Katie

Katie

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Tags

sex, etc

Summary

Fuckery This is just random wordporn. Dirty stories. That’s what we’re here for, yes? ‘The Fisherman’s Wife’ I wrote after a conversation with some old ladies in a hotel in the Western Highlands of Scotland. I love the way the old like to be naughty! No-one in The States got ‘Bennet’s Brother’ – it was way too English in every way. I had a hoot writing it and its companion piece (now lost, ‘Battle at the Regatta’). I was attempting Wodehouse with added fellatio… ‘Teacher’s Night Off’ – good idea – not so well executed. I didn’t quite get what I wanted with that one. Horny enough, mind. ‘On The Eve of All Hallows’ – again, not quite right. I wanted to write a story using a student of mine, an Indian girl, as muse (obviously her name was not Krythika!). I wrote it in a hurry for Hallowe’en and it shows. It’s a bit clunky. ‘A Christmas Kiss’ was also written for the holidays. This is a better story. A true story, although it didn’t happen quite in the way I tell it. The girl involved is now a senior partner in a law firm in Birmingham and I learned from Facebook last week that she has become a grandmother for the third time! ‘Katie’ is also based on truth. I’ve known Katie for years and years. Our families are still close and, were it not for lockdown, I’d be visiting her next month. Obviously, her name isn’t Katie – or mine would be shit. ‘Yes or No’ is a story I am, or at least was, quite proud of. I wrote it in reaction to a news story about Ivy Leaguers ‘protesting’. I was very angry. Sadly the news story will be forgotten, so the story will lose its punch. Still good, though.

Tags

sex, etc

Summary

Fuckery
This is just random wordporn. Dirty stories. That’s what we’re here for, yes?
‘The Fisherman’s Wife’ I wrote after a conversation with some old ladies in a hotel in the Western Highlands of Scotland. I love the way the old like to be naughty!
No-one in The States got ‘Bennet’s Brother’ – it was way too English in every way. I had a hoot writing it and its companion piece (now lost, ‘Battle at the Regatta’). I was attempting Wodehouse with added fellatio…
‘Teacher’s Night Off’ – good idea – not so well executed. I didn’t quite get what I wanted with that one. Horny enough, mind.
‘On The Eve of All Hallows’ – again, not quite right. I wanted to write a story using a student of mine, an Indian girl, as muse (obviously her name was not Krythika!). I wrote it in a hurry for Hallowe’en and it shows. It’s a bit clunky.
‘A Christmas Kiss’ was also written for the holidays. This is a better story. A true story, although it didn’t happen quite in the way I tell it. The girl involved is now a senior partner in a law firm in Birmingham and I learned from Facebook last week that she has become a grandmother for the third time!
‘Katie’ is also based on truth. I’ve known Katie for years and years. Our families are still close and, were it not for lockdown, I’d be visiting her next month. Obviously, her name isn’t Katie – or mine would be shit.
‘Yes or No’ is a story I am, or at least was, quite proud of. I wrote it in reaction to a news story about Ivy Leaguers ‘protesting’. I was very angry. Sadly the news story will be forgotten, so the story will lose its punch. Still good, though.

Content

Submitted: July 31, 2020

A A A | A A A

Content

Submitted: July 31, 2020

A A A

A A A


Katie Baxter was one of the boys: she told dirty jokes, drank beer in pints and swore like a trooper. Her mother had died when Katie was a toddler, so she had been brought up on the farm in Northumberland by her father and five elder brothers. They were quite a rough lot, so it was natural that Katie, when she came to college, would gravitate to the working class kids on the course, like Harry, Jack, Danny and me.

 

She was tiny, five foot in her boots: standing close to me at the bar of the Dyer’s Arms, which she did so many nights, she barely came up to my chest. It was funny the way she stood so close – I mean, I could smell her! Not just the usual soap and sweat smell everyone has, but something wonderfully different. So when she was under my chin in the pub, I didn’t shuffle away – I stood like a dummy and breathed her lovely Katie-ness. The others said I was a weirdo and that I should give her space, but try as I might to stay away, she was always there, almost touching, just not quite.

