Pauline Orr: The Ultimate Erotic Short Story Collection 18

'Thanks Gran, you're the best,' said Tory kissing her cheek affectionately.

The outfit Tory selected required a degree of consideration. It couldn't be over the top glamorous or she'd look like a high-class hooker. Dressing down would have her appear as a dowdy, overweight, uneducated, young single mum.

She slipped into skin tight black jeans and an oversized men's long white dress shirt. In her leather boots, Tory's reflection in the mirror screamed single, successful and sexy.

Parking her car in a bay that was a substantial walk from the front entrance, she grabbed a trolley to set to work. Operation 'Supermarket Sex' didn't get off to a thrilling start though.

Tory had timed her arrival perfectly. By 9pm the supermarket was free from families and regular shoppers. She'd hoped it'd be full of desperate lonely single people buying microwave meals for one, but grimaced as she concluded that the majority of patrons were youthful exuberant small groups of flat-sharing friends shopping for inexpensive snacks and an abundance of alcohol.

Tory lent on her trolley, wandering aimlessly up and down the aisles. She remembered reading a dating article claiming the products in a trolley spoke volumes about an individual. Faking a healthy, wholesome body conscious façade she lurked round the fresh fruit and vegetable section.

After ninety minutes of examining the ripeness of avocados and perusing the variety of pre-prepared salads, she realised her permanently empty trolley conveyed the presence of a homeless person hoping to find warmth and shelter in the supermarket before the impending ejection to sleep outdoors.

To ease the humiliation, seeing the supermarket's tiny café was shutting she went to get a cup of coffee for a break. After the café closed there'd be no seats left and her high heels were already taking their toll on her heels. Pouting, she sipped her rancid coffee that had been left for hours stewing on a hot plate. It tasted like bracken.

'Not quite Starbucks is it?' aired a voice behind her.

She swung round in her plastic chair. He was dressed in a suit, not tailored but not cheap or mass produced. He had a middle-class aura. Squeezed in the table behind her, he appeared tall and slim. Friendliness was not commonplace in London, leading Tory to perceive his conversational pleasantry as a good sign. In her fifteen years in London, Tory had learnt no Englishman would initiate a conversation with a woman he found unattractive.

Game on.

The best part of originating from 'Down Under' was that Australians were accepted as being unapologetically socially inept, forward, outright and outspoken.

'Mind if I join you,' she asked, sitting opposite him not needing an answer.

He shook his head.

'You're Australian right?'

'How'd you guess?'

'Your accent. Your attitude. I went there in my gap year but that was way too many years ago.'

'Let me guess,' said Tory putting her hands behind her head to raise her cleavage that was bursting at the buttons of her shirt. 'Bondi Beach. You spent a lot of time in New South Wales, then headed south to Victoria to take in the art and culture of Melbourne. You really wanted to travel north to see the Gold Coast, Great Barrier Reef, maybe even check out the rainforests in Cairns but you never quite made it.'

'You're a Queenslander,' he guessed.

'I am. They call it the sunshine state. Actually at one time it was referred to as the Banana State which isn't something to boast about.'

'I missed the best part of Australia?'

'I'm biased but of course you did! If you want to see the outback, if you want to see sandy beaches and blue water, if you want the barrier reef and real Australian flavour you can't beat Queensland. It is beautiful. It's civilised but not as polished or commercial as New South Wales and Victoria. It's got more character. It's how foreigners imagine the country to be.'

'Perhaps you'll take me back one day,' he asked cheekily.

Tory's hand laced through the fingers of his left hand.

'I think not,' she said amiably, twisting the ring on the stranger's wedding ring finger.

'Force of habit. You've nothing to be concerned about. If I had a wife, do you really think I'd be shopping this late?'

'Perhaps not.'

Tory knew he was married. His trolley was full to the brim as if he was stocking up for an imminent natural catastrophe. She knew he was a liar, but this particular evening had nothing to do with morals and ethics. It was to do with proving a point.

She swallowed the coffee down in a gulp.

'I better make a move,' she said lightly.

'Aren't you buying anything?' he enquired when he saw she was without a trolley or shopping bag.

'No I merely popped in for a coffee,' Tory replied. 'I've run out at home. I've never been one to do a big weekly shop.'

'Wouldn't it have been more cost efficient to buy a jar of instant coffee than pay for a minuscule cup of cold stale coffee.'

She shrugged her shoulders.

'Perhaps something or someone distracted me and my shopping list dropped significantly down on my list of priorities.'

They ambled out together. Tory took her phone out, snapping a picture of the signpost of the supermarket. Her escort was flummoxed.

'Sorry, part of an experiment I'm doing,' she said vaguely.

'Where's your car?'

'It's parked in the furtherest bay. I can barely make it out where it is. I was in a rush when I arrived.'

'I'll walk you to your car,' he offered formally.

The time was upon her.

'Thanks. Shall we dump your shopping first?'

Tory followed him to the back of a Land Rover. He popped the boot open and Tory sat in the middle on the edge of the car boot, observing the ample room. He packed his bags either side of her.

Up close he wasn't unattractive. The tortoise shell glasses were nerdy but underneath were beautiful blue eyes with long lashes. He was pale but his dark hair and designer stubble enhanced his sex appeal. Tall herself, Tory admired his frame, almost as much as she loved him sliding his narrow hips between her thighs. His height meant if she laid back he could take her there and then.

How far was this married man willing to go? Without kissing him, Tory loosened his tie, to enable her to undo the buttons of his shirt. He was pale underneath, but solid and toned. Her hands went over his pecs, then shoulders. Hands round his neck she lifted her head to kiss him.

Unsurprisingly he responded eagerly; almost too eagerly. His tongue flew into her mouth. Tory knew straight away he hadn't had this type of sexual attention lavished on him in a long time. He was out of practise and sloppy. His tongue was like a dead fish. It was up to Tory to brush her tongue over his, explore his mouth so he'd understand she needed the similar treatment.

The stubble grazing her face and his sheer lust for her, had her deciding this man would represent the last act of the summer sex. Pulling his tie over his head, he allowed Tory to roam his rippled torso. He was older than her; he had to be mid-forties but was ageing in a George Clooney way. His accent and elegance had her dripping wet to have his cock inside her.

Pushing his wife to the furtherest corner of her mind, she yanked him up close, splaying her thighs wider to make room. She undid his belt and trousers, then reached in to rub the erection outlined in his tight boxers. His panting became rapid as his dick pulsated when she pressed his cock through the fabric of his Calvin Kleins.

It was as if he was too timid to take control. Probably a guilt trip he would later justify, alleging Tory seduced him, forcing the weak-willed man to succumb to her charms. As the back of her palm slid down the thick trail of hair leading to his public region, she decided she didn't care. When her hand clutched his shaft, she lost the pang of conscience she had for disrespecting his marriage. He was thick. She needed that dick inside her as badly as he wanted to bury it in her.