It was stiflingly hot day. Ken and Jill had spent it at the beach where they'd met fifteen years ago. Back then, Ken had proudly shown off his trim figure with tight swimming trunks. These days he kept his burgeoning beer gut covered with a pale summer shirt. But the day beach had taught him one thing—his wife looked as good in a bikini now as when she was a teenager. Maybe even better.

He sat in bed, propped up against the headboard, naked from the waist up with the bed sheets folded back to cover only his feet. He tried not to think about how sexy his wife was. If he did, he'd have to tell her. She'd get excited and then he'd have to fuck her. But it was too damn hot for fucking. He thumbed through the novel he'd been trying to get into, decided it wasn't worth any more of his attention and put it on the bedside table. He glanced at the clock. It had just gone ten. He picked up the remote and switched on the television.

Familiar theme music finished booming and a sombrely-dressed, stern-faced woman appeared on screen. "Good evening. This is the news at ten and I'm Rachel Lawler. We start tonight with a breakout at supposedly Britain's most secure prison. From Milton Keynes, Matt Stevens has the details."

Ken stared at the TV. "Jill! Jill, come look at this. There's been a breakout at the prison."

Jill entered the bedroom, toothbrush in hand. Her dark brown hair hung loosely around her shoulders and her scarlet silk nightdress clung to her curves. "Seriously? A breakout? Why didn't we hear the alarm?"

"I don't know. I guess they switched it off before we got home."

A middle-aged man standing in front of the prison gates filled the screen. "At twelve-fifteen this afternoon, five prisoners were discovered missing from the category A prison behind me. Details of the escape are sketchy, but questions are already being asked at the highest levels because Milton Keynes is supposed to be the most advanced and secure in the prison service."

"See," said Ken, "we were at the beach then."

The reporter continued. "Four of the prisoners have been re-captured but Dale Cummings, forty-three, who was convicted of rape fifteen years ago, is still at large." A picture of the convict flashed up on screen, beside the reporter. The image chilled Ken to core. There was something in the man's eyes that said he'd do anything to get what he wanted. His dyed blonde hair was cropped close to his head and he sported a black goatee beard. But it was his eyes that gave Ken the willies.

"He looks a bit evil," said Jill. "I hope they catch him soon. He looks like he deserves to be in prison." She wandered back in the bathroom to finish brushing her teeth.

"Officials have warned all residents within the locality to be vigilant. Dale Cummings is an extremely dangerous man." He went on to interview the prison warden before handing back to the studio.

"Well, well," said Ken. "A rapist on the loose. I told you we should have brought that house in Furtho Fields."

Ken heard Jill spit into the sink before she replied. "Oh, don't be so melodramatic. He's probably long gone by now. I know I would be."

"What?"

"If I'd just escaped from jail, I'd want to get as far away from the place as quickly as I could." She re-entered the bedroom, picked up the remote and switched off the TV. "The news is always so depressing. Let's do something a little less depressing."

She swung a long slender leg over Ken and straddled him. He put his hands on her thighs. They were firm and smooth and the time at the beach had been enough to hint at the colour they would turn over the next few weeks.

He rubbed her legs absent-mindedly. "I don't know, Jill. Maybe he's cleverer than that. Maybe he's thinking that the police will be thinking that he'll run for it. Maybe he thinks they won't think of looking for him close by."

Jill closed her eyes and ground her pussy against Ken's crotch. His cock responded in the only way it knew. "Hmm. Nice." She opened her eyes, but kept grinding. "He'll be desperate. He's locked up for fifteen years. He won't be thinking about anything other than getting away. Except maybe getting some pussy. Would you like some pussy? Some of this pussy? Or you prefer something else?" She flicked her eyebrows up. "My mouth's still cold from the water."

He lifted his hands to her breasts and caressed them through her nightdress. She moaned. Ken had known many women who enjoyed a breast massage, but none as much as his wife.

"Fuck me, Kenny. I want you to fuck me." She reached down and slipped her hand into his flies. A moment's fumbling freed his cock. She rubbed it along her swollen slit. Her nectar flowed over him, lubricating him. With a small amount of downward pressure, she speared herself on him.