Brief Encounter

But tonight, with the place rocking and rolling, it was far from empty.

Best have a gander, she decided. It would be rude not to.

The Corner was away to her left. Trying to seem casual, she turned to get a better view . . . Only to be confronted by a large, fierce-looking skinhead bearing down on her.

'Oh,' she gasped.

The skinhead was makeup-free and definitely on her case. She also seemed stuck for words yet able to instantly devour a girl with her lust-crazed eyes.

'Good grief,' Heather added, recovered already. Recovered and starting to be intrigued. 'You startled me.'

'Sorry if I took you by surprise,' the skinhead growled. 'I'm Angie and I'm pleased to meetcha.'

I bet surprise isn't all she wants to take me by, Heather thought automatically.

Then she mentally slapped herself. Who was she to judge a book by its cover?

'I'm Heather,' she replied. 'And I'm pleased to meet you, too.'

A brief silence ensued, broken by them both starting to speak at the same time.

'After you,' said Heather, laughing, noting her new friend was stunningly attractive when she smiled.

'I was going to ask if you've just been to the Girls' Society meeting.'

'Yes, I've just signed up,' Heather confirmed. 'And I'll be marching on Saturday. Will you be there?'

'I will. I hate -isms with a vengeance, particularly the sort inflicted on poor Amy. Do you fancy another beer?'

Amazingly Heather's glass was as good as dry. Already! Where had that all gone? 'Er yeah,' she said. 'It's a Pedigree, if that's all right.'

'Good choice. I drink it in here all the time.'

Heather watched Angie as she caught the nearest barman's attention. Lustful eyes or not, facially, the girl's bone structure bordered on exquisite and, although mannish elsewhere, her body was definitely a fat-free zone. And her prop-forward's shoulders only served to make her waist look narrow. She had a very nice ass, as well. Not to mention her legs which, even concealed under dark blue denim, were obviously long and strong.

Okay, so maybe they weren't quite Betty Grable's legs, but they were full of promise.

Chuckling again, she wondered exactly what Angie wanted to do to her. She also wondered at the relatively tentative approach. A lot of her pick-ups came to pass in a matter of mere seconds. This one was apparently going to take much longer.

There again, she was usually the one doing the picking-up, wasn't she? Maybe this was the norm for new university acquaintances.

'So Heather,' Angie resumed, passing her a fresh pint glass, 'is the Girls' Society an exception for you or are you a compulsive club-joiner?'

'I've joined a few sports clubs,' she admitted. 'Hockey; football; karate; taekwondo . . .'

'I guess that's how you keep the body beautiful,' Angie observed. 'You must be in the gym all day.'

'You don't do so badly yourself. What societies are you in?'

'Nothing sporty, I'm afraid. I'm a member of the two obvious ones and the Chess Club.'

'Chess,' Heather echoed.

'It's not really my thing,' Angie conceded, 'but I fancied this girl who was a member. It took me almost a year to get her to play me behind closed doors.'

If that was supposed to shock Heather it didn't work. 'Did you win?' she asked with a grin.

'No, but we were playing strip chess, so it didn't matter.' Angie laughed. 'You should have seen me. I was sacrificing pawns right, left and centre.'

Heather kept grinning and swigged more ale, imagining Angie getting progressively naked while some prim miss in a turtleneck ruthlessly employed the Queen's Gambit.

'Tell me more about you,' Angie went on. 'Which part of the Home Counties are you from?'

Beer came down Heather's nose as she spluttered indignantly. 'I have nothing to do with the flipping Home Counties. I'm a Yorkshire lass; born and bred.'

The only obvious unshaven bits about Angie were her eyebrows. They shot up like rockets. 'You don't sound it.'

'Well,' Heather amended, 'I suppose I do have a bit of a Manor accent.'

'I'm no wiser.'

'I've just completed five whole years at The Manor School for Young Ladies. It's in a frightfully posh bit of Cheshire; the sort of place where they train the pigeons to fly upside down, if you know what I mean.'

Angie was smiling again, looking increasing attractive. 'You've just completed five years at an all-girls school?'

'That's right. And before you ask, yes, I did get an extra A-level in Cunnilingus.'

That certainly moved their budding relationship along a notch.

'I might have to test you on that,' Angie purred. 'You might be making it up to put me off.'

