Davina Does Three More

December saw the return of a few of my old schoolmates, back to sponge off mummy and daddy for the festivities . . .

And back to share my bed in most cases. Sara came to have "a cuppa" and stayed four days. I had at least three separate visits from Ellie, and Meryl seemed to show up every ten minutes.

Confession time: even the most skilful whore would have found it hard to juggle all those visits. Most of them impromptu, I felt like one of those artistes with hundreds of plates spinning on poles, all ready to topple off.

It was fun, though. And I was seriously helped by Margot being away on a Caribbean cruise.

Then Christmas was over and I took up Sue on her invitation to "experience" Hogmanay.

Chapter Fifty-Six

I am not proud of my behaviour in this next bit, but I will admit to it anyway. It would be sinful if I did otherwise.

New Year's Eve was fancy dress in The Bonnie Prince. Pre-warned and feeling daring I decided to go as Velma from Scooby-Doo. That meant (for the first time in literally ages) I stooped to wearing a skirt. And, determined to do the job just so, I also wore a baggy orange turtleneck sweater, matching knee-length socks and red Mary Janes.

Yes, tricked out and in my usual supersized specs, I was a dead ringer for her.

Not to be outdone Sue went as Lara Croft and believe you me, she had the body for it, even if her hair was a bit on the short side (like mine was much shorter than Velma's). Dressed in shorts and calf-high boots, Sue was something else, though. My hands are trembling even now as I picture her gorgeous tits in a very tight tank top.

Oh yes, yes please!!

I was of course aware that New Year is a big deal in Scotland. Even so the reality of the occasion was mind-blowing. It was an awesome experience. My subsequent hangover lasted at least a week but it was worth suffering for a night like that.

Well, so I told myself later, when I'd finally dried out.

Cutting to the chase . . .

Somehow I managed to not get too drunk (that was not easy with people pressing drinks on me every two seconds!). I can clearly recall Big Ben chiming and all the singing of Auld Lang Syne.

Then I had a blank spell for an hour or so and the next thing I remember is coming out of the ladies', only to be grabbed by the hand.

'This way,' a vaguely familiar voice said, tugging me in the opposite direction to the bar. It was a girl person tugging me, one in a mask and classically dressed as Vampirella (except with a black cloak to preserve a little respectability), so I didn't protest too much.

To be honest, I was intrigued. Whoever this version of Vampirella was, she was sexy indeed.

The girl vampire led me out of the pub, through a backyard that would be an amazing suntrap of a beer garden in summer, and into an alley that led back to the main road.

Then she kissed me.

Did I resist? Make that a big no. I suspected we'd met during my previous visits to that very pub and it was, after all, a traditional way to see in the New Year. It was also very, very hot.

Kissing an unidentified girl, out of sight of prying eyes but within yards of a horde of drunken revellers!

Too right it was exciting. I kissed back just as hard as she kissed me, thoroughly enjoying it right up until the moment her hand landed on my bare thigh.

'Hey,' said I, staying her. 'Do I know you?'

(Pathetic, I admit, but I was there as Sue's partner. And whoever this was had to know that. I had to show at least some resistance.)

'It's me,' she replied, removing her mask.

Shit fire and save matches, it was Sandra!

As in Sue's next-desk neighbour, Sandra!!

As in the punk lezzie who'd wanted a way into my knickers from the moment we'd first met!!

Call me a slut if you wish, but I simply couldn't say no. Instead I resumed the heavy petting and, duly encouraged, Sandra slid her hand up my thigh, onto my pantie-clad pussy. Then, proving I'd got her motivation spot on, she delved deeper.

'Oh my,' she sighed, 'you're so lovely and hairy.'

I am not sure about all of my fellow females, but I have always liked the feel of fingers getting busy on me down there. Okay, so I'm man-free, but I've still enjoyed a lot of busy fingers. And you know how I am with comparisons, but . . .

Well, Sandra's fingers were beyond compare. She found my clit instantly and made me cum in thirty seconds or less. Not content with that, she kept going and made me cum again perhaps five minutes later.

Then she delved deeper still. I felt her index finger slipping inside me; it wiggled a couple of times and then withdrew, only to be replaced by two fingers. Then they withdrew to be replaced by three.

