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Re-Bedding The Boss


By LimeyLady




Copyright Mark C Woolridge (writing as LimeyLady), 2017

Distributed by Smashwords




All characters and events in this publication,

other than those clearly in the public domain,

are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons,

living or dead, is purely coincidental.





Table of Contents


Chapter One - An early night with Heather

Chapter Two - Victoria’s proposal

Chapter Three - Proposal accepted

Chapter Four - An eventful coffee break

Chapter Five - Bedtime reading

Chapter Six - Debs

Chapter Seven - A late night visit

Chapter Eight - A promising beginning

Chapter Nine - An even more promising in-between

Chapter Ten - And a happy ending

Author’s Note

Other Books by LimeyLady





Chapter One


(Tuesday 26th October 2004)



It was déjà vu for Vic. She was lying back, squeezing her tits and trying not to cum too soon while her pussy rocked and rolled with Heather’s . . . or, rather, under Heather’s. Heather (allegedly doing equal shares tonight but, as always, in complete control) was using the head end of the bed as high ground, somehow being gentle and aggressive at the same time. Their legs were interlocked and their angled, so very intimate contact felt like the world’s sloppiest, warmest wet kiss.


It was the most amazing sensation ever.


Ever, ever, ever!!!


Sex was never like this with Karen; never anywhere near.


‘My God,’ Hev moaned. ‘This gets better and better.’


And it did. Vic had set out to fuck the graduate trainee (first and foremost because of her startling good looks but also because she obviously wanted to be fucked). Or so it had seemed when they had first met in the new products meeting and later, when she’d allowed a little friendly mauling in the pub. Vic had never once suspected that she’d be the one on the receiving end and glad to be there. Or that a rapid-fire string of one-nighters could lead to . . .


Well, she wasn’t sure what it was leading to, not yet . . . but it did feel like something awfully big.


Never mind her plans and Heather’s bedtime stories, the things they’d talked about! Starting with gushing orgasms and degenerating from there!!


Vic couldn’t have had those conversations with Karen. She’d tried to debate some of the nuances between clit and G-spot but always got stonewalled. Karen, the woman who claimed she’d never had sex with anyone who could communicate, simply didn’t want to know. Heather, by contrast, could not know enough.


And Heather wasn’t all talk. She only wanted to know so she could improve. She had to be the most caring lover on the planet, as well as the best.


Vic had always admired strong, brave women, even if she did tend to end up sleeping with wimps. Finding a beautiful, athletic young thing, ready, willing and able to fuck her until she could hardly walk was not only a novelty but something not to be sneezed at. Being a banker, however, she never took things at face value, not even when she dearly wanted to. So she had gone on the Internet and found the old story via an archive service.


SCHOOLGIRL SOOTHES SAVAGE BEAST


That was how most of the reports set off. They all agreed that Heather had been just eleven and three-quarters, and that she’d recaptured an escaped bull weighing in at two thousand three hundred and fifty pounds. “That’s not like facing the Keighley front row,” the Yorkshire Post said. “Brutus wasn’t so far off the weight of the whole Cougars team.”


The Craven Herald was most thorough. Vic suspected that other reporters had used them as their crib. That report included a photo which put everything into perspective. Brutus hadn’t just been a bull; he’d been practically a mammoth, and an angry one at that. Vic had tried to imagine facing up to such a ferocious-looking creature and simply couldn’t do it. She couldn’t imagine anyone else she had ever known facing up to him either. Not even armed with bazookas or tanks.


Brutus was by no means the all of it though. There was a related story link that took Vic deep into Keighley News’s archives. She’d clicked it almost absently, bringing up a more recent article about a completely separate incident.


Heather had been nineteen and en route to a lecture at her plate-glass university. Stopping off at the corner shop for energy drinks and bars of chocolate, she’d made it to second in the queue when a drugged-up robber burst in. The amphetamine-fuelled maniac was waving a knife, demanding money from the till and calling the shop-owner horrible, racist names . . . spurring Heather into action.


According to the linked article, the would-be robber had turned on Heather with his knife. She had thrown him over a rack of magazines, kicked away the weapon and then pinned him down until help arrived, maybe as soon as twenty minutes after all the fight had been kicked out of him.


Skipping over a question about response times, a police spokesperson said Heather had excelled. The force didn’t encourage have-a-go-heroes, but nobody was going to fault someone who’d made a spectacular arrest like that. Not when the villain was sixteen stones of tattoo-faced nastiness and the arresting citizen wouldn’t weigh eleven stones after three fish suppers. The would-be robber’s broken arm and dislocated shoulder hadn’t evoked much sympathy either.


He’d got hurt trying to resist arrest. How unfortunate.


Sixteen stones, Vic mused. That’s two hundred and twenty-four pounds: maybe a tenth of Brutus. The would-be robber had got of lightly when you looked at it like that.


Bazookas, tanks . . .


Heather with her dander up . . .


Vic knew who’s side she’d be on if it ever came to a fight.


My hero, she’d said.


Right!


Although Vic wasn’t intending to wimp-out herself. Not right now. She was strong too, even if she suddenly did prefer stronger.


At the very least she could die trying.


Vic’s latest orgasm really was close. It was going to be huge and it had been hammering at her door far too long. She fought it off, determined not to be first for once, trying to conjure up images of boring columns of figures, boring progress reports on terribly boring topics . . . struggling like crazy.


Oh . . .


Ye . . .


Gods!


Heather was accelerating. Vic’s groan was entirely unforced as she made her body accelerate with her.


Please make it soon. I can’t take much more.


‘That’s me! ’Heather cried out of the blue. ‘Oh Vic . . . you’re so good . . . oh good grief, yesss!’


‘That’s me too, Hev . . . me too . . . oh ye gods!’


Vic let go, her pussy still grinding wetly against Hev’s even wetter pussy, their cries uniting.


‘Oh yes, yes, yesss!’


It was ages until they actually, finally finished and partially broke that most intimate contact. Then they lay a while on their backs, legs still entwined, panting and gasping, sweatier than ever.


‘”Hev” is it now?’ Heather laughed. ‘I thought I’d never hear you say that.’


‘Sixth time lucky,’ Vic replied.


‘More like six hundredth.’


‘What can I say? Terms of endearment are very important to me.’


‘So I noticed, Honey Pie.’


‘Never mind Honey Pie, come down here. I want to talk to you.’


Heather untangled herself more slowly than usual. Perhaps she wasn’t superhuman after all. They had managed some sleep this last week, but not a lot.


Not that lack of sleep was turning the randy cow into a quitter.


