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And even if it hadn't been, there was something powerfully seductive about the danger I sensed. I wanted to find out what Mr Johnson wanted from me.As we walked, we chit-chatted in that very English way about the weather, politics and celebrities. It felt like a date. It felt a bit like Richard Gere taking Julia Roberts to the opera, except I had a butt plug instead of a diamond necklace. Mr Johnson nodded to the people he knew, and clearly he was well known.I caught many lustful and disapproving looks thrown my way -- I was showing so much skin I'm sure I looked like a prostitute, especially with the stripper heels. Between the plug filling my ass and the exhibitionist thrill of the short dress, I was too aroused to care. My inner slut was loving the attention.At the end of the corridor, he opened a door and guided me through. It was a private box. Mr Johnson sat in the corner with his back to the grand circle of public seating, and I sat next to him. The seats were a lot more. We had been lovers before this, or perhaps, friends with benefits, nothing too serious. The firelight made his features appear otherworldly, almost sinister. That is, until I saw his eyes, crinkling with merriment. Approaching him, I saw him get up and move towards me. ‘M’lady, are you enjoying yourself?’ he inquired. ‘I am now. I’m glad you came,’ I replied, kissing his roughened cheek. ‘I’ve been looking for you,’ he continued, ‘where are you camped?’ ‘On the other side of those trees, closer to the bathhouse,’ I replied. ‘There are families.’ Catching my hint, he steered us through his group’s encampment, away from the crowd. Reaching our destination, he ducked down to open the tent’s zipper, ushering me in, glancing about to ensure our privacy. The moment he was in, he closed the door behind him, and I was in his arms, kissing him. ‘Quietly,’ he whispered, ‘you know how they can get.’ ‘I know, I know,’ I answered, ‘a field can give more privacy.’ I felt his hands move around me,.
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