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Davina Does Scotland

By LimeyLady

Copyright Mark C Woolridge (writing as LimeyLady), 2017

Distributed by Smashwords

All characters and events in this publication,

other than those clearly in the public domain,

are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons,

living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Table of Contents

Chapter Forty-Three - A first night with Kat

Chapter Forty-Four - Double delight

Chapter Forty-Five - Off travelling

Chapter Forty-Six - Margot again

Chapter Forty-Seven - Aberdeen

Chapter Forty-Eight - Sue

Chapter Forty-Nine - A day in a branch

Chapter Fifty - Not so straight after all

Chapter Fifty-One - A slow seduction

Chapter Fifty-Two - Sex with Sue

Author’s Note

Other Books by LimeyLady

Chapter Forty-Three

That very first time with Kat was amazing. She hadn’t been joking when she said that she’d do ninety per cent of the giving. In fact, for the first four and a half hours, she achieved the perfect ratio of one hundred and did it non-stop.

Yes, I know I’m sounding nerdy again (four and a half hours! I might as well have translated it into two hundred and seventy minutes or sixteen thousand two hundred seconds!!). But please don’t think that I was clock-watching in any way; let me explain.


Propositioned by the sexiest, most beautiful woman I’d ever met, I decided to forget my night class for once. And we didn’t hang around. After only a couple of drinks we went to Kat’s and were in her bed a tad before seven in the evening. Perhaps inspired by my willingness, she then set out to prove exactly how eager she was to please. Easily slipping into my so-obliging Kiki Girl persona, I decided to just let her do her thing. If she got off on getting me off, who was I to complain?

Comparisons are, as you already know, a big no-no for me. Let’s just say that Kat’s pussy-eating was second to none. Lying back and taking it was no hardship, especially as she took care to suck, nibble, lick and chew bits of me I hadn’t even realized I had.

And didn’t she make me cum! My usually endless supply was starting to deplete when, sure that it had to be after midnight, I asked her if I could take my turn.

Well, maybe begged would be closer to the mark.

‘It’s your birthday,’ she replied through half a mouthful of fanny. ‘I’m doing the doings.’

‘It has to be after midnight,’ I gasped.

‘It’s half past eleven,’ she countered. ‘Shut up and enjoy.’

So there it was: my four hand a half hours, non-stop. And, as estimates go, it’ll have been precise. As I subsequently discovered, Kat was one of those people who always knew what the time was, even if there wasn’t a clock for miles around. I didn’t know that then, of course, but even with her face buried deeply in my groin, distracting me from rational thought, I tended to believe she would be right.

Consequently I stayed on my back and waited until I reckoned another forty minutes (and five decent-sized cums) had passed. Then I tried again.

‘It’s after midnight. Please let me take my turn.’

‘Not listening,’ she replied.

‘Come on, Kat. It’s not my birthday anymore. And you can’t go on like this forever.’

‘Yes I can. And it’s your birthday all night as far as I’m concerned, so there.’

Kiki Girl was not one for fighting her corner so I stayed as I was, enjoying as instructed and doing my best not to feel too guilty about my ongoing lack of effort.

Oh, okay then, I did moan a bit about birthday presents, insinuating it was better to give than receive.

Eventually, God knows when, Kat slid up my body. ‘This is what you want, isn’t it?’ she said, pushing her right breast into my face. ‘You’re a tit-girl, aren’t you? I can tell your sort from fifty paces.’

I didn’t waste breath answering. Never one to miss an opportunity, I kissed and licked and sucked . . . and nibbled, gnawed and chewed too. And Kat’s nipple astonished me. Already harder than hard, as I suckled and cajoled it got harder still. I could feel it swelling between my lips.

Cue instant orgasm . . . no, cue two mutual orgasms.

Kat swapped tits and I repeated my actions, mildly disappointed that her left nipple was already fully erect but not letting such trifles stop me. And, for an encore, it was a good one. Off again we finally went, just as mutually and, if anything, even more violently.

‘Okay birthday girl,’ she said, cruelly removing her chest out of range, ‘I’m still doing all the doing, but now you get to pick your present. What haven’t I done yet?’

‘Toys,’ my treacherous mouth replied, not giving my brain chance to consider.

Her chuckle quickly developed into a throaty laugh. ‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘but I’ve been travelling. Toys are frowned upon where I’ve just been.’

I realized I hadn’t had the decency to ask her about her travels and hadn’t a clue where she had most recently visited. ‘Oh,’ said I. ‘I didn’t know.’

‘It’s sad but true,’ she said. ‘Not everywhere is as liberated as England . . . But, if my memory serves me, there might possibly be something in my knickers drawer.’

I watched as she got up and walked around the bed, only then appreciating the fact I was lying on her side of the mattress. That did, believe it or not, please me. Maybe I’d been submissive for too long, or maybe I was just happy to take any sort of small victory.

Kat’s bedside cabinet was within my arm’s reach. She clicked on her lamp and I was not in the least bit dazzled; the bulb must have been of the lowest wattage ever manufactured. Not that I complained. With it on I could see her ass quite clearly. And, when she bent and began to root about in the second drawer down, I could not resist pinching an inch or two of bun.

‘Naughty,’ she said, without otherwise objecting.

Encouraged, I pinched again.

‘Ta-dah,’ she cried, still not objecting and turning, waving something at me. ‘I knew I hadn’t thrown it away.’

I gaped. She was waving a double-ended dildo and it looked enormous. I had never seen one in real life before and, although it turned out to be eighteen inches and compressible, right then it looked to be more like five feet and as thick as my arm.

‘Can you take it?’ she wondered, putting a finger to her lips, as if she were the world’s biggest tease.

I wasn’t about to admit I wasn’t sure. And, self-doubt aside, I sincerely wanted to get on opposite ends with her.

‘Of course I can,’ I said, ‘bring it on!’

Chapter Forty-Four

My hopes of sharing weren’t immediately fulfilled. At first Kat manually used one end on me, and used it well. To be honest, she used it as well as anyone ever had done anything on me manually. And you don’t need bother asking if I came out with cries, screams and all sorts of verbal garbage . . . just take it for granted.

