Victoria's Secret

Chapter One

The meeting was my first high-profile one at WYB and, for all my usual self-confidence, I do admit I was a bit nervous. Who wouldn't be in such a situation? Not two weeks into a six month contract with a new employer and there I was, thrown in at the deep end with some of the Bank's biggest players.

Good job I'm not a sensitive soul, isn't it?

And please accept apologies for not introducing myself sooner. My birth certificate reads "Katrina" but to friends and lovers I'm "Kat". As some readers may recall I have emptied my heart in writing before (some might remember my occasionally foul and abusive language too!), back in the day, when I was caught up in a three-woman love triangle.

That sounds good, doesn't it; "a three woman love triangle". There could even be a film there; one featuring Ellen DeGeneres and maybe Christina Aguilera . . . and with Joan Jett playing my part, of course.

Or maybe I'm just a dirty perv with a penchant for sexy older women.

Joan Jett? I'd go for a younger version like a shot, obviously, but even now, like wow!

Anyway, this is a new tale and anything I said back in those triangle days isn't relevant, which is just as well because at the time I was subject to a storm of conflicting emotions. In other words I was jealous and angry about having my lover snatched from me, determined to fuck the snatcher in as many ways as humanly possible.

That's more than enough about that, though. Let's just say I did finally get even and walked away proudly, head up, ass sashaying and tits pointing to the future.

I'm a resilient girl, me. Bruises don't come easily and, when they do, they quickly fade.

Like male lovers, bruises quickly fade.

Here's a confession for you: I've always preferred female lovers. I don't dislike guys but they lack in far too many departments where girls excel. Deep down I suppose it takes a girl to know all the best ways to pleasure a girl; perhaps it's as simple as that.

Okay, that's it for the history. Let me say a little more about me. Recently turned the (horrendous) age of thirty-one, I'm a lady who likes to travel. Since I graduated I have been on five major world tours and quite a few shorter jaunts. As of now, early in 2018, I have visited a hundred and eleven different countries and thirty-eight American states.

And I'm going again soon. I have an unmissable date with a beautiful babe at Joe's Bar in Hawaii.

Honey is unbelievably beautiful and incredibly well-to-do. She's recently had her sixtieth birthday but could on sight be taken for late thirties, early forties. She fucks like an angel, too. And she has an ocean-going yacht . . . a big beautiful craft she can sail single-handed.

She's a woman of many talents, Honey; many talents, and none of them particularly hidden.

As well as the sex there's a sort of mother-daughter thing going between us. I guess that sounds a bit incestuous but hey, I'm telling the truth here. The "date" is for a month on the Island Maiden and I can't wait. When we had a month at sea in 2016 we were naked almost all of the time. I got the most amazing tan and became addicted to making out to the rhythm of the waves.

Mmmm, making out all day on the scorching hot deck under a blazing sun, bobbing up and down in time with the restless ocean; oh yes, yes please.

Honey tastes like her name. And two years is far too long. I desperately want to taste her again.

And again, again and yet again . . .

I really don't know if I'm a lesbian or not. As I hinted earlier, I have occasionally fucked with guys in the past and will probably do so again. If that makes me bisexual then so be it. All I'll say is that I've been with far more girls than guys. For modesty's sake I'm not going to reveal exact numbers but, in all honesty, my lovers must have been more than ninety per cent female.

Maths never being my strong suit, and me being an IT whiz kid!

Okay, so that's a thumbnail sketch of who I am. Getting back to the story . . .

The meeting was in the "Directors' Boardroom" and included major movers and shakers from all sorts of areas of West Yorkshire Bank. For some strange reason I had been nominated as the IT representative. Maybe my manager was testing me out. Or maybe he just didn't like me.

Whatever: there I was, very much the most junior person present.

And I very much felt it.

Still, I knew what to do when uncertain. Tits forward and smile. Never fails.

Or so I hoped in this mixed-sex gathering.

The one saving grace was that I'd been assured I would get to meet with "Snow White". Several fellow IT folk had assured me Snow White was beyond merely beautiful and, if beyond physical contact, well worth looking at if nothing else. Girls had said this as well as guys, so there had to be at least a grain of truth in it.

And Snowy was smart, too. The grapevine had it she was shooting her way through the ranks and, in a bank which already had a female CEO, she was the next coming thing.

