"Shit!" Marianne cried. "Who the fuck can that be?" Ignore it!" hissed Gareth.Whatever it was, there was more urgent business to attend to.The phone rang all six times and then Gareth heard Marianne's voice crackle from the answer-phone explaining that she and Simon were not able to take the call at the moment, but if the caller left a number... And then her voice stopped abruptly as the respondent hung up.Despite the interruption, Gareth was too expert to let this deflate his prowess and within a minute, he and Marianne were fucking again, more energetically than ever. Gareth now learnt something about Marianne he would never have suspected and that was the extent of her vocal passion. Her gasps became shrieks that ascended in volume and pitch with each of Gareth's thrusts.She was a screamer.It was a good thing, after all, that they had arranged to meet in Marianne's apartment rather than retreat back to the office after a glass or two of wine, as Gareth once contemplated.Then Gareth. The batteries to her phone where dead. Typical. She began walking. Her silver, sparkling high heels tapping and echoing in the street. There was no one around. Not even a passing car that she could flag down. Feeling sudden determination she strode purposefully for ten minutes or so. Her breasts proudly bobbing in her dress. More boldly than Carol felt. She was soon cold, shivering and understandably afraid. Thinking about her husband. Tom would come for her. That would mean a cruel defeat and she knew it. If only she could find a phone. ‘HEY LADY!’ It was a shout more than anything. Cutting through the night air. Carol did not look at first. She froze. There on the corner where two figures. One taller than the other but obviously both male. Wrapped up thick coats. They where both looking right at her. Silhouetted against the skyline. She didn’t wait. Turning her back on the men she started walking. Head down. The tapping of her high heels on the wet pavement faster and faster..
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