Mamma Mia!

She responded by kissing my cheeks before rubbing my nose with her sexy snub.

'I really do want to pleasure you,' I murmured.

Dave was already on me. Impaling herself, keeping her torso upright, she started to rock and roll. Gripping her so-sexy ass I restrained her.

'This is my show,' said I. 'Keep still and let me.'

Frowning a little, she obeyed, staying upright, supporting most of her weight with her bent legs. Smiling a lot, I moved up into her, thrusting again and again, as if my life depended on it.

At that very moment it possibly did. The only imperative I had was the need to shag her and shag her and shag her. If I could not do that I felt I would die.

And naturally I had to do it very well and very, very thoroughly.

Holding her backside in place I pounded up at her, into her, using a dozen different rhythms, most of them stolen from old pop songs.

Yes, Rose Royce's Car Wash got a look in, so too did Another One Bites the Dust, and Do That to Me One More Time had several encores.

Several or maybe dozens . . .

My view of the overhead mirror was once more blocked so I concentrated on Dave's face as I had her, pounding and pounding, relishing the way she peaked, relishing the way she came. She was climaxing more than me again but I didn't class that as a victory.

On the contrary, I classed t as her due. She was my lover and I wanted to please her more than I had ever wanted anything. Any pleasuring I got along the way was incidental. Dave was first and foremost.

Pleasuring Dave was essential; I was incidental.

*****

By three in the morning we both needed another timeout. In fact Dave even suggested sleep. Up until then I hadn't spared sleep a thought but, once she mentioned it, I had to agree a little could not go amiss.

I removed the Feeldoe and tossed it onto the carpet beside the used dildo.

'Another one for the dishwasher,' I said, reaching for the switch and clicking off the lights.

'When are we seeing each other again?' Dave asked as I drifted off to the Land of Nod.

'Anytime you like,' I yawned.

'I'll probably need a couple of quiet nights on my own to recover,' she said. 'And you'll be busy with Kat on Wednesday, won't you?'

'It's a standing thing until July,' I said, sleepily defensive 'I as good as promised her Wednesdays and you know me and promises.' Then, my mouth going off in its own direction again: 'Why don't you join us? I'll need a couple of nights rest myself, but I'll be game for anything by Wednesday.'

The ensuing silence probably only lasted ten seconds but seemed more like a year.

'I don't think that would work,' Dave said finally. 'I've nothing against threesomes but I'm not easy with the idea of that particular three. Besides, I want you all to myself, and I know what Kat's like.'

I couldn't dispute that.

'What about Thursday?' I compromised, 'just the two of us, I mean.'

'It's Easter this weekend,' Dave reminded me. 'Do you get both the bank holidays off?'

That stopped me in my tracks. I was supposed to be aware of all bank holidays but this latest had somehow got me out of synch.

'Yes and no,' I said. 'Technically we're closed on Good Friday through Easter Monday. In practice I usually go in a couple of times because there's always plenty to do. But I've nothing set in stone in my diary; nothing that springs to mind, anyway. I suppose I could give it a miss for once.'

'We could go for a long weekend somewhere.'

'Climbing mountains and fording streams, you mean?'

'I'll check the long-range weather forecast,' said Dave. 'Then we can decide where to go. If it's awful we can stay in Micklethwaite or Morton. If it's more promising elsewhere we can go there: Whitby, maybe, or Morecambe or simply anywhere. We can follow the sun.'

Then, in a small voice and considerably less enthusiastically, she added: 'That is assuming you want to be with me for so long. We can make it just one night or two, if you prefer.'

I kissed her in the darkness, the feel of her glasses on my face surprising me, making me laugh. I had forgotten I was still wearing them.

'If you want we can meet up Thursday evening,' I said. 'And we can spend every second together until Tuesday morning. Check the weather when we get up. I do have a horrible feeling we're due more snow. But whatever the weather, we'll make it to my place or yours, won't we? I'll even buy some supplies, in case we get snowed in.'

Dave's laugh was as relieved as it was nervous. 'I didn't think you knew where the Co-op was.'

'I don't; but they home-deliver. And I know their web site only too well.'

'What about Lizzie? What about any other girlfriends of yours?'

'I haven't promised anyone anything. Therefore I'm free to promise you. Therefore I promise you Thursday evening through to Tuesday morning. Do we have a date?'

'Do you mean that really, really?'

'You bet I do.'

Dave seemed to have lost all interest in sleeping. Her hand slid between my legs and began to do the most amazing things.