Heather had been keeping an eye on Angie's chest for a while. She was a fellow member of the bra-less brigade and was very alluring in that department. Ever-critical of herself, Heather had decided Angie breasts were superior to her own: bigger, bouncier and ideally shaped. Her nipples were now noticeably erect, adding to the effect . . . big-time.

Come to that, hers weren't the only ones. Heather's nipples had been erect ever since she got chance to study Angie's ass and legs.

'Trust me,' she said, 'putting you off is the last thing I want to do.'

Chapter Five

After debating the merits of going to Heather's room in halls they went to Angie's place. Trying not to make a racket did add an edge to sexy proceedings, they agreed, but it could be restrictive. And they had both done the silent sex routine often enough before. Why settle for silent when they could romp rowdily about on Angie's queen-sized bed?

Yelling and screaming as they went!

Heather could feel anticipation blended with excitement spiralling inside her. They headed off in a taxi after three pints, long before last orders. And they spent every second of the five minute journey with their mouths locked in a passionate embrace.

No two tongues could ever have fought with such carnal intent.

Not without arriving at a decisive result, anyway.

Their taxi driver didn't seem to mind but he was well into his forties; old enough to have been a cabby for many a year. He had doubtless had impatient courting couples of all descriptions there in the back.

'Call it three quid,' he said, 'seeing as you're a regular.'

Breaking off their kiss, Heather fished in her pocket, handing over the pound coins before Angie could beat her to it.

'You're providing the hospitality,' she said as the cab drove away.

'Yeah, but I'm the regular.'

'Stop picking at straws. We're here, aren't we?'

Angie kissed her again, squeezing her buns into the bargain. Acting on impulse, Heather ground her lower body against a very strong, firm female frame, glad they were of a similar height, liking the way their groins moved together.

Hot, hotter and hottest!

'Not in the street,' she said, still grinding groins. 'Let's go to your room and get naked.'

'Hell yes,' Angie replied, 'great idea.'

Her house was one of a row of terraces and typical "student accommodation". Heather didn't actually pay it any attention at all as they went inside and upstairs. And upstairs again, up a second flight, until they finally arrived in a sort of open-plan attic. Even then she was only looking at Angie.

'Jacket off,' she commanded.

Angie's eyes narrowed but she complied, tossing her jacket aside. 'Now you,' she said.

Heather complied before telling Angie to take off her T-shirt . . . and sincerely applauding the mannish torso and utterly feminine breasts.

'Like wow, I think I just came in my pants.'

'You took your time,' Angie grunted, 'I came in the taxi.'

'Flex your muscles for me.'

'Heather . . .'

'No, go on. You flex for me then I'll flex for you.'

Begrudgingly, Angie flexed. Heather applauded again then ripped off her own T and made like a top bodybuilder, her nips feeling even harder than her six-pack abs.

'Fucking hell,' Angie sighed, 'it gets better and better.'

'Jeans off,' Heather countered.

Angie obliged, exposing legs that weren't so far off Betty's after all. Shaved, long, strong and smooth, they were worth a million dollars of insurance any day. No, nowadays they were worth zillions. And best of all, her sexy black panties weren't fit for purpose. The lacy fabric had as good as vanished up into her intriguingly swollen slit.

Pot and kettle, Heather told herself. Mine feel like they've vanished too!

The sense of abandonment had been growing within ever since their second pint. As soon as they got naked Heather gave up on self-control and grabbed Angie. Angie grabbed her back. Hands on sweaty bodies (Heather's on shoulder-blades, Angie's on buns) they gripped each other. Then they moved in a crablike, side-on sort of a way to the bed.

By then Heather's abandonment had completely taken over. Angie was clearly used to being the sexual aggressor but such minor details no longer mattered.

No, much more important than anything, their bare bodies pressed together as their wicked, knowing tongues engaged in a duel that rivalled anything Errol Flynn and the Sheriff of Nottingham could ever have come up with.

Heather being, of course, Errol in his prime . . . and winning the way she/he always won.

Angie was significantly bigger and heavier. She was probably also stronger. But Heather was cannier by far. Even in the process of losing self-control she had the wiles to keep on kissing while looping her foot around Angie's leg and pushing.

And hey presto, there they were! Angie flat on her back and Heather firmly on top.

Angie let out a smothered sort of ummphh. Well in charge and muffling all objections with her mouth, Heather ignored it.

'Ummphh,' Angie repeated, then, breaking off from the kiss, 'fuck me, yes!'

Rational sense had deserted Heather seemingly centuries ago. From her reactions, Angie was on the same wavelength.

