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energetic thrusts. She let out a sigh, and Dominik felt a stiffening within her softness, as she finally allowed her arousal to take control of her body and her mind.
Now oblivious to the situation, the surroundings and her nearby helpless husband, Liz threw herself back against Dominik’s cock, inviting him into her, greedily embedding herself on him with studied rage as if she’d been denied pleasure with Kevin for ages immemorial and was now intent on seizing the day and pleasing herself.
Both Lauralynn and Dominik, witnessing the change now taking hold of her, smiled.
The room grew warmer.
Immobilised on his chair, Kevin watched in silence as his wife warmed to Dominik’s thrusts, her movements becoming increasingly frantic as she impaled herself on him time and time again, her breath running short and her face contorting as waves of pleasure raced through her, increasing the flow of her wetness.
Her growing enthusiasm aroused Dominik and he took hold of her waist and orchestrated the rhythm of her reverse thrusts against him, feeling his cock grow even harder inside her, invading her, filling her.
There was a small cry, starting at the back of her throat, dying on the threshold of her lips, and she came with a spasm. Kevin went pale. Dominik wondered if this was this the first time he had witnessed his wife’s pleasure.
After he’d come, ridding himself of the necessary condom in the room’s regulation wicker bin, Dominik noticed how downcast Kevin was over by the wall, still shackled to the chair, uncertain as to whether this was the spectacle he had dreamed of (or feared)? And wondered how the couple would live with this memory.
Now subdued, Lauralynn unlocked the toy-like pink handcuffs and handed Kevin his clothing, while Liz rose tentatively from the bed, almost dazed, not so much as a result of Dominik’s lovemaking, he knew, but at the realisation of what she had just done.
The couple were still slowly dressing in silence as Lauralynn and Dominik exited the room and found themselves in the gloomy darkness of the small hotel’s main corridor, with its faded walls and indeterminate-colour carpeting.
Outside, the trees by the British Museum fluttered in a gentle breeze and Dominik began looking for a cab light.
‘Ah, Lauralynn,’ he said, as she zipped up her leather jacket against the cooler evening air, ‘one day your sense of mischief will get us into trouble.’
‘I know,’ she said. ‘But wasn’t that little wife cute?’
‘If you thought so, maybe you should have played with her instead,’ he replied.
‘It had occurred to me, but when I was negotiating the scene with her hubby, he was very insistent there should be no female interaction.’
‘Really?’
‘Indeed. Didn’t you notice, when I passed my hand between her legs, how he almost jumped out of the chair? Some people are so prejudiced …’
‘You are truly wicked, Lauralynn,’ Dominik remarked as a cab pulled up.
‘Better wicked than boring, I say.’ She laughed.
    Lauralynn’s little interludes were all well and good but they made no difference when Dominik found himself back again facing the computer screen, attempting to summon the right words and ideas without being overwhelmed with thoughts of Summer. His memory was like a hard disk that was now so full of feelings and images, bursting at the seams, and was now incapable of processing further elements, redistributing them in equanimous fashion.
    All the women he had known, Summer and the others who had come before her, were present, jostling for attention, for a sliver of kindness, and there was no way he could erase any of them. They were now part of him, what made him what he had become.
    As soon as he wrote about one, in the hope that a stream-of-consciousness improvisation on her features, the colour of her eyes or the way she spoke or moved, might turn into the seed of a story, she morphed into another and then yet another and he lost whatever semblance of plot he was