Acts Of Infidelity - Peter's Perks - Part 1 free porn video

This story was told to me by a reader who, though young in the story, is now a Grandfather several times over.

You might think it an unlikely tale but, having myself been a student at a top University during the eighties, and having been in all-girl shared houses for two years, I know with certainty that encounters of this kind really did take place.

They took place surprisingly often too, with surprising girls and for surprising reasons. And it wasn’t just the men who initiated them by any means.

The girls that I personally know were involved are now married and like me, have adult children. One is a very senior figure in her chosen career; if you are in Britain and watch TV, you will probably have seen her.

I do not condone or condemn the actions or attitudes of any of the characters. They are symptomatic of their time and, as my own sexual history is not beyond reproach, I will refrain from passing either judgement or comment.

I simply offer the story and leave that to you.

*

“That much?” the short, slightly overweight blonde girl asked, a horrified look on her pretty face.

“I’m afraid so,” I replied calmly but firmly, shining my torch into a large hole in the room’s cheap plasterboard wall.

It was just above the skirting, poorly concealed by the large sofa. The girl stared at it, dejected as I continued.

“Look at the amount of damage. It’s as if someone put their foot through the wall, cracked the pipes then tried to cover it up with furniture. The water has run into the floor and the ceiling of the room below. It’ll need a new wall here, new plumbing and maybe a new ceiling below.”

From the worried look on her face, I could tell that not only had she had known that the hole in the wall was there, she knew who had done it too. And it was not her.

What she did not know, was that I too had known the hole was there. I had known for two weeks, but had kept the knowledge to myself, waiting for an opportune moment to ‘discover’ it.

And the final end-of-lease checkout inspection, alone in the house with its last female tenant, was the most opportune time of all, so I had made sure this house was the last on my list for the day.

“There’s minor damage all over the house. It must have been one hell of a party!” I added, unimpressed.

From the look on her face, I had hit the spot with that comment.

“But that’s a huge amount of money,” she protested.

“The deposit will cover some of it,” I interrupted her. “But there will still be a big surcharge.”

“But I haven’t got that much…” she began, then ground to a halt.

“Your friends will have to pay their share too,” I added.

The look on the girl’s face turned from worried to anger; anger that her so-called friends had left her to deal with the final checkout inspection on her own. I could picture them as they left, confidently assuring her that the damage would not be spotted, that all would be okay, and their substantial deposit would be returned in full.

Now, not only would she have to tell her friends that their expected windfall would not be forthcoming, she would also have to get them to stump up a lot more cash.

They would not be happy; some would blame her; others would fail to pay up at all.

I had seen it many times before and could guess how the poor girl was feeling.

“Do you have your chequebook handy?” I asked, rubbing her pretty nose in it mercilessly.

“I haven’t got enough in my account!”

“Well, how much do you have? Can you get your parents to pay?”

Her face a picture of anger, she turned as if going to fetch her chequebook. But as she reached the doorway, she stopped in her tracks, then turned back towards me as if something had just occurred to her.

I raised an eyebrow in silent question.

The girl was very anxious, as if steeling herself to say or do something she found very difficult. Taking a deep breath, she raised her face, but her eyes couldn’t quite meet mine.

There was a rumbling in my tummy as I looked at her troubled expression. Was my plan working yet again?

“I... Um… I heard…” she began, unsure how to proceed.

“What did you hear?” I replied, my voice friendly, trying to make her difficult task as easy as possible.

“Um…” she continued nervously. “Someone told me that you… that you sometimes… um… sometimes come to a special arrangement… over things like this!”

This was a good step forward, but don’t agree too quickly, Pete. Make her work for it. Make her believe it’s all her idea.

“What sort of special arrangement?” I asked as blandly as I could manage.

The girl blushed deeply and fidgeted awkwardly from one shapely leg to the other.

“Um… sort of… if I did something for you… you would deal with the damage… unofficially?”

I paused. It wasn’t enough yet. She had to make the first move; the idea had to come from her.

“What sort of thing do you mean?” I asked.

The blush became even deeper.

“Um… um… something to help you… down there…”

There was no mistaking the way her eyes fell to my groin.

It was indeed working! The first, important step had been taken. But had she committed herself enough yet? In her mind, had she done enough to imprint on her memory that the suggestion had come from her, not from me?

Better play safe and feign ignorance a little longer.

“Who told you that?” I asked, my words not suggesting either admission or denial.

“My friend Susie,” she replied. “She lived here last year.”

