Sexual Desire

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Big Tits

Author’s Note

This story picks up from “Irresistible Attraction” and “Holding Out for a Hero”, although as usual I have tried to write it as a tale in its own right, so readers have no reason to backtrack. And, unlike many of my earlier efforts, this one is sex just about all of the way.

*****

Chapter One

(October 2001, Lancashire: Thursday morning)

Heather gave Lorna a (temporary) farewell kiss and smiled to herself as she walked in to her beloved (proudly) plate-glass uni. Having taken another girl’s lesbian virginity wasn’t a big deal for her. Well, it was and it wasn’t. She always felt very highly honoured in such circumstances. And taking Lorna’s so-treasured rose had been beyond delightful.

Just thinking about it thrilled her deep within . . . oh yes, oh yes!

Heather had relished every touch and so had the girl herself. She’d squealed and squirmed, wriggled and writhed like the finest porn actress. Not that any degree of “acting” had been involved: no actress could have ever been so convincing.

No, not so convincing and not nearly so heavenly hot and wet.

In truth the sexual gymnastics had been astoundingly fine. Their bodies had worked together perfectly in harmony. They could have been made for each other.

As for Heather, good grief, what was she like! Another whole night of sex, not one wink of sleep, and still she was ready for more.

More, more, more; double- if not triple-underlined!

Yes, still hot for it after two sleepless nights on the trot. Naughty, naughty, naughty! Heather’s smile became a broad grin. The rest of the week and most of next already had girls’ names pencilled into her social diary; it was a good job she was “off men” because she simply didn’t have time to fit one in.

Mary Rose’s snicker echoed through her head at that. You always fit one in easily enough in the old days, her schoolmate whispered, as if she was right there and not two hundred miles away, in the ivy-clad land of dreaming spires.

‘Get lost, pest,’ said Heather, laughing as she realized she’d spoken out loud. She’d loved Mary Rose since first clapping eyes on her, and would love her forever. But Mary Rose knew her better than she knew herself. The red-haired witch didn’t need to be at her side to stick her oar in. Her personal brand of black magic worked from any distance.

Stick my oar in, Mare responded instantly (predictably). Omigod girl, it’s been far too long. I’d love to!

Laughing again, Heather told her insistent, albeit invisible companion to do one. ‘We had a month of sun, sex, sand and sangria in July. And it’ll soon be Christmas; time to do it again. Get lost and leave me alone with my imaginings.’

Begrudgingly, Mary Rose vanished. Going up in a lift to K Floor Heather contrasted her two new girls, the way you do when there are two vibrantly new girls in your life. And there certainly was a contrast. WPC Green was maybe thirty and in a lesbian relationship with some lady currently doing whatever in Florida. Keeping news about her girlfriend mostly to herself, the sexy policewoman had jumped at the chance of sleeping with a twenty-year-old student, not hesitating to consider any strings attached, be they Stateside or otherwise.

Not that Heather had bothered about strings. Suspecting a girl like WPC Carole Green simply had to have one sort of a lover or other somewhere, she’d taken a management decision and shagged her without one backward glance.

In fact she’d shagged her without pausing for a single thought. Women like her and Carole just had to shag on sight, it was as straightforward as that, a truth universally acknowledged.

Lorna was very different. She was also a twenty-year-old student. Until yesterday she’d been deep in a straight relationship and not in the least bi-curious . . . But not anymore. Oh no.

The very newness of sexual possibilities never failed to appeal to Heather. Back at their exclusive all-girls’ school she and Mary Rose had competed to have the most lovers. But they had competed about anything and everything, so maybe their approach to sex was only to be expected.

Get someone new then move on to the next. That was how they’d been. “New” was the be all and end all, even if “new” sometimes involved guys.

New girls were best of all, though. To feel unfamiliar yet intimate muscles clenching around a finger or tongue, accompanied by grateful gasps and groans . . .

That very first, tentative lick on a brand-new, open, willing and wet fanny . . .

Yes, new girls were best of all. Not that second dates were anything to be sneezed at. That WPC was tall, well-built and highly experienced. She’d had no hesitation in using a vibrator on Heather . . . along with all the love-making equipment Mother Nature had provided. Way Heather saw it she’d have other toys and would use them on her in due course. Seeing as she was in the process of amassing a wide and varied toy collection of her own, it seemed only fair to share and share alike. Therefore this Friday night at her place was the time to experiment.

This Friday antalya escort night was the time to harness up and shag Carole until she couldn’t walk in a straight line.

