Alice Brown's Lessons in the Curious Art of Dating by Eleanor Prescott

want me to fuck you,’ he commanded. ‘Tell me how you touch your pussy and think about me.’
    ‘I want you to fuck me. I touch my pussy and think about you,’ Lou echoed mildly as her stomach was rammed rhythmically against the drip tray, slopping beer over the sides with each thrust. Tony emitted a guttural, strangled sound before crumpling into the back of her neck. Lou could feel the sweat from his forehead smear against her skin.
    She let a few seconds pass.
    Then she pushed away, stepped into the right leg of her knickers, and pulled her skirt down from where it had been bunched around her waist. Turning away from the security camera, she surveyed Tony as he leaned sweatily against a fridge, trousers around his ankles, his member already shrivelled within its plastic coating.
    ‘Tony,’ she asked casually, ‘have you ever wondered what would happen if your wife popped in and caught us?’
    ‘Christ!’ he spluttered. ‘She’d tear off my balls andmicrowave ’em.’ He snapped off his condom and threw it across the length of the bar into the bin. Lou scrunched up her face in disgust.
    ‘And then she’d be straight round to her lawyer to screw me for every penny I have and make sure I never saw the kids again.’ He hoisted up his trousers and helped himself to a beer from the fridge. ‘I’d probably lose this place.’ He looked around the bar. ‘She’d turn it into a tanning shop just to fuck with my head.’
    Lou started to fill a bucket so she could mop the floor between Tony and the bin. She might be loose, but she was hygienic.
    ‘So why do you do it?’ she asked as she squirted in the bleach. ‘Why risk it when you could lose so much?’
    Tony moved close and groped her backside, his fingers exploring forwards into the flesh between her legs. ‘Because you’re so fucking hot, I can’t keep my hands off you,’ he letched into her ear. ‘You’re all I think about when I . . .’
    ‘Seriously, Tony.’ Lou pushed away and turned to face him. ‘Why, when you’ve got two kids and shedloads of money to lose, let alone
a wife
, why do you risk it? I’m curious.’
    Tony shrugged his shoulders and swigged from his bottle.
    ‘Because I know Suze. She’d never tear herself away from the beauty salon long enough to come here. I’m so far down her priority list it’s a fucking joke. I’m bottom of the pile, behind throwing my money away on designer handbags, getting her hair done and spending all day in the gym; then it’s the kids, the car, the dog and
then
me.’ He sniffed. Lou wished she’d never asked.
    ‘In the six years we’ve been married she’s never once “popped in”, which is why’ – he stepped towards Lou again and started rubbing her rhythmically – ‘. . . I can spend quality time on staff relations.’
    Clinging to the mop handle, Lou felt her nipples harden. She couldn’t help herself. She knew Tony was a prat. She also knew he’d fire her without a second thought if she started giving him grief. But that was fine; she was using him just as much as he was using her, and bar jobs were easier to pick up than thrush. Besides, she liked shagging the boss. It meant no-strings, high-risk sex (highly prized requisites in her book) and an elevated status in the workplace. And it also made going to work each day a little more bearable knowing that, if the night was quiet and the conditions were right, she might get a sneaky shag.
    A sudden noise interrupted them as Jake and Paul, two of the bar staff, clattered down the stairs. Tony turned and stalked, beer in hand, into the back room. Lou gave the floor a quick mop, and then talked them through their duties for the night.
    By eight o’clock, Tony was ensconced in the back room, pretending to do paperwork, but actually watching the soaps, and Lou was perched on a stool at the end of the bar sipping a white-wine spritzer. Lou never drank at work. Spritzers were at least fifty per cent non-alcoholic so didn’t actually