by Limey Lady
‘Stay where you are. Leave everything to me.'
Footsteps were approaching, and voices; two women easily out-talking two men. Disregarding them, Heather deftly opened Pat's flies.
‘Heather,' he hissed.
Biggest relief ever: the footsteps passed.
By now his cock was in her hand.
‘Quite enormous,' she said softly. 'No wonder Blondie's always got a smile on her face.'
‘Heather . . .'
‘Nobody calls me a cock-tease. Now shut up and let me get on with it. You just enjoy a little friendly adult fun.'
*****
Heather smiled to herself as she sank into the supposedly submissive position on her knees. To her mind there was nothing submissive about giving a below job. Oh no, as far as she was concerned this was the position of supreme power. McGuire might well end up submitting, but she certainly wouldn’t.
No nervousness at all, she thought as she unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his flies. There again, I have just cum a couple of times . . .
She wondered briefly about the risk of infection before dismissing the notion. McGuire had been with DeeDee for months now. There would have been a major bust-up long ago if he’d had anything to infect her with.
So why worry when there’s nothing to worry about? Apart from being outdoors in a public place, of course. The sort of place where I could very easily get caught in the act and go viral on WYB’s deadly grapevine . . .
Then, grinning: Good grief, I’d forgotten how thrilling sex can be!
Heather tugged down McGuire’s jeans and boxers as one before telling him he really was enormous, which was definitely not flattery or lies. She couldn’t see him perfectly in the iffy light . . . and had probably seen bigger in magazines and videos . . . but his was undoubtedly the biggest she’d ever touched.
Still smiling, more excited by the second, she rubbed the tip of her nose in sexy circles all around his fully exposed glans. He smelt and felt good down there. Plenty of sprays of Lynx, she reckoned, if slightly offset by a faint hint of vindaloo-and-lager-tinted pee. Very manly, in her considered opinion.
Sensing dampness she swapped nose for tongue and dabbed up his pre-cum, making him moan. Not needing any encouragement, she began working at him, her hand focusing down on the bottom half of his shaft, her mouth playing different tunes on the top half.
‘Oh my God,’ he sighed.
Then he almost yelled when she tried to swallow him whole.
Oh wow, I’m not sure if I can do this!
For a moment, as he bumped against her tonsils, she nearly panicked, unsure whether to gag, laugh or splutter.
He’s so fucking big!
Excuse me the F-word, but he really is fucking enormous!
Controlling herself she pushed and suddenly he was in her throat, gently rocking when she kept him in there, her jaws straining. The tip of her nose was now buried deep in his pubic hair.
‘Oh my God,’ he sighed again.
Heather withdrew and reverted to varied tune-playing.
‘Not at all petite,’ she whispered.
‘I need to fuck you,’ he countered, ever the romantic.
She was tempted. Loyal to Joanna as she was, at that moment she could have very easily given in. All McGuire would have had to do was lift her, tug aside her thong . . .
But he didn’t, so she chuckled instead.
‘Just be happy with what you’re getting. And trust me, I can make it last much longer this way.’
*****
Pat's mobile rang at twenty-four minutes past midnight.
‘Did you?' Heather enquired, quite aggressively.
‘What?'
‘You know what. Did you?'
‘Yes,' he confessed.
‘I did too, bang on time, although I don't know how I held it so long. I screamed the house down at the end. Good job I’ve got soundproofing.'
And that was it; she’d hung up.
‘Bloody woman,' Pat growled.
No question; Heather had him by the balls . . . and in more ways than one. After their close encounter on the rooftop she'd sent him home, telling him he had to climax at 12.22 without fail, to coincide with the climax she would be having herself. Predictably, she had insisted he gave her his number and refused to give him hers.
Control freak or what!
She wasn't that clever though . . . unless she'd withheld.
He was relieved to find she hadn't. His return call was answered almost at once.
‘Ah, McGuire, you’ve found me, just as I hoped. What do you want?’
‘Me? Maybe a little small talk: was it good for you . . . that sort of thing.'
‘That's novel for a man. And refreshing, I do admit. What a pity we can't shag.’
‘Do you have to persist with that? I could be at your place in five minutes. And in you two minutes after that.'
‘That's positively caveman, McGuire. Stop it at once.’
‘For Christ's sake Heather, you're doing my head in.'
‘I thought you wanted to talk, not whimper.'
‘Sorry,' he said, even though he wasn’t.
‘Don't be sorry. Tell me about your latest cum: was it as good without me assisting?'
Pat closed his eyes. 'No,' he said. 'I'm well out of practice on my own. And you're better skilled than me anyway.'
‘I should hope I am,’ she laughed. ‘There again, I don't really, positively know how it feels at your end, do I? Have you ever tried it with a man?’
