In the Show-House

The show-house is a uniquely British thing, or so it appears – a house singled out amid a new build estate and decorated within an inch of its life in order to show prospective purchasers just how the new properties could look if one had a bottomless bank account and a complete lack of taste. In this day and age of economic downturn it seems hard to believe that people are still building new properties, let alone setting one of them aside – effectively off the market – for more than five desperate minutes. Still, there are evidently those that believe that in the power of marketing even in the direst of financial circumstances, and as far as I'm concerned the whole downturn thing really does have its up-sides.

Before you start thinking I'm a callous bitch – I may well be, it's true, but surely not with regards the current parlous state of finances everywhere – I have long been an admirer of show-houses, for rather unusual reasons. And the fact that there are less people visiting new-build property developments and their associated show-homes can only be a good thing...

I'm Maria, by the way. To all intents and purposes a normal-enough almost-thirty year-old, single but with an increasingly long-term boyfriend, straight, fairly pretty if you're into slender, ratty-haired brunettes, and of a normally somewhat shy disposition. My one noticeable kink is my penchant for show-houses. Or more to the point, for playing naughty games in them with my boyfriend. Hence my lack of grief about the increased levels of quietness and solitude that has crept over such properties in the current economic downturn. There's even been a reduction in the number of CCTV cameras employed by the builders in these homes (not that these were ever a problem thanks to a judiciously thrown tea-towel or five, but it all helps).

On a typical weekend, Mike – the boyfriend – and I might venture away from London where we live to one of the small town in Essex or Hertfordshire – or Kent, East Sussex or Middlesex – and locate a new-build estate. Here we will go and find a show-house and, after making sure we are unlikely to be disturbed in there for a little while, we will go and spend a naughty few minutes, daring each other and kissing and cuddling - maybe even playing a little.

The danger of being walked in on, of being in any way suspected of being naughty, of allowing ourselves close to climax even – all of these things excite me in a consistently delicious way, and have done unfailingly for a few years now.

I've been with Mike for all of those years and in all respects we have an absolute understanding of the possibilities and the limits of our house-hunting fun. The only escalation in our activities has – or at least, had – been witnessed alone once back in our London apartment, where fantasies based on our travels have been allowed to take wing.

All of which makes last weekend's trip all the more unexpected.

We got up early on the Sunday morning – well, before Sunday afternoon anyway, which counts as early for us – and headed off towards a town in Essex, the name of which I shall withhold in order to protect the innocent. Not that there were many innocents in evidence last Sunday.

Mike had prepared for our relatively short journey utilising the new interweb thingy or whatever it's called – one of my very few archetypal, clichéd traits is an apparent allergy to anything even vaguely computer-related. Mike still hasn't found that mouse I managed to lose somewhere on his desk.

Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, Mike had scouted ahead using the town's apparently comprehensive new website and already new that there was a new housing estate being built just beyond the town's existing eastern boundary, complete with, the site assured him 'three of the county's finest show-houses, each of which provides a prime example of four- or five-bedroomed splendour'. That level of gut-wrenching hyperbole would normally have me reaching for the nearest bucket, or Mike's favourite tacky hat if he'd pissed me off, but I was more than happy to hear that there were three spacious show-houses to play in. And sure enough, little more than an hour after leaving our front door, Mike was parking in front of a deceptively expensive grown-up Lego kit that went by the improbable name of 'Georgian Meadows Executive Abode Style One'. And I thought I had a dodgy name!

A salesman had apparently arranged to meet his 'prospective buyers' outside the property and had obviously been keeping an eye out for us. Probably as we were now officially on some protected species list – the critically rare non-negative equity rabbits, or some such. I stayed in the car while Mike discussed the finer points of 'super-economic solar energy cells' and 'preferential interest rates for professional buyers'. Oddly enough I felt absolutely no guilt about wasting the young man's time as even his enthusiasm started to wane after his fourth fake smile, and by the time he had departed towards the road-less-travelled, or more realistically, the footpath back to his sales office, I was itching to get inside 'Abode Style One' and start working out where and what we could play. Mike was no less enthusiastic and he almost dragged me through the house's front door as soon as I was out of the car.

