Helen left me to go to the toilet. On returning, she stopped in the doorway, still temptingly nude, and asked if I wanted a shower. I laughed, “If you mean with you, always!”

“I hoped for this answer,” was her laughing reply.

When we stood close together under the shower, I told Helen that I showering with my mistress was, for me, a great turn on. By inviting me, she had confirmed that she was my type of women. I gave her the soap to wash me first, and said, “I have to learn how you like to be washed by your lovers.” 

When Helen was done, she looked admiringly down at what her attention had done to my cock. She giggled and asked, “You must be starving like me, Ben. When did you have your last good sex?”

“Oh, twenty minutes ago.” - I truthfully replied. However, I suspected Helen meant sex with my wife.

For the time being, I let this matter rest. Instead, I soaped her in, which put Helen in a state of blissful contemplation. My soapy hands lovingly washed all her body and then, at length, all of her hidden crannies. The wash finished with us in the closest of embraces under the cascading water. I was sure that my ministrations had left Helen in a similar state of arousal that she had managed to inflict on me.

Once we had towelled each other off to a warm glow, Helen asked if I wanted something to eat. She slapped my bottom when I leered at her and asked, “What is on offer?” Then she skipped off to the living room. I followed. She had already slipped into the pants of her suit. Reaching for the top and pulling it down over her head, her muffled voice told me to get dressed. I asked, “Fully”?

Shaking out her hair, Helen grinned, “Just enough not to distract the cook.”

We went to the kitchen. Helen turned immediately to her task of preparing for us a plate of German-style Appetitbrote whilst I, before sitting down, checked the drink situation. The fridge was well stocked.

When I asked Helen she laughed. Without turning from her task, she said, “I didn’t know what to buy. Was it going to be a soft drink, beer, wine, Schnapps occasion with us? Well, now I know! We made it a Champagne one! Didn’t we?”

We toasted each other and, as Helen’s blush and shining eyes affirmed, the morning we had spent. We enjoyed our repast, but Helen also hungered to talk.

To help break the awkward silence, I told her, as a joke, what the first questions are that Austrian lovers ask after their first fuck. He, being an ignorant male, always asks, “Did you come?” And she – a good girl - asks, “What do you think of me now?”

Helen smiled, but it was not a happy one. Thinking for a few long seconds, she raised her glass, inviting me to clink for a toast. Then, facing me with a challenging look and even voice, Helen said, “You, Ben, don’t need to ask your Austrian question. And mine, not being a good girl, I better leave unasked.”

She hesitated and looked down before she continued, “But there are things I want to tell you now that we have become lovers. We did become lovers, didn’t we - it wasn’t just a great fuck?”

I reached across the table for both her hands and asked her to trust me. I assured her that nothing between us needed to be hidden, or justified, or excused. We had made the most honest beginning to our relationship that could be made.

When I released Helen’s hands, she let them rest for a while to show me she was not withdrawing, before she leant back. She looked at me, smiled shyly, and began to talk: 

“Ben, there are things I have lately thought and done that are strange and new to me. I threw myself at you last week after class. I felt so in danger while I waited to catch you alone, with my need to expose myself to you. I never imagined I could do something like that. You then made it easy for me in the car. You showed me that you wanted me as I wanted you: to make love, yes, to have sex. This morning you came. You wanted me naked, took me, fucked me, loved me on the floor the way I had imagined, longed for, was ready for. I loved it. I want you to want me like that. No holding back! It’s as simple as that, and you knew it from the beginning.”

“But telling you about my life will be hard.”

Helen shook her head in frustration. It was difficult for her to gather the right words and tone to talk about her past, present and herself, either in spite or because of our sexual involvement. She so wished that I would understand what had brought us together.

Beginning with her family, Helen described her parents as caring and her childhood as trouble-free. Being bright, she went to a selective grammar school. On completing her O-Levels, she started a clerical job at a local firm. Like her girl-friends, Helen had from her teenage years on some boyfriends. She did, she thought, share their sexual fantasies. So, the clumsy boys groping did not put her off sex but neither did it make sex particularly interesting or attractive.

Helen lost her virginity at twenty, at a house party. After getting partly drunk, a young colleague from work, whom she had quite liked, took her to the back of the garden. What happened, Helen described matter-of-factly, “He just pushed me against the back-fence, bent me over, and fucked me”.

Helen said this with a smile; I sensed she was relieved to have found the right voice to tell her story. She continued by assuring me that it caused her no trauma. She just quit her job to get away from the fellow that had relieved her of her virginity. Helen left home and found a job in Bristol at a shipping firm.

Over the next nine years, she had several short-time male friends. With one, she shared a flat for eight months before they separated. Helen shrugged her shoulder dismissively as she summed up her amorous experiences: -

“I didn’t dislike sex and, I suppose, I didn’t play hard to get either. I was just unlucky in attracting the wrong guys. Perhaps, I was also too ready to say 'Yes', instead of ‘No Thanks!’ to guys who didn’t turn me on. When it came to sex, some of the chaps were embarrassed fumblers; others played the tough male for whom a fuck was something one ticked off on a score-sheet before one returned to ones’ mates to booze and boast. They probably thought I was frigid. Not one of those boys could bring me close to the nice little orgasms I had, by then, learned to give myself.”

