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Click hereAmber smiled and applied a couple of final enhancements. 'Are you really going makeup-free today?'
'Yes,' said Heather, disappointed she hadn't got a bite, 'I'm up for the manicure but no more. Not even lippy.'
'Going without won't make you look manly, you know.' Amber chuckled. 'You're one of the few who doesn't need any help to look good.'
'Well, you know what they say . . .'
'If you've got it, flaunt it,' the hairdresser concluded. 'Right, that's it, you're done.' Then, passing Heather her card after all: 'I only do Tuesday night callouts. That's when Eric has the kids.'
'Tuesday it is then.'
Heather busied herself refilling glasses (wine for the grownups, orange juice for the bridesmaids and the bride). And then, after allowing her nails to be cut short but not painted, it was time to get dressed.
This was the bit Heather had been looking forward to. She'd already seen everyone else's outfits but, being devious and sneaky about it, she'd come up with something special for herself. And she'd only collected it that morning. Nobody else had a clue, not even Claire.
And like wow, was she going to make an impact!
Heather had bought the suit from a tailor's in the city centre. It was what she considered to be an "off the peg hybrid". In other words, she'd selected a man's grey three-piece and the tailors had adjusted it so the fit was perfect. They'd adjusted it well, too. She'd been back a couple of times so they could get it just right.
Locked away in a spare bedroom she grinned. She'd bought a man's shirt as well, and a dark grey tie and a pair of boxers. Her only concession to femininity was a pair of heels; a pair in black that had a wedge rather than a stiletto, and which looked at a glance like shoes a guy would wear. That selection had been based on height as much as anything. They boosted her close to six feet, taller than most of the guys. When she walked Ingrid down the aisle she was going to look the part.
Enjoying the ritual, she fastened everything up, attached a white carnation to her lapel and examined the result. She was still extremely good-looking for a bloke, but nevertheless liked what she saw. She also liked the almost scratchy feel of the shirt on her bra-less boobs and nips. And the sensation of wearing boxers was . . .
Well, it was interesting.
Heels were tricky after years of abstention. Heather had ten minutes' practice before she went to re-join the others. Her reception was, to say the least, awed.
'If I'm doing a job, I'm doing it right,' she told Claire.
Claire was in her maid of honour's dress; a frilly primrose affair that matched the bridesmaids'. 'I bet you've always wanted to dress up like a bull dyke,' she said, sotto voce, not wanting her four young protégés to overhear.
'I have, actually,' Heather replied. 'But I can't work my underwear out. My boxers should be sopping wet by now, but I'm blowed if I can tell for sure.'
Then she turned and saw an absolute vision in the doorway. It took perhaps as much as a minute to realize who it was.
She couldn't have been the only one to visit Amber's salon; Rachael must have been as well. She'd had her Mohican cropped off. And she'd had a dye-job. Instead of blue or green her hair was now as jet-black as Heather's own. And my, wasn't it sexy! Very short, admittedly, but exceptionally smart and sexy as hell.
Rache had removed all her visible jewellery too. And her makeup wasn't in the usual Siouxie Sioux style. In fact it was minimalistic and appropriate for the occasion: a little blue-grey eye shadow, pale pink lippy and seemingly nothing else.
Most staggeringly of all, she was dressed as a girl! The trademark jeans and T- had been discarded; she was wearing a very tasteful skirt and blouse combination. Okay, the blouse just scraped in as far as being appropriate went. And the skirt was fetchingly short . . .
'Good grief, girl,' Heather gasped, 'give me a twirl.'
Rachael obliged. She too was in heels, but much more ladylike ones. They didn't make her anything other than petite but her legs looked good in them, as did her pert little bum.
'What do you think?'
'I think I definitely have wet myself.' It was Heather's turn to speak sotto voce. 'But I don't care. You're sleeping in my bed tonight my dear. And don't even think about arguing.'
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
(July 2004)
Heather and Ingrid arrived at church in a horse-drawn carriage. Ingrid's dress was possibly the most beautiful ever made. And she was possibly the most beautiful ever bride. It hurt Heather to give her away but, at the same time, she was as happy as she could ever remember.
All too soon that bit of the day was over and everybody was outside, the photographer bullying folk in and out of shots, seemingly according to mood. Heather, not needed in the latest tableau, had a little stroll, looking for Rachael, shaking hands and swapping air kisses as she went.
Nat collared her before she could find the transformed Mohican. 'Megan knows about us,' she said in an urgent whisper. 'She might be on the warpath.'
