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Girls Just Wanna Have Fun

Bundle One

By LimeyLady

Copyright Mark C Woolridge (writing as LimeyLady), 2018

Distributed by Smashwords

All characters and events in this publication,

other than those clearly in the public domain,

are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons,

living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Equally importantly, all the characters are

over the age of 18

Table of Contents

1: Dwayne’s World

2: Kat’s Story

3: Come On Eileen

4: Cuffed Under False Pretences

Author’s Note

Other Books by LimeyLady

Dwayne’s World

The lounge had been, Heather thought, slightly predominated by females. Balancing it out, the kitchen was slightly predominated by males. Adding an ironic twist to her musings, the music changed as she went through from one room to the other. In a blast from long ago, before she’d even been born, Jona Lewie was telling the world where to find him at parties.

Secretly Heather agreed that it was the place to be: most of the booze was found “in the kitchen at parties”, and so was some of the best conversation.

Dwayne was easy to spot. He was six feet tall, black and beautiful. That much said he looked small next to his cousin Sam, who was enormous in every sense of the word.

Heather smiled at the sight of Sam. Now the idea had been levered into her head she was quite up for a bout with Dwayne, but her course-mate Sam was something else. He had the world’s biggest sense of humour and a personality which made him impossible not to like. He could inflict gales of laughter on total strangers within two seconds of meeting them.

Sam could also bring hilarity into the bedroom. Heather knew that only too well. Never mind her usual limit of only two nights shagging for guys, Sam had already had five or six trysts. And, with almost all their final year still to go, he would undoubtedly be having a few more.

Unfortunately, tonight Sam was hooked up with a Sociologist called Dawn. Dawn might be blonde and sexy but she did herself no favours. What a sulky expression she always had! Even if she hadn’t been so blatantly straight Heather wouldn’t have touched her with a bargepole.

Briefly running her eye over the rest of Dwayne’s group, Heather glanced to her right and immediately saw Katie’s fridges. The communal one had a sign on it saying “PUT IN AND TAKE OUT FREELY”. It was tall, old and possibly antique. The smaller, much newer fridge had a sign on it saying “KATIE’S - KEEP OUT!!

As if the sign wasn’t enough warning, a poster had been added lower down, attached with Sellotape. It very prominently featured a skull, crossbones and the words “ACHTUNG MINEN!!!

Heather didn’t really expect to set off an explosion but she was cautious as she eased open the fridge door. While actual mines weren’t exactly compatible with bottles of wine, she didn’t entirely rule booby traps out as a possibility.

Fortunately, there were no deterrents other than the signs. Her Pinot was nestled in the pocket inside the door. She refilled her glass then, conscious of the weight of Dwayne’s eyes on her, made her way over to his stretch of worktop.

Sam was, as always, in the middle of some funny story. Despite Dawn’s hand on his arm, he broke off and planted a big kiss smack on Heather’s mouth.

‘The sister I never had,’ he chuckled. ‘Well, not often enough, anyway.’

Coming from anyone else that might have seemed distasteful. Coming from Sam it was hilarious.

Well, it was to everybody apart from Dawn.

Pushing Sam away from her Heather assumed her best gushing mode. ‘Ignore him, Dawn, he’s such a loudmouth.’

Before Dawn could object Heather kissed her three times: once on each cheek and then very swiftly on her lips.

Turning to the other two members of the group, Heather grinned. Kris was a central defender in the men’s soccer team, and an exceptionally good one at that. Even though Heather didn’t much like his ginger goatee he got the same triple kiss as Dawn.

She had quite deliberately saved Viola until last. No, make that very deliberately. Viola had the figure of a young Naomi Campbell but was a shade taller, and her face had even finer bone structure. It was hard to believe she was studying at a Lancashire university instead of strutting down catwalks.

Viola’s version of “casual” was a sight for sore eyes. Her short blue jeans stopped a fraction below her knees, exposing her lovely brown calves, and her tight white T-shirt didn’t leave much to anyone’s imagination.

In fact Heather had never set eyes on such a vision; she eclipsed everyone, even Mary Rose.

Not that superhero worship was ever going to restrain a born and bred, red-blooded Yorkshire lass.

‘Hi Vi,’ she said before ditching the cheek kisses and grabbing herself a mouthful of luscious lips.

Amazingly Viola (allegedly as straight as infinitely more miserable Dawn) kissed back at her. Okay, so she did seem to hesitate for an instant, but then she turned on the tap and gave as good as she got.

Ten seconds that kiss lasted. After a nine count, shocking Heather in the most pleasant way ever, Vi’s tongue shot out and circled inside her very avidly pursed lips. Oh what joy! But, before she could start to respond in kind, the tall, ebony-skinned beauty had pulled away.

‘Hev,’ she tittered, ‘you’re such a tease!’

‘What about me?’ Dwayne put in. ‘Don’t I get a kiss?’

Heather gave him a chaste kiss on the nose. ‘That’s it for now,’ she said. ‘Play your cards right and I might give you another later.’

Sam’s huge laugh rocked the terrace’s foundations. ‘Dwayne baby,’ he boomed, ‘make sure you keep your aces up your sleeve. And remember, points mean prizes.’


Over the next hour or so the sextet gradually became three pairings. Heather, into her second bottle of Pinot, first noticed Dawn incrementally excluding Sam from the general banter. And she did it well. Once or twice she even raised a smile.

Opposites attract, Heather thought more than once, but those two . . .

Meanwhile Kris was incrementally excluding Viola. That disappointed Heather. Kissing those soft lips of Vi’s had been quite an experience; so too had her enthusiastic response. What a shame Vi wasn’t even remotely curious.

Dwayne was good company, though. He wasn’t nearly as big or as loud as his cousin but there again, neither was anyone else. And Dwayne was a much better listener. Being students they gabbed about all sorts of trivialities . . . most of them instantly forgotten again . . . but he definitely listened to her as much as she listened to him.

In all fairness, as the Pinot went down, he might well have been more attentive than she was.

And wasn’t she turned on! Yes, even without really trying, Dwayne was definitely playing his cards right!!!

If anything, he was playing them too slowly.

