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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 . . .
(Tuesday 26th October 2004)
It was déjà 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 Anadolu Yakası Escort 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.
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 . . .
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.’
Vic buried her fingers in Heather’s lovely, jet-black mane. Liking the dampness she felt. Not caring if it was there through unladylike perspiration. To an extent she was reassured that Little Miss Perfect did perspire.
‘Hev, I want to run something by you.’
Vic took a deep breath. ‘I’m looking for a partner.’
‘Why? Haven’t I been giving you enough?’
‘Not that sort of partner. I mean for a moneymaking venture.’
Heather pondered a moment before replying. ‘I’m already gainfully employed. So are you.’
‘I know that. The venture’s work-related. And before you ask, it’s not in any way dodgy. I’m aiming to benefit West Yorkshire Bank and its shareholders. And my partner and I, naturally.’
Now Heather’s forehead creased. It was hard to tell how much she was feigning. She was bright as well as beautiful . . . very bright. ‘It’s nothing to do with Jack the Hat, then.’
‘No, my dad was the bank robber, I’m strictly legit.’
That took its time to sink in. ‘A bank robber!’ The younger girl propped herself on one elbow and gaped at Vic, her very firm tits moving becomingly, ‘Never!’
‘I’m afraid he was, and a successful one too. One of Clerkenwell’s finest. How else could he have sent me to St Helena’s?’
‘Hang on a sec. Are you seriously telling me your dad was a bank robber?’
‘Don’t the directors know about him?’
‘They don’t seem to. He changed his name. And he was clever enough to go to Italy after his last big job, not the Costa del Crime like everyone else. Just as well if you ask me. He met my mum in a village in Lazio.’
‘So that’s where you get your looks.’
‘And some elements of my figure,’ Vic smiled. ‘Mamma’s fifty and still turning heads wherever she goes. She looks very much like Gina Lollobrigida in her prime. Dad’s more like a fat Sid James; I got a bit lucky there.’
‘Gina Lollobrigida? Wasn’t she the world’s most beautiful woman?’
‘She was second only to Mamma. I think they’d both still set records down in Bingley.’
‘Never mind setting records.’ Heather’s tits were moving becomingly again. ‘Tell me about Sid James.’
‘You appreciate this is in the strictest confidence?’
‘Mais naturellement; please expound. You’re exciting me. I’ve never had a bank robber’s daughter before.’
‘Of course I haven’t.’
‘Hmmm, I’d bet Anadolu Yakası Escort Bayan some of the girls at The Manor had dodgy dads too. Anyway, there’s not much to tell. My dad kept his head down for a few years, then Mamma got pregnant and we came back to one of the better parts of Islington.’
‘Didn’t anyone split?’
‘Split on a boy from Clerkenwell? Not a chance, Hev.’
‘Insular, is it? Sounds like Micklethwaite.’
‘It’s probably more insular than Brutus’s field.’ Vic’s laugh was a little nervous but Heather didn’t seem to notice. ‘Let’s talk about the future,’ Vic went on,’ not the past. I do things honestly and above board, by working towards targets. I’ve always been into targets. Work hard and play hard, that sort of thing. When I started at WYB I aimed to reach a certain level. I got there last month, more than a year ahead of my most optimistic target. Now I’m planning to get to the very top.’
‘What does that mean, world domination?’
‘No.’ Vic gave Heather a matey poke in the tummy, ‘I’m just aiming for domination of WYB. Or, more precisely, I’m going to get into a position where I qualify for the mega bonuses.’
‘Sure you will; you and everyone else.’
‘Listen, Hev, it can be done. There’s no glass ceiling. I reckon I can get there in five more years. Then I’m going to cash in for the next five. And the more I help the Bank perform, the more I cash in. That’s the beauty of it. All I have to do is get onto the executive scheme, which is almost a foregone conclusion.’
She coughed mock-modestly. ‘I’m already the one they go to for new products and initiatives. And I’m the best at putting right anything that goes wrong. And I’ve got authority to appoint whoever I want for my latest project . . . within my particularly flexible budget, of course. I’m going to use that authority to bring in the very best person for each role, creating a team that’s so good it won’t be broken up in a thousand years.’
