Loving Made Easy

Before I knew it we were both naked and on the bed, as if by magic. Chewing on Lizzie's breasts was no hardship. For such a blonde girl she had good skin tone; her nips were even darker than mine. They felt superb between my lips, too. And her moans and groans of appreciation filled me with a sense of gratitude.

Sex should always be so good.

Except in my experience sex always has been so good. I've "slept" with many, many women and can honestly say the experience has never been negative. Talking about "experience", that major factor can be significant, obviously, but it's not the be all and end all.

Can't inexperience be an even more valuable commodity?

Lust and attraction are important too. Why shag the world's best-looking babe if she's a bitch at heart? Why not shag a rough-and-ready homely girl instead? One who wants more than another pubic scalp to display afterwards?

Or better still, one who just wants to shag.

Some of my best lovers have been homely girls. And yes, a couple of them have been ones that I have found hard to let go.

And it's not really a case of us all being the same in the dark. Given any element of choice I keep the lights on. In my opinion seeing is important, whoever I'm with. It's not top of the list, obviously, but it's up there along with hearing and smelling, close on the heels of tasting.

Okay, so it's ten miles behind feeling. But feeling is feeling, isn't it? Why do we girls have sex in the first place?

*****

Two, perhaps three hours into our opening engagement I harnessed up. Then I shagged my new girlfriend long and slow. And then, when she eventually expressed an interest in shagging me, I directed her to my world-famous toy drawer.

(Make that my drawers: these days I actually have three of them.)

'Oh my God,' she exclaimed, examining drawer number one, 'what are these silk scarves for?'

'Play your cards right and you'll find out tomorrow,' I replied cockily.

'I have to work in the morning,' she countered, her usual self-certainty suddenly AWOL. 'The end of the week is my busiest time. You know how it is. Everyone wanting to look their best for . . .'

I held up a staying hand. 'Do you work Saturday afternoons?'

'I'm booked up until two. And I've turned off my business phone. I could be exclusively yours after then, if that's what you want.'

I studied her. Stark-bollock-naked, half-bent over my top toy drawer . . .

Did I mention the shape of her ass?

I did?

So you've got the general idea, then.

How desirable was she?

How desirable and how readily available!

'Tomorrow afternoon it is,' I said in my best effort at a cattish purr. 'In the meantime, isn't there something you ought to be doing?'

In response she held up a ten-inch dildo and raised a quizzical eyebrow.

Surprised by her sudden lack of chatter I nodded approval and tossed her the harness I'd recently used.

'Perfect choice,' said I.

And it was.

Chapter Three

I'm not sure what impression you have of me as regards my working life. I'd say that I am vastly overpaid for doing what comes naturally. I'm good at what I do, however, almost as proficient as the CEO with the mostest, Victoria Hanson.

Vic being, coincidentally, second in my all-time list of girls I can never say no to.

Maybe I'll tell more of my favourite girls later. And I know I already hinted at possibly revealing a little more about guys earlier, but cancel that altogether. Who gives a fig about guys?

Not me.

Oh, and please forgive me if I haven't gone into much detail yet. Those first night nerves hamper me still. I'll mend my ways from here-on, I promise I will.

So, Friday night together with Lizzie progressed up until eight o'clock Saturday morning, with only a few breaks and naps. Neither of us sated, we agreed Saturday afternoon was still a must. And, seeing as she was off earning her crust, it only seemed right I did likewise.

To be eminently clear, I stopped getting paid for overtime a decade ago. But that doesn't mean I am underpaid. As I said already, I think I'm vastly overpaid.

Why work less than forty hours a week when one is vastly overpaid? Why not work fifty or sixty?

I won't bore you with my self-justification. All I'll say is that I overwork to compensate for being so generously rewarded. Working late into the evening and going in on a Saturday morning was not unusual; a handful of paid-by-the-hour workers looked at me askance, but not in a really offensive sort of a way.

Snow White, they no doubt thought, earning her next million . . .

Not that I ever get any open antagonism because of my success. West Yorkshire Bank leads the world woman-wise. There are other institutions with female CEOs, but not many. And nowhere to my knowledge is there any other institution lucky enough to have a CEO with a profile like Vic's.

Or such a sexily shaped, soft and succulent body, come to that.

Pardon me; I digress.

Passing the time at my desk until two o'clock was easy and surprisingly productive. The things you can get done when you're not being interrupted by phones and colleagues every couple of minutes!

