Heather's Busy Week Pt. 02

'Every hot-blooded girl in the uni will be there,' she'd enthused. 'I can't invite you as my partner, because I'm obliged to get pissed and do outrageous things. But you're welcome anyway. Do come along and chance your arm. There'll be more no-strings sex than you can shake a stick at. With your looks you'll be able to score as many times as you like.'

On the off-chance, Rita had asked if Heather would be there. Marcia said she certainly would. She also issued an early warning. Heather was nice enough, but she had chronic wanderlust. Getting her into bed wasn't a problem, but getting consecutive dates out of her was a different kettle of fish. That was like getting blood out of a stone.

'She'll come back a second time,' the older woman said, 'and a third and a fourth. But it'll be months later, when you think she's forgotten you exist.'

Ever ambitious, Rita went to the party with three objectives: to cop off with Heather Hunter; to completely monopolize her attention; and to sleep with her for nights on end. And she'd largely achieved. Without blowing her trumpet too loudly, she'd clicked with "Hev" instantly, they'd partied side by side then left indecently early and had sex until first light . . . and she'd had no fewer than five consecutive romps. Not two, not three or four, but five.

Then Wednesday came around.

Rita hadn't really thought Hev would keep her date with "Angie Baby". It was hard to believe anyone would keep a date with the ferocious-looking skinhead. But Hev said she never broke a promise. Reluctantly, Rita decided it would seem clingy to argue with her, so that was that. Feeling abandoned and suffering from five nights of sleep deprivation, she was tucked up in bed soon after ten. But could she drop off?

Counting sheep hadn't worked. Not in the least. Staring at the ceiling through square eyes, she'd tried to think about anything in the world other than Heather Hunter. That hadn't worked either. If fantasizing about a distant glimpse hadn't been enough, lying there alone with her lust only partly slaked . . .

Well, no wonder the Sandman hadn't come.

Hev rang somewhere around eleven o'clock, sounding giggly and asking Rita where she was.

'In bed,' she replied.

'Me too. Or rather, I'm on a bed. Here, someone wants to talk to you.'

Angie's gruff voice came on line. 'Pretty little Rita,' she said. 'Listen in, your girlfriend's about to get fucked. And not for the first time tonight.'

Dialogue was a bit stilted after that. Rita had nothing to say and merely listened, thinking back to the sights of last Friday. Angie had run out of intelligent conversation too; she just issued a series of aggressive grunts, presumably in step with vigorous humps. Hev's responding cries more or less overlapped Angie's, no doubt prompted by a lot of vigorous pussy pounding.

What was Angie doing, precisely? It was difficult to tell. She'd been going unaided, groin to groin at the party, not needing any artificial assistance, her flesh slapping wetly on flesh. Rita couldn't see her tonight, obviously, and wasn't getting much feedback over the dog and bone. Nothing helpful, anyway. Not even the sound of slapping flesh. For all she knew, Angie could have strapped some sort of toy onto herself . . .

'Yes,' Hev's voice suddenly cut in. 'Yes, yes!' She was still grunting but was no longer in step. Angie's unflagging beat went on and on.

'Yes, yes, yes!' Hev cried. 'Good grief, here I cum!'

There was no stopping Angie. On she went, on. Hev climaxed a second time, screaming out loud. Then, while Angie kept going, she seemed to peak and peak. Rita carried on listening, feeling jealousy but not sure exactly who she was jealous of. And she certainly wasn't sure how to count Hev's latest cumming. Was it one very long one? Or was it dozens and dozens?

'There you go, Rita,' Angie said after God only knew how many minutes. The skinhead was struggling for breath but sounded jubilant. 'Did you enjoy yourself?'

'Not as much as Heather did.'

'Don't give me that. I bet you're dripping down there. And I bet you've been jilling, too.'

To her surprise Rita realized her free hand had strayed between her legs. And yes, she was dripping.

'We'll have to get together sometime,' Angie grated. 'I've plenty left over for you.'

'I was not jilling!'

'Don't fib to a fibber.' said Angie, laughing at the reflexive denial. 'Night, night, little Rita. Have nice dreams.'

'Night, night, Rita,' Hev added from somewhere in the background. 'I'll ring you tomorrow. I do hope you liked the show.'

Rita never had complained about that phone call. She didn't want to fall out and Hev probably wouldn't have taken a complaint seriously anyway. And, although the call had disturbed her, Angie had been right: she had enjoyed listening. In a way, she'd been as deeply involved as the fornicating couple.

