His insight. They had come to depend on him, in particular, to tell them about his bedroom adventures with his wife. His tales were fantasy fodder for...some, he knew, which secretly pleased him. If all went according to plan — and why shouldn’t it? — tonight’s dispatch would not disappoint. The evening would begin with a succulent dinner of pork tenderloin in a rosemary-ginger marinade, tiny spears of young asparagus and roasted new potatoes, with raspberry sorbet for dessert. Nothing too. No underwear. She often went without panties of her own accord, but seldom went without a bra because her boobs were on the large side. Walking down the street on the way to the hotel, she'd been more aware than usual of men surreptitiously (really, they were never as subtle as they thought they were being) watching her bouncing boobs. Oddly, he hadn't specified footwear at all. So she'd played it slutty-safe & worn medium heels. Not quite 'fuck me' pumps, but not far from it, either. They'd. More

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