Short and Even Sweeter

Needless to report my silly question, as it deserved, got no answer. Instead Hev kept sucking me and kept manually manoeuvring as I kept building and building.

Not so long after she'd begun I came like an express train. Duly encouraged, she carried on and soon afterwards I came again, quite possibly as hard as I'd ever cum before in my whole life.

If I'd had any breath in my lungs I'd have yelled, 'More, MORE!!!'

Or maybe 'Perfect!' or 'Yes, YES, YES!!!'

Hev had me well sized up. Letting go of my artificial cock . . . regrettably . . . she gave me yet another of her trademark grins.

'That's your quick man-cums out of the way,' she purred. 'I reckon you'll be good for at least an hour or two before you're ready to shoot again. And an hour sounds good to me. Two sounds even better.'

I watched open-mouthed as she retreated to the bed, positioning herself on her back, beckoning me again in that irresistible way of hers.

'Come take me,' she entreated. 'I'm more than ready.'

Inexperienced or not, I could see and smell how ready she was. And I was, to say the very least, keen to oblige. By then guilt for screwing with the boss had vanished altogether. Yes, I really was keen.

But doubts persisted. Ready as I was to fuck the world, I was still a blundering buffoon, unsure how to actually go about it.

Last thing I wanted was to hurt Hev in any way whatsoever.

Second last thing I wanted was to be exposed as a rank amateur.

And how the heck was I supposed to penetrate her with this awesome weapon of war?

How without ruining everything for ever?

Chapter Three

Turned out I needn't have worried. I got onto the bed and, as gently, elegantly as I could, mounted my stupendously beautiful hostess . . .

Hev's infinitely more dexterous fingers instantly grabbed my new extension and steered it inside her pussy in the blink of an eye. Trust me: one moment I was being gentle and elegant, next I was buried deeply in her, right up to the hilt.

This might not be an appropriate aside, but I'm going for it anyway. One of my five male lovers was a lot more expressive than the rest. He was an English Lit course-mate of mine, and a born romantic in every way, so maybe it figures. Anyway, on perhaps the tenth time we screwed together, he told me that the best feeling he had ever had was of his exposed knob-end, foreskin fully retracted, sliding into a hot, wet and willing woman.

'The heat of it is way beyond belief,' he assured me, 'better and massively more addictive than crack cocaine.'

(The things guys come out with when they're basking in the afterglow!)

I clearly didn't get that kick out of penetrating Hev, but I couldn't miss the hotness of her. Our groins were baking together in other ways. And smells have already been covered.

Adding in to the equation, now sounds were quite audible. She was decidedly squelchy. So I couldn't remember hearing squelchy sounds when she'd taken me with her nine-incher, but perhaps I'd been otherwise engaged, attention-wise.

Perhaps sounds weren't high on my list back then; perhaps sensations had been everything.

Now, with me doing the doing, I was conscious of much more. And not just my artificial attachment's in and out motions, not just Hev's endless commentary, groans, moans and happy yelps.

Now I was conscious of our bodies moving in unison. Now I was conscious of my tits on hers and her hands on my ass and back, stroking and cajoling, exciting me nearly as much as I was exciting her.

Not to mention her strong legs, sometimes wrapped around me, other times flexing against the bed as she eagerly rose up to meet me.

Blowing my own trumpet, I was a natural at fucking a woman. I later read that a lot of females struggle with the thrusting aspect. Not me. I took to it like a duck to water.

And I have Hev's running commentary to prove it. Rank amateur and bumbling buffoon . . . not if her words were anything to go by.

Hell, she even progressed from "perfect" to "magnificent!"

There again, my subject matter was even more splendid. Who could possibly not have excelled with a babe like that, pleading for me never to stop, not ever, ever?

At some stage, who knows just how far in (and please excuse that phrase), Hev came as violently as I most recently had.

Meaning very, very violently indeed!

'More, MORE!!!' she yelled. 'Yes, yes, YES!!!'

Sounds like yet another repeat, I know, but you had to have been there.

Plunging in and out of this spectacular beauty, driving her from one orgasm to the next . . .

Kissing her occasionally to shut her up a bit . . .

What can possibly be wrong with that?

*****

You're already aware I'd lost all sense of time. Even now I can't reconcile it. Best I can do is count off the minutes in climaxes . . . but that seems unreliable too.

So here's my best guesstimate: Back then I reckoned our missionary experiment . . . the one with me doing all the doing . . . lasted an hour, maybe a little longer. And Hev's shooting estimate was on the high side. For as long we lasted at first, she came four times and I only joined her for Number Four.

