List of Major Characters
How’s this for an alternative introduction? My latest story is intended to be readable on its own and I don’t want any new readers to be put off by hearing that “more has gone before”. Hopefully, from the sketches below and enlargements in the tale as we go, it will all make sense.
So let’s do it . . .
Dotty: Me, your humble narrator. I’m twenty-one and a final year Maths student up in Lancashire. I’m five feet ten and curvy with long blonde hair and wish that my tits were just a little bit larger (although nobody else has ever complained). Until a month before this new story begins, I’d been bi-curious but believed I was straight.
Martha: My housemate who I love like a sister (in fact I love her a tad more than my real-life, too-clingy sister). My earlier same-sex experiences were always with Martha, even though we limited ourselves and had never gone all the way, No, make that probably not quite all the way . . .
Michelle: Only recently transferred “north” from the University of Bath, this girl had converted me into the noble art without even trying. We first met on day one of our final year, compared timetables and realized we were doing all the same course modules. And we clicked just like that. Within a week she had moved in with me, and since then (until last night), we’d spent virtually every second of every day together.
Ronnie: Michelle’s ex and the reason she left Bath in the first place, albeit a mysterious one. Prior to Thursday (less than two days ago) all I knew was that there’d been a big break-up. I hadn’t even been aware of Ronnie’s name until Thursday. But news arrived of her car crash and off Michelle scuttled to be with her, post-haste.
Robin: A female bouncer/doorperson at the local lesbian pub who has the hots for me. Tall with very short blonde-white hair and with shoulders John Wayne would have been proud of, and muscles on her muscles, Robin insists she is my “number two”. She also insists Michelle is “trouble” and doesn’t deserve to be my “number one”. I don’t agree with her on that point but fuck me, she is so amazingly fitter than fit!
Now it’s time to begin. Two previous “Dottily” stories are available but, as I already implied, I don’t want anyone to feel obliged. Forget them a while and come with me into the early hours of a hot and sultry Saturday morning. Come with me to a place I’d never hoped to or expected to be . . .
Chapter One
Having full-on sex with Martha was astounding. When we’d messed about before we’d never actually been on our own. No, much as it pains me to admit this, before we’d almost always done it for show.
Yes, before we’d almost always done it because we had guys with us and they wanted to see us making out . . . or at least pretending to make out.
Thanks to my obsession with Michelle I’d been ignoring Martha for weeks and weeks; longer than ever in recorded history. Well, my time with Mick aside, I had. Mick had been a male error of mine. I’d been faithful to him far too long. Meanwhile he paid less and less attention to me and more and more attention to anyone else in (or out of) a cute short dress.
Thinking about it, with the benefit of hindsight, in the weeks and months after Mick I did become rather wild. From footloose, fancy-free I’d raced through devout, almost nun-like to . . . to . . .
Well, as I said, after Mick I’d partied a lot. And, aided and abetted by Martha, I’d graduated from having one guy at a time to having as many as I could lay my hands on.
In other words Martha’s naked body was not something I didn’t know. Following our unwritten but very clear guidelines, I’d kissed and caressed all of it up from the underside of her breasts. And she’d done likewise to me.
Lower down I’d never touched but I had seen her have sex, and not always with only one partner.
And yes indeed, she could say the same for me.
But that limited kissing, caressing and watching hard cocks gliding in and out wasn’t a patch on us being alone together, with every last boundary scrapped.
At the risk of sounding all “Mills & Boon”, kissing Martha was nostalgic, like stepping into familiarly worn slippers. Not that I’m really comparing her to a pair of old footwear. No, I’m trying to say that she was warm and comfortable and cosy.
She was the one who had seduced me, however. She was the one who didn’t want comfortable or cosy.
There on my bed, me taken by surprise in panties, bra and hold-up stockings, Martha in nothing at all, I tried to make our embrace linger.
Fat chance of that!
Pressing hard on my shoulders, she forced me lower and lower, not even letting me break off to say hello to her luscious tits. Almost immediately I was into what used to be forbidden territory.
And my already stratospheric excitement soared.
She means it, I thought. She means it and by golly I’m not going to say no.
Taking for granted our old rules were now old hat I homed in on her sex.
She came instantly.
I came just as quick and twice as hard.
Result!
Not sparing her in the least, I focused on her clit. She screeched şişli bayan escort and squealed and the next thing I knew it was four in the morning.
*****
Take this as a criticism-free observation: Martha wanted and expected those first few hours to be all me; yes, all me on her.
And take it from me I was only too happy to go with the flow.
Talk about flowing . . .
Martha very evidently, very liquidly enjoyed the experience, possibly as much as I did. And no, for once I am not exaggerating. Right then I hadn’t a clue which way I’d go in the future, giving or taking and all that. But right then I didn’t care. All I knew was that I got off on bringing a girl off.
