West Yorkshire
(Wednesday 20th October 2004)
There were two sandwiches left. While Heather ate them Vic drifted off into the lounge. Intrigued, Heather swigged down her wine then followed, finding her new lover standing at the enormous, south-facing window, seemingly at ease with her nakedness. Smiling to herself, Heather diverted to the settee and donned a pair of heels she’d casually discarded there days earlier.
‘What are you up to?’ Vic was watching her reflection in the window.
‘I’m getting equality in the height stakes.’
‘If it’s equality you want, aren’t you a bit overdressed?’
Heather got to her feet and, holding Vic’s attention in the glass, slowly pulled off the faded red shirt before swirling it over her head.
‘Nice,’ Vic said without turning round, ‘amazingly good tits.’
‘These are boobs, Victoria, or bazoomas. Not tits.’
‘Still amazingly good, whatever you call them.’
Heather dumped the shirt on the settee and went behind the other girl, wrapping her arms around her. Even with the heels Vic was a little taller, but that was okay, it brought the back of her neck perfectly into range. Vic liked having the back of her neck nibbled and chewed.
Nice, nice, nice, Heather thought, running her tongue tip across smooth, olive skin, bringing a thousand tiny hairs upright, like a line of toppled dominos somehow standing back up.
Vic arched sensually, moaning as her ripe bazoomas were mercilessly squeezed.
‘You’re the sexiest,’ Heather whispered. ‘I haven’t met anyone as sexy before; never, ever.’
She felt the other girl’s stomach, admiring bands of muscle, recalling images. When Vic tensed she had a six-pack that almost matched her own. The sight of their bodies straining together had been awesome. Shaved, tanned and toned, not an ounce of flab between them.
‘Ye gods,’ Vic murmured. ‘The things you do to me.’
‘Haven’t even started yet,’
‘Trust me, Heather, you have!’
‘Back to bed, then?’
‘No, here . . . I want you to fuck me here. Here and now, for anyone to see.’
‘My, my Victoria!’ said Heather, in-between renewed nibbles. ‘You really do use that word a lot. I wouldn’t have expected St Helena’s girls to know such language.’
‘It’s you Manor girls. Talking all the time we’re doing it . . . corrupting us.’
‘I don’t swear. Not much, anyway.’
‘You don’t have to. You can make the most ordinary words sound filthy.’
‘Do you like me sounding filthy?’
'Yes.’
‘How about the filthy things I do? Do you like them as well?’
‘God, yes. That’s why I’m shaking so badly.’
‘Is it also why your nipples could torpedo battleships?’
‘God, yes.’
‘Go on then, tell me what happens next.’
‘I want you to fuck me.’
‘Like a man? I’ve something in my room, if that’s what you want.’
‘No, not like that. I want you to sit me on the window ledge, stick your tongue inside and fuck me!’
Vic’s body wasn’t just shaking now; it was juddering against Heather, who was suddenly in need of a similar service herself.
Later, she thought. Then, aloud, ‘Who do you want to be watching? Tell me and I’ll do it. It doesn’t matter who you say, I’ll do it anyway. Just name them. They can watch me fucking you again and again. Until you cum in my face and . . .’
Heather slid her hand downwards as she spoke. When she got as far as “cum in my face” she gently traced a line along her lover’s moist and very swollen labia.
‘Oh!’ cried Vic, and climaxed hard and fluidly.
Without hesitating Heather pressed into her already contracting fanny, feeling for the most special place, finding it at once.
Vic threw back her head and screamed, her hips moving, thrusting powerfully against Heather’s now rigidly curled fingers.
‘God . . . Oh! Oh! OH!!’
Her second cumming was almost immediate and ten times as spectacular. Heather couldn’t help but be impressed.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Vic gasped. ‘That was the world’s worst self-control.’
‘You must have been saving it up. We’d no chance of making it as far as the window ledge.’
‘I really am sorry.’
‘Don’t be. It was an honour to be involved.’
Heather kicked off her heels and retrieved the rugger shirt, kneeling before Vic and using it to dry her, dabbing with the utmost tenderness and care.
‘I don’t do that often,’ Vic said apologetically. ‘I have to be very, very turned-on to cum like that.’ Then, noticeably blushing: ‘That’s why I called an early time-out for snacks. I didn’t really want you to stop fucking me, I just knew what was likely to happen.’
‘And you didn’t want it to happen?’
‘Of course I did! It’s embarrassing to make such a mess, though.’
‘It’s not a mess; it was a wonder to behold.’ Heather grinned. ‘Has anyone ever said you have the most beautiful fanny?’
‘Says she with the most beautiful everything.’
‘No really, I’m not joking. If I ever have to design the ideal fanny, I’ll make it exactly like yours.’
‘I hope you design better floodgates.’
‘That’s unlikely. I’ll probably remove floodgates altogether.’
Vic laughed. ‘Why am I not surprised?’
The shirt did its job and was dropped over a rather large wet patch on the parquet floor. ‘I’ll sort that later,’ Heather said. ‘In the meantime, no-one’s any the wiser.’
‘Apart from anyone watching,’ said Vic.
Standing side by side, hand in hand, they looked out of the window, over a sea of roofs and chimney pots, towards the two banks in the valley bottom. Although night had fallen hours ago visibility was fine. Hundreds and hundreds of dingy orange streetlights kept the darkness at bay.
‘Can’t see any peeping toms,’ Heather said, ‘unless Dick Van Dyke bobbed out for a quick chim, chimney.’
‘Or unless Tibbles really is out on the tiles.’ Vic laughed again. ‘Let’s hope he’s not fatally attracted. You might come home to find someone’s pet mouse boiling away.’
Heather pointed to WYB, one of the few buildings still burning any lights at all. ‘Top floor,’ she said, ‘six windows in. Isn’t that someone looking this way?’
‘It looks like a man.’ Vic adjusted her glasses.
‘Don’t say it’s Dom.’ Heather was only half-joking. ‘IT nerds do late hours, don’t they?’
‘Dom starts early and finishes at seven. He might have caught Act One in The Ferrands, but Act Five was far too late for him.’
‘Was that Act Five? I thought it was Act Six. Or maybe Sixteen.’
‘You might be right. Anyway, that’s not Dom; it’s one of the security officers. I can make out the uniform but not his face, which is just perfect. He’ll only be able to see us as two tiny, possibly naked women.’
‘Perhaps he’ll bring binoculars next time.’
‘Next time we’ll be more discreet . . . wear ball masks or something. Come on, let’s give him a wave.’
They waved and, after a moment’s hesitation, the man waved back before abruptly disappearing.
‘Gone for a quick wank,’ Vic said, before clapping a hand to her mouth. ‘Ye gods, you really have corrupted me!’
‘The corruption could get a whole lot worse. Want to find out how?’
‘I thought you’d never ask.’
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