‘Fancy some sweet sixty-nine?’ she cajoled. ‘Or do you really want to chat?’


‘Just a short one, then we can do anything you want.’


Heather had a friendly grope. ‘Do you really mean anything? I’ve got drawers filled with sex toys, you know.’


‘No limits, Hev. Hear me out, and I’m all yours.’


‘Superb! Come on then, let’s get this chatting business out of the way.’



Chapter Two



Vic buried her fingers in Heather’s lovely, jet-black mane. Liking the dampness she felt. Not caring if it was there through unladylike perspiration. To an extent she was reassured that Little Miss Perfect did perspire.


‘Hev, I want to run something by you.’


‘Go on.’


Vic took a deep breath. ‘I’m looking for a partner.’


‘Why? Haven’t I been giving you enough?’


‘Not that sort of partner. I mean for a moneymaking venture.’


Heather pondered a moment before replying. ‘I’m already gainfully employed. So are you.’


‘I know that. The venture’s work-related. And before you ask, it’s not in any way dodgy. I’m aiming to benefit West Yorkshire Bank and its shareholders. And my partner and I, naturally.’


Now Heather’s forehead creased. It was hard to tell how much she was feigning. She was bright as well as beautiful . . . very bright. ‘It’s nothing to do with Jack the Hat, then.’


‘No, my dad was the bank robber, I’m strictly legit.’


That took its time to sink in. ‘A bank robber!’ The younger girl propped herself on one elbow and gaped at Vic, her very firm tits moving becomingly, ‘Never!’


‘I’m afraid he was, and a successful one too. One of Clerkenwell’s finest. How else could he have sent me to St Helena’s?’


‘Hang on a sec. Are you seriously telling me your dad was a bank robber?’


‘That’s right.’


‘Don’t the directors know about him?’


‘They don’t seem to. He changed his name. And he was clever enough to go to Italy after his last big job, not the Costa del Crime like everyone else. Just as well if you ask me. He met my mum in a village in Lazio.’


‘So that’s where you get your looks.’


‘And some elements of my figure,’ Vic smiled. ‘Mamma’s fifty and still turning heads wherever she goes. She looks very much like Gina Lollobrigida in her prime. Dad’s more like a fat Sid James; I got a bit lucky there.’


‘Gina Lollobrigida? Wasn’t she the world’s most beautiful woman?’


‘She was second only to Mamma. I think they’d both still set records down in Bingley.’


‘Never mind setting records.’ Heather’s tits were moving becomingly again. ‘Tell me about Sid James.’


‘You appreciate this is in the strictest confidence?’


‘Mais naturellement; please expound. You’re exciting me. I’ve never had a bank robber’s daughter before.’


‘Haven’t you?’


‘Of course I haven’t.’


‘Hmmm, I’d bet some of the girls at The Manor had dodgy dads too. Anyway, there’s not much to tell. My dad kept his head down for a few years, then Mamma got pregnant and we came back to one of the better parts of Islington.’


‘Didn’t anyone split?’


‘Split on a boy from Clerkenwell? Not a chance, Hev.’


‘Insular, is it? Sounds like Micklethwaite.’


‘It’s probably more insular than Brutus’s field.’ Vic’s laugh was a little nervous but Heather didn’t seem to notice. ‘Let’s talk about the future,’ Vic went on,’ not the past. I do things honestly and above board, by working towards targets. I’ve always been into targets. Work hard and play hard, that sort of thing. When I started at WYB I aimed to reach a certain level. I got there last month, more than a year ahead of my most optimistic target. Now I’m planning to get to the very top.’


‘What does that mean, world domination?’


‘No.’ Vic gave Heather a matey poke in the tummy, ‘I’m just aiming for domination of WYB. Or, more precisely, I’m going to get into a position where I qualify for the mega bonuses.’


‘Sure you will; you and everyone else.’


‘Listen, Hev, it can be done. There’s no glass ceiling. I reckon I can get there in five more years. Then I’m going to cash in for the next five. And the more I help the Bank perform, the more I cash in. That’s the beauty of it. All I have to do is get onto the executive scheme, which is almost a foregone conclusion.’


She coughed mock-modestly. ‘I’m already the one they go to for new products and initiatives. And I’m the best at putting right anything that goes wrong. And I’ve got authority to appoint whoever I want for my latest project . . . within my particularly flexible budget, of course. I’m going to use that authority to bring in the very best person for each role, creating a team that’s so good it won’t be broken up in a thousand years.’


‘You and Adolf,’ Heather observed.


‘He wasn’t all bad.’ Vic hesitated. ‘Well, obviously he was. But forget him. I’m not after his sort of world domination. Just enough domination to make sure I get nice and rich.’


‘You really are madly ambitious, aren’t you?’


‘I’m ambitious, but hopefully not madly.’


Heather reflected a moment. ‘What if there isn’t another project? Won’t the team have to be broken up then?’


‘That won’t be an issue. I’ve cherry-picked the follow-on projects to ensure they get better and better. And I have lots more projects up my sleeve. Projects no-one else knows about. When I start to introduce them I won’t just be the best innovator and trouble-shooter, I’ll be the best at pulling in new money. That’s when the really big promotions will start coming.’


‘Sounds as if you’ve got it all worked out.’ Heather nestled closer. ‘Have you finalized your team?’


‘I have apart from two key positions. One of them should fit Chris Woodhead perfectly, although there is a chance he’ll turn me down.’ Vic shrugged. ‘I’ll worry about that next week, when I make my approach. At the moment I’m more bothered about finding my perfect PA. That’s a lot trickier than I’d expected.’


‘Can’t you poach one from the directors? Using some of that particularly flexible budget?’


‘There isn’t one that fits the bill.’


‘There are dozens of them. And they all look the part. Surely someone knows how to do the job?’


‘Believe me Hev, I’ve given every one of them serious consideration. They’re not good enough.’


‘You must set very high standards.’


‘I do. And my expectations are a bit different to the norm. All the other positions call for heaps of experience. I don’t want my PA to be lumbered with that. I want her, and it definitely has to be her, to have all the theory but minimal experience. That way she’ll think top-to-bottom, without always being handicapped by shop floor clutter. More important, she has to be someone I absolutely trust, because she’s going to be closer to me than a twin sister.’


‘Sounds like you need Office Angels.’


‘I was thinking nearer to home.’ Vic took the plunge. ‘I hoped you might be interested.’



Chapter Three



The prospective, specially targeted partner had been tickling Vic’s ribs. She stopped abruptly.


‘You’re joking. I don’t know the first thing about being a PA.’