Yes, bringing Martha off again and again was a colossal thrill.
At the time my thoughts were centred entirely on her; the rest of my life mattered not, be it looking forward or back. All I wanted to do was pleasure her and pleasure her.
Four in the morning was pushing it, though. Leastways it was when I was doing all the work.
‘Timeout,’ said I, rolling off her, making the time-honoured hand signal.
‘Holy Jesus,’ Martha groaned, staring up at the ceiling. ‘Remind me; why did I ever waste time on men?’
‘I’ve been asking myself that for the last month,’ I replied, ragged but truthfully.
‘I’m so glad we’ve done it again,’ Martha went on. Then, maybe more hastily than necessary, she added: ‘It was like the good old days.’
‘We fit together like feet in a pair of worn slippers,’ I agreed.
‘Is that meant to sound flattering?’
The overheads were off but I’d left my bedside lamp on. Turning my head, doing best to keep my greedy eyes off Martha’s tits, I gave her a grin.
‘I’ve already had that argument with myself. And yes, it is meant to sound flattering.’
‘Okay then; consider me flattered.’
‘Consider me exhausted.’
‘Is that my lot?’ Martha laughed. ‘Are we over and done with for the night?’
‘Are we heck over and done with; but I know your sexual appetites, babe. That why I stopped the clock. Give me ten and I’ll be back like Arnie.’
‘I’d prefer you to be back like Dotty.’
‘Well said; as charming as ever. But you still need to give me ten; unless you want to take over.’
Martha made a see-saw motion with her hand. ‘I do and I don’t. Let’s leave that treat for later.’
I laughed. ‘How much frigging later can tonight really get?’
‘It’s Saturday,’ she replied saucily. ‘Time doesn’t really matter. I’m cool until say, nine o’clock.’
I reminded myself of the current time (she expected another five hours!) and groaned. ‘Fucking hell, girl, do I look like Wonder Woman?’
‘Hair colour aside yes, you do, actually. Okay, so she’s maybe a couple of inches taller, but the rest of you compares.’
What a crock of crap!
‘I’ve heard better lines in The Pride.’ I observed wryly. ‘In fact I’ve heard better lines from guys.’
‘Maybe you have. But I really do mean it.’
There was a light in Martha’s eyes that made me gulp. It made me speechless too, come to that.
She, the woman with the mostest, clearly did mean what she’d said.
Okay, she was horrendously wide of the mark, but hey, thoughts count; even when they miss their target by light years.
‘All right,’ I said breathlessly, ‘eight more minutes then we’ll see how long I can last.’
Chapter Two
Waking up face-down in Martha’s tits was a lifetime high. Only vaguely aware it was daylight outside I asked what time it was. Okay, so maybe I muttered and mumbled more than asked, Eloquence is not easy around a mouthful of luscious breast.
‘Half nine,’ Martha replied, ‘you fell asleep on me but don’t worry about it; it’s Saturday. You ain’t missed anything yet.’
I had a nipple close to my tongue so I licked it; it would have been rude not to. And, when it almost immediately came erect, a bolt of sheer delight ran through me.
No regrets or second thoughts from her, I concluded gleefully. Far from it!
There were no regrets or second thoughts from me, either. Ashamed as I am to admit it, I did not think of anything or anyone other than the there and then.
And miracles do happen!
Before I could go back down on Martha she pushed me onto my back and went down on me.
Heaven, heaven, heaven!
You know me and comparisons; I’m simply not going to make any. Let’s just say there was not a thing “virginal” about the way she had me. Let’s just say her efforts were exquisite.
*****
We took yet another timeout around ten thirty. Nose-to-nose and tit-to-tit with Martha on top, I couldn’t help but smile.
‘You’re right,’ I said, ‘we wasted far too much time on men.’
‘Fuck all mankind,’ she countered. ‘Or rather, let someone else fuck all mankind. I only want to fuck you from now on.’
That grounded me with a bump.
‘I know,’ Martha said. ‘I know, I know. This has to be our little secret, right? It can’t happen again.’
‘I want it to happen again,’ my mouth said of its own accord. ‘Why don’t we stay in bed all day?’
‘I’d love to do that, but I have a very important şişli escort hockey match at two o’clock. And I’m seeing Craig afterwards.’
‘Craig?’
‘He’s the guy who lent Michelle his wheels. Unfortunately I made him certain promises I’ll have to keep. And talking about Michelle: shouldn’t you be keeping in touch?’
Rats. I’d forgotten about my number one girlfriend’s mission of mercy. Or was it really a mission of begging for forgiveness?
Noting my creased brow Martha assisted.
‘Your phone’s buzzed a dozen times. At least one of them must be from her.’