 

But when it came to booze, she could put it away! She matched us all – pint for pint – and got her rounds in. She was a demon at darts and could play a mean game of pool. Handy in a fight too – her brothers had taught her to wrestle and box; she was on the county judo team! She was mate, a pal, a buddy. She was also quite startlingly beautiful.

 

Okay, her nose might have been more prominent than that of your standard beauty queen. Okay, she did have a tiny overbite, but these imperfections just added to rather than detracted from her obvious assets. Katie looked at the world with huge green eyes, fringed by long dark lashes. Her lips were full and red on her smiling mouth; her jaw was delicate and her cheekbones high. Katie’s skin was as smooth and pale as finest porcelain and her long, thick hair was the colour of fresh chestnuts. Her breasts were small and round and jiggled under her t-shirt when she laughed; her waist was slim and she had a perfect apple-shaped arse under her jeans.

 

She was a source of constant frustration to her girlfriends at college as she seldom used make up, wore a bra or shaved her armpits. Her regular uniform was jeans and band t-shirts, Doc Marten boots and a leather bomber jacket she wore winter, spring, summer and fall. Her hair – which any hairdresser would have killed to style – she invariably dragged into a wild pony tail, letting tousled ringlets drop around her pretty face. She had absolutely no interest in fashion, hair-dos or shoes, except when she was in love. And Katie fell in love with embarrassing regularity.

 

You could always tell when Katie was in love because she tried to look more feminine, or at least what she thought was more feminine. She’d totter on heels that she couldn’t quite manage, wear a cocktail dress to seminars and try to tame her hair with layer upon layer of spray.

 

The men she fell for were all from the same mould, Hooray-Henry public school types, rugger-buggers or rowers with floppy hair, square jaws and door-wide shoulders. And for every one, Katie fell hard…at least to begin with.

 

For a period of around ten days, Katie would spend all her free time and most of her money in Top Shop or Chelsea Girl, buying short skirts and tube tops; she’d stand by the telephone boxes on campus, looking like a lost puppy, waiting for a call or she’d sit for hours in the canteen while Mandy or Karen did make up for her. But usually by the two week mark she’d be propping up the bar in The Dyer’s Arms, in her jeans and t-shirt, getting a round of pints in.

 

And we would ask, “What happened with Justin? (Or Rupert, or Simon, or whothefuckever?)”

 

And Katie would reply, “He was a fucking bore. (Or a fucking woose, or a fucking dope, or a fucking twat.)”

 

On one occasion she told us, “The bastard hit me!”

 

“God, Katie,” I replied, “What did you do?”

 

“Do!” she ranted, “I broke the fucker’s arm!”

 

Of course we all fancied the pants off her, but she was having none of it from us – her heart was set on a big rich kid with perfect teeth and the keys to a mansion. So we’d mess about, drink ourselves silly and get up to stupid antics (each one of us cursing our place of birth!). After all, Katie Baxter was one of the boys.

 

One night we were drinking on campus, it was in the summer term and we were well and truly plastered as we staggered out into the balmy night. There was a boating lake on the grounds and we were rolling past it when Katie suddenly pipes up, “Who’s for a swim?”

There was no one around so we thought this would be a good laugh.

We duly stripped off our jeans and shirts: Danny and I were down to our underpants and wandering towards the dark water when Katie zipped past us completely starkers!

“Come on you woosies!” she laughed, “all or nothing!” followed quickly by “Fuck me sideways, it’s fucking freezing in here!” But she plunged in anyway.

Danny looked at me, “Christ, Frank, I’ve got a stonk here could break fucking bricks.”

“Aye,” I said, “Me too, but if it’s as cold as Katie says in there we soon won’t have!” Our drawers joined our other clothes and we ran naked into the lake as fast as we could (mostly to hide the swinging erections we’d just grown!).