And then the three withdrew and she did me with just two, evidently having got my measure, hitting on my most special place straightaway.

Omigod she did it well! I might have lasted ten whole minutes that time, every one of them exquisite.

Gasping for air, pushing her off me, I sank to my knees before her.

'No,' she gasped, 'not here.'

As if I would listen to advice like that! I purposely pulled apart her cloak, drew aside the bottom of her red sling suit and pushed my face into her groin. That is to say, I did my best to push my face into her groin, which was additionally covered by a thin leather thong.

Bypassing it as well as I could, I ate her clit.

Please don't misunderstand, but that wasn't as easy as I make it sound. That thong was resilient, to say the least. So was I, though. I held it to one side as I licked and licked and licked. And Sandra had almost as many piercings as Meryl. It was difficult to be sure, what with the strength of the leather and all, but I guess she had a vertical hood bar and at least two horizontal rings.

And she came that first time almost as quickly as I had.

(No mean feat in itself!)

Still attacking her button I brought her off again. Then, Equality being my middle name, I entered her with my tongue. That was no mean feat either. I had to tug her thong in the other direction and thrust like crazy.

But somehow I did it. And the resultant gush of hot juice was ample reward.

Mmmm, more, more, more!

I could have carried on forever but suddenly Sandra was hauling me upright.

'We'll be missed,' she said. 'And I've got another party to go to. Want to come?'

I hadn't a clue what time it was but felt guilty as heck. I was supposed to be there with Sue, not out in the alley, fucking with one of her colleagues. And yes, surely we'd been missed . . .

'I'd best not,' I said like a wimp.

'Okay then,' Sandra countered. 'It's our little secret. Keep schtum and it might happen again one day.'

She shot off down the alley and vanished along the main road. More than slightly stunned, I retreated to the ladies'.

When I checked in the mirror I saw that my face was a mess: I had purple/black lippy smeared around my mouth and a trickle of lady juice on my cheek. Wiping with a wedge of toilet paper took care of the two shortcomings. Then, glad I didn't ever waste time with cosmetics of any variety, I swilled my face and towelled it dry.

The result was brilliant; I was Velma again. I even had the natural freckles and snub nose.

Now for the tricky part: how to explain to Lara Croft where I'd been for however long I had been gone.

I put on my most innocent expression but needn't have worried. When I went back into the barroom the first thing I saw was Sue, dancing on a table. She wasn't alone, either; there must have been ten of them up there, holding on to each other for the most part, keeping each other upright.

Before I could head for the bar someone stuck a glass of whisky in my hand (who says Scotsmen are tight-fisted! Not me!!). I knocked it back in one and it was immediately replaced.

Then everything became a bit hazy . . .

Chapter Fifty-Seven

I've always found January to be depressing. Starting that one off with the mother of all hangovers did not help, obviously, but that was as bad as any I can remember. And February wasn't much better.

Moan for today over. What I am trying to say is that all my old sixth form mates swanned off back to uni and my sex life took a dive. Okay, so Margot was home from her cruise (with the best all-over tan ever seen anywhere) so I wasn't actually living like a nun. And Sally was still occupying a lot of my attentions . . .

Thing was that, for the first time ever, I had time on my hands. My night classes were history and my libido wasn't satisfied with just two lovers, four nights a week. Call me a whore if you want, but do take into consideration that I was used to shagging for hours and hours every single night.

God only knows how some girls live alone and untouched!

I won't bore you with tales of toys and self-abuse. All I will say is that (in the frigid, wintery absence of tourists and a gay bar), I gave up hope of one-night stands and tended to myself as needed.

Then the head-hunting calls began.

*****

Don't even think it! My opinion was probably identical to yours. Who in their right mind would try head-hunting an IT techie?

The guy from the recruitment agency took pains to explain his apparent insanity. In the midst of global recession, when the rest of the world was tightening belts and looking for "savings", Keighley's Widget Company was expanding. More to the point, they were implementing a new, all-singing, all-dancing IT system, complete with bells and whistles.

The Widget Company had very good legacy systems, the guy explained. But sadly they dated from the '70s and '80s, and didn't really "talk" to each other. That meant that an army of accountants had to pull information together from lots of different sources to produce lots of urgently required data.

