Friday Night Fun

Ideal for very young kids or students!

Heather knew the house layout because there were hundreds like it back in Bingley. A lot of her first school friends had lived in very similar family homes, the only difference being the building materials. Back in Bingley those bog standard Victorian dwellings had been made with good-looking Yorkshire stone. Here in Lancashire they had been made with red bricks.

The lounge had, she noticed, been mostly cleared of furniture . . . unless there hadn't been a lot in the first place. What was left had been pushed back against the walls, clearing enough space for folk to stand, drink, pontificate and (even at that quite early hour) dance.

Katie returned while Heather was still assessing her fellow guests, glad to note they were all dressed as informally as she was.

'Here,' she said, thrusting a super-sized wine glass into Heather's hand. Then, conspiratorially, 'Have you got a load of Taryn's date?'

Heather hadn't. She cast around again and almost collapsed.

'Eileen!' she exclaimed. 'She's straighter than a Roman road. How in heck has Taryn pulled her? And where's Dwayne?'

Katie tittered against the back of her hand. 'It seems that she's put in a lot of spadework. And it seems as if Eileen's as up for it as she is.'

Heather couldn't argue with that. There were only a few couples dancing and, out of all of them, Taryn and Eileen were the ones gyrating together most enthusiastically . . . and denim-clad groin to groin at that.

'Dwayne's in the kitchen,' Katie went on, 'talking about football and wondering if you are ever going to show up.'

'I'm more interested in Eileen,' said Heather.

'My ass,' countered Katie. 'I've seen the way you look at him. And your roads are all long and winding ones; aren't they?'

Before Heather could change the subject Taryn and Eileen were approaching.

'Great party,' Taryn said to Katie.

'Thanks for lending me your girlfriend,' Eileen said to Heather, her cheeks flushed.

'You can have her on sale or return,' Heather replied, without engaging her brain. 'I'll charge a pint of Marston's and you can either keep her or send her back. It's up to you.'

Eileen's flush darkened but Taryn only laughed. 'I'm worth at least a gallon, not just a pint.'

'I reckon you can do better than that,' Katie put in mischievously. 'I reckon you can do a straight swap, girlfriend for boyfriend.'

'I don't have a boyfriend,' Eileen protested, 'Dwayne's my housemate, right?'

'Yeah,' said Katie, 'that's why you share a bed.'

'Not every single night.' Eileen's face was now the same colour as the bricks of Katie's house. 'Go for it if you want,' she said to Heather. 'He really is hot for you. He says so every time we . . .'

Everybody laughed when Eileen clapped a hand to her mouth.

'I don't believe I nearly said that,' she said as Taryn tugged her back toward the dancing area. 'But do go for it, Hev. No complications . . . I promise.'

Heather was momentarily alone in a crowd with Katie. Up until then she hadn't entertained any idea of going with a guy. Her targets for the evening had been old acquaintances and impossible dreams . . . like her very dreamy hostess, who looked sexier than ever.

'Go for it with Dwayne,' Katie endorsed, 'you'll never get a better chance.'

'I'd rather go for it with you,' Heather replied.

Katie's blush wasn't as extremely red as Eileen's, but it was close. 'I can't,' she said. 'Not tonight. I do need to stay sober.' Then, seeming surprised by what she was proposing, she added, 'But I could do Monday or Tuesday.'

Heather lit up. 'As in a date, you mean?'

'Yeah; which is best for you?'

'Monday,' said Heather eagerly, just about rational enough to remember her appointment with Jenny.

'I might chicken out as the night progresses,' Katie warned, 'but we can at least have a few drinks and a chat.'

'Does four o'clock in the Union do it for you?'

'Four o'clock!'

'Yeah, that's when my last tutorial finishes. There's no point going back and forwards between uni and home, is there?'

'Okay you crazy, crazy girl!' Katie rolled her eyes and laughed. 'Four o'clock it is. Now go cop off with Dwayne. Apart from me he's the only one here without a ready, willing and able partner.'

Chapter Four

The lounge had been, Heather thought, slightly predominated by females. Balancing it out, the kitchen was slightly predominated by males. Adding an ironic twist to her musings, the music changed as she went through from one room to the other. In a blast from long ago, before she'd even been born, Jona Lewie was telling the world where to find him at parties.

Secretly Heather agreed that it was the place to be: most of the booze was found "in the kitchen at parties", and so was some of the best conversation.