Jack and Harry soon joined us in the cold, black water and as we swam the moon came out.

We dipped and ducked until we were numb and our solid sausages had become wrinkled cashews. I got out after the other lads, we were all pulling our togs onto our wet bodies when I heard a “Pssst!”

I turned to see Katie standing in the water, a vision of naked loveliness that burned into my mind and fuelled my masturbation fantasises for months to come. Her pale skin glowed in the moonlight, her wet hair looked black as it dripped water over her sweet little breasts; her nipples were long and dark and her pubic hair was a perfect tangled triangle, dribbling lake water down her shapely thighs. Her eyes were sparkling and her heart-shaped face was split by a wide smile.

It was a moment that seemed to last for hours. Then Katie, still smiling hissed, “Seen enough? Get your bloody eyes back in your head and make a sodding distraction.”

My head snapped round “Coppers!” I yelled, “Run!” And me and the lads legged it into the woods while Katie nipped up the shore, grabbed her duds and dressed -without an audience of stalk-eyed wolves!

A canny lass, as they’d say in her native Northumberland. To me it was a favour for a mate, a wee help for a chum. And Katie was, whatever I felt about her in my private moments, first and foremost a friend.

 

In the couple of years that followed graduation I rarely saw Katie Baxter. Sometimes we’d bump into each other in Town if we were up for auditions, and I saw her give a brilliant Juliet at Bristol Old Vic, but it wasn’t like at college. We were still close, of course, but things were much more serious and it seemed to me that Katie was growing tired of the business.

 

It was probably the summer of ’89 when I last saw her. I was down in London auditioning for a major tour, and bugger me if Danny wasn’t there too – going for the same part. Which was bloody odd, as I was (then anyway) a long lanky Scot and he was a short fat Yorkshireman! (In the end, neither of us got it, but hey, that was the job.)

We’d done with the audition and were looking for a pub when we saw Katie coming down the street. She was in a cotton print dress and training shoes.

“Hey, Katie, how are you doing” yelled Danny.

“Well, fuck me! Franco Fraser and Danny Cooper! What are you bastards up to in Town?” (Time had not mellowed her mouth!)

I noted her dress, “In love, are you, babe?”

“Oh fuck off, Fraser!”

“Go on – dress, but no heels. I’m guessing day eleven.”

“Well you’re guessing wrong, clever bollocks. Seven months. Seven-fucking-months!” she stuck her tongue out.

“Whoopee-do!” mocked Danny, “That must be a record! Has he got a magnetic cock or sommat?”

Katie went red with embarrassment. I had never seen her blush. Never.

“Lay off, Danny.” I said. “Is he that special?” I asked her.

“Yes,” she replied in a tiny voice.

“Well, well done you!” and I picked her up and hugged her.

We wandered along, the three of us, and chatted about old times, friends and stuff, and about this new man in her life. He worked in a lawyer’s office in The City and they were in a little flat in Palmer’s Green. Katie wasn’t looking for acting work anymore and she was going to do teacher training that autumn. Once she’d qualified, she and this guy were getting married.

“So, go on. What’s his name?” I asked.

“Um…Cris,” Katie blushed again.

“Chris? Not Rupert or Justin?” I laughed.

“A normal guy’s name? Not Monty or Quentin?” chipped in Danny.

Katie looked at her shoes.

“Something is up here,” I said. “Cris? I bet it’s Crispin!” 

“Um…” mumbled Katie, “yeh.”

Danny and I laughed like donkeys.

“Fuck the pair of you!” shouted Katie “Wankers!” But she was laughing too.

She persuaded us to stay in London for the night and come to dinner at their flat.

 

 

We arrived at the address at the right time. I had found some nice wine at a reasonable price; Danny, typically, had a bottle of cheap vodka. We were given a warm welcome, and, frankly, Crispin was a decent guy for a toff. Good cook too.

