It is about half seven, Saturday evening, and I am lying on my blue sofa idly watching television when the buzzer for the outside door sounds jolting me out of my lethargy.

It'll be Claire, I think and instantly a tingle of excitement passes through me.

I get up and press the door release outside my kitchen. Through the intercom I hear her enter the hallway two storeys down. I then click up the latch on my front door and wait for her to ascend the two long flights of stairs.

I swing open the door as she reaches the landing and she is a treat, a real treat: knee length felt black bootees, black tights, short black skirt and a black lace Basque with pink embroidery that barely covers her sexy midriff. She reminds me of a call girl -- great!

"Hi Matt," she greets me in her lyrical Liverpudlian accent.

"Hi Claire, you look fantastic, hope you aren't too cold?"

"Na, the car is only just outside."

We embrace briefly and start to head for my flat when I stop -- I have an idea.

"Stay there for just one minute."

I rush into my lounge fetch my camera and then quickly return.

"You look so good I just want to get some pictures of you."

"Okay, where do you want me to stand?"

She's a vain woman -- blonde shoulder length hair, blue eyed and looks quite a bit like Gaby Roslin or maybe even Jodie Foster - and laps up the attention.

I have her pose in front of the wide landing window which during the day affords a beautiful panoramic view of the pier and channel beyond.

I take two shots of her: one of her with me in a standing position directly opposite her and the other taken from me kneeling looking up at her. I also hope I am close enough to capture one of the beguiling little moles on her tummy provocatively exposed by the brevity of her Basque.

The 'photo-shoot' done, I beckon her into my modest abode, place the camera on my table and then click the electric kettle on out of habit.

I place my hands around her trim waist and delicately kiss the base of her pale neck whilst wallowing in her intoxicating scent, J'Adore, which I bought her for Christmas...

"Perhaps we could save the tea for later, Matt?"

"Of course."

She takes me by my hand and guides me to my bedroom where she promptly sits on the side of my bed. I then crouch down and gently slip off her boots. Next I beckon her to stand so that I can unclip her skirt which I allow to drop to her ankles before placing it on my bedside table. All the time though I am stroking her bare, pale flesh, kissing her...

I undo her Basque, detach it and render her topless noticing that her normally light brown nipples are dark and engorged. Next, I pull her black tights down to her feet and then remove them completely. I then slip my thumbs into the band of her brief pink knickers, tantalising pause, and then slide them down.

She is totally naked now and I can just detect the musky aroma of her damp cunt, a cunt that is trimmed and neat and probably the nicest I have ever had the pleasure to attend to - and I have seen a few.

"Your turn to strip now," she says and then gets to her feet.

Nude in front of me she unbuttons my shirt, removes it and places in on the pile of her discarded clothes. She teases me by running her soft fingertips across my nipples and smiles when she stops -- I had begun to gasp. She unbuckles my belt and unfastens my jeans -- they drop to the floor and I step out of them. I remove my socks -- I was not wearing shoes when she arrived -- and I am now just in my briefs with my penis straining against the fabric.

"Shall we let the beast out?" she suggests in a provocative tone.

"Yes, I think he needs that."

She pulls my pants down sharply and my cock, too long restrained, springs out.

"Bloody hell Matt, it looks huge, far bigger than normal."

"Well, I haven't actually seen you for a while."

She then manoeuvres herself back onto the bed face up.

I sidle down next to her suck and rub her nipples for a minute before sliding and placing my face between her thighs. She is absolutely, absolutely, soaking and I notice what looks like a pearl at the entrance to her opening -- it is a bubble of fanny juice.

I push my fingers into her cunt and start to lick her clit. She immediately starts to groan. I slowly but surely increase the tempo of running my tongue repeatedly over her pink button whilst all the time savouring the 'nectar' of her cunt juice...

I feel her body suddenly tense and she cries out, "GOD, AH, OOH, stop Matt - I can't take anymore."

She brings her hand down and pushes my head away before slumping onto the covers with the flesh of her flushed chest and breasts covered in a thin film of perspiration.

"Sorry about that Matt, it was just so intense, you've really got it off to a tee."

"My pleasure."

"No Matt, it was my pleasure."

I now mount her gripping her legs within mine and take the weight of my torso upon my elbows. Without prompting she takes my nipples within her fingertips and commences to squeeze and knead them. I begin to thrust hard and fast and I am unconcerned whether she feels discomfort.

An image, a fantasy, of her naked bent over a glass coffee table, her small but shapely tits and nipples pressed against the glass forms in my near fevered and depraved mind. I visualise myself caning her really hard and she is screaming, but to no avail. I see her pale neat tummy with the twin moles also pressed against the glass. Her strong, but quivering, pale buttocks are striped purple with the beating. I raise the cane once more--

And surrender to my powerful orgasm, feel my hot spunk shoot into her cunt...

I open my eyes, disengage and lie down beside her.

"Thank you Claire, that was really good."

"Shall we have that tea now Matt? I could do with one."

"I'll wash my hands and go and stick the kettle on right now."

"I'll have a sluice, get dressed and then join you in a minute. I won't stay too late as my daughter is back first thing. You might want to change your sheets as they are absolutely soaking."

"I'll do that when you're gone -- I want to make the most of the time I'm with you. I don't see you enough as it is."

What I don't tell her is that I won't be changing the linen for a few days as there is nothing I like more than being reminded of her, and what better way of being reminded of a woman than the stains of her juice, the juice I have generated.

As I soap my bollocks in the bathroom I wonder what I am going to do about Kathleen who has been texting me a lot recently, do I really need her when I've got everything, or nearly everything, with Claire?

It's something I need to mull over and make a decision about. The only problem is, every major decision in my life I have made so far has been the wrong fucking decision...