Friday Night, Saturday Morning

Heather, meanwhile, was manually locking up. This included the use of bolts and deadlocks.

Can't blame the girl, Danny concluded. Perpetually alone out in the sticks, can't be too careful, can she?

Satisfied they were safely secured, Heather turned to face him. 'Shoes off please,' said she, stepping out of her own court shoes by way of example.

Danny had no problem in obeying that request. He had no issue with her next request to remove his socks, even when she made no attempt to discard her stockings.

'I have this thing about men in socks,' she explained as he readily complied. 'Bare feet are better.'

Just then, before he got his first big surprise, he would have agreed to anything short of supporting Blackburn Rovers.

'Bare feet are cool by me,' he said, starting to come upright.

Only to be grabbed by exceptionally strong hands, spun through 180 degrees and banged up against the by-then secured front door. Then, while he was still gasping in shock, Heather kissed him.

What a revelation was that. It was like being attacked by some special kissing machine with its speed set up at maximum. The passion levels couldn't possibly be beaten anywhere, anytime.

And Heather's tongue was instantly in his mouth, stabbing in a prolonged, insistent rhythm for ages and ages before finding his own tongue and tangling both organs of taste together.

There might have been hotter embraces in the history of all time, but Danny wasn't betting on it. He wasn't complaining about her (not-so) wicked hand either. Oh no, relieved of peripheral witnesses it unzipped his denims and, with infallible instinct, eased into his boxers to fondle bare flesh.

At last!

As his senses reeled, he became aware of her tits on his chest and wished that she had her groin pressed tight on his. That was offset by her deft fingers gently pulling on his cock, naturally. Deft fingers beat pressed groins any day.

Maybe he was just being greedy . . .

Chapter Four

'Stuff the wine cellar,' Heather said aeons later, finally unclamping their mouths. 'Let's go inspect my bedroom instead.'

Danny couldn't think of any objection. Indeed, he didn't even try to think of an objection. Who in his right mind wouldn't accept an invitation like that? Not him, that was for sure.

Ignoring those sumptuous surroundings, he followed her up a varnished staircase and found himself in a well-illuminate boudoir; one featuring an overhead mirror and a massive bed.

'Bugger me,' he said (not realizing the possible implications), you could play tennis on that.'

'We're going to play something,' his hostess replied with a laugh, 'and it might involve new balls. But don't expect to be provided with a racquet. Not unless you want a good spanking.'

Surprising him again, she did her 180 degrees turning trick again, proving once and forever that she was stronger than he was.

'Ouch,' he managed as she slammed him back against yet another door, this one closed if not nearly so safely secured.

'Don't cringe,' Heather commanded. 'Not at a moment like this. Now, hold your position and let me take the next step.'

Faced with overwhelming strength . . . and in a wildly erotic boudoir . . . he wasn't likely to resist. If, in fact, resisting was even a possibility. Instead he held his position while Heather sank to her knees and tugged his already unfastened jeans downwards, taking his boxers with them.

The result of this action was, to say the least, spectacular. His cock sprang free and pointed up at the overhead mirror, visibly quivering and possibly two inches longer than ever before.

Fuck me yes, he thought, quivering, this is my best-ever. I've never known anything close.

Heather perhaps had. Taking hold of him with her trusty left hand (he only discovered it was trusty a goodly while later), she began to jerk him, using a rhythm he vaguely remembered from Dad's vinyl discs.

70's or 80's R&B, he reckoned . . . as if he really cared. All that mattered then was the here and now.

Wasn't it just!

'Glad to see you're as up for it as me,' Heather crooned. Then, without as much as a by your leave, she kissed his totally exposed glans. Two seconds later she was licking him all over down there, in a most wonderful way, covering all angles and surfaces, her dextrous hand never once relenting.

Licking and licking and licking, thoroughly covering over, under and all around.

And then she took him fully in her mouth. Well, she took him in as fully as she could considering her fingers were still in the way, still steadily working on the bottom of his shaft.

'Oh Jesus,' he gasped. 'Oh Heather! 'As if she was taking notice. Keeping her hand's motion constant and remorseless, she rapidly accelerated her mouth's attentions.

What a mouth she had! That first engulfment of him was a lifetime high. Hot, wet and welcoming . . .

Who could ask for anything more?

