Heather's Busy Week Pt. 01

'What about Angie? She seemed to . . . know you.'

'She does. Intimately. And she's going to know me again on Wednesday. That's something to look forward to, eh?'

Rita shuddered. 'I don't know how you dare.'

'Don't judge that book by its cover. Judge it by what you've just seen.'

'I thought it was one step down from rape.'

'Come on, Rita. It was a nice hard shagging, no more. Take it from me, it's good to be on the receiving end when she goes at it like that.'

'I suppose.' Then, pointing: 'Next left and we're there.'

'Do I really get to stay all night?'

'Just try leaving before breakfast!'

*****

The sex set off much as usual: direct, robust and with Heather regularly getting carried away. Also much as usual, it was incredibly enjoyable. Rita seemed to enjoy it too. Unless she was a very good actress, she climaxed even more often than her demon lover. And being able to do that was an impressive feat, Heather had to admit.

Eventually, initial passion spent, she decided a rest was in order. Wanting to maintain contact, she stayed face-down on Rita, relishing the feel and smell of her. Gravity still pulled their bare bodies together, fanny to fanny, boob to boob. Their skins were tacky; agreeably tacky. Their hearts beat in sync. For the time being, at least, they were as one. All was well with the world.

'That's nice,' she purred as Rita stroked her bum.

'Sharing a bed with you is nice,' Rita said. 'It's a good job I'd been warned, though.'

'Warned? What do you mean?'

'Marcia wasn't joking. She really did warn me in advance. She's been comparing notes with a few friends. You've got yourself a reputation, Hev.'

I'm not sure I want one.' Heather sighed. That best friend of hers from school (Mary Rose, aka the world's wickedest witch) had firm views on reputations. According to her, if you absolutely had to have one, it was your God-given duty to make it the biggest and baddest. 'So what did Marcia say, exactly?'

'That you go at it like a whirlwind. That you can cum for England. And that you can keep going forever.'

'Gross exaggeration. Look at me now. I'm all in.'

'I can't see you in the dark.' Rita's voice was little more than a whisper. 'But your heartrate is climbing. I can feel it thumping against my tits. I think you're ready for more.'

The blonde stopped stroking and started tracing small circles around Heather's ring. That took her by surprise. It felt good, though. No, better than good; it was fab. As far as she could tell, Rita was using the tip of just one finger. And Rita was right: she was ready for more. Lots and lots more.

'Oh,' she gasped. 'That really is nice.'

'Nobody's done this to you before, have they?'

'No,' Heather confessed. The ongoing sensation was amazing. She was excited and just a tad afraid. A tiny part of her brain wanted it to stop. The other, much larger part wanted it to go on to infinity and beyond.

'You need to relax and believe in me,' Rita breathed. 'You might specialize in whirlwinds, but I know what I'm doing right now. And I can make it get better and better.'

Good grief! How can it possibly get better!

'It's too arousing,' Heather objected, unconvincingly. 'I'll never relax.'

'Imagine you're lying on a Caribbean beach. The sand under you is blinding white and the sea is turquoise blue. Your feet are close to the water. It's lapping your toes and it's as warm as a bath. You already feel relaxed, but the water is doing wonderful things. It's taking away every stress and strain you've ever had, simply by touching you. It's over your ankles now, and your feet have never felt so good. Now it's up to your knees. Now it's halfway up your thighs. Your arms are down by your sides and the water is over your hands. Everything that is underwater is utterly unwound. The rest of your body can't wait to get wet . . .'

Aided and abetted by a vivid imagination, Heather did her best to play along. Amazingly, her body was progressively relaxing and really did feel good. And part of her had been wet for an age. Very wet indeed.

'The water is lapping your pussy now. Your thigh muscles aren't working anymore. They have disconnected themselves, leaving you open and ready for anything. Now the water's washing over your bum and up onto your belly. Can you feel it?'

'Yes,' Heather said truthfully.

Thus encouraged, Rita stopped circling and eased her finger in up to the middle knuckle.

'Good grief!'

'Stay relaxed,' Rita crooned. 'Come on Hev, the water's up to your tits. Everything below there is hunky-dory.' So saying, she pushed her finger all the way inside.

