Dottily Ready For More

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'That one,' said I,' indicating what I took to be second-largest, not wanting to poop the party.

Rob tossed me a harness, astounding me. Yes astounding me.

'You get to go first,' she added, passing over the chosen dildo.

*****

Up until that memorable Saturday night I'd only ever had strap-on sex with Michelle. And the majority of that had been with me on the receiving end. Rob's harness was simpler, though: I got it on with no problems at all.

And, once on, I knew what to do with it. I had had an almost indecent number of male lovers in that murky past of mine, remember? Indeed I'd enjoyed having male-female sex. Cutting to the chase, I knew what felt good to me and what did not.

So, after going down on Rob to ensure she was ready . . .

As if! It was patently obvious Rob was ready for anything; I went down on her again just because I wanted to.

'Yes, yes,' she murmured as I rather reluctantly slid back up her incredible, deeply tanned body.

Well, what I did was this: I'd stored in my memory banks everything about fucking I liked. And I did my utmost to give Rob all my old faves. You know what I'm saying: I varied my rhythms, speed, depth and everything else that occurred to me, focussing on her responses, ever-changing but only re-using techniques that seemed to please her.

I hate to blow my own trumpet, but I screwed her good. We communicated as we fucked, you see. I suppose she realized what I was doing and . . . without ever discouraging me in the slightest . . . she let me know what worked for her and what didn't.

Not that there was much that didn't.

Top of my hit parade was with Rob on all-fours on the bed. I clambered on her, my legs gripping her flanks, my hands gripping her tits . . .

Yes, me and tits! But hers were beyond wonderful. I wouldn't have been human if I hadn't wanted to maul her.

And that was my first real go at them. Somehow I'd previously failed to give them their due.

Yes, as I said not too long ago, I screwed her good.

Except next she took control of the harness and blasted me into outer space. If I qualified as good she was super-duper cosmic. She was tireless, too. Believe it or not, I nearly ran out of orgasms. For an hour at least she held me up there in the far reaches of the universe, but happily so; I'd never been so happy to be unable to cum.

God only knows the garbage I came out with along the way. When we did at last, ultimately climax together, I remember saying this a second . . . or maybe a third . . . time:

'Just ask, anything, anywhere, anytime.'

We were face-to-face again, Rob's artificial cock still deep inside me, the heels of my boots now digging deep into her bare back.

'Have I moved up to number one?' she enquired, expression neutral again, rare smiles nowhere in sight.

I groaned as I fell to earth faster than that old Bowie film.

'My sex life is complicated,' I managed.

'You're talking about Trouble,' said Rob, her pet name for Michelle.

'We live together,' I admitted. Then I thought about Martha and accepted "complicated" was hardly the word to use.

Rob clearly took my silence as an indication of guilt. 'So tonight was a one-nighter?'

'No,' I said hastily. 'I want to see you again, and not just once. It's just . . . Well, a bit awkward.'

"Awkward" wasn't the word either. After over a month living 24/7 with Michelle not being with her was strange. So too was my jealousy when she had flit off to see her injured ex. Even though Ronnie was probably in traction or whatever they called it nowadays, I'd had images of them making up and Michelle never coming back.

In other word I'd pictured them screwing on a hospital bed. Call me perverted but that's how I saw it . . . automated positional bed adjustments only helping them achieve their goal. . .

Flimsy excuse for the weekend, I agree. I hadn't just dressed like a whore, I'd behaved like one.

No, I'd behaved like one of the very worst.

And I hadn't even charged anyone!

'I need to speak to Michelle when she gets home,' I went on.

'Michelle?'

'She's "Trouble" to you. We need to lay out guidelines. When we have, I'll get back to you. And I'll make it sooner rather than later.'

Rob stared down at me, unsmiling. Strong as she was (and as strongly as she'd fucked me) she'd not for one instant been less than considerate and obliging. Now she had her bouncer head on again. Now she was laying down the law.

'Tell you how it is,' she began, 'I'll give you a fortnight. In the meantime if you come in The Pride with Trouble I'll keep my distance and say nothing. If you come in alone, I'll bring you back here and fuck you.'

'Sounds reasonable,' I conceded.

'But if you come in with anyone else,' she continued, 'I'll rip your girl's heart out and then I'll bring you back here and fuck you. Get my drift?'