I sniggered at that. Availability of Data has always been computer people's Unique Selling Point. And it always will be. Senior management nowadays want info there at the single tap of a key. I'm sure he exaggerated, but that first head-hunter conjured up images of aging men in gloves with the fingers cut off, taking an eternity to produce reports, aided only by quill pens and inkwells.

Okay, so maybe it's me who is exaggerating. Truth is though, availability is God. That army of scribes no doubt used Excel spread-sheets and all sorts of shortcuts; ink and blotting paper wouldn't be in the frame. Yet time was of the essence; they were up against an unstoppable force.

The need for techies was twofold, I was told. The Widget Company was expanding at a rate of knots and intended to introduce the new system over four years. That meant there was an immediate, short-term demand for programmers but a seemingly endless demand for practical people.

'Every last piece of kit has to be replaced,' the guy told me. 'Not just in Head Office but in ten regional offices, three factories and two hundred and seventy-some branches. In four years' time there will be over three hundred branches. And, by the time branch number 300 is kitted out, branch number 1 will need replenishing. Pretend you're painting the Forth Bridge; the replenishing is going to go on forever, from one end to the other. Also think about all the hiccups along the way. This is an opportunity made for you.'

Loyalty is a funny thing. I do believe I am loyal to my lovers, although not in a "fidelity" sort of a way. As you may recall, two minutes after I'd broken my duck with Sara, I was already wondering how to get Ellie into a compromising position. In my defence I must observe that I've always been open. I'm into variation and have never once promised fidelity . . .

Workplace loyalty was different. I loved my job and liked all of my (almost one hundred per cent male) co-workers. I got on well with my line manager and had nothing but respect for Steve, the head of IT. I had also been lucky enough to meet the CEO a few times recently, when I fixed his laptop and, despite his gargantuan salary, you could not meet a nicer or more approachable bloke.

Yes, I loved my job and felt treacherous for even listening to a head-hunter. I politely told the guy that I was happy where I was and ended the call.

*****

The second call came about a week later. With the benefit of hindsight I suppose that the first call was made to sow a seed and the second was made to water and cultivate it. Or was the second caller just full of horse manure?

Hmmm . . . I wonder.

That second caller began by saying the Widget Company had already recruited lots if people I already knew and named several of them.

'They all speak very highly of you,' he assured me. 'And they all say "Hi".'

I took that with a pinch of salt. I did know all the names but some of them were people I'd hardly ever spoken to. As if they would say "Hi" to me!

'You are right at the top of the Widget Company's wish, list,' the second guy went on. 'I could get you a very competitive package, including a car and petrol card.'

That didn't impress me as much as it probably should have. I'd only just bought a brand-new Mini and (rather conversely) thought of it as "Maxime". No way was I going to give Maxime up for a stinking job!

Once again I politely ended the call.

Chapter Fifty-Eight

March that year came in like a lamb, which was good news seeing as I'd been "invited" to a team-building day, half of it outdoors.

So then, it was a sunny Friday morning. We met up on the building society's main car par, twenty-odd of us, fifty-fifty male/female. I for one was pleased to see that everyone had showed; I'd tried my best to wriggle out of the occasion and failed. It was good to see that my IT managers were playing by the same rules as everyone else.

That is to say, we reluctant invitees were all in the same boat.

The "activity centre" turned out to be a manor house north of Skipton, in grounds the size of Rutland (Rutland being the very smallest of English counties, for anyone who has never heard of it). And what a manor house! Elaborately renovated, it looked like the most luxurious of hotels. In fact it was a bit of a let-down that we weren't met by a butler; one bearing a silver tray loaded with champagne flutes.

I never did get to explore the whole house but, suffice to say, it was massive. After being shown in via the most wonderful hallway (perhaps twenty feet high), we were instructed to take our seats in a large reception room.

'I am Charles,' an evidently self-confident chap told us. 'I will be in charge of "Ents" this morning, until I hand you over to the thugs outside. I shall tell you more about me later. Let's kick off by introducing ourselves . . . Starting on my right.'

I was third in line and not used to standing up in front of a crowd of my peers. Consequently I listened and learnt from the things said by the first two chaps. To my mind, one of them rambled and the other skimped. Deciding to take the middle course, I got to my feet.