I paused for a moment as if trying to remember, but it was all for show. I remembered Susie very well indeed.

“What did she tell you?”

The girl was still fidgeting but having posed the question, seemed a little more confident and in control of herself.

“She said you had let them off the damage they had caused.”

“Why would I have done that?” I asked, disingenuously. “It can take hours to fix and cost hundreds of pounds.”

I could see her desperately trying to avoid using the words that would commit her absolutely. Having got this far, I knew she would probably go through with it, but nevertheless, she still wanted it to be my idea.

This was something I had to hold firm about. I must not suggest it; she had to offer herself.

“Susie said she had…” I could see the agony on her pretty face as she forced out the words. “That she had given you… um… had sex… with her mouth and in return...”

Her words faded but having used the words sex and mouth, she had said enough.

“And in return, I had turned a blind eye and signed off the lease?” I finished her sentence for her. “She told you that had happened?”

The girl nodded.

“And you thought I might ignore all this damage here if you did the same?”

She blushed pink and nodded again.

“Well that’s a turn-up,” I exclaimed as if astonished to have been asked. “I’m amazed. I’m genuinely flattered, don’t get me wrong.”

The look of embarrassed horror on the girl’s face was a picture, and exactly what I had hoped to see.

“Do you often do that kind of thing with strangers?” I asked.

“No!” she exclaimed, a look of shock and horror on her face.

“No, of course, you don’t,” I apologised. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

“Ye...es,” she replied, surprised.

“And do you give him blowjobs?”

I used the coarse word deliberately, partly to see how she reacted. She blushed, looked away and nodded.

“Sometimes.”

“Are you good at them?”

“He says I am.”

“And you’d be willing to give me one if it made all this trouble go away?”

She looked up at me, frowning and nodded again. I pretended to mull the idea over for a minute. I could see her fidgeting awkwardly in embarrassment.

“I’m deeply flattered, but I’m married, Ellie,” I began.

“Ella,” she corrected me instinctively.

“Ella,” I corrected myself. “And even if I was interested, there’s much more damage here than when your friend checked out. Maybe best part of a thousand pounds if we need a new ceiling,” I lied.

The look of desperation on her face showed I was on the right track.

“There’s a Landlord’s Inspection tomorrow too,” I went on. “The ceiling could wait, but the rest would have to be done before then. I might have to work all night to fix it and tonight’s our wedding anniversary.

“I’m on a promise from my wife, and with three kids, those promises are rare.”

This time it was the girl’s turn to look puzzled, but she was bright and my meaning soon dawned on her. She blushed yet again.

“Don’t be embarrassed, you’re incredibly sexy and I’d love to take you up on your offer, but if I miss my chance tonight, I might not get any action in bed for months.”

I looked into her worried face, making sure my own deep brown eyes were fixed on hers.

“Besides, I’m sorry to be crude Ella, but I’m hardly going to swap a whole night working in this place for a five-minute blowjob, however pretty you are and however good a cocksucker you might be.”

Again, my use of the crude word was deliberate, upping the sexual stakes. A look of anguish and consternation crossed her young face as I carried on.

“It’s best I just write up the damage. You can give me a cheque – if you’ve got your banker's card – and be on your way. You’ll just have to tell your friends about losing the deposit and the surcharge.” I drew a deep breath. “But depending on what the Landlord finds tomorrow, it’s going to run well into four figures.”

“No please!” she begged, getting really upset now. “There’s no way I can pay that much.”

“Get your friends to pay their share. Or the kid that did the damage; that sounds best to me.”

I could see the difficulty of this going over and over in her mind. As I knew only too well, once they had left both the shared house and University behind, getting former housemates not only to forego the return of their hefty deposits, but to cough up extra for repairs, was a near impossibility.

“Hmmm. It won’t look great if you want to use us as a reference for your next place either, I’m afraid,” I pondered, hoping to tip her over the edge and make the offer I really wanted. “You might have trouble getting another landlord to accept you.”

I could see the wheels in her mind whirring. It took only a couple of minutes for her to realise that there was only one option left, other than to face the music and pay up. And even then, I could see she wasn’t at all sure how to make that terrible suggestion, or how it might be received. After all, I had just turned down oral sex with her.

I took pity and tried to help put her out of her misery.

“I’m sorry. I’d like to help, really I would. Like I said, you’re a very sexy girl and I’m sure you do give great blowjobs, but if I let my wife down tonight, I don’t know when I might get another chance to… to relieve my frustrations properly.”

