‘Eight-fifteen. The barrier’. The message to his phone.
‘We chatted on the website and I need a helping hand.’
‘Blue coat, white blouse, black skirt’, she typed, ‘see that, you’ve found me.’
‘Just wave your hand and I’ll smile back and see where it all leads.’
He tells her that he’ll be there, nothing ventured, nothing gained.
Just a tube ride, hoax or not? So, curious, he bites.
Her message held such detail, she is spotted straight away,
She smiles and takes him by the hand, her office lies close by.
‘Solicitors. All Legal Work’, the sign above the door,
Marched into her office, doors are double locked behind.
Table in the centre, always large enough to cope,
Her skirt pulled off, her knickers down, Impatient, short of time.
“Fuck me with those fingers, I’m in horny, morning mood.”
He wastes no time and plunges in, her message loud and clear.
The question ‘Is this legal?’ flashes briefly through his mind,
But she just needs her breakfast fix and thrusts against his touch.
Guard dropped for a second, as she giggles with a smile,
Encouraged, he works harder, to a wriggle of her hips.
His fingers now thrust hard and deep, she wills them to succeed,
The beauty she feels gathering suggests he has a chance.
Single-minded? All he’s got? Reasonable demands,
The hidden jewel discovered and the first prize has been won.
A stifled cry, a moan, a sigh, her moment has arrived.
He keeps his promise, carries on and teases out yet more.
Her body dances to the tune his fingers play inside,
Expectations met and more, no sign of stopping yet.
Another crashing wave of joy, “Oh excellent!” she cries,
The wet and burning plumpness is alive and fully charged,
She’s gripped, she squirms, he’s cracked it, made the grade and ticked the box.
“Why, thank you, sir,” she tells him, as he leaves and travels home.
