How long have you got?

Things didn’t feel right right from the start. I should have been excited by Joanie's plans for Moureen but instead, I just felt sickeningly nervous. Despite this, I was going to make it happen. Under Joanie's overwhelming influence, I felt powerless to prevent it. For me, geeky little Joanie had become "She who must be obeyed."

Joanie was waiting for me in the Company carpark but not idly so. Oh no, the little minx had her hand down the trousers of Graham from Planning. "Just keeping my hand in" she quipped as I approached. Poor embarrassed Graham looked as if he wished the carpark would open up and swallow him like some latter-day Richard III*. Since it didn't, he did a runner.

As for the journey, it was in near total silence. I didn't dare speak out of fear that I'd only sound pathetic, weak and gutless. The enormity of what Joanie was about to attempt and its possible consequences petrified me. Even her unzipping my flies and groping my cock as I drove didn’t lift my mood of dark foreboding. By the time we'd reached my home, I was moving as a condemned man walking to the scaffold.

We entered through the rear door directly into the kitchen where Maureen was preparing dinner. I heard myself robotically saying the line Joanie had rehearsed me to say.

"Hello dear, this is Joanie from Stores. She's come to collect some invoices I have in my other briefcase."

I glanced at Joanie and was astonished by what a I saw. She was totally transformed from the wanton strumpet I'd been lusting over all day into an innocent plain jane with as little self confidence as she had dress sense. She was looking around the kitchen with a rapturous look of genuine awe on her face.

"Wow Mrs Goodbody, what a fabulous place! Whatever you're cooking smells absolutely delicious. I'm a terrible cook, me. I can even burn water and have the bottomless pans to prove it."

No more low and sultry, Joanie's voice was now all high pitched and girly. Maureen could see this timid child was no threat to her and the initial confused and slightly annoyed look on her face quickly relaxed into a more motherly and welcoming expression.

"Oh please Joanie, do call me Maureen. As for dinner, it's only spaghetti bolenais. There's plenty if you'd like to stay and have some."

And so the trap was genteely but progressively sprung, exactly as Joanie had described it. In no time at all, my wife was smitten with this cute but goofy kid. We moved through into the lounge where Maureen and Joanie ended up sharing the sofa; young slim thigh against middle aged voluptuous thigh. I found the contrast startlingly erotic and Amss soon as they started talking about clothes, I just knew Joanie's devious plan of seduction was going to work. Sure enough, Maureen invited Joanie to our bedroom to see her extensive (and expensive) wardrobe. Only now was I allowing myself to become more than a little excited about what was going on. They were up there for an age. To calm myself down after a prolonged indulgence in wild imaginings about what those mismatched women might be doing with eachother, I poured myself a stiff drink; almost as stiff as my by now rock hard cock. Thinking rationally, probably for the first time since I clapped eyes on Joanie's lurid floral frock and wondered what delightful physical wonders it might contain, I went back into the kitchen and turned off the heat under the spag bol. Returning to my drink, I was swift made aware that the double bed above my head must be seeing some very frenzied saphic action. Female voices were raised, groans and grunts were heard along with the odd squeal and for a full minute or two, I'd swear the lounge ceiling was shaking as a result of the violent love making being perpetrated up there.

Then all went quiet. Eventually, too quiet and for too long. I thought of the spoiling dinner and decided to use this as an excuse to go upstairs and ascertain the current state of play. I found my wife naked, breathless and sweating. She was staring in wide eyed horror at our bed on which Joanie lay sprawled out, unmoving, unbreathing, with a pillow over her face.

(*King Richard the Third was the last Plantagenet monarch of England. He died in battle on Bosworth Field on August 22nd 1485. This was the final decisive battle of the War of the Roses and marked the end of the Middle Ages in England. He was succeeded by Henry vii, first monarch of the Tudor dynasty. King Richard's body was discovered over five hundred years later buried under a carpark in Leicester, England. He was reburied in Leicester Cathedral. Oh, in case you're wondering, no, this carpark wasn't the same one Simon and Joanie drove out of at the beginning of this chapter; that was a purely fictional one.)