Well, if she wasn't totally attuned . . . tough luck. If ever a girl needed shagging, this was the one.

Going for it big-time, Heather showered Angie's face with kisses. Then, after rubbing their noses and coquettishly pecking at her lips, she wriggled lower.

The feel of her boobs sliding off Angie's was beyond compare.

Hard nips leaving even harder nips . . .

Not going too far south, Heather licked Angie's collarbone, right to left then left to right before, only too gladly, doing it again and again.

'Fuck me yes,' Angie groaned.

Overlooking the foul language (if not the intent behind it), Heather kept licking then, inspired by some secret if dark impulse, she ran her tongue upwards.

Up, it went, away from collarbone, over neck and across to throat before finally lapping the underside of Angie's chiselled jaw.

Angie swore again and unquestionably climaxed. As somewhat of a specialist in the subject, Heather had never known anyone cum so violently.

Still, it was early days yet, wasn't it?

What was one cataclysmic cum between friends? What when there were dozens hard on its heels?

Relenting not at all, she transferred her attention to one of Angie's simply marvellous breasts, using both of her hands to massage it, wantonly overdoing the attention beyond the nth degree. In another universe she would have tried to bring Angie's nipple erect but, as she knew only too well, there was no need. Like her own, Angie's nipples had been sticking out bigger than thimbles for aeons.

If not since the second their eyes first met.

Angie's hands had left Heather's buns. Now they were nestled in her sweaty wet hair. But her tugging wasn't negative. Oh no; she was merely urging Heather to pay attention to her other, eagerly awaiting breast.

'Fuck me, 'she gasped, increasingly urgent. 'Come on girl, fuck me good.'

Chapter Six

Being beyond all rational control wasn't exactly a new experience for Heather. It happened quite a lot and she'd learned never to feel regret afterwards. It followed that losing it with Angie (easily the fittest bird she'd met in ages) wasn't going to suddenly shatter her self-belief.

Fittest bird she'd met in ages!

She laughed out loud. What sort of sixties crap was that!!

Then, abandonment still to the fore, she set to work.

Wriggling a little farther downward, relishing the feel of her boobs slithering over Angie's sweaty bare body, she pressed the tip of her tongue into a refreshingly un-pierced navel.

Angie came even more violently.

Heather came out in sympathy.

She was by no means done yet, though. Two, three or four cums weren't very much in the scheme of things. Girls could cum endlessly, couldn't they?

And they had all night ahead of them.

The impulse to progress was immense. Showing superhuman resilience, patiently maintaining that so intimate contact with Angie's deep "innie" belly button, Heather gave as good as she could. In sincere response Angie, groaned, wailed and from time to time screamed, letting her know she wasn't failing.

'Fuck me,' she kept repeating like a stuck record, 'oh please, fuck me.'

At that moment in time Angie's legs were maybe half-parted. Sliding slightly lower, Heather contrived to land her groin squarely on a slippery-slidy stretch of thigh. After perhaps as few as twenty firm rubs she was drenching that stretch of thigh with scalding hot lady juice.

'Omigod yes,' Angie gasped, 'more, more, more.'

Obligingly, she dug a heel into the mattress and flexed. Appreciating the forethought, Heather quickly brought herself off again.

Then she switched her attention to Angie's fanny.

Without being too much of a perv, Heather was a bit of a connoisseur of ladies' fannies. Her several girlfriends aside, she spent plenty of time in female changing rooms and always took occasion to have a sneaky eyeful. Nowadays . . . especially here at uni . . . there were many sights to see. Not so many seemed to go for au naturel anymore. Not according to her research, anyway. No, these days most of the girls seemed to go for one degree of shaving or another.

Clean-shaven was probably the leader in the clubhouse, accounting for maybe thirty percent. The rest went for a staggering array of patterns: Brazilian waxes; a million varieties of landing strip; multi-sized and -shaped triangles from "Bermuda" or "Down Under"; even circles and love hearts.

Angie was quite predictably different. Heather had already noticed she didn't use perfume or powder, preferring a male deodorant that was almost certainly Lynx. Not that that was a bad choice. As far as Heather was concerned, that deodorant on Angie definitely had The Lynx Effect.

As in all the laddish ads, girls probably threw themselves at her without regard for the consequences.

Rather like she had herself, come to that.

Moving swiftly on . . .

Having obviously sprayed herself between the legs Angie hadn't overdone the shaving. To Heather it seemed as if she'd trimmed down there with the same number one guard she used to trim her head. The result was much like the girl herself.

