This is the companion story to Never The Same. Same characters, different roles.
You hear the door closing as your girlfriend leaves. You have a special reason for being relieved that she decided to go out this evening, to some curiously unspecified destination for some equally unspecified purpose. You had wondered if you would have to make some excuse, to be forced to cancel the appointment you so uncharacteristically made only the night before.
The doorbell rings and you spring up to answer it. It is her, the other woman, standing on the doorstep. She is dressed in a fashionable raincoat in some muted colour, buttoned tightly at the throat against the coolness of the darkening September evening. Her long blonde hair is carefully tousled and cascades down her back.
"I wasn't sure you would come," you say, and you wonder why you did decide to accept the invitation to meet here this evening.
She steps into the apartment, steps very close to you, not quite touching. Her scent is intoxicating, her warmth is palpable, even after being outside in the dusk.
"You need not have worried," she breathes softly, invitingly, in your ear, "We will not be interrupted tonight."
She is towing a small overnight bag on wheels which turns out to be surprisingly heavy when you politely take it from her. As you put the case to one side and close the door, you wonder how she can possibly be so sure that your girlfriend will be absent this evening.
You turn back and watch her as she strides across the room, looking around with what you take to be a degree of approval. Your apartment is spacious and understated, formed from the top floor of an old warehouse building not far from the centre of the city, and expensively and tastefully renovated by the previous owners. You haven't got around to changing the decor very much, although you secretly rather like the exposed ancient brickwork and the painted iron girders adorned with rivets.
She stops in the centre of the polished wooden floor and puts her hands to her throat. As you watch, her hands move again and the coat drops to the floor. She is magnificent: a woman in her mid-thirties, a few years older than you, and undoubtedly high-maintenance, a woman with the time and money and inclination to keep her skin and muscles and hair and face, her whole body quite perfect.
In a moment of clarity, you realise why she keeps herself in such tip-top condition: she likes sex, lots of it, and wants always to be admired and appreciated and wanted by the men around her. You realise that you want her, and you feel the beginnings of an erection that tightens as you notice against the blues jeans you are wearing.
Under the coat, she is wearing only lingerie: stockings with suspenders, shoes with four-inch heels, a lacy black bra which supports her perfectly-formed breasts without covering more than a tiny fraction of them. She wears, you notice immediately, no knickers. Around her neck, previously concealed by the turned-up collar of the overcoat, she wears a wide black leather collar, studded with what could quite possibly be diamonds and fitted with a polished silver ring. From the ring hangs a long leather lead, the kind that might have been used to control a large and potentially dangerous animal; it hangs down between her legs, the woven leather of the handle between her thighs.
Without taking her eyes off your face, she reaches down, slides her hand over her flat belly and her toned thigh, then picks up the handle with a roll of her fingertips. Then she hands you the lead which, stunned, you take in your left hand.
"I am here for you pleasure and your pleasure alone," she whispers, once again standing close to you, "You must bend me, bind me, beat me as you wish, take me in whatever way you need, to fulfil those desires you have for so long held back."
And you suddenly remember why you decided to embark on this adventure, this evening, with this older woman you barely know.
Your live-in girlfriend - not wife, maybe never wife - knows only one way to be satisfied sexually, to come. You have learned, over the years you have been together, to pleasure her with your tongue, licking the soft folds of her lips and the neat stub of her clit until she reaches orgasm, crying out the same words, the same gasps, night after night.
When she is finished, when she is panting and limp from the spasms of her pleasure, then and only then do you take your own pleasure from her, making her kneel, holding her by waist and thigh, pulling her over your cock until you come inside her. Sometimes you think the girlfriend may already be asleep by the time you ejaculate within her. Sometimes you can barely keep an erection for long enough to do so.
Now, your erection is hard and painful against your belt. This woman obviously knows this, skilfully unfastening belt and zip so that your rigid member practically pops out in her face. Just as she expected, it seems.