I nodded. 'I like simple rules and regulations,' I said. 'Yours are easy enough to understand.'

'A fortnight,' Rob repeated, surprising me by starting to move inside me again.

'Hey,' I said, 'already!'

This time Rob did smile. 'Anything, anywhere, anytime,' she quoted. 'No time like the present, is there?'

'No there isn't,' said I, not at all reluctantly. 'Go for it Rob.'

Chapter Seven

I rolled up in the Union Bar half an hour late. First person I saw was Lisbeth who took one glance at my whore's clothing and rolled her eyes. Then she burst out laughing and applauded.

Taking that as endorsement, I made my way to the bar and ordered a pint of Marston's. Gloria, who'd been running that bar since God was a lad, sorted me out with three expert pulls of her beer-pump. Two of them long, the final one much shorter, expertly topping my beer without killing the head.

She'd have gone down alright in any bar in Yorkshire, would Gloria. She knew how to pull a pint. I had spent time "south" (meaning anywhere south of Derbyshire) and knew how a perfect beer should be presented. Flat as a fart might be okay in Norfolk or London but it could cause riots "up north".

Being late but still earlier than Martha (who wasn't as bad as our previous housemate, Carole, but did have certain similarities), I cast around me. Sunday lunch in the Union varied from the usual cold baguettes; today hot roast lamb baguettes were available. The smell of mint sauce was in the air.

Again!

So probably was the smell of me. I had showered in Rob's idyllic cottage but my knickers needed changing. Leastways I assumed they did. I couldn't personally smell anything totally untoward but my reaction to being out and about with Rob hadn't exactly gone unnoticed.

Not by me, anyway.

Yes, I'd cum in my panties as soon as I'd set eyes on her there in The Pride, waiting for me.

Ready for me . . .

Rob!

What was I like!!

And how the fuck was I going to sort out my other relationships?

Living with one girl, wanting to take the odd night off to screw another one . . .

No, wanting to take the odd two nights off to screw another two . . .

Whichever way I looked at it, guys were easier to deal with. I only ever wanted a guy on a throw-away basis. Kiss 'em, fuck 'em and forget 'em . . . unless one of them performed really well and deserved kissing and fucking a second time. Girls were trickier to handle. Girls were so moreish . . .

'Alone in a crowded room,' a familiar voice said, diverting me.

'Lisbeth,' I replied, somewhat startled. 'Good to see you again.

The attractive punk rolled her eyes again. 'I'm Liz,' she said firmly, 'not Lisbeth. And my surname certainly isn't Salander.'

'You still look like Rooney Mara, and that ain't anything to be ashamed about.'

At that point two things happened: Martha entered the bar and my phone rang.

And shit, I'd been ignoring it for the last twelve hours or more.

'I need to get this,' I told Liz, recognizing Michelle's number. Martha, meanwhile, asked Gloria for a pint and glared at my companion.

'Time to go again,' said Liz. 'See you around.'

'Hiya Dotty,' Michelle said into my ear.

Hearing her voice was oddly spooky. I really hadn't expected her to come back. But here she was, presumably speeding up the country to see me.

No; speeding up the country to see treacherous, unfaithful me.

'Hiya,' I replied and, trusting my stupid gob to find something to say, added: 'Please tell me you're not phoning and driving on that awful A30.'

'I left the A30 an hour ago. I'm on the M5. And I'm not driving anywhere soon. Those motorway maintenance bastards have decided to resurface the pigging thing. I've been stood still the last twenty minutes or so.'

'Where exactly are you?'

'According to a blue and white sign I'm 22 miles from Gloucester. According to my phone that is at least 200 miles from home. God only knows when I'll get there.'

Guilt stabbed my heart. She sounded as if she really, really wanted to see me again.

'How's Ronnie?' I asked, secretly hoping for a relapse, maybe hoping for something like a get-out-of-jail-free card.

'She's bearing up. Between my two visits yesterday, her doctor told her she thought her leg would make it after all. Ronnie told me my first visit had made all the difference.'

I tried hard not to vomit. Martha, who by then was standing where Liz had been, eyed me like I'd suddenly grown two heads.

'So all friends again,' I stuttered, aiming for brightly cheerful, missing badly.

'Ronnie is still with Claire,' Michelle protested, her tone sincere. 'But that doesn't mean that I can't be friends with her again. And it doesn't mean I'm ever going to desert you.'