There was a long pause before she made her move, and when she did, it was as awkward and uneasy as I had ever seen. The girl moved closer, touched me lightly on the forearm, then looked up into my eyes.

“What if... what if I helped you relieve your frustrations instead?”

I frowned as if puzzled, pretending not to understand what she meant.

“What do you mean?” I asked disingenuously.

“What… um… what if you relieved your frustrations with me here, in case your wife takes it badly?”

I paused as if working it out.

“You mean… not just a blowjob? You mean going all the way? Like, full-on sex?”

She blushed the deepest red yet, but still nodded.

“Here and now?” I asked as if in disbelief.

Another awkward nod.

“And if we did, you’d expect me to sign off the handover and fix everything before tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“So, you and your friends would get all their deposit money back?”

She nodded again.

“Please! Please say yes!”

She was actually begging me. This was better than I had imagined possible. With a loud sigh, I looked ostentatiously first at my watch, then at her, as if weighing up a difficult decision.

I left one last pause for effect before giving her the reply she needed to hear.

“Okay, but I haven’t got much time. Get your knickers off, quickly!”

*

There were few perks of being a property agent in the nineteen eighties but having the chance to fuck young female students from time to time was by far the best. In all the years I was in the business, very few passed without my cock finding its wicked way into at least one upper-middle-class cunt.

And none of them were sluts or slappers. At least they weren’t before they met me.

In those days, the city of Bristol and its educational institutions were little different from what they are now; havens for the spoilt, entitled offspring of Britain’s top doctors, lawyers and rich businessmen, whether at the prestigious University or what was then the well-thought-of Polytechnic.

More than half of these offsprings were female; many of them aspiring IT Girls; West London Sloane Ranger types with long, expensively coiffed hair, slim figures and posh, private school accents, spending Daddy’s money getting an education – or at least trying to look as if they were.

Not being from that section of society myself, the really posh totty was simply out of my class. It was the wannabe girls that made the richest pickings for me. Those were the girls I looked for. Every one of them had a soft, sweet pussy, and a small but significant proportion of those posh pussies could be made available to a good-looking young man, married or not, if he knew what buttons to press, and when and how to press them.

I took care always to be that man; always clean, always dressed to show off the slim, muscular figure I had in those days; always polite but ready to respond in kind to the slightest hint of flirtation that came my way.

In short, I tried always to be the kind of fit, strong, horny-handed, blue-collared, good-looking ‘bit of rough’ that all nice girls fantasise about. Many of them would like to experience in the flesh him too - if it could be done in safety and secrecy of course.

A man like that could never be introduced to parents, let alone become a boyfriend.

But I’m going too fast.

Back in the days of Thatcher’s Britain, money was all-important, and it didn’t matter too much how you came by it. Property prices were booming, as was the student population and professionally built University accommodation of the kind we now see in abundance, was rare.

Students had to fight for the few flats and houses that were available and as a result, the opportunities for unscrupulous landlords and their agents were plentiful.

In Bristol, students used to have to group together and rent flats or houses from private landlords in the city. There were always too many students and too few nice places for them to stay, so groups would form very early on in the year and start looking.

Most of those groups were single-sex; in those days, landlords tried not to rent to mixed groups. Too many couples fell out and broke up, followed by troublesome and costly mid-lease changes in tenancies.

Sometimes the groups would go to agencies, often they would try and make friends with older students in their final year in the hope of taking over their accommodation when they moved on.

My role was to help this happen. The company I was working for when this story starts, was a small agency specialising in student accommodation. We rented out properties in the Clifton and Redland areas of the city. These were nicer areas where the more affluent students preferred and could afford to live, but we also had more bargain basement accommodation across the river in places like Bedminster, which in those days was very far from the relatively trendy, alternative place it is now.

We had a number of private landlords on our books with perhaps eighty properties in total. We only rented to girls in the mistaken belief that they were less trouble, had fewer parties and caused less damage.

Of course, a policy like this would not be allowed these days, but in the eighties, things were different.

Part of my job was manning the shop so that kids could walk in off the street; other parts involved showing potential tenants around properties and, once all the properties had been let for the year, visiting them routinely to perform basic maintenance and to make sure all was well.

This, of course, allowed plenty of time for me to assess the standard of female students in each place in terms of attractiveness and, most importantly, potential availability come year end.

The job came with an attractive, dark blue polo shirt for a uniform which I wore with tight jeans. Just over six feet tall, in those days I played competitive football – soccer to any American readers – so was slim and fit with a good physique.

