Author's Note: This could have been titled "Bedding the Boss Pt. 03" but is intended to be a stand-alone story that happens to begin soon after parts one and two left off. And, whereas parts one and two were very much interdependent (and more or less lifted from a full-length novel) this adventure is almost exclusively new material, with a storyline in its own right.
I'd also like to dedicate this account to an anonymous critic of mine. I'm not sure if this particular "Anonymous" is a she or a he but, after praising my writing and storytelling, she/he did suggest that I was skimping on the bedroom scenes. Slightly miffed, I showed that bit of feedback to Hev and Joanna; the following is their response . . .
*****
Chapter One
(Tuesday 26th October 2004)
It was dΓ©jΓ vu for Vic. She was lying back, squeezing her tits and trying not to cum too soon while her pussy rocked and rolled with Heather's . . . or, rather, under Heather's. Heather (allegedly doing equal shares tonight but, as always, in complete control) was using the head end of the bed as high ground, somehow being gentle and aggressive at the same time. Their legs were interlocked and their angled, so very intimate contact felt like the world's sloppiest, warmest wet kiss.
It was the most amazing sensation ever.
Ever, ever, ever!!
Sex was never like this with Karen; never anywhere near.
'My God,' Hev moaned. 'This gets better and better.'
And it did. Vic had set out to fuck the graduate trainee (first and foremost because of her startling good looks but also because she obviously wanted to be fucked). Or so it had seemed when they had first met in the new products meeting and later, when she'd allowed a little friendly mauling in the pub. Vic had never once suspected that she'd be the one on the receiving end and glad to be there. Or that a rapid-fire string of one-nighters could lead to . . .
Well, she wasn't sure what it was leading to, not yet . . . but it did feel like something awfully big.
Never mind her plans and Heather's bedtime stories, the things they'd talked about! Starting with gushing orgasms and degenerating from there!!
Vic couldn't have had those conversations with Karen. She'd tried to debate some of the nuances between clit and G-spot but always got stonewalled. Karen, the woman who claimed she'd never had sex with anyone who could communicate, simply didn't want to know. Heather, by contrast, could not know enough.
And Heather wasn't all talk. She only wanted to know so she could improve. She had to be the most caring lover on the planet, as well as the best.
Vic had always admired strong, brave women, even if she did tend to end up sleeping with wimps. Finding a beautiful, athletic young thing, ready, willing and able to fuck her until she could hardly walk was not only a novelty but something not to be sneezed at. Being a banker, however, she never took things at face value, not even when she dearly wanted to. So she had gone on the Internet and found the old story via an archive service.
SCHOOLGIRL SOOTHES SAVAGE BEAST
That was how most of the reports set off. They all agreed that Heather had been just eleven and three-quarters, and that she'd recaptured an escaped bull weighing in at two thousand three hundred and fifty pounds. "That's not like facing the Keighley front row," the Yorkshire Post said. "Brutus wasn't so far off the weight of the whole Cougars team."
The Craven Herald was most thorough. Vic suspected that other reporters had used them as their crib. That report included a photo which put everything into perspective. Brutus hadn't just been a bull; he'd been practically a mammoth, and an angry one at that. Vic had tried to imagine facing up to such a ferocious-looking creature and simply couldn't do it. She couldn't imagine anyone else she had ever known facing up to him either. Not even armed with bazookas or tanks.
Brutus was by no means the all of it though. There was a related story link that took Vic deep into Keighley News's archives. She'd clicked it almost absently, bringing up a more recent article about a completely separate incident.
Heather had been nineteen and en route to a lecture at her plate-glass university. Stopping off at the corner shop for energy drinks and bars of chocolate, she'd made it to second in the queue when a drugged-up robber burst in. The amphetamine-fuelled maniac was waving a knife, demanding money from the till and calling the shop-owner horrible, racist names . . . spurring Heather into action.
According to the linked article, the would-be robber had turned on Heather with his knife. She had thrown him over a rack of magazines, kicked away the weapon and then pinned him down until help arrived, maybe as soon as twenty minutes after all the fight had been kicked out of him.
Skipping over a question about response times, a police spokesperson said Heather had excelled. The force didn't encourage have-a-go-heroes, but nobody was going to fault someone who'd made a spectacular arrest like that. Not when the villain was sixteen stones of tattoo-faced nastiness and the arresting citizen wouldn't weigh eleven stones after three fish suppers. The would-be robber's broken arm and dislocated shoulder hadn't evoked much sympathy either.
He'd got hurt trying to resist arrest. How unfortunate.
Sixteen stones, Vic mused. That's two hundred and twenty-four pounds: maybe a tenth of Brutus. The would-be robber had got of lightly when you looked at it like that.
Bazookas, tanks . . .
Heather with her dander up . . .
Vic knew who's side she'd be on if it ever came to a fight.
My hero, she'd said.
Right!
Although Vic wasn't intending to wimp-out herself. Not right now. She was strong too, even if she suddenly did prefer stronger.
At the very least she could die trying.
Vic's latest orgasm really was close. It was going to be huge and it had been hammering at her door far too long. She fought it off, determined not to be first for once, trying to conjure up images of boring columns of figures, boring progress reports on terribly boring topics . . . struggling like crazy.
Oh . . .
Ye . . .
Gods!
Heather was accelerating. Vic's groan was entirely unforced as she made her body accelerate with her.
Please make it soon. I can't take much more.
'That's me! 'Heather cried out of the blue. 'Oh Vic . . . you're so good . . . oh good grief, yesss!'
'That's me too, Hev . . . me too . . . oh ye gods!'
Vic let go, her pussy still grinding wetly against Hev's even wetter pussy, their cries uniting.
'Oh yes, yes, yesss!'
It was ages until they actually, finally finished and partially broke that most intimate contact. Then they lay a while on their backs, legs still entwined, panting and gasping, sweatier than ever.
'"Hev" is it now?' Heather laughed. 'I thought I'd never hear you say that.'
'Sixth time lucky,' Vic replied.
'More like six hundredth.'
'What can I say? Terms of endearment are very important to me.'
'So I noticed, Honey Pie.'
'Never mind Honey Pie, come down here. I want to talk to you.'
Heather untangled herself more slowly than usual. Perhaps she wasn't superhuman after all. They had managed some sleep this last week, but not a lot.
Not that lack of sleep was turning the randy cow into a quitter.
'Fancy some sweet sixty-nine?' she cajoled. 'Or do you really want to chat?'
'Just a short one, then we can do anything you want.'
Heather had a friendly grope. 'Do you really mean anything? I've got drawers filled with sex toys, you know.'
'No limits, Hev. Hear me out, and I'm all yours.'
'Superb! Come on then, let's get this chatting business out of the way.'