A lack of front door lock or latch was immediately compensated for by a judiciously placed kitchen chair, and we charged up the surprisingly broad staircase and into what was either a large box-room or the master bedroom, depending on how you viewed your budget. As soon as we were through the doorway – no door, of course, which would have made it look even smaller – Mike nodded at the far corner of the ceiling where a suspiciously fake-looking security camera was blinking myopically at the interior. Taking no chances, I took a fluffy towel from the en-suite bathroom-sum-cupboard and casually lobbed it over the offending lens.

A few years' practice ensured that my first throw was a good one, and I turned my attention to the choices ahead of us. Over the few years we'd been together, Mike and I had arrived at a more or less unspoken set of rules which included never discussing what roles we would play in the show-house of choice until we were actually ensconced behind its doors – wherever they might prove to be – and this Sunday was no exception. As usual it was me who started to outline the possibilities.

'Master and maid? We haven't done that for a while.'

Mike laughed, 'True, but no.'

'How about Kathy Bates and James Caan in Misery?'

'That sounds different, but no.'

I had rather fancied getting to boss Mike around if truth were told so my next choice was the fairly obvious 'Lady Chatterley?'

'Not today,' Mike shrugged.

'Something even racier, or something more realistic?'

Mike's slow smile both surprised me in itself, and in the reaction it brought forth in me, 'Am I to understand that you are thinking of something a little different from our usual games?'

By way of reply, my boyfriend crossed the room to me and held me lightly by the waist, 'I hadn't thought of it until I saw you standing there with the big window behind you.'

I frowned in thought, 'Hadn't thought of what exactly?'

'You're not saying 'no' before I even suggest what's on my mind, are you?'

There was something in his voice that started to send little shivers up and down my spine. As ridiculous, as it may sound I was beginning to think the same naughty things that were evidently on Mike's mind before he had even said anything about them. I cleared the frown from my brow and adopted a look that I hoped was a mixture of mild disapproval mixed with a smidgeon of interest, 'At the risk of answering a question with a question, are you suggesting that we play in a far naughtier way then we have done before?'

'I'm suggesting,' Mike said with another slow smile, 'that maybe we, for once, can play at being ourselves.'

'Surely,' I said, slowly, not quite sure where my boyfriend was heading with this, 'we're always playing at being ourselves?'

'That,' Mike said, 'depends entirely on your definition of playing.' With that he reached forward and cupped my left breast in his right hand.

To my credit – or maybe, thanks to my inner devil who had decided to enjoy herself for a change – I barely flinched and didn't pull away at all. 'Even when you pretended to be Mellors, you were seldom that bold.'

'Even when I was-'

'The lover of Lady Chatterley, philistine,' I smiled, pressing myself firmly against my boyfriend's eager hand.

'Well, maybe that's true. Although I seem to remember you getting rather frisky that particular day, and maybe that's the sort of reaction I'm after today even as we play ourselves.'

'Are you suggesting that we dare get a little frisky just because we're who we are?'

Mike raised an eyebrow, 'I think I know what you mean, but I guess this will let me know for sure.' He stood back a couple of feet.

It was my turn to exercise an eyebrow, 'Now what are you talking about?'

'This,' Mike shrugged.

His hand shot forward, fingers entwining in the front of one side of my blouse before I could do so much as blink. And then he yanked hard.

I squealed as buttons pinged against Ikea's finest and tried to spin away from my boyfriend's grip, my bra now bared for... well, no one but Mike and I to see. As my brain caught up with current events I tried my hardest not to take any notice of the sudden fluttering I felt deep within my belly. We'd talked up a good game before, but this was already taking things to completely new levels.

I know it might not sound like a big deal to you, but believe me, the idea of being even a tiny bit exposed, even when the chances of anyone else ever seeing were so completely remote as to be non-existent was... Yeah, you got it. It hit me right then and there. What was the big deal? So, sure I felt extremely exposed just with my blouse open but it wasn't as if Mike hadn't seen it all and more – much more – before, and sure, getting this naughty was astonishingly (to some) much more than we'd dared before, but it wasn't so daring at all, really, was it? And to have it feel daring, well that was undoubtedly a bonus. If the sudden dampness I felt at my groin was anything to go by. All of which didn't mean I was going to let Mike get away with his ripping off of my buttons so easily.