Not changing a winning formula, Lizzie and I met up again in the Brown Cow. And, after a rather late lunch/early dinner of steak and chips, we went back to my place.

And, without much further ado about anything at all, we went back to my bed.

*****

Taking the clothes off Lizzie was just as much fun second time around. So too was kissing all her tats. We whiled away a happy hour or so cuddling and caressing, limiting the intimate contact at first, saving it a while.

Well, that had been my intention. Somehow, a lot sooner than I'd planned, we were in a side-on sixty-nine position.

And yes, the contact which ensued couldn't have been much more intimate.

I don't know about you but I simply adore vaginas, especially ones other than my own. Warm, wet and welcoming to fingers and tongues: what an absolute miracle of biological evolution.

Lizzie's vagina was nice and tight as well as very, warm, very, very wet and as welcoming as can possibly be.

Oh my, I'm getting warm and wet right now, just thinking about it.

No. I'm getting warm and wet just thinking about her!

First l teased her clitoral hood with the tip of my tongue and simultaneous stroked her labia with my fingers, flitting over her light as summer butterflies. Next I swapped roles for my fingers and tongue and slowly, painstakingly slowly, entered her.

And next I role-swapped again, fingering her deeply, my tongue bypassing her hood and directly attacking her actual clit.

Dab, dab, dab it went persistently, dab, dab, dab.

Meanwhile she did a whole load of similar sweet things to me.

Did we bring each other off? You bet we did. One after another, both together, multiply and singly and all combinations in-between.

Then I remembered the scarves.

'These blue ones match your eyes,' I said, helping myself to a handful before re-joining Lizzie on the bed. 'Give me your left arm, please.'

'I'm so nervous,' she replied, offering up her arm nevertheless.

No way was she as nervous as I am writing this! Her trembles were of sheer anticipation.

'Where do you get these ideas from?' she asked as I expertly tied her wrist to a rail at the head of my bed.

I could have lied but that wouldn't have been me.

'Back at uni,' I said, ensuring she was fastened securely. 'Now, give me your right arm.'

'I think I just came.'

'That's rather the idea, isn't it? So give me your right arm.'

'I'm wetting my panties here.'

'Elizabeth, you aren't wearing any panties. So give me your arm.'

Still chuntering, she obliged. As expert as ever, I fastened that wrist securely too.

'Now I really have wet my panties,' she mock-grouched, smiling as he did so. 'And tell me again; where do you get your ideas from?'

'I got this one from a policewoman,' I told her, double-checking my knots. And they were good. If tugged they'd only tighten; me and around-the-world sailors, eh?'

Me and Ellen MacArthur.

'A policewoman,' Lizzie echoed. 'Didn't she have handcuffs?'

'You bet she did. We used them all the time. She was an older woman. I just had to keep going back for more.' I laughed at the memory. 'We were never exactly friends, but we were definitely addicted to each other for a spell. Maybe it was those cuffs. They were official Lancashire Police issue.'

'You sound like a very naughty girl, Heather Hunter.'

'No surprise there then, is there? Raise your head.'

'What?'

'Raise your head. I need to blindfold you.'

That took Lizzie aback. Maybe it was me with my lighting always on at the max. Maybe she had been expecting to see whatever it was I was going to do to her.

As if even I knew what that might be!

'I'm not so sure,' she said, almost whimpering. 'I wanted to watch in the overhead mirror. And I'm really, really leaking beyond all reason . . .'

'Raise your head,' I repeated. 'And don't worry; it's not for ever. Maybe I'll let you watch a few of our reflections in a while. But not now; now you're getting the full works.'

'Was that policewoman as snotty as you?' she enquired, raising her head as commanded.

'She was ten times as bad as me,' I replied, efficiently covering Lizzie's eyes.

'My God, Hev, I'm so, so . . .'

I grinned at her. Lying there, arms splayed either side of her head, vision cut off, blonde and very, very beautiful . . .

Had any girl ever been so vulnerable?

Not that I intended to hurt her in any way. Please understand that from the outset. There's a world of difference between teasing, tormenting and hurting.

Trust me; I would never hurt any human being, not ever a man.

Not unless called upon to defend myself. I have hurt men quite badly when defending myself, and I have done so without losing one second of sleep. Sex is a different kettle of fish, though.

Well, within tightly controlled limits, it is.