 

Katie was obviously still besotted as she fussed around Crispin, she was much more relaxed around him that the others we’d known. She was in jeans for one thing, and the sleeveless t-shirt she was wearing showed that she hadn’t been told to shave her armpits. Cris teased and chaffed with her much the same as we did, but there was no head-shaking or pursing of the lips when she told us all to fuck off. Maybe she was right, maybe this was the guy for her.

 

Dinner and the wine went quickly, with laughter and jokes and general joviality. While Cris took the plates to the kitchen, Katie looked at us expectantly. I gave her the thumbs up, and mouthed “super bloke-well done” at her. Danny said, with Yorkshire bluntness, “Aye, he’s a good’un. Hang on to him, lass.” Katie beamed in pleasure. My heart leapt, I loved the way Katie smiled, her whole face lit up. I must have shown it because she gave me a look…unfathomable, like all her little ways, but definitely something.

 

Crispin came back from the kitchen with a bottle of gin in each hand, “Gosh,” he said, “look what I found.”

We all laughed, Danny piped up – “I’ve got some vod an all, mate!”

“I think I’ve got my copy of Halliwell’s somewhere….”

“No fucking way!” Danny yelped, “Stop ‘er, Cris! You can’t win! Ask for three and two!”

“Three and two? Danny, you fucking woose!” laughed Katie.

“I’m in! Any numbers!”

“What is going on?” questioned our host.

“You mean you’ve never drank Halliwell’s?” I asked. But it was obvious he hadn’t.

 

Drink Halliwell’s was a drinking game all actors we used to play in those happy days before the actor-as-model fashion took over. You took a copy of Halliwell’s Film Guide, opened it at a random page and read a film title to your opponent, if they could say any detail about the film – date, director, actor, awards- then you had to down a glass. If they couldn’t, then they had to down the drink. Now die-hard players only got one chance each – playing straight, one and one, but as not everyone was up on films, you could offer one and two, so the expert only gets one guess, but the opponent gets two. Three and two was quite extreme, but we had played it just to get folk involved. It meant the novice got three guesses, while the veteran had to name two facts about their given film.

Katie and I had a common love of old movies, it was a passion we shared with Leslie Halliwell, and so we were very good at this game. Danny was fairly rubbish, but as he liked drinking he liked playing. Cris had never played it before.

“Does bunnikins want a little three and two then,” Katie teased him.

“No, no.” he resolved, “I never met a girl could beat me at any game, so I’ll play straight.”

“Are you sure, sweetness?” was she goading him?

“Absolutely! Do your worst!”

 

The game began nicely enough, with Katie throwing some easy ones at Cris, Star Wars, Raiders of the Lost Ark sort of thing. Cris hit me with a couple of nasties – Death Drums Along the River, for fuck’s sake! And I was merciless with Danny. But then Cris got cocky and said how easy it was and Katie turned up the heat. Every film she picked was some ‘40s obscure oddity. Cris was between Katie and I and she gave me a look as if to say “Teach this smug fucker a lesson” so I picked some oldies for him, “Guns at Batasi, Cris?”

After an hour, a bottle of gin and most of the vodka had gone – mostly down Crispin’s throat, I have to say, but Danny was also glassy eyed. It was a warm night, they were both sweating like pigs.

 

I found myself looking at Katie more and more, drinking in her pretty profile, enjoying the shape of her little breasts under the t-shirt and ogling those sexy dark curls under her arms. She caught me looking once or twice, but she ignored my attention, she merely sat straighter in her chair, tilted her chin and smiled serenely as Cris sank another glass of gin.

 

When we had got to the end of the vodka, Danny fell of his chair in a stupor and it was Katie, Cris and me and about a quarter of a bottle of gin. Cris was swaying in his seat.

“Okay Cris, ET, the Extra-Terrestrial?” Katie asked – I guessed she was softening on him, it was her boyfriend after all.

“Star.” Burped Cris.

“Okay – who was a star of ET?”

“Li’l fucking alien thingy –eyes and stuff!” Cris answered with drunken seriousness.

“Um, is that your final answer?”

