As the weeks went by, his comments continued, always complimentary, sometimes tending a little towards the creepy, but the young Mrs Ross – who was known back then as Lynnie – found that oddly compelling. It didn't hurt that he looked a little, a very little, bit like Sean Connery; well, all right, he didn't have the accent or the smile, but his eyes were nice and he had the kind of hair that looked quite good with silver threads in it. And he was the boss. Drove a nice car, lived in a big house. Was he married? It wasn't clear – he didn't wear a ring, but men didn't so much back then.
'What is that perfume you're wearing?' he asked one morning in November. Then, 'I'm going to measure up at a new property coming on to the market. Fancy a ride out to Cranford Heath? See how estate agents work in the field?'
She certainly did get to see an estate agent working in the field that day. He took her to an empty show home, where they performed a thorough inspection of the fixtures and fittings, concentrating especially on the bed.
'So that wasn't your first time,' noted Mr Gregg, coming up for air after round one.
'No; I broke up with my school boyfriend over the summer.'
'Was he heartbroken?'
'For a little while. I think I just outgrew him though. I was ready for a man instead of a boy.'
Mr Gregg grinned. 'You certainly were.'
They used the state-of-the-art kitchen facilities to make coffee, lounging around in their underwear on the expensive leather sofas.
'We're doing the builders a favour, making coffee,' explained Mr Gregg roguishly. 'It's one of the best smells for selling a house.'
'Really?' Lynnie gazed adoringly at her sophisticated chevalier.
'Yes. Not sure about the smell of fresh fucked pussy though. Perhaps I should spray a bit of air freshener around the bedroom.'
Really! How rude! Lynnie was shocked, but not repelled, by her seducer's coarse remark.
He laughed at her saucer eyes, moving closer up the pristine leather. 'We can tick the box for the bed being in working order, can't we, but what about this sofa?'
His coffee-hot mouth was upon hers again; his hands worked at removing her underwear while the sofa creaked soft protests at their grappling. Soon enough, Mr Gregg had his trainee on her stomach, hanging on to the arm, while he clasped her under her ribcage, pulled her up to her knees and entered her from behind.
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This position was quite new to Lynnie, who was used to doing it as quietly and quickly as possible in the upstairs bedrooms of family homes, but even the novelty of this paled beside Mr Gregg's next move.
He pulled apart the cheeks of her bottom and plunged a thumb directly into her unsuspecting anus.
Lynnie screamed and wiggled her hips furiously, desperate to dislodge him from his unwelcome excavations. 'What are you DOING?' she yelled, close to tears, when he didn't immediately desist.
'Don't you like it, Lynnie? Lots of girls do.'
'It's . . . ugh . . . it's WRONG! Stop it!'
Mr Gregg sighed and popped his thumb out of the tight little hole. 'I'm disappointed in you. I thought you were more open-minded than that,' he said, still pumping away at her more conventional orifice.
'I am open-minded!' protested Lynnie, mortified and on the verge of crying, wanting nothing more than to run and hide in the state-of-the-art shower cubicle. 'I just don't see why any woman would want to do . . . THAT.'
Mr Gregg moved his fingers down to Lynnie's clitoris, giving it a desultory flick. 'Sadly, neither does my wife.'
For the second time, Lynnie screamed. 'Your what? You BASTARD! Get OFF me!'
Mr Gregg tried to persuade her that she was his wife in name only, that he was preparing to leave as soon as the children were in college, that she was a cold fish who resented him, but Lynnie stood firm and he reluctantly withdrew.
As did she. From Mr Gregg and his estate agency.
Then she had met Mr Ross, fallen in love, got married, had children, and the whole débâcle had been forgotten. Until now.
The cream in her coffee swirled like a flashback sequence in an old film, taking her back to those elusive seconds on the show-home leather.
Why did he do it? Were there really women who enjoyed it? Was she one? And, most importantly and frustratingly of all, How had it felt?