Chapter Four

Leaving Lizzie bound on the bed I strolled across to my second toy drawer, the one in the middle, where I kept my special treats.

Not that I needed to hunt so far. I knew exactly what I was looking for.

This little beauty had no less than seven beads, all of equal size and shape. And it wasn't exactly "little". According to the promotional blurb it was nine inches long. I reckoned the insertable length was more like eight.

But, accounting for those seven delicious beads, that was plenty.

As if I was going to set into her immediately! Oh no. Putting my baser inclinations on hold, I took a moment to listen to her. She was chuntering again, big-time. Chuckling to myself, I straddled her, planting my knees either side of her sexily slim shoulders, lowering my fanny onto the half of her face that wasn't scarfed.

And still she kept chuntering.

Believe you me; the next couple of minutes were exquisite. Have you ever face-sat a girl who just won't shut up? The vibrations of a ceaselessly moving mouth . . .

Well, they simply have to be felt.

Yes, yes, yes. Please, please, please and thank you, thank you, thank you.

At this point I'll enlighten you about wave theory. By that I don't mean the one you may have slept through in A-level Physics. No, my wave theory is based on the real one, the one that is favoured by Cornish fishermen.

Waves come in series of seven, right? There's a small one to begin with, then a slightly bigger one . . . and on and on until the seventh is simply titanic.

And then the series starts over: small, a little larger . . .

My theory is that the same principle holds for orgasms. And I will apologize right here and now to any female who struggles in that department.

Solidarity, sister! My best wishes are with you!!

I am fortunate enough to be multi-orgasmic. I've read squillions of articles from women who aren't as lucky as me. Most of them, and excuse me if I'm in any way mistaken, seem to be submitted by women who usually have sex with men. Some of those poor fellow females say they rarely (or never) climax during sex.

How tragic is that! How tragic and, to some small extent, I know what you mean. Once or twice I have dallied with guys who've done little or nothing for me.

Try it with a girl; that's the only advice I can offer. Girl-on-girl has little urgency . . . not unless your partner goes into hurricane mode . . . and the long, slow build-up can coax a finish out of anyone, initially tense and reluctant or not.

Seriously . . . having sex with men tends towards a short, sharp shock. Having sex with a woman tends onwards and upwards, toward Heaven.

Now then, where was I? Apart from spilling my guts and still shaking like a leaf?

Oh yes . . .

Two minutes in and Lizzie ceased chuntering against my fanny. Instead she started to use her tongue to spear me, forcing it inside me and making me gush.

One down, my mind registered, albeit hazily. One down, six to go.

Perhaps needless to report, I stayed on her. And, chuntering abandoned, she kept spearing on at me, into me.

Soon it was cum number two, promisingly stronger than that first one.

Then came cum number three . . .

And I was right. Cum number seven was way past "great" on the Richter scale.

Not that it put me off. Not even when cum number eight was back down to "moderate".

No, that wasn't time for despondence; that was the time to progress.

*****

After harnessing up, I took a detour down Lizzie's stretched-out body and sucked her toes.

'Oh my God,' she squealed, 'what are you doing?'

I reckoned that should have been pretty apparent to anyone, blindfolded or not. Working my way from a big toe all the way down the range to a little one, I said nothing and changed feet.

And yes, you've guessed it. Her toenails were as ornate as her fingernails. If anything they could even have been flashier.

'Oh my God,' she persisted, 'what are you doing to me? And what on earth are you going to do to me?'

I could have reassured her but that would have dampened the anticipation. So, instead, I drifted up her body and concentrated on her naked lady tattoo. And I kissed and licked that naked lady as if she was real. I honestly doubt any naked lady tattoo has had her boobs and fanny licked in so earnest a way, not ever.

'Oh my God,' Lizzie droned, 'oh my God, my God, my God.'

I was beginning to understand why Kat had reservations about Lizzie. And, although I now knew how to shut her up, my fanny was no longer freely available for a face-sit.

No, my fanny was harnessed up, ready for something else altogether.

So I gave her it.

And didn't I give her it good!

I rarely blow my own trumpet but for once I'll make an exception. That beaded dildo I mentioned? Well it was one of my favourites because it was a gradual sort of a thing. There was no need to go in with it like a bull at a gate, was there?

Personally . . . and you can't get much more personal than this . . . I am very, very sensitive in the first inch or so of my vagina. I have a simply wonderful G-spot too, one that is very easy to locate, but I have always favoured that first inch or so.

