Best Served Cold

by Limey Lady

  ‘Talking about which, I'll get us some more. Sit.’

  ‘Sit?’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘Yes sir. Your wish is my command, sir.’

  ‘In my dreams,’ he replied, heading indoors.

  The smoking area was open-sided but had an awning and was well-sheltered, being where it was, behind the pub, away from Main Street. And those heaters really did their job. It was warmer out there than it was inside. Heather sat on Pat's bench and, after making a hole in her pint, checked messages. Nothing from Rick but Sean had sent a reply to the one she’d sent him that afternoon. His response was timed at 4.53.

  SAVING THE WORLD AGAIN

  WONDER WOMAN!!

  WILL SAVE U A REDHEAD

  GET THERE WHEN U CAN

  How considerate! Heather chuckled softly. I might hold him to that . . . unless a better offer pops up.

  ‘Here we go,’ said Pat, returning carrying three pints and with a bottle of Shiraz jammed tight under his arm.

  ‘Is that all for me? You shouldn't have. You're too kind.’

  He shoved a pint and the bottle towards her then got a wine glass out of his jacket pocket and made a show of polishing it with a clean-looking hanky.

  ‘The two Stellas are mine. I'll get you another bitter when you’re ready.’

  ‘Bitter and wine . . . are you trying to get me fresh?’

  ‘I'm trying everything I can think of. Obviously being a year closer to the grave's not enough.’

  Heather stared at him, trying to gauge how drunk he was. Not at all, she concluded. And he was still as attractive as hell.

  Admit it, girl: something popped up the second you saw him . . . alone and defenceless.

  ‘I thought you'd be at Sean's party,’ she began.

  ‘Not my scene.’

  ‘What, DeeDee's away and a sex party's not your scene? Pull the other one.’

  ‘Who says it's a sex party?’

  ‘Sean does. Or rather, he did when he invited me.’

  Pat recoiled. ‘That's a first.’

  ‘Like taking a sandwich to a banquet, you mean?’

  ‘No, no,’ he said hastily. ‘You’d definitely be caviar. It's just . . .’

  ‘It just usually men only . . . testosterone-fuelled men and paid dancing girls. I know how it works. And I'm not surprised DeeDee's banned you from going.’

  ‘She encouraged me, actually. Said I could call it my birthday present.’

  ‘Oh McGuire, you’re such a fibber!’

  ‘No I'm not.’

  ‘Why aren't you there, then?’

  ‘Like I said, it's not my scene. Why aren't you there if you’re invited?’

  Heather sighed. ‘The latest financial meltdown got in the way. But I haven't blobbed. I'm just running behind schedule.’

  Pat blinked at that. ‘Are you really going to go?’

  ‘Why shouldn't I? I've got carte blanche to do what I like: guys, girls . . . whatever.’ She swilled more beer down and laughed. ‘You can share my taxi if you want. I'd love to see you in action.’

  It was Pat's turn to swill beer. ‘What about you? Will you be in action?’

  ‘Absolutely; I'm rubbish at being a voyeur.’

  ‘You realize it can be . . . Well, they tend to get fairly wild.’

  ‘I do realize. That's why I'm looking forward to watching you flex your muscles . . . especially your tight glutes.’

  ‘I try to avoid flexing my glutes in public," said Pat, doing a bad job of trying not to blush.

  ‘In that case I'll come and watch you somewhere more private. I'm sure your dancing girl won't mind a discreet audience of one.’

  ‘You wanna watch me?’

  ‘Yeah; it’ll be a lifetime highlight.’

  Pat immediately took the bait. ‘I get to watch you if you watch me,’ he said, sounding like a ready-to-be-sulky fifteen-year-old.

  ‘Fair enough,’ Heather replied, holding his gaze. ‘I'll even let you watch first, to prove I'm not going to welch.’

  ‘You’re very convincing. Remind me not to play brag with you.’

  ‘I’m not bluffing, Mr McGuire. If I say I’ll do something, I’ll do it.’ Heather sipped more beer, not really sure how honest she was being. Yes, she did have carte blanche . . . but would she really dare use it with guys too? Meaning the likes of Tinner and Angel, one after another? Hmmm . . . rain check on that.

  Pat was clearly convinced enough. ‘Who do I get to watch you with,’ he asked, ‘Sean?’

  ‘Sean!’ Heather snorted. ‘When I’ve got an unlimited choice? Not on your nelly.’

  ‘Who do you fancy then?’

  ‘Nobody in particular, I'm going to play the field.’

  ‘Do you mean guys, girls . . . and whatever?’

  ‘That’s right. I’m going to pick and mix, although I’ll probably skip “whatever”.’

  ‘So you’re going for more than one?’

  ‘My understanding is the guys get as many girls as they can handle. You can hardly expect me to limit myself to less than the guys, can you? Not when I’ve ten times the stamina.’

  ‘You reckon?’

