night finally arrived he was in a state of great nervous tension. The time that had crawled like a terminally injured tortoise now ran faster than an Olympic standard hare, and he was mortified when she stood up again and told him at ten o'clock she had to go. Once more she had leaned across and whispered into his ear while holding his hand, 'I still think you're lovely, Jack'. Come to my house on Friday and I shall cook for you. Come after your climbing. 57, St Thomas Drive.'

'I can miss climbing and get there earlier,' he said, rather desperately.

'No, Jack, that won't be necessary, I can wait until afterwards. Bring me some nice wine,' she said as she turned back to him and blew him a kiss.

He wanted to sleep the rest of the week away. He wanted to jump into a TARDIS and materialise right then at her house on Friday. Instead though, he had to endure another three days of torture before he saw her again.

Climbing finished at last on the Friday, the only time in the week where'd he'd been away from her, that had not inched its way agonisingly forward. He hammered it to her house. He'd already done a dummy run; had stopped at the end of the street. Pulling up outside her house on the dummy run would have crossed the line from desperate to stalker. He only had to find the actual house number.

She answered the door in jeans and a white shirt, braless again, unbuttoned to show tantalising glimpses of her breasts when she leaned over. He was too nervous to eat, too much on tenterhooks to see whether this gorgeous female would reveal her body to him that night. Too preoccupied to take in any of her lovely house, to see the bookshelves, the tasteful décor, the lovely large kitchen/diner or the stairs that lead up to her bedroom.

Dinner as finished as it ever would be, they lay on the floor, looking through her record collection, which was pretty awful. He finally found an album that wasn't too terrible and she giggled as she put it on.

'Not so keen on my taste, eh?' she teased as she lay back on the floor with him.

'No, no, it's fine,' he lied.

'You can tell me

In a funny way, he hadn't been. He was too desperate just to be with this too-good-to-be-true woman. However, now he was so tantalisingly close to her, laying on the floor, lips close to hers , she had asked a question which suddenly showed she wanted him to be having a great time, that she wanted this evening to be a success as much as he did. So he kissed her.

He would not have been surprised had she pushed him away and asked him what the fuck he thought he was doing. She did not. She kissed back, and hard, sliding her hands down his back, on to his backside and he slid his hands to her breasts, feeling the rock hard nipples beneath her white cotton shirt.

'My nipples always got very hard when I get aroused,' she breathlessly said, breaking away from their kiss. There was a small pause as he looked into her so-blue eyes then: 'Would you like to come to my bed?'

That was it. It was really that easy. He couldn't believe how simple it was and how excited he'd got. As they stood, she ran her hands down the front of his jeans. 'It would seem that it's not only my nipples that get hard when I get aroused,' she grinned wickedly. 'Come to my bed, Jack.' So he did.

She pushed him to the bed and told him to lie back. He was clay to be moulded and she was the artist. She undid his shoes and socks, then slid off hers, knelt aside his body and inched her way up him until her groin was near to his. She lowered herself so she could rub herself along his erection and kiss him at the same time, her short staccato breaths a symphony in his disbelieving ears . She held his head in her hands and told him to enjoy her body. He needed no further invitation.

She leaned back as she knelt over him, like a sex-craved princess over her subject; she

She pulled herself up a little, bade him to continue with both hands on her nipples and, in a tangle of arms, started to undo his shirt until she could pull it aside and reciprocate his previous action, her hand along his flat stomach, her tongue training around his nipples. He was painfully hard, as aroused as he could ever remember and he pulled her down again, to push his tongue into her mouth, to drag his teeth along her tongue, entwine his tongue with hers; he found his breathing get heavier in tandem with hers.

He pushed her off, and she lay back on the bed with a huge lustful smile on her beautiful face. He lifted her bottom after he'd undone her trousers so he could slide them down her slim legs and reveal a pair of pink panties with a small pattern just above where her clitoris would be waiting for his tongue. He kissed her silky smooth legs, moved down to her feet, taking her toes in his mouth which made her groan contentedly and involuntarily lift her backside off the bed again. He slid his hands up Rachael's perfectly tanned legs and started moving his way back up them, so to slide his hands under her panties to feel her arse. Again she lifted herself closer to him, so as he bent down to kiss her through her panties, he could smell her arousal.