I spent a good few hours each week in the club’s weight room too and I have to say, I looked pretty bloody good with my short dark hair and very dark brown eyes.

My wife describes them as ‘come to bed’ eyes and says that, along with my soft local accent, they were the thing that had attracted her to me most.

A word about my wife Nicky. She and I met when we were at school, and we have been together ever since. She was only fourteen years old and already pretty when we first met and only sixteen when we got together as a couple, by which time, her curvy figure and full breasts were turning heads all over the city.

I was a couple of years older than her, and thought I was the luckiest boy in Bristol when she agreed to go out with me. My friends told me so every time they saw us together.

And I really was the luckiest boy in Britain when I took her virginity a year or so later.

My own cherry was long gone, so I had a bit more experience that wonderful Saturday afternoon on her parents’ double bed. That experience paid off big-time. Nicky was as tight as a clam around my cock and screamed the house down when I finally broke through her hymen, plunging into her pussy for the first time.

She came that very first fuck too.

In those days, it was a lot harder to get into a girl’s knickers for the first time than it is today. Reputations were more important and the consequences of mistakes were much harder to rectify. But like so many girls at the time, once that barrier had been breached, her virginity was gone and she knew what a real orgasm felt like, Nicky changed completely.

From the sweet, innocent virgin she had been before, she became a slut.

No, that’s not the right word; only I had access to her body then and as far as I know, even now Nicky has still never had sex with anyone but me, but she became about as keen on sex as a girl could be without being thought a slut.

From that day onwards, we were at it like rabbits. Wherever and whenever there was even half an opportunity to fuck, her knickers and my trousers would be down and there I would be, between her thighs, humping away.

In those days, the pill was only available on prescription and her doctor was a family friend so, despite our Catholic backgrounds, we had to make do with condoms bought in pub toilets.

Of course, there were plenty of times when the urge was on us and we had no rubber protection to hand. On those occasions, a prayer to St Mary and crossed fingers had to suffice. And poor St Mary had plenty of work to do; I can count on one hand the number of times we refrained from fucking because of the risk Nicky might get knocked up, but we were so in lust that we felt invincible and for a long time, we were lucky.

As you can probably guess, I was never a very academic child; practical subjects were more my forte, but I struggled through the more mathematical aspects of courses in plumbing, joinery and electricals before landing myself a job with a local builder. It was mostly labouring at first, but I was still living at home and it brought in enough money to keep myself in beer and to spoil my gorgeous girlfriend.

By now, our sex life had become much more adventurous. Although we were both still living with our respective parents, when we did get together, we were much less constrained, exploring the more imaginative sides of our desires more and more.

Before long, Nicky’s blowjobs could blow my mind not just my cock, and I grew to love the taste of her slit, her clit and even her anus though she did pull out handfuls of my hair every time I ate her out. We fucked in her room, in mine, in my car, on the Downs and on the beach at Weston. We even once masturbated each other on the famous suspension bridge.

Then our luck ran out and the inevitable happened: I got her pregnant just before her nineteenth birthday.

It was made clear by all four of our Catholic parents that we needed to get married, we were very much in love anyway, so that’s what we did.

Nicky looked more beautiful than ever at the wedding. Her baby bump is just visible in some of the photos, as is her father’s shotgun (joke). For Catholics, being a bride at nineteen wasn’t that unusual in those days, and early marriages were in the family anyway; both her mother and mine had given birth by the age of twenty.

Our first child, a daughter, was born the following November. We moved into a flat on the wrong side of the river and for a while were blissfully happy – well, as happy as a nineteen and a just-twenty-one-year-old can be in a tiny apartment with a baby crying all the time.

Needless to say, our sex life took a sudden turn for the worse.

Fortunately, at work, things began to improve. I was moved onto more significant tasks which not only recognised my qualifications, they also brought in more money; enough to cover most of the bills. Nicky’s job in a local supermarket paid the rest.

Then, despite a much-reduced sex life, I knocked her up again when she was twenty, and for a third time at twenty-one. All three were accidental, but the result was the same. By the time I was twenty-three, I was responsible for a family of five and our copulations had come to almost a complete stop.

With so many of us living in a small flat, the pressures and stresses were enormous, and, with Nicky no longer able to work even part-time, so was the need to earn more money.

