Heather's Hectic Weekend Pt. 03

'As if I could come up with anything you wouldn't do!' she said.

'You could always try,' said Alex.

Naz looked at him a little wistfully If only he wasn't so badly battered . . .

'So,' she began as Hev left. 'I'm going to nurse you better. More witch hazel and Ralgex are high on my list of priorities. First things first, though. Are you hungry?'

'No.'

'When did you last eat?'

His brow creased as he tried to remember. 'Mother made me breakfast yesterday.'

'Alex! That is not the correct answer. You must be starving.'

'My mouth's still sore. And I honestly don't think I could keep anything down.'

'You kept that brandy down well enough. How about trying some soup?'

After a little nagging he agreed lukewarm soup might do the trick. Naz heated a can of Heinz chicken and poured it into a bowl, adding a generous amount of crumbled Lancashire cheese. Then, avoiding the split in his lip as best she could, she spoon-fed him.

'That was good,' he conceded after finishing every last drop.

Smiling to herself, Naz took the bowl downstairs and returned armed with what she still considered to be "medication". 'Hold the peas to your eye while I do your front,' she commanded.

'You really do sound like a nurse,' he said as he complied.

'That's because I'm in charge and I know best.'

She examined Alex's knee before spraying it. Having seen knee injuries aplenty she wasn't worried by what she found. This one was swollen but not so badly. A day or two of bed rest and it would be fine.

While she caringly applied witch hazel Alex got chatty. He was, he said, really, eternally grateful to her for everything, not least the roof over his head . . . and the ongoing TLC, of course. Rita wouldn't have been anything like as patient with him, even if he had managed to find her.

Tatti, thought Naz, recalling that pair of below jobs. I'd forgotten about Rita.

'I'll get you your phone in a minute,' she said. 'You can try her again.'

'I'm not sure that I want to,' he replied. 'She's obviously been out . . . you know, with somebody else.'

Naz could feel her cheeks burning. 'How long have you been with Rita?'

'We've been together since Christmas.'

'It's quite serious, then?'

'I don't know what it is.' He sighed. 'We agreed to see each other up to graduation. Then I'm off doing voluntary work overseas. We haven't agreed anything for when I'm back. We're not particularly local to each other, you see.'

'Will you get in touch? When you get back, I mean.'

'I don't know.' He sighed again, even more deeply this time. 'Just lately I've been wondering if we'll make it as far as graduation. Getting back in touch might be out of the question.'

'Alex, forgive me for asking, but what sort of an arrangement do you have with Rita?' Naz flushed again. 'Tell me to mind my own business, if you like.'

He studied her a moment before replying. 'We're both bisexual. Officially I can date men but I can't date other girls.'

'And the same goes for Rita?'

'She reckons she doesn't need anyone else. There again, she was supposed to be dating Hev last night.'

'It's too complicated for me,' said Naz. 'Turn over. I want to do your back.'

Alex gingerly complied and she winced at the sight. He'd said he'd curled up as best he could and she didn't doubt him; the evidence was there before her eyes. By then his bruises had started to colour in, and there were dozens of them around his spine.

'Pretty bad, huh?' He laughed softly. 'I wonder what Carrie's making of it. We bruise in sympathy, you know. Except you wouldn't know, would you.'

'Yes I would,' said Naz. 'I'm a twin myself.'

'Are you? What a small world. Do you bruise in sympathy?'

'We did.' Naz tried to swallow the lump in her throat. 'Minha died when she was twelve. Meningitis took her.'

Lying face-down as he was, she couldn't see Alex's expression but his voice trembled with emotion.

'Naz, I'm so, so sorry. That must be the most terrible thing that could ever happen.'

'It was. It still is. It always will be.' Thankfully the lump disappeared. 'I think about her every day,' she went on. 'I sometimes persuade myself I'm over the worst of it and then something will stir a childhood memory. I counteract that by making myself think happy thoughts: remembering us playing together as little girls; laughing together; comforting each other when something went wrong.'

'We couldn't sleep in separate cots,' said Alex. 'Me and Carrie, I mean, when we were babies.'

'It was the same with us.' Naz wiped away a solitary tear. 'We often shared beds, never mind cots, especially when something went wrong.'

Then, womaning up: 'Okay, that's you done. You can roll back over.'

*****

'Am I still in the Girls' Society?' Heather began.

'Come on, Hev, of course you are.' Rachael grinned at her. 'You know how it is. The Girls' Society's like the mafia. Once you've joined you can die, but you can't ever leave.'