Heather wasn't sure if she was still relaxed. She was, however, no longer afraid and her level of excitedness was off the scale. Rita only had small hands but her finger was . . . marvellous. Utterly, absolutely marvellous. As a connoisseur of new experiences, she was well up for this. And Rita really did know what she was doing. Rather than thrusting in and out she was gently manoeuvring, as if she was patiently searching in there. Heather moaned along a while then suddenly let out a yelp. Somehow Rita was titillating both her clit and her G spot with just one finger. From up her bum! She was titillating other areas too, ones she could not immediately identify.

'Good grief,' she managed, 'I'm going to cum.'

Rita seemed to be delighted by the news. Not that she stopped when Heather climaxed. Oh no, she kept going, causing a whole string of orgasms with mere seconds between them. If Heather had been inclined to take tally she'd have lost count almost at once. In fact maybe it was just one long-lasting eruption that simply kept growing.

When the strawberry blonde did at last stop Heather was a gibbering wreck.

Almost.

'So tell me,' Rita asked brightly, 'did it get better and better?'

'It was best-ever,' said Heather, rolling off her and flopping onto her back. 'I'll try to return the favour . . . if I ever get second wind.'

'Talking about favours . . .'

Rita clicked on a light and rooted in the set of drawers beside her bed. 'Here it is,' she said, producing a harness.

'You really will have to wait for that.' Heather's groan was entirely authentic. 'I quite honestly haven't got the energy yet.'

'You won't need any energy. I'm doing you.' Then, chuckling at Heather's expression: 'In your pussy, of course. You need lots more training before you can take it up the arse.'

Another groan. 'Whatever you say, Rita.'

The blonde fastened herself into the harness along with a medium-sized dildo. Then she held up something as if it was Exhibit A.

'What's that?' Heather asked with all the suspicion she could muster.

'It's a small butt plug. Trust me, it'll add a new dimension to the whole experience.'

*****

Rita's promise wasn't an empty one. Maybe it was that new dimension, but everything about the shagging was best-ever. And the sensations! Heather had never known anything like it. Normally she couldn't resist getting involved, even when she'd promised to be passive. For once she found it easy to simply accept and enjoy.

There was lots to enjoy. The feeling of fullness . . . of being doubly penetrated . . . was mind-blowing. All five of her senses had been amplified. She could still taste the other girl and that taste was sweet indeed. The scent of their blended sweat and juices could have been bottled and sold by Chanel. Their combined moans and sighs had a poignant, musical quality about them. Rita had left the light on this time, and seeing her smile was an aphrodisiac in itself.

Touch was most amplified of all, and best of all. From time to time Rita would put her mouth against Heather's, enticing it into a matching grin. When she did that her hair would cascade down onto Heather's face, like a waterfall of tiny kisses. And there was the feel of their bodies moving together. Erect nipples scraping against firm, super-sensitive flesh. Rita's flat, athletic stomach gliding over Heather's hard six-pack. Thigh sliding along thigh . . . or rather, Rita's strong, flexed quads rubbing rhythmically inside two completely relaxed thighs.

Nice, nice, nice!

Groin to groin contact was, of course, the crème de la crème. Rita had an extensive repertoire when it came to shagging. Rarely relying on crude lunges, she found dozens of ways to coax and cajole, seguing seamlessly from one to another . . . and yet another. Because most of her actions involved deep and slow her pelvis spent a lot of time pressing against Heather's. And the movement of her hips was poetical if not magical. Sometimes she would roll gently, left to right. At others she would rock gently up and down. Mmmm, nice, nice, nice! Pelvic contact, in Heather's opinion, was the world's biggest bonus when it came to sex. There was something so wonderfully intimate about being face-to-face and clamped tight together.

A man couldn't do this to me, she thought. And then, although she hated the F word: I have never been so thoroughly fucked.

Fortunately for the sake of her sanity, Heather had switched gears. Switching wasn't so much a gift or a skill, it was more of a natural defence system: one with many settings, like the ratios on a bike. Usually it kicked in as the night wore on. Tonight, for reasons of its own, it kicked in at mid-range rather than low. That meant she was now cumming every few minutes instead of every few seconds. Given a choice she'd have set the gap at half an hour or more. As it was she experienced many, many orgasms before Rita finally withdrew.

'Happy?'

'Good grief, Rita. Now I really am out of energy.'

Chuckling, the blonde unstrapped her harness and carefully removed the butt plug. 'Two for the trusty dishwasher,' she said, dropping the used toys onto the carpet. 'And don't worry, I've got plenty more if you ever do get your second wind.'

'Excuse me asking,' Heather said after a comfortable enough silence, 'but you're only a slip of a lass. Where did you learn those things?'