Dwayne was easy to spot. He was six feet tall, black and beautiful. That much said, he looked small next to his cousin Sam, who was enormous in every sense of the word.

Heather smiled at the sight of Sam. Now the idea had been levered into her head she was quite up for a bout with Dwayne, but her course-mate Sam was something else. He had the world's biggest sense of humour and a personality which made him impossible not to like. He could inflict gales of laughter on total strangers within ten seconds of meeting them.

Sam could also bring hilarity into the bedroom. Heather knew that only too well. Never mind only two nights in her bed, Sam had already had five or six. And, with almost all of their final year still to go, he would undoubtedly be having a few more.

Unfortunately, tonight Sam was hooked up with a Sociologist called Dawn. Dawn might be blonde and sexy but she did herself no favours. What a sulky expression she always had! Even if she hadn't been so blatantly straight Heather wouldn't have touched her with a bargepole.

Briefly running her eye over the rest of Dwayne's group, Heather glanced to her right and immediately saw Katie's fridges. The communal one had a sign on it saying "PUT IN AND TAKE OUT FREELY". It was tall, old and possibly antique. The smaller, much newer fridge had a sign on it saying "KATIE'S - KEEP OUT!!"

As if the sign wasn't enough warning, a poster had been added lower down, attached with Sellotape. It very prominently featured a skull, crossbones and the words "ACHTUNG MINEN!!"

Heather didn't really expect to set off an explosion but she was cautious as she eased open the fridge door. While actual mines weren't exactly compatible with bottles of wine, she didn't entirely rule booby traps out as a possibility.

Fortunately, there were no deterrents other than the signs. Her Pinot was nestled in the pocket inside the door. She refilled her glass then, conscious of the weight of Dwayne's eyes on her, made her way over to his stretch of worktop.

Sam was, as always, in the middle of some funny story. Despite Dawn's hand on his arm, he broke off and planted a big kiss smack on Heather's mouth.

'The sister I never had,' he chuckled. 'Well, not often enough, anyway!'

Coming from anyone else that might have seemed distasteful. Coming from Sam it was hilarious.

Well, it was to everybody apart from Dawn.

Pushing Sam away from her Heather assumed her best gushing mode. 'Ignore him, Dawn, he's such a loudmouth.'

Before Dawn could object Heather kissed her three times: once on each cheek and then very swiftly on her lips.

Turning to the other two members of the group, Heather grinned. Kris was a central defender in the men's soccer team, and an exceptionally good one at that. Even though Heather didn't much like his ginger goatee he got the same triple kiss as Dawn.

She had quite deliberately saved Viola until last. No, make that very deliberately. Viola had the figure of a young Naomi Campbell but was a shade taller and her face had even finer bone structure. It was hard to believe she was studying at a Lancashire university instead of strutting down catwalks.

Viola's version of "casual" was a sight for sore eyes. Her short blue jeans stopped a fraction below her knees, exposing her lovely brown calves, and her tight white T-shirt didn't leave much to anyone's imagination.

In fact Heather had never set eyes on such a vision; she eclipsed everyone, even Mary Rose.

Not that superhero worship was ever going to restrain a born and bred, red-blooded Yorkshire lass.

'Hi Vi,' she said before ditching the cheek kisses and grabbing herself a mouthful of luscious gob.

Amazingly Viola (allegedly as straight as infinitely more miserable Dawn) kissed back at her. Okay, so she did seem to hesitate for an instant, but then she turned on the tap and gave as good as she got.

Ten seconds that kiss lasted. After a nine count, shocking Heather in the most pleasant way ever, Vi's tongue shot out and circled inside her very avidly pursed lips. Oh what joy! But, before she could start to respond in kind, the tall ebony-skinned beauty had pulled away.

'Hev,' she tittered, 'you're such a tease!'

'What about me?' Dwayne put in. 'Don't I get a kiss?'

Heather gave him a chaste kiss on the nose. 'That's it for now,' she said. 'Play your cards right and I might give you another later.'

Sam's huge laugh rocked the terrace's foundations. 'Dwayne baby,' he boomed, 'make sure you keep your aces up your sleeve. And remember, points mean prizes.'

*****

Over the next hour or so the sextet gradually became three pairings. Heather, into her second bottle of Pinot, first noticed Dawn incrementally excluding Sam from the general banter. And she did it well. Once or twice she even raised a smile.

Opposites attract, Heather thought more than once, but those two . . .