Trouble was I struggled to identify her at first. Perhaps predictably, I was looking for the only-too-familiar icon (blue top, yellow skirt and seven vertically challenged men in close attendance). But there was nobody remotely similar in the room.

There was one beyond merely beautiful lady there, however. She had pride of place at the top of the large, polished oak table, radiating allure, and was not nervous at all.

Hair colour apart, there was nothing about her resembling everyone's favourite princess. Being honest (as I always am) she looked more like a top-class porn star; the sort viewers actually pay to watch on-line.

The sort I would gladly pay to watch.

'Okay,' she said, effortlessly bring the meeting to order, 'let's get going. And, seeing as there are a few non-head office people here, let's kick off by going around the table. I am Heather Hunter, leader of this new project and determined to make it work.'

My heart lurched. Heather Hunter was the one known as Snow White! Heather Hunter was the one I was here to leer at!!

Nicknames can be baffling things. As I already said, that young lady bore no resemblance to my mental image of Snow White at all. She was nowhere near.

And I'd badly miss-sold her on the porn star front. Every last little thing about her reeked of style and substance.

I looked closer, trying not to stare too obviously, and realized that in a way she looked like me. I'm five foot nine and have a mane of long, jet-black hair. I have more than once been compared to a younger, taller Kim Kardashian.

Don't get me wrong, I'm proud about my appearance. Scrubbed up and in my finery I can look as fuckable as any girl you could hope to meet.

Heather Hunter made me look like a colourless rag waving limply in the wind.

How to describe Ms Hunter?

Here's my best go. All I could see was the top half of her, clad in a crisp white (probably a man's) shirt with extremely interesting swells in both the right places. Only two buttons were unfastened but they were enough to show an ample cleavage. And the tan on her! Was she half-Jamaican or what!!

Her hair was simply magnificent, her jet-black mane even longer than mine, much more luxurious and smelling of cider apples. That was me detecting the lovely aroma from way down at the other end of the lengthy meeting table.

And as for her face . . .

Emerald green eyes, a perfectly straight nose, even more perfect eyebrows and no trace of any makeup whatsoever.

This girl didn't need any assistance.

Not looks-wise. This girl needed something else altogether.

Fuck but one close look and I had it bad.

Chapter Two

I was next-to-last for introductions and somehow managed to keep it brief and to the point.

'I'm Katrina from IT,' I said. 'I work short-term contracts and spend my leisure time travelling.'

Ms Hunter's antennae twitched at that. Up until then she had listened to everybody, smiling and nodding, probably already knowing who was who and what was what.

'Have you done Down Under?' she asked me.

'Many times,' I replied, somehow keeping the tremble out of my voice, only too aware of everyone looking at me. 'I've done all the state capitals and Canberra too, of course.'

'Have you done Albany?'

'I've done the one in New York State and the one in Western Australia.'

Conscious other attendees were still regarding me curiously, I shut up and said no more.

Ms Hunter clearly wasn't the shutting up type. Maybe that was why she was the coming thing.

'What about Esperance?'

'I did that after Perth and Albany, en route for South Australia.'

'Me and you need to talk,' she said. 'I lived on a beach between Albany and Esperance once. It was one of the best times of my life.'

I nodded and smiled and wished she'd move on to the last attendee. Thankfully she did.

And thankfully I didn't make too much of an arse of myself in the rest of the meeting.

After lunching with stodge in the canteen, secretly assuring myself I would work it off in the gym later, I returned to my work station. Perhaps a whole two minutes later I got a call to join my boss in his office.

As an aside, I have only had a few bosses in my working life, all male. I'd fucked the previous two but had no intention of opening my legs for this latest. He was called Gary and he gave arseholes a bad name.

In other words he was a typically stereotyped male boss.

Still, for the first time in recorded history he seemed to be in a decent mood.

'I've heard good things,' he began. 'Her Ladyship was impressed by your input this morning.'

'Her Ladyship,' I queried.

'Snow White to the masses, Ms Hunter to you. She wants to have a word with you this afternoon. Apparently you came up with something everyone else missed. She wants to hear it again, before she sends out the minutes.'

Fuck only knew what that was. So far as I could recall I'd said as little as possible, showing plenty of teeth and tit and minding my own business as much as possible.

'Anytime in the next five minutes will do,' Gary went on. 'You'll find her office up on the top floor.'

*****

I actually found her PA's office first. It was a sort of antechamber without even one window but full of more polished oak.

