A Friday Three to End All

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Chapter One — With the Best Intentions

(Autumn 2016)

Being a good little girl Mary Rose had intended to get the four o’clock London/Leeds train. Changing at Leeds City that should have got her into Bingley before eight in the evening, in good time to meet Hev and the super-sexy Sammy Jo in one of the town centre pubs.

Well, the supposedly super-sexy Sammy Jo in the Suburban Bar, anyway. Mary Rose had not met the latest Hev pull and did not really give a toss about super-sexiness. The girl had been fucking Hev for a long while by now; hence she had to be worth a go or three.

Or maybe a go or six hundred and three . . .

But, it being POETS day, Mary Rose had decided the hell to the four o’clock and vacated her desk at noon, allowing herself ample time to catch the one o’clock, promising a much more attractive ETA of around five.

Super-sexy as Sammy Jo might possibly be . . . not to mention an unknown element thus far . . . Mary Rose wanted a one-on-one head-to-head with Ms Hunter first, to put them in the mood, so to speak.

The more head the merrier, in all truth.

Head-to-head with Hev never had been anything to complain about.

Head-to-head with Hev was as good as any variety of sex could possibly get.

So why be a shrinking violet?

Calling her from the speeding train Mary Rose didn’t particularly mess around with subtleties.

‘I desperately need to fuck you,’ she announced, picturing Hev’s eye roll at the deliberate obscenity. (Hev’s language was always prim and proper, making her a sitting duck in so many ways.) ‘Permit me that and I’ll do anything for anyone,’ Mare went on. ‘All night long. I guarantee.’

‘We’re supposed to be meeting SJ in the bar at eight.’


‘Sammy Jo.’

‘Eff me, like that is it! Okay, ring her and rearrange for eight at your place. I’ll be there for five.’

‘I have meetings . . .’

‘Cancel them else delegate. You’re a high-powered banking exec, no?’

‘Banking’s not like lawyering . . .’

‘And you won’t have finished an hour or two early in ten years, will you? Come on girlfriend, do the decent thing for once in your life.’

Hev grumbled and grouched without any great conviction, finally agreeing to being home for five.

As if Mary Rose ever doubted her. They had met aged thirteen at an exclusive, all-girls school and they had been rivals from day one, lovers in some form or another from maybe day ten.

And they would be lovers until the end of time . . . or maybe far, far beyond.


For once British Rail (as Mary Rose persisted in calling it, privatisation aside) got her right where she wanted to be, bang on the dot. And, exiting Bingley station, she did not have to worry about hailing a cab.

Oh no. Ali was there across Wellington Street on the taxi rank, flashing his headlights and beckoning her over.

‘Hi babe,’ she said in greeting. ‘Guess where I’m bound?’

‘Hunters Farm,’ he replied smartly . . . cockily even. ‘Isn’t it a bit early for you-know-who?’

‘Not tonight it’s not. Plans have been made; agreements agreed upon.’

Ali laughed as he U-turned in an area where U-turns were surely banned. Yet Bingley wasn’t London, was it?

And as if London traffic wardens were up to speed. Depending on exactly where, park on a double yellow and they’d get you after a day or two, otherwise . . . unless you were unlucky enough to be copped by some young eager beaver . . . you’d be left alone.


Apart from those rare occasions when you’d get booked before even clicking your engine off.

What a strange world we live in!

Speaking non-stop, his accent distinctly “northern” and not at all “Asian”, Ali praised Hev in glowing terms. Not that there was any surprise there. Every Bingley taxi driver loved the ass off Heather and a fair few of them had shared her bed once or twice.

Mare’s current cabbie very much included.

Grinning inwardly, Mary Rose assessed him. Good looking and well-built . . . why not?

Right, Hev always insisted she was “well on the lezzie side of bi” but still had her male escapades.

Didn’t she just!

One tale she told about a university rugby bath . . . her up against the whole first fifteen.

Ye gods, it should have been filmed and sold on the internet.

Francis Ford eat your heart out. That film would have made trillions and trillions . . . and of pounds, not mere dollars.

‘Early,’ Ali repeated, echoing himself.

‘Tonight’s all about being early,’ Mary Rose replied, focusing on Ali’s body shape as he turned up into Micklethwaite Lane, wondering if his actual dick was as well-developed as the rest of him.

The bulge she could clearly see hinted that it certainly was.

Wondering how he’d perform in maybe five minutes’ time, him and two horny old schoolmates.

Avaunt thee Satan, she chided herself, uncomfortably aware of sloppy seconds, sure SJ would not be impressed.

Sweet and pure lezzie Sammy Jo.


‘Plans have been already made,’ Mare said out loud, ‘otherwise bahis firmaları I’d invite you to join us.’