Not Danny. Not in a situation like that. Conscious he was steadily building towards the inevitable, he did his best to hold back. He did his best to relish those varying rhythms, too. Slow, slow, slow paired with fast, fast and faster than fast.

What the heck was that rhythm? He knew it even if he was unable to place it.

Cool, he thought, sometimes you act a fool . . .

Random words aside, it wouldn't come. Unlike him.

'Heather,' he warned when the excitement was finally proving too much.

Did she listen for even one instant? Make that a no. Her hand matching Dewar's whisky, never once varying, her mouth going forever faster and faster . . .

'Heather,' he warned again.

Like she was about to ease off. Warning her only acted as encouragement. He did his best to hold off but only too soon he was squirting and squirting.

That only-too natural reaction didn't divert her in any way. She kept on sucking and tugging at him.

Well, she did for maybe another ten minutes. Then she plopped him out of her mouth, examined the state of him and lapped up a few stray dots of semen. She even opened wide afterwards, like a girl in a video, proving she'd swallowed ever last drop.

'It's your turn now,' she announced, as forcible as ever. 'You've got me well in the mood. And it'll be your second time, therefore you'll last much longer. That means it'll be far better for both of us.'

Danny was astounded by her mercenary attitude. But just then he was aware of his erection. Rather than flopping it was only getting harder.

'Okay,' he said generously, 'if that's what you want . . .'

'I want you to get naked first,' she interrupted. 'Getting rid of your kegs would be a good start.'

Only too conscious of her amazing eyes he stamped out of his jeans, glad to let them take his boxers with them.

'Your turn,' he ventured daringly, not feeling any embarrassment at all. Oh no, he was on a high, way beyond embarrassment.

Without batting a whisker (as if she had whiskers), Heather unfastened her skimpy skirt and let it fall away, as if it had never been there.

Omigod, what a sight was that! She was wearing a black suspender belt and looked ten times better than any sex siren he'd ever come across (or cum with watching in on-screen action, come to that).

'If it's all right with you I'm keeping my nylons on,' said Heather as she removed her knickers. 'Most men seem to like the feel of stockinged legs wrapped around their back.'

'Most men are definitely right,' said Danny, watching her inspect her discarded panties.

'Most girls like that feel as well,' Heather added, scrunching up her nose, apparently taking no notice of his reaction to the word "girls".

As if she didn't know he'd already sussed her sexuality and needed to hand out clues!

'Rather soggy,' she announced, tossing her knickers to him. 'What do you think?'

He thought they weren't as much "soggy" as they were drenched. She was either world champion at self-lubricating or had orgasmed at least once. Unable to stay himself, he had a sniff of them.

'Smells nice,' he declared, eying her pussy, which was clean-shaven and as tanned as the rest of her.

'Why thank you, kind sir. You say the sweetest things. You taste nice too. I really am going to enjoy myself tonight. Now let's get on with the show. Meaning get that shirt off.'

Thanks to the mild weather Danny had gone for a polo top with a collar. Despite his excitement level he had it unbuttoned and off in the blink of an eye. Stark-bollock naked, his cock still pointing at that overhead mirror, he somehow felt to be in control.

'Your turn,' he said again, 'starting with that blouse.'

Laughing, Heather super-efficiently unfastened herself and tossed aside the bright white garment.

And Danny almost swooned. He had been expecting to see a discreet white bra, keeping those lovely titties in order. Now it came down to brass tacks, there was no bra to be seen. Those lovely big (but-not-too-big) tits could obviously keep themselves in order.

But never mind titties, grab an eyeful of the rest of her! All shapely with no noticeable muscle groups apart from her washboard of a stomach. Omigod, he thought, any self-respecting bodybuilder would kill to have a tummy like that. Even Charles Atlas would have looked twice.

As if anyone wouldn't have looked twice at Heather. This version of nakedness, very much including stockings and suspender belt in alluring black, was probably more fetching than stark-bollock nude.

Close-run thing or not.

That tan! If it was a tan. Subconsciously he'd been on the lookout for evidence she really was mixed-race but had found nothing. Heather was well-spoken but also definitely local. There again, this part of the world had hundreds of thousands of "immigrants", the big majority long ago born locally, with all the accents to prove it.

And why was he wasting his time daydreaming? The girl only too apparently wanted to be fucked.

'Gorgeous breasts,' he ventured in perhaps the worst opening line in the history of sex.

'I don't know what's stopping you from having a feel,' Heather replied. 'Come on, grope me and let's move on to the serious business.'