Then, when she’d reduced me to a quivering wreck, Kat instructed me to “assume the position”.

‘What position is that?’ I asked rather naively.

In response she took hold of my legs and raised them until my feet were above my head.

‘Grab behind your knees,’ she commanded, ‘and make sure to keep tight hold.’ Then, chuckling, ‘And don’t you ever take off your glasses?’

‘Only when I go down on a girl,’ I countered. ‘Assuming my lover wants me to take them off. And assuming she has the decency to let me go down.’

‘Not listening,’ Kat said again.

I guess I knew what was coming when I felt the dribble of lube running down the crack of my ass.

‘I’m sure you’ve done this before,’ Kat purred, circling my ring with her index finger before slipping it all the way in.

‘Yes,’ I purred, back. ‘Oh yes, yes, yes.’

Without going into too much detail, she took me manually up the ass, first with her fingers and then with the dildo. As I couldn’t really see what she was doing, what with my knees crushing my specs and what have you, I simply closed my eyes and basked in all the wonderful sensations.

‘Yes, yes, yes,’ I groaned at regular intervals. ‘Yes, yes, yes.’

And then, just when I thought life couldn’t get any better, something brushed along my slit. Now, call me a slut if you must, but I instantly knew it was the business end of another dildo. And, ten seconds later, I deduced it was the other half of the same double-ender.

Omigod, can it really bend like that?

The answer was yes. And I carried on repeating it until, bored with just stimulating my slit, Kat skilfully double penetrated me.

Trust me, I had never felt so deliciously full. Apologies to anyone out there who doesn’t like any sort of penetration but, in spite of my gold star, I most definitely do. And that inaugural taste of a double dose was out of this world.

Initially, Kat set up a seesawing motion, only moving her toy an inch or so. First she’d see, and I’d feel one end slipping out of my ass while the other eased deeper into my vagina. Then she’d saw and the process would be reversed. And then . . . well, I guess you get the general idea.

After perhaps half an hour she swapped her vertical plane for a horizontal one. Oh joy! That was very reminiscent of the way she’d earlier rotated her toy inside me . . . reminiscent but even better.

And, as a curtain call, she switched to straight in and out, moving both ends of the dildo perhaps three or four inches that time, in and out of ass and pussy in tandem.

Joy, joy, joy!!!

A mega-titanic orgasm was followed by a giga-titanic cum and, breaking completely new ground, a tera-titanic climax that as good as knocked me out.


By the time I drifted down from cloud nine that wonderful weapon of fun had disappeared. I was still lying on my back (whore-like, naturally!) and Kat was lying beside me, her left hand cupping my pussy without actually doing anything. It felt nice and comforting so, drawing on my last reserves of strength, I reached out with my right hand and cupped hers.

‘You can have your present next,’ she said, smiling at me, ‘after we’ve had a timeout.’

‘Do you mean I get a go at last?’


‘With that . . . that toy?’ I added hopefully.

Kat nodded. ‘If that’s what you want. But let’s talk for a while. Get to know each other better.’

I laughed and told her that I had often been accused of doing my chatting up in the wrong order. She laughed too and said it must be a modern day thing, because she’d been accused of the same. Then, in the space of no time at all, she extracted a whole host of info about me: why I wasn’t at university; my GCSE and A-level results; the courses I’d taken since leaving school . . .

‘Tonight is the first time I’ve ever missed any sort of lesson in my life,’ I assured her. ‘And believe me, it’s been worth it.’

‘Your results are better than excellent,’ she said, ‘why aren’t you programming?’

‘I like being a techie and I’ve recently passed my driving test. They’ll soon be letting me loose on the branches as well as Head Office. That’s infinitely better than being stuck behind a desk.’

‘I see,’ Kat chuckled. ‘You’re planning to have a girl in every port.’

‘I can always dream,’ said I. Then, curious: ‘Do you have girls in different ports all over the world?’

‘Not exactly; I’ve had girls in a few different ports, but I’m not likely to see many of them again.’

Under interrogation, Kat told me she preferred to travel alone but sometimes briefly joined forces with other travellers or even organized groups.

‘Some places just aren’t safe for women on their own,’ she said. ‘And there are always boys and girls keen to share my tent.’ Then, looking me in the eye, ‘I’m always as safe as I can be, particularly on the rare occasions I fuck a man. And I’ll definitely be asking you to use new condoms when you fuck me.’

I might possibly have frowned. Up until that moment I hadn’t spared “safe sex” much thought, even though I had noticed Val always scrupulously switched to a fresh dildo after taking me up you-know-where.

More to the point, I’d never bought a condom in my life.

Kat immediately sussed my concerns. ‘Look in my top drawer,’ she said, ‘you’ll probably find a couple in there.’

I didn’t have to get off the bed to open the drawer and perhaps it was a just as well I was lying down: it was crammed full of dozens and dozens of packs of condoms. And they were not just packs of ones or twos; they were in tens, twelves and even seventy-twos.

‘Omigod,’ I gasped. ‘There are hundreds of them.’

‘Told you I was safety conscious,’ Kat chuckled.

Glancing down I saw the double-ender on the rug. It still had two condoms on it and another couple of used ones were discarded close by. While I’d had my head in the clouds Kat had clearly been looking out for both of us.

‘Come on, birthday girl,’ she said, throaty and seductive again. ‘Don’t keep the lady waiting forever.’

Chapter Forty-Five

I haven’t digressed for a while and I’ve hardly mentioned Mikki at all, so here goes . . .

As you may or may not have noticed, my two fellow storytellers have given differing versions of the same story. Throughout hers, Mikki kept swearing to tell the whole truth, warts and all. I have to say that generally she did. I cannot easily point to any part of her tale and say it is false. But she did set off with certain preconceived ideas.