Get on with it, she thought. The answer’s yes, just flipping-well suggest something!

Finally, as the other four headed off to dance to something by Ashanti, Dwayne said he needed to “go pay a call”. Heather gave him perhaps five seconds of a start then followed.

Fractionally delayed by a couple who were sitting on a step, sharing a joint, she arrived up on the first floor landing and cast around. All was as she had expected: a closed bathroom door dead ahead, two bedrooms to her left and, to her right, that final flight of stairs.

Helpfully, the bedrooms had name plaques on them. The nearest read: “Beware - Katie’s Pit” and was, rather bizarrely, bordered in a riot of childlike flowers. Heather smiled as she saw the other, far plainer plaque read: “Sophie’s Room”. Katie’d had three housemates until last summer. During the long break Sophie had visited a commune near St Ives and hadn’t yet returned.

Keeping one eye on the bathroom, Heather opened Sophie’s door. What she saw inside pleased her. There was a neatly-made bed and a lot of cardboard boxes. The boxes were stuffed with ring binders in an assortment of colours, probably containing last year’s coursework. And there were a lot of them; far more than the work of just one student. It was easy to assume that this had become a junk room in the belief Sophie was now a surfing chick and wouldn’t be back.

Or a happy hippy whore, which amounted to much the same, didn’t it?

Heather grinned at the very idea. For two pins she could have been a happy hippy whore herself. And she could have surfed as well as anyone.

Better yet, better than her Cornish fantasies, the old-fashioned door had a lock with a key in it on the inside.

The sound of a flushing toilet brought Heather swiftly back into the corridor. As Dwayne came out of the bathroom she beckoned him, curling her finger and using all of her arm in a come-hither sort of a way. She’d seen such a gesture in an old film, used by a “lady of easy virtue” in a bid to attract trade. And guess what; it worked now just as well as it had on celluloid.

Two seconds later they were in Sophie’s room, the door was locked and the key was safely secured in Heather’s rear jeans’ pocket.

‘I skimped on your kiss,’ she said, grinning at him. ‘Would you like me to make up for that?’

‘You bet I would.’

That was consent enough for Heather. She launched herself at him.


Weaving their way through the obstacle course of boxes wasn’t easy with their mouths tightly locked. But somehow they made it and pressed their eager bodies ever tighter together as they kept their first serious kiss going on the bed.

And good grief! Was that a baseball bat stuffed down the front of Dwayne’s jeans!!

Intrigued, Heather deftly unfastened and unzipped.

‘Commando,’ she cried, ‘I like that in a man. And I like this even more.’

Dwayne’s willy was not quite the longest she’d ever encountered but it was definitely the thickest. And how could she think of it as a “willy”? Dwayne was all man, so surely it couldn’t be thought of in terms befitting a schoolgirl.

Still admiring its shape, she took hold of Dwayne’s rock hard cock, impressed anew as she found out that her hand could only just close around its base.

‘Lie back and enjoy,’ she said, ‘I may be some time.’


Heather always referred to fellatio as “doing below jobs”, insisting that “blow job” was an abbreviation of the old, historical term, “below job”, and a less than accurate abbreviation at that. She enjoyed giving them, though, and considered herself honoured to be dealing with a cock like this.

Not that size really mattered, of course. It wasn’t Dwayne’s eight or nine inches that would please her, more a matter of what he could do with them. But that wonderfully thick shaft did have its possibilities, didn’t it!

Already fully erect, Dwayne’s foreskin had mostly retracted of its own accord, exposing his pink glans. Heather gently tugged on him, pulling the last of his prepuce away and down, stretching it, liking the way a band of pinkness suddenly ended and his usual blackness took over. And she liked the sight of his glans, too. Some of her sluttier friends called that part of a man “cockhead” or “helmet”. Dwayne’s glans was very large and did indeed look like a helmet.

In fact it reminded her of the ones the Germans used to wear in WWII.

Using her left hand on the bottom half of his cock, Heather began to masturbate him. Using her right hand on his balls, she began to gently squeeze. And, using the tip of her tongue, she began to lick at him all over, particularly under and around his helmet.

Dwayne sighed and told her she was marvellous.

Not prepared to break off, Heather kept on squeezing and masturbating, never varying the slow and steady rhythms of her hands. Her mouth did vary its actions, though. Sometimes she would lick him with the flat of her tongue, concentrating on the top half of his shaft as well as his helmet. Sometimes she would suck him, sometimes taking in four or five inches, sometimes only one or two, alternating it, keeping him on his toes. And sometimes she would use her teeth, but never anywhere near his glans; oh no, she knew what softies men could be and kept her teeth for the middle region of his shaft.

According to Dwayne she was now incredible and miraculous.

According to Heather it was time he started to think about cumming. She gradually upped the pace of her left hand, letting it slide a little higher and higher. And, squeezing his balls slightly ever-so-slightly harder, she took him back in her mouth, sucking on him with ever-increasing urgency.

‘Hev,’ he said. ‘Oh Hev, I think . . .’

Hands still working busily away, she popped him out again. Sure enough, perhaps five beats later, a tiny trickle of white oozed from his tip. Realizing he was about to erupt, she hastily put him back into her mouth.

‘Oh Hev, oh my God, yes!’

Dwayne ejaculated in seven mighty blasts.

Seven; Heather’s favourite number!!

She skilfully swallowed the first few and collected the last couple. Then, when she was sure that he’d finished, she opened up so he could see her savouring his seed on her tongue. And then she closed, swallowed and reopened.

‘Now you see it, now you don’t,’ she said. ‘I’m just like a hooker in a video, aren’t I?’

‘Oh my God, I’m speechless.’

Heather wasn’t speechless but had no time for many more words. Using both her hands on Dwayne’s cock, she did her best to wring every last bit of semen out of him, hungrily devouring the odd drop or two she’d not already had.

‘Jesus,’ he breathed. ‘You’re like a vacuum cleaner.’

Heather took that as a compliment. It was the sort of thing guys said in those porn videos. Not that she ever watched them.