'I thought hen night secrets stayed secret.'
'They do. But I sometimes talk in my sleep. Megan picked up on something I said and wouldn't let go. To tell the truth she smacked my ass until I confessed.'
'She abused you!'
'No, not exactly. I like being smacked. It was getting too good, though; I had to give in.'
'Is she here at the wedding?'
'Yes. She's gone round the back for a couple of lung lollies. I'd better be off back, before she misses me.'
'She's a nurse and she smokes?'
'They all do. Well, most of her friends do, anyway.'
'And you're sure she doesn't abuse you?'
'Sure I'm sure. Look, I've got to go. Keep your head down and don't admit anything.'
But the brunette's timing was off. Megan was already marching towards them.
'Oops,' said Nat.
'Oops indeed,' Heather agreed.
'You must be Heather,' the tall blonde began. 'Or can I call you Hev?'
Heather usually joked about close friends and lovers when asked that. Right then, unable to read the new arrival's expression, she just said, 'Sure you can. I'm pleased to meet you, Megan.'
Megan's smile was too bright to be sincere. 'Thank you for looking after Natalia the other night,' she said sweetly. 'You never know what she might get up to when she's had a drink. It's a good job you kept her safe and out of mischief.'
'Hey,' said Nat, 'I am here, you know.'
'She didn't seem to be drunk,' Heather said. 'In fact apart from Ingrid, she was probably the soberest person there.'
'Thanks anyway. I'll be eternally grateful.'
Nat was tugging Megan away, muttering something about Heather having duties to perform. She did not notice the blonde turn back and, her smile gone, mouth something in parting.
Heather wasn't a lip reader but she understood that all right.
"You owe me, big-time!"
*****
The reception and night do were at a proper hotel (as opposed to a pub pretending to be a hotel). It was three or four miles from the church and Heather was grateful for that. Brad had usurped her for a seat in the carriage, meaning she had to travel there much more quickly by car.
Meaning there was a decent interval before the formal meal began.
Heather had a room sorted and had already left an overnight bag in it. She'd also arranged for the first round of drinks to be on her. Not bothering with the bar herself, she went straight upstairs, her heart thumping. She wasn't intent on having a naughty but had never felt naughtier in her life.
It's only a try-out, she told herself. I don't have to go through with it.
Do I?
Her bag was on the bed. She kicked off her heels and, more decorously, removed her trousers and a slightly damp pair of boxers. (Slightly damp? Okay, the seam at the bottom was sopping, just as she had expected.) Then she unzipped the bag and extracted a harness and a relatively small dildo.
The plan was to make her speech sporting a hard-on. Well, with the tiniest of bulges. She didn't want it to really be noticed. Not much, anyway. She had worked out the lie of the land and knew she'd be screened from the photographer and ninety-five per cent of the guests. The only ones in a position to notice were all adult and likely to approve.
And wasn't it going to be a kick! The bull dyke, ready to bull as many dykes as she could!
She fastened on the harness and stepped back into her trousers. Then, leaving her heels off for the time being, she examined herself in the mirror.
And then the door to her room opened.
*****
Megan shut the door behind her and eyed Heather purposefully.
'I think you've got the wrong room,' Heather said, sure she hadn't.
'I think I've got it bang on. You owe me and I'm here to collect.'
Heather wasn't in the least bit worried. 'I'd better warn you,' she said mildly, as the intruder crossed the room in her direction, 'I probably have more black belts than you have pairs of knickers.'
'Don't worry,' the blonde said with the flicker of a smile, 'I'm not going to assault you. Not in a violent way, anyhow.'
'Megan, what is it you want?'
'You owe me,' she repeated. 'From the things Nat cried out in her sleep, I reckon you went down on her. Get on your knees here and now and I'll call it quits.'
Heather studied her eyes. They were shining with lust and the pupils were dilated.
'No way,' she said. 'Ask for a date like everyone else.'
'Come on, Hev, it won't take you long.'
'I've a big round to be supervising down in the bar. If you want sex ask me for a date.'
The blonde's odd eyes narrowed. 'Tuesday,' she said. 'Are you free?'
'Sorry, I've something on already for Tuesday.'
'I see. You're going to make me wait for it. Fair enough, but I want something on account. Give me a kiss and your phone number.'
'And?'
'And then I'm out of here.'
Megan suddenly looked like a besotted teenager. And she wasn't the first adult to be like that after meeting Heather. Hell, she wasn't even the first female adult.
