Re-Bedding The Boss

by Limey Lady

  For some reason Joanna hadn’t been able to stop seeing Debs. The more she saw of her, the more she liked her. And sex did come into it, in a low-key sort of a way. Debs didn’t hide the attraction she felt to Joanna but made no attempt at seduction. No, she simply let the attraction become mutual and grow and grow. For her part Joanna never did resist.

  Was it a slow, very subtle seduction after all? Who honestly could say? Debs didn’t ever push, so maybe Mother Nature was the sole factor at work.

  Or maybe subconsciously it was Joanna all along.

  Anyway, events progressed steadily and surely. They continued having non-dates at the rate of two or three a week, their greeting and parting kisses growing ever longer.

  And thank God Debs wasn’t temping at WYB! The (at the time nascent) grapevine didn’t buzz with their names once!!

  Not even when events progressed a lot further.

  A few months of non-dating and Joanna came to accept reality: she was as curious as heck. She also came to regret the lack of opportunity they had to be alone. Well-qualified but penniless, filling in time until her “Stateside” academic career kicked off, Debs was back with her old fashioned parents. The prospect of sharing a bed with her there was as unfeasible as it was of sharing Joanna’s bed in the straight-laced Jones’ family home.

  And how unfair was that! Maternal nagging aside, her sleeping over at some guy’s pad could be brushed under the carpet in half an hour. But sleeping with Debs wasn’t a subject that could be even mentioned, never mind put into practice.

  Then, as their sands of time had almost run out, everything changed.

  *****

  Arriving at the pub on yet another non-date, Joanna had been surprised to find her friend drinking an orange juice.

  ‘I’ve got Mum’s car for the night, ‘Debs announced. ‘We can go somewhere exciting and different, if you like.’

  It had been August and decent weather. Full darkness didn’t happen until ten o’clock . . . in other words, not until they’d done their best to tour all of Otley’s many Tetley pubs. Not that Debs drank too much. No, being a conscientious driver, she strictly restricted her intake.

  So too did Joanna, by her still youthful standards. When, supposedly homeward bound, they took a “slight detour” onto Ilkley Moor she’d been more sober than most English judges.

  Well, infinitely more sober than the infamous hanging ones of yore.

  ‘We can go in the back,’ suggested Debs. ‘I know I’m off to the USA next week. And I know you’re still not sure, but trust me; I’ll stop the second you say the word.’

  ‘I’m sure,’ Joanna had replied. ‘Let’s go in the back.’

  What ensued was brilliant but, in its way, inconclusive. They’d kissed long and hard and Joanna hadn’t objected when Debs hand infiltrated her knickers. Two orgasms later she did her best to return the favour. Then, with Uptown Girl and You Can’t Hurry Love as background music, they had fingered each other simultaneously and seemingly forever.

  But did that really count as girl-on-girl sex? Joanna had never been convinced. To make matters worse, it turned out to be a one-off occurrence. Debs never got the loan of Mum’s car again. Within a matter of days she flew off to the States. And after a month she was shot dead in a random mugging in (of all places) Providence.

  Chapter Seven

  Back in the reality of 2004 Joanna dearly wished she’d taken more opportunities with Debs. Why had they never bagged a spare room at some party or other? Why hadn’t she used some of her generous wages and booked them a hotel room?

  And why, in that long-ago clinch, had she said no when Debs wanted to go down?

  Whatever else she might be, Joanna was a realist. She’d brushed with lesbian sex once and had regretted her timidity ever after. She’d also brushed with straight sex many times and bitterly regretted her recent abstinence.

  Life was for living, wasn’t it? Regrets were for losers.

  Heather was still being her eloquent self. ‘I’m exceptionally good with a strap-on,’ she was saying. ‘If you would only let me, I could . . .’

  ‘Come to me,’ Joanna said, cutting her off abruptly.

  Heather probably misheard. ‘I came for you seconds ago,’ she said, laughing. ‘Give me a minute and I’ll . . .’

  ‘No Heather, come to me right now. I’ve changed my mind. I want you to pop round after all.’

  That met with maybe a minute’s silence.

  ‘Okay,’ Heather said finally. ‘I mean, like wow. Yeah, I’ll pop round right away.’

  ‘Do you know where I live?’ The steadiness in Joanna’s voice staggered her. She was shaking violently and her heart was fit to bust . . . but suddenly her voice was seductive and Heather’s wasn’t so sure.

  That didn’t last.