Dwayne took hold of her T-shirt and pulled it off her. ‘My God,’ he said, staring at her, his lust-meter obviously up beyond critical. ‘How can anyone have nipples like those?’

‘You say the sweetest things.’ Heather reached out in her turn, swiftly removing his white Fred Perry top, probably one from the polo range. ‘Let’s get naked,’ she said. ‘Let’s find out what you can do with that lovely big cock.’


Turned out Dwayne could do lots of good things with his cock. But first he did lots of good things with his tongue, both internally and externally. Confident she’d found an acceptable lover, Heather finally pulled him away from her honeypot, relishing the feel of all the short, stubbly hair on his chest against her super-sensitive boobs. Soon she had him where she wanted: in the most basic position going, his warm brown eyes staring down into her lusting green ones.

‘Oh yes,’ she said, reaching for him, intending to guide him home.

‘No,’ he said, ‘let me.’

Heather reckoned she could trust him and was soon glad that she did.

Good grief, she thought, the guy has done this before!

Guiding himself, Dwayne eased his lovely hard helmet into her. Then he eased it out. And then he did it again and again. Maybe he was psychic but he’d somehow happened on an action that ticked all of her boxes. Her opening was her best-ever place, nearly as good as her clit. She knew only too well that there were zillions of nerve endings around it and he was stimulating every last one of them.

Nice, nice, nice!

Then, when it seemed life couldn’t possibly get any better, he pressed in a little deeper and stopped completely withdrawing. Now he was using perhaps an inch of shaft, perhaps that band of pink under his helmet, stimulating all those nerve ends as her went in and . . . not quite all the way . . . out.

Heather assured him he was marvellous. Suitably encouraged, he began to use maybe another inch of shaft.

‘Yes, yes, yes,’ she endorsed, ‘nice, nice, nice!’

The rim of Dwayne’s helmet was now going in as far as the bottom edge of Heather’s G-spot. It was hard to believe he could do that so accurately and so often. It was hard to believe that he could withdraw so far without popping out. His control was too immaculate to be true.

Right up until that moment Heather had been proud of her self-control (she didn’t always have a lot of that!). Suddenly she lost it altogether. Suddenly she was cumming; cumming and shrieking wildly, and Dwayne was probably thinking he was God’s gift to women.

Quite possibly he was.

‘More,’ gasped Heather, ‘deeper, harder . . .’

Provoked as he was, Dwayne maintained his cool. Yes, he did go a little deeper . . . but by no means did he go deepest. Utilizing at most half of his awesome cock, he thrust in and out, stimulating all of Heather’s G-spot . . . top to bottom . . . as well as everything else back down to her very appreciative opening.

Bliss; it was sheer bliss.

Time had long since lost its meaning. If forced to answer, Heather could only have said that each of the deliciously extended penetration sessions lasted twice as long as its predecessor. Or maybe three times as long.

Or maybe chronology became unquantifiable when sex got as good as this.

Cumming and shrieking again, Heather floated up and away a while. When she eventually came back to earth, drifting down like a leaf on a gentle breeze, she noticed that Dwayne was now using all of his cock, going all of the way in and most of the way out. She also noticed that the thickest bit of him was doing stupendous things to the mouth of her vagina.

And that she had never felt so full in her life.

‘Yes, yes, yes,’ she said, repeating herself yet again and not caring, ‘nice, nice, nice!’

Abruptly abandoning his oh-so slow strokes, Dwayne began to accelerate. ’I’m close,’ he announced in confidential tones.

Heather couldn’t help laughing. In her experience men always muttered and grunted at moments like this, regressing to their caves. Dwayne’s voice and demeanour could not have been calmer. Okay, so perhaps he was a little breathless, but how cool was he!!!

Heather was anything but cool. She was, however, strong at heart. Disconnecting her body from all its natural impulses and reactions, determined to delay her next climax, she grinned up at her latest new lover.

‘I’ll be there with you,’ she assured him. ‘Keep going, big boy. Give me all you’ve got.’

Rising to the challenge, he shortened his strokes and accelerated them. Going with him, using levels of effort he had probably never experienced before, Heather slammed her groin up to meet him; hard, hard, hard. The sound of them mating now sounded like a prolonged round of applause . . . well, like a very wet round of prolonged applause. Her lower body was drenched and her wonderfully stuffed pussy was making a lot of loud, liquid noises.

‘Cum in me,’ she said.

That was all it took.

Dwayne came and Heather’s resilience crumbled. Too involved to count his ejaculations, she simply went off with him.


Violent contraction!

Fiercer spurt!!

Even more violent contraction!!

Perhaps Dwayne missed his magnificent seven that time. Heather didn’t care. She was beyond caring about numbers.

‘Yes, yes, yes,’ she cried, ‘more, more, more!’


‘That wasn’t bad at all,’ she said afterwards as they clutched each other, still coupled, Dwayne still in her and still as hard as Sheffield steel. ‘Why don’t we do it again?’

All off a sudden Dwayne wasn’t quite so cool. ‘Give me five,’ he said. ‘You might be superhuman, but I’m made of clay.’

‘Your cock isn’t made of clay,’ she replied. ‘It’s more like granite. So why not?’

‘No reason, just give me five.’

‘Okay, so go down while you recover.’

A dead silence met Heather’s latest words . . . not that she hadn’t expected it. In her experience there were guys who hated to go down, full stop. There were also a lot of guys only too ready to go down as a first course. Not so many were keen on sloppy seconds, though.

To his credit, Dwayne only paused a moment. Then he laughed and slid down Heather’s very sweaty tummy, his cock tracing a line as it went.

‘Anything for you,’ he murmured, before filling his mouth with fanny.

Heather lay back and enjoyed his attentions, appreciating the way his tongue flit between her vagina and clit. And also appreciating the way he lapped up the wetness on her buttocks. That wetness was, she knew, as combined as possibly could be. Their exchange of body fluids couldn’t have been any more complete. Heck, if anyone tested their DNA over the next day or so they’d probably be taken for twins!

‘You’re incredible and miraculous,’ she told him. ‘I want you to fuck me again.’

Dwayne groaned with his mouth still full of fanny. The resultant vibration was slight but not unpleasant so Heather had another go.