Fortunately, around this time, I was approached by the Letting Agent I was working for when this story started. With a relatively large portfolio of properties, they needed someone permanently on their books who could do most of the ongoing maintenance on their properties. Thanks to my broad range of skills, one of the local landlords we used to do more substantial building work for had recommended me.

The wages were considerably higher too, so I grabbed the opportunity with both hands. My builder Boss was furious, but as a goodly portion of his income came from this landlord, he just had to shut up and lump it and a month later, I donned the uniform of the Letting Agent and started out in the world of property rental.

The business was to provide for us in so many ways, for the rest of my career.

I have to say, I enjoyed the work from the start. I had a great deal of independence, got to travel the city, and could use the skills for which I had trained on a daily basis.

Visiting stuck-up students wasn’t my favourite activity; some of them saw me more as a servant or part of the furniture, but I quickly learned how to ignore them and do what I enjoyed doing best – well, second best.

Soon Nicky, the kids and I could afford to move into a small house rather than the tiny flat, my new Boss advising us how to negotiate a great deal with our new landlord.

As the kids grew older and we grew more experienced, Nicky and I began to re-establish our sexual relationship again, albeit at a much lower level than before. She had torn during childbirth and, with my cock being so big, she now found all but the missionary position to be too painful.

Fortunately, I could still make her cum in that position and did so as often as I was allowed.

She did try to please me, though; sometimes she would just bite her lip, ignore the pain and let me enter her hard from behind, but seeing the look of discomfort on her face in the bedroom mirror as I fucked her on her knees, made these occasions rare.

Her interest in oral sex reduced too. I could still make her cum on the few occasions she still let me eat her out, but childbirth had made her much more self-conscious ‘down there’ and these orgasms were becoming rarer. And although her blowjobs were still world-class, the gaps between them could now be measured in months rather than days or weeks.

With each baby, her weight increased, and her libido decreased, until by the time I was twenty-eight, though we both still loved each other, we had settled into one half-hearted sexual encounter a month at best.

At worst, weeks would pass with nothing sexual between us at all, and I lived my life in a constant state of frustration which no amount of masturbation could relieve.

Being a good-looking, if perhaps rather conceited young man, there was no shortage of women in the city who would have been prepared – even eager to help relieve my sexual frustration. But I loved my wife and besides, the city was too small a world for a passionate affair such as they and I would have wanted, to remain secret for long.

Fortunately for me, fate decided to intervene and provided me with an unexpected, safer alternative.

*

It all began with Fiona. I never did find out her last name. I suppose I could have looked it up in the paperwork but, given our entire affair lasted less than fifty minutes, it didn’t really matter.

I’m not sure she ever knew my name at all. She certainly never asked, but it was Fiona that set me off on the path I have pursued for most of my professional life.

I remember the Friday morning it all began. I had been at work early, fixing a hot water boiler in a Redland flat before the student tenants got up. Given the amount of sleep students need, I had plenty of time, but I needed to be back in the office before eleven o’clock to cover for my colleague who had a doctor’s appointment.

I did not usually man the office; in those days my role was mostly maintenance. My Bristol accent was quite strong and my manner with potential tenants was perhaps a little too brusque for some clients, but it made a nice change for me and I was looking forward to it.

Fiona came through the door just before noon. I had noticed her looking at pictures of properties in the window before mounting the three steps and entering the room.

I think it was her confidence that I noticed first. In those days, most female students were rather shy and diffident, but Fiona strode straight into the shop and right up to where I was sitting.

It would not be acceptable today, but like most young men in the eighties, I wasn’t afraid to give her a good looking over and for her to know I was doing it. A skinny brunette, I gave her six out of ten at best. She wasn’t particularly pretty, her chest was flat and her skin was pale, but she had long, slim legs that her shiny leggings and heels showed off to impressive effect.

“I’m due to look round the house on Manor Road,” she said in a Liverpool accent hard enough to scratch a windowpane.

I knew the house well. It was one of our very best student lets; a Georgian end terrace with five good-sized bedrooms that had been on our books for some years. It had a large kitchen and even a lounge. I would have called that a sixth bedroom and tried to up the rent, but the owner preferred to keep the quality high and attract better tenants, and would only rent to girls in the naïve belief that they would look after the place better.

Parts of it had seen better days, but I was – and still am – conscientious about maintenance, so all was in good order. So much so that it was always in great demand, usually passed on from year to year based on recommendations from previous girls, and always had a long waiting list in case any group dropped out at the last minute.

The fact that a viewing was planned was a surprise. My colleague hadn’t mentioned any visits that afternoon. I frowned then looked up at the arrival.