‘What?'
‘Don't be coy, McGuire. You can tell me.’
‘No I frigging-well have not.'
‘I see; touchy about it, eh?’
‘I am not touchy,' he snapped.
‘I'm not trying to trap you into an admission,’ Heather went on. ‘I'm just suggesting that men might be better at it, knowing what feels good, and all. It works that way with women and cunnilingus.’
‘Well it's never going to work that way with me.'
‘Didn't you experiment as a boy? Not even with Sean?’
‘No I . . . Christ's sake, Heather, can't we talk about something else?'
‘Okay,’ she said, laughing heartily. ‘Did you think about me when you were doing it?’
‘Yeah,' he grunted.
‘And how long did you last?’
‘What?'
‘How long did you last before you came?’
‘I’m not sure.’ His hesitation was genuine. ‘Ten minutes, perhaps.'
‘So you started at twelve minutes past twelve?’
‘It must have been something like that, maybe ten past.’
‘I started the moment I got home. And in case you're embarrassed to ask, yes, I was thinking about you and your enormous willy. I bit my toes and pretended you were doing me oh, so slowly.’
‘You bit your toes?’
‘I’m very supple.’
‘Christ, I don't think "slow" would be possible. Not seeing you like that.'
‘Don’t undersell yourself. You were quite controlled earlier . . . that is you were until you squirted all over my stockings.’
He grinned at the memory, glad he hadn’t been the only one taken by surprise. ‘Got you after all, did I?'
‘It was dark. I forgive you. And besides, if you ever get rich and famous, I'll have the DNA to blackmail you with, won’t I?’
‘If only I'd shagged you instead.'
‘I'd have confiscated the condom,’ she said. ‘Well, I would have if you'd insisted on using one. I've always preferred flesh on flesh myself. Or rather, flesh in flesh.’
Pat closed his eyes again. The thought of sticking his bare flesh inside Heather was just too much.
'Five minutes,' he murmured. 'That's all it will take to get there.'
‘You know the rules, McGuire.’
‘Knowing them and agreeing with them are two different things.'
‘Don't be soft.’ Heather’s latest laugh was wicked. ‘By the way, are you soft?’
>
‘I was until you mentioned biting your toes. I'm more enormous than ever now.'
‘Nice try, McGuire. Futile though. I admit I’m tempted but Joanna's still unfulfilled. And you’ve taken too many liberties with me tonight already.’
‘Excuse me . . .’
‘Of course I excuse you. You’re a man, pre-programmed to take liberties with gullible wenches.’
‘You don’t come across as a gullible wench.’
‘I’m not coming across at all. Tonight shouldn’t have happened. From now-on the rules apply in full. Unless . . .’
‘Unless . . .’
‘Tell me again. How hard are you?’
‘Heather . . .’
‘I’m flooding the bed here. And my nipples could cut through glass. So come on McGuire, tell me about your willy.’
‘It’s very hard,’ he said, feeling his cheeks heating up.
‘It felt very hard outside the Shama. It felt very good in my mouth too. Are you playing with it right now?’
‘No I am not.’
‘That’s boring, McGuire; extremely boring. I’m playing with me. You should be playing with you. Go on, take hold of it.’
‘Heather . . .’
‘Go on, you know you want to.’
‘Okay,’ he said after a pause, giving in to the inevitable, ‘I’m holding it.’
‘Good boy. Now we can really talk, can’t we?’
‘Can we?’
‘Yes, I need to practice my phone sex. You can spare another hour or so, no?’
Chapter Thirty-One
(Saturday 25th October 2008)
Penny had felt no guilt since Amsterdam. She thought a lot about those few wild days but never with any real regret. To her new, vow-free way of thinking, the hens hadn’t done anything to be ashamed of. And the sex had been purely for the heck of it. They were adults with adult needs: so what did it matter if they had paid to have those needs catered for? Lots of women paid ridiculous sums to their hairdresser every other week.
No, she had no regrets about Amsterdam.
But what had she planned for today . . .
Geoff wasn't getting any better. His NG tube had been replaced by a PEG, so he could be fed straight into the stomach instead of through his nose. Otherwise there was nothing doing.
Dr Strohl had declared ages ago that the deterioration had at last been halted. The plasmapheresis had stopped the rot, stripping out Geoff’s impurities and acquired immunities (bringing back his teenage hay fever in the process), but it hadn’t turned the tide. Oh no, he had been left in an awful limbo. The only measurable change had been in his weight: one week he'd put on a kilo or so, the next he'd lose it again. Overall his weight, like the rest of him, was going nowhere.
His health, life in general . . .