What I’m trying to convey is that Mikki saw Kat as the Wicked Witch of the West. She got it into her head that Kat was the worst sort of a user and more or less invented sins to attribute to her. In other words her version is heavily biased against her rival and her biased opinions are expressed as facts.

Not that Kat’s version is full of sweetness and innocence. I’ve already hinted that Exaggeration is her middle name, and there was plenty of that in there. Kat did, however, stick closer to the truth (at least to the bits she wanted her readers to know). She had also had the advantage of having already seen Mikki’s account, which gave her chance to pick holes in some of those biased opinions.

Having said all that, Kat’s story contains inaccuracies too. I’m grinning as I write this because she is under thirty even now, but perhaps it’s an age thing . . .

There are two inaccuracies she came out with which spring immediately to mind: that I was still living with my parents when we first hooked up and that, within a week of hooking up, I had moved in with her. Wrong on both counts! I had been in my flat for almost a year by then and it was a fortnight until I moved in.

Yes, a whole fortnight!

Here’s how it really happened.


We didn’t sleep one wink that first night and, although I had a fair go at her with that toy, Kat probably did do the promised ninety per cent of all the doing. Without any slumber there was no question of us waking up repentant; no, we kept at it right up to her alarm and “repentant” was never in the frame.

‘That was great,’ she said when she was finally, finally done, lying on my quivering body, staring down into my oh-so-grateful eyes.

‘Happy birthday to me,’ I agreed. ‘But I want to be in charge next time.’

‘You want a next time?’

‘You bet I do. And don’t keep me waiting.’

Before we shared a shower we agreed to do it all again that evening . . . at my place, with Kat being the compliant one and me free to use my strap-on of choice.

Night two went well, too, so we agreed to a further session back at hers.

‘Let’s make it a sixty-nine night,’ she suggested. ‘No toys and taking fair turns to go on top . . . if there is a top to go on. Some of the very best positions are virtually top-free.’

And on we went. While the sex was far from routine, we did fall into distinct patterns of behaviour: her place one night, mine the next; up at seven thirty to shower together; breakfast in the same café; the same walk to work; Kat working over or using the gym as I dashed off to night school; meeting up in The Woolly Sheep before starting the cycle over again.

(Ready to race to you!)

All too soon it was night fourteen. That made it Sunday and my place. Taking the by then habitual early morning timeout, we were on our backs, idly caressing each other’s groins and talking about nothing in particular. Then my mouth did its automatic thing again.

‘Two can live as cheaply as one,’ it said.

Now I can’t pretend I hadn’t been thinking along those lines. My lease was almost up and I imminently had to decide whether to move or renew. But I certainly hadn’t intended to blurt out anything as corny or needy as that.

I’m sure I heard a creaking sound as Kat turned her head to look at me.

‘This time next year I’ll be off on my travels,’ she said.

‘I know you will,’ my mouth replied. ‘And I’m not proposing marriage, just fifty weeks of living together and saving some money.’ At that stage Logical Dave chipped in. ‘We’re practically living together as it is,’ I/she said, ‘paying for two beds and only using one. And here, look at this.’

I pulled an invitation card out of my wallet and gave it to my bedmate.

‘Robin’s silver wedding,’ she said. Then, reading aloud: ‘”To Dave and Kat” . . . shouldn’t that be Kat and Dave?’

‘I think he’s gone for alphabetical order,’ I said, not really caring who got top billing. ‘But it just goes to prove we’re seen as an item.’

Kat laughed. We tried to keep up professional fronts at work but Skipton isn’t New York. Of course we had been seen out and about by colleagues. And even if our working paths rarely crossed, whenever one of us went for a coffee we always brought back two cups; one each.

‘Okay,’ she said, ‘let me guess your argument. We split the rent, split the rates and utility bills and we save . . .’

‘Five or six hundred a month,’ I finished for her. ‘Over fifty weeks that’s going to be six grand each; six grand in my house saving account, six on top of your travel budget.’

She chuckled and stroked my cheek. ‘Do you really want to fuck me every night for another fifty weeks?’


‘And will you really be able to let go when it’s time for me to be off?’

‘Yes. I’m used to beautiful women drifting in and out of my life. And I don’t do bust-ups; I always part as friends.’

(If that sounds incredibly mature of me you should remember I was only twenty. Fifty weeks seemed to be light years away. Alpha Centauri seemed much closer. And I was used to women drifting in and out of my life; I honestly did believe I was Teflon-coated.)

‘In that case you’d better get into that harness of yours.’ Kat grinned. ‘I don’t intend to seal the deal with only a kiss.’


I’ve noticed that I have quite regularly said “Kat chuckled” or “Kat laughed”. Both statements sum up that first year together. Even when we bickered we were usually chuckling or laughing. Sometimes we went so far as giggling like schoolgirls. They were happy days indeed.

And I didn’t let myself fall in love. I was ever-conscious of my vow to let her go and determined never to waver. I succeeded in that too.

Or so I regularly told myself.

Sad to report, time didn’t crawl by, it seemed to race. Before I knew it Kat’s lease was almost up and I had to decide whether to take it over or move. Because I couldn’t imagine living in her flat without her, I chose not to renew. Kat helped me find a better place, even closer to work, and helped me move in over the weekend before my twenty-first.

(Was that brilliant timing or what? Happy coming of age, Dave, I’ll be off now. Nice knowing you.)

Moving didn’t take long. Kat gave me her few bits of furniture, including the sturdy kitchen table we had so often made out on, and one trip in a rented van did the trick.

‘I will be back,’ she assured me as she stowed her work clothes and a few other odds and ends in the spare wardrobe.

I just nodded. We had agreed not to keep in touch while she was away, claiming it would be clingy and expensive. We had also agreed we were grown women and should be jealousy-free.

Omigod, it all felt so frigging final. But I wouldn’t break my vow, no matter how much I wanted to beg her to stay.

(Here’s a brief admission: Kat was pig-headed in wanting to travel but I was just as bad. She’d been planning her grand depart for months in advance, buying plane tickets, getting visas and so on, and at every stage she had asked me to go with her. All told she must have asked me a dozen times. But I was pig-headed about buying my first house.