“Oh yes. I seen it.” Cris barked, “the star of ET is the alien – li’l guy, big eyes, funny voice.”

“Drink!” we said in unison.

Cris swallowed another glass of gin. “I gotta to the li’l boys room,” he slurred, standing awkwardly.

 

Katie looked at me and said, “I should get him to bed. I’ve got some sleeping bags for you and Danny. You take the couch, let Danny lie where he is.” When she came back with the bags, Danny woke up long enough to hog the couch and I had to make do with the floor.

 

Sleep did not come easy. First there was the sound of Cris throwing up in the toilet – I felt for the guy, it seemed to go on forever. Then fucking Danny started to snore.

 

Danny’s snores were wet open-mouthed grunts – like a pig in shit, truly. Great moaning in-breaths, followed by fleshy sodden snorts. It was horrible. I thought of sleeping in the hall, but I didn’t fancy Cris being sick on me. I moved across the room, as far as I could from Porky the fucking Pig.

 

After I had moved against the wall, Danny’s hog-like grunting settled into a regular buzz-saw thrum. I was just beginning to drop off, when I saw a crack of light and heard the door open. Someone was in doorway, but because I’d left my glasses on the other side of the room, I couldn’t see who. The door closed and all was dark again, the room throbbing with Danny’s snores. I rolled over.

 

Suddenly, I felt a cold hand on my shoulder.

 

“Sshhh!” came Katie’s hushed voice. I heard the zipper of the sleeping bag being pulled down and felt her warm body slip in beside me.

“Katie,” I whispered, “What the fuck is going on?”

“Oh come on Franco,” she replied, “my boyfriend smells of gin and vomit and I need a bit of a cuddle. Don’t be a prick.”

I shifted round and put an arm around her shoulder, my other hand resting on her bare thigh, I could feel that she was wearing just her panties. Feeling her cool skin and knowing her breasts were bare and touching me, made my cock twitch.

“Mmmm,” she purred, rubbing her cheek against the hairs on my chest, “it’s like having a great big teddy-bear.” She gave a little giggle. “Why have we never done this before?”

“Because you were never interested.”

“For fuck’s sake, Franco, for a clever fellah, you’re helluva thick! I fancied you from day one, but you were too busy pissing it up with Danny and Jack and Harry to take any notice.”

“What?”

“I stood right next to you, so many nights. Close enough to hear you breathe. Some nights I tried to listen for your heartbeat. And you never fucking noticed. What about the lake? Remember the night at the lake? I showed you everything I had and you never came back for it.”

“Katie, I’m sorry…if I had known….”

“And now I’ve found the guy I’m going to marry,” she went on, “And I’m feeling guilty as sin because I tricked the poor bastard into getting sick drunk, so I could do this.”

“Katie,” I stammered, “I don’t know what to say.”

“Fraser, I’m not here in my knickers for a fucking chat!” With that she planted her lips on mine and forced her tongue deep in my mouth.

 

Surprise doesn’t quite cover it. Shock implies a negative experience. This was an epiphany.

 

Katie kissed with an animal ferocity, mouthing, licking and biting at my mouth, my face, my neck. It was heavenly. She put her hands over my face and pushed her head towards my chest, where her gorgeous little mouth found my nipples. One, then the other, she licked and nibbled and sucked. It was agonisingly sexy. She was straddling my waist, and my cock, now solid and straining at my shorts, could feel the heat of her fanny through the material of her underwear.

 

She slid off me and put a hand into my underpants. She grabbed my cock and squeezed it hard. I gasped. Then her searching fingers wandered down to the root and gently cupped my balls. “You’ve got a canny set of tackle there Frankie boy.” She teased. As her hand found my leaky tip and drew back my foreskin, I couldn’t hold back the groan. She purred as her thumb and forefinger massaged my throbbing glans with my sticky fluid.

She brought her face back to mine.

“I want you inside me, Francisco. I want your cock. I want you to fuck me until you’re shooting blood!

