0 comments/ 28372 views/ 0 favorites Mistaken Identity Ch. 1 By: Rocket Every so often, grown men and women dress up in costumes and masks and gather to drink and dance and be someone else. You should meet some of them. Sara the Slut wants to do the business with Dracula. Dick the Detective has been threatening to body search everyone, except the Nun, whose behaviour is slowly becoming less and less....um, holy. This has not gone unnoticed by the very patient Patient, abandoned since the Nurse decided to escape with Houdini. These observations, and the rumoured presence of Bree C, have Pete the Paparazzi beside himself. Before this year's Combined Charities Costume Party with Masks is over, he will expose the pride of this town's business folk, and its improbable world famous peddler of C Rap music, for what they really are. Ingenious! No, not them. Him! Behind the perfect cover, Pete has been able to snap away with the fake, 'fake' camera, if you know what I mean. And while nothing worthy of the Internet has happened yet, he knows it will. Just as it has every other year, but gone unreported. Not this time. The 2001 Combined Charities Costume Party with Masks will catapult his name into paparazzi fame. Out on the dance floor, Pete can see that Mandingo the Slave is the master. The World's Ugliest Woman is also there, having way too much fun as the giant Negro bumps and grinds her from behind. Deemed too ugly to be seen, she wears a white hooded robe that looks more like the KKK. It's anyone's guess who she really is; anyone that is, except her husband Pete. And he's not impressed when the giant black hands slide upwards, taming her bouncing tits with a force that almost squashes them flat. Immediately, she throws her head back in approval, before taking his hands and returning them to her waist. Hey, you! That's my missus. To Pete's relief, the song ends, and Mandingo and The World's Ugliest Woman break apart. Shit! Now, they're heading this way. Pete does his best to slip into the darkness of the corridor leading to the toilets. Thankfully, she stops short of him, and enters the ladies room. Mandingo loiters outside, clearly hatching a plan. Bugger off, will you! He doesn't. Quite the contrary. Pete the Paparazzi watches Mandingo take The World's Ugliest Woman by the arm and lead her further into the darkness. Here, he pushes her roughly against the wall. The onslaught catches her by surprise and she drops her purse. As she bends to pick it up, Mandingo shamelessly lifts her robe, exposing a bare arse. "Hey!" she calls, tugging her robe down again. "Take it easy." Yeah, ya' big log. Leave her be. And you go and get some knickers on! Next, her assailant wedges his leg between hers, forcing them apart. His hand disappears under the robe, and is allowed to remain there. It's no wonder Mandingo starts unzipping his fly.. Too far! Now he's going too far. The giant slave takes her hand and places it inside his pants. Pete hears him whisper something that sounds like he wants to fuck her. "Not here!" "But you're busting my balls. At least jerk me off." Mandingo the Slave leans over and places his hands either side of her against the wall. Pete sees their lips lock, and her two-handed motion, almost hidden from view. A couple wander by, chatting amicably, and her hands stop as they pass. Now! Get out of there now! When the corridor is clear, Pete looks back, and can't see her. Good girl. Suddenly, a fierce flash of light reveals she is on her knees, her face hard against his thrusting hips. "Got ya!" yells the figure fleeing in the other direction. Who the fuck was that? In the one moment, Mandingo, The World's Ugliest Woman and Pete the Paparazzi have all been caught with their pants down. So to speak. ******************** The word that Mandingo the Slave was looking for a prick with a camera is spreading quicker than a new wife's arse. Pete the Paparazzi knows because of the chat he has been hearing while hiding in the fire hose cabinet. What he doesn't know is if it's safe to leave. It's not like he hasn't used the time to hatch his usual brilliant plan. Of course he has. But it relies on a clear passage to the car, so he can return with the real 'fake' camera. At least until the heat is off. As for is wife, well----- Brrnnn! Brrnnn! Shit! The ring of his mobile phone in the confined steel cabinet almost splits his head in two. Brrnnn! Brrnnn! Shit! Shit! Shit! In the desperate game of twister with the fire hose, Pete somehow manages to retrieve the camera bag containing his phone. He clambers to open it. The phone's green light promises quiet, and he presses it. "Hello?" he whispers. "Where are you?" screams his annoyed wife. "You're not home for dinner yet." A confused Pete needs a moment to answer. "Work. I stayed at work 'cause you were going to the costume party." "What did you say? I can't hear you." "Work. I said I'm at work 