London, 2021

"Ohhhhh, oh fuck, oh yes!"

The climax warmly floods my entire body with relief. Finally fulfilled, I draw the vibrator out of my pussy. It's thickly covered in white and translucent jelly-like strands.

+++

The next six days are a terrible slog. I imagined the bliss of my brief sexual interlude would make me feel lighter, happier; but instead I'm irritable and tetchy. I snap at the family and spend hours on my phone when I should be doing the never-ending housework and helping the children with lessons. Having tasted a tiny sliver of freedom, I want more. A big slice. The whole cake, in fact.

When the next Friday dawns, I wake feeling depressed, but by 10am I'm in the apartment, breathing in different air, away from the stifling family atmosphere. This time I've brought a small bottle of bubble bath. Before long I'm sinking into deep, warm water, letting my head roll back, releasing days of tension.

My memories of Kris are very strong today. I can almost feel his deft fingers, confidently stroking upwards, past my inner thighs and then beyond into the welcoming folds of my cunt. I sigh, watching the water lap and roll against my skin, the foamy whiteness contrasting with the light tan of my belly. I close my eyes. His fingers are insistent now, searching for my tight anus and pushing inside, making me gasp with excitement.

I reach for the little bottle, examine it carefully. Yes. I will use it. I try a few positions in the tub but they are too awkward. I wash and rinse, then drain the water and dry myself off. Once again, lying on a towel on the floor, knees comfortably raised. In the warm, steamy bathroom, I begin to masturbate. I feel the heat rise in my face as I glance at the plastic bottle beside me. I'm always a little embarrassed by anal play, ashamed to confess how much it arouses me. I couldn't do this in front of a mirror.

The pulsing in my cunt is starting now; the thought of using the bottle has excited me more than I was expecting. I exhale slowly, trying to get myself ready. I push a finger into my pussy and draw out some juice to coat the bottle, wishing I had brought lubricant. I hold the bottle top, gripping the lid tightly, and guide it into position. Knowing that I can't be disturbed, that I'm totally alone, helps to relax me. This isn't a show for anyone else - it's just for me. The bottle feels delightfully cold against my anus. A long moan escapes me as I push, push into the resisting hole. There's a tiny pain and then...

"Yes! Yes!"

My body opens to the hard object and swallows a few inches of the plastic tube. I'm moaning, trying to deal with all the sensations at once; the thick throbbing in my pelvis; the trembling of my legs; the fullness in my anus.

Now, what would Kris have me do? Carefully I start to caress my clitoris, making sure I don't lose my grip on the bottle. I'm slow to arouse fully, nervous about the possibility of hurting myself, but gradually it begins - the ascent into bliss. After five minutes I feel my nipples tighten. Gently, warily, I push the bottle further inside me. I moan as it penetrates, but oh, how empty my cunt feels!

Using all the power of my imagination, I summon Kris. He kneels before me, watching me masturbate. He is touching himself too, now. His hands slide up and down the thick shaft of his fully erect cock.

"It's time, Callie."

His voice is masterful. He must be obeyed. I open my legs wider and he thrusts in, assailing my senses with the heat and scent of his powerful body. In seconds I'm totally full - his cock in my aching pussy, the bottle still deep in my anus.

The fantasy is so strong that my orgasm cannot be contained. I come quickly, fumbling to pull out the bottle as my contractions begin but missing the moment by a few seconds. As I lie on the floor recovering, feeling the sweat pool under my breasts, I realise how much I truly miss my lover.

+++

In 2020 there was a Christmas in London - sort of. We spent a pleasant enough day eating turkey and pulling crackers and consciously not talking about the family and friends we were missing so much. A month after beginning my apartment visits, I was feeling happier and calmer, even though the world was still so unstable. The thrill of the long Thursdays with Kris wouldn't ever be replaced but my secret Fridays gave me something to cling on to; an hour of bliss just for me in a world of my own.

+++

Friday 8th January. I've just walked into the flat for my first 'caretaking visit' of 2021, when my phone rings. It's Helen. She's selling the apartment. I hide my shock, thankful that we aren't having this conversation face to face, and listen as she tells me that it is no longer worth having the financial commitment of owning a rental property so far from home. I agree that the estate agent can liaise with me to show prospective buyers around the flat - how can I refuse? After hanging up, I drag my feet to the kitchen diner and put the kettle on. As I stir milk into the tea the tears are rolling down my cheeks. Do I head for home, reader? No. I soon realise that today is my last opportunity to be on my own and I most decidedly do not want to waste it.