Chapter Five

Groping Heather's tits was a lifetime achievement. And sucking her outsized nips blew Danny's mind. Not to mention licking her enormous areolae, an experience he'd cherish for evermore.

Sadly, Heather's patience was not endless. Goodness only knew exactly how long she allowed him to feast but she ultimately exerted her strength again, arbitrarily pulling his mouth away from her prize assets, dragging him to her bed.

'Here goes,' she announced, tossing herself at a strange angle across the duvet and opening her legs wide.

Well, she opened her evidently juice-stained legs wide. Seemed like Danny wasn't the only one who got off on a session of tit-play. It also seemed like she was leaving the lights on, but so what?

Seeing her was a big part of the thrill.

'In me,' she demanded. 'Get it in me right now.'

Who was he to argue? Still hard as steel, he couldn't imagine any more appropriate place to be than in that divinity's sex. Knee-walking across the bed he positioned himself between those spread, so inviting thighs.

And Heather grabbed him like a drowning woman grabbing a lifebelt. Before he knew it, his cock was in up to the hilt and her grasp had moved to his shoulders, forcing him down into that classic fucking position, him ready to give, her ready to gratefully receive.

'Do it,' she commanded.

Doing it was out of this world. If her mouth had been hot, wet and welcoming, her vagina was more like a baking oven . . . yet wet and welcoming for all that. Right then he struggled with "baking" and "wet" as contradictions, but she truly was both at the self-same time.

She wasn't hanging around, either. Gasping, 'Yes, yes, yes!' she moved vigorously, inspiring him into the oldest rhythm of all. No R&B golden oldies now, she clearly just wanted to screw.

'More, more, more,' she implored. 'Deeper, harder, more, more, more.'

Who was he to argue? Doing his best to match her latest efforts, his exposed glans happily baking in her inexplicably wet oven, he did his best to go deep and deeper. As if that worked! However well he did it she only wanted an encore, and in spades, at that.

'More, more, more,' she cried again and again. 'Deeper, harder, more, more, more.'

Holding back best he could on "harder", not wanting to hurt her (or himself), he went for "deeper" and "more, more, more" as best choices in all the universe.

Didn't he just!

In some remote braincell Danny realized Heather was right: that blowjob had ensured this second go would last an awful lot longer.

No that there was anything "awful" about it. He'd never know such sensations. Heather wasn't just a beyond beautiful babe, she was a mistress of the noble art of having sex.

And was that a cum for her?

'Yes, yes, yes,' she groaned, as if reading his mind. 'More, more, more.'

Well, it would have been rude to slow down or stop, wouldn't it?

*****

That first/second time with Heather was out of this world; Danny would never forget it. Well, he wouldn't if he hadn't made the mistake of falling into those eyes. How marvellous were they!

And how hypnotic. Never mind tactical blowjobs, those eyes could have kept him going forever.

Okay, okay, not strictly forever but for a long, long time. And they did keep him going for ages and ages, fascinated by the constantly changing expressions in them, intrigued by her movements and never-ending commentary on his prowess.

Put it this way: when it came to being fucked Heather gave as good as she got. Vigorous, strong and exceedingly demanding . . . that was her version of lying back and taking it.

Not that any giver could possibly complain. Not when he was drowning in her eyes, constantly being demanded more, more, more, deeper, harder and more, more, more.

It was impossible to calculate how long that first/second time lasted, just as impossible as it was to say how many times the girl came. Orgasmic or what! And by no means reluctant to announce the arrival of her latest eruption.

'Here I go, here I go,' she'd yell. 'Yes, yes, yes!'

Then her bucking, moaning, groaning and writhing would return to match his mighty thrusts: 'Don't stop. Don't ever stop.'

But nothing lasts forever. At some stage Danny felt his own climax begin to build.

And he wasn't wearing a condom. She was obviously aware of that, she had after all slotted him into herself, but still he felt a sense of responsibility.

'Heather,' he gasped, shortly before he lost control altogether, 'I'm gonna . . .'

'In me,' she gasped back. 'But hold back two minutes, let me catch up.'

One hundred and twenty seconds passed like one hundred and twenty snails, all of them drugged on Mogadon. Somehow, superhumanly, he managed to keep his load to himself as the pressures inside him skyrocketed.

At last Heather was ready. 'I'm almost there,' she said breathlessly. 'Three more seconds. That'll do it, let's go on three. One . . .'