'Oh yes, Heather,' she purred, 'we have a date.'

Chapter Seven

Using gallons of coffee as a cure for my sleep deprivation I had a productive Monday in the office, locking myself away and dealing with tons of correspondence in every shape and form.

I'd finish early, I told myself. I'd have one glass of wine in the Potting Shed, half a bottle with my curry in the Shama and then straight home to bed.

As if plans like that ever work!

And as if I was likely to stop halfway down a bottle of pinot!!

Mid-afternoon and my landline rang. Scowling because I'd asked for it diverted, I answered.

'It's me,' Nina said before I could speak. 'I have Mrs Hanson for you. Sorry Heather, she will not take no for an answer.'

There was a click and a strong, extremely sexy voice took Nina's place.

'At last I get someone with some sense. Tell me Heather, what is it with that no good daughter of mine this time? What have you done with her?'

It was Mamma. Her "no good" daughter was CEO of West Yorkshire Bank, and a leading light in the City of London.

And in the city of everywhere else, come to that.

'I haven't done anything with Victoria,' I said defensively, adding, 'not recently,' sotto voce.

'So she lets you down as badly as she lets me down.' Mamma sighed dramatically. 'I travel up to the wilds of Yorkshire to surprise her and she's not there.'

I somehow managed not to giggle.

'Her husband tells me it's a work thing. And he has to rush the kids off to a child minder because he's been called away to India. So I ring Victoria and her phone doesn't work, maybe on purpose. In desperation I ring WYB and I get put through to that girl.' Mamma paused for another dramatic sigh. 'Croydon she tells me. Victoria has a meeting in Croydon and she's overnighting.'

'We have a major client down there,' I said.

'So that girl told me. I told her our trains probably passed and she laughed. She even asked me why I hadn't let Victoria know I was coming.'

That explained Nina's unusual telephone manner. Laughing at Mamma's misfortune was a sure way to incur the lady's wrath. Poor, innocent Nina would have been incinerated on the spot.

'Where are you calling from?' I wondered.

'I'm in a hire car in Victoria's driveway.'

That meant she was in Leeds. 'You're not thinking of driving back to London, are you?' I asked.

'No I am not. I'm trying to think of that hotel near your offices. What is it called?'

'There are one or two,' I said cautiously, 'but there are loads in Leeds, including a lot of very good ones.'

As if Mamma gave a fig.

'The sooner I'm out of Leeds the better,' she said with aristocratic majesty. 'And I want that lovely, old-fashioned place; that gothic one with gardens to die for. So what is it called?'

'It's The Bankfield,' I admitted.

'So it is,' she cried. 'I'll see you there a seven in the Club Bar. Don't be late.'

'Mamma,' I began, 'I'm awfully busy . . .'

She cut across me like a stately cruiser, trampling lesser boats beneath its mighty bows.

'You work too hard as it is. And you are the second daughter I never had. Seeing as my no good first daughter has stood me up it's down to you. Seven o'clock; don't be late.'

And that was that. She rang off with a brisk ciao.

*****

That call got me thinking in many directions. Hoping to confirm my opening suspicion I let myself out of my office and descended to the IT lair in the basement.

And please don't think I'm condescending in saying that. I'm renowned as WYB's caring director. I regularly do walkabouts and try my utmost to put a face to every name. I value my colleagues, you see. As far as I'm concerned I'm grossly overpaid and it's only right that I show appreciation.

Okay, I'm not unique in that, but a lot of "senior management" only ever speak to a mere handful of middle management colleagues and leave it at that. Oddly enough, those select few work nine-to-five and are never to be seen at weekends.

Apologies; I almost came out with a Kat-like curse there! Let's just say I didn't mind spending time in circulating. As far as I was concerned I was paid well enough for a zillion hours a week, so why not work sixty or seventy?

Consequently I didn't seem out of place strolling through IT at four pm. And I was very cool with it. I even stopped to talk to our best techie who was hunched over a work station littered with wires, discarded chips and God only knows what else.

'Lending Department again?' I asked with a grin.

Fiaz grinned back at me. 'Those buggers keep on finding new ways to break things,' he said in the broadest of Keighley accents. 'I don't know how they do it.'

'Keeps you in overtime though,' I teased.

'Thank heavens for Lending,' he replied.

Heading deeper into the department I saw that Kat wasn't at her station.

'Ms Hunter,' a voice said as I drew closer, 'how nice to see you.'