‘You don’t have to. Your people skills are exceptional. You’ve a relevant first-class degree. And having The Manor on your CV doesn’t hurt. At least two execs have sent their daughters there.’


Hev scowled, which was a first. Her eyes flashed menacingly. Vic was suddenly afraid she was going to blow a gasket.


‘Is that what the torture was about other night, Victoria? Some new-fangled interview technique?’


Heather was referring to Friday’s one-sided foreplay, both verbal and physical. Vic wasn’t about to admit that, as well as great fun, it had been a test of sorts.


‘No, it was not,’ she fibbed. ‘The idea only occurred to me this morning, when I had to accept that no-one else was good enough. That was when I dug out your HR file and started plotting; it was then and not a moment sooner. Are you interested?’


‘I honestly don’t know,’ Heather snapped. ‘I said I’d risk the grapevine for you, but that was purely for sex. Promotion never came into it.’


‘It still doesn’t.’


‘Huh!’


‘Honest Injun Hev, I was only after sex too, originally. But having sex has helped me get to know you. Now I do know you, I’m convinced you’re the one I need.’


‘Maybe,’ Heather said after a short, prickly silence. ‘But I’d still look like someone who opened her legs to get promoted.’


‘I’ve been the one opening her legs most of the time, so it doesn’t count.’


‘Excuse me, but I don’t think anyone else will know that. And I’m certain nobody will believe it.’


‘And I don’t think anyone will waste time speculating,’ Vic said valiantly. ‘They will be too busy gossiping about me and Chris. How poetic will that be?’


Heather was still not amused. ‘You’d have to shag him to make the grapevine. Or is there some obscure reason why that won’t that count either?’


‘I’m afraid I’m not up on all the grapevine conventions. But nobody said anything when I shagged him last time. Not even Joanna.’


That created a diversion, temporarily at least. ‘Have you really?’ said Heather.


‘Not for ages, but yes . . . and not just once.’


‘Was it for . . .’


‘Personal gain? No, Hev. Not for either of us. It was without doubt recreational.’


‘Hmmm.’


‘He’s quite good,’ Vic went on, ‘not in Jack the Hat’s class for staying power, but twice as skilful. That’s not why I want him on the team, though.’


She put a tentative hand on Heather’s shoulder. Meeting no objection, she continued, ‘I’d never let sex interfere with work. Not for Chris. Not even for you.’


‘Hmmm.’


‘Having sex with you is brilliant,’ Vic said truthfully. ‘I don’t want it to stop. If you tell me to stick my job, I’ll still want to stay over. And I’ll be back on Thursday night as well, if you’ll have me.’


‘You said you wanted fun and flings.’


‘I do. And I still want you to provide most of the fun.’


‘But not permanently.’


‘I want it to be semi-permanent, for now.’


‘What if I had a fling over the weekend?’


Vic paused a moment, thinking about the weekend she’d had herself, the one that she had made sure she hadn’t discussed; not in any depth at all.


‘I’d say nothing,’ she said at last. ‘Apart from I hope she was good.’


‘She wasn’t a she.’


‘Not Joanna then.’


‘No,’ said Heather. ‘Joanna doesn’t . . . unfortunately.’


‘How do you know she doesn’t?’


‘How do you think?’


‘I’m glad you found someone,’ Vic said after further consideration. ‘And I hope he was good.’


‘You’re not going to storm out on me?’


‘No. I really am cool with flings. You can have another go at him while I’m away tomorrow, if you want. I won’t ever be jealous, as long as you’re not.’


‘Hmmm.’ Heather stopped scowling and smiled. It was reluctant and not nearly as cheery as her usual smile, but a smile for all that.


‘Did you have sex this weekend?’ she asked. ‘During your prior engagement, I mean.’


‘Yes,’ Vic admitted.


‘Was it on the dinner party table?’


‘No. it was on the spur of the moment, after the party was over.’


‘Was it with the lesbian at number eleven?’


‘No, it was the one at number fifteen, actually. We do all right for lesbians in my part of Leeds.’


Heather snorted. ‘Good old Headingley; I’m scraping the bottom of the barrel here in Bingley.’


‘I’m sure you’ll always get by,’ Vic replied, a little tartly


They stared at each a moment other in silence.


‘I felt guilty as hell,’ Vic said finally. ‘But she made the opening move and I couldn’t help myself. I think you’ve woken a sleeping giant inside me.’


‘Oh I see,’ Heather laughed again. ‘It was my fault.’


‘Yes it was. That’s my excuse. What’s yours?’


‘It’s similar, but the other way round. It was you who said I should bag a rugby player. I was only obeying orders.’


Vic swiftly re-assessed her jealousy levels. Finding that she wasn’t envious (well, not intolerably so) she resumed: ‘Fun and flings still sounds like a sensible arrangement to me. And what we get up to outside of WYB doesn’t have to intrude on our working day, does it? I can hack flings.’


‘So can I,’ said Heather. ‘And I do want you to come back on Thursday.’


‘Thank God for that! Now, can I tell you about the PA position?’


‘Yes, if you really must.’


‘It isn’t a bimbo role. I’m not looking for someone to flash her tits and monitor the paperclips. It will be long hours and hard graft. That’s why I’m setting the starting grade close to that of a departmental head. As time goes by it’s going to gradually rise very close to mine. In three or four years you’ll be a director with your own PA. And you’ll get the mega bonuses as well.’


Vic registered how mention of money didn’t impress Heather. She had only ever got a bit of the girl’s life story when they’d first fucked. Even so, she’d pieced quite a lot together this last week or so. Heather was only insatiable when it came to orgasms; banknotes didn’t matter to her at all, not in the scheme of things. Vic thought that was strange. Money had never been in short supply in the Hanson household but she had always had a healthy appetite for more. Maybe it was a matter of scale? Her lovely young friend might not be hungry for money, but success . . .


Meaning success measured in terms of big rewards. Not doing it so much for the loot, but for what the loot signified.


‘Hev,’ she said beguilingly. ‘Do you know how much bankers are paying themselves in bonuses these days?


‘I’m not sure,’ Heather shrugged, ‘a couple of hundred thousand?’


‘It’s more; much more. If we have five years reaping the rewards, even here in our relatively small bank, we should see two or three million each; maybe as much as twice that. And even five million will not put us anywhere near Fred the Shred. Our heads will still be under the parapet. Just think about it. Simply by putting ourselves in the right place and working like Trojans: five million. The possibilities are endless. You could even buy Hunters Farm back for your dad.’