Meanwhile Kris was incrementally excluding Viola. That disappointed Heather. Kissing those soft lips of Vi's had been quite an experience; so too had her enthusiastic response. What a shame Vi wasn't even remotely curious.

Dwayne was good company, though. He wasn't nearly as big or as loud as his cousin but there again, neither was anyone else. And Dwayne was a much better listener. Being students they gabbed about all sorts of trivialities . . . most of them immediately forgotten again . . . but he definitely listened to her as much as she listened to him.

In all fairness, as the Pinot went down, he might well have been more attentive than she was.

And wasn't she turned on! What with shared showers, luscious kisses and a couple of hot dates in the very imminent future!! Yes, even without really trying, Dwayne was definitely playing his cards right!!

If anything, he was playing them too slowly.

Get on with it, she thought. The answer's yes, just flipping-well suggest something!

Finally, as the other four headed off to dance to something by Ashanti, Dwayne said he needed to "go pay a call". Heather gave him perhaps five seconds of a start then followed.

Fractionally delayed by a couple who were sitting on a step, sharing a joint, she arrived up on the first floor landing and cast around. All was as she had expected: a closed bathroom door dead ahead, two bedrooms to her left and, to her right, that final flight of stairs.

Helpfully, the bedrooms had name plaques on them. The nearest read: "Beware - Katie's Pit" and was, rather bizarrely, bordered in a riot of childlike flowers. Heather smiled as she saw the other, far plainer plaque read: "Sophie's Room". Katie'd had three housemates until last summer. During the long break Sophie had visited a commune near St Ives and hadn't yet returned.

Keeping one eye on the bathroom, Heather opened Sophie's door. What she saw inside pleased her. There was a neatly-made bed and a lot of cardboard boxes. The boxes were stuffed with ring binders in an assortment of colours, probably containing last year's coursework. And there were a lot of them; far more than the work of just one student. It was easy to assume that this had become a junk room in the belief Sophie was now a surfing chick and wouldn't be back.

Or a happy hippy whore, which amounted to much the same, didn't it!

Heather grinned at the very idea. For two pins she could have been a happy hippy whore herself. And she could have surfed as well as anyone.

Better yet, better than her Cornish fantasies, the old-fashioned door had a lock with a key in it on the inside.

The sound of a flushing toilet brought Heather swiftly back into the corridor. As Dwayne came out of the bathroom she beckoned him, curling her finger and using all of her arm in a come-hither sort of a way. She'd seen such a gesture in an old film, used by a "lady of easy virtue" in a bid to attract trade. And guess what; it worked now just as well as it had in flickering black and white.

Two seconds later they were in Sophie's room, the door was locked and the key was safely secured in Heather's rear jeans' pocket.

'I skimped on your kiss,' she said, grinning at him. 'Would you like me to make up for that?'

'You bet I would.'

That was consent enough for Heather. She launched herself at him.

Chapter Five

Weaving their way through the obstacle course of boxes wasn't easy with their mouths tightly locked. But somehow they made it and pressed their eager bodies ever tighter together as they kept their first serious kiss going on the bed.

And good grief! Was that a baseball bat stuffed down the front of Dwayne's jeans!!

Intrigued, Heather deftly unfastened and unzipped.

'Commando,' she cried, 'I like that in a man. And I like this even more.'

Dwayne's willy was not quite the longest she'd ever encountered but it was definitely the thickest. And how could she think of it as a "willy"? Dwayne was all man, so surely it couldn't be thought of in terms befitting a schoolgirl.

Still admiring its shape, she took hold of Dwayne's rock hard cock, impressed anew as she found out that her hand could only just close around its base.

'Lie back and enjoy,' she said, 'I may be some time.'

*****

Heather always referred to fellatio "doing below jobs", insisting that "blow job" was an abbreviation of an old, historical term, and a less accurate abbreviation at that. She enjoyed giving them, though, and considered herself honoured to be dealing with a cock like this.

Not that size really mattered, of course. It wasn't Dwayne's eight or nine inches that would please her, more a matter of what he could do with them. But that wonderfully thick shaft did have its possibilities, didn't it!

Already fully erect, Dwayne's foreskin had mostly retracted of its own accord, exposing his pink glans. Heather gently tugged on him, pulling the last of his prepuce away and down, stretching it, liking the way a band of pinkness suddenly ended and his usual blackness took over. And she liked the sight of his glans, too. Some of her sluttier friends called that part of a man "cockhead" or "helmet". Dwayne's glans was very large and did indeed look like a helmet.