Take a year off work and spend some of my savings!

As if I would!!

So I declined her offers and refused to plead with her.)

Even then, with me unpacking and her already packed, ready to leave on Tuesday, I couldn’t find it in me to budge. So I listened to her and just nodded.

‘I’ll be safe,’ she assured me. ‘And I really will be back.

Chapter Forty-Six

Technically Kat’s contract ended the day before my birthday. Steve, the Head of IT, agreed she could do one more day to attend my “presentation”. And how embarrassing was that! The previous year had been bad enough, and that had only really been marked by fellow techies; my twenty-first had people attending from lots of different departments.

And yes, I did have to wear a badge with “21” on it . . . a bloody great big one that was readable from four hundred yards!

Then our working day was over. I rushed off to night class, meeting Kat afterwards in our local before dragging her to my new home and having her on that table . . . and on the kitchen floor . . . not making it halfway into the bedroom before having her again . . .

And then it was morning and a cab arrived to whisk her away to the airport.

That sense of finality had become enormous. It hung over me like the blackest of storm clouds. Eating breakfast on my own was heart-breaking; I nearly burst out in sobs when the café owner stopped and asked me where my friend was. Walking to work alone was just as bad.

This is it, I thought. This is how life is going to be from now.

For all her promises I genuinely believed Kat was gone for good. Never mind the everyday risks she was running of being abroad: beautiful, goddess-like Kat wasn’t going to come back to cartoon-faced Dave. She was as gone as Stan and Bethany. And she was destined for better than me. Heck, she’d probably only left those few items of clothing because they wouldn’t fit in her rucksack.

Me and my inadequate self-image!

My colleagues in IT all knew, of course. Most of them acted as if I’d been bereaved, greeting me with nods or thin smiles and generally keeping out of my way. That was preferable to being sympathized with, I suppose, but I must admit it was a relief when I got a call to Lending.

The problem was only a minor one: a new starter’s PC wouldn’t work. I didn’t hurry much in fixing it and then stopped off at the drinks machine on my way back to IT. And didn’t I curse when I realized I’d got the usual two cups instead of just one!

Taking a seat on a nearby window ledge I opted to drink the evidence. Would Kat have re-joined the Mile High Club yet? I wondered. She’d had no other partners in the last year; I was as good as certain of that. And she openly confessed to liking the occasional hard dick. Maybe some co-pilot was getting lucky right at that moment.

Then I recalled my own year without other partners and tried to work out whether all of my old school chums would have gone back to uni, after their long summer break. I had got a little out of touch, you see. That is to say I had let everyone know I was in a serious-ish relationship and they’d all obligingly kept their distance.

Sara was on the train when I rang. ‘That’s too bad,’ she said, ‘I won’t be home again until December. I’ll gladly attend to your Christmas box then . . . as long as you wear your Christmas stockings for me.’

Meryl sounded as if she was in a disco (really, and it wasn’t ten in the morning!).

‘Birmingham,’ she said when asked where he was. ‘I’ll be back in November, for my mum’s birthday.’

Before I could try Ellie an email arrived. I blinked when I saw who it was from. Margot had not made any sort of contact in over fifteen months. She didn’t even know about Kat because I hadn’t bothered telling her.

Yet here she was, only a few hours after I became single again . . .

I honestly do not know if Margot had been keeping tabs on me. It is quite possible she knew someone who worked at the building society and had been tipped off. She was crafty enough to play that sort of game but, when I eventually asked her, she swore it was coincidence.

Anyway, I opened her message and read:

“Guess who’s been a naughty girl? I deserve and desperately need spanking. 9:30 in the BH?”

I hesitated a moment. Margot was scheming, conniving and probably wouldn’t have had her nails cut short since she’d last clawed me; in fact she’d more likely have had them sharpened. Did I really need her silliness and sexual demands at a time like this?

Too right I did! I kept my response concise and to the point.

“I’ll be there. Bring a toothbrush.”


As it turned out, Margot’s old, rich and single man wasn’t all it said on the can. Ray was, according to her, old enough to retire if he hadn’t worked for himself.

‘Not that he’s past it,’ she added, lying side by side with me during a break in our renewed activities. ‘He has no problem getting it up and keeping it up. But I don’t suppose you want to know about that, do you?’

Hoping my freshly raked back wasn’t bleeding too heavily onto the duvet, I confirmed I had no interest in the abilities of Ray’s private parts.

Margot duly moved on to her second-favourite subject: money. Apparently Ray’s house was virtually a mansion but still had years of mortgage on it. And his first wife still didn’t only just own fifty per cent of his company; she was obviously the one who wore the trousers when it came to decision-making.

Even worse, his second wife hadn’t got round to divorcing him yet. Instead she’d been down in Puerto Banus for the last three years, spending his dosh like there was no tomorrow.

‘You said you’d been naughty,’ I prompted, realizing we had skipped the spanking in favour of frenetic tongue-lashings.

Suitably encouraged, Margot told me about Ray’s cocktail party, held on Midsummer’s Eve. As it was mostly for business acquaintances, his first wife had been there with her “toy boy”. Playing her part as “toy girl”, Margot had helped meet and greet and couldn’t help but notice the very last arrival.

‘It was only his mistress,’ she said, incredulously. ‘She’s a dead-ringer for Marilyn Monroe . . . and a twenty-five-year-old Marilyn Monroe at that.’

Naturally Marilyn hadn’t been invited, but Ray didn’t want to make a scene in front of guests (and his ex), so he let her saunter in and help herself to Moet and canapés.

‘I bumped into her when I went out on the terrace for a ciggie,’ said Margot. ‘I thought she was after a fight but, once I gave her a light she was as nice as could be. We ended up exchanging numbers and she told me to call in next time I was in Gargrave.’

I could guess what was coming but asked anyway.

‘Yes,’ Margot grinned, ‘I’m fucking my boyfriend’s mistress once a week . . . in the lovely little cottage that he bought for her. So now do I get my spanking?’