But how good was that!

Thinking of two hours until my next "shoot" I may have got complacent, and not least because my oh-so-willing victim had already convulsed another three times. But I suddenly realized that I was building again like I don't know what. Picture the coverage of old moon shots: tons of rocket fuel blazing while the Saturn V slowly, mock-reluctantly, pulls away from gravity and Mother Earth.

Hev spotted it taking off within half a second.

'Not yet,' she grunted, 'not without me.'

'I'm very close,' I complained.

'So am I, so hold your water. This is a double event.'

I didn't know about that but wasn't about to argue. 'Just get a fucking move on,' I replied.

That tickled Hev. Maybe it made her keep me waiting. I'm not certain but, laughing like a hyena, she went on and on. By then my verbal output was matching hers. No, it was eclipsing hers.

That's right. Hev didn't swear. Worst I ever heard from her was "screw", "cum" and . . . well, hardly anything else earthy at all.

Benefits of a private education, I suppose. There I was, cursing like a trooper and she was politeness personified.

Anyhow, by some miracle, we finally got there.

Oh didn't we just!

Sharing Cum Number Four was out of this world. After an eternity Hev abruptly yelled, 'Now, NOW!' and the pair of us well off instantaneously.

Nice, nice, NICE!

Perfect, perfect, PERFECT!!

No, utterly MAGNIFICO!!!

Our bodies continued clashing as we convulsed together, me still inside her as deep as could be, our sweaty tits and tummies moving symmetrically, gliding like ballroom dancers. Afterwards, and we kept clashing a goodly while afterwards, I collapsed on her breathlessly.

'Omigod,' I groaned, 'I just died and went to Heaven.'

As if Hev was in the least breathless. Rolling me off her she got onto all-fours.

'Let's do it this way,' she said seductively, pointing to her extremely shapely bum. 'You really have put me in the mood.'

Watching her shaking her ass put me in the mood too. I had been taken from behind before by blokes and loved the different angle of penetration. And this time, as I approached on my knees, I wasn't so apprehensive. Fucking her was by no means a chore . . . boss or not, older woman or not . . . all I was concerned about was smoothly getting back inside her.

Well, maybe I was a little apprehensive. Please God, I silently prayed, don't let me mess this next bit up.

No need to worry, however; as I knee-walked into position she reached back and grabbed me in one fluid motion. Then I was in her pussy again, seemingly farther in than ever.

That girl knew what she wanted!

Going for long, deep and slow, I set off in a rhythm I personally adored. Hev seemed to like it as well. Her words of endorsement were as copious as ever. And now I couldn't kiss her to shut her up!

Not that I wasted energy complaining. It was good to be complimented and I had better uses of spare energy; better uses by far.

Still a stranger to the concept of timekeeping I fucked her like that to three more orgasms (three more for her, that is; somehow I held myself at bay).

Then, astounded by my audacity and crazy inspiration, I rose from my knees, still in her, dramatically altering that so important angle of penetration.

Hev squealed out appreciation and, not at all surprisingly, demanded, 'MORE!!!'

Carefully, bent over her, I hooked my right leg around hers. Then I hooked my left in a similar fashion. Grabbing her tits before I lost balance and really did look like a buffoon, ensuring we were as good as locked together, I started to thrust deeper than deep.

'Yes, yes, YES!!!' she shrieked, 'more, more, MORE!!!'

Then, by way of a change: 'Harder and faster, HARDER and FASTER!!!'

I duly obliged, making her scream.

'Good grief, yes, yes, YES!!!'

Chapter Four

Finishing and falling together in a giggling heap, Hev face-down on the duvet, she astonished me yet again by saying it was time to shower. Yes, I might have lost track on passing minutes and hours, but she hadn't.

'It's ten to seven,' she declared without referring to any timepiece I could see, 'and I've got a breakfast conference at eight o'clock. We'd best get moving.'

I looked at the curtained windows and hadn't a clue about the time of day. Far as I was concerned we were still somewhere around three in the morning, if even that.

Producing a mobile out of nowhere, making a show of turning on, so l knew she wasn't cheating, Hev held up the display.

Eight minutes to seven. Maybe two minutes after she'd said ten to.

'How did you know that?' I wondered.

'I'm a farmer's daughter. I can smell it on the wind.'

'I thought smelling applied to other things on farms,' said I, rather limply.

'You soon get to ignore other things,' she replied with a carefree laugh. 'And we don't have them now this isn't a working farm; but time always matters. I have got a clock inside my head. And right now it's telling me to shower. So come on, you sexy so-and-so. Let's get the job done.'