‘I’m due time off,’ Ali replied, keen as could be.

‘Watch the frigging road,’ she countered, aware there was barely room for two vehicles to pass by each other with any less than an on-the-ball driver.

‘I know this lane like the back of my hand,’ he said, cocky as ever but refocusing his attention where it should always have been.

Cocky, thought Mary Rose. I wonder what he’s got to back up his approach to life.

Big bulge aside.

Being personal, she was on the guy side of bi. Girls happened regularly but she’d enjoyed more cocks than pussies. Well, without consulting her (non-existent) sex accountant, she reckoned she had.

Maybe her stance was a reaction to Hev’s persistent claim. Maybe she was as badly tarred with the same brush, but unable to admit it.

She was still visualizing Ali’s most vital organ, letting her imagination run free, when they made the turn into Hunters Farm, pulling up outside its impressive, solid oak front door.

Two hours in bed with Ali then kick him out, the two of them ready for sexy SJ . . .

Avaunt thee, she thought again, somewhat less convincingly.

Then common sense prevailed

‘I can’t invite you in tonight,’ she said, her mouth going off on its own.

(And thank God it never did that in court; she’d get black-balled in no time at all.)

‘Plans have been made,’ her unruly gob persisted, ‘but I’ll be back up here in two or three weeks.’

‘And then I’ll be invited?’ Ali gasped rather than asked.

‘Let me speak to Hev and work out fresh plans. And give me your business card so I can update you when I’ve booked a weekend off. Fridays okay by you?’

‘Give me ten minutes’ notice and any day is okay by me.’

Mary Rose pocketed the card and assured Ali he’d get at least two weeks’ notice, not a tiny handful of minutes.

‘Have you done threes with Hev before?’ she enquired, gratified by his awkward response.

‘No,’ he stuttered.

‘But you have fucked with her on several occasions?’

‘A gentleman would never answer a question like that.’

‘Right, in other words you have. That only makes the contrasts more interesting.’


‘I’ll be watching how you fuck her compered to how you fuck me. And I might well have suggestions, whoever you happen to be fucking at the time.’

Handing over a tenner that Ali tried to decline, telling him to keep the change, she surprised herself by leaning in and kissing him.

Hotter than hot!

Physically tearing herself away, conscious of where she was and what was due to happen, she patted his shoulder and promised to ring with “an update” Monday or Tuesday at the latest. Then, resisting the urge to explore his (ever more) visibly interested groin, she got out of the cab.

‘Next time,’ she said in parting. ‘And don’t worry about Hev, I can wrap her round my little finger . . . unlike that weapon of war I sense inside of your pants. Oh yes, yes please.’

To his credit Ali blushed like a beetroot. Even in the failing daylight he was clearly up for the deed.

See it? Mare could feel the heat radiating from him.

Failing light or nay, he was as interested as heck.

Right, up there like the Eiffel Tower . . . and twice as tall.

Chapter Two — Heather Strikes Again

Waving Ali off, ignoring his warning about the guard geese because she knew and loved them all. In fact, she took the cue to giggle inwardly at Hev being known as “Snow White”, needing seven not-so small “dwarfs” to protect her enormous barnyard, pond and allegedly chaste state.

How ridiculous was that? How many women on earth were as unchaste as Hev?

Maybe three or four out of billions. Yet still everyone at West Yorkshire Bank thought she was a pure goddess.

Apart from those who’d fucked with her and then bought into her unique code of omerta.

Damn right. Hev had her sex life organized to military precision. Having recently spied in her knickers drawers Mary Rose knew her old Manor School habits had not varied.

The zillion and one sex toys were new, however. The first she could remember was a red dildo when they had hit maybe sixteen. But that last time she spied she’d found a supply that would’ve put Ann Summers to shame.

Dildos . . . thick double-enders . . .

For a girl “well on the lezzie side of bi”, Hev didn’t half enjoy being penetrated by penis-like objects.

And, speaking of which . . .

‘Easy Doc,’ Mare called as a gigantic gander approached her.

Doc hesitated, sniffed at her then nodded approval before retreating.

Best mates or not, it was good to see him withdraw, taking his unseen backup troops with him.

The beak on him! Never mind Ali’s wotsit, in the wrong circumstances that beak could cause lots of damage.

No, make that lots and lots.

Mary Rose’s fist was clenched, prepared to knock on that slab of a front door, but no need.

The door opened to reveal Hev wearing a smile and eff all kaçak iddaa else.

‘Come in,’ she said enchantingly. Then, abruptly abandoning any form of reserve, she grabbed hold of Mary Rose and, kicking the door shut with gay abandon, kissed her like no woman had ever been kissed before.