'I think I'm going to find a very damp and aroused woman under these panties,' he said.

'You might,' she replied and playfully wrestled him to the bed. 'Though it's my turn to do a little bit of the undressing.' She took her turn at undoing his trousers; he in turn lifted his backside off the bed so she could slide his jeans away from him.

'Mmm, nice athletic legs,' she admiringly said, then looked up and sighed. 'Oh my goodness, Jack, look at this. He penis protruded from the top of his briefs; she ran her hand up the length of it and gently leant down so she could kiss the tip of his erection. 'This looks like it's going to provide me with some fun,' she predicted, and lay down on him so she could kiss his mouth and rub herself against the erection again, this time through thin panties.

Jack really could not believe this was happening. Thank fuck climbing was cancelled last week he thought. Just one week, is that how long he'd known her? Unbelievable.

He was jerked back to this unreal reality when she slid off him, to remove his briefs. 'I need to see this in all its glory,' she grinned as she peeled back his last item of clothing. This time he made no effort to lift himself, just enjoying the feeling of having this goddess strip him of his last vestiges of privacy, of having his sexual arousal worshipped at the tongue of a deity.

And truly, she pleasured him greatly, the deity turning worshipper, taking him to the brink and pulling him back until she finally pulled her mouth from his penis.

She flopped beside him. 'You have a lovely penis,' she said, turning to him and looking him in the eye, 'I hope to have it in my mouth again soon.' Then she lifted her hips, in an unsubtle hint that she wanted to be as naked as him.

'You can take them off,' she instructed.

He never forgot that moment. It's not a moment you forget as you undress your new lover for the first time. He slowly pulled down her panties, wanting to elongate the moment, the feeling of easing the knickers over her hips; the elastic collapsing inwards until the unstretched underwear no longer had any purchase on her body.

With her bottom still raised into the air, he supported her by cupping it in his hands, and eagerly, but tenderly kissed and caressed her most intimate parts with his tongue and fingers. She smelled and tasted as divine as a divinity should; her arousal left her warm and very wet. His tongue expertly weaved its magic on her; within a few minutes her breathing had grown very laboured and the contented moans emanating from her mouth had changed to language more becoming a street whore than a holy being. Her climax was a long, shuddering affair that hardly abated her desire.

'Inside me! Now! I want to feel the full length of that beautiful looking cock of yours as deep as it will go,' she hissed.

He paused, hardly wanting to spoil the moment, but always the practical he asked, 'You got any condoms?'

'Oh. Yeah, of course,' she hesitatingly replied and pulled open the bedside draw to reveal a saucer with a large collection of different prophylactics. He thought it was odd: both that she should seem so distant about the need to be careful and that then she should have such a variety of contraceptives. He wondered whether she was on the pill, but thought he'd ask later, not to spoil the moment.

'Put it on for me?' he asked. 'I love it when a woman slides the condom on for me.'

She ripped into the package with her teeth, the desire for him deep within her.

'I'll go on the pill,' she told him breathlessly, 'then we can dispose of this passion killing ritual.'

He nodded a silent agreement as she slid on the condom and then slid herself on his penis to feel the pleasure inside her, impaled on his 'magnificent penis' as she liked to call it. She began to rock on him, then up and down on him, leaned forwards in an attempt to get his penis applying pressure to her clitoris. He pushed back and they began a rhythm that would lead to her second orgasm of the evening, but by no means her last.

With her second orgasm done, she instructed him that he had to do some of the more strenuous exercise now and she laid face down on the bed, head buried in sheet, arse invitingly up in the air so – in her words – 'she could be fucked good, hard and deep and have my clitoris rubbed by your fingers.'