‘No I couldn’t. The builders have put a hundred and sixty houses on it. And my dad wouldn’t want it back anyway, he just pretends he does. Still, ten years and five million . . .’ Heather whistled softly. ‘What happens then?’


‘Then I’m approaching forty, you’re not even thirty-five. And we’ve five million each. I think then it’ll be time to go shopping.’


They laughed a little then kissed a lot.


‘Okay’ Heather said eventually. ‘Tell me exactly what I have to do.’



Chapter Four


(Wednesday 27th October 2004)



Heather glanced at her in-box and, not for the first time, wished that Steve hadn’t changed seats. Until recently he had been occupying the desk immediately to her right, although he did flit about now and then, covering for absences. These last few days he had been doing a special job on the other side of the office. The emails had been flowing ever since.


Her smile was wry. It was nice to be missed, but this was getting silly.


She checked for snoops before opening the latest message, quickly clicking it shut again. It was not in the least work-related . . . and it most definitely was not in line with the Bank’s Internet Policy.


Luckily, no-one had noticed. She had another stealthy check over her shoulder before reopening, catching a chuckle with her hand.


The latest exchange had started with a cartoon from Steve: one of Snow White, quite scantily clad but not totally indecent. She was looking at the dwarves with doe-like eyes and a pensive finger to her lovely bright red lips. Steve’s caption read:


WHOSE TURN IS IT TO BE “HAPPY” TONIGHT?


Heather had spent her lunchtime surfing for a response, finding plenty of possibilities. After a lot of careful consideration she had settled on one showing Snowy taking a fully grown lover; in fact the guy was so fully grown that he was bashing twenty inches into her. In this very vibrant image, everyone’s favourite princess was naked apart from her frilly panties, which were hooked around a waving ankle.


Even though it was pure porn Heather reckoned the drawing had its merit. Snow White’s face was all appreciative Os (a cooing mouth, wide-open eyes and circles of hot colour on her cheeks). And her gallant lover was all vigour and strength. If asked to sum it up in art class, she’d have used the single word enthusiastic. To her mind the cartoonist had perfectly captured the joyous energy of two humans shagging. Not to mention the dynamics: those panties really did seem to be twirling in the air.


She shouldn’t have responded so provocatively, no question about that, but she hadn’t been able to help herself. Just as she hadn’t been able to keep from adding a caption of her own.


SOME DAY MY PRINCE WILL COME . . . BUT NOT UNTIL I SAY NOW!!!


Provocative? Well, at least she’d swapped cum for come.


Steve’s reply had taken more than an hour. Maybe he’d been speechless. Or maybe he’d actually been doing some work for once. Anyhow, it was here at last, and all he’d managed was the single line under her caption:


NEVER MIND SOME DAY, WHY DON’T YOU SAY NOW TODAY?


Heather responded with:


YOU KNOW WHY.


Within two seconds he bounced back with a sad blue smiley and:


TEASE!!


Before replying to sender she added dozens of sad blue smileys and:


I DON’T WANT TO BE, BUT NEEDS MUST.


Then, more than slightly pensive herself, she went for a break.


Mary Rose would have done that, she thought, taking her cup from the drinks machine. Picked the most outrageous image and added an incendiary comment . . . except Mare wouldn’t have chickened when her target immediately took the bait.


Cluck, cluck indeed!


The vending machine was in the corridor, outside the main office. Still having ten minutes to drink her coffee, Heather strolled across to the nearest window sill and got out her mobile.


‘To be or not to be,’ she murmured, before smiling again. However she dressed this up, she was going to come across like a bitch in heat, and not least because she was a bitch in heat. All that rot about being off men and what was she about to do?


‘Shouldn’t,’ she said, and dialled anyway, getting the unavailable tone. Supposing she’d made a mistake, she redialled: same tone.


Oh bugger. Saturday’s rugby club pick-up wasn’t contactable. How inconveniently male of him!


Okay then, she thought, what about Steve? I owe him something for flirting so wantonly, and it’s that leaving do tonight. A one-off, never-to-be-repeated below job would prove beyond doubt that I’m not a tease, wouldn’t it?


Maybe two or three, never-to-be repeated below jobs . . .


And below jobs don’t strictly count as “sex”, do they?


Well, do they?


Mavis was Steve’s friend from his old days in Premises. No one else from Joanna’s team would be there to bid her farewell. Steve had invited Heather along to keep him company, saying Premises had been a long time ago; he’d hardly know anyone and was only attending to be polite.


I could always change my mind and go with him after all. Then we could make our excuses after a couple of drinks . . .


Take him back to the penthouse . . .


Lay down ground rules then below him to Heaven . . .


Perhaps indulge in a little sixty-nine . . .


Resisting the temptation to go further, of course, because I’m so not a horny witch . . .


Unconvinced, Heather re-entered her first number with the same lack of success.


‘Bother,’ she growled.


‘Having problems?’ said Joanna, appearing out of nowhere.



*****



Heather did her best to look virtuous. ‘Problems,’ she echoed, ‘no, not really.’


‘Are you sure?’ Joanna wasn’t her usual self. She seemed distracted, but not enough to be fooled by so blatant an attempt at innocence. ‘You look uptight.’


‘Me?’


‘Yes, Heather . . . you.’


‘Oh all right then, I confess. I was ringing WYB’s Number 3 on impulse.’


‘That’s very naughty.’


Heather wasn’t going to admit it, but secretly she had to agree. Yes, she was very naughty. She’d had sex for eight days on the trot and, snookered by Vic’s latest trip to London Bridge, here she was, caught red-handed arranging cover for day nine.


Or rather, here she was, caught red-handed trying to arrange cover.


Bloody useless men!!


‘Naughty or not, it makes no difference,’ she said. ‘His phone’s kaput.’


‘Perhaps he’s avoiding you?’


‘Perhaps he is, but not by ignoring calls. That signal was terminal. He’s dropped his mobile in the bath or something.’


She held her phone out, letting her supervisor hear the shrill tone.


‘He didn’t give you a duff number, did he? A bloke once gave me the speaking clock. A proper swine, he was.’


‘No, it’s nothing like that. I rang him on Sunday night, so I know it works . . . or worked.’


‘I’ll skip over the reason you rang him on Sunday night.’ It was Joanna’s turn to check for snoops. Finding the corridor otherwise deserted, she went on, ‘Listen Heather, I need a word.’


‘I’m not in trouble, am I?’


‘Not at all; I just followed you out here to get some privacy.’


‘Joanna, you’re frightening me.’


‘I shouldn’t be. It’s good news, not bad.’


‘Go on then,’ said Heather uncertainly.