  ‘Yeah,’ Heather said eagerly, ‘I’ve never been but I know, all right. I’ll be there in ten.’

  ‘Come to the side door,’ Joanna said, instinctively cautious. ‘I’ll put the light on for you.’

  ‘I’ll be there in ten,’ Heather repeated before hanging up.

  Shaking more violently than ever, Joanna got out of bed. Her legs felt weak; not necessarily due to self-centred exertion, more probably due to excitement or fear.

  Or was it a mixture of both . . . along with good old lust.

  ‘Joanna,’ she said aloud, ‘what have you got yourself into now!’

  Her fluffy pink dressing gown was hanging off a hook on her bedroom door. Arbitrarily dismissing it, she opened her wardrobe and grabbed a little something more appropriate for sex.

  Sex! Her brain screamed wildly. What on earth are you playing at, woman!!

  Ignoring logic, letting her physical urges take precedence (and not before time) Joanna pulled on her new garb and went downstairs, her heart thudding thunderously.

  Sex! Her brain reiterated. What on earth are you playing at, woman!!

  A car was pulling up outside. Absolutely sure who it was, clicking on the outside light, she headed for the kitchen door.’

  *****

  Joanna’s heart wasn’t the only one thudding just then. Heather’s heart was going louder than a big bass drum.

  So, nothing new there then . . .

  Well, nothing new apart from the identity of her lover-to-be.

  Older women had always featured high on her wish lists. She’d never really done younger. Okay, so same-age went without saying - she’d done loads of them - but all the rest had been experienced, to say the least.

  No, make that very experienced.

  As she drove Heather couldn’t get the memory of Joanna’s smile out of her head. She had called her tonight in hope of a warm, feminine chat, not expecting to flirt, never mind to edge into phone sex.

  The idea of being invited to . . .

  Talk about a successful cold call! Fifty zillion insurance salesmen must be gnashing their teeth!!

  No, sorry, they must be gnashing their expensive (non-NHS) dentures.

  Joanna’s cottage was one of a well-presented pair. Hers was to the left, with reserved parking on the opposite side of the road. When she got out of the car, her modesty preserved by a black leather trench coat, Heather felt a trickle of juice running down the inside of her thigh.

  Oops, she thought.

  Locking the Mini, seeing only darkness, she felt an instant of apprehension. Then an outside light came on, flooding her with relief. Joanna was being as good as her word. And best of all, she hadn’t changed her mind.

  Praise be and thank the Lord!

  In a matter of seconds Heather strode down a side path to what appeared to be the kitchen door, her hand raised. It opened a fraction before she could knock on the wood.

  ‘Come in,’ said Joanna.

  Heather goggled at her. She’d half-expected reticence but Joanna was wearing only a short, very flimsy see-through negligee and a tentative smile.

  Okay, so she was nervous and possibly filled with doubt, but the waves of sex coming off her . . .<
br />
  And those boobs had no wrinkles at all. How big and beautiful were they!

  Edging in past her hostess, Heather noted she was indeed in a kitchen; and a nice one at that The farmhouse-style table had two glasses of red wine on it, together with a mostly-empty bottle.

  ‘It’s Shiraz,’ Joanna said. ‘I know what you like.’

  ‘I like you more than wine,’ Heather countered. ‘Let’s kiss hello, shall we?’

  Another half-expectance was swiftly dismissed. Joanna didn’t flinch when their lips tenderly met. In fact, while Heather did her best to restrain her hurricane-like tendencies, Joanna responded quite heatedly.

  ‘I’m glad you invited me,’ Heather said eventually, staring into lovely deep blue eyes.

  Joanna kissed her again, much more passionately. Heather, somehow keeping her baser instincts in check, drew Joanna’s hand inside her trench coat.

  ‘My heart,’ she murmured. ‘Can’t you feel how hard it’s hammering?’

  ‘It’s hammering nearly as hard as mine.’

  Joanna made to remove her hand. Too fast for her, Heather caught it and led it upwards, onto her bare breast.

  ‘Feels good,’ she endorsed.

  Joanna seemed tentative. ‘Feels good,’ she echoed.

  ‘Squeeze,’ Heather urged. ‘I’m not delicate. I won’t break.’

  Chapter Eight

  In all her forty-six years Joanna had never been so excited. Heather had come to her for sex and she had come naked beneath her trench coat. Holding her bare tit wasn’t just arousing, it was next-door to incendiary. How could she be built like that? She was nice and big without being too big . . . yet firm as firm could be.

