There were three girls in the office that I would have liked to have sex with. And not just me, of course, but all the men who worked there. That's how it is in any place of work. You keep it professional on the surface, but that doesn't mean people aren't quietly lusting after each other, and the mistake most men make is thinking the women aren't doing it too.

When I say three girls I fancied, I mean they were the standouts. The right age - around 30 - attractive in the accepted way. Pretty, shapely enough and clean, so you could get to grips with them without wondering what you were letting yourself in for. In addition to those three or four there were all the supporting cast, who might get promoted to the first division after a few drinks on a night out. The older ones, for instance. It's a shame that women feel invisible once they reach middle age, as some say they do. And they might be past their best in their own eyes, but let's face it, none of us are as irresistible as we used to be, or would have liked to be.

I've got pretty broad tastes, as it happens. I might have a preferred general type, but I think a lot of women are pretty wonderful, which makes it a lot easier for an unattached person to have a good sex life. If they're not exactly throwing themselves at you, at least you owe it to yourself to notice when you have an opportunity and then take it.

So, this little group of three. There was a tall, well-built girl who was as good looking as any woman has a right to expect. There was a plump one who most of the other guys weren't interested in because of her shape - although I thought she was gorgeous and very sexy. The third one, Lalla, was a bona fide cracker. Slim but shapely, pretty as a picture, with good smooth skin and long fair hair. Not blonde but fair. Lush and lustrous.

Lalla was regarded as a bit of a bitch, because he could be haughty, as if she had a high opinion of herself, but I put that down to her being less self-confident than people expected. I thought if she was approached in the right way, treated well but not with too much deference, she might react well. You mustn't put a gorgeous girl on a pedestal, as if she holds all the cards. That's my theory, anyway.

I made a point of going over and talking to her and the second time I did it, she noticed. That's something they say in the theatre, apparently: nothing happens till it happens twice. So there I was again, just happened to be passing and stayed for a chat. didn't know what she was thinking, but I had decided I wasn't going to be bashful. I wasn't going to embarrassed, even if she rejected the advances I was going to make. I wasn't going to go over the top, mind. I wasn't going to tell her that I had always wanted to lick her all over, including her arsehole. But that was what I was aiming for, in as few moves as I could manage. Checkmate in two chats and a date.

When I asked her out she didn't bat an eyelid. She looked into space across the office and said, "Yeah, okay..." fishing for confirmation.

We went for dinner at a restaurant out of town where we were unlikely to meet anyone we knew and after a hesitant start the conversation flowed and she became less cagey. The steel in her eyes disappeared and she began to let me into her life. And she did look fantastic, having made an effort with makeup and a sleek, short black dress that showed off her breasts and her lovely, shapely legs. With a woman like her you never know if she wants to have your mind crawling up her skirt and settling into the warmth and the gentle womanly fragrance at the top of her thighs. I suspected she did want that, but I knew she also had a "hair trigger" that could snap her goodwill shut in an instant if she took something the wrong way.

We lingered over liqueurs and it was getting quite late before the taxi arrived. I was going to leave my car at the restaurant. She had arrived in a cab as we played it by the book, both sensible, responsible adults, keen to impress one another.

So that was where we went: back to my place. Obviously she wouldn't be driving home, so the question was, would she keep the taxi and shoot off into the night or would she come in for a while?

"Peppermint tea?" she requested, because we had been discussing that kind of thing, so we entered my flat and we had advanced along the path that just might lead to sex.

Her eyes lingered on mine for a split second - or did i imagine that? A jag of electricity scratched my spine. Shit, I thought. She fancies me. She's only human and she might just be in the mood for a shag. My mind crawled back up her skirt and nestled in the damp, steamy atmosphere of her knickers. Very soon, I hoped, my hand would be in there, followed by my face and ultimately my cock. It's a natural progression, at least for me. You still find women complaining that men don't give them enough foreplay, but for me it can be the best part. To be actually in there, your hips between her thighs and your pulsating donger buried up to the hilt in her succulent fleshy marshmallow sleeve is fantastic, of course, but it is more of a privilege to have your face in her crotch, with her juices on your cheeks and chin and tongue and her aromas in your nostrils.

Back in the moment, we were both still fully clothed, with no moves made and no questions asked. All I knew was that she liked peppermint tea.

But when I went back into the lounge with two steaming cups in my hand, I saw this vision sitting on the sofa with one foot up on the coffee table, revealing a black stocking top at the business end of her svelte, dusky legs. During our meal, I had been too preoccupied with her beautiful face and breasts, and anyway her legs had been hidden by the table. But now she was in the driving seat. She seemed to have gone up a gear and decided to turn up the heat. Surely she didn't think she had to try to seduce me? She was generally regarded as the sexiest girl any of us knew - but a bitch and therefore to be treated carefully.

This made it doubly difficult to decide how to play it - if indeed I had any say in the matter. Lalla was breathing fire from her crotch. Her eyes were still non-committal, but her sexual equipment had just issued a direct order to mine in that incredible, invisible, inaudible way that animal attraction works.

Or was she toying with me? Was she going to make a fool of me at the last minute? No wonder she didn't have a boyfriend. Everyone was wary of her. Here I was, on the verge of the Valley of Eternal Ecstasy, and I was afraid of falling in.