Chapter Forty-Seven

After my classes on Wednesday I went home alone and had an early night. That left me full of beans for Thursday and just as well . . . that’s when I got my first overnight stay.

As background, the building society’s outlets each had a “branch computer” and networked PCs. In theory the physical kit was systematically replaced every few years, long before the manufacturers’ warranties ran out. That meant that product failures were addressed under warranty and us techies were rarely physically called out.

In practice the global meltdown was still very much happening and replacements of all kinds had been put on hold. That meant that aging bits of kit were no longer guaranteed and callouts were becoming more and more frequent, as more and more things wore out.

Between us the Head Office techies had a rota to support the branches during opening hours. As we were paid a premium for that, we didn’t mind. Like everywhere else, overtime had got hard to come by . . . yet we had it written into our job description! And it was always good to get out and about, even if those calls weren’t quite as frequent as I just made them sound.

Anyhow, by that particular Thursday my entire callout career totalled three visits, all of them relatively local, with the most remote being in Nottingham. The question of staying over hadn’t arisen. Then, on a day when I was top of the rota, we got a call from Aberdeen.

‘They have a big promotion tomorrow,’ my line-manager told me, ‘and their systems have crashed. A woman on the ground is desperately needed, and you are she.’

I didn’t bother asking if anyone had tried a remote fix. The guys on the IT Help Desk were very good and past masters of remote fixes. If they couldn’t sort the problem centrally, nobody could.

‘Aberdeen,’ I echoed, trying to picture it on a map.

‘They need you yesterday and it’s too late in the day to drive,’ my manager went on. ‘Mick’s ordered you a cab and he is booking your flight even as we speak.’ He passed me the magic Callout Credit Card. ‘You’ll need this for expenses and a hotel room. Go to a Travelodge if you can find one; we get a discount and the accountants like that. Here’s some cash for taxis and the likes. Sign on the dotted line, please.’

I took five slightly tatty tenners and signed a chitty. ‘Aberdeen,’ I said again.

‘The card works contactless up to twenty pounds.’ He gave me the PIN for larger transactions. ‘And a word to the wise; anything you buy up to fifty quid will sail past the bean counters. So feel free to take the branch manager out for a bite to eat once you’ve done.’

I raised an eyebrow at that.

‘You won’t be able to start until the branch closes,’ my manager explained. ‘And the place is essentially a bank; the guy’s been there forever and won’t just leave you there, unaccompanied. He’ll stay with you until you have done everything you can. Feeding him afterward is only polite.’


I would be fibbing if I said I didn’t enjoy the jet set lifestyle. Ten minutes after being briefed a taxi was whisking me away to Leeds-Bradford, dropping me off close to the entrance (as close as permitted by the very visibly armed police, anyway). Then I was inside and the girl on the flight desk was expecting me, saying I had just quarter of an hour to board but not to worry, “Jason” would escort me every step of the way.

Before I knew it we’d landed in Scotland. Free from the worries of Customs or Passport Control, I was able to saunter straight out of ABZ and into the first cab on the rank. I told the driver where I wanted to go but he stopped me before I could give him the address.

‘I know where it is, lassie,’ he said in a pleasant burr of an accent. ‘Don’t ye worry; I’ll get you there in one piece, safe and sound.’

He did, too. Settling up, I looked at the familiar branch façade: it was exactly the same as the one in Bingley Main Street. Taking a deep-ish breath, very aware the locals were depending on me, I went in through the plate glass door.


The customer-facing area was open-plan and totally dominated by women. While I was vainly looking around, trying to spot a grizzle-faced Scotsman, a very attractive female rose from her chair.

‘Please,’ she said, ‘tell me you’re Dave from Head Office.’

I smiled at her because it was impossible not to. ‘I’m Davina from Head Office,’ I said, hoping to avoid the “I thought you were a bloke” conversation. ’But you’re welcome to call me Dave.’ Then, less smoothly, I added, ‘Is the manager about?’

The woman held out her right hand. ‘I am the manager,’ she said, ‘and have I got a problem for you.’

‘Hi,’ I said, taken aback.

‘Sue Johnston,’ she replied, taking my hand and shaking it.

Sue ushered me into her swivel chair then, leaning across me, tapped her keyboard until a dropdown menu appeared.

‘All the society’s systems, right?’ she said.

I nodded. There were ten or so lines on that menu, all of them familiar to me.

‘This one works,’ she went on, clicking on the third one down, opening a welcome screen. ‘And so does this one . . .’

I watched as she demonstrated that four out of a dozen systems let her in and the rest did not. Then she asked Sandra, the girl at the next desk, to repeat the exercise. Sandra could only get into three of the systems, all different to the ones Sue could access.

‘It’s the same for all of us. We get three or four each but not the same ones. And nobody can get onto Possum. Did you hear it’s a promotion day tomorrow? Without Possum we’re doomed.’

Sue’s accent was gorgeous. Even so, I had to smile when she said “doomed”. It made me think of the re-runs of that old Home Guard series.

‘It’s got to be the branch computer,’ I said aloud. ‘I’ll need to take it offline and investigate.’

‘You’ll need to wait ‘til five, then,’ said Sue. ‘Let’s go and drink coffee.’ Then, her brown eyes flashing: ‘God, what am I like! Have you eaten yet?’

By then it was four in the afternoon. I admitted I’d got the call immediately before lunch and, airline peanuts aside, hadn’t properly dined. Sue took me into the back office/kitchen area and produced a Tupperware box of salmon and cucumber sandwiches.

‘I was too worried to eat,’ she said, ‘you have them.’

I told her to stop worrying and insisted we shared them. She, reluctantly at first, complied and soon we were chatting as if we were old mates. Sue was, I discovered, thirty. She had been at the branch six years and manager for three months. Archie, the previous manager, had been in charge for ever and a day. Tomorrow was her first big promotional event; if it went wrong . . .