Maybe that's why I always concentrate on that first inch or so with lovers on the receiving end.

And Lizzie very clearly loved it.

Displaying incredible control (if I say so myself), kneeling between her widespread legs, I eased in that initial bead. Then I eased it almost-but-not-quite all the way out; then in again and almost-but-not-quite out.

And my precedent had been set. On I went, on and on and on.

Twenty delicate, precise strokes and Lizzie came amid a torrent of shrieks, screams and swear words.

Duly encouraged, I began to use two beads on her, easing them in and almost-but-not-quite out again.

Another twenty delicate, precise strokes and the second wave smashed upon her shores.

'Oh my God, my God,' she squealed, 'yes, yes, yes!'

(She swore a lot as well but I'm too ladylike to report exactly what she said.)

Next I used three beads on her and hit the jackpot. In other words I was stimulating her Graffy as well as the inner mouth of her vagina.

Wave number three arrived quickly and it was noticeably larger than the first two. And yes, Lizzie was louder and more appreciate than ever.

I guess you've already anticipated my tactic. I kept on introducing those beads one more at a time for maybe twenty strokes at a time. And, eventually, I proved my theory once and for all.

Good grief wasn't that seventh wave big! It wasn't so much titanic as tidal!!

More encouraged than ever, fully inside her now, our groins tightly together, I started to grind. It wasn't so much out of choice as necessity. I'm not sure what was going on in Lizzie's head but her legs had wrapped themselves around my waist. Put simply, she was gripping me like a vice and I wasn't able to pound into her.

Grinding was good though. Grinding was doing wonderful things for me as well as her.

After a lengthy spell of grunting, groaning and cursing Lizzie came yet again. I came very shortly after her; it would have been rude not to.

'Untie me,' she gasped. 'I want to run my fingers through your hair. And I want to hold you close while you shag me.'

Except, of course, she didn't say "shag".

'Loosen your grip and I'll think about it,' I gasped back.

She did and, free to move my backside, I quickly got into full flow: in and out, in and out, vigorous but not brutal, urgent but not hasty. The dildo made liquid squelching sounds as it pleasured her. She resumed shrieking, screaming and swearing, more or less in time to the beat.

And did I consider stopping?

Make that a no.

Chapter Five

It was almost midnight when I unfastened Lizzie and finally uncovered her eyes.

Blinking in the artificial light, she sighed.

'That was your idea of a quiet afternoon in bed, was it?'

'I didn't get really carried away,' I protested. Then it occurred to me that maybe I had. I'd enjoyed proceedings so much that I had forgotten my half-promise to think about untying her. And I hadn't remembered to remove the blindfold "in a while", either.

Guilt ran through me. 'I'm so sorry,' I said. 'I'm a bad girl, aren't I?'

'You're looking good to me,' she replied.

But I was insistent. 'I'm bad. I'm really bad. I deserve a sound spanking.'

Lizzie brushed blonde hair out of her still semi-dazzled eyes and laughed, thinking I was joking.

'I do,' I persisted. 'I deserve to be put over your knee and spanked.'

That stopped her laughter in its tracks. 'Hev,' she began uncertainly.

'Please Lizzie. Please spank me. Then feel free to tie me up and do anything you want.'

As an aside, no way could Lizzie have put me over her knee if I hadn't wanted her to. Not many people on earth could have. But I did want her to. I wanted her to spank me quite desperately.

'I dunno,' she said, obviously out of her depth.

'Please, I repeated.

'Hev, I dunno . . .'

'Listen, forget putting me over your knee,' I rolled onto my stomach and wiggled my ass in the air. 'Just spank me.'

Dead silence.

'Come on,' I commanded, still wiggling like a whore, 'you can't miss a target like that.'

Lizzie patted me so tentatively, so timidly that I laughed. 'Put your heart into it, girl. Show me you mean business.'

Her second effort was a little less tentative but nowhere near a proper spank.

'Better,' I said. 'Give it more gas and use both hands. That's more like it. Yes, that's it, that's it! Keep doing it just like that.'

What ensued was by no means a sound thrashing but did amount to thirty minutes of fun. At the end of it a glance up at the mirror verified that my bum was as red as a tomato.

As were Lizzie's palms.

Win, win or what!!

'Now tie me,' I instructed, crouched on all-fours, my ass still in the air.

Lizzie tied me but didn't blindfold me.