‘The night is young and I want you to fuck me again.’

He sighed at that, which was no way as pleasing as a vibrating groan. Realizing that she was going to have to take over, for the time being at least, using her not insignificant strength, Heather deftly rolled him onto his back.

‘Don’t even say it,’ she warned. ‘You’re still hard and I have never been hornier in my life. Think sweet thinks and leave this next bit to me . . .’


Heather had intended to replicate Dwayne’s inch-at-a-time approach. Although she hadn’t previously done a lot of that (not with the same patience and skill as him), she’d lots of experience of going on top with guys. Come to think about it, she had probably more experience of being the “doer” when having sex with guys. Having sex invariably energized her; she nearly always did most of the doing.

Keeping a guy interested was the tricky bit; as long as he could keep his end up she was ever-ready to take care of the rest.

But hadn’t tonight’s first seeing-to been awesome!

Not that she ever really doubted herself. Right then her solitary doubt had nothing to do with strength, experience or ability. No, she was only concerned she might get carried away. “Long and slow” wasn’t really her forte; she tended to be more of a “long and vigorous” sort of a girl.

Still, nothing ventured . . .

Using her powerful leg muscles to maintain position over his hard cock, Heather gradually eased his helmet into her. Then she gradually eased it back out again. More than a little happy with the sensation, she repeated the process, not just once or twice but dozens of times. And then . . .

Then, just, as she began to consider utilizing an extra inch of him . . .

Some inconsiderate bugger knocked on the door.

‘Go away,’ Heather cried rudely. ‘I’m busy.’

‘It’s me,’ said a familiar voice. ‘It’s Eileen. And it’s Katie’s presentation in ten minutes. You’ll be missed if you’re not there.’

‘Okay Leen,’ said Dwayne, rather blowing his cover. ‘We’ll be there in ten.’

Eileen didn’t answer, presumably retreating downstairs. Heather scowled down at Dwayne, wondering if he was in trouble, seeing no guilt there at all.

Presentation,’ she growled, ‘it’s her birthday, not a retirement.’

‘It’s her twenty-first,’ Dwayne replied. ‘They’ve got her a tankard and all sorts. Didn’t you contribute?’

‘I put in a fiver,’ Heather admitted, ‘but I didn’t realize it would destroy my sex life.’ Then, making sure she held eye contact: ‘I’ve started and I don’t want to finish anytime soon. Get my drift?’

‘Hey,’ went Dwayne, ‘do I look like Mr Wham-Bam-Thank-You-Ma’am? All I’m saying is that we can have a couple more drinks while Katie gets humiliated in front of everyone she’s ever known. Then we can spend the rest of the night together, wherever you like.’

‘Don’t you mean doing whatever I like?’


‘I have drawers full of toys,’ she said, still maintaining that eye contact. ‘Are you man enough to come to my place?’

Dwayne nodded and Heather jumped off him, reaching for her discarded T-shirt.

‘So what are we waiting for,’ she said. ‘A couple of drinks, a quick laugh at Katie’s expense and we can do it all over, right from the start . . .’


Kat’s Story

Perhaps I’m one of the lucky few. I have never suffered from sexual harassment in the workplace. Sexual attraction . . . yes, lots of times; harassment . . . no, nay, never. Therefore that night, office party night, while I waited thirstily at the bar, I was surprised to feel my bum being pinched. Thinking it was some kind of accident, I didn’t react. Then it happened again and I realized I needed to do something about it.

Without blowing my own trumpet, I have a cool head on my shoulders. No way was I simply going to explode. I had a dozen pithy put-down lines in mind as I turned to confront my assailant. I was going to keep my dignity, but this clown was about to get a mouthful he wouldn’t forget in a hurry.

Then I saw who it was and gaped.

‘Sorry,’ said Dave, ‘I couldn’t resist.’

My mouth shut with a snap.

‘Your butt’s too glittery,’ she went on, ‘and I wanted to attract your attention.’

‘You did that all right,’ I managed. Then, suspiciously: ‘Have you been drinking?’

‘No more than anyone else. And yes, thanks. I’ll have a Bacardi and Coke, if you’re buying.’

The absolute change of demeanour stunned me. I turned back to the bar and ordered our drinks, getting Dave a double and myself a large gin and bitter lemon.

‘Let’s talk,’ she said as I passed a glass to her. ‘It’s been far too long.’


We found a small table in the most remote corner of the ballroom/dance hall and sat, with me in the cop’s position, back to two walls, and Dave comfortably close.

‘I didn’t know if you were coming tonight,’ I began. ‘I never saw you in Wetherspoons.’

‘You were in the wrong Spoons,’ she replied, ‘I set off from The Myrtle Grove, in Bingley.’

‘So you’ve moved to Bingley, have you?’

‘Are you trying to say you haven’t tracked me down?’

‘I haven’t even tried. I’m not a stalker.’ I had a sip of my drink before going on. ‘I did ask that Irish guy who lives in your old place. I couldn’t understand him, though. Maybe I was too drunk.’

‘You went looking for me?’

‘Yes.’ I nodded. ‘I was in temporary shock after finding out you’d left work. And . . .’

‘And got together with Phil,’ she said when I left the sentence hanging.

‘Is that Phil as in Philippa?’

Dave nodded. ‘I’m sorry, but it got to six months and I thought you weren’t coming back.’

‘You could have called me,’ I said, ‘I’d soon have reassured you.’

‘It’s too late now. What’s happened has happened. No use crying over spilt milk.’ She smiled at me and looked as if she’d never cried in her life. ‘Tell me about your adventures. I’m dying to know what you’ve been up to this time.’

Call me a coward, but I gave her the abbreviated version, making sure she knew I’d been faithful for much of the time and safe the rest. Vietnam and Cambodia got skimped over big-time, and I didn’t mention New Zealand at all (guess what? Those Kiwi girls are hotter than just hot!).

‘And now you’re back,’ she said when I’d done. ‘Fate has thrown us together again. There has to be a reason for that, hasn’t there?’