‘You and Adolf,’ Heather observed.
‘He wasn’t all bad.’ Vic hesitated. ‘Well, obviously he was. But forget him. I’m not after his sort of world domination. Just enough domination to make sure I get nice and rich.’
‘You really are madly ambitious, aren’t you?’
‘I’m ambitious, but hopefully not madly.’
Heather reflected a moment. ‘What if there isn’t another project? Won’t the team have to be broken up then?’
‘That won’t be an issue. I’ve cherry-picked the follow-on projects to ensure they get better and better. And I have lots more projects up my sleeve. Projects no-one else knows about. When I start to introduce them I won’t just be the best innovator and trouble-shooter, I’ll be the best at pulling in new money. That’s when the really big promotions will start coming.’
‘Sounds as if you’ve got it all worked out.’ Heather nestled closer. ‘Have you finalized your team?’
‘I have apart from two key positions. One of them should fit Chris Woodhead perfectly, although there is a chance he’ll turn me down.’ Vic shrugged. ‘I’ll worry about that next week, when I make my approach. At the moment I’m more bothered about finding my perfect PA. That’s a lot trickier than I’d expected.’
‘Can’t you poach one from the directors? Using some of that particularly flexible budget?’
‘There isn’t one that fits the bill.’
‘There are dozens of them. And they all look the part. Surely someone knows how to do the job?’
‘Believe me Hev, I’ve given every one of them serious consideration. They’re not good enough.’
‘You must set very high standards.’
‘I do. And my expectations are a bit different to the norm. All the other positions call for heaps of experience. I don’t want my PA to be lumbered with that. I want her, and it definitely has to be her, to have all the theory but minimal experience. That way she’ll think top-to-bottom, without always being handicapped by shop floor clutter. More important, she has to be someone I absolutely trust, because she’s going to be closer to me than a twin sister.’
‘Sounds like you need Office Angels.’
‘I was thinking nearer to home.’ Vic took the plunge. ‘I hoped you might be interested.’
The prospective, specially targeted partner had been tickling Vic’s ribs. She stopped abruptly.
‘You’re joking. I don’t know the first thing about being a PA.’
‘You don’t have to. Your people skills are exceptional. You’ve a relevant first-class degree. And having The Manor on your CV doesn’t hurt. At least two execs have sent their daughters there.’
Hev scowled, which was a first. Her eyes flashed menacingly. Vic was suddenly afraid she was going to blow a gasket.
‘Is that what the torture was about other night, Victoria? Some new-fangled interview technique?’
Heather was referring to Friday’s one-sided foreplay, both verbal and physical. Vic wasn’t about to admit that, as well as great fun, it had been a test of sorts.
‘No, it was not,’ she fibbed. ‘The idea only occurred to me this morning, when I had to accept that no-one else was good enough. That was when I dug out your HR file and started plotting; it was then and not Escort Anadolu Yakası a moment sooner. Are you interested?’
‘I honestly don’t know,’ Heather snapped. ‘I said I’d risk the grapevine for you, but that was purely for sex. Promotion never came into it.’
‘It still doesn’t.’
‘Honest Injun Hev, I was only after sex too, originally. But having sex has helped me get to know you. Now I do know you, I’m convinced you’re the one I need.’
‘Maybe,’ Heather said after a short, prickly silence. ‘But I’d still look like someone who opened her legs to get promoted.’
‘I’ve been the one opening her legs most of the time, so it doesn’t count.’
‘Excuse me, but I don’t think anyone else will know that. And I’m certain nobody will believe it.’
‘And I don’t think anyone will waste time speculating,’ Vic said valiantly. ‘They will be too busy gossiping about me and Chris. How poetic will that be?’
Heather was still not amused. ‘You’d have to shag him to make the grapevine. Or is there some obscure reason why that won’t that count either?’
‘I’m afraid I’m not up on all the grapevine conventions. But nobody said anything when I shagged him last time. Not even Joanna.’