  ‘No, I don’t reckon . . . I know.’

  ‘Ten times the stamina, eh?’

  ‘Yes, Mr McGuire, ten times at least.’

  Somehow Pat managed not to gulp. Ten times the stamina of the likes of Sean! Oh my God, was this girl perfect or what!!

  ‘Care to test that assertion with an aging prop forward?’ he blustered.

  ‘You still owe Joanna a peccadillo, so you've no chance.’

  ‘Christ, are you still going on about that?’

  ‘It matters to me, whatever you might think.’

  ‘It doesn't matter to Joanna. She runs a mile whenever she sees me. And I'm not likely to see her tonight, am I?’

  ‘No, Joanna doesn't do threesomes. I'd be wasting my time inviting her along.’

  ‘Who mentioned threesomes?’

  Heather smiled. ‘That was my Freudian slip for today.’

  ‘Was it now?’

  ‘Yes, Mr McGuire. It was also an implied way of getting around our little difficulty.’

  ‘Difficulty?’ he grinned. ‘I'm not with you. And stop calling me "Mr McGuire".’

  ‘Okay Patrick, let me explain.’ Heather poured her first glass of wine and grinned back at him.

  ‘I hate Patrick even more than Mr McGuire.’

  ‘Thanks for letting me know, Patrick.’

  ‘So,’ he said after a brief pause. ‘About this little difficulty . . .’

  ‘We've both got carte blanche, right? But Sean's party isn't your scene. And I vowed you have to shag Joanna before me.’

  ‘That’s right, making a threesome the obvious answer . . . with Joanna getting it first.’

  ‘Charmingly put. But a potential solution, I must admit.’

  ‘Do you really mean that?’

  ‘Yes, but really doesn’t always mean practically.’

  ‘I suppose not. Shame Joanna's so retiring.’

  ‘Forget being practical a minute. Would you?’

  ‘Would I what?’

  ‘Would you shag Joanna first, to get a go at me?’

  ‘What can I say? I'm only human.’

  ‘And you really want to have sex with me? Tonight, I mean?’

  Pat’s heart lurched, rollercoaster big-time. ‘Yes,’ he managed, ‘I really do.’

  Heather laughed again. ‘Good job I'm a problem solver then, isn't it?’

  *****

  Extracting Roger and getting him into the Fiat turned out to be ridiculously easy. The trickiest bit had been getting him unseen along the warren of pathways leading through a dozen blocks of school classrooms, all of them dark and dormant. But, with Matty, Christine, Jayne and Nat leading the way (while Barry and Craig stayed to cover behind them), Jamie fireman-lifted Roger and they made it without incident.

  Come to think about it, actually getting the drunk, drugged-up idjit into the small car was probably the tri
ckiest bit. Roger didn’t seem to understand he was supposed to sit upright in the back, so his distressed girlfriend could cram in beside him. In the end they gave up, letting him more or less collapse across the seat with Christine perching uncomfortably on top.

  ‘Okay,’ Jamie said, giving a business-like rap on the car roof. ‘Off you go. Good luck with Roger’s mum.’

  ‘We’ll be back soon,’ Nat replied from the front passenger seat. ‘I can’t see her inviting us in for tea and biccies.’

  ‘So,’ Jayne began as the tail lights disappeared in the direction of Bradford Road, ‘alone at last.’

  Jamie gave her a sharp glance, seeing nothing but beauty and a winning smile.

  ‘Better get back inside,’ he said, ‘seeing as you’ve hardly any clothes on.’

  ‘Are you complaining?’

  ‘No, not me; I just don’t want to be blamed if you get pleurisy or something.’

  ‘Don’t worry about that. I’m quite hardy, really.’ She offered out her arm like a lady in an old film, one like maybe Friendly Persuasion, or something similar.

  His hesitation in hooking arms was slight; slight, but undeniably there.

  ‘Okay, he said, turning towards the Sixth Form Centre. ‘Let’s get back in the warm.’

  ‘Aren’t you going to drag me into the bushes for a quick ravish?’

  He took another, even sharper glance at her.

  ‘Hardly,’ he said. ‘I’m not the ravishing type.’

  ‘That’s not what Simone told me. She said every time you were alone together, you ravished her.’

  ‘I don’t think it’s possible to ravish Simone.’

  ‘Okay. So maybe I got it wrong. Maybe every time you were alone together, she ravished you.’

  He laughed. ‘Our ravishing was pretty mutual.’

  ‘So I heard. She spoke very highly of the quality of your ravishing.’

  By now they had made it halfway back but were still out of sight of the rest of the human race. Jayne suddenly stopped in her tracks and used their hooked arms as a lever to propel them face-to-face.

  ‘If we go any further, we’ll be in the middle of a crowd of leper-like smokers,’ she said.

  ‘And . . .’

  ‘And you owe me a Christmas kiss.’

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  (Friday 12th December 2008)

  Pat was starting to get disorientated. In fact he was being overwhelmed.