Voyeurism by phone. That's a new one!

After yet another mostly sleepless night, Rita had decided to press on regardless. She was deliberately dragging out Heather's "training" and would continue to do so. Meanwhile she'd let her (non-) relationship with the jungle princess run its course . . . which it did, for the best part of a month.

All said and done, their breakup hadn't been a bad one. In truth it couldn't have been any less confrontational. She'd known it was coming and Hev took pains to ease herself away gently; a final night together and they'd parted with a kiss.

Footloose and fancy-free once more, Rita had been surprised to find herself in the limelight. Every gay woman in the university wanted to know how she'd "tamed Heather Hunter". Quite a few straight ones asked too. She modestly claimed she hadn't done any taming, but was invariably contradicted. Heather had been out of circulation for over four weeks. Rita had to have been doing something very well indeed. Plenty of interesting dalliances came along with those "Heather Hunter conversations". Rita even found it in herself to sleep with Angie, and not just the once.

Thinking about her nights in Angie's bed still turned Rita on here and now, in 2002, two years after the older woman had graduated and gone. Angie tribbed aggressively and very skilfully but, hidden away like a dirty secret, she also had an amazingly delicate touch. Nights in her bed were sadly missed.

Rita inspected herself down under. Dripping wet again! How could that be after the events of late last night, early this morning?

Slowly stroking herself, she went back to her thoughts, initially skimming over the academic year 2000-2001. She'd fucked her very first man in that year. Apart from that, nothing much happened. The fuck had been a spur-of-the-moment sort of a thing, not at all planned, and it had been surprisingly good. That said, Alex had been exaggerating when he claimed she'd always "had one boyfriend or another in tow". Yes, she had continued seeing men and yes, she'd dated them one at a time, one term at a time. She'd never given up dating girls, though. Lots of girls. She may have limited herself to one man per term but she'd put no cap on girls. In her opinion females were her true forte, so they didn't count as cheating and didn't require limits or quotas.

Hev hadn't featured amongst "lots of girls". They'd seen each other about now and again on campus, but their paths rarely crossed. When they did accidentally meet they stopped to bat the breeze. Two, maybe three minutes of warm conversation with no awkward moments at all. Anyone overhearing would have taken them for once close friends who had drifted apart, probably through force of circumstance. Rita had taken those chinwags as proof she was over Heather Hunter.

Last night had deleted that mind-set. Hell, it had deleted the delete.

Hev had been the last person she expected to see in the Union Bar. And in that dress! Hev might call it her "whore's outfit" but Rita thought it was a miracle of modern engineering. It had been a pleasure to set eyes on her, even before her unexpected, mouth-munching welcome.

Rita couldn't deny it; she had wanted to fuck the girl on sight.

That hadn't happened, of course. Alex had turned up . . . late on purpose, wanting to rile his sister as much as possible . . . just as she was plotting and scheming. Getting Hev alone had been her aim then and was again now. Sharing her with Alex had been enjoyable enough, but she wanted more.

Lots more.

So did Hev, thank God. Maybe bumping into her in a social environment had helped, but they had fallen into flirty conversation as easily as they had done that very first time, in Marcia's kitchen.

Rita's heart was beating faster and faster. Her pussy was throbbing and it was hard to be sure why. It might well be her slow stroking, but could just as easily be her thoughts about Hev.

Dammit, I need more. And I need it right now!

Nowadays the drawers beside Rita's bed contained more toys than ever. She frowned as she made her selection. One large butt plug with plenty of lube. And what else? Her pussy craved penetration but she didn't want anything phallic. Not at that particular moment in time. Fingers trembling, she picked out her deluxe love beads.

Beads, she thought. As if!

These were enormous ball-bearings, not tiny beads. There were four of them threaded onto a strong cotton string, all silver stainless steel, each a little larger than the last. She pressed the smallest against her slit. It was cold but she didn't care. Taking them cold was part of the thrill. Not that they stayed cold for long. Not in there.

First things first.

Throwing off the duvet she lubricated the plug and pushed it into place. Then, her fingers still trembling, she rolled the first silver ball up and down. After a minute or so, seriously aroused, she eased it partway inside her pussy, not considering lubrication at all, needing it even less.

Oh yes. Oh yes, yes, yes.

