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lowered herself to squat on her haunches. If Tom’s binoculars had been able to penetrate the veil of the nets he would have seen only her head bobbing over the bay’s windowsill. Her backside, large before, now seemed swollen to an immense and glorious size. John knew what she expected from him but he prudently waited for her command.
    ‘Lie down on the floor,’ Joanne barked. She tilted her head in his direction so there was no chance of him missing the command. ‘Face up. Head beneath my ass. I want you to sniff me and tell me how good I smell.’
    Beaming with gratitude, John did as she demanded. He adored being beneath her. From the moment he had left the front door of number three, from the instant he had manfully told Jane he was going to the pub, he had been waiting for Joanne to deliver this revered instruction.
    Ignoring him, Joanne turned her attention back to the world beyond the window. ‘I wonder why there are so many cars this evening? Oh! Wait. That’s right. Ted and Linda are throwing another party tonight, aren’t they? I’m surprised her fanny isn’t worn out.’
    The comment went over John’s head. He hadn’t noticed any more cars than usual when he walked from number three to number five, although admittedly his attention had been divided between his anger at Jane, his outrage about Tom, his impending visit to Joanne and the unexpected glimpse of the mysterious Ms McMurray. From his position on the floor, basking in the broad shadow of Joanne’s backside, he couldn’t see enough of the View to confirm or argue the point.
    Not that he was bothered about cars, parties, or the curious comment about Linda’s fanny. His world was currently darkened by the glory of Joanne’s panty-covered buttocks and nothing else mattered. With his nose only an inch from her crotch, he drew a slow breath and savoured the sultry tang of her sex. Being so close to her and drinking in the intimate flavour of her perspiration, his erection bulged at the front of his pants with ardent enthusiasm. The need to climax struck him with a debilitating force but he resisted the impulse. Willing himself not to try and touch her, remembering that she had only asked him to sniff, he whispered lovingly, ‘You smell divine,
Mistress Joanne
.’
    She ignored him for a while and then asked, ‘Where the hell is your wife going?’ Her question almost broke the thrall of his arousal. The urge to get up and see what Jane was doing and what Joanne was seeing was almost irresistible. He suddenly wanted to push the woman’s vast buttocks away from his face, move Joanne from the window and find out where his wife was going. But he knew better than to show Mistress Joanne such bursts of insurrection. Reminding himself that he wasn’t supposed to be involved in the conversation, John remained beneath her buttocks and daringly stroked his tongue against her crotch.
    Joanne shivered and John allowed himself a moment to enjoy the rich flavour of her gusset. The musky taste that filled his mouth was somewhere between noisome and nirvana. His erection pressed harder against the front of his pants. He made a renewed effort not to spoil the moment by ejaculating before she had given permission. More firmly this time, he pushed his tongue against the gusset-sheathed centre of her sex.
    She sighed. For an instant he was euphoric, believing he had elicited a response from her. It was only when she began to talk that he realised she had simply been drawing breath before speaking. The disappointment was crushing.
    ‘Now this is unexpected,’ Joanne murmured. ‘I think your wife’s coming here.’
    He gasped. The impulse to get up had been strong before. Now it was a compulsion. He didn’t know if he was more horrified by the prospect of being caught with another woman or frightened that Jane’s presence in Joanne’s home would defile something special in his life. The most important thing in his mind was the absolute certainty that Joanne