‘I’ve had a call from Victoria, en route to King’s Cross . . . about you.’


Oh that! Already! Vic must be back in Miss Efficiency mode.


It was difficult not to grin when Heather compared Victoria, the ruthless executive in full flow to Vic the lover, on her back and defenceless in bed. What had she said about bossy cows and ravishers?


‘About me?’ she said aloud. ‘What have I done?’


‘You’ve caught her ladyship’s eye. She wants to offer you a new position.’


There was an awkward pause before Heather replied.


‘I’m not looking for a new position. I’m still on probation with you.’


‘That’s what I said. She said she could get round that without breaking sweat. Not that the Ice Queen ever sweats.’


No? Heather pictured Vic’s body after a couple of hours of sex. Mmmm, nice picture! It was quite a sweaty one, though, not in the least icy. More warm and welcoming. No, make that hot.


‘I must say you don’t seem surprised.’ Joanna continued. ‘Has she already sounded you out?’


‘No, I’ve hardly ever spoken to her.’


‘Well it’s fair to say she’s been taking note of you. When she was signing off our rugby expenses she even called you Snow White.’


‘I’ve been thinking about this Snow White business.’ Heather’s fingers were still crossed behind her back after her bare-faced fib. ‘My hair’s far too long, my eyes are the wrong colour and she never had an every-last-inch tan.’ She waited for the older woman to laugh. When that didn’t happen she blundered on: ‘What’s the position anyway? And why pick on me?’


‘It’s as Victoria’s PA. She says you made a good impression in that new products meeting.’ Now Joanna did laugh. ‘If it had been Chris Woodhead calling, you know what conclusions I’d have jumped to. But Victoria’s beyond suspicion. At least, I think she is.’


‘I don’t know the first thing about being a PA.’


‘Don’t worry; Victoria’s going to train you herself. Like I said: if it was Chris Woodhead proposing this . . .’


‘Would I be tarred if I went for it?’


‘What do you mean?’


‘Would folk assume things about us?’


Joanna hummed a bit. ‘I would say probably not. You might start a few blokes fantasizing, but I wouldn’t expect any real bitchiness.’


‘What do you think? Should I? I won’t if you don’t want me to.’


‘Victoria’s the rising star in these parts. You have to go with her.’


‘Do you really mean that?’


‘Yes,’ Joanna said without hesitation. ‘Even if she wants to get in your knickers, go for it.’


‘Ms Jones!’


‘Seriously, Heather, if you’re ever going to grab coattails, hers are the ones. That girl is definitely going places. If she wants to take you with her . . .’


‘What if . . .’


‘She does want to get in your knickers? Don’t ask me, I wouldn’t know. You’re the woman of the world. I’m sure you’ll make the right decision if the occasion arises.’


‘What would you say if you heard rumours I’d been sleeping with her?’


‘I don’t even know if she does that sort of thing.’


‘Suppose she does.’


‘Okay. Do you find her attractive?’


‘I find her very attractive.’


‘Then go for it. She’s offering unlimited possibilities, without strings. Anything that happens later is just fate.’


‘What about her grade?’


‘Forget her blooming grade, Heather. Opportunities like this aren’t ten-a-penny. Go for it!’



Chapter Five



Time had passed. The night was growing old and Joanna frowned. Nobody ever rang her after ten in the evening; nobody bearing good news, anyway. Taking care not to lose her page, she plucked her mobile from the top of the bedside cabinet.


‘Hello?’ she said cautiously.


‘Hi Hot Lips, it’s me.’


‘Heather, don’t you know what time it is?’


‘It’s not very late.’


‘Yes it is,’ Joanna replied, feigning grouchiness.


‘I haven’t woken you, have I?’


‘No. Luckily for you I’m reading in bed. What do you want?’


‘I want to thank you for your very kind and wise advice this afternoon.’


‘Don’t soft-soap me.’


‘I’m not. I really mean it, even if I am still torn. It’s great working on your team.’


‘I know it is, but my advice still stands. You have to take your chance with Victoria.’


‘Huh!’ went Heather, abruptly dropping her bar of Imperial Leather. ‘You’re supposed to bribe me not to go.’


‘So says she in her fancy penthouse! I’ve no bribes worth offering.’


‘You could offer me your body.’


‘Really Heather, as if you’d want that!’


‘Try me.’


‘Heather . . .’


‘Are you really in bed?’


‘Yes.’


‘So am I. Naked and alone. Are you naked?’


‘Heather . . .’


‘Are you?’


Heart in her mouth, Joanna hesitated. ‘Yes,’ she said finally.


‘Are you reading dirty magazines?’


‘No. Thanks to you I’m reading Sense and Sensibility.’


‘Why thanks to me?’


‘You seem to be so well-read.’


‘I’m well-read when it comes to passing exams. Otherwise I’m patchy.’


‘Not as patchy as me. I did get an O-level in English, but only just. When you mentioned Jane Austen the other day I realized I’d half-read Persuasion and nothing else. I felt as though I’d been missing out.’


‘So you’re catching up?’


‘I’ve certainly started. I went online and bought the full set. By Christmas it will be my specialist subject. You’ll be seeing me on Mastermind.’


‘That Jane Austen’s full of explicit sex.’


Joanna glanced at the other five books, stacked in a neat pile on her dressing table. ‘I can’t say I’ve noticed.’


‘Oh it's there, simmering beneath the surface. Just wait until you get to Emma. She's worse than me.’


‘I do rather doubt that.’


‘Joanna, are you really naked?’


‘Yes.’


‘Send me a snap.’


‘What?’


‘Send me a snap on your mobile. Do a full-frontal.’


Joanna was surprised by the lurch in her tummy. Heather seemed quite serious and bits of her own body were starting to respond . . . unwarrantedly, that was, because . . .


Well, because.


‘I don't know how to do it on this phone,’ she hedged. ‘And I wouldn't, anyway.’


‘Why not?’


‘Because I’m old and wrinkly, and you’re a girl.’


‘You are not old and wrinkly. You're lovely. I want to see you.’


‘Have you been drinking?’


‘No, I didn’t go to the leaving do after all. I’ve been lying here since eight instead, idly jilling and daydreaming.’


Jilling? Joanna frowned again. Didn’t that mean . . .


‘I’ve been pretending you did come with us on Saturday after all,’ Heather went on, ‘you me and my big Number 3. It’s been one of my best-ever daydreams.’


This time Joanna’s tummy lurched into free fall. Her nipples were suddenly hard against the bed sheets and she was afraid she might be self-lubricating beyond all reason.