'cause you were going to the costume party." "Oh! Well, I didn't go. The costume I wanted was already hired. And you said you wouldn't be seen dead at it." A loud thump on the cabinet door startles them both. "What was that, Pete? Where are you?" Again the thump. And another. "Gotta go!" explains Pete, stowing the camera bag amongst the coils of the hose just as the door is wrenched open. "Couldn't hear a bloody thing outside!" he says, waving the phone at the bemused crowd. Before he hears... "I've been looking for you, man!" Mistaken Identity Ch. 2 With both hands full on her way back from the bar, Sara the Slut is easy prey for the character blocking her path. "Let me purge your sins, my child," urges the Padre, clamping his mouth on hers. One prolonged French kiss later, it is a breathless Padre who needs saving. Sara laughs at his predicament. "Here, let me check," offers the Nurse, and takes a firm grip on his rising interest. "Now cough, Padre." He does. And is pronounced alive. That's how it is at this and every other year's Combined Charities Costume Party with Masks. The Nurse examines patients and gets away with it, because that's what nurses do. Dracula bites stranger's necks, because that's what Dracula does. And Sara the Slut - well, you get the picture. In her black lycra, heels and fishnet stockings, she has greeted everyone with her price list and 'worth-every-cent' smile. "Lesbian: $50 a half hour; group: $200; Interracial: $50 an hour. Anything else I can't get at home is negotiable." Mike the Miser isn't convinced. Toulouse-Lautrec rushes to her defense. "You must be kidding. Quibbling over those prices? Look at those tits," he argues. "But have you seen them?" counters Mike. "They mightn't be real." "Well, what about her arse? What a great arse! And her legs...man." "What would you know? You're just a mad little artist-" "With an oversized dick!" "And a case of the clap that ultimately kills you." "Not before I make a whole lot of whores happy," he says, with a wink to Sara. He needn't have bothered. Sara- quite the artist herself- knows all about the legend of Toulouse-Lautrec. And it's unlikely that this pretender will be able to measure up. "So, can I do you?" The voice interrupts her thoughts. "Can you what?" "What about it? Can I do a sketch of you?" "Weren't all your models nude?" "Of course!" "And that's what you have in mind for me?" "Of course!" "I don't come cheap." "And I'm not used to paying." "I'm free!" It's that annoying Nurse, back from her escapades with Houdini. "Looks like you missed your chance," says Lautrec to Sara. "And you." "How do you figure that?" "Well, I was thinking it should be me doing you. Now that would be an interesting twist to the tale." "You paint?" "Oh yeah." "And she can come along?" he asks, pointing to the peeved Nurse. "If she's got 50 bucks. For each half hour." Sara's price list conjures images he has always considered priceless. "It's a deal!" someone yells. All three turn towards a leering Mike the Miser, who adds, "And I'd better get my money's worth." ***************** Dracula is pissed. And pissed off. At the time of the night that belongs to him, Sara the Slut has forgotten he exists. Instead she is being way too nice to that miserly Mike. Buying him drinks and all. Bet he's ripping her off. Well fuck her. I'm off to see the Nurse. Dracula rises from the bar and teeters towards the booth where the Nurse and Lautrec are saying farewell to a bunch dominated by Sherwood forest dwellers. "You can't be leaving yet," he mumbles. "Sorry, Drac," she says. "But I'm on morning shift." "And I'm making sure she gets there," smirks Lautrec. "But I'm sure these guys plan to kick on." Dracula looks over the group. Maid Marion appears determined to see if Little John isn't so little. Not that Robin seems to mind. Will Scarlett's tights have caught his attention. Friar Tuck is out of luck. But there is someone else. Looks like it's the Nun- or none. Minutes later, Dracula is too busy to notice the quartet of Mike the Miser and Sara the Slut, and Toulouse-Lautrec and the Nurse leave arm in arm. But they notice him. And the irony of Count Dracula's hand under a Nun's habit is not lost on them. "Wish I had a camera," remarks Sara. Just like in the corridor earlier, a bright flash captures the moment. "See, tonight your wishes do come true!" calls Lautrec. As they might for the shadowy character who has decided to follow them to her home. ****************** Dick the Detective is dirty. For the hour since the revelers entered the house, he has been hiding in the bushes hoping the phantom photographer will make an appearance. An hour he could have spent back at the party deciding who would get a ride in his police car. More than enough time for the jerk to turn up here, if he was going to. He has passed the time applying his deductive skills to what has unfolded. And right