*****

Showering home alone took me maybe three minutes. Showering with Hev took half an hour or more. There again, she did insist on licking my pussy clean . . . on four or five occasions.

Imagine it! Me barely out of my teens, her over a decade older and my second-highest superior . . . on her knees on the tiles, licking, kissing, sucking and nibbling away at me, in no rush at all.

Shower water gushing almost as copiously as I was . . .

And where had the night gone to? I'd never had an absolutely sleepless night of sex before. But here I was, beneath jetting hot water, being serviced (again!) by the most gorgeous babe and not tired in the least.

Trust me; I could have stayed and "endured" such treatment for weeks on end.

But good things never last, do they? Maybe seven thirty we were getting dressed, her in her top notch office-wear, me in the (by then washed and dried) crap I'd worn for canvassing.

'I'll drop you at your place to get changed,' Hev said, 'but I won't be able to wait for you. There again, I bet you start at nine, don't you? You'll make it there easy.'

Her vehicle . . . a brand-new Range Rover . . . was about a hundred yards down the farm track, stuck behind a tree that had been hit by lightning and now blocked access to the farmyard.

'I'll get someone out to sort it,' she said as we worked our way around the obstacle, as if expense was no object.

Thinking that brought it home to me: expense truly was no object to a woman in her position. She was one of the elite.

And I'd just fucked her to Heaven and back.

Yippee!

'Fancy swapping numbers?' she asked casually as we got in and she started the motor.

Taken aback, assuming I'd been a one-off whim, I said fair enough, why not.

So we swapped numbers with Hev stressing hers was personal, not her company "tracking device". 'I may not immediately answer,' she told me, 'but I'll always respond to a message, especially if it's from you.'

Gulp! Maybe I hadn't been as buffoonish as I'd feared!

Surprising me yet again, she asked where I actually worked in WYB. By then we were emerging from her private driveway, into the mountainous Micklethwaite Lane. I told her truthfully and she wondered if I was lacking the sense of challenge.

'I'm a penniless student,' I said, 'crippled by loans I'll never be able to pay back. I'm there to earn a bit of cash and calm down my bank manager.'

'Are you banking with WYB?'

'No, I'm with NatWest.'

'Shame; if you'd been with us I'd have erased your debts.'

WHAT!!!

Hev chuckled as she drove. 'I'm only joking,' she went on, 'I'd never do anything so underhand. But I could have made life a lot easier for you.'

Fuck me, had I been that good in bed?

Not that we'd ever exactly got "in" the bed . . .

'Thanks for thinking like that,' I murmured awkwardly.

'There is something I might be able to do to help,' she went on.

'What's that,' I asked cautiously.

'My PA's very carelessly got pregnant. I'm interviewing next week. So far I'm not impressed by any of the candidates' CVs. If you applied I'd take you on like a shot.'

'I . . . I know nothing about being a PA,' I hedged.

'You're a people person who can quote Shakespeare, Harper Lee and Jane Austen. That impresses every sort of visitor who's ever likely to show up at my office door.'

'I struggle with Harper Lee,' I protested, 'apart from the bit where Atticus shoots that rabid dog. And I only studied three of Jane Austen's six novels in any detail. I'm more familiar with the Bronte sisters.'

'I knew you would say that,' Hev laughed, 'and, considering where we are located on the map, it is the correct answer.'

She was right, naturally: the Bronte sisters had lived in nearby Haworth Parsonage, nowadays a place of pilgrimage for literary fans worldwide, not least from Japan . . . for some strange reason. Not that I have a problem with Japan, I hasten to add. The more the merrier as far as I'm concerned. I know not why nineteenth century English classics appeal so much around the world, but they obviously do.

And Shakespeare was infinitely older, wasn't he?

Best-selling author of all time, if arguably tied with Agatha Christie, sales-wise. . .

Bloody English! Most of the rest of the top-sellers are pommies too . . . as an old, Aussie mate of mine would grouch. As if we haven't had a start of centuries over most of the rest of the world.

And forget Charles Dickens' sales figures . . . he cheated by writing in instalments . . .

Let's get back to the plot . . .

'I still know nothing about being a PA,' I said, my eyes on Hev, hers on the road ahead.

'Nina will show you the ropes.'

'Is Nina your pregnant PA?'

'Yes, but she sort of floats between me and Vic.'

'Does she sleep with you both?'

'She has done, but relatively rarely with Vic. Nowadays it's mostly with me.'

'That's a condition of employment, is it?'