'Hi, I'm Davina, from IT. Some of you will know me because you've broken unbreakable bits of kit.'

Encouraged by a few sniggers and a lot of smiles, I went on.

'I'm into my third year with the society and, apart from fixing the unfixable, I do have a life. I like to go walking for long distances and to climb rocks. And I also take care to drink vast quantities of real ale.'

Maybe it wasn't the Gettysburg Address but it was effective; everyone who followed took my short-ish, jocular approach as their template. Pleased with myself, I watched them as they did so. And, as their introductions progressed, my attention was drawn to one of the last to stand.

'Hello, I am Philippa, senior accountant in Further Advances.'

In my humble opinion Philippa was even fitter than a robber's dog. She was around my height, with an oval face, currently with her black hair up. Thanks to the hair (or perhaps because she'd just admitted she was an "accountant") she looked a little severe. But that was me picturing her as schoolmarm-ish. The rest of her was sexier than sexy.

And I especially admired her glasses. They were very similar to my own and only added to her public image.

Omigod, I thought, what wouldn't Margot give to be disciplined by her!

'Outside of keeping re-mortgages responsible I like to be outdoors,' the absolute vision announced, 'preferably riding my horses. I have appeared at the Great Yorkshire Show more than once and also like paintballing.'

Surprising everybody, her stern face broke into a grin. 'So watch your behinds this afternoon; I will be gunning for you.'

Wow. So Miss Prissy-Prim-and-Proper had a life after all!

*****

The morning's "Ents" were classroom based. We were split into teams of four and, purely by chance, I was partnered with Philippa. That was bad news for everyone else. I might not have mentioned it until now, but Mathematics was always my favourite subject. If I'd gone to university I would definitely have done a Maths course. Because I didn't . . . and because computing was much easier and with a more evident career path . . . I became a techie IT whizz kid.

Believe me in this; computing is simple but Maths is my love. All that logic and reason!

Not that I was a total geek. When it came to Maths I was very much a Pure and Applied sort of a girl. Philippa had similar tastes but was very much Statistics and (the dreaded) Numerical Analysis sort of a girl. But put us together and throw a lot of "planning and problem solving" situations . . .

Well, we were invincible. Together we were like Mario in Super Star mode.

After we won the first six challenges (despite our male teammates' as good as useless input) we were split up. I laughed at that and asked Charles where the "team building" element was in him breaking a winning team. In response, laughing with me, he said that we weren't the only team in town.

*****

Lunch was a standing buffet in yet another cavernous, sumptuously decorated room. Conscious of the reason we were there, I took care to circulate, determined to at least say hello to everybody, just like the world's best team-player.

And I noticed Philippa was shadowing me. Whenever I joined a new group she would soon arrive at my side (and closely by my side at that). Intrigued, of the belief she was straight but possibly curious, I varied my circuits, sometimes revisiting groups I'd only just left.

Philippa dogged me every time.

Enough was enough. Curiouser than ever myself, I made my way back to the buffet; lingering there, close to the salmon and cucumber, humming as if I hadn't a care in the world. Guess who arrived in no time at all?

Yes, it was she.

'Hello again,' she said, 'isn't that salmon to die for!'

I reckoned the product owed more to local sources than John West and had to agree. 'This place is so impressive,' I said, 'I could easily forget the oppressed masses and live here in the lap of luxury.'

That seemed to go straight over Philippa's head. 'We were brilliant until Charles split us up,' she said. 'I bet we would have swept the board if he'd left us as we were.'

'It's not just our team,' I reminded her.

She laughed and suddenly looked much less prissy . . . and much less severe, come to that.

'You IT people,' she said lightly, 'you're all so set on fair play.' Then, less lightly, 'Apart from that bitch Katrina.'

Needless to report, that surprised me.

'She stole my man,' Philippa continued, before I could recover.

'Oh,' said I.

'We weren't engaged or anything,' Philippa went on. 'But we were starting to get a bit serious . . . until Miss Big Tits came along and fluttered her lashes.'

Despite my astonishment I inwardly grinned at that. She was calling Kat "Big Tits" . . . and her with a chest like that! Had there ever been a more acute case of pot and kettle?

'When was this?' I hazarded, wondering if I'd been two-timed as well.

'A few Christmases ago, just before she went off on one of her world tours.