now, from the lights and laughter, he knows they are all in the loft. Which he just might be able to see into if he stands on the garden gnome in the rose bed. So he does. In time to see Sara appear, now wearing a long paint-stained shirt tied at her waist, and apparently bugger all else. She gestures to the couch, onto which Toulouse-Lautrec unceremoniously flops. "No,no, no," she admonishes. "Get them off, just like I would have had to." All of a sudden, Toulouse-Lautrec isn't so cocky. "Get on with it!" "But I'm, well, uh, there's a bit happening down there." "I'd be insulted if there wasn't," she replies. "Either you do it, or I will." Which prompts him to quickly remove his shirt and, with a flourish, toss it onto the ceiling fan. He has barely laid back on the couch when she orders, "now the rest." "Nuh. No can do. A man's gotta have some pride," he argues. "Like you think that way when you're on this end of the deal." Dick the Detective is impressed when she doesn't give Lautrec time to answer. But not nearly as much as when she bends over, her bare arse flashing as she takes the legs of Lautrec's pants and tries to drag them off him. They hold firm, and she climbs on the couch, straddling the wide- eyed victim before leaning forward to untie the waist sash on his costume. Again the shirt rides up, and again Dick is flashed. He begins to wobble atop the gnome. Another tug, this time at the hips, and the pants move ever so slightly. And again. They move a little more. Like a slow strip. Too slow. Sara leans right over, and takes a determined grip on the pants at the waist. Dick leans right over, and the gnome squeezes out from under him. As he is falling, the last thing he sees is a bright flash, and a huge hard-on spring free, almost slapping a startled Sara across the face. When he lands on the concrete gnome, his own erection is stunned by the agony. Sara and Toulouse-Lautrec are speechless. She is staring at what's in front of her. And he is staring at the ceiling. "Al right then. But I'm not really an artist," he finally concedes. ******************************* In half an hour, Sara has created a minor masterpiece. Watching on, Mike the Miser and the Nurse are suitably impressed. "Are you sure my honour is safe?" demands Toulouse-Lautrec. "Just seeing to it," says Sara. Amid some giggles, Sara adds his mask. "All done," she exclaims. "So who's next," asks Toulouse-Lautrec. "I know!" suggests the Nurse. "What about this?" In a flash, she had joined Lautrec on the couch. She hitches up her skirt and makes out she is riding him. "Hang on," says Sara. "I'm the worker here. And I'm ready for a drink." "In the spa?" asks Mike the Miser. "You've got a spa? What are we doing here?" With that the Nurse is up again, dragging Lautrec with her. "It's down there," concedes Sara, pointing to the detached room. "Complete with bar. I'll be along in a minute." By the time she rejoins them, they are already in the spa. Not surprisingly, clothes are strewn on the floor. At once, they descend on the food she has brought. "Are you getting in here? Or do we have to come and get you?" Mike enquires. Sara nods. The cool bubbling water quickly washes away the last of her doubts. It feels right to be here. Sara is still in her shirt, now thoroughly wet through. The material clings to her large breasts, doing nothing to hide them. She suspects her dark bush is also visible, and cares enough to stay below the turbulent water. The Nurse wades over. "What's up with the clothes?" "It's just me being the real me," Sara responds. "Well I like the other you better," says the Nurse, reaching for the last of the frankfurts. "So if she turns up, would you tell her we should put on a show for the guys?" With that, she offers the frankfurt to Sara. "No, you have it." "We'll share," says the Nurse, suggestively taking it in her mouth. One half protrudes, which Sara accepts. Someone, maybe both of them, slowly takes more of it into their mouth, which causes their lips to move closer and closer. And the meat to disappear. It's enough to make a grown man grow some more. "Go girls!" is the cry. The Nurse's arms wrap around Sara, before her hands disappear under the water. The men can only guess what's going on. Finally the girls' lips meet, just a touch. At first. Then the sausage reappears, wet and red, before disappearing again, heralding a fierce kiss that leaves the onlookers breathless. Sara locks eyes with Mike the Miser, approaching behind the Nurse. He presses up close, before reaching out, and enclosing them both in his long arms. She can feel his hands sliding down the Nurse's arms, and is sure she knows where they are headed. Instinctively, she spreads her stance a little. Suddenly they are pulled apart. And in disbelief, Sara watches Mike the Miser lead the Nurse away to the other side of the room.. ******************************** Alone with