It was Kat's immediate boss, Gary, the guy Kat maintained gave assholes a bad name.

She had a point too. He was obsequious and leering at the same time. His eyes drew slug trails as they crawled over me.

Putting it frankly, I used to like guys. But guys like him could put anyone off, and forever at that.

'Just walking about,' I said lightly. 'Where is everybody?'

'Ted's briefing in there,' he said, nodding to our left. 'The techies are out and about and Katrina's down south with Ms Hanson.'

(As another aside, Victoria was nowadays a "Mrs" but she'd kept her surname and everyone liked her for that. To older hands she was Ms Victoria, to younger, less experienced ones she was Ms Hanson. To me she was a statement of intent. She was ultra-alpha and would bow to nobody.)

All that said, Gary's words did confirm my suspicion: Victoria had dragged Kat off on a second trip to Croydon and they were "overnighting" together.

Again!

And after two nights with Lizzie! The shameless mare!!

Reminding myself of my own shamelessness and doing my best to ignore Gary's slimy eyes on my boobs, I said I'd pop my head around the door and say hi to Ted and his crew.

And I did, lingering a while as folk said hello, only too happy to be part of the team and part of the banter.

Chapter Eight

There are two things I need to get off my chest before I go any further. First and foremost I do not want to paint Mamma as a monster. She is gorgeous and whenever she acts like a diva it is only because she deserves to be a diva.

Strange but true . . .

If you were to believe Victoria's dad, he met her mother in a village near Lazio and it was like that scene from The Godfather. You know the one. Michael Corleone has been sent to Sicily after he killed a New York police captain, waiting for the heat to die down. And, when he first sets eyes on a young girl from a local village (one nearby Corleone itself) he is hit by "The Thunderbolt".

From that moment onwards, from that very first glimpse, he is transfixed. Apollonia dominates his every waking thought. He has to possess her. No, he has to love and cherish her. Above all else, he has to guard her from men with less pure intentions.

One glimpse and she has him heart and soul.

According to Victoria's dad he courted Mamma just like Mikey courted Apollonia: avidly yet purely and for months on end before their very first kiss.

But real life is different, isn't it?

In real life Victoria's dad wasn't called Hanson. In real life his interests matched Victoria's; except, while she's always been a totally honest banking goddess, he used to excel in the very dark art of unauthorized withdrawals.

No, I am not talking about cyber-crime; I am talking about the unauthorized withdrawals that used to be made by Jesse James and his gang.

And Vic's dad used to be even more successful.

According to the man himself, Victoria's dad finally made the big score and, spurning the obvious safe haven of Spain, headed off to Italy, proud possessor of a new face, identity and hundreds of thousands of pounds.

Then he met his Apollonia.

According to Mamma it wasn't quite as romantic as that.

Mamma wasn't an innocent slip of a girl. Yes, she lived in a village, but she'd passed a dozen or more exams at the local college. As well as being scientifically competent and versed in literature she could speak passable French and exceptionally good English.

Suddenly there was a rich English guy drooling over her.

A guy who could take her out of the ass-end of nowhere and into the world . . .

Accustomed as she was to being drooled over, she soon dropped all reservations. Older than her or not, the guy looked okay and had lire to burn.

And this rich English milord had it for her big-time.

According to Mamma the courtship didn't last months; it lasted two days. That is to say she made a strategic decision to hold off the first night then came across on the second.

Quite naturally she caught pregnant almost immediately.

A quick marriage after that was unavoidable. The man now known as "Hanson" might have mixed with the Kray Twins and the Richardsons, but he knew which side of his bread was buttered.

Ten uncles armed with their luperas made Ronnie and Reggie look relatively benign.

Besides, he wanted to marry Mamma. Why object in circumstances like that?

Avoiding any unpleasantness an early date was set for the wedding and, not too long afterwards, followed the birth of Victoria.

But that was long, long ago.

Aging is a bummer, isn't it? I'm a youthful thirty-six and some of the kids at work look at me as if I'm a hundred and three.

(Well, some of the ones who haven't started shaving yet do; the rest look at me rather differently, tee-hee.)

Let's say Vic is late thirties, pushing forty. That puts Mamma into her late fifties, pushing sixty . . .

The age difference was far too much, surely.

Yet Kat's younger than me and she's going off with a sixty-year-old in August. Honey is beautiful, rich, has an ocean-going yacht and wants to shag Kat non-stop for a month. And Kat's been there before. She wants it just as much as Honey does. That's why our Wednesday night get-togethers are only scheduled to run up until July.