Hotter than hot kissing Ali? As if! Three secs kissing Hev was better than best.

‘Jesus please us,’ Mary Rose finally exhaled, ‘What happens next?’

Hev laughed and made an intriguing beckoning gesture with her fingers.

‘Walk this way,’ she crooned. ‘Let’s go look and learn.

Who was Mary Rose to object?

Whoever would at a moment like that?

Stamping out of her shoes she did as commanded, following the world’s sexiest ass.

More than ready to look and learn . . . yet again.


Hev’s body was beyond a work of art. Statues of Venus and Aphrodite didn’t do her justice.

Fuck’s sake, nobody imaginable could ever do her justice.

Watching from behind Mary Rose took in air. Two decades of sex and still Hev affected her to the nth degree. A mane of jet-black hair and a figure out of Baywatch, except much sexier.

All joking aside, figure-wise Hev made Pamela Anderson look distinctly ordinary.

Not that Pam and Hev filmed together wouldn’t have sold for . . .

Well, squillions and squillions.

Those tidy, tight buns . . .

Long black hair and a slinky ass never went astray, did it? Especially not a slinky ass like perfection.

Everyone liked a too-tight ass.

And Hev’s was beyond compare.

Not to mention her tits.

Okay, okay, her tits hadn’t been involved since Mary Rose’s initial grope . . .

But what a pair Hev had on her. Never mind Pamela Anderson, she was shaped like Keeley Hazell but with mega-award-winning nips.

Self-supporting or what!

‘I want to fuck,’ Mary Rose announced, quite predictably.

Hev responded with another . . . far briefer kiss . . . then made still more beckoning gestures into her lounge.

Knowing the route, mildly surprised bed wasn’t their immediate destination, Mary Rose followed on towards a den of iniquity. And she was by no means disappointed.

‘Here,’ Hev demanded throwing her naked self onto a soft leather couch. ‘Eat me here. Now, now, now.’

Well, who would have told her nay?

Depositing her overnight bag on the floor Mary Rose shrugged off her jacket and began to unfasten her blouse. Only to be stayed by a firm if visibly glistening willing victim-to-be.

‘Not so soon,’ Hev said sternly. ‘I want to watch you and SJ stripping each other, being nicely, slowly sexy as you go.’

‘That’ll be three hours away.’

‘So, you’ve got three hours to gobble my fanny. Never been a problem before, has it?’

Hmm, maybe she had a point.

Leaving her clothing as it was, Mary Rose dived in, mouth first.

Oh yes, yum, yum, yum!


The size and shape of Hev’s nips! Mare knew them of old, naturally. She’d kissed, nuzzled, nibbled, licked and sucked on them for a serious proportion of her life . . . maybe as much as ten per cent. It seemed sensible to renew her attentions right then, but Hev had other ideas.

Hev who only ever did percentages in eighties and nineties, scoffing at ones, twos and tens.

Hev who never exaggerated, much.

‘Down,’ she commanded, strong hands on Mary Rose’s shoulders, shoving her where she wanted a so-greedy tongue to go.

‘Down for the gravy,’ she added, giggling girlishly. ‘You want it as badly as I do.’

That was true. Usually they went for equal shares, but taking the leading role varied without rhyme or reason. Sometimes it was Hev, hungry as a hunter, sometimes it was Mare. And sometimes it was the two of them in harmony, mouths to groins, unable to communicate, grunting instead of gasping out words of encouragement.

Or sometimes, in Hev’s case, gasping out increasingly urgent instructions.

Not that Mare was a total innocent. She had a black belt in gasping out urgent instructions herself.

Never mind that . . . the body on Hev! Sexy as heck as a teenager, she’d only improved with age.

Hadn’t she just!

Reluctantly abandoning those astonishing attractive nipples, Mare ran her tongue over the world’s smoothest stomach, across a six-pack Charles Atlas would have died for (mentally cursing when she wasn’t allowed the briefest belly button call-in), soon arriving at one very eager pussy.

Eager? Hev had been obviously at herself before her first guest’s arrival, perhaps with that thick blue dildo Mare had espied out of the corner of her eye. Yes, you bet she was eager.

And so was her visitor, come to that. Sex with Hev had always been fantastic but she’d never been as good as fully dressed before. Well, maybe once or twice, but then so too had Hev. They had fumbled and dipped a hand into each other’s soggy panties on many occasions.

Elsewise they’d both been equally bare-assed.

Now the contrast was immense.

Me fully clad and her naked. Her naked and me fully clad.

It was an immensely kaçak bahis exciting contrast. Yum, yum!