In fact it reminded her of the ones the Germans used to wear in WWII.

Using her left hand on the bottom half of his cock, Heather began to masturbate him. Using her right hand on his balls, she began to gently squeeze. And, using the tip of her tongue, she began to lick at him all over, particularly under and around his helmet.

Dwayne sighed and told her she was marvellous.

Not prepared to break off, Heather kept on squeezing and masturbating, never varying the slow and steady rhythms of her hands. Her mouth did vary its actions, though. Sometimes she would lick him with the flat of her tongue, concentrating on the top half of his shaft as well as his helmet. Sometimes she would suck him, sometimes taking in four or five inches, sometimes only one or two, alternating it, keeping him on his toes. And sometimes she would use her teeth, but never anywhere near his glans; oh no, she knew what softies men could be and kept her teeth for the middle region of his shaft.

According to Dwayne she was now incredible and miraculous.

According to Heather it was time he started to think about cumming. She gradually upped the pace of her left hand, letting it slide a little higher and higher. And, squeezing his balls slightly ever-so-slightly harder, she took him back in her mouth, sucking on him with ever-increasing urgency.

'Hev,' he said. 'Oh Hev, I think . . .'

Hands still working busily away, she popped him out again. Sure enough, perhaps five beats later, a tiny trickle of white oozed from his tip. Realizing he was about to erupt, she hastily put him back into her mouth.

'Oh Hev, oh my God, yes!'

Dwayne ejaculated in seven mighty blasts.

Seven; Heather's favourite number!

She skilfully swallowed the first few and collected the last couple. Then, when she was sure that he'd finished, she opened up so he could see her savouring his seed on her tongue. And then she closed, swallowed and reopened.

'Now you see it, now you don't,' she said. 'I'm just like a whore in a video, aren't I?'

'Oh my God, I'm speechless.'

Heather wasn't speechless but had no time for many more words. Using both her hands on Dwayne's cock, she did her best to wring every last bit of semen out of him, hungrily devouring the odd drop or two she'd not already had.

'Jesus,' he said. 'You're like a vacuum cleaner.'

Heather took that as a compliment. It was the sort of thing guys said in those porn videos. Not that she ever watched them.

Honest!!

Dwayne took hold of her T-shirt and pulled it off her. 'My God,' he said, staring at her, his lust-meter obviously up beyond critical. 'How can anyone have nipples like those?'

'You say the sweetest things.' Heather reached out in her turn, swiftly removing his white Fred Perry top, probably one from the polo range. 'Let's get naked,' she said. 'Let's find out what you can do with that lovely big cock.'

Chapter Six

Turned out Dwayne could do lots of good things with his cock. But first he did lots of good things with his tongue, both internally and externally. Confident she'd found an acceptable lover, Heather finally pulled him away from her honeypot, relishing the feel of all the short, stubbly hair on his chest against her super-sensitive boobs. Soon she had him where she wanted: in the most basic position going, his warm brown eyes staring down into her green ones.

'Oh yes,' she said, reaching for him, intending to guide him home.

'No,' he said, 'let me.'

Heather reckoned she could trust him and was soon glad that she did.

Good grief, she thought, the guy has done this before!

Guiding himself, Dwayne eased his lovely hard helmet into her. Then he eased it out. And then he did it again and again. Maybe he was psychic but he'd somehow happened on an action that ticked all of her boxes. Her opening was her best-ever place, as good as her clit. She knew there were zillions of nerve endings around it and he was stimulating every last one of them.

Nice, nice, nice!

Then, when it seemed life couldn't possibly get any better, he pressed in a little deeper and stopped completely withdrawing. Now he was using perhaps an inch of shaft, perhaps that band of pink under his helmet, stimulating all those nerve ends as her went in and . . . not quite all the way . . . out.

Heather assured him he was marvellous. Suitably encouraged, he began to use maybe another inch of shaft.

'Yes, yes, yes,' she endorsed, 'nice, nice, nice!'

The rim of Dwayne's helmet was now going in as far as the very bottom edge of Heather's G-spot. It was hard to believe he could do that so accurately and so often. It was hard to believe that he could withdraw so far without plopping out. His control was too immaculate to be true.

Right up until that moment Heather had been proud of her self-control (she didn't always have a lot of that!). Suddenly she lost it altogether. Suddenly she was cumming; cumming and shrieking wildly, and Dwayne was probably thinking he was God's gift to women.