'I rather hoped you'd say that . . .'

Heather briefly but concisely explained who Spider was and why she was in his bad books. 'I want to get him busted before he catches up with me and Naz,' she said.

'I don't blame you.' Rachael shook her head, as if trying to clear it. 'I don't see what the problem's got to do with the Girls' Society, though. More to the point, I don't see what we can do to help. I don't think a guy like that would take much notice of a petition.'

'Spider abused Carrie Hart,' said Heather. 'Okay, he didn't actually get her addicted; she did that all by herself. And yes, her addiction probably did make her go with him willingly. But he shared her with mates, for goodness' sake.'

'He's obviously a twat,' Rache agreed. 'But if she went willingly . . .'

'Rachael, I'm convinced Carrie is not the first one. I bet he does it all the time. I bet dozens of women have suffered at his hands. Dozens more will suffer in the future. One of these days someone is going to die.' Then, warming to her theme, 'It's possible someone has died already and he's made the body disappear. Or bodies . . .'

'All right, all right,' Rachael held up a restraining hand. 'He's a danger to women as well as a danger to humanity. That makes him an enemy of the Girls' Society. But I still don't see what we can do about him.'

'I'm asking for help from you specifically.' Heather smiled her most winning smile.

'Go on,' the Mohican said suspiciously. 'Hit me with it.'

Chapter Twenty

(Saturday 27th April 2002)

Rachael couldn't believe Heather was being so compliant. Okay, so the girl was after a big favour, but this was borderline ridiculous. They'd been in bed for over an hour now and she was still getting to do all the creative stuff. Records were being broken!

Righty-o, she thought; if I really have got a licence to thrill . . .

Heather's tits were, in Rachael's estimation, up there with the best in the world. And, as the possessor of a decent pair herself, she reckoned she was in a good position to judge. Leastways, she would be in a good position to judge if she got her face out of the girl's pussy.

Leaving her trickling, she slid up Heather's hot and sweaty body. Hev had been squeezing her own breasts for some considerable time but didn't protest when one of her hands was tugged away. No, she just kept squeezing with the other and sighed as Rachael's mouth came into play.

Alternately kissing, nibbling, sucking and licking, Rache reckoned Hev was perfect in every way but one: a body like hers should be adorned with piercings and tattoos. As a girl about to do a big favour, she was tempted to insist on an immediate visit to Taboo Tattoos, where both deficits could be filled very swiftly.

As a girl immensely enjoying herself, she stayed where she was and kept munching away at those lovely firm tits.

Maybe another hour later, with Heather still submissively taking everything thrown her way, Rachael went for it. The strapless strap-on was a recent purchase but she'd already mastered (mistressed?) its use. She hadn't even dreamed of using it on Heather though. Not until that very minute. In fact she hadn't previously wanted Heather to know it existed, fearing she'd only get ideas.

But now, with her playing at being Miss Obliging . . .

Seize the moment, Rache told herself. Chances like this don't come along every day.

The toy had been expensive but was worth every penny. It was made of purple rubber and the end that was going in Heather had a realistic "head" and "veins"; it actually did resemble a decent-sized cock.

Rachael smiled as she inserted the shorter end into her pussy. She didn't particularly like men but, taken individually, cocks weren't so bad. As some of her more cynical friends often said, "It ain't the cock that's the problem; it's the dick on the other end!"

Heather had stayed on the bed. She was on her back and eying Rachael's newly acquired erection.

'Ooh,' she cooed, persisting in playing her part, 'is that all for me?'

'It certainly is,' said Rache, getting onto the bed on her knees. 'You just stay where you are and enjoy. I'm going to make your day.'

Considering a couple of hours of sex as ample foreplay she didn't hang around. That said she did set off gently and considerately. Knowing that Hev (in common with most women she'd fucked with) was super-sensitive in the first inch or so of her pussy, she began by using the head but hardly any of the cock's thick shaft.

Putting it in and easing it back out. Putting it in and easing it back out; again and again and again.

Their soft moans and groans merged in the stillness of the bedroom.

'Yes, yes, yes,' Hev sighed, using one of her favourite endorsements, 'nice, nice, nice!'

Eventually it seemed to be time to progress. Rachael did so by pushing in a little deeper, penetrating by maybe three inches and aiming for what Hev affectionately called "Graffy".

Direct hit, if Heather's shrieks and cries were anything to go by!