Pull yourself together, man, I urged myself. She wants to be shagged and she clearly wants you to do it. There is nobody else here; it's an open and shut case.

I put the mugs down and sat next to her. I looked at her elevated knee and then at her eyes. She stared defiantly. I put my hand on her knee and she slapped her hand down on top of mine and left it there. Was this good or bad?

There was a problem: I was on the wrong side. I like to have a woman on my left so my right hand is free to do the fancy stuff. I'm nowhere near as good with my left. I have never understood why most couples lie in bed the wrong way round. Same reason: most men are right handed, so in that configuration they are forced to swing their left arm over and use that to tinker with her. Or do they do that so the woman is free to play with a penis?

I stood up in what I hoped was a decisive but not alarming way and asked her to move along. She agreed with a quizzical look on her face, and we resumed our closeness with her foot back up on the table.

"Go and sit over there," she said then, nodding to an armchair opposite. This could have been a bad sign - had I been demoted, banned from sitting next to her? I obeyed anyway, and I could tell she liked that. I sat back, rather than eagerly forward, and watched as she put her other foot up as well. Then she parted her knees with a sort of flapping motion and left them apart. I had been rewarded with that rare sight: a deliberate view up the motorway between her thighs. And the motorway was dark and sexy, naughty. Stockinged thighs, that staple of men's sexual fantasies, flashed at me by this gorgeous creature.

Lalla looked me in the eyes and a half-smile played across her face. The eyes were coldly encouraging. If you're up to this, they were saying, it could be a lot of fun. She cranked her knees apart even further.

"Show me your cock," she ordered. I reached down, relieved that I was rock hard. I unbuttoned, unzipped and slipped my trousers down to my knees. My erection told her everything she needed to know.

She stood up and reached behind her shoulders to unzip her dress, then wriggled out of it. She was spectacularly beautiful, from her slender neck to her full, shapely breasts, down over her gently rolling, firm stomach, to the black triangle that covered her pubic area, to those wonderful thighs, dressed in their outlaw sheaths. The remnants of her last holiday tan accentuated her private parts. She turned around and pulled her thong out of her crack, slowly and deliberately for my benefit, then pulled it right down and off, balancing expertly on single legs to remove that tiny garment. She threw it over to me.

"Put it to your nose," she said calmly. I did so guiltily, exposed immediately as a pervert who wanted to smell her effluent. I brought the sail-like front piece up first and inhaled the products of her vulva. It was salty and savoury. Then as her eyes burned into mine, I slid the device around and ran the string under my nose.

"You're disgusting," she said, deadpan. "I knew it." She turned around and knelt on the seat of the sofa, her hands on the back and her bottom pointing at me.

"Come and lick my arse," she said, with what might have been a slight tremor in her voice.

She pulled her cheeks apart, which wasn't really necessary because her crack was a dip rather than a gorge, but it did allow me to see that her hole was predictably immaculate, almost shiny, like perfect pink scar tissue.

It did make me wonder, though, why she was as she was in terms of personality. Why was someone so physically perfect such an awkward character? It also made me wonder how she saw me now. Was I a slave, as you see the willing ass-licker referred to in some porn videos? I felt like nothing of the sort; if this was slavery, I wanted to be shackled there forever as long as my tongue was allowed to caress her anus and sweep lovingly around her fabulously sensitive area.

She groaned, as many women do when receiving this most abject of rude actions. It was a noise that said she had no excuse for herself; she knew his was the basest pleasure in the book and she loved it. We smooched together for ages, my face in Lalla's arse, happy together in this alternative reality.

Eventually, after three orgasms that had her writhing and clenching and making guttural noises through pursed lips, she gasped, "Stop."

She removed herself from my clutches and told me to lie on my back. She went down like a grateful recipient eager to give something back, sucking me and loving what she was doing. Then, with a final long lick, she pressed me to the mattress, ordering me to turn over. She started to massage my lower legs - at least it was like a massage until she began to dig her thumbs in at the base of my calves. It was as if she had studied anatomy with the sole intention of discovering places where pain could be inflicted.

"Don't you ever, ever tell anyone about this," she growled.

Then she climbed all the way up my body, so that she knelt astride me, facing the wall. Still wearing the black stockings, Lalla was clearly loving her role as brazen seductress and dominatrix, now setting her bits on my nose and cheeks. Then she shifted a little to facilitate something and began to urinate in my mouth. To be fair, it would have been over my face and chin if I hadn't opened my mouth to receive it, but this was the most exciting thing I had ever known - at least since I had licked her arsehole a few minutes earlier. This woman was dynamite.

I gagged a little as she flooded me with her piss, and then she somehow stopped it and wriggled down my body until she was over my crotch, where she let me have the rest of her delivery.

My cock engorged still further and I rammed it into her cunt and fucked her, holding her hips for leverage. She bounced cooperatively and soon began to squeal, then banged herself harder and more frantically before grinding with incredible liquid force and then rolling off me and collapsing onto the bed. Whereupon she simply fell asleep while I wondered what to do next.

Sore and throbbing, I took myself off to the bathroom, washed in cool water, dried off and smeared myself with calendula cream (for sore skin).

Then I sat on the sofa with a glass of old brandy I had been saving for a special occasion.

I picked her dress off the floor and placed it carefully on a chair, then sat back down gingerly, just as the door opened and she came in. She nodded briskly, pulled the dress on and left.