Toulouse-Lautrec, Sara knows he is going to make a move. Instead, he springs out of the spa, his cock bouncing right in front of her before he wanders over to the bar for two more drinks. "Looks like something has him all worked up," Sara calls. "I might be getting on, but I'm not dead yet," comes the response. "Well, now's your chance. I'm sure the Nurse can find the time, or the place, for one more." "But I wouldn't want to leave you here on your own," he says on returning. "Unless you want to join in too." "Thanks. But no thanks," Sara replies, casually resting her head on his shoulder. "That's nice," Lautrec says. She decides to leave it there a little longer. "Is your mind off the others now?" Sara asks. "Not yet." Sara muzzles her lips into the side of his neck. "What about now?" "Uh- not entirely. But I think this will help!" Toulouse-Lautrec turns to kiss her, and barely believes it when she doesn't pull away. He lifts his lips, and looks into her dark eyes- eyes that are saying 'it's OK if you want to kiss me again'- and he does, more passionately this time. Her mouth opens to the flick of his tongue, and she kisses him back; now pressing against him, her tits squashed against his bare chest. Too quickly, it ends. "What about now?" "Definite improvement," he says. "We're on the right track then," comes the response. "So what else will help?" "I think it will help if this is undone," he says, reaching for the knot tied in her shirt. She stands unmoved, almost defiantly as he works the knot undone, and lets the ends of the shirt fall. Sara laughs as he curses animatedly when the shirt still covers her breasts. "Hate to see a grown man suffer!" she teases, and spreads her arms, allowing her breasts to bounce into view. "Is your mind off the others now?" "They're beautiful; you're beautiful!" he says into her ear. She knows that he means it, and thanks him by putting her hands on his, holding them to her hard nipples. "Why don't you guys join us!" Mike the Miser calls from across the room. For what seems like forever, neither of them move. Eventually Toulouse-Luutrec speaks. "Sara, can I ask you if you have done anything like that before?" "What a question to ask a lady!" she laughs. "Oops!" Toulouse-Lautrec replies. I mean have you-" "No!" Sara replies. "And you?" "Guilty as charged." "So what's keeping you back now?" "I like the present company." "And if we both join in?" "Right now I want to keep the present company to myself." "Smart answer," Sara says, playfully reaching behind and grabbing his erect cock. Toulouse-Lautrec jumps at her touch. He expects her to release it immediately. She doesn't. "Nice cock," Sara says. "Nice tits," Lautrec replies. "Perhaps they should get together." Sara turns to face him, and slowly peels off the shirt. "Is this what you were thinking?" she enquires. Toulouse-Lautrec drops to his knees in the water, his head now at her waist. He slides his tongue into her navel, before muzzling at the hint of soft down that is visible above the bubbling water. At water level, he stops, then works his way up, licking under each heavy breast before moving onto her nipples. Sara reaches down, and pulls one of her breasts to her mouth, just reaching the nipple; sharing it with his mouth until their tongues meet and they want something else. Lautrec slips his tongue in and out of Sara's mouth and she understands and sucks it, as if it is the cock she is holding. "Show me what you want," Sara says into his mouth. Lautrec sits her on the steps of the spa, and stands in front, pressing his cock between her tits. Knowingly, Sara squeezes them together as he begins to fuck the valley between them. She decides to go further, and occasionally bends down to tease the fat head with her mouth, drawing a deep gasp from him each time her lips touch his cock. Now Lautrec begins to push higher, offering more of his cock to that beautiful mouth, and finds it willing; the lips pursed so that each upstroke breaks its way into the warm mouth. Way too soon he feels his orgasm approaching, and warns her. "You're going to make me come if you keep that up." "Now do you want to join the others?" Sara asks. **************************** Next morning, it is a tired and confused Sara that crawls out of bed. She dresses, and gathers up the costumes, before heading into the kitchen. Her partner is already at the table, his head buried in the morning newspaper. "Guess what?" he calls. "Looks like Dick has got himself in deep shit again." She approaches and kisses him on top of the head. On the front page of the paper is a photo of the Detective sprawled out in someone's garden. The caption reads 'Garden gnome foils prying eye.' "Wonder where that was?" he asks. Men! Sometimes you don't even know what goes on in your own backyard. Mistaken Identity Ch. 3 If Sara is perturbed by her partner's unexpected presence at breakfast, she is not showing