Feeling all-powerful and getting plenty of good vibes of her own, the petite punk kept at it, watching her oh-so-willing victim's face all the while. Heather was still drop-dead gorgeous after running a half marathon. Seen now, at her best . . . in full orgasmic mode . . . she made Helen of Troy look like the back end of a bus.

Firing off a couple of quick cums of her own, Rachael stretched out her legs, moving into a more on top position but supporting her upper body with straight arms, her hands planted in the mattress. That gave her the leeway to fuck a little more vigorously.

Heather shrieked and cried louder than ever.

Suitable encouraged, Rachael went in deeper. Indeed she went in as deep as she could possibly go. And this time the shrieks and cries were hers. They were groin-to-groin, sopping wet both of them, the absence of a harness adding to the excitement tenfold.

Heather had her hands behind her bent knees, holding her legs apart. Aided by her strong torso she was rocking her pussy up to meet Rachael's lusty plunges. She was also gyrating her hips, and that definitely added to the experience for both of them.

'Yes, yes, yes,' she groaned, 'more, more, more!'

'Good, good, good,' Rache agreed, picking up speed and cumming again, 'nice, nice, nice!'

Chapter Twenty-One

(Saturday 27th April 2002)

Preparing to go "out for the night" was an experience Rachael would never forget. Neither was having a shower together, with Hev still playing Miss Obliging.

It was the attention to hair that stuck in the memory; that and the removal of all visible body jewellery. Appointing herself hairdresser-in-chief, Heather started with Rache's; scrupulously washing out every last trace of gel, starch and glue. Then, when it was flat and unrecognizable, she used an (allegedly) temporary hair dye and turned it black.

And then she performed miracles on herself. Okay, it took her a while, but she dyed her jet-black hair a rich, dark red and then bundled it up into a crown braid.

Needless to say, she still made Helen of Troy look butt-ugly.

'You can go back to blue tomorrow,' she said, 'and nobody any the wiser.'

Rachael scowled at that. 'I might shave it all off,' she said, 'if this Spider character is as bad as you make out.'

'Whatever will be, will be,' said Heather, 'all that matters is that he doesn't place me tonight or you at a later date.'

*****

The Cat's Whiskers offered half-price admission and cheaper drinks up until ten thirty. Although they could have narrowly beaten the price-hike they did not join the short queue waiting to get in. Instead they joined the even shorter queue to The Spice Pot.

At a first glance The Spice Pot looked like a hijacked ice cream van. In a lot of ways that was exactly what it was. Renovated and refurbished, it offered "authentic Indian cuisine" to anyone prepared to part with a few quid.

Heather now took the lead, insisting on paying and asking for two kebabs and a "very hot madras". The eternally cheerful owner of the business obliged her by tipping half a ton of curry powder over a bog-standard aluminium foil tray of minced meat.

They ate with their fingers and chapattis, leaning against a wall across the street from the night club, surreptitiously checking it out. The drug action obviously took place in an alley on the right-hand side of the building. There was a constantly changing cluster of people at the nearest end of that alleyway. Most of them were smoking or eating food from the mobile Indian or the (much less-frequented) hot dog stall nearby.

'Can you see him?' Rachael asked.

'No,' Heather admitted ruefully. 'There are two guys who've been there a while. I think they're dealing but neither of them is him. He's much bigger and even uglier.'

'He must be pretty ugly then,' Rachael remarked, wiping her hands on a serviette. 'Do you reckon he keeps in the background?'

'I dunno,' said Heather. 'He was certainly dealing the other night. That's how Carrie ended up with him.'

Rachael kept watching while Heather finished off the madras. 'The guy in the leather jacket is selling stuff to go,' she said. 'He's probably dealing in pills. Class B or C, I mean; that and the pot everyone seems to be puffing away at. The one in the jean jacket is making folk wait. He must be selling Class A. His customers have to wait because he won't keep the gear on him.'

As she spoke a third guy came down the street and, working in tandem with Jean Jacket, handed out a number of tiny packages.

'So where's Spider,' Heather said, dumping the empty tray in a convenient bin on a lamppost. 'This is supposed to be his patch.'

'Maybe he'll show up later, to collect the loot.'

'You might be right. Let's go have a beer and see if anything's changed when we come back.'

There was a pub not fifty yards away. It was renowned for being the "last stop before Cat's" and was predictably busy. Smartly dressed as they were (in case they actually had to go into the club) the two of them fitted right in. In fact they received a couple of indecent proposals before they even got to the bar.

