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Last Thursday, I had a work meeting at my ex-boyfriend’s suggestion he even picked out my outfit: a tight, short dress, the kind you’d wear to a club. His encouragement turned me on.
The meeting with the client (let’s call him David) went smoothly. Afterward, he invited me for a drink at his private club. I texted my ex: “Going for one drink with client. Meet you at Lau Pa Sat in an hour?” He replied, “Okay. Have fun. ;)”
The lounge was intimate. After a couple of drinks, David’s hand was on my thigh, whispering compliments about how desirable I was. The thought of my ex waiting downstairs, oblivious, made me even more aroused. Things escalated quickly David pulled me into a private restroom, lifted my dress, and took me against the sink. It was raw and intense. He was well-endowed, and I couldn’t hold back my moans. He finished on my stomach, and I cleaned up fast before heading back to meet my ex.
When I arrived at Lau Pa Sat, he was finishing his meal. He looked up, immediately sensing what had happened—his eyes burned with a mix of anger and desire. He paid, grabbed my hand, and we rushed to the MRT. The thrill of getting caught paled in comparison to the adrenaline still coursing through me. He pulled me into the disabled toilet at Dhoby Ghaut, and the risk only made it hotter.
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