“Being independent, you mean? I’ll certainly have more freedom not living with Daddy. Not to mention the servants. I envisage taking advantage.”

Which led to the foreseen question: my place or yours? Mine was a two-bedroom apartment I had managed to buy a few months before Islington became fashionable; hers was the mews cottage in Belgravia, which had not been out of fashion for at least two centuries. That night mine was nearer and by the time we left the restaurant we were neither of us in favour of unnecessary delay. Inside the hour, I was naked and Casey was down to the garter belt and black stockings. She was kneeling on the bed and I was inside her, erect, and happily in icy control.

I had no illusions: Casey had made her wishes plain. “I want you to fuck me and fuck me hard. And no premature conclusions. You can come where you like - I take it anywhere - but not when you like. Let me be the judge of that and we can do a lot for each other.” Fortunately - or perhaps by design - the preview we had enjoyed in my office seemed to have done the trick. I found that, as long as I didn’t withdraw completely, I could establish a rhythm of firm thrusting without getting towards my threshold. Every time my pelvis slapped against her buttocks, Casey gave a little grunt. “Good,” she said. “Like that is good for me.” Steadying herself on one hand, she reached back with the other to cup my balls, squeezing gently as the end of each deep stroke brought them swinging through. We reached that wonderful equilibrium where it was possible to enjoy the heady sensuality, the nerve-end tingle, as though it were happening at one remove, as though we were vicariously watching two other people.

Casey broke the spell. “I want it faster,” she murmured, almost as if she were unconsciously speaking her thoughts aloud. “But not like this. You’d never last. Let’s change.”

When I withdrew, my cock glistening with her moisture, she gestured me on to the bed on my back. It took only a few seconds for her to straddle my head, offering her cunt lips to my tongue. I gripped her bottom, pulled her on to me, and sucked. Only after several minutes did she lift herself to let me breathe freely while she slid down my body before fitting my cock into that salacious opening.

“Get my tits,” she whispered, leaning forward. They were firm, offering small pointed nipples. I grasped, kneading, squeezing, hurting. It was apparently the right response. She was moving on my cock, but now the tempo had changed. Whereas I had been giving her metronomic thrusts from behind, she treated me to wonderful variety. One, twice, three times she would descend with ravenous ferocity; then she would hold herself with my cock buried in her to the hilt while she squirmed and flexed her muscles around the base of my shaft; satisfied that I could cope, she withdrew until she was able to perform the same rotations around the head; suddenly then, she forced herself down, fucked herself on my rigid member. Unbelievably, I had reached that nirvana that told me I