Chapter One -- With the Best Intentions
(Autumn 2016)
Being a good little girl Mary Rose had intended to get the four o'clock London/Leeds train. Changing at Leeds City that should have got her into Bingley before eight in the evening, in good time to meet Hev and the super-sexy Sammy Jo in one of the town centre pubs.
Well, the supposedly super-sexy Sammy Jo in the Suburban Bar, anyway. Mary Rose had not met the latest Hev pull and did not really give a toss about super-sexiness. The girl had been fucking Hev for a long while by now; hence she had to be worth a go or three.
Or maybe a go or six hundred and three . . .
But, it being POETS day, Mary Rose had decided the hell to the four o'clock and vacated her desk at noon, allowing herself ample time to catch the one o'clock, promising a much more attractive ETA of around five.
Super-sexy as Sammy Jo might possibly be . . . not to mention an unknown element thus far . . . Mary Rose wanted a one-on-one head-to-head with Ms Hunter first, to put them in the mood, so to speak.
The more head the merrier, in all truth.
Head-to-head with Hev never had been anything to complain about.
Head-to-head with Hev was as good as any variety of sex could possibly get.
So why be a shrinking violet?
Calling her from the speeding train Mary Rose didn't particularly mess around with subtleties.
'I desperately need to fuck you,' she announced, picturing Hev's eye roll at the deliberate obscenity. (Hev's language was always prim and proper, making her a sitting duck in so many ways.) 'Permit me that and I'll do anything for anyone,' Mare went on. 'All night long. I guarantee.'
'We're supposed to be meeting SJ in the bar at eight.'
'SJ?'
'Sammy Jo.'
'Eff me, like that is it! Okay, ring her and rearrange for eight at your place. I'll be there for five.'
'I have meetings . . .'
'Cancel them else delegate. You're a high-powered banking exec, no?'
'Banking's not like lawyering . . .'
'And you won't have finished an hour or two early in ten years, will you? Come on girlfriend, do the decent thing for once in your life.'
Hev grumbled and grouched without any great conviction, finally agreeing to being home for five.
As if Mary Rose ever doubted her. They had met aged thirteen at an exclusive, all-girls school and they had been rivals from day one, lovers in some form or another from maybe day ten.
And they would be lovers until the end of time . . . or maybe far, far beyond.
*****
For once British Rail (as Mary Rose persisted in calling it, privatisation aside) got her right where she wanted to be, bang on the dot. And, exiting Bingley station, she did not have to worry about hailing a cab.
Oh no. Ali was there across Wellington Street on the taxi rank, flashing his headlights and beckoning her over.
'Hi babe,' she said in greeting. 'Guess where I'm bound?'
'Hunters Farm,' he replied smartly . . . cockily even. 'Isn't it a bit early for you-know-who?'
'Not tonight it's not. Plans have been made; agreements agreed upon.'
Ali laughed as he U-turned in an area where U-turns were surely banned. Yet Bingley wasn't London, was it?
And as if London traffic wardens were up to speed. Depending on exactly where, park on a double yellow and they'd get you after a day or two, otherwise . . . unless you were unlucky enough to be copped by some young eager beaver . . . you'd be left alone.
Hopefully.
Apart from those rare occasions when you'd get booked before even clicking your engine off.
What a strange world we live in!
Speaking non-stop, his accent distinctly "northern" and not at all "Asian", Ali praised Hev in glowing terms. Not that there was any surprise there. Every Bingley taxi driver loved the ass off Heather and a fair few of them had shared her bed once or twice.
Mare's current cabbie very much included.
Grinning inwardly, Mary Rose assessed him. Good looking and well-built . . . why not?
Right, Hev always insisted she was "well on the lezzie side of bi" but still had her male escapades.
Didn't she just!
One tale she told about a university rugby bath . . . her up against the whole first fifteen.
Ye gods, it should have been filmed and sold on the internet.
Francis Ford eat your heart out. That film would have made trillions and trillions . . . and of pounds, not mere dollars.
'Early,' Ali repeated, echoing himself.
'Tonight's all about being early,' Mary Rose replied, focusing on Ali's body shape as he turned up into Micklethwaite Lane, wondering if his actual dick was as well-developed as the rest of him.
The bulge she could clearly see hinted that it certainly was.
Wondering how he'd perform in maybe five minutes' time, him and two horny old schoolmates.
Avaunt thee Satan, she chided herself, uncomfortably aware of sloppy seconds, sure SJ would not be impressed.
Sweet and pure lezzie Sammy Jo.
Allegedly.
'Plans have been already made,' Mare said out loud, 'otherwise I'd invite you to join us.'
'I'm due time off,' Ali replied, keen as could be.