‘A dozen times; how long have you been awake?’
‘I was too happy to sleep. Now check your mailbox, for God’s sake.’
I had several missed calls and five texts, one of them from Michelle. Ignoring the rest I opened it.
BREAKFAST NOT A PATCH ON MADCHESTER AND STILL NO DECENT ESCORTS TO BE SEEN. I AM LEAVING NOW. HOPE TO BE IN TRURO IN TIME FOR LUNCH AND AFTERNOON VISITING. I WILL RING YOU THIS AFT. HUGS AND KISSES. AND REMEMBER TO KEEP YOU-KNOW-WHAT WARM FOR ME.
I checked the arrival time. ‘She’s a good hour or more down the road by now,’ I told Martha. ‘She hopes to be in the big city for lunch.’
Martha has always been able to read me. ‘What is it? Have you a problem I don’t know about?’
I ditched my mobile on the bedside table and hesitated. Before Michelle I’d always told Martha all about everything. I’d even described the feel of some nameless guy’s cock in me. But since Michelle I had told her nix.
And she was the best friend I’d ever had or ever would have . . .
‘Between you and me,’ I began carefully, ‘I have my doubts.’
‘Do you mean about Michelle?’
‘Yes.’
‘Pray do tell more.’
‘You don’t really like her, do you?’
‘We get on but that’s neither here nor there. And I certainly don’t actively despise her. So tell me more.’
As if I could have ever fobbed Martha off so simply!
‘The Michelle we see everyday isn’t the only one,’ I said awkwardly. ‘In bed she’s different again.’
‘Aren’t we all?’
‘Maybe we are; but not this different.’
‘So please enlarge.’
I gulped. ‘Ninety per cent of the time she goes all girly. She even calls herself “Shelly” when she’s in that mode.’
‘Shelly, okay;’ Martha sort of shrugged and raised her eyebrows, ‘so what about the other ten per cent?’
‘When she’s in her strap-on she’s the absolute opposite.’
‘You fuck with a strap-on?’
‘Of course we do. Why do you think we make so much noise?’
‘Silly me; of course you do.’ Martha surprised me with a big grin and by landing her hand on me.
(I’m far too modest to say just where but trust me, it was intimate contact indeed.)
‘Is she good?’ Martha asked with a catch in her voice. ‘With her strap-on, I mean.’
‘She’s beyond brilliant.’
‘Should I take that as a recommendation?’
‘Yes; it is a recommendation.’
‘In that case you’d better go down on me again while I consider the possibilities.’
*****
Fucking hockey matches!
What sort of lunatic invented hockey and planned matches for two o’clock on an afternoon?
Okay, so maybe hockey wasn’t strictly “invented”. Maybe it evolved thousands of years before soccer or rugby, but why should anyone ever plan a game for a Saturday afternoon when I wanted to have sex?
Concluding my conversation with Martha, she reckoned all girls acted differently in bed. To her it was black and white: girls who weren’t “butch” or “femme” switched to please their partners. I told her that Michelle went with prostitutes and she thought the idea was empowering.
‘The super-sexy lady fucks ladies,’ she said. ‘You openly admit that there were no tracks on your escort’s arms and insist she made Beyoncé look like a limp rag. And that she fucked you like a tigress in heat. I’m sorry babe; I can’t see your problem.’
‘Prostitution can never be right,’ said I, doing my best to believe my own words.
‘Prostitution stinks,’ said Martha vehemently. ‘I’ve heard of hotels where girls trawl the corridors to knock on doors, asking for “business” . . .’
‘It wasn’t like that,’ I objected. ‘It was a very posh hotel and Michelle arranged for Amber to visit in advance.’
‘So you said. And I don’t doubt you for one instant. Now forget about her and think about our little problem.’
‘What problem?’
‘How are we going to find more opportunities to get it together again?’
That hit home.
‘I don’t know,’ I admitted. ‘We can’t rely on non-fatal car crashes every week.’
‘There has to be something we can come up with,’ Martha insisted. ‘Doing it again has given me a hunger for you.’
‘You keep saying “again”.’ I frowned. ‘Do you know something I don’t?’
‘Hand on heart you really don’t remember that drunken night in my bed?’
‘I don’t. Not a thing. But you obviously do. So tell me.’
‘Go down on me again. I’ll tell you afterwards.’
Chapter Three
It was approaching lunchtime when Martha finally told me we’d drunkenly sixty-nined.
‘Clumsily but very satisfactorily,’ she went on. ‘I’m mecidiyeköy escort surprised you don’t remember the taste of me. I certainly remember the taste of you. Never mind old slippers, you taste divine.’