“You’re Fiona?” I asked.

She nodded. “Right!”

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting any viewings today.”

“It should be in the book. He told me he’d put it in.”

“Who told you?”

“Don’t know her name. An older woman; chubby, short hair, lots of beads, sour face.”

I smiled inwardly. She was describing the owner’s wife perfectly.

“Let me see.”

I looked in the large appointment diary open on the desk. Sure enough, there in pencil was a note:

’12:00 - 25 Manor Road - x5 – Fiona – possible reserve.’

“It says five of you. Are you all coming round?”

“Just me,” she smiled. “I wanted to see the place for myself. The others have already been.”

I fumbled in a filing cabinet for the property details and pulled out a handwritten sheet torn from a reporter’s pad.

“You do know there’s a waiting list?”

“Yeah! Of course. We’re on it.”

“Is it in your name? I can’t see a Fiona.”

“How about Claire? Claire Robinson?”

I looked again.

“Okay, I’ve found your group. But you know you’re only fifth on the waiting list?

“That far down?” she asked, disappointedly.

“It’s a very popular place. And there’s a real shortage of good places.”

She sighed.

“Don’t I know it. Look, can I see it anyway? If it’s as good as the girls say, I might have some ideas.”

For a moment, I wondered what she meant by that, but when no more information appeared, I looked up at the clock on the wall. I wasn’t supposed to leave the office unmanned, but it was lunchtime, the day had been quiet, and it was unlikely that half an hour of absence would make much difference.

“Okay! My car’s’ outside,” I smiled.

*

It took ten minutes to drive from the office to the house. It would have been less if the roads hadn’t been blocked by badly parked cars, but that was all part of Bristol’s dubious attraction.

On the way, Fiona chatted pleasantly, her accent became stronger and stronger as she relaxed. Within minutes, I learned that she was in her second year of study at the city’s Polytechnic, that the four other girls she was planning to share with had known each other since their first year, and that although she was very much a latecomer to the group, she had promised to secure them a good place to live in their final year.

She clearly wanted to perform well for her new friends.

The house looked like all others in the street, apart from the untidy garden. The rest of the row were pristine. I made a mental note to deal with it the next week then rang the front doorbell to warn any residents within and let the two of us inside.

“Wow!”

Fiona was impressed from the start and should have been; this was one of the smartest student houses in one of the nicest parts of the city. Not quite up to Clifton trendiness, but better accommodation at a much better price.

I took her on a tour of the lounge, kitchen and garden before leading her upstairs to the first three bedrooms and bathroom. The rooms were large, light, well decorated and fairly tidy. There were a few items of underwear scattered across the carpets but nothing to worry about.

Another flight of stairs brought us to the two remaining bedrooms and the shower room. There were equally well looked after. As we descended the stairs I could tell Fiona was very impressed and wasn’t at all surprised when, on returning to the kitchen, she started trying to negotiate.

“Where did you say we were on the list?”

I looked at the file in my hand.

“Fifth, I’m afraid.”

She pulled a face.

“Has everyone else seen the place?”

“I’m not sure. Most know it already so don’t bother.”

“Have they offered a deposit up front? We can offer a big one.”

“We can’t accept deposits unless we have a contract,” I replied, amused.

The girl thought for a moment, then turned to me with a strange expression on her face.

“How about if we offered a special deposit. A personal one for you… Would twenty quid persuade you to get out your pencil and move us to the top of the last?”

This sum was not trivial – it was in the early eighties after all. It was not the first time I had been offered a bribe to give preferential treatment to a potential tenant. Last time, the amount mentioned was much higher and I had still rejected it.

The look on my face must have given away my lack of interest.

“How about fifty then?”

“Fiona please…”

“A hundred then, but that’s as much as we agreed.”

I looked at her puzzled.

“You talked about bribing me before you came? You agreed how far you could go?”

She looked shame faced; caught out in her and her friends’ scheming.

“And that’s the real reason you wanted to come round today?”

She nodded.

“Listen, Fiona, taking a bribe is more than my job’s worth. I appreciate how hard it is to get any half-decent accommodation, let alone a place as nice as this, but I can’t take money just to play about with the waiting lists. You’ll just have to wait and hope the others fall through. They often do.”

I had turned towards the door as if making to leave when she called me back.

“What if I giv’yer a gobble too?”