'From my cousin. She's twenty-three. I spent most of last summer with her.'

'Your cousin! Isn't that . . . well, illegal?'

'No, it's perfectly legal. There would have been a risk of genetic disorders if we'd had kids, but we didn't let that stop us.'

'Kids?'

'That was my little joke. Sorry if it fell flat.'

'Rita, it's not funny. Never mind the . . . the blood ties, how old were you?'

'Eighteen. Old enough to marry her of my own free will. Well, I would be if the government got its arse into the twenty-first century. As it is, one of us would have to pretend to be a bloke.'

Heather had her own views on same-sex marriage; particularly strong ones. Just then, at that moment in time, she was more concerned about the age difference. 'I'm still uneasy with you two,' she said.

'She's only five years older,' Rita protested. 'How old is Angie Baby?'

'Just twenty-one. And I'm nineteen and a half. There's only eighteen months between us.'

'Nineteen and a half.' Rita sniggered. 'I gave up counting half years when I was twelve.'

'It's not a laughing matter, Rita. I'm worried about you.'

'Well you needn't be. I actually coerced my much older cousin into bed.'

'You and Lolita, eh?' Heather sighed. 'Go on, then, tell me more.'

Rita's smile was beyond wicked. 'I caught her alone in her room,' she began, 'using two dildos at once. She was away with the fairies and didn't realize she had an audience. And I couldn't stop myself from watching. It was such an awesome sight, watching her peak and peak and peak. I severely wet myself, I must admit.'

'Then she noticed you were watching and let you seduce her?'

'No, she noticed me and threw a very big wobbly. Begged me not to tell her husband . . .'

'She's married!' Heather exclaimed.

'Yes. Married twelve months and bored already.'

Heather shook her head, hoping to clear it as much as anything else. 'So how did you coerce her?'

'I hate to use the word "blackmail" . . .'

'Rita!'

'Listen Hev, there's always been an attraction between me and her. I'd tried it on before, more than once, and she always said I was too young. "Come back when you've grown up" . . . that sort of thing. I just pointed out that I'd turned eighteen and had been legally grown-up for over two years. I also told her I had a desperate urge to learn her dildo trick.'

'Hmmm, went Heather.

'Honestly Hev, I never did threaten to tell her husband. Not out loud, anyway.'

'Hmmm!'

'She tried to put me off by saying I'd need training. I said fine, we both had time on our hands. And in the end she submitted.'

'Was she good in bed?' asked Heather, abruptly abandoning self-righteousness and giving in to curiosity.

'She put a lot into it. Not as much as you, obviously. But we did a lot more than just practice relaxation techniques.'

'This training,' Heather said after a brief silence. 'What does it entail?'

'Dedicated work on your ringpiece,' Rita replied. 'Even when you're relaxed, it's very tight. We will need to get it used to taking bigger and bigger objects.'

'I was talking generally. Suddenly you're talking about me.'

'You want to try, don't you, Hev? I can tell by your eyes.'

Heather supposed the blonde had a point. 'And how do we go about it, pray?'

'To get you used to bigger objects? No problem. Tonight I'll start with one finger . . .'

'Tonight?'

'It's probably tomorrow morning already.'

'Hmmm,' Heather observed. 'I'm coming back so soon, am I?'

'I sincerely hope so.'

'What about no commitments?'

'I'm talking about consensual sex, Hev, not commitments.'

Heather sighed and shook her head yet again, giving in to more than curiosity. 'Aye lass,' she said, 'and kinky consensual sex at that. You've obviously got my measure. Go on, tell me the rest.'

'We'll start with straight sex for an hour or so,' Rita resumed. 'I quite fancy been thrown about the bed again. That'll do the trick like a ten ton penguin. Then I'll get the lube out and do you digitally. You should be able to take two fingers, once I've loosened you up a bit. After that we can use a bigger plug while I fuck your pussy. The next time you visit, we can try my smallest, tiniest dildo . . .'

Heather was frowning. 'What was that about a ten ton penguin?'

'He breaks the ice, no?'

'Another little joke.' Heather laughed, only too aware her tummy was fluttering out of control.

She makes it sound so . . . so matter-of-fact. And she really has got my measure. I'm hooked!

'Okay,' she said out loud, 'I get the general idea, but what's the ultimate goal? Me using two dildos at once?'

'That's but a stop along the way.' Rita grinned. 'Ultimately I'm going to harness my biggest toy and fuck you up the arse from every conceivable direction.'