'Ms Hunter's through there,' she said, pointing towards a (predictably) polished oak door.

I knocked tentatively and went in to find Ms Hunter behind an enormous (polished oak) desk, her fingers tapping away on a keyboard.

'Katrina,' she said, abandoning whatever her task was and standing up to greet me, 'thank you so much for sparing me time.'

What? The second or third most important person in WYB was thanking me for sparing her time! Was she a people person or what?

Well, yes she obviously was one heck of a people person.

I don't know about you but I've always found green eyes unsettling. Not hers, though. Sharp and alert as they were, they were beaming welcome.

Come to that, everything about her was beaming welcome.

To tell the truth it was all rather overwhelming.

And wasn't she tall! Most women are shorter than me but she had to be close to six foot.

'Gary sent me,' I said awkwardly. 'He says I . . . I . . .'

'Knickers to Gary,' said Ms Hunter. 'Sit yourself down and have a coffee. And please accept my apologies. The sun's not over the yardarm yet else I'd offer you a Shiraz. Or do you prefer a very dry white?'

Even more out of my depth than earlier I shrugged. 'I love Hardy's Shiraz. It has been said that I have it running through my veins.'

'You must have the same sort of friends as I have.' Ms Hunter chuckled. 'And tell me; is it Katrina or Kat?'

How astute. How did she even know to ask?

And why was my heart trip-hammering in my chest?

'It's Kat to friends and lovers,' I said before belated clasping a hand over my uncontrollable gob.

Ms Hunter chuckled even more warmly. 'Friends and lovers call me Hev,' she told me. 'Or should I just say lovers.'

I stalled at that. The gravity of those eyes was immense. So was the realization that I wasn't there because I'd "come up with something good" in a boring old meeting.

Ms Hunter wanted to fuck me.

And all my instincts screamed yes, yes please!

'I lived on an Australian beach too,' I said, 'with a girl who called herself May.'

'May?'

'Well, she wasn't really a May; she was more like a definite.'

Ms Hunter laughed. 'I shared my beach with a girl called Ingrid. And I wasn't joking; it really was one of the best times of my life.'

Now something in her look was challenging.

'When you say "shared". . .' I ventured.

'We set off as travelling companions and became lovers. By the time we got to Australia we were bonking like bunnies all day through.' Those eyes held mine as she asked: 'Was May a travelling companion, or . . .'

'She was just a lover,' I said frankly. 'I don't usually do travelling companions.'

'But you do female lovers?'

'It has been known.'

Ms Hunter laughed again. 'This is very déjà vu,' she told me. 'When I first started at WYB I quickly hooked up with one of the female bosses. That involved a high-powered meeting with minutes as well.'

'Oh yes, the minutes,' said I. 'Gary mentioned something about . . . about . . .'

'I'm afraid I made that up as a bit of a subterfuge. I wanted to see you for more personal reasons.' The black-haired beauty grinned at me. 'How do you feel about that? I hope you're not too angry.'

'I'm cool,' I said truthfully if less than accurately. Red-hot blood was pumping through me and I'd almost certainly flooded my panties.

As a girl with a chequered history, I'd rarely ever been so excited. Fuck workplace conventions. If this babe wanted me I was hers; simple as.'

'I'd like to yarn about Australia,' Ms Hunter continued, 'get to know you better. But not here; let's do it after work, in some cosy bar. The Potting Shed has Hardy's, I believe. Does six o'clock fit in your social diary?'

Well, I wasn't going to say no, was I?

Chapter Three

My working day finished at five. I lingered at my station a while, letting daytime colleagues go and seeing the night shift settle in with the first of their endless cups of coffee. Then, impatient and a little nervous (again!), I left the building and strolled down Main Street.

Yes, I admit it; I was a little nervous (again!). As I went I tried to kick my brain into resilient mode. I'm me, I thought. I can handle anything, anywhere.

Sorry if that doesn't seem convincing. If it's any consolation I certainly didn't convince myself.

It was January in Bingley and somewhere around five thirty. Darkness was settling in like a black cloak. Main Street was damp, courtesy of an earlier shower, but the air was not particularly cold. I seemed to remember afternoon sunshine and cloud and guessed that was the way tonight would be: warmish and wet, from time to time.

Or was my imagination playing tricks?

Was I really estimating the state of my panties?