Her accent was at its strongest so it took a few seconds for me to understand what she meant, and even then I thought I must have misunderstood. The look I gave her must have been gormless in the extreme because she laughed at me and repeated herself slowly.

“I said, what if I give you a gobble? Will that move us to the top of the list?”

“You mean…?” I stammered, unable to believe my ears.

“You want me to say it slowly?” she frowned. “I’m offering to suck you off, here and now, if you put us first on the list for this house next year.”

This offer had come right out of the left field and for a moment, left me completely stunned. Nothing like this had ever happened to me before. As far as I knew, girls had to be wooed, seduced, cajoled or persuaded into doing anything sexual.

No girl had ever offered me any form of sex as a transaction before. In my limited experience, only prostitutes did this – but this girl was, very obviously, not a prostitute.

She must have misunderstood my hesitation because she sighed heavily.

“Okay. If you do the offer letter today, you can fuck me too. But it’s my final offer, and I want to see the letter first, right?”

“Are you serious?”

“Deadly!”

*

If sex with my wife Nicky hadn’t been so infrequent and unsatisfactory, the rest of my life might have been different. If I had been getting my end away as regularly then as I had been before the kids arrived, the prospect of a bit of Posh Totty might not have had such an appeal.

But my sex life was terrible, Fiona’s legs were long and enticing, and the chances of being discovered so small that any qualms I might have had were quickly overcome.

We drove back to the office in silence, both of us nervous, my eyes straying constantly from the road to her skinny, shiny-covered thighs and back. I parked the car, opened the back door with my key, leaving the door to the street locked and the ‘Closed’ sign in place.

“Through here!” I hissed, leading her through to the kitchen area.

“Letter first!” Fiona insisted, a nervous smile on her face.

“Okay!”

Returning to the front office and ignoring any faces that looked through the display window, I quickly located the master tenancy offer letter from the cabinet and began to fill in the lead tenant’s details from the waiting list in my file.

A minute or two later, I had signed it, dated it, photocopied it, changed the order of documents in the file to cover my amendment, and was back in the kitchen to show it to Fiona as proof.

I still could not quite believe it was happening; surely it was just some student prank; surely the joke, whatever it was, would soon be obvious and I would be a laughingstock.

But no. As I entered the kitchen, I found the girl had already removed her heels, her shiny leggings and jacket, and was standing there bare-legged in her panties and T-shirt. Silently, I handed her the top copy of the confirmation letter. She thanked me, read it, smiled broadly, then without another word, dropped to her knees and began to unbuckle my belt.

I took a deep breath, not quite able to believe what was happening as my belt was opened, my zip lowered, and my trousers slipped down to my knees, revealing a large and growing bulge in my exposed pants.

“You’ve done this before,” I observed with a smile as her hand cupped my firming cock.

She said nothing but looked up. Our eyes met. There was a nervous twinkle in hers, I suspect baffled excitement in mine but a moment later, my underpants had joined my trousers at knee level and my imprisoned cock had been given its freedom.

Many years, and more than as many girls later, I now know that my cock is on the large side; not porn-star huge, but generously proportioned, especially in its thickness. How experienced Fiona really was I will never know, but the look of shock on her face when my erection sprang up only inches from it is one I will cherish forever.

I could see that, for a moment at least, she was taken aback, but to give her credit, she never looked like backing out of our deal. Indeed, as she took my shaft in her hand and began to lick its rough underside, a determined expression appeared on her features.

The blowjob she delivered was nowhere near the best I have ever had, but it was good enough and, being the first illicit sexual act that I had undertaken since my marriage, has remained imprinted on my mind ever since.

Fiona licked, sucked and nibbled my erect cock, running her fist up and down its shaft and her tongue over its smooth, swollen end like a pro. Deep throating was not on her menu, and I could have done with a lot more eye contact, but it still felt amazingly good.

The girl might not have experienced many cocks, but she had clearly given those she had known, plenty of attention.

I could have spent a good half hour with my cock in her mouth, but eventually, Fiona decided that it was time to move on, slowly released me and rose to her feet. As her face became more level with mine, I could see from her expression that I wasn’t the only one her ministrations had massively affected.

Her eyes sparkled and her body simply exuded arousal. She backed away until her buttocks were pressed against the edge of the kitchen table, her eyes fixed on mine all the time. I followed eagerly but clumsily, my knees tied together by my trousers, keeping as close to her as I could until our mouths were only inches apart.