Her wonderfully tight pussy engulfed his penis as he reached his own orgasm, and pumped into her from behind, his fingers rigorously working her clitoris to induce her third orgasm. They collapsed together on the bed, panting, but happy.

'Next time we do that, we do it bareback, I want to feel you explode inside me,' she said. 'Monday I'm on the pill.'

As they drifted off to sleep she half whispered in the dark. 'I love sex; I like the naughtiness of it. Sometimes I walk around the supermarket picking up the vegetables thinking about sex, thinking about the people around me and the things they get up to when they are locked away in their homes at night. I like thinking of sex in incongruous places like that. Sometimes I like to do it in places like that. I wouldn't say no to fucking amidst the courgettes...'

When they awoke in the morning, they made love again, this time more leisurely. They'd woken up in spoons; she felt his erection between her legs so she'd grabbed a condom, told him to slide it on and slide between her damp sticky legs. They'd both cum like that, her putting great pressure on his penis as he pushed inside her, and caressing herself as she felt his length deep inside her.

Afterwards they bathed together and she'd persuaded him to make love one more time. He protested that he was supposed to be in the recording studio with the band he was in. She waved away his protests and he was powerless to resist.

He had made himself late for his Saturday morning studio appointment and the band gave him serious shit about the smile on his face and his dream like state. He did not care one jot.

The two of them couldn't meet until next Friday; he was away with work all next week, she was visiting friends the rest of the weekend. When they did meet, she arrived at his house on Friday evening and they made love on and off until two o'clock in the morning, only stopping to eat pizza, delivered by a bemused delivery boy who was treated to her naked form as she wickedly gave him a ten pound note and shooed him away by telling him to keep the two pounds change from the large pizza. This time they did make love with no condom. 'I'm on the pill now,' she excitedly told him.

In the morning, she dashed off. I probably can't see you until Friday again, she told him. He looked like a child who'd been told no more sweets for a week. She told him it would just make him enjoy it more next Friday and that she'd see him here again.

It was a strange pattern that went on for a few weeks, sometimes interspersed with a Wednesday night meeting. Each time he was surprised that he didn't really miss her that much; just the sex. Everything started to change and get rather complicated one Thursday.

He was playing a gig – at least his band was – at one of the small venues in town. They occasionally played an electric folky, rootsy sort of music, music that wasn't really her thing – she was more into terrible boy bands. She came though, partly because she felt she should, partly because she was a little curious about what he looked like on stage. She didn't come alone.

They hadn't really shared their friends; in truth it was a relationship based on sex. Very good sex and from his point of view, with a little slice of female perfection - but just sex. He liked her, but he wasn't terribly interested in her as a person; they shared few interests and he got the impression she felt the same. He wasn't going to rock the boat though, not with someone that gorgeous who was essentially a sex partner. This time though, she was sharing her friends. Or at least one.

After the gig, she came to see him, smiled at him and told him 'he was good'. Her friend though positively beamed at him and told her she thought he was 'brilliant'.

'Do you like Richard Thompson?' the friend asked.

'I love him,' he replied, an eyebrow raised that she'd know who he was.

'Me too,' she excitedly replied. 'It really comes through in your playing. And that you cover two of his songs of course!'

'Thanks, er.'

'Sarah,' she quickly said. 'And you're Jack.'

'Yes.'

'I've been looking forward to meeting Rachael's latest boyfriend,' she laughed.

He frowned at the 'latest boyfriend' bit, but before he could ask, Rachael had grabbed her by the hand and with a forced laugh told her to stop bothering him with girly gossip.

'I have to go, honey,' Rachael said to Jack. 'Sorry.'

'It's fine, I have to pack up all the gear. Glamorous rock and roll lifestyle and all that.'

'Folk-Rock lifestyle,' joked Sarah.

He laughed, 'Yeah, true,' he said self-effacingly, 'like I could ever be cool enough to be rock and roll.'

'Oh I dunno,' started Sarah, then felt Rachael's eyes burning into her.

'Um, never mind. Best get off,' Sarah said. 'Nice to meet you. Bye.'