Most depressing of all, the NHS was preparing to cast them adrift. Dr Strohl had become even more non-committal about Geoff's prospects. There had been a meeting including some social worker types to discuss options. “Staying in hospital forever” wasn't on the list. Unless Geoff’s condition had a spectacular and sudden improvement, he was out of there. And, as they had ruled out a refuge for basket cases, that left Ferrands Terrace.
Meaning he’d be there soon . . . probably before Christmas.
Penny tried not to consider what lay ahead; just knowing that the PEG was a long term replacement for the NG tube was daunting enough. Apparently the PEG was good for two years before it would need renewing . . . with another one taking its place, of course. Removal didn’t seem to be a serious possibility. From what she’d heard only a tiny percentage lived to see removal.
It was simply awful. She would never break under pressure but couldn't bring herself to dwell on all of the horrible details. She’d been assured that, once Geoff was home, they would be supported by a great network of district nurses and care workers. Knowing that was enough to be going on with; she was going to worry about horrid nitty-gritty details later.
Deep down Penny was already worrying, and all the time . . . about everything. And she was drinking more than usual, especially on Wednesday nights.
Or rather, as of this week, she was drinking too much on Wednesday and Friday nights.
She allowed herself a weak smile as she walked. She’d only missed one Wednesday with Ronnie, the one when she’d been away in Holland. Their assignations in The Star had been going on for months now, growing from a drink or two over an hour to several drinks over two hours at least. And their conversation had grown too. From simple everyday chitchat she had slowly but steadily upped the intimacy. Starting by good-naturedly complaining about her current lifestyle, she’d gradually told him more and more about her old one . . . meaning her quite hectic love life when young, free and single.
She’d also coaxed him into telling a few tales of his own, had even got him to agree they had plenty in common in that department. Although Ronnie remained as chivalrous as ever, he had declared he wished he had known her twenty years ago. When she'd smiled and said she wished that too, he'd gone red as a beetroot.
Ronnie's cronies knew which way the wind was blowing, even if he hadn’t caught on. Nowadays, as soon as she arrived, they would grab their pints and head for the taproom and televised football. Being the perfect gentleman, Ronnie would of course re-join them later, when she finally left. But last night, their second assignation this week, had been different.
Penny had started to fret about drinking and driving. She only ever did it for those few hundred yards between the pub and home but, now one or two drinks had become lots, it seemed an increasingly stupid thing to be doing. So last night she had taken the car straight home then walked back to the pub. And last night, instead of having lots of drinks, she'd had lots and lots.
And she had dropped much heavier hints about Amsterdam than ever before. She’d even mentioned an episode involving a blushing bride-to-be, her three girlfriends and a bendy blue imitation thingy.
And repeat trips to a bordello.
And she’d let slip that her personal score had jumped from twelve to a very naughty seventeen.
Eighteen if you counted the bendy blue thingy.
‘We’d been eating cannabis cake again,’ she told him. ‘Then, when we got back to the hotel, Paula produced a . . . an imitation thingy. She insisted the three of us had to take turns to bonk Sally with it. And Sally seemed quite keen; we were all drunk, so we did take turns, trying to outdo each other in giving her what she wanted. And then Paula produced a much longer thingy; the big blue one. She told me to take my knickers off and open my legs. I thought I was in for the same treatment as Sally, so I couldn’t protest too much, could I? But was I in for a surprise! You could’ve knocked me down with a feather when Paula climbed on the other end.’
Ronnie hadn’t seemed shocked by the story. If anything, he’d been intrigued.
‘It didn’t feel perverted,’ Penny went on. ‘Not with Sally and Yvonne applauding us. I suppose I’ll have to class it as a major lesbian experience, but it hasn’t put me off men. In fact I paid for an extra hour in the bordello the next night, even though that guy wasn’t as good at it as Paula. Not that I regret him. Not after all these subsequent, man-less nights.’
Last night, instead of re-joining his cronies, Ronnie had escorted her home. And late at that; they had been chatting three or four hours rather than just one or two. At first he’d been convinced she was going to drive and said he wasn't going to let her kill herself. Then, finally believing she really had come on foot, he had insisted on walking back with her.
Teenage memories aside, being walked home was sweet, because it gave her chance to kiss Ronnie goodnight at the end of her street. And to coyly tell him that, if Jamie hadn't been due back any moment, they would have been indoors and bonking like bunnies somewhere inside the next ten seconds.
He had made a last attempt at gallantry but the hardness in his pants gave him away. It hadn't taken much to persuade him to expect her to drop by his place this morn
ing.
She checked her watch as she arrived at the smart semi. Nine thirty on the dot. Normally this was the time of day she would be fantasising, deciding between Captain Jack and Triple H. But who needed mere fantasies when it could be done for real?