 

I was suddenly aware of silence.

“Sssh!” I urged.

We were as still as statues for what seemed like forever until Danny gave a huge snorting belch and his snoring came again.

 

Katie gave a little giggle and I rolled her on her back and grabbed her hands in mine, pushing them over her head and holding them there. She made a little show of struggle but relaxed when I kissed her.

I kissed her forehead first, then her eyelids, then her beautiful long nose. I brushed her lips gently with mine before kissing her chin and gorgeous neck. With my tongue I traced a slippery path to the hollow between her sweet little breasts, where I kissed again, lots of little kisses over her pretty titties.

When my tongue-tip touched her nipple, she gave a whimper; the whimper turned to a whine as I sucked and licked her delightful rosebud to a hard standing nub. The other nipple got the same treatment and Katie started to writhe under me, her breath coming in shorts gasps.

I kissed her breasts all over again and started up towards her neck, on the way I got side-tracked and found my nose in the hair of her armpit. The scent of her was amazing, I wanted to taste her there, but found myself wondering if this was too much. Katie made up my mind for me.

“Please,” she begged in a little voice, “please kiss me there, oh fuck, please, Franco.”

I needed no second telling, I let my tongue wander in the dark, sexy curls; with my lips I pulled at the hairs, I kissed and sucked at the hairy hollow, relishing the musky saltiness of her.

“Yesyesyesyes,” Katie hissed, “OhgodOhgodOhgod.” Then “Fuck, Franco, fuckfuckfuckfuck,” as I gave the other side the same treatment.

Shifting my position, I pinned both her hands in one of mine and let the other hand travel down her belly and pull her panties down. Katie lifted her hips to help with the job, and as I shifted her knickers over her perfect thighs and past her knees I noticed with unbridled lust that the cotton was soaking wet.

Whether it was with sweat or girlie-juice or a combination of the two I didn’t care. My mind, in fact my whole being, was now focussed on her cunny. Seen once in the moonlight, dreamed about for years, I wanted that twalia in my hand. I wanted the touch, the feel, the sense of that part I had fantasised about for so long. It took a huge effort to take my time with her, but I was enjoying the hold I now had over Katie. Her panting breath told me that she was enjoying it too.

As I let my fingers walk up the inside of her thigh, she opened her legs wide. I looked down, filled with lust at that tangled triangle.

Katie bucked her hips and banged her arse on the floor in lascivious impatience. Even before my fingertips made contact with the straggled, wet ends of her pubic curls, I could feel the heat of her sex.

“Bastard! Fucker!” she whispered through gritted teeth, “Stop fucking teasing! I need you. Fucking need you!”

At that time, Katie’s sheer desire for me was, without doubt, the most sexually charged moment of my life.

The second my fingers touched the tender flesh of her sodden, swollen cunt-lips, I had to cover her mouth with mine to stop the scream that was escaping from her. I pinched her labia and pulled them with thumb and forefinger, before placing my palm over her wonderfully wet, divinely hairy cunt. I rubbed and stroked, the heel of my hand pressing on her mound and clitoris, my middle finger gently tickling the rubbery pucker of her anus.

The hot breath of Katie’s orgasmic howl filled my mouth, as her bursting juices filled my hand, rivulets of her cunny cream slipping between my fingers. I let go of her hands and she threw her arms around me in a powerful hug, her body shaking, her sweet mouth kissing and biting at my lips. I hugged her with one arm, while leaving my hand on her vulva, revelling in her hot, hairy wetness.

 

We clung to each other, soaked in sweat and sex, Katie’s little form quivering like a butterfly against me. I held her, kissing and nuzzling, until her shivering stopped and her breathing slowed.

An uncharacteristically deep chuckle started in her throat as her hands slid down my back to pull my shorts over my buttocks. She put her lips to my ear, “Fucking, Franco. I want fucking.” she giggled, pushing me on my back and freeing my standing cock from the constraints of my underwear.

“Don’t move,” she commanded, “Don’t fucking move.”