‘I nearly died when I visited your desk,’ I said into the encouraging silence. ‘This spotty-faced lad sits there now. Hey, where are you going?’

‘To get more drinks. Wait right there.’

Humming along to Last Christmas, I tried not to worry. No, I tried to believe I wasn’t dreaming and Dave really was friendly and talking to me again.

Please Santa, I thought, closing my eyes as if in prayer, there’s only one prezzie I want this year. Give it to me tonight, save yourself the bother of climbing down my chimney.

He must have been listening because, when I reopened my eyes, Dave was back again, putting fresh drinks on the table and sitting even closer to me than before.

‘I should have called you,’ she said. ‘I should have let you reassure me. But I had head-hunters on at me every five minutes, and I was planning to move house. And this little voice kept telling me we’d had our time together. Oh, if only I hadn’t listened!’

‘What’s happened, happened,’ I said, reusing her sentiment, ‘but the future’s something else. The future’s another kettle of fish.’

‘I should have realized that when you emailed me.’ Dave laughed shortly. ‘That was my big shock: hearing from you again. I felt like a traitor. That’s why I wouldn’t see you or speak to you. And that’s why I’ve been so stand-offish at the Widget Company . . . That and one other reason.’

‘And that is?’ I prompted.

‘I knew that if I saw you, I’d have to do this . . .’

Taking me completely by surprise, Dave pounced on me, mashing her mouth against mine. Ever the opportunist, I grabbed her and kissed back equally fiercely. You may wonder if I paused to think about our reputations . . . did I fuck! All I thought about was feeling her glasses against my face, smelling the scent of her, tasting her sweetness, hearing her heavy breathing . . .

She really did put effort into that kiss and I wasn’t far behind when it came to ramping it up. It was wonderful being with her, snogging like teenagers, duelling with her tongue. And we didn’t settle for one embrace. Oh no; although other drinks were occasionally bought and consumed, the rest of the party passed us by. We spent almost every minute kissing, cuddling and caressing each other under the table.

Then, seamlessly, we were towards the back of the coach . . . kissing, cuddling and less covertly caressing. I was dimly aware of other mixed-sex couples around us, up to much the same thing. And I could not help being aware of some tuneless oaf singing from somewhere up the front. Whoever it was thought he was “The Music Man”. And, incredibly, whenever he got to “and I can play”, a gang of other oafs chorused “what can you play?” It turned out he could play all sorts: the piano; piccolo; Match of the Day; Dam Busters . . . you name it.

Blanking out background interference, I eased my hand inside Dave’s skirt (yes, she’d ditched the usual trousers and looked more like Velma than ever). And good gracious me! Wasn’t she wet! It wasn’t just her knickers that were drenched; I could feel dampness all the way down to her knees. Not that her knees ranked high on my list of targets.

Dave, meanwhile, was burrowing into my glittery silver dress, probably encountering similar levels of wetness. My heart was pounding as I slipped a finger into her, rotating my hand so my thumb could locate her clit. And I’m pleased to report there was no sign of any shaving at all since my last venture into the same territory. Excitement flooded through me; excitement and something more tangible. If my knees hadn’t been soaked before, they were right then.

Still avidly snogging with her, I felt her fingers pushing aside my thong. A muffled whimpering noise was suddenly audible. It might have been Dave but could quite possibly have been me. Don’t ask where it came from. Out of my nose, I guess. Or maybe I was using my previously undiscovered mastery of ventriloquism.

And then, thanks to another seamless time warp, we were in bed, clothes scattered carelessly. It was, Dave insisted, my turn to be pillow queen. Determined never to argue with her ever again, I lay back and took it.

Wow, did I take it!

I can honestly say Dave excelled that night. At one point she used a dildo on me, but that was only a brief interlude. Mostly she used fingers and mouth, lips and tongue. And she obviously hadn’t forgotten my first time with her. She isolated different parts of my sex and brought me off with them, one at a time; one after another. Not content with that, presumably thinking I hadn’t been screaming loud enough, she then moved onto two different parts simultaneously. And, when I finally begged her to stop, she removed her specs and climbed on board.

Porn star mode, I thought dizzily.

‘You don’t really want me to stop,’ she murmured, ‘do you?’

Abruptly changing my tune, I begged her to fuck me; to fuck me and fuck me and fuck me.

So she did.


It was just starting to get light when I woke with fires still burning inside me. Half asleep, Dave was compliant when I rolled her onto her back.

‘Oh, okay,’ she sighed, ‘if you must.’

‘I must,’ I assured her, taking my turn to be the boarding party. ‘Put your specs back on.’

Dave hoisted her legs, knees bent, allowing me to get where we both wanted me to be. Without as much as half a glance, she reached out and grabbed her glasses from the top of her bedside cabinet. As automatic actions go, it was up there in the impressive class.

‘There,’ she said, perching them on her sexy snub of a nose, ‘is that what you want?’

‘It certainly is,’ I replied, starting to move.

Dave sighed again before hooking her ankles in the small of my back, fastening me there, letting me know I wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. I sighed as I began to rub against her, happy to be back in the old groove. Happy! No, I was ecstatic. It had been a while but our bodies still knew what to do.

Goodness gracious, didn’t they just?

And exactly how wet were we both? Were we below our knees, down to our ankles? Well yes, very possibly so.

Trumpet blowing time again: Dave might have excelled a little earlier, but I was beyond compare that morning. I quite quickly brought her off then, using every last ounce of skill, kept her up there a goodly while before gradually inching her higher and higher. She gasped out something about me being “far too good” but I carried on regardless, peaking myself now, racing her from one lofty plateau to another.

‘Not yet,’ I said repeatedly. ‘Not yet.’

The experience was mind-blowing. Everything about it was heightened. Without wanting to sound mystic (or completely off my trolley), we seemed to surpass mere orgasm, soaring way up there in the stratosphere, approaching something even more precious.

It was the best fuck ever and it went on for ages: my hair-free pussy grinding on hers; her strong legs gripping me, her bushy pussy always in motion, complementing my attentions; my decent-sized tits sliding up and down her flat, boyish chest; my hard nipples brushing her surprisingly large, just-as-hard nips.