Position A: nose on clitoral hood, tongue on clit. Movements rapid and persistent, Hev groaning lots of approval.

‘Good grief,’ she soon yelled, ‘yes, yes, yes!’

Then, seemingly only moments after a mighty climax, ‘This is it. This is a seventh!’

Mary Rose didn’t need an explanation. She knew Hev’s weird imaginations as well as the girl herself knew them. To Hev orgasms came like waves on a beach: relatively small to begin with, but growing bigger and bigger, until the seventh was almost tidal.

Then smaller again, growing steadily bigger . . .

How many times had Hev cum under Mare’s attentions so far? Only once or twice. That blue sex toy must have seen lots of action already. No wonder it was glistening as much as Hev’s lovely kitty-kitty.

Never mind a mere seven, Mare’s wicked mind whispered. This may well be “series seven” . . .

Not that she was likely to complain. Hev’s clit was swollen big under her greedy tongue-tip, her hood was shifting with the motion of her nose . . .

And the smell of her . . .

No, the scent of her! If Hev’s looks had only improved since her teens her scents had excelled.

As for the taste of her . . .

‘In me,’ Hev yelled after taking off vertically and reverting to her smallest wavelet. ‘Put it in me.’

For a second time there was no need for an explanation. Mare edged downwards, letting her nose rest against that delightfully aroused magic button, running her tongue along equally aroused labia before popping it into Hev’s delicious and very ready sex.

Omigod, how hot, wet and welcoming was she! More than usual, that was for certain . . . and usually she was as hot and welcoming as could be.

Absent-mindedly taking stock, Mare realized that she’d drenched her own panties and saturated her stockings.

Oh, for the pleasure of giving!

‘More, more, more,’ Hev yelped.

Yes, yes, yes, thought Mare as she happily obliged.

Chapter Three — Hello to Sexy Sammy Jo

To her utter amazement Mare found herself being pulled up, up and away from Hev’s sex.

Was that a first or what!

Normally all pressure was in the opposite direction, keeping her busy down there whether she liked it or not.

Well, of course she always liked it . . . but the exercise could become somewhat prolonged. Yes, in her considered opinion, Hev could get quite greedy.

There again, when on the receiving end she could be quite ravenous herself.

‘What’s up?’ she (politely?) enquired as her mouth was tugged away from Target A.

‘SJ will be here any minute,’ Hev replied.

‘Bollocks. That was never three hours.’

‘It was two and three-quarters. And SJ’s careers teacher must have been like ours at The Manor.’

Mare had to laugh. Their old careers teacher must have said “Never be later than ten minutes early” at least twenty times a day, referring to job interviews. That’s right; bugger the fact that having The Manor School for Young Ladies on your CV guaranteed instant acceptance upon any job application, anyway.

Safest and surest: that was the careers teacher’s mantra.

‘That can’t have been so long,’ Mare persisted.

‘It certainly can,’ Hev countered, grinning as car headlights illuminated the lounge window.

‘Shit,’ said Mare, suddenly convinced. Best part of three hours lost in hungry head . . .

Well face it: it wasn’t the first time.

Was it?

By no means.

‘Get off me and I’ll go fetch her, send her taxi away.’ Hev sniggered the way she’d sniggered back in her teens. Mare knew that snigger only too well. It meant anything was on the cards.

Absolutely anything.

Obligingly Mare rolled off and, after planting a kiss on her nose, Hev went to answer her front door.

How mad is this? Mare marvelled. The rules are changing by the second. Even by Hev’s standards . . .

Then she burst into a fit of giggles.

Hev had “standards”? That was like saying Edwina Curry didn’t have a thing about eggs.


When she appeared, chaperoned by a still naked Hev, Sammy Jo didn’t look bad. Indeed, she was sexy as fuck. Tall, maybe a shade under Mare herself (make that five eight and a fraction, almost as lofty as show-off Heather Hunter), long blonde hair and a figure to stop buses.

Mare’s reaction was predictable. Seventeen-year-old boys couldn’t have been more obvious.

There again, SJ was fitter than fit. About their age and featuring the bluest eyes on the planet.

Fitter than fit?

Okay, she could live with that. Who in her right mind couldn’t?

Several visible tattoos, she noted. Not that she objected to tats. Too cowardly to commit herself, she had no issue with kissing inky outlines.

Like her own imaginary one . . . the lesbian one she should have had on her shaven pussy . . .

Mm, yes, yes, yes!

Those interlocked circles on SJ’s right arm were interesting as well.

Statement of intent or what?

Cowardly as she was, in those circumstances, Mare was a fighter. Her martial arts skills didn’t quite make her innocent, however.

Any idiot . . . male or female . . . who tried to assault her would get a nasty shock.

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