Lorna had been promised Saturday night and all of Sunday morning. Assuming that her (hopefully by now ex-) boyfriend hadn’t sweet-talked her around, she was going to get it too, but not in the strap-on format. Surprising herself with her restraint, last night Heather had completely avoided her notorious hurricane mode and kept well clear of her oh-so-tempting chest of earthly playthings.

Saturday would be different, however.

Saturday she’d show Lorna her best double-ender and ask if she wanted to try, nicely and gently and very, very slowly. That was, she was sure, the way to go: mutual penetration with the accent on being soft and so, so steady.

Mature, sensible and uniting their bodies in the most unforgettable way, so to speak.

Mmmm . . . yes, yes, yes.

*****

Lorna was there in the Union Bar at lunchtime, as promised, but seemed reluctant to be introduced to the inhabitants of Lesbians’ Corner. Not wanting to press her (still avidly looking forward to Saturday and Sunday) Heather didn’t insist. Instead she bought three rounds, rejecting her friend’s attempts to stand her corner, always insisting she was “in the chair”.

‘It is early days,’ she said, ‘and we’ve all sorts ahead of us. Not least Sunday morning: red-hot sex in the sunshine and all that.’

Lorna blushed, rolled her eyes and made some sort of snort. ‘So you keep saying.’

That prompted Heather to ask the million-dollar question. ‘What about your boyfriend?’

Lorna snorted again. ‘Put it this way; me and him aren’t an issue anymore.’

‘Taken his bat and ball home, has he?’

‘You could say that. And you could also say he’s not taken it manfully. I don’t know what I ever saw in him. Is he a sulky bitch or what?’

Heather was wise enough not to follow that line.

‘Guys get too possessive,’ she said. ‘It’s a slippery slope.’

‘Have you had lovers? Guys, I mean?’

‘I’ve had several. And I like guys. But I prefer girls. Girls are all ace lovers. Guys can be indifferent.’

‘Indifferent?’

‘I hate to sound predictable, but lots of guys are only after one thing, aren’t they? It doesn’t take them very long to get there, either.’

Lorna scrunched her so-very-sexy nose. ‘Are all girls really ace lovers?

‘You bet they are.’

‘Am I?’

‘Lie back and spread your wings. I’ll gladly remind you exactly how wonderful you are.’

‘We happen to be in a crowded bar.’

‘So we are! And I thought we were alone in a cosy bedroom.’

Making the most intimate eye contact imaginable, they laughed together.

‘I wish we were alone in a bedroom,’ said Lorna.

‘And so do I.’ said Heather, kissing her softly and so, so tenderly. ‘If only it was Saturday, right?’

‘I can’t wait.’

‘That makes two of us.’

Sincere as she was, even as she spoke Heather was conscious of her diary. Bashing that thug in the corner shop had made her more desirable than ever. Her “next available dates” really were booked up until the middle of next week.

And tonight was no exception. Sad as it was Lorna wasn’t getting a look-in tonight. She’d been beaten to it, so to speak. Promises had been made.

And if nothing else, Hev always kept her promises.

Chapter Two

(Friday morning)

Claire had been on Heather’s radar/gaydar forever. Agreeing a Thursday night date with her had been easy-peasy. So too had been shagging her for eight hours on end. Claire had at one time been in big lesbian relationship but had split maybe a month ago. And, in the aftermath of Heather’s corner-shop heroics, she’d as good as offered herself up on a plate.

How rude would it have been to say no!

And how good did Claire’s folds taste, previously preserved for one favoured palate only, now openly available for the likes of hungry Hev.

Yum, yum, yum!

Heather couldn’t begin to describe how much she liked having sex with girls. Okay, she liked to have sex with guys too but, as she’d hinted to Lorna, too many guys flashed in the pan. Sometimes just half an hour and they were gone, never to be seen again.

But some girls could go on all night.

Leastways some of the girls she’d shagged with could: longer and longest, more and more. Yes, that was the ticket. And never forgetting that having sex with girls was infinitely better in the first place . . .

So Thursday night and Claire it was. Perhaps a tad on the chubby side but with a simply magnificent chest, Claire was good company and she really did taste like nectar. Heather couldn’t keep her mouth away from her deep, sweet well. No girl with half a brain could have. Claire’s well was divine.

Licking her wet, readily openness was beyond delightful.

Licking her wet, readily openness was a gift from the gods.

Lucky Heather or what?

*****

Because she was, after all, only human, Heather didn’t shag Claire forever: kemer escort nothing last forever, does it? Not even Freddie Mercury. She did shag her for an awfully long time though, and it got ever better and better.