And, best of all, we maintained eye contact for every last second. Did I tell you it was getting light outside? Well it was. When we started all I could see was the glint of her lenses. I had to use a bit of imagination. Then, as the minutes ticked by, I could see more and more. And the more certainly was merrier. Staring into Dave’s eyes was a sex act in itself . . . and staring into her eyes while I fucked her and fucked her and fucked her was absolutely ace. It always was with her; always is. I’ve tried it with others and trust me, it’s not the same.


Our mutual climax must have measured at least nine on the Richter scale. I’m amazed buildings didn’t collapse for miles around. And I’m not at all surprised we both fell asleep immediately after. In fact we might have both swooned, overcome by the catastrophic release of energy.

It was definitely a fuck to go down in my memoirs. If I’d kept a top ten it’d be in there at one with a bullet.

Brilliant sunshine woke me. I was still on Dave and she was still gripping me with her legs. She was awake too, amusing herself by running her fingers through my hair.

‘What time is it?’ I grunted. ‘Are we late for work?’

‘It’s Saturday, so don’t worry yourself about work. And it’s about half past ten. Another hour and you can buy me lunch in the pub.’ She chuckled. ‘I’ll make it worth your while if you do.’

I raised my head and took in our surroundings. It wasn’t my bedroom so I supposed it must be hers. And it was nice, with an olde worlde feel to it. The walls were dazzling white and the ceiling even had beams running across it, boxed and painted dark brown. All that lovely sunshine was coming in through a stylish divided window, painted in white gloss and complete with a dozen separate panes of glass.

(Yes, believe it or not, the sun is occasionally seen in a UK winter. We can have weeks on end of miserable cold and rain then, out of nowhere, we get a few days when coats aren’t needed and some hardy folk are out in T-shirts.)

‘Where are we?’ I wondered. ‘And what sort of rent are you paying on a place like this?’

‘We’re in East Morton. And there isn’t any rent; I’m the owner.’

I abandoned my inspection and looked back into Dave’s eyes. ‘It’s a palace,’ I said sincerely. ‘I can’t wait to see the rest of it.’

‘It’s a palace that comes with a mortgage.’ Dave didn’t seem concerned about the responsibility; she seemed proud to be a landed lady. ‘And the rest of it might disappoint you. I’ve only got six rooms, and this is the first I’ve had modernized. The other five are still waiting their turn.’

‘It’s a cottage, right?’

‘Yes, and I’m going to turn it into my dream home.’

‘You’ve made a good start. And I’m sorry I didn’t notice last night.’

‘We were in a bit of a hurry,’ she agreed, smiling.

I smiled back at her. ‘I only wish we’d left the lights on.’

‘We won’t need lights this afternoon.’ Dave favoured me with another throaty chuckle. ‘We’ll worry about leaving the lights on tonight. Assuming you want to weekend with me, that is.’

‘You bet I do. I . . . Crikey! What was that?’

The loud clunk startled me. It came from directly below us. Dave tightened her leg-hold, stopping me from jumping out of my skin.

‘It’s only the postman,’ she said.

‘Does he always kick the door down when he makes a delivery?’

‘It’s the letter box, not the postie. I need to get a weaker spring.’

‘And I need to get a medicinal brandy.’ It was my turn to chuckle. Then, as the thought struck me: ‘Are we likely to get anyone else barging in on us?’

‘I take it you mean Phil. No, there’s no likelihood at all. She’s out of the equation. And why are you doing Cheshire cat impersonations, Katrina?’

‘Because hearing that is the best thing that’s happened to me since I got back. Apart from having you pinch my bum, that is.’ I tried to stop grinning and failed miserably.

Dave seemed to think I wanted to know more. I already knew as much as I needed, but I listened to her anyway.

‘Phil works in Further Advances,’ she began. ‘I met her on a team building day. That was a week or so before I handed in my notice. When I thought I would be at the building society forever. We got paired together in the morning and hit it off straightaway. Over lunch she told me all about her horrid, no-good boyfriend, and I told her you‘d run out on me.’

Dave frowned at that, probably because I still had a goofy grin on my face. ‘I thought I’d scared her off,’ she resumed, ‘with the lesbian confession, I mean . . . but she suggested a drink after the afternoon session, and one thing led to another.’

‘As it does,’ I observed.

‘We hit it off in bed, too,’ she went on, ‘although I’m not going to give you any gory details. Let’s just say we knew how to make each other happy. Then, when we were starting to get serious, you showed up again, messing with my head and practically stalking me by email. I did my best to keep you at arm’s length, but I couldn’t stop thinking and making comparisons. Suddenly lots of little things about Phil were annoying me; things I’d previously found cute. I got bitchy with her and we started to argue. A month ago she said she’d had enough. And that was it.’

‘Did she move in?’ I wondered.

‘Here? No, she slept over a couple of nights a week, but she never moved in. And, before you ask, she never got to sleep in this room, in my delightful new bed. I was in the spare bedroom while she was on the scene. It’s a sort of overflow-cum-junk room at the moment.’

I laughed out loud at that. I didn’t know this Philippa woman, but the idea of her having to settle for the junk room tickled me.

‘What about you?’ Dave asked. ‘How long have you left on your latest lease?’

I must admit my heart lurched at that . . . but not in fear or alarm. Oh no, I was at the opposite end of that particular scale.

‘I’ve got just over two months to go,’ I said. ‘Then I’ll have to find somewhere for the next six, to see out Phase Two.’

‘You’ve already found it,’ said Dave. ‘And if you’re nice to me now, before you buy me lunch, you won’t have to wait two months. You can move in tomorrow.’

‘I can if I’m nice to you?’ I pretended to groan. ‘Oh, okay, if you insist . . .’


That second spell of co-habiting was a lifetime highlight. I know I keep coming up with way too many superlatives, but it simply was FAN . . . TAS . . . TIC. We had, to my memory at least, sex for hours every single night. And it was unbelievably good sex; top quality stuff. The ongoing, severe sleep deprivation didn’t stop us from smiling every minute of the day.

Key Phase Two overran by three weeks but, without a landlord on my case, that wasn’t a problem. Speaking of which . . .