Gulp!

Oh my fuck; what had I done while she was away?

'Yes,' Michelle exclaimed, 'we're moving again.' Then she groaned. 'Bollocks, it's just someone who's overheated, moving onto the hard shoulder. I've got the feeling I'm going to be stuck here all day.'

*****

Knowing me as you do, I expect you believe I took Martha home to bed and fucked her that afternoon. If that is the case you are only half correct. I took Martha home (safe in the knowledge Michelle was at least 200 miles away) with every intention of fucking her.

But we'd both had too many late nights. Friday/Saturday aside, I'd had a sex marathon with Rob. And, to quote Martha, Craig had given her "a seeing to like no man ever has before".

That's my roundabout way of saying we fell asleep after a brief but satisfactory sixty-nine.

Chapter Eight

Waking with my face in Martha's pussy was not an unpleasant experience (it favourably compared to waking up with my face in her tits). But I woke in panic all the same. Until I'd established ground rules with Michelle my face shouldn't be seen in anyone's pussy.

And where in hell was she?

Come to that, what sort of time was it?

'Five o'clock,' Martha advised me. 'She can't possibly be due anytime soon.'

I knew she was right but showered and redressed exceptionally quickly, plumping for student stuff with T-shirt and denims (and taking care to put on uncontaminated panties). Not that I needed to hurry the way I did. When I checked my mobile I found a text timed at 4:42.

'BASTARD MOTORWAYS! THREE HOURS I WAS STUCK THERE; THREE FUCKING HOURS! THEY DON'T RESURFACE IN SUMMER WHEN TOURISTS ARE ABOUT, DO THEY? HOPE TO BE HOME FOR MAYBE EIGHT. WILL DROP OFF CRAIG'S MOTOR ON THE WAY. KEEP IT HOT FOR ME. LM"

As it happened it was more like ten o'clock when she showed, visibly worn out. 'I need my beauty sleep,' she said after the minimum of pleasantries. 'You two drink vino and talk girl talk. I'll catch up in the morning.'

Martha looked at me as our housemate made her way upstairs, sighing wearily as she went.

'You and Liz,' Martha said, surprising me as per always, 'did I interrupt last night's reunion?'

'Liz?'

'Don't give me that. I mean the punk who looks like you-know-who and fancies the ass off you.'

'We're just getting to know each other,' I admitted. 'I only ever set eyes on her yesterday.'

'Best try Specsavers,' said Martha. 'I still think I'm straight but I set eyes on her two years ago. In my considered opinion, she is hotter than hot.'

'I think I've unleashed a demon in you.'

'More like a dragon, and a hungry one at that.'

We laughed the way only true friends could laugh, but then Martha became serious.

'Go to her,' she said.

'Go to who; Liz?'

'No you clown. Go to Michelle.'

'She's absolutely knackered.'

'I know she is, but go to her. It's what you both want.'

'But . . .'

'But fuck off with the billy goat impression, she needs you, whether she knows it or not. Just go and be with her.'

'But . . .'

'Fuck off Dotty! That's an order.'

Ladylike as she was in bed, Martha always could always otherwise order me about. Isn't that one quality of being "ladylike" in the first place, forever being in command?

I followed in Michelle's footsteps obediently, hoping for the best.

*****

The stolen DO NOT DISTURB sign was on Michelle's door handle. Ignoring it, being discreet, I went in as silently as a ghost. Michelle was already in bed, not snoring (she wasn't a girl who snored) but breathing in deeply, like a girl who needed her kip.

Still silent, I took off my (not so whorish) clobber and eased into bed with her.

'No,' she sighed.

'It's me,' I replied. 'I don't want anything. I only want to hug.'

'Hugging is good,' she countered, shoving her warm body against mine. 'Let's just hug all night.'

*****

So all was very sweet, innocent and loving, right?

That's how I saw it until I opened my eyes next morning to see the large, purple-brown bruise on her shoulder.

Except it wasn't a "bruise", it was a love-bite. And it was a serious one at that. Teeth-marks were very visible. Michelle hadn't taken that without knowing what was what.

Perhaps naively, perhaps indignantly, I prodded her awake and asked what had occurred.

'Must have been Claire,' she said in response, smothering a yawn or two. 'She tends to lose it in moments of passion.'