'Pig!'

'Don't be rude to me, cutie.'

'Let go then.'

'No.'

'Let go or I'll deny you sex for a month.'

'Then I'd better take some now on account, right?'

My eyes opened wide at the same moment as my brain started to pick up nothing but static. 'What's that supposed to mean?' I hoped Mike couldn't hear how hard my heart was starting to beat.

'I said, if you're going to deny me for a month then...' he paused and pushed my blouse off my shoulders, 'then I'm going to make sure...' He reached behind my back and yanked the blouse completely down, only the sleeves catching at my wrists stopping it coming off completely, 'that I take some now, okay?' With that he pushed me backwards onto the bed.

I squealed, a mixture of genuine rising panic and the much faster acceleration of my heart and heat as those first stirring in my belly became second stirrings. When I realised that my arms were effectively trapped in my blouse sleeves, and that I was about to hit the mattress without being able to catch myself, all of those sensations accelerated. I had a sudden vision of Mike getting seriously worked up – and that started me getting seriously worked up.

All of which didn't stop me hissing at Mike, 'Stop it! Anyone could walk in!'

He jumped onto the mattress beside me even as I was still bouncing on my back, 'We're the only people on the entire site.'

'There's the salesman!'

'He doesn't expect us back in his office for an hour.'

'But what if someone else turns up?'

Mike laughed, 'We're out of town here, Maria. If anyone else turns up it will have to be by car. And we'll hear a car, won't we? Plenty of warning meaning plenty of time to get your clothes back on.'

'Well I guess that's... What?' My heart rate was now approaching levels seldom seen outside of hummingbird hospitals, 'What do you mean 'get my clothes back on'?'

Mike reached underneath my back and gave a practiced squeeze until I felt my bra-strap parting, 'I mean just what I say, angel.'

If I'd thought the exposure of my bra was bold and daring, the sensation that washed through me when Mike whipped the little garment over the back of my head, exposing my small but still-firm breasts was boldness and daringness personified. I felt a flood of adrenaline wash through me and a flood of dampness at my groin.

'Mike, that's enough!' Even to my ears I wasn't sure that there was much sincerity in my words.

My boyfriend certainly didn't think so. Or, even more deliciously... I mean, alarmingly, he just didn't care what I was saying. With a grin that any self-respecting wolf would have been proud of, his hands dropped to the waistband of my skirt and less than ten seconds later that garment and the skimpy knickers I was wearing underneath were sliding down my thighs.

'Jeez, Mike! Stop!' I wasn't sure I meant that, either.

'Nope,' he said simply, staring down at my complete and utter nakedness. With a simple, apparently effortless grab and flip he spun me onto my back and a few seconds later may arms were free of the blouse and bra.

Another flip and I was staring up at my boyfriend's eager, greedy eyes. My juices started flood out of me, and when he bent and gathered up my discarded – torn off – clothing and then threw them into the furthest corner of the room I felt desolately exposed and quivering with a heat that was almost as shocking as Mike's sudden impersonation of a Viking. When he started to unbutton his Levis I started to anticipate the sexual dominance that was about to, I was sure, follow. I could scarcely believe that such a monster transformation had happened in such a short space of time. I could scarcely believe that I was lying back on the over-stuffed mattress, naked in this strange house, and desperate to be overstuffed myself. When Mike's erect – so very erect – member sprang from its denim covering I almost whimpered with need.

My boyfriend might have been acting a little like a stranger that day, but he sure knew exactly what I needed despite the fact that all I had managed to communicate sounded like an immature kitten. There was nothing immature about what I craved right then, though, and it only took Mike a handful of seconds to get as naked as he'd gotten me.

In an instant he climbed onto the mattress between my legs which had scissored open of their own accord, and an instant later, his tongue flicked along the wet, warm lips of my pussy, the fluttering touches forcing more than whimpers from my suddenly eager mouth.

Mike is my angel, my heaven, but for the next ten minutes he was the devil incarnate, his tongue, lips and fingers teasing me higher and higher towards the summit of ecstasy before brief moments of frustrating calm which eased my heart-rate and kept desperate climax at bay.