'No, by no means it is. I enjoy sleeping with her, because who wouldn't? And no, by the way; it wasn't me who got her pregnant. It must have been Vic.'

We both chuckled at that, me slightly defensively.

'So,' she said in her best CEO, exec voice, 'have we got a goer?'

'I dunno,' I said eventually. 'It's all a bit sudden.'

'Interviews are next week,' she reminded me. 'I'm accepting applications up until Monday. Please do me a favour and apply.'

Chapter Five

Dropped off as promised, suitably changed, I made it into work ten minutes early (in line with an old Careers teacher's job interview advice: "Never be later than ten minutes early").

First thing I did was to raid the coffee machine, helping myself to a large Colombian Arabica. Then, as soon as I sat at my desk, my landline rang.

'What the fuck happened to you?' Dani demanded without introducing herself. 'We were waiting there in The Potting Shed until closing time, worrying about you. And why haven't you been answering your mobile?'

Oops! I'd forgotten all about The Potting Shed. Too much else going on, if you know what I mean.

And where exactly was my mobile?

Dani is, as a reminder, my best friend. We were placed next to each other on our first day at primary school and were still sitting together in the Upper Sixth . . . in our three common subjects out of four, anyway. Her mum is the independent candidate I was canvassing for. In fact I was canvassing for Dani's sake as much as her mum's.

Well, so I believed at the time; with the benefit of hindsight perhaps I secretly wanted to bed mummy.

Okay, so I never have bedded mummy . . . not yet . . . but the idea only gets increasingly attractive.

What a babe was she! No, what a babe is she. Three years later and she only gets better.

Yet again, moving swiftly on . . .

'I was stuck up a tree,' I replied, truthful, but aiming for dramatic.

'Tell that to the marines, Chrissie.'

'No, really, honestly; I'd nearly finished the uphill slog and I got attacked by a gaggle of geese. Hiding up a tree was my only option.'

'Are you bulling?'

'No way; it's what happened. They were waiting for me down on the ground, so I was stuck there. And then the storm came.'

'Why didn't you ring for help?'

Good question. 'I suppose I panicked,' I said feebly.

'And why weren't you answering your mobile?'

'I guess that's because the farmer rescued me. I was thoroughly soaked through by then. I think I put my phone on a table while we put my clothes in to wash and dry.'

Big mistake!

'So that's it,' Dani cried as she gleefully pounced. 'You spent the night bonking Farmer Giles and nuts to your worried friends.'

She paused a moment which was just as well, because I was lost for words.

'Hang on a sec,' she resumed, 'where were these geese, exactly?'

'Like I said, they were on a farm near the very top of the hill.'

'Was it Hunters Farm? All fancily renovated; the only farm I can think of likely to have a washer-drier?'

Gulping, I admitted it was.

Dani's local knowledge was encyclopaedic. 'In that case it wasn't Farmer Giles at all; it was a woman. You spent the night bonking Heather Hunter, didn't you?'

(Elementary, my dear Watson!)

Numbly, unable to conjure up a convincing lie, I conceded that I had.

And my best mate pounced again. 'Oh my God, she runs your bank, doesn't she?'

'I didn't realize until too late,' I whimpered. 'But we parted as friends.'

Now I'll just point out that I'd had no sexual contact with Dani in the seventeen years I'd known her. I'd had no sexual thoughts about her either. Kisses had been of the air variety or the briefest brush of lips on special occasions. We hadn't even "practiced snogging", as many of our early teens girlfriends had done together . . . purely in the interests of "research", of course.

How would she react to this revelation? Would she never speak to me again? Or would she throw me to the wolves and out me good and proper?

Amazingly . . . thankfully . . . she took me by surprise.

'I thought you were going to be Miss Goody-Goody forever but now you come out with a trick like this,' she gushed. 'Was Heather as sensational she looks?'

'I'm not going into any detail,' I said in a mouse-like squeak, 'but she wasn't just sensational, she was way beyond excellent.'

'Was she your first?'

'You know I've had boyfriends.'

'Yes, in pitifully small quantities. Was she your first girl?'

'Yes.'

'Will she be your last?'

'No way,' said I, suddenly animated. 'Far as I'm concerned men can eff off from now. I know what it is I want in the future.'

'Okay,' Dani said, smoother than smooth, 'so when do I get to date you?'

That shocked me. We'd been to different universities but had compared notes after our first year. Dani had expressed distaste over the in-your-face attitude of girls who sat in the bar on "Lesbians' Corner" in "The Union". I'd taken that to mean she wasn't likely to ever indulge.