Katie put her hands on my chest and threw her leg over me, straddling my hips. With tantalising slowness she lowered her open cunny towards my pulsating prick. I felt myself push up, but her nails dug into my pecs causing me to gasp in pain.

“Ah-ah,” she chid, “no moving. Not a fucking inch.”

With a serpentine movement, she slid and glid her cunt over my leaking cock-end, I had to bite back the moan that was coming from deep within me. Titling and rocking her hips, she slowly, oh, so slowly, worked her hot pussy over my cock, before beginning a slow push down my shaft until our pubic bones were grinding together. I reached for her breasts, put she took my hands and placed them on her hips.

I gripped her as she rode my cock with a steady rhythmic intensity. She took her hands from my chest and pushed her fingers through her hair. In the dim street-light glow, I viewed her gorgeous form: the pale porcelain skin; the thick chestnut hair, now piled on top of her head; her round, rosebud-tipped breasts; her sensuous underarms and her not-so-prominent front teeth biting down on her lower lip.

As I gazed on her beauty, Katie slid her hands down her neck, letting her hair fall in tousled tresses over her shoulders. She rubbed and squeezed her breasts, before drawing out her nipples with her fingers, pulling to lift her tits from her ribs.

“Fuck…” I choked.

Katie chuckled again, and started rocking harder, “Ready to go for it, Franco?” she crooned, “Ready to give me the fucking works?”

In one swift move I had her on her back, her knees at my chest, her arse in the air as I bore down on her with long stabbing thrusts, pulling her onto me with all the force I could manage. Katie was panting under me, the breaths coming faster and faster.

I knew I couldn’t last, but I wanted Katie to come again too, I was trying to hold back, but I could feel her cunt walls tightening on me. I couldn’t stop myself. I spermed hard and deep, biting my tongue to stop me from crying out.

The minute I felt it fly, Katie spasmed and juddered under my hips and my still sputtering spunk was joined by a further flood of Katie’s cunt-cream.

The explosion of heat, of joy, of release transported me from that grubby floor to paradise, but I thrust on, bucking and humping. I wanted to be inside her, all of me, inside this magnificent wonderful beautiful woman.

Alas, frail flesh, my cock slackened and slipped from her and we collapsed in a heap, shaking – this time with laughter.

“So fucking good, so fucking good,” Katie said over and over. “I knew it’d be this good with you, fucking knew it!” she was laughing quietly, her features glowing in the lamplight.

As I came down from that amazing high, I took her in my arms and looked her in the eye.

“So what now, Katie? For you and me?”

Katie was suddenly very serious indeed. “Nothing. That’s it. We’ve got our own lives. I’ve got Cris and I heard from Ailsa Harper that you’ve been seeing her again.”

“But Katie,” I said, suddenly feeling hollow, “That was the best, I mean, like ever. We can’t just…”

“Stop there, Franco Fraser,” she was steel, “I’ve made me mind up, I’m going to marry that vomit stained specimen in the bedroom. It’s what I want. If you were clever you’d get yourself married to Ailsa Harper, instead of leading her a merry dance. This never happened!”

“But Katie…”

She held my face in hers, “Never fucking happened! Understand?”

“Yeah,” I sighed, “Okay….but Katie…”

“What?” her body was rigid now, braced to fight.

“I’m really glad this never happened.”

Relaxation flooded over her and she put her arms round my neck.

“So am I, Frankie-boy. So-the-fuck-am I.”

And we kissed, a tender, lovers’ kiss for what would be the very last time.

There was a brief moment of amusement as she cast about in the dark for her knickers, but she was soon gone, as silently and stealthily as she arrived.

 

I was just dropping off to sleep in the silence that followed, starting to think that this had all be a gloriously vivid dream. The silence puzzled me for a second, then a voice came out of the dark.

“Oh Francisco! I want you inside me!” it simpered, in a parody of Katie’s accent, followed by, in plain Yorkshire:

“You Lucky Bastard!”

 

 


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