I dry my eyes and furiously fling off my clothes, heading for the bathroom. There's anger rising in me now, although I recognise it's completely unjustified. So, the slut gets her free flat taken away? Boo hoo. First world problems. I scowl, reaching to turn on the shower. Steamy jets of water drench my body. I stretch, arching my back and tossing my hair loose. As my skin warms up I begin to breathe more slowly, and in an effort to overcome my tension, I pull down the shower head and shove it between my thighs. I love the gorgeous tickling of the water against my clitoris, and the minute I begin to stimulate myself, Kris appears in my mind. He's in voyeur mode today - fully dressed with just his penis exposed, jutting out from his open jeans. He is touching himself as he watches me from the doorway, rolling his practised fingers up and down his cock, groaning with pleasure.

My mind is in turmoil. My frustration at losing the apartment is seeping into my fantasy. Somehow I can't control the narrative; Kris isn't a character in my head - he's here and completely in charge. And I know he isn't going to give me what I want. His blue eyes are stormy oceans. Slowly he shakes his head.

"No, Callie. I'm not going to fuck you. Not today, sweetness."

I moan in frustration, moving the shower head back so the water streams up inside me, mingling with the silky liquid in my pussy.

"Please, Kris. Oh, please..."

But I know that begging won't change his mind. I've seen that sadistic look on his face before. He walks very slowly towards the bath. I'm hypnotised by his movements. It's so real I feel a momentary shiver, acutely aware of my naked vulnerability. His eyes never leaving mine for a minute, he gives me the briefest of nods and I know what he wants to see. Carefully, I kneel down in the tub, spreading my thighs as wide as I can in the narrow space.

I reach for the shower gel and start to wash myself, sensuously massaging my breasts and bottom, foaming my pubic hair into a fragrant soapy cloud. I let my fingertips linger, pinching my nipples so they peek out from the white suds enveloping my body. Oh, it's so good.

Kris is only inches away now, breathing hard, using practised fingers to stroke up and down his shaft, faster and faster. Sweat beads his brow as he watches me perform. I can smell his masculine scent. I know I'll be punished if I ask him to pleasure me, but I can't take my eyes off his beautiful cock, thick and firm, with a glistening rosy tip I'm desperate to take in my mouth, to taste his bittersweet juice.

"Don't stop, Callie," his voice is hoarse with lust. "You know what to do."

It's my turn to nod my assent. I begin to explore my vulva, slippery with foam, deliberately exaggerating every movement, opening my cunt to the falling streams of water, arching my back and licking my lips. I stay well away from my clitoris, concentrating on plunging my fingers hard in and out of my heavily congested cunt.

Kris moans as he watches me fuck myself. He can't be far away from orgasm now. His hands are moving faster, pumping his thick shaft. It's time. Quickly I find the spot I need to rub and go for it, not caring if I look contorted or ugly. A second or two before I come, I realise my climax is going to be huge, and just in time I anchor my thighs against the edge of the tub, tensing my lower body as I squeal in ecstasy, the air rushing hard through my lungs. With masterful control, Kris waits until my shuddering subsides and then allows himself release, spilling over my breasts.

+++

For days afterwards I wondered why I wasn't able to conjure up a different fantasy. Where was the gentle love making, the exploring kisses? I partly knew the answer - as our affair had progressed, Kris had become more stern, more brutal. But hadn't he responded to something in me? Hadn't I wanted to submit, to be possessed by this exciting, unpredictable, handsome stranger? It didn't really matter now. The January days passed by.

+++

4th February 2021. It's a tough day. My son, usually stoic and mature for his age, even in these eventful times, starts crying at breakfast. Enveloping him in a hug, I feel like sobbing too. This is the third month of the third lockdown and it feels like it's breaking us. Every day is a little harder, a little emptier. Every day I listen to the radio newsreaders intoning the statistics: the number in hospital, the number of deaths.

Too weary to 'keep calm and carry on' I decide the kids can bin off their lessons for the morning and we make pancakes. The activity boosts everyone's mood a little, and we have just finished mopping maple syrup from the plates when my phone rings. It's the village estate agent, asking if I can show a prospective buyer around the flat. I try to summon some enthusiasm for the task, but inside my heart is sinking. No more secret pleasure palace for Callie.