'Watch the frigging road,' she countered, aware there was barely room for two vehicles to pass by each other with any less than an on-the-ball driver.
'I know this lane like the back of my hand,' he said, cocky as ever but refocusing his attention where it should always have been.
Cocky, thought Mary Rose. I wonder what he's got to back up his approach to life.
Big bulge aside.
Being personal, she was on the guy side of bi. Girls happened regularly but she'd enjoyed more cocks than pussies. Well, without consulting her (non-existent) sex accountant, she reckoned she had.
Maybe her stance was a reaction to Hev's persistent claim. Maybe she was as badly tarred with the same brush, but unable to admit it.
She was still visualizing Ali's most vital organ, letting her imagination run free, when they made the turn into Hunters Farm, pulling up outside its impressive, solid oak front door.
Two hours in bed with Ali then kick him out, the two of them ready for sexy SJ . . .
Avaunt thee, she thought again, somewhat less convincingly.
Then common sense prevailed
'I can't invite you in tonight,' she said, her mouth going off on its own.
(And thank God it never did that in court; she'd get black-balled in no time at all.)
'Plans have been made,' her unruly gob persisted, 'but I'll be back up here in two or three weeks.'
'And then I'll be invited?' Ali gasped rather than asked.
'Let me speak to Hev and work out fresh plans. And give me your business card so I can update you when I've booked a weekend off. Fridays okay by you?'
'Give me ten minutes' notice and any day is okay by me.'
Mary Rose pocketed the card and assured Ali he'd get at least two weeks' notice, not a tiny handful of minutes.
'Have you done threes with Hev before?' she enquired, gratified by his awkward response.
'No,' he stuttered.
'But you have fucked with her on several occasions?'
'A gentleman would never answer a question like that.'
'Right, in other words you have. That only makes the contrasts more interesting.'
'Contrasts?'
'I'll be watching how you fuck her compered to how you fuck me. And I might well have suggestions, whoever you happen to be fucking at the time.'
Handing over a tenner that Ali tried to decline, telling him to keep the change, she surprised herself by leaning in and kissing him.
Hotter than hot!
Physically tearing herself away, conscious of where she was and what was due to happen, she patted his shoulder and promised to ring with "an update" Monday or Tuesday at the latest. Then, resisting the urge to explore his (ever more) visibly interested groin, she got out of the cab.
'Next time,' she said in parting. 'And don't worry about Hev, I can wrap her round my little finger . . . unlike that weapon of war I sense inside of your pants. Oh yes, yes please.'
To his credit Ali blushed like a beetroot. Even in the failing daylight he was clearly up for the deed.
See it? Mare could feel the heat radiating from him.
Failing light or nay, he was as interested as heck.
Right, up there like the Eiffel Tower . . . and twice as tall.
Chapter Two -- Heather Strikes Again
Waving Ali off, ignoring his warning about the guard geese because she knew and loved them all. In fact, she took the cue to giggle inwardly at Hev being known as "Snow White", needing seven not-so small "dwarfs" to protect her enormous barnyard, pond and allegedly chaste state.
How ridiculous was that? How many women on earth were as unchaste as Hev?
Maybe three or four out of billions. Yet still everyone at West Yorkshire Bank thought she was a pure goddess.
Apart from those who'd fucked with her and then bought into her unique code of omerta.
Damn right. Hev had her sex life organized to military precision. Having recently spied in her knickers drawers Mary Rose knew her old Manor School habits had not varied.
The zillion and one sex toys were new, however. The first she could remember was a red dildo when they had hit maybe sixteen. But that last time she spied she'd found a supply that would've put Ann Summers to shame.
Dildos . . . thick double-enders . . .
For a girl "well on the lezzie side of bi", Hev didn't half enjoy being penetrated by penis-like objects.
And, speaking of which . . .
'Easy Doc,' Mare called as a gigantic gander approached her.
Doc hesitated, sniffed at her then nodded approval before retreating.
Best mates or not, it was good to see him withdraw, taking his unseen backup troops with him.
The beak on him! Never mind Ali's wotsit, in the wrong circumstances that beak could cause lots of damage.
No, make that lots and lots.
Mary Rose's fist was clenched, prepared to knock on that slab of a front door, but no need.
The door opened to reveal Hev wearing a smile and eff all else.
'Come in,' she said enchantingly. Then, abruptly abandoning any form of reserve, she grabbed hold of Mary Rose and, kicking the door shut with gay abandon, kissed her like no woman had ever been kissed before.
Hotter than hot kissing Ali? As if! Three secs kissing Hev was better than best.
'Jesus please us,' Mary Rose finally exhaled, 'What happens next?'
Hev laughed and made an intriguing beckoning gesture with her fingers.