I'm me, I reminded myself. Playing it by ear is what I do. No, it's what I excel in.

Slightly more convinced, I went into the pub.

And, although I was fifteen minutes early, Ms Hunter was there before me at the bar, chatting with a barman, one large glass of red near to hand.

'Ah here she is,' she said. 'Another Shiraz if you please.'

The barman hastily obliged as I joined her.

'I thought a few drinks in here, then a Shama curry,' she said to me. 'Assuming you like curries.'

'I'm Yorkshire born and bred,' I replied, 'of course I like curries.'

'The Shama's acceptable, then?'

'More than,' I said enthusiastically. 'I've eaten curries all around the world without finding one half as good as the Shama.'

'Good grief,' said Ms Hunter. 'You're a walking commercial!' Then, chuckling, 'I happen to agree with you. But let's get into more detail. Tell me about all those places you've been.'

*****

With the benefit of hindsight Ms Hunter was patently charming me. As if I cared! At the time all I wanted was a way into her knickers (or hers into mine), and the sooner the better. I'd have done anything to further that end, anything at all.

So I rambled on and on about my several visits to the great Land of Oz, and she listened avidly to everything I said, occasionally asking questions.

Did I ever meet a girl called Claire in Albany? Or did I meet two drop-dead gorgeous twin sisters?

After a while, after I'd talked her around the coast from west to east and then north, hearing that I had spent a fortnight in Cairns, she mentioned a beachside bar.

And, amazingly, I recognized her description in an instant.

'Trent and Greg,' I said after scouring my memory banks. 'Yeah, they're still there.'

Ms Hunter's incredible eyes suddenly filled with tears. 'I love those guys,' she said. 'I can't begin to tell you how kind they were to me.'

I must have frowned because she hurried on and explained.

'I found out Ingrid was getting married when I got to their bar,' she said. 'They had a letter from her, waiting for me. It sent me over the edge for a bit. I got really drunk and they saved me from being taken advantage of.'

'Really drunk,' I echoed, unable to see it. This was from the second or third most important figure in the bank, remember; this was from a pillar of the local community.

'Dancing on the tables drunk,' she confirmed with a grin. 'And I can't dance for nuts. Well, not on tables. A close smooch is as far as I normally go. Are you ready for another drink?'

That surprised me. She'd got us 250 mils glasses and mine was only half-empty, unlike hers. Not waiting for a reply, she attracted the barman's attention.

And trust me; she did that without any effort at all.

Taking opportunity to look at all of her, my senses swirled. Like me, she was a white shirt, black skirt sort of a girl when it came to office wear. Thanks to the time of year she was also in a black jacket but that was currently hanging off her barstool backrest.

Jesus, that skirt! It was a short pencil affair that showed off miles of nylon-clad legs.

Yummy, yummy, yummy!

Even the sight of heels didn't detract. Her heels added an inch or two to her height, taking her up to the magical six feet. Even without them she'd still be taller than me.

And the contours of her body were beyond divine. What goddess had ever been shaped like her?

How could anyone ever possibly be shaped like her?

'This contract thing,' she said, turning and thrusting a new, brimming glass into my hand. 'You are on six months, aren't you? Do you want an extension?'

Oh, so she'd checked me out, had she!

'No,' said I. 'I plan ahead. And I'm due to spend August with Honey.'

She raised a far-too-sexy eyebrow at that so I showed her a snap of Honey on my phone.

'Can't say I blame you,' she said, grinning even wider. 'Is that Australia in the background?'

'It's Hawaii. And she's on her yacht. That's where we're spending August; drifting in the middle of nowhere, if you know what I mean.'

'I think I get the general idea.' Then, that far-too-sexy eyebrow still up: 'Is yours a totally exclusive arrangement?'

I held up my ring-less fingers. 'I don't do exclusive.'

This time Ms Hunter's grin was head-splittingly wide. 'I rather hoped you'd say that. Do you fancy one more for the road before our curry? Or do you fancy another three or four?'

*****

Somewhere between our fourth and fifth wine "Ms Hunter" became "Hev". And couldn't Hev drink! I have always considered myself as capable but she has hollow legs. When she at last said it was Shama time I felt a surge of relief.

But then she asked her pet barman for a "bottle of icy pinot to take out".

'You have to bring your own booze now,' she explained as we continued downhill.

'I think I've had enough booze,' said I, not seeing double but well on the way to woozy.