I put a DVD on for the kids, tell them not to worry about school today. School. Hah. No, it's not fucking school. It's my home, and I'm not a teacher. But let's leave that aside, reader - it's a story for another time. It's freezing today and the road is deserted apart from a short, balding Mediterranean-looking man wearing a navy overcoat, a bright mask covering his face.

"Hi! I'm Alex, you must be Callie?"

We perform the bizarre Covid greeting ritual. Shuffle forwards slightly, remember that hand shaking is now strictly off-limits, shuffle back again with an embarrassed half-laugh.

Alex is chatty as we go through the flat, room by familiar room, and when we reach the seating area he produces a tape measure and notebook. A serious buyer. This is clearly a done deal. The last time I'll be seeing the flat where I experienced so much bliss...love, even?

At least with the mask on I can look as sad as I please, I reflect wryly. As Alex scribbles numbers into his notebook, I stare through the window at my own house. I was a different woman here, just a few steps away from home. I miss the carefree hours with Kris so much. Alex has begun talking again and although I'm deep in reminiscence, his words suddenly burst my thought bubble.

"...lived here before actually; I rented it for a while. But then I got transferred to a different office. Lent it to a friend just before March - the poor guy got stuck here for weeks!"

"Oh!" My exclamation is much louder than I'd intended. Alex pauses in his story as the realisation hits me like a punch to the stomach. Alex is Kris's co-worker.

"Yeah, that's lockdown for you, eh? He was okay, though. Bit of a loner type anyway. He said the neighbours were nice."

I'll bet he did, I think. Alex is measuring up in the bedroom now, and my eyes are drawn to the dresser that still stands at the foot of the bed. I see myself braced against the furniture, the soft towel cushioning my belly and thighs. I'm moaning in ecstasy as Kris drives his cock into me, each thrust as long and powerful as the last...

The image is so real and absorbing I zone out again. Alex is still chatting away and I only just catch the end of his next sentence.

"...funny thing is, he liked it round here so much he stayed. And it's a great neighbourhood, I have to say - good transport links, nice restaurants. When all this covid stuff's over, I reckon -"

"I'm sorry - did you say he stayed?"

Alex looks up in surprise at my interruption.

"Er, yes - he bought a place a couple of miles away. Close to the park, I think he said."

Shit. Now I sound crazy. Why the hell should I care what happened to some random bloke I'm supposed to never have heard of?

"Um, right. Because I heard from a friend that nothing sold here over the summer..." I'm attempting to improvise wildly. "She's an estate agent and she said the whole market had collapsed, really..." If in doubt, gabble.

This leads to a pointless conversation about house prices and mortgages which I couldn't care less about but participate in enthusiastically, trying to cover up any hint that I might look like a stalker. It's probably not an issue - let's face it, no one has any social skills left these days after so many weeks of isolation.

Back at home I make tea. Is Kris living in this neighbourhood, really? He can't be, surely. Wouldn't he have stayed in touch?

Not if he had grown tired of you, taunts the voice in my head. Not if he had another woman.

Fuck it. Impulsively I reach for the laptop. Before I can talk myself out of it, I quickly type out a one line email to Kris.

Fancy a run in the park?

+++

Behind the dusty tennis courts, far from the rose garden and cafe, there's a small sheltered lawn banked on two sides by dense evergreen shrubbery. On sunny weekend afternoons children can be found pottering in and out of the bushes, searching for minibeasts or taking their first unsteady attempts at tree-climbing on the wide sweeping branches of the shady cedars.

But at 7am on the last Friday in February it's almost deserted. The dog walkers don't usually roam this area, preferring the wilder spaces towards the edges of the park, and the Bugaboo-toting parents won't be here for a good few hours.

Under lockdown the park has been busier than usual. Gyms and workplaces being closed, the public are out exercising in the streets and open spaces, and as everyone largely obeys the distancing rules the grounds often look like an architect's drawing - a person here; three or four in a tight family group over there - the lawns sprinkled with brightly-coloured dots of humanity.