Then we kissed, falling on each other; lips immediately open, tongues thrust violently into each other’s mouths as our teeth clashed. Her hand dropped to my naked cock and began to pump it. In return, my fingers slid inside the back of her knickers, grabbed her skinny buttocks and pulled her towards me.

There was no love or emotion in it; this was sex; raw sex, pure and simple. As her hands worked up and down my shaft, my fingers plunged the length of her cleft until they found the base of her slit from behind and worked their way into it. She gasped and I felt her grip on my tighten.

I began to finger her, pressing her body against my groin but the angle was awkward and my actions clumsy. Abandoning the idea, I slipped my hand from her buttocks to the tangle of fur between her upper thighs.

Long before girls began to trim or even shave themselves down there, it was long and wiry and wrapped itself tightly around my fingertips as I began to roughly explore her slit.

She was wet when I started and soaking wet by the time I pushed her back onto the kitchen table and roughly pulled her knickers down her long, skinny legs. Throwing them into the corner of the room. I spread her unresisting thighs wide and moved in for the kill, rubbing the head of my cock up and down her crease until I had parted her fleshy inner lips and found what I was looking for; her entrance.

My fingers must have done their work well, because neither she nor her well-lubricated pussy offered any form of resistance as I thrust my cock deep into her pussy. Instead, she opened her legs wider, threw her head back, and let me take her.

Within a handful of strokes, I had bottomed out inside her, my own dark, curly patch grinding hard against hers, her deep, dark passage so much tighter than my wife’s had ever been, that for a moment, it took my breath away.

And then I began to fuck her. It was crude, it was passionate, it was still almost impossible to believe, but it really happened.

There, on the office kitchen table, surrounded by half-washed teacups, plates, coats, stacks of paper and used lunchboxes, the girl I only ever knew as Fiona, bought herself and her friends a year in one of the best student properties in Bristol, and I embarked on what was to become more than two decades of occasional infidelity.

My sex life having been exclusively with Nicky for so long, the feel of another woman’s body around me was a very pleasant surprise. Fiona was so much tighter, so much deeper and the angle of penetration so different from anything my wife and I had done in years, that I had to fight not to cum straight away.

But fight I did, counting backwards from twenty and picturing ugly politicians in my mind, until I had brought my arousal under some kind of control. From there on it was pure sexual bliss. Fiona lay back on her elbows, her head rising and falling as I thrust in and out of her pussy in as long, rhythmic strokes as I could manage.

Dirty wet slapping sounds and a powerful aroma of sex emanated from our joined loins as her lubrication began to flow in earnest. Her legs wrapped themselves around my back as if to prevent my premature escape; a moment later my arms were underneath her knees, raising them, parting them until I had free, unimpeded access to her body.

The soft sounds of pleasure that had been coming from her open mouth became gasps and squeals as her own arousal rose to meet mine, then merged into a long, high pitched wail. I fucked her harder, pulling her body onto my cock as I thrust my hips forward and back like a man possessed.

Her wails became louder then, as my thrusting reached its rapid, erratic peak and I felt my climax rushing in me, were cut off altogether in a silent scream as, with a series of hard, animal-like grunts and moans, I began to cum hard too.

Burning rods of fire flowed from the base of my cock, up my spine and down the inside of both thighs as my climax robbed me of breath and my body began to empty itself into the girl’s pulsating, welcoming body.

It was amazing, bewildering, long-lasting and deeply satisfying, my cock throbbing and pulsing within the girl’s tight, wet, wonderful cunt.

It was also completely unprotected, as was most sex in the eighties, when AIDS was all but unknown and birth control was definitely something for the girl to worry about.

We were both awkward and embarrassed afterwards, and almost by agreement, spent as little time together as decency would allow. There seemed to be no tissues in the office, so Fiona had to wipe up the considerable mess with kitchen paper while I pulled up my pants and trousers and retrieved her knickers from the corner of the room.

I offered her a coffee or even a stronger drink while she straightened her hair and pulled on her shiny leggings, but she politely declined. A few minutes later, she left the office, a white envelope containing the prized tenancy confirmation in her handbag.

I watched her as she walked slightly stiffly down the street, then turned the corner and disappeared out of sight. I sighed, made myself a coffee and began to think how I could explain to the group of girls who had been at the top of the waiting list that they would not, after all, be living in the student house of their dreams.

As I stood in the kitchen waiting for the kettle to boil, my eyes were inevitably drawn to the table where my first act of infidelity had just taken place.

In my trousers was a partly erect, sticky, slightly sore cock.

On my face was a broad smile.