Here's the second point I need to make.

Despite Victoria regularly claiming that she needed buckets of water to keep Mamma and I apart, we had very little history.

Okay, we had had a few close encounters, always at times and in places where we were obliged to hurry like heck and were in imminent danger of being walked in upon.

That added to the thrill, obviously, but those encounters were no more than fumbles and gropes; we'd never gone all the way.

Truth be told, I'd never really expected to go all the way.

This was, all said and done, my best girlfriend's mother!

I'll explain myself in more detail. Why, you might be asking, was I so certain Mamma wanted to have sex with me? Couldn't she possibly just want my company over a leisurely meal? Meaning me in place of her no good first daughter . . .

Credible though that was I dismissed it as a possibility. During our most recent fumble and grope Mamma had implied she wanted much more. And she'd had implied it in no uncertain terms.

Trust me; I knew what she had in mind all right.

And strangely enough, I was reticent. Odd for me, I admit, but I was; taboos there to be broken and all that, I suppose.

How to describe Mamma? Previously I've crossed her between Gina Lollobrigida and a certain La Loren. With the benefit of hindsight I'll withdraw the Sophia comparison. Mamma certainly has the presence of the lady herself but, looks-wise, she's more like Gina aged twenty-two.

And isn't that enough!

Like almost half my age. Nearly twice in reality and half in appearance!

Should I or shouldn't I? Could I or couldn't I?

Problem was that nobody could deny Mamma. Denying her was simply impossible. So I finished at work sooner than I had intended, forewent my vino in the Potting Shed and cringed as I took a taxi to the east.

Omigod, omigod, I thought as tyres flashed over tarmac, what am I doing?

What am I doing?

I got to The Bankfield three minutes early . . . like an hour early for me, tee-hee. And I strode into the Club Bar like the mature woman I was: tight black skirt, crisp white blouse and as sexy as any banker the world over.

Perhaps ten guys and two gals noticed me.

Caring not one whit, I ordered a large glass of red.

Then a hush swept over the bar. Knowing what I was about to see, I turned to witness Mamma's grand entry.

Please don't take this as sour grapes. I get more attention than any woman deserves, but some women push boundaries.

Scantily covered by the world's tiniest "little black dress", resembling a global superstar, Mamma strode in more supreme than any model on a catwalk. Onlookers gasped, male and female, and I knew how they felt.

Envy at first on the female side, total lust on the male.

But lust coming from the girls too. Envy is a double-edged sword, no?

And believe me; I could hear their unspoken thoughts. Whoever is she? Where have I seen her before? Are they shooting a blockbusting film somewhere around here? Or is she that new babe in Emmerdale?

Oblivious to the adoration, Mamma joined me and a thousand fellow drinkers wished they were in my shoes.

'Heather,' she said, formally kissing my cheeks before turning to the fawning barman. 'A large gin and lemon on my tab please,' she said with magnificent majesty. 'And Heather's too, naturally.'

The barman as good as bowed to her.

Was she really nearly sixty?

My ass she was. To look at she was my age if not a tad younger.

'Let's sit over there,' she said, directing me to a relatively isolated table.

'I'm sorry about Victoria being away,' I began clumsily. 'But it is an important client. And I'm sure she didn't know you were going to drop by . . .'

'Enough.' Mamma cut me off with one wave of her hand. 'Victoria's no good but I forgive her. I will always forgive her for anything and everything. That is love, no? It is like the love I feel for you as my second daughter.'

I glanced around nervously. Folk were looking at us with greedy glints in their eyes, most of them male, none of them attractive.

'Victoria loves you more than life itself,' I said truthfully. 'She'd do anything for you.'

'Not quite anything,' said Mamma with a twist of a smile. 'She is my flesh and blood, isn't she? In a way I'm glad I missed her. You can do things for me Victoria would never dream of doing.'

I gulped. Her meaning was only too obvious. 'I feel like I'm flesh and blood,' I ventured.

That had zero effect on Mamma.

'No you are not,' she said. 'That is why I have booked a double room. Drink your drink. Let's get away from all these prying eyes.'

Chapter Nine

Somewhere deep down, ignoring the No Label Dating agreement, I'd wanted to be loyal to Dave. I know how unlikely that sounds but I had. I had even considered skipping Wednesday with Kat in a lazy, inconclusive way. Not that I'd ever break my promise, of course. I'm just saying I really did want to show some fidelity.