Men are so easily manipulated, thought Susan as she let Colin press her against the cloakroom wall. His hands were on her breasts, his mouth was against her neck. Flirting made her feel sexy. And her husband Neville had dismissed her flirting by saying, “Dogs chase cars, but don’t know what to do when they catch them.” Helen, damn her, had laughed.

So when Neville had suggested a cigarette outside to Helen, Susan would show him. She would make his loathsome smoking the opportunity for her infidelity. Colin didn’t dismiss her flirting, oh no; Colin responded readily.

Colin’s thigh was between hers and she ran her hand up the length of his erection, then down, tugging his fly open. His cock toppled out, stallion-rampant, not Neville’s cock at all, and she greedily stroked the hot hard length of it. There was not much time, though; even miserly Neville couldn’t make a cigarette last too long.

Her panties were already in her purse and she shivered from the dampness between her legs and from Colin’s hands on her breasts. It was the work of a moment to hike her skirt up and give Colin access to all of her.

He slid in easily and she gasped at the feel of her second lover. Colin was urgent, passionate, and he wanted her. He pumped, close to coming already ? they heard a sound and stood stock still in stockings among the snow-damp tweed and woolen coats, his cock twitching inside her like a horse in the starting gate. The moment passed and he burst out inside her, filling her. They would do it again, she knew, more than the once a month Neville allowed her. She felt wild, sexy, free.

“There,” muttered Colin. “That’ll pay your bastard husband for fucking my wife.”