As we went about making ourselves presentable, she made an engaging proposal... "You're in town for the next four weeks as I understand. I expect that you would like to do this again," she blithely but accurately assumed. I nodded my agreement. She fixed me with a look normally reserved for the use of exasperated schoolteachers. "At the back of the property is a gate which leads to a side road. If you park there you can reach the studio without anyone at the main house knowing. I will expect you at 2pm tomorrow." I was completely unsurprised when she looked at me even more pointedly and added, "I expect punctuality." As I nodded my assent, she reached into a drawer and removed a small notebook. A brief entry was quickly added. A record of tomorrows tryst? She must have a pretty bad memory if she couldn't remember, "Tomorrow at 2." It was certainly information that was seared into my consciousness.

We exited the cabin after she had expertly returned the room to its former state. As we walked back up the path to the land of the sexually frustrated, I mused at the bizarre encounter that I had just experienced. I had clearly fallen down that rabbit hole.

We rejoined the others, cleverly approaching from the opposite direction to give the impression we had circled the house. In front of everyone I politely and formally, thanked her for the tour and the time she had afforded me. A brief smirk flicked across her face before she smiled abstractedly and moved off to attend to her other guests. I had little interaction with her during the remaining hour of our visit, although one exchange is firmly fixed in my memory. As she leant over my shoulder to pour me another cup of coffee, she quietly whispered in my ear. "My underwear is sodden. Do you always discharge like that? I'm leaking like a sinking ship live sex."

I stifled my laughter and furtively replied, "You may be leaking but I am as hard as a rock." She emitted a low groan and abruptly glided away. My quick scan for a wet patch in the crotch of her slacks was disappointingly unrewarded. I made a mental note not to masturbate tonight or tomorrow morning. I wanted to build up a good backlog of joy juice. A seminal amount of semen if you will. Tomorrow, at some probably precise time between 2 and 3 pm, I would answer her question in a very emphatic and tangible manner. My goal was to have her leaking like the Titanic. The thought of this promptly rejuvenated my sturdy erection.

There is something exceptionally titillating in watching a woman walking around, interacting with people including her husband, knowing that your cum is languidly seeping out of her most intimate crevice. No one else knows but the two co-conspirators and the female protagonist can feel it with every stride or movement. I felt sure that Mrs. G. was also mischievously stimulated by this most sinful of seepages. She certainly made no move towards the bathroom to alleviate the problem of the protein milkshake pooling in her knickers. It was also diverting to observe her, on several occasions, tenderly touching the top of her head. I think that while she may have drawn some momentary masochistic pleasure from my hammering her head into the bedhead, but the concomitant injury was now coming home to roost. That erection of mine would just not go away.

When the ostentatious grandfather clock in the sitting room struck 4pm, Mrs. G rose to her feet and thanked us all for coming. Apparently, the function was over. As we bade farewell, I shook her hand and again thanked her for her time. She replied that it was time well spent. I held her hand just a little too long and when I saw her eyes flick to my crotch and see the tangible trouser tentage that evidenced my arousal, I firmly squeezed her petite little hand. The lip curl and eyebrow lift arrived on cue. Looking up at me, she then gave me a look that could only be described as intense, but she quickly averted her eyes before anyone could note her reaction. As she turned back to the house, I saw that she could not deny herself one last sidelong glance at my crotch. As she walked away, I thought I saw her head and shoulders shake as if she was shuddering. As we walked to our car, I amused myself with the thought of the delectable opportunities that good time management could provide tomorrow.

Time will tell but I was sure it will be time well spent.

(Happy to continue the story if the feedback is positive)