Normally Heather would have welcomed an unexpected visitor with open arms. She didn't like those pupils, though. And she certainly didn't like the assumption she'd get on her knees and obey orders.
Kiss her and be rid, she thought. And shag her at a later date, when she's learnt better manners.
'Okay,' she said out loud. 'Come get your kiss.'
With her in heels and Heather barefoot, the two were much the same height. Megan closed in, smiling again, and quite tenderly pressed their lips together. Heather was cool with that. She didn't protest at all when a tongue invaded her mouth. Instead she met it with her own, fencing with it a little and, as passions began to rise, sucking on it.
Megan was obviously after more than a kiss. Her hand landed on Heather's six-pack then slid up and took hold of a boob. That seemed to excite her. She brought their lower bodies together . . .
And froze.
'Fuck me,' she gasped, 'you're a she-male!'
'No I'm not,' Heather replied. 'Have a proper feel.'
The hand left her hard, round boob, slid back over her six-pack and groped her. And it certainly knew what it was doing. Moving very deftly it assessed the dildo and, feeling through the thin material of her trousers, the harness.
Then Megan was unfastening buttons. 'Nice and hard,' she said as Heather's trousers fell around her ankles, 'and very well-shaped.'
'What do you mean; me or the dildo?'
'Ha! Ha!' Megan sank to her knees. 'If you won't do me, I'll do you.'
Heather was nonplussed. She'd seen girls sucking dildos in videos but hadn't expected it to happen much in real life. That was a length of silicone after all! It had no sense of touch and definitely didn't have the ability to cum. So who was getting what out of this, exactly?
Then, to her surprise, she realized she was benefitting, and not just from seeing Megan submissively down there, belowing her. Megan was using her hand as well as her mouth, moving the dildo ever-so-slightly, creating friction between her and its base. But it was slow, gradual sort of thing. And they had not a lot of time.
A decision needed to be made.
'On the bed,' Heather commanded, hauling the fellatrix to her feet. Then, stepping out of her trousers altogether, 'No, wait a second; we don't want you sporting a wet patch, do we?'
Megan stood beside the bed while Heather unhooked her light blue skirt and tossed it aside. Whereas most of the wedding guests were bare-legged Megan had gone for white stockings and suspenders. It worked for her.
'Lovely,' said Heather, easing off the other girl's panties, admiring her closely trimmed fanny. 'Keep your shoes on and get on your back.'
Megan obeyed with gratifying alacrity, pulling up her knees and opening wide. Heather climbed onto her, positioning herself just so.
'Short and sharp,' she said.
Then, defying her own words, she pushed the dildo gently in, allowing perhaps two inches. Then she slowly withdrew, not quite letting it pop completely out, and pressed it back in. And out and in, out and in, concentrating on that shallow penetration. Megan groaned and possibly came. That didn't shut her up, though. She'd been murmuring "yes, yes, yes" non-stop, ever since her gates first parted.
Encouraged, getting much more satisfying friction herself now, Heather stepped it up, pressing in ever deeper, being ever less gentle.
'Yes, yes, yes,' Megan cried. 'Yes, yes, yes.'
Soon the dildo was pounding into the blonde. The blonde fastened herself around her lover, her white heels scraping Heather's lower back.
'Yes, yes, yes,' Megan cried. 'Yes, yes, yes.'
This time she definitely did cum. Still pounding back at Heather she changed her tune.
'More, more, more!'
Heather couldn't have gone any faster. And she couldn't have expected the knock at her door.
'Hev,' said Brett, stepping into the room. 'It's . . . Oh shit! Sorry.'
He beat a hasty retreat
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
(July 2004)
Heather made it to the top table with seconds to spare, fully-dressed in her suit and minus the dildo, which she'd left soaking in the en-suite sink.
'Don't tell me,' said Ingrid before she could make up an excuse, 'I don't want to know.'
Brett, thankfully, said nothing.
That last, formal part of proceedings ran smoothly. The food was wonderful and the speeches were well-received, particularly the ones from the father of the bride and the best man.
Heather, going first and trying not to look at Nat and Megan, began by quoting from a letter from Ingrid's dad, leaving the guests in no doubt of how proud he was of his daughter. Then, after individually thanking everybody involved, she said the next round of drinks was on her as well, and handed over to Brett.
Brett's speech was more like a collection of stories. Starting from meeting Bradley in pre-primary, this was a sequence of scrapes they'd got into (and sometimes out of). He was a born storyteller and had great comic timing. He literally had his audience rolling in the aisles.