Meaning she was prickly on the surface but underneath as soft as silk.

With her face only inches away from Angie's sex, Heather took in a deep breath. Angie's sweat tasted good and her lady juice smelt even better. Never mind the Lynx; she probably had a swarm of bees in there, all busily making the sweetest honey.

'Fuck me,' went Angie, continuing her endless mantra. 'Fuck me please.'

Heather wasn't about to complain about swearwords right then. Using one very gentle finger, she felt those short, prickly black hairs, stroking with and against the grain.

Oh yes, yes, yes!

'Fuck me, fuck me!' Angie yelled.

Lights probably went on in windows up and down the street, but nobody came a-knocking, so Heather carried on as she was. Stroking with and against, using her tongue on Angie's clit hood, taking every care to avoid her actual magic button.

That was easier said than done. Angie's clit was even larger than her nips and just as hard. One small slip of the tongue and . . .

Chuckling, still carefully avoiding, Heather licked Angie's inner lips. Then she focused on her swollen labia, marvelling at their size and solidity. There had to be pints of blood pulsating through them. She had never seen anything so exquisite in her life.

Or felt anything so exquisite.

Come to that she'd never tasted a finer, sweeter honey.

Way to go, bees!!

Still battling her urge to recklessness, Heather drew a series of ever-decreasing circles lower, around the mouth of Angie's hungry vagina. By the time she came to the smallest circle imaginable the tip of her tongue was static and perhaps half a dozen millimetres inside.

And Angie was yelling again. Those few neighbouring lights that had stayed off had undoubtedly now been lit.

Nobody came a-knocking, though, so on Heather went.

Half a dozen mils were next to nothing as far as penetration went. Edging in a tad at a time, Heather searched for the first of Angie's squillion bundles of nerve-endings, playing tortoise and hare but soon finding her goal.

Angie's bellows could have woken the dead. If there had been a cemetery anywhere nearby a host of skeletons would have been scratching their heads, wondering why all their old tombs had so suddenly opened.

Still supping Angie's sweet honey, Heather found time to wish their positions hadn't changed as much as they had. But they had. She was now lower down on the bed, smack between Angie's legs with no trace of slippery-slidy thigh in reach.

Best she could hope for was a knobbly knee. Not that anything about Angie was remotely knobbly . . .

On the positive front, even lacking the contact she craved, she had strong limbs wrapped around her. That was cosy and snug, but was it the same?

Never mind. Knickers to her shallow and earthy desires. This was about Angie, not her. Pressing her tongue in and in until its root was straining, she deftly slipped two fingers in as company. Then (if she said so herself!), exceptionally skilfully manipulating Angie, she took her on a lengthy switchback ride of orgasms, working her fingers and tongue in opposite directions, bringing her off again and again.

And then, who knew how long later, she removed her tongue and applied it to that long-neglected and by now so-very-eager magic button.

Cue asteroid impacts and scenes out of a heavenly version of Dante's Inferno.

*****

Tribbing Angie was almost as good as eating her. Heather could have kept going forever but, after an hour or so, it became obvious she'd been overdoing the dominant, passionate female bit.

And not for the first time!

Reluctantly but obediently rolling onto her back, she smiled up into the skinhead's by now determined eyes.

'Okay,' she said, 'your turn. Do your worst.'

As it happened Angie did her very best. Duplicating Heather's actions physically verbatim, she slowly took her through the same sort of series of highs, going ever higher and even achieving a highest. For her part Heather had rarely been so sated. Not that she wanted to stop. Oh no. She restrained herself as far as screaming and yelling went but never indicated she'd had enough.

Having had enough was something she couldn't possibly admit, even to herself.

'Great,' she murmured as Angie finally climbed off her. 'That was really, really great. But please don't say it's my lot.'

Angie was rooting about in a set of drawers. 'I still owe you,' she said quite tersely. Then, producing a leather harness and waving it in Heather's direction, 'Fancy a bit of this?'

Heather laughed throatily. 'Go on, twist my arm.'

Chapter Seven

(Thursday 7th October 1999)

Angie could not believe her luck. When she first blundered up to Heather she'd supposed there was at best a one-in-ten chance she'd be interested in any girl, full stop. Not getting her face slapped had been high up on her list of priorities. But the click between them had been audible. She'd watched the raven-haired beauty's marvellous green eyes as she was swiftly assessed and accepted.