Still in charge, Heather bought two pints of Moorhouse's and they found a relatively quiet corner.

'We have to catch Spider in the act,' she said. 'It's no good catching two of his underlings. They won't grass him up under pressure, will they?'

Rachael shrugged. They were both carrying covert camera and recording devices. She'd bought them for Girls Society business and had used them once before, with gratifying success. That had been in the hours of daylight, though. Heather wouldn't listen to her objections that the photo mode wouldn't work properly at night.

'We'll have to try hot dogs next,' she said. 'Then we can make like lovers in a doorway. The Whiskers is open until three. And a lot of purchases come at the end of the night, don't they?'

Heather looked at her curiously. 'Do they?'

'Yeah, it's uppers on the way in, downers on the way out. I thought everybody knew that.'

'I don't. But then I hate drugs. Apart from pot, of course; a million Rastafarians can't all be wrong.'

'You look a bit Rasta with your hair like that,' Rachael observed. 'Rasta and very fuckable, that is.'

'Why thank you, my black-haired beauty. Sorry to disappoint you, but it's you who's getting the fucking later. I owe you big-time.'

Hev didn't usually use the F word. Rachael took it as a sign of nerves and didn't comment. 'It's going to be hard to take,' she said instead, 'but I suppose someone's got to do it.'

Heather bought two more pints then went for a pee. While she was gone someone came in through the pub's swing doors and conversation levels noticeably dropped.

It was Spider. Rachael had never seen him before but immediately knew who he was. He was even larger and uglier than Heather's description. He also radiated danger, and not only in her opinion. The crowd of drinkers parted like the Red Sea, allowing him free passage to the bar.

'It's him,' Hev hissed into her ear, making her jump. Her attention had been fixed on the monster. She hadn't seen her friend return.

'Jesus, Hev,' she hissed back, 'you nearly gave me heart failure!' Then, pulling herself together: 'You were really going to fight an ogre like him?'

'The bigger they are, the harder they fall. But, between thee and me, I wasn't half grateful when Majid turned up.'

'I'd have wanted the Seventh Cavalry, not a taxi driver.'

'Yeah, but you weren't there. Majid and his wrench was the next best thing.'

Spider bought what looked like a very large Scotch then leant against the bar and looked around. He was clearly sizing the guys up and finding them all lacking. He was also clearly sizing the girls up for different reasons entirely.

Rachael actually felt his eyes on her, undressing her. Then Hev got the same treatment before they moved on.

Praise God, she thought, he didn't recognize her.

Like everyone else in the pub, the two girls concentrated on their drinks and didn't look directly at the whisky-drinking thug. They were acutely aware of him though. Everybody was.

Chapter Twenty-Two

(Saturday 27th April 2002)

Rachael's intended doorway was occupied when they went back out into the street, ten minutes after Spider. A big black guy and a scantily clad blonde were busy in there getting close and very personal. Obviously it was a good place for making out.

Moving on to a neighbouring shop the two girls tucked into jumbo hot dogs then, sticking to the plan, got on with acting like lovers.

That is to say Rache got to play the amorous lover while Hev submitted to her and furtively kept one eye on the action across the street.

Heather had positioned herself so she could see the end of the alley. The cluster of people had grown from earlier; Jean Jacket and his mate were doing a lot more business. More to the point, Spider was now on the scene.

'He doesn't seem to be dealing,' she whispered anxiously, 'he's leaving it to his stooges.'

At some stage of her life Rachael must have taken lessons in method acting. She'd soon unbuttoned Heather's flies and sneaked a hand inside. Her nimble little fingers were doing the walking here, there and everywhere, touching her up through her thong.

'It's not midnight yet,' she said. 'And at least he's turned up.'

'I'm going to approach him even if he keeps in the background,' Heather announced. 'I'll get him to say something incriminating, somehow. At the very least he'll refer me to one of his sidekicks.'

'No,' said Rachael. 'Stick with what we agreed. He'll remember your eyes if not your voice. I'll make the approach to him, you can record Jean Jacket. He hasn't seen you before, has he?'

'No,' said Heather. Then, as an afterthought: 'That feels nice, by the way.'

'It's just as well it does. We might be here a while.'

*****

An hour passed. Heather had had several orgasms but her heart wasn't really in it. 'We'll make our move at one o'clock,' she said, refastening her buttons. 'Here's a twenty. Will that be enough?'