Dave’s mortgage was a little more than the monthly rent I’d been paying, but not much. She paid that and I paid for the weekly groceries, meals out and takeaways. All the other outlays, including her petrol and car insurance, were split fifty-fifty. Sponging? Me?

Sorry Darling Mikela, your case is as crumbly as Lancashire cheese.

And don’t I just love letting you know it!

Travelling was, of course, very much on my agenda. I made a few half-hearted attempts to get Dave to go with me this time, but they were all doomed to failure. Dave had a cottage to restore and look after. Her Mini was coming up to its first MOT and she wanted to trade it in in advance (for another brand-new Mini, naturally!). She loved her new job at the Widget Company even more than she’d loved her old job at the building society. And (bizarrely, in my opinion) she had no urge to get out and away, meeting exotic people and experiencing new cultures and beliefs.

We were, I maintain, very adult in agreeing departure terms. First and foremost we agreed it was no more than a temporary separation; I was coming back and there was to be no doubt about it. We also agreed that the no contact rule was worse than useless. I would, therefore, ring her once a week (at 6pm GMT on a Friday) without fail. That would prove the connection was still as strong as ever and, more to the point, keep Dave aware of my movements and intentions.

The really adult agreement revolved around sex. I openly admitted that I enjoy indulging in hot one-nighters with partners I’ll never see again. I also made it clear that, although sex is a big part of the bug, it isn’t the only reason I travel. Dave quite probably didn’t understand my argument but did accept that the odd steamy liaison was both important and necessary.

‘Safety is important to me,’ she said. ‘’With men, I mean. If you promise you’ll never take any risks, I’ll give you carte blanche.’

I managed not to scowl at that. To Dave a man is The Big Bad Wolf. All a man wants to do is to have unprotected sex, get a girl pregnant and (hopefully) give her herpes into the bargain. She also honestly doesn’t believe a girl can catch something from another girl.

Fortunately, I’m a safe-sex adherent myself, and not just with men. I gave her every assurance in the book and told her to try a few flings herself.

‘I will,’ she said, ‘and this time I won’t form any attachments.’

I’ll spare you The Travel Show breakdown of my overseas escapades. Suffice to say, I enjoyed a lot of sex while keeping safe. And I hardly had any big bad wolves at all.

This time my return was co-ordinated and no shock to anyone. My money started to run out early (as always) and, after giving Dave a ten week countdown on successive Fridays, I duly landed bang on time at Leeds Bradford. Dave met me there, holding up a big card with my name felt-tipped onto it, grinning, seemingly oblivious to the fact my flight was half-empty; there was hardly anyone else there waiting for new arrivals and I couldn’t have missed her.

I was glad to see her, though. Homecoming that night deserves a whole string of superlatives of its own.

I can sometimes be complacent, I know, but ask me if I’m bothered. Right then everything in my life was great. Even my working status had been restored, and long before I came back at that. I restored it with a long-distance call to my manager, Craig, maybe a fortnight in advance. Key Phase Three was still happening, he told me wearily, but I was welcome to chip in, there was no need to wait for the concluding phase to kick off. And as it happened, he had the Christmas party list in front of him at that very moment. Was it turkey again, or would I prefer beef?

So, it was straight back to the old routine: sex every night with Dave; smiling every minute of the day; splitting the monthly bills as evenly as we could. Only one thing had changed.

Dave had developed itchy feet.

No, she hadn’t suddenly had a change of heart about travelling. She’d just got into one-nighters. Or, as I was soon to discover, she’d got into “new”.


I’d been back about two months and, as I said a moment ago, routines had been re-established. One of these revolved around Friday nights. We’d finish work, Dave would drive us to ASDA and I would shell out for a ton’s worth of shopping. Then we’d retire to The Busfeild Arms for an early meal and several pints.

And please don’t think there was any drink-driving. Dave’s cottage was within a few yards of the pub and mein host didn’t mind her using his car park. Why should he? We were two of his most regular, highly valued customers who didn’t mind walking home fresh, with armfuls of carrier bags.

That Friday night was different. We were known to be lovers and, in the usual bohemian spirit of the village, nobody cared. The possibility of being ostracized was, frankly, impossible. Everybody was friendly towards us, whether we knew them well or not.

That night we were joined at our table by two strangers. Alice and Ross were, they told us, very much the newcomers. They’d only moved in a week or so ago but recognized us from last Friday. Would they be intruding or could they sit down and make themselves at home?

Obviously, we said yes. The young couple were bright, bubbly and outgoing. Or, to be more specific, Ross was dry and amusing and Alice was nothing if not drop-dead gorgeous. She also made no secret of the fact she saw us as a couple in our own right.

Great, I thought. Eye candy and friendly; who could ask for anything more?

Our “couples” relationship flourished through half a dozen Fridays and then leapt into a life of its own. Although the change in pace passed me by at first. Dave had to explain it to me later, snuggled up in bed.

‘Alice wants a wife-swap,’ she said, mere instants before I dropped into a deeply sated sleep.

That kept me awake. ‘Me and her,’ I said hopefully.

‘Her and me,’ said Dave. ‘I quite fancy it, actually.’

My eyes reopened at that. ‘Hang on a second; are you saying I’m your wife? That Ross gives you Alice and you give him me in return?’

‘Yes, but purely for the sake of this exercise. You know me; I don’t normally assign gender roles.’

‘Not unless it means you get to bed the beautiful blonde,’ I grumbled.

‘Come on, Kat, it’ll be exciting. And you don’t have the same problems I have with men.’

That was true on both counts. Dave swears she never has and never will fuck a real cock. I don’t know where her stance stems from, but I had heard it many times before. I couldn’t accuse her of making it up on the spur of the moment.

Dave and Alice had pencilled in the following Friday. The week in-between dragged and, as the day finally dawned, anticipation levels were sky-high.

‘I don’t believe we’re going to do it,’ I told Dave as we finished our morning shower.

‘I do,’ she said, smirking, ‘and I can’t wait.’

The working day itself whizzed by and we raced round the supermarket, buying all the wrong things without noticing, creating our biggest ever bill. Then, leaving the shopping in the boot of Dave’s Mini, we went into the pub.