Right now, though, at 7- it's actually a few minutes past the hour - this particular spot is peaceful, and a little chilly. March is in the air, though. All around me are signs that Spring is underway; clouds of snowdrops and banks of pale purple crocuses are scattered around the trees and I can see green shoots springing up everywhere.

I think I look good today. Over the past few days I've been staying off the sugar and booze and trying to get as much exercise as possible. My body's curves are flattered nicely by the tight running top and leggings. And of course I woke up early enough to do my hair and make up; this is no day to look too casual.

Reader, you know why I'm here and who I'm going to meet. So it should come as no surprise to either of us when Kris strolls into view, handsome and fresh in the early spring air, but the sight of him hits me like a wrecking ball. He's really here.

His body, I can see, is still firm and toned under a grey marl sweatshirt and dark joggers. There's a yoga mat slung over his shoulder and he's carrying a canvas bag. As he spots me from across the grass, his face crinkles into the familiar smile that makes me melt inside.

I'm grinning like a maniac, I know - so much for being cool. But I just can't stop smiling. I'd only had to wait twenty minutes before Kris had replied to my email, telling me he'd be coming for a jog in the park this morning and to wait for him on the lawn by the tennis courts. That was it. No explanation. No apology. Fearful of getting intense, scared that somehow I would jinx it, I agreed to the date and...here I am.

We're standing apart, looking at each other, still smiling broadly. God, it's exhilarating; like having my thirst quenched by ice-water on a summer's day. I want to gush, to tell him how good it is to see him, how much I have missed him, but I'm breathing too quickly and my mouth can't form the words. Kris is savouring the tension, I can tell.

Wordlessly, glancing swiftly around to check we are not being observed, he leans in for a kiss. His lips are soft at first and then, as he hears the moan of lust in my throat, he kisses me harder, slipping his tongue deftly into my mouth for the briefest second. He tastes of mint and fresh coffee.

He's the first to pull away, and as I open my eyes I catch a glimpse of his face - yes, he's definitely satisfied with his reception. Confidently, he sweeps his eyes over me.

"Very nice, beautiful. Shall we warm up?"

I'm dizzy with longing. I want Kris to drag me into the bushes and ravish me right now. My mind has conjured up every possible permutation... except this one. He's laying the yoga mat on the ground and taking some hand weights and a bottle of water out of the bag.

I splutter in disbelief.

"You're joking, right?"

"Well, we have to follow the social distancing rules, don't we? Let's pretend I'm your personal trainer, Callie," he smiles, then lowers his gaze to my body.

"It's going to get very personal."

Typical Kris. Always ready to discombobulate and disturb. I should have seen this coming.

"Let's start with four-point kneeling."

Resigned, I kick off my trainers and get into position. Knees hip-width apart, hands below my shoulders. I've done it a million times in yoga class and it's not the reason I got up at 6am. Bastard.

"Balance work. Left leg stretched behind you, right arm raised in front. Keep your core tight."

It's not possible to stay angry with him as I'm concentrating on the movement. Kris instructs me expertly in the repetitions, picking up on every stray wobble. He's good at this. Of course he is.

When he orders me to begin the cat stretches I realise I'm enjoying myself. The sun is streaming through the leaves above us now and the sound of birdsong is everywhere. Into downward dog. I feel pressure in my hamstrings and he notices at once, advising me to adjust my pose. Back into cat. I'm exhaling when Kris crouches down close to me. Although I'm looking straight ahead his low voice is perfectly clear.

"Do you want me to fuck you in this position, Callie?"

Jesus.

I gasp out a "yes", feeling the colour rise in my face.

"On to your back now, time for spine curls."

His voice and demeanour snap back into professional mode as I lie down unsteadily on the yoga mat.

"Hands behind your head. Remember not to put too much pressure on your neck...good. Keep it there."

Eight repetitions. I can feel my stomach muscles warming up. When Kris instructs me to stand, ready for the weight training, I can also see we are no longer alone in the park. One or two early risers are trickling through the paths at the end of the grassy lawn - some 50 feet away but it feels closer.

"Take a full body stretch now. Hands above your head, tight core."

I obey. Kris circles me until he's directly behind me. I feel my ribcage lift and my shoulder blades tighten.

"Very good. Getting warm?"

I nod, too breathless to answer. I gasp as Kris unzips my top in one swift movement and pulls off my sweater, leaving me shivering slightly in my figure-hugging sleeveless vest.