‘Heather,’ she began uncertainly, ‘are you telling me you’ve been . . .’


‘Jilling,’ her colleague said helpfully. ‘I’ve been thinking about you with that rugby player and jilling. And I’ve been thinking about the other threesome combinations, too, especially me and you.’


‘Heather . . .’


‘You have the most beautiful smile, you know? I’d love to see what you look like when you cum.’


‘Heather!!’


‘I’ve tried to imagine your expression a few times before . . . in the privacy of my own home, I hasten to add. I’d never jill during working hours.’


‘This is a wind-up, right? You’ve had a drink and you’re winding me up.’


‘I had two pints of lager in the Shama with my curry. I’m completely sober and it’s not a wind-up. I really do want to see photos of you naked, climaxing or . . . preferably . . . both.’


‘Well you can’t.’


‘I can pop round if you can't work your phone.’


‘Heather . . . you can’t. I’m your boss.’


‘So? Victoria’s going to be my boss; you’re practically pushing me into her bed.’


‘You’re hardly kicking and screaming.’


‘Well she intrigues me . . . and scares me a bit, too. Should be exciting, shouldn't it?’


Joanna took a deep breath, still physically aroused but glad of even the slightest change of tack.


‘You’ve decided, then?’


‘About Victoria? I'm a bit wary. You paint her as quite callous. She wouldn't do anything dodgy, would she?’


Joanna frowned a third time. Heather sounded as if she had reason to be concerned . . . as of course she did.


‘What do you mean by “dodgy”?’


‘Oh I don't know. Falsify reports; lend irresponsibly; that sort of stuff.’


‘I’d say definitely not. She tramples over her rivals, but only politically.’


‘Is that definitely a definite?’


‘Yes, it definitely is.’


‘You trust her then?’


‘Totally.’


‘And you really won’t mind if I accept?’


‘I want what’s best for you, Heather. Honestly.’


‘In that case I’ll go for it . . . but only if you read me some naughty bits.’


‘You mean from Sense and Sensibility, do you?’


‘Yes, unless you've got Playgirl stuffed under your mattress.’


‘I'm afraid I haven't.’


‘Okay then, get to the part where Marianne meets Mr Willoughby.’


‘I'm past that already. It's not at all naughty.’


‘That’s because you’re not reading it properly. Let me explain what’s going on between the lines.’



Chapter Six



After perhaps ten minutes of Heather’s “explanation” Joanna’s resistance crumbled. Listening to that sexy, beguiling voice, she obeyed orders and began to masturbate.


And how naughty was that?


But the things Heather was saying! Without ever once swearing, she depicted Marianne’s hopes and desires in the same sort of way that got Lady Chatterley’s Lover banned. It was impossible not to obey her; she was so persuasive. And it was impossible to stop after an embarrassingly early cum, as well. Heather simply would not let her.


‘Plenty more where that came from,’ she said. ‘Come along with me, on with the story.’


Before too long, after Joanna’s second (much more timely!) orgasm, Heather changed tack. More beguiling than ever, she started to describe the things she wanted to do; things with her fingers and tongue . . . and also things with the toys she claimed to have in abundance.


Things she wanted to do to her boss.


Joanna pressed her phone to her ear with her left hand and kept jilling with her right. Lately she’d done a lot of self-abuse but always in isolation. Doing it in sync with a running commentary was both a step up and incredibly exciting. And it hardly seemed to matter that the commentary had drifted on to girl-on-girl sex. Neither did the fact she was straight.


Well, as good as straight . . . apart from that business half a lifetime ago with Debs.


Back in the day, when she’d briefly doubted her true self.



*****



Joanna had left the academic world after the sixth form, becoming one of the very first recruits of the newly launched West Yorkshire Bank. Before she knew it she was twenty-four, single and still living with her parents. Back then she’d led a Jekyll and Hyde sort of an existence. By day she was a very conscientious clerk, slowly working her way up the ranks. By night she was a party animal, more than capable of juggling a few semi-serious boyfriends at the same time.


Or was it really only a few? At one stage she’d reckoned that during the previous six months she had woken up in some bloke or other’s bed more often than her own.


And yes, her straight-laced mother had opined on that particular habit!


After sixth form Debs had gone off to university, racking up qualifications over a period of six or seven years. The two of them had been through the same schools together and were friends without being best mates. But they hadn’t even tried to keep in touch while she was away. Bumping into her again (in Ms Hyde persona, in a sordid local nightclub) had been totally accidental. And, surprisingly, it had also been a very warm reunion; kisses had been exchanged and they’d agreed to meet up over the weekend.


How did I forget about a fellow partygoer like Debs? Joanna had wondered. Life and soul or what!!


It was half an hour into their follow-up meeting, when Debs insisted on buying consecutive rounds, that she realized she’d been invited out on a date.


As in a girl-on-girl date!


Blushing furiously, Joanna had explained she didn’t date that way.


‘I do,’ Debs had replied with a grin. ‘And I’d definitely recommend it. Finding out that I’m bi was the biggest and best discovery of my university life. But don’t worry; I can do friends as well as dates. And if we’re only going to be friends, you can get the drinks in after all.’


For some reason Joanna hadn’t been able to stop seeing Debs. The more she saw of her, the more she liked her. And sex did come into it, in a low-key sort of a way. Debs didn’t hide the attraction she felt to Joanna but made no attempt at seduction. No, she simply let the attraction become mutual and grow and grow. For her part Joanna never did resist.


Was it a slow, very subtle seduction after all? Who honestly could say? Debs didn’t ever push, so maybe Mother Nature was the sole factor at work.


Or maybe subconsciously it was Joanna all along.


Anyway, events progressed steadily and surely. They continued having non-dates at the rate of two or three a week, their greeting and parting kisses growing ever longer.


And thank God Debs wasn’t temping at WYB! The (at the time nascent) grapevine didn’t buzz with their names once!!


Not even when events progressed a lot further.


A few months of non-dating and Joanna came to accept reality: she was as curious as heck. She also came to regret the lack of opportunity they had to be alone. Well-qualified but penniless, filling in time until her “Stateside” academic career kicked off, Debs was back with her old fashioned parents. The prospect of sharing a bed with her there was as unfeasible as it was of sharing Joanna’s bed in the straight-laced Jones’ family home.


And how unfair was that! Maternal nagging aside, her sleeping over at some guy’s pad could be brushed under the carpet in half an hour. But sleeping with Debs wasn’t a subject that could be even mentioned, never mind put into practice.


Then, as their sands of time had almost run out, everything changed.