  This girl’s a problem solver or what! My cock’s getting RSI!

  Not that he was complaining. And not that Heather would listen to him if he did.

  According to Heather, the solution to their difficulty was simple: seeing as she couldn't let him shag her, she'd find a few ways to shag him. And not at Sean's party. If they were going to shag then they were going to do it right, without others wanting to join in.

  Naturally, Pat hadn't argued. They'd finished their pints then left via the Kings' car park, him carrying the bottle of Shiraz which was still three-quarters full, her thinking up her set of rules and making scarier and scarier suggestions with every step.

  By the time they reached her apartment his hard-on had been ready to snap off.

  Am I on a winner here, he’d wondered, or a loser? Do I care?

  Kissing and groping in Heather’s lounge had been an ordeal. He wasn’t allowed to properly touch her and she had taken great liberties. Not wanting to blow his chances so soon, he’d limited himself to kisses while she groped and groped and groped. Then she had dragged him into a bedroom walled with mirrors and unclothed him. That part hadn’t been too far from torture, especially when, still fully dressed, she had begun tying him to the bed with blood-red silk scarves.

  ‘Just to make sure,’ she’d purred, fastening her knots professionally and securely . . . before gobbling him off in a matter of seconds, not even trying to make it last.

  Next she'd slowly stripped, displaying her incredible body, rubbing bits of it against him, letting him study everything, particularly her perfectly formed, perfectly shaved pussy. Naked at last she had stood there, stimulating her clit right under his nose, taking her time about it.

  ‘I love magic buttons,’ she told him. ‘Rolling them against my tongue . . .’

  He had gaped at her. It was clear she liked direct contact; she was obviously not the overly sensitive type.

  ‘I love tongues rolling against mine too,’ she continued, ‘mmmm . . . nice!’

  On she went, speaking obscenely all the while without ever particularly swearing. Moving ever closer, telling him to memorize what she was doing, to make sure he knew what she liked. Finally groaning and contracting an inch away from his eyes.

  Dripping onto him . . . dripping copiously.

  Then she really had shagged him, beginning with her love egg, progressing via beads to a selection of vibrators, accompanying her attentions with what she called “below jobs” . . . and two or three hearty face-sits.

  Pat shuddered. If Sean ever found out! Especially about those beads . . .

  Beads! They’d been more like giant ball-bearings!!!

  Now wasn’t the time to worry, though. Heather was gobbling away at him again. Her enthusiasm and endurance levels were unbelievable.

  Helpless beneath her, Pat was building up to another climax. It would be at least his third and, judging from the feel of things, his biggest so far.

  ‘Not yet,’ she cried. ‘Not yet!’

  Springing off him, she crouched on the carpet beside the bed, grabbing him and taking aim.

  ‘Okay,’ she said, ‘cum in my face.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Come on. You know you want to.’

  ‘No,’ he gasped, desperately holding back.

  ‘Don’t be silly, it's not poison. And I came on your face . . . lots and lots.’

  That was true. She’d nearly drowned him. Not that her excesses excused his.

  ‘No,’ he repeated.

  Heather stopped arguing and swallowed him instead. He immediately shot at least a gallon into the depths of her throat.

  ‘This is fun,’ she said, straddling him, raking his chest with green-painted nails.

  Pat stared up at her. There was something very feline about the way she moved, something graceful, and dangerous too. He’d had another feel at the muscles on her, back when he was supposed to be just taking a defenceless groping. She may look soft and sexy, but there was steel in those muscles; lots and lots of steel.

  She must exercise like crazy.

  He wished he could feel her again now; properly touch and stroke her.

  And fuck her, of course. Although readily available to his tongue, her pussy had remained strictly out of bounds to his cock.

  ‘You’re actually quite sweet,’ she said playfully, ‘too much of a gentleman to squirt in my eye.’

  ‘I made myself a promise,’ he lied. ‘I have to squirt in Joanna's eye before yours.’

  ‘I'll set you up for one night next week.’

  Fuck! That again! Why didn’t I keep my big trap shut!!

  ‘Go on then,’ he said, resigned at last to his doom, ‘anything to satisfy you.’

  ‘You mean you’ll cum in my face?’

  ‘No, I mean I will go out with Joanna, just the once.’

  ‘Will you shag her?’

  ‘If that's what she wants.’

  ‘Do you promise?’

  ‘Swear to die.’

  ‘Hallelujah! I’ll hold you to that.’ Heather shook a clenched fist in the air, bouncing her tits for him. ‘And I might have to let you shag me before rather than after. I'm getting a bit of a yen for it.’

  Christ! I’ve cum umpteen times already, and now she’s getting a yen for it!

  ‘Better unfasten me then,’ Pat said valiantly.

  ‘Unfasten yourself.’

  He already knew he couldn't. She’d used some strange knots which only tightened when pulled.

  ‘Please Heather. I need the loo.’