Even though she'd suspected something like that, Heather was shocked. Well, not so much shocked as irrationally enthused. She'd had out-of-order propositions before, including plenty that should have made her throw up her hands and cry, "Desist!" But throwing up her hands would be wimpy. She'd never once backed off and didn't intend to start today.

'All right,' she said. 'In principle I'll play along. But first you have to convince me you're not all mouth.'

'How do I do that?'

'I want to see you taking two of your toys at once.'

'Right now?' said Rita, reaching for her top drawer.

'Right now. And you'd better get three decent-sized ones.'

'Where's the third one going?'

'In that harness, of course. Once you've convinced me you're on the level, I'm going to shag you where the sun don't shine.'

'Oh Hev,' Rita said, grinning again. 'You are so irresistible . . .'

CHAPTER ONE

(Friday, 19th April 2002)

Rita's "training sessions" had lasted a fortnight into what turned out to be a month-long fling. A whole month. That was by far the closest Heather had come to a relationship as a university student. She'd enjoyed it though, even if it did become a bit stifling. That first fortnight! They'd slept together nearly every night and even exchanged text messages throughout the day. Not lovey-dovey text messages, however. There was nothing lovey-dovey about their messages or anything else. Everything between them had been hot and ramped up. It had actually been a relief when they entered their third week and downgraded to every other night.

Now, two years later, Heather rarely thought about the strawberry blonde and hadn't seen her in ages, not even in passing. Rita had become little more than a distant memory. They'd had fun, taught each other new tricks and parted as friends. That was the way Heather preferred it, especially with lovers who lasted longer than ten minutes.

Not that breaking up with girlfriends had been much of a problem lately.

Blokes had become a diversion midway into Heather's second year. By then she'd got a little bored of bi-curious girls who wanted to "settle down". Freshers didn't interest her and the likes of Angie and Marcia had graduated and gone. That vast range of experienced grown women had reduced by a third. Or so she ruthfully told herself. In truth, she'd worked her way through all the unattached lesbians and run out of exciting new options. Okay, she regularly revisited some of the old, tried and tested options, but old didn't thrill anything like new. For her it never would. For her new would always be the big thrill. Most unfairly, if ever she complained about her lot, she was told she thought and acted "like a man". Meaning invariably, every time. Lack of choice and sympathy led her to conclude: Sod it, if you can't beat 'em . . .

Heather tended to be successful with everything she tried. Shagging guys as well as gals was no exception. In fact she'd acquired more of a reputation as a man-eater than she ever had as an out-and-out lezzie. Which was a bit odd, really. Girlfriends outnumbered boyfriends two or three to one even now, and she was suddenly a man-eater . . .

It must be some strange sort of prudishness. Or maybe boys tittle-tattle more than girls.

Not that she particularly cared what folk said or thought. Having a big, bad "reputation" could have its advantages. Take tonight, for example. Her party invite had been issued specifically because of her infamous behaviour. Carrie, the hostess, had made that clear, saying there was someone she simply had to meet. A blind date fresh off Mount Olympus. Dashing, strong and exceedingly intelligent, this guy had it all.

Blind dates weren't among Heather's specialist subjects. She was more a date-at-short-notice sort of a girl. Some of her one-night stands had been at very short notice indeed. Last-dance-late, as often as not. But the idea of taking a chance, trusting Carrie's judgment . . . of blindly trusting her judgment . . . well it was intriguing, wasn't it? And it was a Friday, the night when shagging was obligatory. Somebody had to get lucky.

Most uni parties were, thanks to student finances, "informal". Carrie's was obviously going to be a cut above. She'd hired the ballroom at a local hotel for starters; a remarkably expensive local hotel. Tellingly, her invitations were in fancy silver writing on thick white card. Although these clearly stated "smart/casual", the inset illustration was all morning suits and champagne flutes. The outrageous, oft-uncontrollable rebel in Heather immediately favoured fashionably ripped jeans and a too-tight T-shirt. Locking Rebby Baby away in the mental cell next to Mary Rose's dungeon, she settled for moderate heels and a little red dress.

Preparations began soon after the week's last lecture. First Heather shaved, ensuring every hair below her neck was no more. That didn't take long because she rarely went twenty-four hours between tidy-ups. Then she headed for the shower, determined not to jill. Fat chance! It had been three days since her last shag and her body was, to put it mildly, quite keen to be receptive. Especially when she detached the showerhead, powered up the flow and . . .