'You slept with your ex's new girlfriend?'

'Yeah, her B&B room didn't have a settee so I had to join her in bed.'

I glared at her. She smiled back at me as if mountains were molehills.

'I thought we were together,' I grated, 'and I thought Claire was with Ronnie.'

'We are together, but we're commitment-free. And I've been fucking Claire for years. In fact I was fucking her before I even met Ronnie.'

That shocked me. 'Is she the reason you two split?' I asked instinctively.

'I don't want to talk about that. But no, Claire's not the reason.' Michelle smiled again and put her hand on my leg, stroking it. 'I like fucking around,' she said softly. 'You didn't really expect me to quit, did you?' Not just like that?

Somehow, without even trying, I'd answered my commitment conundrum. I didn't feel successful though. If anything I felt empty.

'I suppose I didn't,' I murmured, 'but I did think we had something going.' And despite my whorish behaviour, I meant it. Unrealistic I know, but I was hurt.

'Remember Amber?' Michelle purred, as if I could ever forget her. 'Being with the two of you was my best ever. I'm never going to hire an escort again without inviting you along too.'

'Is that meant to be a compliment?'

'Yes, and it's a sincere one.' Michelle's hand slid significantly higher. Suddenly she was on me, in me.

And I couldn't think of a single objection.

'Did you pick up that girl?' she asked, her fingers steadily plunging in and out of me, teasing and tormenting.

'No,' I gasped.

'Why didn't you?'

'You put her off.'

'I wasn't even there.'

'Hearing half of our phone conversation was enough.'

'Not like the real Lisbeth, then.'

'Not really, only in her looks. And fuck me, Shelly, that feels good.'

'It's meant to feel good.' Michelle laughed knowingly. 'So who did you fuck last night? And don't lie to me. I can see it in your eyes.'

I hesitated, trying to put my thoughts in order.

'Someone you don't know,' I eventually replied.

'Was it a he or a she?'

'She's very much a she.'

'Do you want to fuck her again?'

'Yes, I do.'

'How does Thursday sound?'

'I'm not with you.'

'Thursday night is Girls' Society night. I've wanted to attend forever. Why don't you fuck your slut and let me see what transpires?'

I'd heard of the Girls' Society. In fact it was legendry. It had been founded by a girl with Peter Pan tendencies. She'd come to university at eighteen and, now in her mid-thirties, was here still. Professor in Feminism or something, she'd never gone home.

She was also seriously fit: a cross between Siouxie Sioux and Joan Jett who seemed to be twenty or maybe even eighteen . . .

'My friend is not a slut,' I protested, relishing the feel of fingers probing into me.

'But you could fuck her again on Thursday?'

I hadn't a clue about Rob's work commitments but nodded anyway. 'Possibly,' I admitted.

'Job sorted then. You sleep over at hers. I'll sleep over wherever.'

I wondered how to bring Martha into the equation and failed badly.

'What's the deal?' I asked. 'Are we talking just one Thursday night or more?'

'We're talking once or twice a week.' Michelle grinned at me. 'Rest of the time we share a bed. But once or twice is nice, no? Change'll do us good.'

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LimeyLadyLimeyLadyabout 5 years agoAuthor
Feedback for TSreader

Try Dottily Up For Sex . . . that's my most-read and highest scored Dotty story by far.

TSreaderTSreaderabout 5 years ago
Yummy!

Another wonderful addition to this story! Thank you!

LimeyLadyLimeyLadyover 5 years agoAuthor
Feedback for Anonymous

Thank you for your kind words. I will be submitting the "comeback" story later today so it should be available Wednesday/Thursday.

AnonymousAnonymousover 5 years ago
5 Stars as usual

Your stories don't disappoint. Love all your characters. Can't wait to see who coming back. I have my suspicions, but I'll just have to wait and see. But I hope to see more of Dottie soon.

SB

P.S. Hev is still my favorite.

LimeyLadyLimeyLadyover 5 years agoAuthor
Feedback for Hanna-a

Thank you for reading and taking time to comment. Feedback from readers does mean a lot to me, positive or otherwise (I'd obviously prefer positive but negative is all part of the learning curve!). I have - very temporarily - rested Hev - but I am on with another story featuring a "blast from the past". She'll hit the headlines in a week or so then I guess Ms Hunter will have something to say . . .

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