*****



Arriving at the pub on yet another non-date, Joanna had been surprised to find her friend drinking an orange juice.


‘I’ve got Mum’s car for the night, ‘Debs announced. ‘We can go somewhere exciting and different, if you like.’


It had been August and decent weather. Full darkness didn’t happen until ten o’clock . . . in other words, not until they’d done their best to tour all of Otley’s many Tetley pubs. Not that Debs drank too much. No, being a conscientious driver, she strictly restricted her intake.


So too did Joanna, by her still youthful standards. When, supposedly homeward bound, they took a “slight detour” onto Ilkley Moor she’d been more sober than most English judges.


Well, infinitely more sober than the infamous hanging ones of yore.


‘We can go in the back,’ suggested Debs. ‘I know I’m off to the USA next week. And I know you’re still not sure, but trust me; I’ll stop the second you say the word.’


‘I’m sure,’ Joanna had replied. ‘Let’s go in the back.’


What ensued was brilliant but, in its way, inconclusive. They’d kissed long and hard and Joanna hadn’t objected when Debs hand infiltrated her knickers. Two orgasms later she did her best to return the favour. Then, with Uptown Girl and You Can’t Hurry Love as background music, they had fingered each other simultaneously and seemingly forever.


But did that really count as girl-on-girl sex? Joanna had never been convinced. To make matters worse, it turned out to be a one-off occurrence. Debs never got the loan of Mum’s car again. Within a matter of days she flew off to the States. And after a month she was shot dead in a random mugging in (of all places) Providence.



Chapter Seven



Back in the reality of 2004 Joanna dearly wished she’d taken more opportunities with Debs. Why had they never bagged a spare room at some party or other? Why hadn’t she used some of her generous wages and booked them a hotel room?


And why, in that long-ago clinch, had she said no when Debs wanted to go down?


Whatever else she might be, Joanna was a realist. She’d brushed with lesbian sex once and had regretted her timidity ever after. She’d also brushed with straight sex many times and bitterly regretted her recent abstinence.


Life was for living, wasn’t it? Regrets were for losers.


Heather was still being her eloquent self. ‘I’m exceptionally good with a strap-on,’ she was saying. ‘If you would only let me, I could . . .’


‘Come to me,’ Joanna said, cutting her off abruptly.


Heather probably misheard. ‘I came for you seconds ago,’ she said, laughing. ‘Give me a minute and I’ll . . .’


‘No Heather, come to me right now. I’ve changed my mind. I want you to pop round after all.’


That met with maybe a minute’s silence.


‘Okay,’ Heather said finally. ‘I mean, like wow. Yeah, I’ll pop round right away.’


‘Do you know where I live?’ The steadiness in Joanna’s voice staggered her. She was shaking violently and her heart was fit to bust . . . but suddenly her voice was seductive and Heather’s wasn’t so sure.


That didn’t last.


‘Yeah,’ Heather said eagerly, ‘I’ve never been but I know, all right. I’ll be there in ten.’


‘Come to the side door,’ Joanna said, instinctively cautious. ‘I’ll put the light on for you.’


‘I’ll be there in ten,’ Heather repeated before hanging up.


Shaking more violently than ever, Joanna got out of bed. Her legs felt weak; not necessarily due to self-centred exertion, more probably due to excitement or fear.


Or was it a mixture of both . . . along with good old lust.


‘Joanna,’ she said aloud, ‘what have you got yourself into now!’


Her fluffy pink dressing gown was hanging off a hook on her bedroom door. Arbitrarily dismissing it, she opened her wardrobe and grabbed a little something more appropriate for sex.


Sex! Her brain screamed wildly. What on earth are you playing at, woman!!


Ignoring logic, letting her physical urges take precedence (and not before time) Joanna pulled on her new garb and went downstairs, her heart thudding thunderously.


Sex! Her brain reiterated. What on earth are you playing at, woman!!


A car was pulling up outside. Absolutely sure who it was, clicking on the outside light, she headed for the kitchen door.’



*****



Joanna’s heart wasn’t the only one thudding just then. Heather’s heart was going louder than a big bass drum.


So, nothing new there then . . .


Well, nothing new apart from the identity of her lover-to-be.


Older women had always featured high on her wish lists. She’d never really done younger. Okay, so same-age went without saying - she’d done loads of them - but all the rest had been experienced, to say the least.


No, make that very experienced.


As she drove Heather couldn’t get the memory of Joanna’s smile out of her head. She had called her tonight in hope of a warm, feminine chat, not expecting to flirt, never mind to edge into phone sex.


The idea of being invited to . . .


Talk about a successful cold call! Fifty zillion insurance salesmen must be gnashing their teeth!!


No, sorry, they must be gnashing their expensive (non-NHS) dentures.


Joanna’s cottage was one of a well-presented pair. Hers was to the left, with reserved parking on the opposite side of the road. When she got out of the car, her modesty preserved by a black leather trench coat, Heather felt a trickle of juice running down the inside of her thigh.


Oops, she thought.


Locking the Mini, seeing only darkness, she felt an instant of apprehension. Then an outside light came on, flooding her with relief. Joanna was being as good as her word. And best of all, she hadn’t changed her mind.


Praise be and thank the Lord!


In a matter of seconds Heather strode down a side path to what appeared to be the kitchen door, her hand raised. It opened a fraction before she could knock on the wood.


‘Come in,’ said Joanna.


Heather goggled at her. She’d half-expected reticence but Joanna was wearing only a short, very flimsy see-through negligee and a tentative smile.


Okay, so she was nervous and possibly filled with doubt, but the waves of sex coming off her . . .


And those boobs had no wrinkles at all. How big and beautiful were they!


Edging in past her hostess, Heather noted she was indeed in a kitchen; and a nice one at that The farmhouse-style table had two glasses of red wine on it, together with a mostly-empty bottle.


‘It’s Shiraz,’ Joanna said. ‘I know what you like.’


‘I like you more than wine,’ Heather countered. ‘Let’s kiss hello, shall we?’


Another half-expectance was swiftly dismissed. Joanna didn’t flinch when their lips tenderly met. In fact, while Heather did her best to restrain her hurricane-like tendencies, Joanna responded quite heatedly.


‘I’m glad you invited me,’ Heather said eventually, staring into lovely deep blue eyes.


Joanna kissed her again, much more passionately. Heather, somehow keeping her baser instincts in check, drew Joanna’s hand inside her trench coat.


‘My heart,’ she murmured. ‘Can’t you feel how hard it’s hammering?’


‘It’s hammering nearly as hard as mine.’