  Her nipples were massive and harder than diamonds. Speaking of which . . .

  At that moment in time Joanna’s nipples hurt more than ever before. She was wetting the lower bit of her negligee too; she was sure of that.

  ‘Oh my word,’ she gasped.

  Heather kissed her again, coolly but deeply. Joanna tried her best not to respond in spades but failed miserably.

  How incredible was this! She was passionately kissing the world’s most wonderful woman, right here in her own kitchen, gripping her tit like . . .

  Like . . .

  Still sophisticated and cool, Heather broke their embrace. Then, holding Joanna’s attention with those flashing green eyes of hers, she shrugged off her coat.

  Joanna gasped again. Heather wasn’t naked after all; she was wearing sheer black stockings and a suspender belt . . . nothing more, nothing less.

  And the insides of her thighs were glistening with steadily trickling juice.

  ‘My word, Heather,’ she murmured.

  ‘Bed,’ Heather countered, ‘unless you prefer perching on that table-top.’

  Opening her mouth, utterly unaware what was about to come out, Joanna said, ‘Haven’t we wine to drink?’

  Heather picked up the nearest glass of Shiraz and drained it in one; a third of a bottle gone in the blink of an eye.

  ‘Drink yours,’ she said.

  Trembling, Joanna raised the other glass but could only manage a sip.

  ‘I’m too nervous,’ she apologized.

  Heather took the glass from her and a second later it too was empty. ‘Don’t even mention the rest of the bottle,’ she said, ‘so what’s it to be; bed, the kitchen table . . . or halfway up the stairs?’

  Intuitively afraid of “the kitchen table” and “halfway up the stairs”, Joanna said bed was her venue of choice.

  ‘Correct answer,’ Heather purred, ‘please lead the way!’

  *****

  Heather hadn’t been exaggerating about her hammering heart. And her eyes hadn’t for one moment stopped devouring Joanna. Older woman or not, she was a babe! And her ass was sublime. Owner of a small and shapely bum herself, she was not above admiring perfection. And, watching Joanna’s ass as she led the way up the stairway to heaven, Heather was convinced that she really was witnessing perfection.

  No way was Ms Jones even remotely old and wrinkly. There wasn’t a crease on her body; recent award winners like Charlotte Church would have killed for a rearview like that.

  It took a superhuman effort not to reach out and pinch an inch or two.

  Somehow Heather restrained herself. Wondering what on earth Joanna did to maintain her shape, doing her best to keep from drooling, she followed. Finally landing in a bedroom she took no notice of at all, she went for yet another kiss.

  Yes, yes, yes, she thought, feasting on the older woman’s luscious mouth, her hands roving in all directions. The feel of Joanna’s legs and arms was brilliant. So was the sexy curve from her hips onto her torso (outward from her thighs then inward and outward again). And her skin was even smoother than the fabric of her whorish nightwear.

  Her whorish nightwear worn especially for her horny midnight caller . . .

  Heather’s hands moved to Joanna’s boobs. They were big and full and by no means floppy. And, in keeping with the rest of her, they were not in the least crinkly.

  Still valiantly holding off the hurricane, she physically lifted her lover-to-be, carried her a few paces across the room then dived with her onto the bed.

  *****

  No man had ever made such a show of strength to Joanna. Realizing Heather was an uncontrollable force of nature, suddenly gladder than ever she’d taken the plunge, she let out a laugh.

  ‘Bloody hell, are you trying to pile-drive me or what!’

  Heather responded with probably the hottest kiss ever recorded Earth-side of the planet Mercury. Stunned, Joanna did what anyone with half a brain would have done and lapped it up.

  Suitably encouraged, Heather pushed aside the flimsy straps of Joanna’s negligee, exposing her tits.

  And then she put her mouth to a painfully hard nipple, sucking and nibbling before dabbing at it with the tip of her tongue.

  Joanna wasn’t in much of a thinking mode by then. Dimly, however, she was aware of an age-old saying:

  It takes a woman to know how to please a woman.

  Less dimly, she was aware that nobody had ever paid such amazing, glorious attention to her tits. Even as she dismissed three billion men as worse than useless, she felt a rising pulse in her breasts. No, not her breasts, it was in her nipples, as if she’d been brutally pinched. Then, faster than wildfire, it spread through her. In an instant there was a hot, fiery furnace burning between her legs.

  Then, before she quite realized what was happening to her, she climaxed.

  Mega hard!!!

  And then, sparing her not one whit, Heather transferred nipples and did it again.