it. "When did you get back in town?" she asks nonchalantly. "Last night," he replies. "When last night?" "Does it matter?" "You didn't come to bed." "I didn't want to wake you, so I crashed in one of the spare rooms. Anyway, the bedroom door was locked." "And did you sleep alone?" "What sort of question is that?" he barks. "It's a joke, grumblebum. It's just that Mike and some others bunked here after the party. And I had visions of you stumbling in on them." "Mike's here?" "It's not like it's the first time he has stayed over," she counters. "Yeah, but not when I've been away." "Really?" she says. He thinks he sees her smirk. Then again, he is looking for the devil in everything. "Anyway, how was the party this year?" he inquires. "I wasn't sure about going as the slut, not without my favourite pimp." "You were OK. I asked Mike to look after you." "You what?" "I mean, you know, just keep an eye out. Not to spy on you or anything." "I can't believe you did that." "What's the big deal. You made it home in one piece." "It's a big deal to me." "I don't know why." "Well, it puts a different slant on all the extra attention he gave me." "What kind of attention?" "The kind that helps a man get lucky." She leaves him to wrestle with that notion, and heads off for a shower. * * * * * * The cool shower proves to be just the tonic she needs. Sara decides to wait awhile, letting the morning air dry her. Her peace is interrupted when Mike and Toulouse-Lautrec wander into the bathroom, clearly feeling the effects of last night's drinking. They haven't noticed her behind the screen, and she decides to leave it that way. Toulouse heads straight for the toilet pedestal, and noisily pisses into the bowl. "Geez, I needed that," he says, shaking his limp dick dry. "Now I could eat a horse. Wonder where the girls are?" "Beats me," says Mike, pushing Toulouse aside so he can get his turn to relieve himself. "My guess is they are still asleep. Forget the horse! I could eat Sara, no worries." "I don't blame you. I'm sure she doesn't appreciate how gorgeous she is." "I'd like to explain it to her with this," Mike boasts, grabbing his cock. "What do you think, little mate. Wouldn't you like a go at that arse?" Sara decides it's just the moment to step from behind the shower screen. "Morning boys!" she says, casually reaching for her clothes. "You don't look at all well. Would a bit of breakfast help?" Mike is the first to recover. "I'd kill for some bacon and eggs," he replies, and is caught staring at the magnificent tits in front of him. "They're called breasts, Mike," Sara teases. "And what about you, Lautrec?" "I knew that!" comes the reply. "Good for you," she laughs, pulling on a T-shirt that's just long enough. "Oh! Breakfast in fifteen minutes," she adds, as she saunters out of the room. * * * * * * Sara is surprised by how aroused she has become. It gets worse when she detours to tidy up the spa room. As she rushes uneasily through the task, Lautrec catches up with her. "I'm going to go, Sara. I just wanted to see if you are OK about last night before I do." "I'm fine with it, Toulouse-Lautrec." "Actually it's Charlie." "Charlie eh? It's good to put a face and a real name to, well, you know! Anyway, it's OK. Things probably worked out for the best." "Probably, but I just want you to know that doesn't usually happen. In fact it hasn't happen before." "That's what all the guys say!" "Seriously, it hasn't. But when you asked did I want to join the others, I-"" "You don't have to explain what happened. They were my tits in the firing line, remember." "You still could have gone over to the others." "I know. But the moment had passed." "And now we'll never know." "Isn't that the best way to leave it?" she asks, and heads for the door. "I'll probably die wondering!" he calls after her. He hears her laugh. "Can't I have a clue?" he pleads. He is left with the image of her flicking up the back of the t shirt to flash that wondrous arse. * * * * * * While Sara is fixing a belated breakfast for Mike, her partner wanders back into the kitchen. "I have to call into the office for a while. Do you want me to drop your costume back to the shop?" "That would be sweet," she says cheerfully. "It's that bag over there." "What about you Mike? Will I wait and give you a lift home?" "I'll be fine mate. I reckon the walk will do me good." "What about the others?" "I don't know where the nurse is. She disappeared sometime during the night. And Charlie said he had to go." "Fair enough. Anyway, I'll call around later, to catch up on the gossip." The threat, implied or real, isn't lost on Sara, who insists on walking him to his car. He struggles to explain why it's parked around the corner. "You don't have to explain to me," she says. "Just hurry home. Mike's still here. And you know how horny I get after a night out!" * * * * * * Finally, Sara has been able to put some