Rita sighed in delight. She was most sensitive right there, a couple of centimetres inside the entrance of her vagina. Nerve-endings fizzed and crackled as muscles stretched, allowing the ball admittance. Using the thread she tugged it back a fraction, very purposefully prolonging the experience. Pushed it most of the way back in, tugged it out another fraction. Pushed it in, tugged it out. Again and again and again.

Yes, yes, yes.

Taking a guy's cock was always nice. Taking cock from a guy who actually knew what he was doing was better still. As was taking a finger or three from a girl; girls always knew what they were doing, especially when they did it with their fingers. And taking a girl's tongue was best of all. Girls were best at prolonging the joy.

Mmmm, nice.

Rita reckoned her love beads ranked second only to a skilled female tongue. They did when it came to teasing her entrance, anyway. When she finally popped them all the way inside they were in a league of their own.

And popping them all the way out again was world class!

She pressed the next, slightly larger silver ball against her slit, rolling it up and down. Then she eased it partway in. Sighing deeply, she used the tread to tug it back and forth. Making sure she prolonged the experience. Prolonging the joy.

'Yes,' she moaned as she engulfed ball number two. She felt pleasantly full but wasn't done yet. Two more balls, larger and largest, then she'd be full.

Then, stuffed to busting, she'd attack her clit, perhaps more than once. After that, with a lot of tugging and pushing, she'd ease the balls out.

And then she'd work out how to get back in the limelight.

*****

At last a plainclothes policewoman arrived. She was DC Parker, come to escort Ms Hunter. Alex shrugged while Heather got up from her uncomfortable chair and followed the detective constable along a couple of corridors and through a door. In Heather's considered opinion, the interview room was spartan. Worse still, it smelt of stale sweat and pee. Parker seemed immune to smells. Smiling for the first time . . . and only faintly at that . . . she said, 'Coffee or tea? I'd recommend tea myself, but only just.'

Sipping from her polystyrene cup Heather wondered just how bad the coffee could be. Before she could ask the door opened and a forty-something man joined them, taking his place next to Parker, across a bolted-down table from their interviewee. Fazakerley was not at as she'd expected. The crime novels she'd read tended to paint detective inspectors as frayed, flawed individuals. Usually going through a second or third divorce, they were always bitter, twisted and cynical. A pathological hatred of authority was a must. So was a tendency to cut corners. Stepping on toes was a way of life for them, and it showed.

Not when it came to Fazakerley, however. He was a little overweight but seemed amiable and had eyes to rival Paul Newman. 'We're treating this as informal,' he began. 'My colleague will take notes and we won't bother with tapes. Not to begin with, anyway. If anything changes along the way, I'll let you know.'

Heather said that was fine by her then, at his bidding, related the story as agreed with Carrie. Fazakerley listened without comment while Parker scratched away on her notepad.

'Okay,' the DI said when the tale was told. 'I've a few questions before we write it all up.'

'Me too,' added Parker.

Heather expected to be asked why she'd fled the hotel. Instead she was asked where she'd spent the night.

Here goes fib number one . . .

'At my place,' she said, 'with Alex.'

'That was fast,' said Parker. 'You ditched your blind date and minutes later . . .'

'Is Alex your regular boyfriend?' Fazakerley cut in.

'No. Well . . . I suppose he is a boyfriend now. He's not a regular boyfriend, though. I only met him yesterday.'

'Very fast work indeed.' Parker's faint smile was long gone. She couldn't be thirty but seemed scandalized by the very idea of casual sex.

Heather wanted to tell her that students had a freedom which wasn't necessarily available to stuffy policewomen. Wisely, she held her tongue.

'Okay,' Fazakerley continued. 'You've told us Ross's behaviour was . . . erratic. Didn't it occur to you he might be on something?'

'Yes and no. I did wonder if he was drunk, but he was hardly drinking anything. And he wasn't slurring. I reckoned he was just eccentric.'

'Eccentric!' Parker snorted.

'Believe it or not,' said Heather, as patiently as she could, 'the academic world is full of nutty professors. And eccentricity is very much a way of life at university. Most of The Young Ones were actually quite normal.'

'My arse,' said Parker.

'It could have been drugs,' said Fazakerley. 'Did you consider that possibility?'

'I wouldn't have known what to look for.'

'But did you consider the possibility?'

'No. Not until he dropped all those little packets. Then it became pretty bleeding obvious.'