But even in his most diabolical role to date, Mike couldn't resist for too long. Without warning, his hands pressed my shoulders back into the mattress and he pounced – no other word suffices – on top of me, his muscular thighs slipping between my quivering ones. He gave me a smile of desperation and greed – a smile that I looked at with an incredulous desire – and he thrust his hips forwards, that beautiful hardness penetrating me with the most welcoming ease.

I held him there, as tightly as I could, locked in an embrace of the most intense sexual need and desire. We stared at each other, our eyes just a few inches apart, before an unspoken agreement born of utter need started us moving in a series of bucks and thrusts, each one drawing gasps and grunts.

Somehow Mike controlled his pace and our ascent towards climaxes that would, I was sure, have me howling with delirious release. Sudden beautifully hard thrusts were interspersed with movements so gentle and slow as to be barely discernible amidst the wealth of sensations that were flooding through me.

After a period of time when the whole universe seemed to rest in a state of suspension, Mike's eyes met mine and another one of those mental agreements passed between us and we knew it was time for the final act, the headlong dash towards climactic satisfaction. I bucked softly and so very deliberately, drawing Mike's hardness fully into my welcoming moist heat. My guy responded with his own gentle thrust, his erect member seemingly touching every last millimetre of my very essence.

These movements were followed with necessity by second, third and then a whole series of thrusts and counterthrusts, the tempo gradually quickening as we indulged ourselves to the very limit of our capabilities.

That tempo kept building and building, our every movement becoming more and more firm until our flesh was slapping loudly together with each thrust. Deep in my belly I could feel the snake of my orgasm beginning to uncurl and I let out a throaty laugh, as unable as I was unwilling to halt the inevitable now that the serpent was rising.

Mike, as aware of my every desire as I was myself, nodded, raising himself on his arms, staring down at my nakedness, love and lust filling his eyes as he began to increase the pace yet further. I began to let out the first low growl of what would very soon become a howl of orgasmic delight.

And then we both froze as the front door clattered open downstairs, the chair propped behind it bouncing across the tiled hallway.

'Hello? Michael? Maria?'

'The salesman!' My intense desire started to wane within a fraction of a second, but then Mike raised himself further still, his eyes sliding down over my bare breasts and belly.

'Maria?' he whispered, 'You know it think you're the most beautiful woman on the planet?'

I looked blankly up at him, my mind already working out how quickly I could collect my clothes and retreat into the safety of the en-suite, 'What?'

'You're beautiful and I don't care who knows, Maria.'

'That's very sweet, now get out of my way so I can... What did you say?'

'You're gorgeous and I am so proud to be your boyfriend.'

My heart began to race again as I started to pick up a very strange sensation. He wouldn't, would he? 'Mike? What exactly do you mean here?'

I started to rise but Mike was far, far quicker, his hand grabbing both of my wrists before I could react. He swung my hands above my head and smiled wolfishly, 'I mean, my beautiful angel, I am so very, very proud to be your boyfriend and I don't care who knows, or who sees that.' He tightened his grip on my wrists, 'Or sees you.'

'Oh, Mike!' I meant it to be a protest – a strong, emphatic protest – but an involuntary shudder deep within my belly spoiled the mood of the objection.

And then we were both interrupted by another call from the salesman, 'Michael? Are you here still?' before being both frozen by the unmistakable sound of footsteps on the stairs.

'You wouldn't?' I hissed, trying desperately hard to maintain an ounce of calm despite feeling the weirdest mix of wild arousal and sheer panic.

'I would, and I will.' Mike gave another wolfish grin, 'You know how much I love you?'

'Michael? Maria?'

The voice was at the top of the stairs and my common – that is, dull – sense kicked in, and I began to struggle, the panic rising exponentially as I realised that Mike had me pinned with one of his hands and, not to put too fine a point on it, his glorious erection, 'Mike!' I hissed, 'He'll see me!'

My boyfriend looked down at my bared breasts, his body arched back so far that anyone entering the room by the open doorway on my left, his right, would be able to see where that aforementioned glorious erection entered me so wondrously. 'I know,' he said, the tremor in has voice the only thing that belied his apparent calm.