Alice and Ross were already in the dining area, sitting at a table for four. We joined them, but not in the usual formation. Instead of sitting next to Dave I sat next to Ross, while she took the place beside Alice.

And fuck me, weren’t those two hot for it! They were devouring each other with their eyes even before they substituted the usual air kiss for something much more lingering.

As this point I’m going to skimp on detail. I wasn’t there to see what those two got up to later, and (so very sadly) I didn’t think to install CCTV. Consequently I can’t give you a blow by blow account. I also do not expect my fellow lesbian readers to have a lot of interest in the antics I got up to with Ross, so here’s an abbreviated version of proceedings.

We ordered and ate our meals then went into the public bar for a few more drinks. Then, leaving our shopping in the car, Dave took Alice to her place while I walked with Ross to theirs (one of the plethora of new houses which keep springing up in and around the village). When we got there he offered me a drink, but I declined.

So we fucked.

And fucked and fucked and fucked.

To put it in some perspective, we used seven of Ross’s eight condoms. It was exciting and new and I very much enjoyed it. I did, however, spend a lot of the time thinking about the other two.

Drop-dead gorgeous Alice fucking my sweet little Dave! What wonderful images that conjured up. I would have self-abused the night away if I hadn’t had someone doing the work for me.


Saturday morning started sunny if a little blustery. Side by side in bed with me, Ross made a call.

‘Alice,’ he said, ‘it’s me.’

He listened then nodded. ‘Okay, we’ll see you there.’

‘Where pray is “there”?’ I asked as he rang off.

‘In The Busfeild at twelve,’ he replied.

‘It’s not ten yet.’

‘I know. But Alice said she still has things to do.’

I took hold of Ross’s cock and examined it. When aroused he is very big. Right then he was limp and apologetic.

‘No hard-on,’ I said brightly, ‘so what do we do to kill two hours?’

‘I’m sure you could find ways of making it hard again.’

‘I’m sure I could. But we’re running low you-know-what’s. Let’s go for a walk instead.’

Ross drove us up to Ilkley Moor, leaving his Focus in the parking area close to the Cow and Calf rocks. Friday had been a dress down day at work, so my clothing wasn’t too badly out of place. I was wearing trainers and had a hoodie over my sweatshirt. And that part of the moor wasn’t so wild. There were well-maintained footpaths and not too many peat bogs. Or so I told myself.

‘It’s been years since I came here,’ I said as we took a circular route to the top of the rocks. ‘I’ve visited over a hundred different countries in the meantime . . . And with all this on my doorstep!’

‘Yorkshire is beautiful,’ he agreed, ‘particularly the Dales. They take my breath away every time.’

‘Don’t say that too loudly.’ I widened my eyes. ‘If the giant Rombald gets jealous he’ll throw rocks at you. And big ones; like the ones we’re standing on.’

‘I think he’s throwing something else our way.’

I looked in the direction Ross was pointing, just in time to see the sun go behind an enormous black cloud.

‘I wondered where all the sightseers were going,’ I said. ‘Let’s get back to the car.’

We made it seconds before the heavens opened. And by that I mean they really opened. I think it officially went down as a “rain storm”, but there was more than mere rain hammering down on the roof and windscreen; there was sleet and large lumps of hail. And hadn’t it suddenly got dark!

‘You can’t drive in this,’ I said, peering out of the window. After racing in our direction the black cloud seemed to have stopped in its tracks, happy to stay still and dump its contents right on top of us.

There were other cars parked nearby, probably sheltering other walkers from the onslaught. I say “probably” because visibility was virtually non-existent. For that brief moment we were isolated in a public place. Close to other people, yet unseen.

Now here’s a bit more of my truth telling and skimping. I sucked Ross off in the front of his motor. I did it safely, of course, putting his last condom on with my mouth (yes, I know how whore-like that sounds!). And I did it very slowly, ignoring the drumming on the roof, wanting him to remember it as something rather special.

In case anyone’s interested, we didn’t get caught in the act. That is to say, I’m reasonably sure we didn’t. Nobody came knocking on our window and, as far as I’m aware, footage hasn’t been posted on the Internet.

Not yet.


The bad news is that Dave and Alice enjoyed their night of passion immensely. In fact they enjoyed it so much that “Dress Down Friday” became “Wife-Swap Friday”. And it stayed that way for months. In best honesty mode, for me the practice soon grew boring. I don’t dislike men but I could never settle for the same one all the time. And that was the way it seemed to be headed with Ross.


The good news is that Ross and Alice both had high-powered jobs with the NHS. They were often relocated at short notice and had the assisted mortgages to prove it. Before East Morton they’d been living in some picturesque village outside Gloucester. And suddenly, with hardly any prior warning at all, they were shipped off again to somewhere near Coventry. Suddenly Fridays were back to normal.

By then it was almost time to be off on my travels again. Dave missed Alice at first, but less and less as the weeks went by. And she became increasingly demanding with me as a lover. Perhaps she was overcompensating to some degree. Or perhaps she was making the most of our last few weeks together. Whatever the reason, she wanted to fuck at every opportunity.

And I’m supposed to have lesbian bed death? Sorry, my Darling Mikela, I hardly got any sleep on a normal night . . . and not any at all in that final couple of months.

As far as I could tell, excessive demands aside, Dave was relaxed about me going away again. She was, she assured me, really going to make the most of her freedom while I was away. She might even join a lesbian dating site and experiment a little. I advised her to be careful and she laughed.

‘So says the girl who’s fucked legions of women who can’t even speak English!’

I suppose she did have a point. I’d visited a hundred and eleven different countries by then. I had not kept accurate records but suspected I’d had sex in about half of them, often if not always with one of the locals. In fact it might have been more than half. The only place I’m certain I never had sex in was the Vatican City (take it from me, the Vatican has very few women and most of the men seem to be hundreds of years old).

So there we were: two contented adults. My preps were going much as they had the last time. Dave was comfortable with the idea and I was determined to come back.

Then I screwed up, big-time.


Come On Eileen

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