By that stage my attraction to the woman was becoming dangerous. She had short black hair and, on first sight, seemed to be petite. But in reality she wasn’t much shorter than me. That voice of hers was addictive and her ass was as pert as could be. And yes, I know what you’re thinking . . . I had noticed her tits; for a slender woman they seemed to be beyond splendid, into miraculous.

The only negative thing I could see about Sue was her wedding ring. Disappointing or what? Thirty years old and married; she probably had kids, PTA meetings, child-minders and all sorts of similar crap occupying her mind.

How unfair!!

Chapter Forty-Eight

Five o’clock rolled around and the rest of Sue’s team left. Only Sandra paused to say goodbye to me and I didn’t miss the way she said it. Although perfectly presented . . . as were all her colleagues . . . Sandra had the look of a punk about her. I found it only too easy to picture her with hair spiked up and face caked in eyeliner, pogoing away with the likes of Meryl.

Dismissing her from my head, I set to work.

Now, for reasons of confidentiality, I’m not going to tell you what the system problem was. Let’s just say it took two hours to locate and revolved around one supposedly unbreakable component.

‘It works with it taken out,’ I said to Sue, ‘but everything’s still haywire when I put it back in.’

Sue had been drowning me in Kenyan coffee. She had just tried all her team’s PCs and knew I was right. ‘So what happens if we leave it taken out?’ she wondered.

‘It weakens a firewall,’ I said, ‘not massively, but a bit. In the unlikely event of a hack, the hacker may have his chances doubled from none to slim.’

Sue asked for odds and I said branches got on average three unsuccessful attacks a year. She rang her boss at that; he said to leave the component out but to replace it as soon as humanly possible.

I rang the appropriate manufacturer’s 24 hour help desk and got a guy who clearly knew his onions.

‘That component never fails,’ he said, ‘it’s unbreakable.’

‘Trust me,’ I assured him, ‘I’m looking at a broken one right now.’

I heard him tapping keys. ‘Three broken in five years,’ he resumed.

‘Make it four; how quick can you get a replacement to Aberdeen?’

‘It’ll be there by tomorrow afternoon.’

‘What if I bribe you with bottles of single malt?’

He laughed. ‘Then I’d be eternally grateful, but it’ll still be tomorrow afternoon.’

I rang off and turned to Sue. ‘Do you think you could replace this part if I show you how?’

It was her turn to laugh. ‘I’ve had my new car three years and I haven’t yet opened the bonnet.’

‘Okay then,’ said I, ‘here’s the plan. I replace it now, so we’re secure overnight. Then I remove it in the morning before you open. Then I hang around until the spare arrives and replace it as soon as I get a window of opportunity.’

‘My hero,’ said Sue. ‘Can I feed and water you? My boss said I ought to.’

‘My boss said something very similar to me,’ I replied.


I sincerely do not want to offend any Scottish or Indian readers (or anyone else, for that matter), but I had wondered what to expect from a Bengal restaurant in Aberdeen. Would the waiters be in kilts? Or would the background music be the Bay City Rollers?

I needn’t have worried. The place Sue took me compared favourably with the better restaurants in Bradford (Bradford long being known as the Curry Capital of the UK). In fact it was right up there with the best one I’d ever been in, anywhere: up on the rooftop in my home town.

Rafiq, the head waiter, obviously knew Sue. He led us to a table under a propeller fan and bade us sit before flamboyantly presenting us with leather-bound menus.

‘Will it be Cobra?’ he asked.

Sue looked at me. ‘Do you drink pints?’

I grinned at her. ‘I’m a Yorkshire lassie; of course I drink pints.’

As if by magic two brimming glasses appeared together with a basket of poppadums.

‘Please,’ said Rafiq,’ ‘tell me when you are ready to order.’

Sue showed no sign of opening her menu. Guessing they were waiting for me, I said, ‘Mixed tikka as a starter, followed by Keema Madras.’

Rafiq bowed his head. ‘Where in West Yorkshire are you from?’ he asked.

I frowned at that. I hadn’t mentioned “West” at all. There again, despite his local twang, his command of English was as good as mine. He probably knew British accents better than I did.

‘I’m from North Yorkshire at the moment,’ I conceded, ‘but I was brought up in Bingley.’

‘The Shama,’ he cried delightedly.

‘I used to go there all the time,’ said I.

‘It is owned by a friend of a friend’s friend,’ Rafiq told me. ‘And if you go there you won’t want rice, will you? Is it two chapattis or three?’

‘Three please,’ I said.

‘What was that all about?’ Sue asked when he’d retreated.

‘I think he was trying to impress me with his culinary knowledge,’ I replied. ‘In fact he did impress me.’

‘I think he was trying to get into you knickers,’ Sue responded, swigging beer and chuckling.

As if I would have reacted to a prompt like that!


Our meals were fantastic and, after tossing to determine the privilege, I settled the bill on the Callout Credit Card. Then, with Sue alternately saying “the night is young” and “I have to be up with the larks in the morning”, we retraced our steps towards the branch, stopping outside a good-looking pub.

‘The Bonnie Prince,’ said, I, ‘wasn’t he the enemy of all Sassenachs?’

‘Round here “Sassenachs” isn’t an insult,’ she assured me. ‘It’s people from Edinburgh we distrust. A Yorkshire lassie like you will be made welcome with open arms.’

I was, too. We had perhaps an hour and at least four pints of Deuchars. Then, conscious it was going on for ten o’clock and Sue really did have to be up early, I feigned a yawn.

‘Me too,’ she said. ‘I’ll get a taxi and we’ll have a wee nightcap while we’re waiting.’

Twenty minutes later we were outside at the exact second a cab drew up. Greeting the Asian driver as “Fraser”, Sue said, ‘Drop me at home and my saviour at the Travelodge.’

Fraser’s English was as perfect as Rafiq’s. Or should I say his Scottish? He rabbited away ten to the dozen as he drove; using the odd word that Sue understood but left me completely bamboozled. Not that I was complaining. I was well-fed and watered and at peace with the world.