It wasn’t the first time I’d heard that. Frowning again, I struggled to recall that long ago night then, when nothing came to me, I thought about my recent taste of Martha’s sweet juice. And a bulb lit up in my head. Yes, my old suspicions had been confirmed: her individual flavour did strike a chord.
‘I do and no I don’t,’ I said cautiously, ‘but why didn’t you tell me when I asked before?’
‘Because I supposed you were embarrassed, maybe hiding the truth from yourself.’
‘I might have been,’ I conceded. ‘But I wish you’d told me.’
‘Oh bugger off, girlfriend. I was protecting your finer feelings. Okay?’
‘Right; if you say so.’
‘I do, so it is. End of.’
That was typical Martha. Never mind my “finer feelings”, she wanted to maintain the upper hand.
(Come to mention her hand: somehow it had crept back between my legs.)
‘Oh yes,’ I sighed.
‘Oh yes, that’s the end?’
‘Oh yes I don’t want this to ever end. Keep on exactly as you are doing.’
For a while Martha was silent and kept dutifully on. I wondered how long we’d sixty-nined and who’d been on top, but only briefly. I had better things to think about; better things by far.
Then Vesuvius erupted and I did my best to scream the house down.
And in all fairness, I did it well.
Not to mention loud, proud and careless of snoops.
‘What about our little problem?’ Martha eventually resumed.
‘Depends if Michelle bothers to come back,’ said I. ‘If she doesn’t then we don’t have a problem.’
‘Of course she’s coming back. She keeps begging you to keep this warm for her, no?’ She patted my pussy in illustration.
I gritted my teeth and asked the question I had been delaying.
‘Do you think Michelle has a split personality?’
The response came without hesitation. ‘I think she is being the girl you want her to be; switching from minute to minute. I think she’s being the same as every other girl under the sun. But I also think me and you need to fuck more, and sometime soon at that.’
She kissed me harder than ever,
‘When,’ I gasped, breathlessly.
‘Can’t be tonight,’ Martha replied. ‘So let’s make it tomorrow afternoon. Then we need a plan.’
‘I’ll speak to her,’ said I. ‘She doesn’t want a relationship so I’ll speak to her and find out what she does want.’
‘Do you mean like having one night a week free to fuck around?’
‘I suppose I do, but I’d have phrased it more politely. And I’d prefer to keep you out of the equation for the time being. Knowing I want to . . . ahem, have sex with you might affect her decision.’
‘That makes sense. When do you intend to open negotiations?’
‘I’ll do it Monday or Tuesday. I’ll keep you posted as we go.’
‘What if she wants fidelity?’
‘She won’t.’
‘But what if she does?’
‘Then we really are going to have to scheme and plot, aren’t we.’
‘Okay.’
Martha’s fingers tightened on my pussy. ‘You’re cool with the idea of two-timing?’
‘No,’ I said truthfully, but I’ll do it for you.’
‘Will you really?’
‘Yes; really and without a second thought.’
‘Like you didn’t have a second thought with that bouncer?’
I gaped at her.
‘Twenty-odd minutes for a pee,’ Martha scoffed, ‘with Miss Big Tits in there with you all the while? I may look innocent but I’m aware of the ways of the world. As you know; yeah?’
Yes, I knew the ways of the world. I’d seen Martha cheerfully being double-penetrated more than once. And, as you already know, she knew all the dirt about me even better than I did.
‘Miss Big Tits is quite nice,’ I said defensively. ‘And I wasn’t in there long enough for anything to happen.’
‘Bollocks! It takes you two minutes at most to pee, wash and dry. Even if you dump . . .’
‘Martha,’ I cried, horrified.
But she was remorseless.
‘Your longest recorded pit stop is five minutes. Okay, so you’re not a threat to Lewis Hamilton, but you are predictable as him. He always wins; you are always back drinking your drink in the flash of an eye. Twenty minutes means you got fucked.’
‘Not necessarily.’
‘Come on, Dotty. You were gone far too long and came back with lippy all over the place. And she followed you straight in there. And to cap it all, you came back with that look in your eyes.’
‘I don’t do lippy.’ I protested, ‘not much, anyway.’
‘You’re sparing, I agree. But you do use some. And most of the lippy I saw smeared on you was too pale; not your colour at all.’
I cursed at that. Using minimal cosmetics meant I rarely checked my appearance in mirrors. Last night mustn’t have been an exception. It was a fair cop with no point pretending it wasn’t.
‘We did have a quickie,’ I confessed. Then, out of nowhere my treacherous mouth added: ‘Well, three quickies if you must know.’
‘You had three quickies with that big, butch babe?’ Martha sounded impressed if not awed. There again, she’d drawn the attention of a very manly wannabe back there in The Pride. Manliness clearly did something for her. When I’d got back on the scene she’d been visibly devouring the wannabe and practically drooling.