'Two he grunted in time with her. 'Three . . .'

And they had lift-off.

What a finish was that! They must have juddered together for whole minutes, neither of them ready to admit it was over. Or maybe their bodies took control and extracted every last ounce of pleasure.

Nice, nice, nice!

Sometime before that mighty mutual climax Heather's position had changed. Initially she'd dug her heels into the duvet, giving herself sufficient leverage to show Danny how sex really should be done. By the arrival of that mighty climax her stockinged legs had, as advertised, wrapped tight about his back.

Perhaps that explained all the juddering and mutual grinding.

Omigod, Danny thought, I'm as good as flaked out. Doubtless I'll be told to sling my hook now that I've done the deed. But how the heck am I going to get back on my feet, never mind dressed ready to sail off into the sunset?

Not that he need have worried.

'Roll off me,' Heather instructed, bossy as always, 'I'll get us wine while we prepare to go again.'

'Again?' he echoed. 'That wasn't enough?'

'That was my starter for ten. It's only got me in the mood. And don't think of doing a runner; you'd never get past my geese.'

'I don't think I can walk, never mind run.'

Laughing, yet again showing off her strength, Heather as good as threw Danny off, leaving him flat on his back, observing his own reflection. Somewhat scarily, he still had a utilizable erection if zero energy.

'Red or white?' Heather enquired.

Fatigued as he was, he'd normally have chosen white. For some bizarre reason, his mouth said "red".

'Great choice,' Heather endorsed, 'I have the cheekiest Shiraz ever bottled. It's Australian from 2008 and to die for. Wait for me, I'll be back soon.'

Chapter Six

Finding hidden strengths Danny levered himself into a sitting position very shortly before his hostess came back into the bedroom, bearing a bottle with a kangaroo on its label and an outsized glass.

Yes, outsized even by her extreme standards. That little beauty made her 250 mils glasses seem a bit modest. No, make that shy and retiring.

'Still here,' she said brightly, 'good for you. You'll be rewarded accordingly.'

She poured half the bottle into her massive glass and left the rest on top of a nearby set of drawers.

'We're sharing this glass,' she said in explanation. 'We've already shared body fluids, haven't we?'

'We might well be sharing a whole load more,' she added, joining him cross-legged on the duvet and stroking his cock with surprising warm-heartedness.

'Omigod,' he gasped.

'Don't worry,' Heather chuckled, 'I'm doing the next round. All you have to do is lie back and enjoy.'

'I'm already enjoying myself, and immensely at that.'

'Me too. And I can't wait to get back in action.'

'Where's all this leading?' Danny wondered, speaking without the benefit of forethought.

'Not to wedding bells, that's for sure.' Heather took a large mouthful of red, eying him as she did so.

Afraid of drowning again, he looked up and down her body, suddenly harder than ever. That was not supposed to happen. Not like this. In the real world he always came once then flopped. Then, after a little bit of encouragement from a friendly female, he'd harden again, ready to go a second time. Yet here he was, floppiness nowhere to be seen, to all extents already ready to go for round three.

No, make that only too ready to go for round three.

If only he could summon the energy.

'I don't do commitments,' Heather went on, 'and I have a cringingly long list of lovers, both boys and girls. Most of them only ever got a night or two but some, the more adult ones, come back to see me more regularly. You qualify as an adult, assuming you don't do jealousy. That's assuming you want to see me again.'

'You bet I do,' he said unthinkingly, without any regard to potential consequences.

'That's just as well because I've no intention of letting you go until eleven tomorrow morning.' She frowned: 'No, make that eleven this morning. We're well past midnight. Up for it?'

'I am if you're doing the next round.'

'I'll do you until eleven if you like. Then you can buy me lunch in The Busfeild and bring me back here for round four. That means you get to have me any way you want until, I don't know, until midnight at least. Then we can play it by ear.'

Danny had been handed the glass and now he drank, as good as draining it. Heather was talking as if sleep did not feature on her agenda anytime soon. Okay, his head was up for that . . . and so was his cock, by some inexplicable miracle . . . but planning over twenty-four hours of sex . . .

Well, that was madness, wasn't it?

Or was it?

Retrieving the glass Heather devoured the dregs then left the bed. 'On your back,' she ordered over her wide, sexy shoulder. 'And align yourself with the bedhead. I'm going to need that.'