Sue’s place was in a large granite block. She thanked Fraser as he pulled up outside then turned to me.

‘I mean it,’ she said, ‘you are my saviour.’

Then, to my amazement, she kissed me on the mouth and was gone.

Chapter Forty-Nine

It didn’t take me long to check in to the hotel. Valiantly walking past the bar I quickly found my room, shrugged off my clothes and tucked myself up in bed.

But I couldn’t sleep. That briefest of brief kisses kept on replaying in my mind. Before I knew it I was masturbating and fantasizing about Sue. And, seeing as I had a semblance of control over both my hand and my pussy, I was able to make it a long, drawn-out fantasy. No, I was able to make it a very long, extremely drawn-out fantasy.

Fantasies, huh! Who knows what murky part of our minds they come from? I can’t remember all the details of that one, but Sue’s tits and ass will no doubt have featured prominently. I strongly suspect that I conjured up unlikely scenarios, as well: the two of us being castaways, left naked together on a desert island, slowly but steadily falling in lust; that sort of thing.

One major cum later and guilt crept into my head. And please don’t get me wrong: guilt about my one-nighter with Margot didn’t come into the picture; as far as I was concerned, Kat had gone for good and I was free to resume my whore-like ways of old. It logically followed that accepting Margot’s advances on my very first day of freedom was nothing to be ashamed of . . . unlike those calls I had immediately made to Sara and Meryl.

How slutty had I been? How slutty and how utterly inconsiderate. Sara and Meryl were my friends, but I hadn’t called them for comfort or sympathy. Oh no, I had called them because I’d wanted to rut. And I would have called Ellie and the others too, if Margot hadn’t interrupted me. I’d have called and called until I found someone to fuck. What sort of a friend did that make me?

My guilt wasn’t exclusively reserved for ex-schoolmates, either. I felt even guiltier for fantasizing about Sue. Sue was a good, kind and generous woman. She was also straight, married and quite possibly a mother. How could I use her in my filthy fuck fantasies! Heck, how could I ever look at myself again in the mirror!

I trudged despondently into the bathroom, peed, brushed my teeth and (rather foolishly) splashed my face with cold water. Sleep was farther away than ever when I went back to bed. Sighing, having had enough of the home-focused character assassination, I began to masturbate again.

Using two hands that second time, I teased my clit and simultaneously eased two fingers in and out of my vagina. Setting a slow-slow beat, I was determined not to fantasize at all, but that was easier said than done. Images kept swirling through my head; images of Kat and Sara and . . .

Dismissing them, I focused on Sue’s young colleague, Sandra. Sandra was clearly a bisexual if not an outright lesbian. She also clearly wanted to have sex with me. She might possibly have been frigging herself at that very moment, thinking about me. Surely fantasizing about her was permissible?

Surely it was!

But I couldn’t stay focused on the would-be punk. No matter how hard I tried, her face kept morphing into Sue’s. Sue simply wouldn’t go away. I could banish her but she bounced straight back. I tried and I tried but I couldn’t get rid. So in the end I thought bugger it and let her have her way with me . . . and not just once.


The alarm on my mobile woke me from a deep and surprisingly satisfying sleep. Somehow I managed to get up and shower without resorting to further self-abuse. Then, after carefully towelling myself dry, I unzipped my overnight bag and had a quick inspection of the contents.

(If that sounds odd it’s because that bag had been beneath my desk for ages, unneeded and doing nothing except get under my feet. I’d packed it weeks or even months earlier.)

Fortunately everything smelt fresh and didn’t look too creased. I picked out skimpy black knickers and a pair of white socks before dithering over a top. It was September and a hot one at that. Yesterday’s sweat shirt had been borderline stuffy. In the end I went for a white cotton T.

(And trust me; I never gave my outsized nips one thought.)

Taking my bag with me as I went, I left my room for the last time and went down for a hearty “all-you-can-eat” breakfast that more than set me up for the day. Finished, I sipped coffee and was skimming through an abandoned copy of the local Evening Express when my phone rang. It was Sue, sounding bright and breezy and completely unsuspecting.

‘Hi Dave,’ I just wanted to make sure you were up.’

‘I’ve just had breakfast,’ I replied.

‘I’ve got Fraser standing by. Shall we say outside the hotel in ten minutes?’


Sue was already in the branch when Fraser dropped me off. It was good to see her again; maybe too good. Maybe I was torturing myself with guilt and longing.

‘I haven’t tried the systems yet,’ she said, sounding as sassy as ever, ‘I don’t want to jinx them. I’ll get us coffee while you do your thing.’

It didn’t take long to whip out the dodgy component. I was bolting everything back in place when she returned with two steaming mugs.

‘Cross your fingers and go for it,’ I said.

I couldn’t help but admire her ass as she leaned over her desk, switched on her PC and logged in.

‘That’s one I couldn’t get into yesterday,’ she commentated, ‘and another . . . and another . . .’

‘Brilliant,’ I said, admiring her enthusiasm as well as her backside. ‘Can you try Sandra’s?’

She could and that worked too. Soon the rest of her team arrived and they all had all the access they needed.

‘Right ladies,’ Sue said, two minutes before opening time, ‘Dave’s waiting for a small part to install, so she’ll be here all day in the unlikely event something else goes wrong. Now let’s do what we have to do and give our customers what they want.’

(Being “management”, she never mentioned the tiny risk of hacking; being IT, neither did I.)

I had never spent a whole day in a branch before and, to be honest, time dragged for me, even if the minutes did probably whizz by for Sue and her gang. They were kept incredibly busy, you see. As far as I could tell the promotion was a roaring success. And, judging by the way Sue’s smile kept getting wider and wider, it could not have gone much better.

‘Lunch,’ she said to me shortly before noon.

‘I planned to nip out for a pie and a pint,’ I replied.

‘Go for a pint by all means but don’t bother with the pie. I’ve made extra sandwiches.’

I was touched by her consideration and kicked myself again for the previous night’s filthy thoughts.