This part of the confession made her grin. She remembered that I had known what naughty her would do with my sucked fingers earlier on the carpet. Then, serious once more, Helen continued her story, "Working for a shipping line, I had good contacts with travel agencies. One winter, one of them offered me a discounted skiing holiday in Bavaria. In the hotel in Garmisch, I met Jurgen."

Helen smiled as she remembered: -

“Jurgen was the most attractive man among the guests. He was German, always well dressed, polite, spoke perfect English, and, I am ready to admit that it multiplied his attraction, seemed well off. He was courteous to all but paid no particular attention to me or the other snow-bunnies in our learner group. I, instead of lusting after one of the bronzed ski instructors, decided to seduce Jurgen.

It was slow work. On the second last day of my holiday, I finally persuaded him to go to bed with me. We had two nights together. He was a gentle lover. We made love most delicately once each night. Being how I was, I was not carried away by our sex, but I still gave Jurgen my address when we parted. He promised to write. He worked for a company that had assigned him to a branch office in South Africa, and he was leaving for his posting after this holiday. Although he seemed to like me, I had no great hopes that I had really seduced Jurgen. In bed, he appeared to be only mildly interested in me.”

Helen was for a few seconds either lost in thought or weighing up if she should tell more. Her disclosures had, after all, reached now her marriage partner. Was revealing even some things about their partnership a betrayal, an indiscretion, or just in bad taste? But she decided to continue with her story.

On arriving in Johannesburg, Jurgen wrote immediately. She replied, and it started a rapid exchange of letters between them. As often is the case, the feelings they began to put into words far exceeded what their two nights together had promised.

Within six months, Jurgen proposed marriage. He invited her to come to South Africa for a visit to make up her mind. Helen was turning thirty; Jurgen was an attractive, well-established man, a real marriage prospect. So, she resigned from her job and left for Johannesburg on a one-way ticket. She had decided in advance to finally get married.

Since then, they had lived for two years in Johannesburg. Then Jurgen’s promotion transferred them for four years to Bangkok, and after that to Melbourne. The ultimate, promotional move would be back to head office in Germany.

In the twelve years of their marriage, practically all their friends and close social acquaintances had been German businessmen and their families, like them in temporary, business-related exile away from home. Yes, Helen admitted with a dismissive shrug, she had, at parties, been occasionally propositioned and furtively groped by other men. But she loved Jurgen; he was a good man. She would not expose him to the inevitable gossip about her promiscuity in their closed circle of business colleagues and acquaintances. She had been faithful, been with no other man for all the years of her marriage.

Helen stopped. She stretched back in her chair, crossing her arms behind her head. It made her breasts contour beautifully against the soft cloth of her top. She looked at me across the table. She knew that I knew that there was more to be told. It could wait. There was laughter in her eyes when she calmly summed up, “I’ve been a faithful wife until this week. I’ll blame Rilke for what has happened. So, don’t feel guilty. I’m not sorry that it happened!”

Helen stood up to step behind me. She leant forward, and as I turned my face, she pressed it gently against her breasts. I drew in her smell. She held me for long seconds before she said, “Can I tempt you again? This time back to bed?”

Helen was so certain of my answer that she just walked away, through the living room into the hallway and then the master bedroom. I followed. Helen had stopped, looking down on the bed. Shaking her head, she apologised, “Sorry, Fred. I didn’t change the sheets! I didn’t think I would want to get into this bed with you. I made us fuck on the floor!”

I burst out laughing at her funny and so sexy outburst and forced confession. I just had to tell her, “Stop worrying. With you, I’d make love anywhere: on the carpet, bed, chair, table, stairs, grass, even against a back-fence, if all else fails. Besides, after we are through, these sheets will really need a wash!”

Helen laughed, calling me a “Boaster”, and pushed me onto the bed. Telling me the Panther was out of the cage, she stripped me of shirt, pants and boxers. I told her I loved her stripping-mania, but she had to learn how to strip more temptingly herself. In her rush to get us naked, she herself was undressing as if for a doctor.

She stood back from the bed to put a finger to her lips: A statue deep in thought before she sinuously started to sway her hips. Then, turning slowly, Helen eased herself out of her top, holding it for long seconds on her stretched-up hands. Her beautiful orbs with their pink button nipples as she swayed and looked down on my growing erection were already perkily excited. As a finale Helen turned, undid the clasp and allowed her pants, inch by imperial inch, to slide down her long legs. Bending forward, she turned to offer me a long lusting leer at her voluptuously sexy ass and the fleshy, pink-glistening cleft showing between her thighs.

It was an uninhibited, lust-charged display. Stepping out of the pants crumpled on the floor, Helen threw herself on the bed. She crawled over me and took possession of my cock before I could pull her in my arms. She gripped it hard, but then her lips closed on mine for a wet, invading kiss. Helen threw back her head in triumph: -

“My, my! I love what my striptease does to your beautiful cock: I love being so naughty! Next time I’ll make sure I’ll have more to take off. You love watching my striptease, don’t you? God, it made you big and hard and so quick! Now tell me now how much you want to kiss me, touch me, fuck me! And I’ll tell you how much I want to be kissed and touched and fingered and fucked. By you! Only you! And all our naughty dirty talking. I love it. I’ll go crazy!”