A lot of the wedding guests had booked in to the hotel. After the cake had been cut quite a few went to change, shower and recharge batteries before the night-time disco began in the marquee outside. Diehards and guests without rooms congregated in loose groups in the bar and out on the terrace.
Heather spent half an hour chatting with Ingrid's mum and then covertly people-watched. Claire was, she noted, deep in conversation with Jez. And Brett was nowhere to be seen.
Hmmm.
Nat and Megan were also deep in conversation, sharing a table in the remotest corner of the bar, still on friendly terms, or so it seemed. Heather wondered how Megan had explained her absence; not as a quick smoke break, that was for sure. She also wondered at the lack of tobacco on Megan's breath. Had she been smoking something "alternative"? Or, remembering her eyes, snorting?
Hmmm.
Heather had enjoyed shagging Megan but it had been weird. The girl hadn't even noticed Brett's flying visit. And she'd been well over the top afterwards, insisting on a date and her phone number.
Talking about Brett . . .
His visit had been in the capacity as best man. He'd wanted to get Heather downstairs, to greet the bride and groom. She'd found that out later, when he knocked again, not opening the door that time, calling a five minute warning through the wood instead.
Where was he now, though? Claire had booked a separate room to Heather. She'd taken it as read that she'd be sharing it with him.
Hmmm.
Ingrid was holding court on the terrace, an untouched glass of champagne in her hand. Radiant and heartbreakingly happy, she was arm in arm with Brad, who looked like he'd just won the lottery.
Heather decided it was time to find a bit of happiness herself so went hunting for Rachael. And this time she didn't take a lot of finding: she was at the other end of the terrace, talking to the twins.
'Hey you two,' said Heather, 'hands off! Tonight this babe's all mine.'
'We know,' they said as one. 'That's why we've set something up for Monday.'
Then, both of them sticking their tongues out at her, they went off looking for mischief.
Rachael was sitting on the terrace wall, sipping God only knew what.
'Monday,' said Heather. 'Good work. I'm sure you'll have fun.'
'We might have had fun here and now, in that empty marquee.' Rache laughed. 'If you'd turned up ten seconds later . . .'
'You should have gone for it. I bet there are dozens of folk dancing the horizontal tango even as we speak. And talking about tangos, have you seen Brett?'
'Not in a while. I suspect he's sneaked off with that redhead.'
'What redhead?'
'Don't say you haven't noticed her Hev, she's just your type.'
'I don't have a type,' Heather said primly.
'Not even blondes in white stockings, like the one in there?' Rachael pointed towards the bar.
Heather couldn't see through walls but knew who she was referring to all right. 'I honestly don't know what you mean,' she fibbed.
Rachael shook her head in disbelief and filled her in. 'The one with the brunette you fucked on Inga's henny night; the tall one who's coked up to her ears.'
'Is she?'
'You bet she is. I was on the same table as them. She thought she was whispering to the brunette but I could hear her bragging that you'd had her for dinner. Or should I say had her before dinner?'
'Sorry Rache. It wasn't my fault. She almost attacked me. I had to shag her in self-defence.'
'What sort of self-defence is that: cunt fu?'
'Rache, do you have to! That's my least favourite word.'
'Sorry.' Rachael grinned. 'I promise I'll never say "fu" again.'
They chuckled together then Heather grew serious. 'I'm with you for the rest of the day. I won't leave your side for even a second.'
'What happens at midnight? Do you turn into a pumpkin or will you be hurrying into Claire's bed?'
'Neither. Claire's being traditional. You know how it is at a wedding: the maid of honour has to sleep with the best man, even if he is her on-and-off boyfriend.'
'What if that redhead's put a spoke in her wheel?'
'Then she'll have to sleep with Jez or someone else. I'm sticking with you.'
Heather noticed one of the bar staff collecting glasses. She waved him over and he swiftly agreed to fetch them more drinks.'
'Impressive, Hev. I didn't know they did waiter service.'
'I don't think they do. But I've just bought two massive rounds and included all the hotel guys and gals. I hope to be treated a tad differently to the rabble.'
'What are you wearing tonight? For the disco, I mean.'
'A little red number.'
'Not one of those you used to wear at uni! The ones that show off half your nipples and most of your tits!'
'You might find this hard to believe, Rache, but I haven't been carrying them around the world with me these last few years. I've bought a new one.'