of last night behind her. The spa room is tidy, she has caught up with Lautrec-oops, Charlie; and has seen her partner and Mike off. Shit! The painting! Sara heads for the loft. It seems darker than usual, and she fumbles against the wall for a light switch, lucky to have her hand outstretched when something hard drives her against the wall. In an instant, she is spun around, and rough hands shove her into the centre of the dark room, where she crashes into a table and chairs. "Hey!" she protests, just as her arms are grabbed and pulled behind her. She feels a sharp pain as her ankle is kicked sharply, then the other, signaling her to spread her legs wider. Her t shirt is lifted, and a hard cock is drawn up through her moist sex, and finds her butt hole. Immediately it pushes forward, and she struggles, managing to tear one hand free. With it she is able to reach behind, and fend her assailant off. It works for a moment, until he brushes her arm aside. Again he tries, more forceful this time, and again she pushes him away. This time he releases her arms, only to grip her powerfully around the waist, and pull her back onto him. The sharp pain causes her to gasp. Somehow she manages to grab hold of the eager cock, and squeezes, hard enough to make him stop. An uneasy truce follows. Until she surprises by guiding it lower, where it bullocks into her with ease. The sensation almost sets her off, grateful that the next thrust is a little less violent. So too the ones that follow, expertly driving in and up, sweeping away the ache in her arms and legs from her awkward position. She tries to straighten, but is immediately bent back over. His hands grab her hanging breasts and he changes to short teasing stabs that barely let her warm lips enclose his rounded head. This bastard knows what he is doing, Sara thinks, her desire to feel all of him growing each time her pussy reluctantly feels him fall out. With her hands now free, Sara reaches about for something to balance against, to ease the strain on her body. As she does, he drives in deeply, and joined like that, steers her forward until she feels the back of a chair. Here she crosses her arms across its top, and rests her head on them, now able to fully savour the sensation in her loins before, all too soon, her orgasm joins his. "Fuckin' awesome," says the breathless voice in the dark. Before she can agree, he has gone. * * * * * * By the time he reaches the party hire shop, Sara's partner is desperate for a quick exit. As luck would have it, the counter is unattended. He drops the bag off, and turns to leave. But Ted the Talker spots him. "You're in a hurry!" "Unfortunately. I've got to go to work." "On a weekend. What a shame. Still, a man's got to work. You know, put food on the table. Keep the little woman happy, before someone else does. Then again, I'm working too. But I bet most of the town is still recovering from last night." "Not me. I didn't go to the party." "Didn't you? That's the thing about this business. I could make a fortune this time of the year with what I know about the party. Luckily, I'm not a talker." They are hardly reassuring words. To speed things up, Sara's partner slides the bag along the counter towards Ted the Talker. "What have we here?" Ted asks. "I'm just dropping it off for Sara." "Sara? Sara? Oh, Sara! Now I remember." Ted the Talker reaches into the bag and pulls out the nurse's uniform. Sara's partner likes what he sees. "That's odd!" Ted says. He reaches in again, and pulls out the lycra. "That's more like it." He looks it over, sniffs at it, and looks once more. "Hardly been worn," he concludes. "It can go straight here." With that, he lovingly drapes it on a store mannequin. The mannequin beside it is dressed as Toulouse-Lautrec. Ted steps back to admire his handiwork. "They make a nice couple, don't you think?" he says, somewhat suggestively. "No, I bloody don't!" It's little wonder Sara's partner cops a speeding ticket on his way over to Mike's. * * * * * * Sara is laying face down, one leg hooked over her partner's thigh. He lays on his back, silently staring at the ceiling. It's the same scene most nights, right before they sort out any differences and go to sleep. "Did you catch up with Mike?" she asks. "I did," he replies. "He had a very interesting story about that nurse." "Are you going to tell me?" "Not yet! What about you? Is there something you want to tell me first?" "There is." Sara takes a deep breath. "Today, in the loft, I had the best fuck of my life." Her partner thinks for a very long time. "Why are you telling me this?" he finally asks. "Because I think we both need to be very honest about why that was." "It's a deal," he says. "But there is one thing I need to know. How did you know it was me?" Sara smiles cheekily, and rolls on top of him. "How do you know I did?" Which guarantees her the ride of her life- so to speak.