Joanna made to remove her hand. Too fast for her, Heather caught it and led it upwards, onto her bare breast.


‘Feels good,’ she endorsed.


Joanna seemed tentative. ‘Feels good,’ she echoed.


‘Squeeze,’ Heather urged. ‘I’m not delicate. I won’t break.’



Chapter Eight



In all her forty-six years Joanna had never been so excited. Heather had come to her for sex and she had come naked beneath her trench coat. Holding her bare tit wasn’t just arousing, it was next-door to incendiary. How could she be built like that? She was nice and big without being too big . . . yet firm as firm could be.


Her nipples were massive and harder than diamonds. Speaking of which . . .


At that moment in time Joanna’s nipples hurt more than ever before. She was wetting the lower bit of her negligee too; she was sure of that.


‘Oh my word,’ she gasped.


Heather kissed her again, coolly but deeply. Joanna tried her best not to respond in spades but failed miserably.


How incredible was this! She was passionately kissing the world’s most wonderful woman, right here in her own kitchen, gripping her tit like . . .


Like . . .


Still sophisticated and cool, Heather broke their embrace. Then, holding Joanna’s attention with those flashing green eyes of hers, she shrugged off her coat.


Joanna gasped again. Heather wasn’t naked after all; she was wearing sheer black stockings and a suspender belt . . . nothing more, nothing less.


And the insides of her thighs were glistening with steadily trickling juice.


‘My word, Heather,’ she murmured.


‘Bed,’ Heather countered, ‘unless you prefer perching on that table-top.’


Opening her mouth, utterly unaware what was about to come out, Joanna said, ‘Haven’t we wine to drink?’


Heather picked up the nearest glass of Shiraz and drained it in one; a third of a bottle gone in the blink of an eye.


‘Drink yours,’ she said.


Trembling, Joanna raised the other glass but could only manage a sip.


‘I’m too nervous,’ she apologized.


Heather took the glass from her and a second later it too was empty. ‘Don’t even mention the rest of the bottle,’ she said, ‘so what’s it to be; bed, the kitchen table . . . or halfway up the stairs?’


Intuitively afraid of “the kitchen table” and “halfway up the stairs”, Joanna said bed was her venue of choice.


‘Correct answer,’ Heather purred, ‘please lead the way!’



*****



Heather hadn’t been exaggerating about her hammering heart. And her eyes hadn’t for one moment stopped devouring Joanna. Older woman or not, she was a babe! And her ass was sublime. Owner of a small and shapely bum herself, she was not above admiring perfection. And, watching Joanna’s ass as she led the way up the stairway to heaven, Heather was convinced that she really was witnessing perfection.


No way was Ms Jones even remotely old and wrinkly. There wasn’t a crease on her body; recent award winners like Charlotte Church would have killed for a rearview like that.


It took a superhuman effort not to reach out and pinch an inch or two.


Somehow Heather restrained herself. Wondering what on earth Joanna did to maintain her shape, doing her best to keep from drooling, she followed. Finally landing in a bedroom she took no notice of at all, she went for yet another kiss.


Yes, yes, yes, she thought, feasting on the older woman’s luscious mouth, her hands roving in all directions. The feel of Joanna’s legs and arms was brilliant. So was the sexy curve from her hips onto her torso (outward from her thighs then inward and outward again). And her skin was even smoother than the fabric of her whorish nightwear.


Her whorish nightwear worn especially for her horny midnight caller . . .


Heather’s hands moved to Joanna’s boobs. They were big and full and by no means floppy. And, in keeping with the rest of her, they were not in the least crinkly.


Still valiantly holding off the hurricane, she physically lifted her lover-to-be, carried her a few paces across the room then dived with her onto the bed.



*****



No man had ever made such a show of strength to Joanna. Realizing Heather was an uncontrollable force of nature, suddenly gladder than ever she’d taken the plunge, she let out a laugh.


‘Bloody hell, are you trying to pile-drive me or what!’


Heather responded with probably the hottest kiss ever recorded Earth-side of the planet Mercury. Stunned, Joanna did what anyone with half a brain would have done and lapped it up.


Suitably encouraged, Heather pushed aside the flimsy straps of Joanna’s negligee, exposing her tits.


And then she put her mouth to a painfully hard nipple, sucking and nibbling before dabbing at it with the tip of her tongue.


Joanna wasn’t in much of a thinking mode by then. Dimly, however, she was aware of an age-old saying:


It takes a woman to know how to please a woman.


Less dimly, she was aware that nobody had ever paid such amazing, glorious attention to her tits. Even as she dismissed three billion men as worse than useless, she felt a rising pulse in her breasts. No, not her breasts, it was in her nipples, as if she’d been brutally pinched. Then, faster than wildfire, it spread through her. In an instant there was a hot, fiery furnace burning between her legs.


Then, before she quite realized what was happening to her, she climaxed.


Mega hard!!!


And then, sparing her not one whit, Heather transferred nipples and did it again.


This time Joanna’s cum was giga hard.


This time she almost snapped her spine in her efforts to throw her pelvis up off the bed.


And did Heather even hesitate? Make that a no. Alternating tits left to right, she dabbed, nibbled and sucked again and again. Beyond resistance, Joanna came and came again in sympathy.


Sympathy! Ha! This was serious, emotion-free sex like she’d never experienced before.


Joanna wailed and squealed and ultimately screamed. Never once wondering what she might say next day to the neighbours, all she could do was urge her lover, ‘More, more, more!’


And she was definitely urging the right person. Her enthusiasm only ever growing, Heather kept on at her with spiralling hunger.


Her orgasms coming thick and fast, Joanna believe she had discovered the female Valhalla. And right then her version of Valhalla didn’t need warriors. Warriors were nothing compared to this.


No, they were less than nothing.


Valkyries rule okay!


Well, assuming Valkyries got up to such entertainment.


And surely they did!!


Happy in this new little world of hers, Joanna never suspected how much better things could get.



Chapter Nine



Proud of herself for not getting carried away (well, not too carried away), Heather finally broke off her attack on Joanna’s lovely boobs. Joanna’s succession of climaxes hadn’t gone unnoticed . . . and had not gone unappreciated, either. Making a girl cum was always good. Making a girl cum endlessly was even better.


Heather had long believed that causing an endless stream of cums was at least as rewarding as actually having an endless stream of cums.


Well, it came mighty close, anyway.


Boob-cums were harder to come by, weren’t they? Not personally speaking, of course. Personally speaking Heather could climax if a lover merely nibbled her ear.


In fact a little loving attention almost anywhere could set her off.



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