‘I’m taking my break at 12:45,’ she went on. ‘If you’re back by then we can eat together. It will be good to have another chinwag.’

Chapter Fifty

I treated myself to two Deuchars in The Bonnie Prince and made sure I was back for quarter to on the dot. Sue had done us proud: two crammed Tupperware containers, one full of salmon and cucumber, the other stuffed with cheese and tomato. We nibbled, chatted and sipped coffee contentedly.

There was, I told her, a flight at half past six. If all went well and with a following wind, I intended to try to be on it.

‘Don’t go breaking your neck in rush hour traffic,’ she said. ‘You’re better late in this world than early in the next.’

‘That’s the sort of thing my mum would say,’ I replied. A second later, clapping a hand to my mouth, ‘I didn’t mean anything ageist. You’re nowhere near as old as my mum.’

Sue just laughed. Then she surprised me by suddenly mentioning Sandra.

‘She fancies you, you know. Surely you’ve noticed?’

‘No,’ I fibbed, ‘I haven’t.’

‘She’s been giving you the eye ever since you arrived. And didn’t her face light up when she saw that you were here again this morning.’

I was still flushed from comparing Sue with my mum. Not wanting to make matters worse, I shrugged and said I thought the girl was just being friendly.

Sue laughed again. ‘Okay, I believe you. Of course you haven’t noticed. You wouldn’t do, would you? Not when you have girls giving you the eye all the time.’

‘I wish,’ I said, putting down the best sexuality marker I could think of.

She just smiled and offered me a slice of sponge cake.


Thanks to the Deuchars (aided and abetted by all that Kenyan coffee) I spent the early part of a long afternoon wanting to make wee-wee. For me things began to look up at three thirty when the courier turned up with my replacement part.

And, I must confess, his timing pleased me. My help desk buddy had given a slot spanning between three and four; it arriving exactly in the middle appealed to my sense of symmetry.

(Sorry, I should have given a nerd alert before saying that!)

As the branch was still busy there was no chance of me booting everything down and installing the part straightaway. Instead I took it into the back and tested it as best I could.

‘Is there a problem’ Sue asked, regarding me anxiously.

‘None at all,’ I assured her. ‘As soon as you close I’ll fit it and be off.’

‘I really can’t have you risking your life in the rush hour,’ she said. ‘Spend the night in my spare room instead; catch a plane tomorrow.’

I dithered at that. On one hand the idea of spending more time with Sue was super-attractive. On the other it just meant more frustration and mental torture.

And what would her husband think of her putting up a girl like me!

‘Thanks for the offer but let’s see how it goes,’ I hedged. ‘We might still be here with everything in bits come ten o’clock. Let’s play it as we go.’

Sue nodded and reiterated I was welcome in her home.

Still in a bit of a dither, I checked plane times when she went back out into the office. Unless I wanted to hop around the UK, I had the choice of that six thirty direct flight, one on Saturday and sod all after ‘til Monday. Sue was probably right, I concluded; I really would be pushing it to catch Friday’s shuttle. And when I did a job, I took pride in doing it right. No way could I just slam in a replacement part and swan off without thoroughly testing its performance.

Reluctant as I was to meet Sue’s “better half”, I booked the Saturday flight, telling myself that my line-manager was updated and had endorsed my decisions so far; that if the worst came to the worst, he would readily sign off a second night at the Travelodge.

‘Sod it,’ I muttered before going out into the customer-facing area. ‘At least I’ll get another nice curry tonight. And that certainly won’t go amiss.’


Sandra was the last of the “help” to leave. Her farewell to me was, to say the least, gushing. And here is a confession: if she’d asked me for my number she’d have got it.

She didn’t though, so I let her slip off and vanish into the Friday night scene of Aberdeen, doubtless to soon re-emerge in black leather or PVC.

‘Alone at last,’ said Sue.

I couldn’t help but notice she’d removed her cravat and unfastened the top two buttons of her blouse. She’d done likewise the previous evening, but not nearly so early in proceedings.

Surely not, I thought.

‘Take your time,’ Sue said, as if I was fumbling at bolts, eager to be away,’ ‘the rush hour round here’s terrible. Play it as you go. I’ll get us coffees.’

I had installed the replacement and done all the necessary refastening before she came back.

‘All done,’ she said, only too obviously disappointed.

‘All but for an hour of testing,’ I replied. ‘I guess I’ll be taking you up on your offer after all.’


We arrived at the restaurant an hour or so earlier than the night before. It was a little quieter but Rafiq greeted us with at least the same warmth. Pints and poppadums had appeared before we even got to our table.

‘Wave to the barman when you want more,’ he said, extravagantly presenting us with our menus.

(And as if Sue didn’t already know that little trick!)

‘I’ll have the usual,’ she said, ignoring the menu and swigging beer.

‘And I’ll have the same as last night,’ I added. ‘That’s . . .’

‘No problem at all,’ Rafiq finished for me. ‘Enjoy!’

For once silence descended on the two of us. We eyed each other across a table laden with the most amazing silver Indian cutlery, drinks and pre-meal snacks.

‘Are you sure I can sleep in your spare room,’ I ventured. ‘I can easily find somewhere else. I really do not want to put your husband out or anything.’

‘He effed off to Edinburgh three years ago,’ she said, still eying me. ‘The decree nisi is framed and on the wall in my lounge. I only wish you could put him out. He deserves all he gets.’

‘Oh,’ said I, rather lamely.

Sue’s gaze shifted from my face to her left hand. ‘I suppose you noticed my ring,’ she said. ‘I can’t get the bloody thing off. It’s shrunk or my knuckle’s grown, or something.’

‘Have you tried using soap and hot water,’ I suggested helpfully, not mentioning that it was one of my mum’s old remedies (yes, she did remedies as well as sayings!).

‘I’ve tried everything,’ Sue said, holding out her hand. ‘Here, see if you can shift it.’

For a girl with a lot of same-sex experience I found touching her fingers to be very erotic. In fact it was so erotic I had to hold onto her left hand with my left and grip her ring with my right.

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