The Art Guy (18+) COMPLETE, FREE to READ

Exhibitionism at its Finest

Dee's place was miles away. They jumped on the Tube, encountering the usual crowds who crushed Katrina's body against Mick. He didn't object. She started fondling him, and he whispered to her, "Un-do my jeans. No-one will see."

He dropped one arm, the other strap hanging. The arm that fell to his side hid what she was doing. The Londoners travelling with them followed the Tube code anyway, their faces glued to books, newspapers and magazines, at pains to catch no-one's eye.

She popped the buttons of his Levi's, and slid her hand in. Mick was bloody huge, so big that she wondered about pain. Maybe Dee might have some lube she could nick. The hand job was awkward. She couldn't pull his cock out fully, and his jeans only gave her limited space to move her hand up and down.

Nevertheless, Mick had that look on his face, the one she'd seen on a lot of men where they float away from you, eyes closed and the focus only on the sensation. She could be anyone.

The stops flashed past, one more and they'd need to change trains and platforms. She moved her hand faster, Mick's ragged exhortations "don't stop, don't stop" moving in time to the rhythm of the train.

They were at their stop, but he shook his head, and the doors opened and closed, Mick and Katrina still inside. The carriage had emptied out, however—its only occupants them and an old, drunk guy curled up on a seat and fast asleep.

She pushed Mick down and he dropped gratefully onto the worn upholstery. She slid down too, dropping to her knees in front of him. His cock sprang out of his unbuttoned flies. His hand went to the back of her head, and she brushed it off, irritated that he hadn't got the memo that told blokes never to push a woman's head down like that.

The hand tried again, this time a gentle caress. Maybe it was a 'sorry'.

He was staring down at her, grinning now. "Be quick!!" she muttered, and he nodded and held up one finger. It might mean one stop. It could be one minute. Whatever, he was as good as his word. She barely had to touch her lips to him, opening her mouth as wide as she could to take as much of him in as possible, and he came, the warm saltiness of it coating the back of her throat and just about choking her.

They had to double back two stops to get the train that would take them to Dee's. Mick kept up a running commentary. "When we get in, ah'm gonnae fuck you so hard you'll scream, but first ah'm gonnae lick you out, lay you on my bed and cream you up so good, a''ll just slide into you in one go..."

Oh, it was naff, the words copied from some terrible porn script, but she found herself squirming anyway, nipples hardened and groin pulsating. Would this journey ever end?

Dee's flat was in some new riverside development that screamed money. There was a doorman who gave them both a funny look. Perhaps it was obvious what Katrina had just done, 'slut' written in semen stains across her forehead.

Still, who cared? Mick grabbed her to him as they got into the lift, and the kiss transported her back to the 12-year-old who'd decided that she and Mick would be a couple. The 12-year-old grinned at her from a distance and stuck up both her thumbs.

Mick dropped the keys, fumbling to open the door to the flat. As it swung open, it cast out bright light.

Someone was home.

"Mick!" Dee's voice called out from the living room. "I've got Callie here. I've had this brilliant idea for a new project and the Channel 4 bosses seem keen. It'll involve an overseas trip for the next couple of months."

He turned to Katrina, his face torn. No pay-back orgasm for Katrina, but the prospect of another way to make the Rock 'n' Roll chef famous.

No contest.

Katrina moved back, letting herself quietly out of the flat. At least she wouldn't have to explain an overnight absence to the Walkers.