Parker tutted loudly. She was beginning to get annoying. Heather did her best to ignore her.

'We got an anonymous call from the hotel,' said Fazakerley. 'Ten minutes before the official call. Do you know anything about that?'

'No.'

'Are you sure? It was a female. She didn't name names but described Ross Walker with some accuracy.'

'Must have been someone he approached.' Heather hoped she wasn't blushing too badly. 'I kept avoiding him, so he had plenty of chance.'

Another loud tut from DC Parker.

'Do you know what was in those packets?' Fazakerley enquired.

'Not a clue. What was it?'

'We're asking the questions,' Parker snapped. 'And the next one's about your confrontation with Ross Walker.'

'Don't you mean with Carrie?'

'No. The one shortly before Walker was . . . apprehended.'

Oh bother. I had hoped nobody noticed that!

'He'd been pressing me to go up to his room,' Heather replied, deciding that truth was the only option.

'I thought he was ranting on about research and how clever he was.'

'He was, for most of the time. Then, when he finally started listening to part of what I said, he made it clear he expected to shag me.'

'When was this?' Fazakerley interjected.

'Not long before our so-called confrontation. Not that we really did much confronting. He said it was time to shag and I started to tell him to get lost. Then that . . . that male student started shouting outside the gents' and it all kicked off.'

'Did you recognize that male student?'

'I've seen him around the campus, but I don't know his name.'

'Did you see him talking to Ross Walker at any stage?'

'No. Definitely not.'

'What about Robert?'

'Sorry, I don't even know what Robert looks like.'

'Okay,' said Fazakerley, surprising her. 'That's just about it. Once you've helped DC Parker put her notes onto a witness statement form, you're free to go.'

*****

Parker's notes were first-class. Better still, her mood seemed to have improved a bit. Maybe she'd been playing "bad cop" earlier. Heather tried to forgive her. Then, when she discovered she wasn't cut out for forgiveness, she pretended all was well between them. Anything to get the job done and out of that stinky room.

The statement ran to nine pages but didn't take long to complete. Parker did the writing from the "I" point of view. For the opening paragraphs, dealing with personal details, she needed input from Heather. After that, sentence by sentence, she simply read out loud her notes for approval or amendment, then neatly entered the agreed words onto the form. Heather was impressed by the speed and professionalism of the process. She was also pleased that the policewoman stuck closely to the "Carrie story", adding in little at all. Alex didn't even get a mention.

Fazakerley returned to the meeting room when Heather was signing the finished document, top and bottom, page after page. He scanned through it while she gave her final autographs, then thanked her for her assistance. 'You asked about the drug,' he said. 'It's cocaine. Cut by someone who knows what he's doing.'

'Ross, you mean?'

'I can't answer that, but he's almost certainly got the skillset.'

Heather managed a thin smile although she was slightly irked. Carrie's friendly copper must have been a lot more forthcoming than this one. 'What about Robert?' she asked, judging it to be the obvious question.

'Discharged from hospital this morning. We'll be interviewing him this afternoon. Well, someone will be. If all goes to plan I'm handing this over to Narcotics, then I'm off to the football.'

'Just like that?'

The policeman's eyes shone as he took in her frown. 'It was called in as attempted murder. Now it's obviously not, I can bow out.'

'Don't say I'll have to go through all this again with Narcotics.'

'I doubt they'll be in touch until just before the Hearing, and only then if Walker doesn't plead. They'll want weight of evidence.' Fazakerley patted the statement and smiled. 'There's more to it, of course, but these all add up, even if they don't contain smoking guns.'

'Will I have to go to the Hearing?'

'That depends. We're going to end up with dozens of witness statements. Walker's legal guys are going to see them all in advance. If they query anything in yours, they can insist that you attend. Whether you actually testify depends on how the case is progressing. Legal bods like their fees but they hate losing in Court. Especially the ones who have to stand up in front of a judge.'

'When will the Hearing be?'

'Hard to say. It'll be months rather than weeks. Maybe autumn, if we're lucky.'

That eased Heather more thoroughly than any relaxation technique. She would be thousands of miles away by then. Never mind back home in darkest Yorkshire, with any sort of luck she'd be lost somewhere in darkest Africa.

Fazakerley was looking at her, obviously expecting her to leave. 'My last question,' she said, smiling sweetly. 'Was Carrie's dress really bad?'