Receiving a tribbing onslaught was obviously Claire’s Specialist Subject. If she ever got to appear on Mastermind she would set all-time records. And it wasn’t entirely as if she was a greedy receiver. Her enthusiastic responses to Heather’s increasingly vigorous lunges and thrusts were simply superb.

Supposedly the giver, Heather came almost as often as the delightful (and delighted) taker.

During those glorious first eight hours alone together neither of them showed any inclination to take a break. Frequently shifting positions, sharing bare thighs sometimes and then switching to direct fanny-to-fanny, they went on and on. Sharing most of the orgasms was good as well.

There was something about Claire. If asked early on Hev might have said she was relatively innocent. That having been in a settled relationship had limited her range of sex acts to the ones she and her ex had preferred. But, as the night progressed, she discarded that notion into her trash.

Yes, Claire might have been limited for activities but she was by no means innocent about the ones she liked. Indeed she excelled in the ones she liked. Even Heather learnt from the experience, and she’d thought she knew almost everything.

Claire’s version of upright sixty-nine was sheer heaven.

And that boob-rubbing thing she did . . .

Good grief yes; yes please!

*****

Licking Claire’s clit was as suitable a waking up call as Heather could think of. Okay, so, it was one of about a thousand possibilities, but it suited most purposes. And by no means did she limit herself to merely using her tongue-tip. The effect was immensely rewarding for both parties. Softly simmering, getting hotter by every second, her willing victim always wanting more and more attention . . .

Fingers roaming just everywhere, all in intimate places . . .

What was there not to like!

Heather secretly smirked. In her failed relationship Claire had been very much a “girl”. Personally Hev didn’t give a fig about fixed roles but she did quite enjoy role-playing. Every so often she was perfectly content to be the butch or the bitch, or pushy or meek and quite ridiculously compliant. To her sharing a big barrow-load of orgasms was infinitely more important than being the boss. And sharing orgasms was easy-peasy. She could cum at the drop of a hat, giving or taking.

Pretending to be a tad bossy wasn’t an issue.

Now, however, it was Claire’s time to shine. Heather’s best estimate of her early morning talent was one climax every ten minutes, all increasingly powerful. And it was easy enough to keep a count. The girl invariably dug her heels into the mattress just before the critical moment, flexing urgently upwards, bending her spine to a scarily unnatural angle, panting and gasping as if her life depended on it, those fiercely erect nipples of hers pointing up to the ceiling while her backbone creaked and complained.

Hev’s instinctive response was to flex urgently downwards and the results only got better.

Sensible Heather (yes, there was one!) watched this latest series on through to seven, to match her wave theory. Waves came in sets of seven, no? Waves set off small, got bigger and bigger, then hit the seventh and started all over again. Blame it on the moon but that’s the way it was.

‘It’s all true,’ Claire said after nearly crushing a vertebra or two, and breathlessly at that.

“What is, asked Heather, still basking in the afterglow.

‘You are the world’s best lover. ‘

‘Nice of you to say so, but I tend to doubt it.’

Claire’s hand landed lightly on Heather’s thigh. Her stroke was beyond merely erotic.

‘It’s time to get up,’ Heather protested.

‘And this is our one night together,’ Claire replied. ‘You can’t cut me adrift without leaving me fully and absolutely sated. And I need to repay you for your endeavours.’

Heather shrugged. She had reasonably important lectures to attend. But flattery never hurt, and Claire did sound serious.

‘Repay me next week,’ she suggested without really thinking.

‘Next week!’

‘Yeah: why not? I don’t do relationships but there’s no problem with second encounters.’

‘Omigod, I get to go again?’ Claire’s face was flushed with excitement.

Inwardly Heather sighed. What had got into her just lately? She was offering seconds to every new girl she even kissed!

Not that the last three didn’t deserve seconds. They were all deserving in intriguingly different ways.

‘Of course you do,’ she said out loud, smiling to prove she meant it. ‘I need to check the old diary, but I’ll fit you in somewhere, I promise.’

‘Now you’ve gone and turned me on even more.’ Claire laughed. ‘No way are you getting out of this bed without fucking me again and again.’

‘I thought it was your turn.’

‘That konyaaltı escort was before. That can wait until next week. Now I want to be fucked every which way and all my studying can go hang. Take me any way you want. Just do it forever.’

‘Okay, put it like that . . .’