That created a diversion, temporarily at least. ‘Have you really?’ said Heather.
‘Not for ages, but yes . . . and not just once.’
‘Was it for . . .’
‘Personal gain? No, Hev. Not for either of us. It was without doubt recreational.’
‘He’s quite good,’ Vic went on, ‘not in Jack the Hat’s class for staying power, but twice as skilful. That’s not why I want him on the team, though.’
She put a tentative hand on Heather’s shoulder. Meeting no objection, she continued, ‘I’d never let sex interfere with work. Not for Chris. Not even for you.’
‘Having sex with you is brilliant,’ Vic said truthfully. ‘I don’t want it to stop. If you tell me to stick my job, I’ll still want to stay over. And I’ll be back on Thursday night as well, if you’ll have me.’
‘You said you wanted fun and flings.’
‘I do. And I still want you to provide most of the fun.’
‘But not permanently.’
‘I want it to be semi-permanent, for now.’
‘What if I had a fling over the weekend?’
Vic paused a moment, thinking about the weekend she’d had herself, the one that she had made sure she hadn’t discussed; not in any depth at all.
‘I’d say nothing,’ she said at last. ‘Apart from I hope she was good.’
‘She wasn’t a she.’
‘Not Joanna then.’
‘No,’ said Heather. ‘Joanna doesn’t . . . unfortunately.’
‘How do you know she doesn’t?’
‘How do you think?’
‘I’m glad you found someone,’ Vic said after further consideration. ‘And I hope he was good.’
‘You’re not going to storm out on me?’
‘No. I really am cool with flings. You can have another go at him while I’m away tomorrow, if you want. I won’t ever be jealous, as long as you’re not.’
‘Hmmm.’ Heather stopped scowling and smiled. It was reluctant and not nearly as cheery as her usual smile, but a smile for all that.
‘Did you have sex this weekend?’ she asked. ‘During your prior engagement, I mean.’
‘Yes,’ Vic admitted.
‘Was it on the dinner party table?’
‘No. it was on the spur of the moment, after the party was over.’
‘Was it with the lesbian at number eleven?’
‘No, it was the one at number fifteen, actually. We do all right for lesbians in my part of Leeds.’
Heather snorted. ‘Good old Headingley; I’m scraping the bottom of the barrel here in Bingley.’
‘I’m sure you’ll always get by,’ Vic replied, a little tartly
They stared at each a moment other in silence.
‘I felt guilty as hell,’ Vic said finally. ‘But she made the opening move and I couldn’t help myself. I think you’ve woken a sleeping giant inside me.’
‘Oh I see,’ Heather laughed again. ‘It was my fault.’
‘Yes it was. That’s my excuse. What’s yours?’
‘It’s similar, but the other way round. It was you who said I should bag a rugby player. I was only obeying orders.’
Vic swiftly re-assessed her jealousy levels. Finding that she wasn’t envious (well, not intolerably so) she resumed: ‘Fun and flings still sounds like a sensible arrangement to me. And what we get up to outside of WYB doesn’t have to intrude on our working day, does it? I can hack flings.’
‘So can I,’ said Heather. ‘And I do want you to come back on Thursday.’
‘Thank God for that! Now, can I tell you about the PA position?’
‘Yes, if you really must.’
‘It isn’t a bimbo role. I’m not looking for someone to flash her tits and monitor the paperclips. It will be long hours and hard graft. That’s why I’m setting the starting grade close to that of a departmental head. As time goes by it’s going to gradually rise very close to mine. In three or four years you’ll be a director with your own PA. And you’ll get the mega bonuses as well.’
Vic registered how mention of money didn’t impress Heather. She had only ever got a bit of the girl’s life story when they’d first fucked. Even so, she’d pieced quite a lot together this last week or so. Heather was only insatiable when it came to orgasms; banknotes didn’t matter to her at all, not in the scheme of things. Vic thought that was strange. Money had never been in short supply in the Hanson household but she had always had a healthy appetite for more. Maybe it was a matter of scale? Her lovely young friend might not be hungry for money, but success . . .
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