Moira stood before the mirror, already very late for work, putting on her pearl earrings, admiring her compact, almost blocky Irish body, her still very erect nipples, her flaming red hair. She had put on her tight black pants from the chair next to the mirror, and had just started to put the string of faux pearls around her neck, when Tony, his wife presumably still sleeping soundly next door, had risen from the bed and approached her stealthily from behind.

He stood behind her, very Italian, hands on her hips, mouth on her neck, hands running up her sides, pressed against her ass, growing hard again already. Already! She had tasted his wife's juices fresh on his cock, kneeling on the kitchen floor, just inside the back door, at six in the morning, Tony, supposedly on his way to work early, grinning down at her instead, guiding her head back and forth, in complete control as always. His shuddering orgasm had left him hard for a good long time as she rode him in the center of the bed, unconscious of the clock, forgetting work, forgetting everything but the rise and fall of her own body, of the mounting pleasure, the pleasure of mounting, the pleasure of riding, the pure joy of another woman's husband first thing in the morning in the middle of the week. Hump day indeed! She had laughed an Irish laugh, head thrown back, and come, his fingers tweaking her nipples hard as the laugh turned into a loud and violent moan.

Had Tony really fucked her again then, returned the favor, mounted her, her legs around his back, still riding the wave of the first orgasm? The man is insatiable. Standing behind her in front of the mirror, he unsnaps, unzips, pulls down her pants, one of her legs unconsciously stepping out as he stands again, his hands pushing gently on her back, leaning her forward, then between her legs, stroking her wet slit, rubbing her juices into her breasts, her hands on either side of the mirror, bracing herself, the necklace dangling from her left hand as he rolls on a new condom and enters her again, his cock hitting the deepest point of her cunt. She gasps, moans again, wiggles her hips, back into his, forcing him deeper, hating each outstroke as he pulls away, wanting him completely, biting her lip and loving each in instroke as he fills her again. Ten, twenty, thirty strokes and she comes again as he spurts inside her, trembling, falling back into his big muscular arms, against his big muscular chest, too weak to move, needing his strength.

Lovingly, Tony takes the necklace from her, puts it around her neck, his cock somehow still inside her as he fastens the clasp, takes the sheer lace bra from the back of the chair, his hands gently on her breasts as he puts it on her, teasing the nipples through the lace. The blouse follows, pale, peach, silk, his skilled fingers fastening each button. He pulls out, the sudden emptiness almost too much to bear, kneels, helps her foot back into the other pants leg, pulls the pants up, over her hips, zipping the zipper, buttoning the button, guiding her feet into her shoes, stroking her ankles, kissing her goodbye gently before slipping away into reality.

Moira shakes herself, remembers work, walks to the corner, waits for the bus. Seated across from a handsome, staring stranger, feeling exhausted, content, freshly fucked, and still in her own mind, naked, she blushes nearly as red as her hair, smiles back, and idly plays with her necklace.