Chapter Three

Friday lunchtime was when Heather started having doubts. Well, not quite true. For all her friendship, Lorna had started behaving like a girlfriend right from the off. Okay, so she just turned up lunchtimes and didn’t want to hold hands or anything. But she most definitely didn’t make any noticeable effort to focus on anyone apart from Heather.

A blind woman could have seen that.

So too did every last girl on Lesbians’ Corner.

Lorna was in thrall and there was no doubt about it. She showed up at noon like a faithful little puppy, wanting to chat, exchange rounds and be with Heather for every second possible. She’d absolutely no interest in anyone else yet somehow wasn’t over the top.

Well, she was in the opinion of the gals on The Corner, but Heather mostly excused her.

The gals regularly and openly cheered Lorna on in her pursuit of the girl who wouldn’t be tied down under any circumstances.

(Not commitment-wise; tying down games had been known to happen!)

Throughout all this Heather had never once discouraged Lorna, not even with Claire watching there in the wings. Not even with two more . . . new, new, new . . . dates imminently about to happen.

How could she possibly discourage a girl like Lorna?

There again, Lorna was tomorrow night’s treat. Even if she was coldly, calculatingly encouraging the girl to get more deeply involved, tonight was a night for sex with her sexy policewoman.

That was it: full stop.

She didn’t just want to shag Carole tonight . . . she simply had to.

When they did meet up . . . after Carole’s shift and with no uniforms involved, worst luck . . . they were in a smart town-centre pub which seemed to focus more on meals that beer.

‘So,’ Carole began,’ ‘Miss Love Lost isn’t on your ass.’

‘She feels good on my ass,’ Heather responded lightly, crossing her fingers behind her back, ‘and stop fretting: she isn’t really a rival.’

‘Yes she is.’

‘No she isn’t. And stop it. I don’t do rivalries in the first place.’

‘You’ve another ten lined up after her, haven’t you?’

That gave Heather pause for thought. She had two other newbies, but they weren’t exactly alone on the list. Her list was miles long. She even divided entrants into “Probables” and “Possibles”, just like rugby union selectors used to do.

‘I play the field,’ she said finally, repeating the old mantra. ‘If I remember correctly, I’ve never said I did anything else.’

Before Carole could respond (or perhaps begin to argue) an exceptionally good-looking guy arrived at their table. He was well-presented and oozed self-possession; the sort of guy who could easily charm birds out of trees and women out of their knickers.

‘It’s Carole Green,’ he exclaimed in greeting, ‘and your wonderful helper by your side! What an honour it is to have you here on my premises, arm in arm.’

Carole didn’t so much as smile as scowl. ‘This is one of your establishments, is it, Harry?’

‘Of course it is,’ the guy persisted, ‘I’ve fingers in all pies, remember? But let me leave you love birds together. And worry not about money. The rest of tonight’s on me.’

Heather was baffled by the exchange and Carole wouldn’t expand until they were well away from the pub, safely ensconced in a favoured curry house, without sampling any free drinks on Harry’s tab.’

‘The guy’s ultimate trash,’ she said. ‘He’s a murderous bastard. No, what did Napoleon say about that right-hand man of his? He is shit in a silk stocking.’

Heather had heard the quote before and laughed. ‘Way I heard it, Talleyrand was the class half of the act. But what do I know about France apart from Pinot Grigio rules okay? Boney was just a despot.’

Then, after a waiter had proved them with pints of Cobra and taken their orders, realizing Carole was still irked, she asked why Harry had said the night was on him.

‘Because he’ll do anything to get an edge; if we’d stayed and supped his free ale I would be indebted. And I can’t be indebted to a twat like him. It would kill my career. And, trust me, he knows that.’

‘So what does he actually do?’

‘Officially he owns pubs, shops, restaurants, haulage companies . . . As he said, he has fingers in lots of pies. Unofficially he runs all sorts of scams. Robberies, drugs, smuggling, forging, clocked cars . . . you name it and he’s involved.’

‘Excuse me for asking, but how do you know all this as a uniformed WPC?’

‘I’m a late entrant as far as coppers go, but I intend to progress. Brian’s helping me win my stripes but I’m set on CID. After that there’s no end of opportunities. And there’s no glass ceiling; not anymore.’

Impressed by Carole’s ambition and earnestness, Heather swigged lager then smiled at the waiter as he arrived with their chicken liver starters.

And then she caught sight of a fellow-diner and nearly died. Deep-brown, not quite black and beyond beautiful, the girl was sheer perfection. And that was coming from a lady in the company of easily the sexiest policewoman in the universe.

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