Drying my hair in the bathroom, I heard my familiar Rammstein ringtone announcing I'd received a Whatsapp message. Wondering whether I should take a look, or wait until I finished getting ready, I continued waving the hair dryer around my head, feeling the super-heated air wafting through my luxurious locks.
"Not bad," I muttered to myself while critically studying my reflection in the mirror. "No, not bad at all," which was the best I could expect, considering the hectic week I’d just had." Despite all the stress involved, I’d come out of it relatively unscathed. "Could be worse," I concluded while inspecting the shallow bags under my eyes.
Of course, no-one looks their best without makeup, or with long wet hair being blown all over the place by a hair dryer that has itself confused with a jet engine, but it's all part of the transformation process women undergo for a night on the town.
And part of that ritual is choosing which outfit to wear. The current baggy t-shirt was so old and stretched, it's always falling away from one or the other shoulders, and is only suitable for around the house. And the frumpy cotton panties that would have done my grandmother proud, the less said about them the better. But suffice to say, they wouldn't get any man's blood boiling.
My mobile phone sounded again, and unable to contain my piqued curiosity any longer, I interrupted what I was doing and crossed the hallway to my bedroom. The phone was charging because I was going out. It was a Friday after all, and I wanted to make sure it had enough juice to last the whole evening. As I picked it up, Rammstein once again blared from the speaker, almost making me jump.
While my heart settled back into its normal rhythm, I unlocked the screen and saw I had several Whatsapp messages from Victoria, an old girlfriend who'd moved to the States last year. I looked at the alarm clock and saw it was approaching lunchtime in the Big Apple.
Hello!
Anybody there?
I know you’re there. Darling, stop ignoring me!
I smiled to myself. No one could accuse Victoria of being the patient type. I quickly typed hello and pressed send.
Hi, babe, how ya doing?
She always started conversations with that question, and seldom called girlfriends by their real name. Once, I asked her why, but instead of answering, she merely shrugged her shoulders dismissively, ignoring my inquiry. Personally, I reckoned it was because she'd had so many lovers, she couldn't remember all their names and didn’t want to call out the wrong one during the heat of passion.
Not bad, Victoria! Getting ready to go out. What are you doing?
Hot date? She replied.
Also typical of her. If she didn't want to answer your nosiness, she didn't, and always deflected your query into the realms of oblivion, by responding with one of her own.
I thought about her question, or more importantly the answer to it, and came up blank. I'd worked with Colin for a couple of years now, and in all that time, I'd never realised he was interested in me. Hardly surprising, because whenever we talked, he’d never flirted, not once. He was extremely courteous, not at all like some of the other irritating machos that worked at the office, and at one point, after getting to know him, I wondered if he was gay.
However, not wanting to insult him, I never mustered the courage to ask him outright, and it was quite a surprise when I found out from another secretary, that Colin was quite a ladies’ man. Considering the way he walked, talked and looked, it probably said more about my preconceptions than his.
Nonetheless, the day before yesterday, he unexpectedly asked me to accompany him to the newest ‘Transformers’ movie, and I was so shocked by his request, I didn't have time to think of a reason not to. And when I saw him waiting anxiously for my answer, my surprise was even greater, especially when he acted like he'd won the lottery after I agreed to go with him. Seeing his reaction, I wondered if I'd made the right decision. After all, it was only an evening at the cinema, not like we had a date with destiny or anything.
Na, not really, I typed. A work colleague.
Male or female? The instant reaction made me laugh.
A man and his name is Colin.
Booorrrrinnng.
Well, they can't all be called Victoria, can they? I typed.
Three love hearts appeared on my screen.
What ya wearing?
That was a question I'd posed myself only an hour ago while taking a nice long relaxing bath. If I wore one of my shorter, sexy dresses, I might be sending a signal I didn't want to give, but at the same time, I didn't want to go dressed in something too casual. He might think I hadn’t cared about tonight’s date, something I could easily be accused of if the truth be known. In the end, I'd decided on a simple white blouse and a pair of blue trousers. I'd wear heels, the sort I wear to work, not the, ‘fuck me,’ ones I use for really hot dates.
Yeah, it wasn’t looking good for Colin!
I typed my choice to Victoria and waited for her judgment. It didn't take long.
Hmmmm, very business-like. What sort of underwear will you wear?
I smiled. Typical Victoria, that’s what she wanted to know all along. Sex was always at the forefront of her thoughts.
You know me, Vicky, I replied obstructively, using my nickname for her, knowing full well she hated it. "My name's Victoria, darling, not Vi, Vicky or Tori. Victoria, and I would advise you to remember it," she replied indignantly, the first time I addressed her as Vicky. The memory was a wry one.
Victoria. Say it, Bitch. xxx.
I smiled mischievously; she hadn’t changed at all.
Well, you of all people should know what I like, Victoria.
A very happy smiley immediately appeared on my smartphone.
Something red or black, cheap and sexy looking but actually costs a packet.
Now it was my turn to send a happy face.
You would know, darling.
Are you wearing them now? Victoria's response was immediate. Knowing her so well, I had to think about this one. While contemplating my reply, I had to snigger, imagining her tapping her fingers on the desk while she waited.
Should I fib or tell the truth? If I lied and said yes, Victoria, would instantly ask for a selfie, and there was no way I could get changed quick enough if she did.
No, my baggy t-shirt and granny panties. I've just gotten out of the shower and ain’t ready to get dressed.
Hmmm, I'd love to watch you when you do!
I bet she would. Although Victoria could be quite particular when it came to her name, she has no shame when it came to sex. Nothing was, or is, taboo when Victoria is out to satisfy her sexual appetites. To put it bluntly, she's a slut. I should know because during the two years we shared our flat, not only did we become friends, we also became lovers, after she seduced me.
o0o
It was something that surprised me at the time, because I’d never considered myself to be a lesbian, but couldn't resist the sexual whirlwind that was Victoria, a dirty, womanising, bitch, who left no stone unturned in pursuit of the ultimate orgasm.
Except of course, when it came to men. Sorry, guys.
Unlike me, Victoria had no interest in men or their penises. She had some of the biggest dildos I'd ever seen and enjoyed burying them in every one of her open orifices, but a real live flesh and blood cock? No, thank you.
Mind you, that was the only aspect of sex in which she didn't participate. For the rest, she was all in, if you excuse the pun, during our brief time together. I don’t think there was anything we didn't try. One of her favourite pastimes was ordering me to join in with her, and her newest conquest, whenever she brought them back to the apartment for the first time.
It was funny to see the new girl's expression as I climbed into the bed, but their objections were brusquely dismissed. As Victoria intended, we would end up participating in an intense three-way, giving and receiving head, getting fucked with a huge strap-on, or scissoring each other until we came, and eventually fall asleep in a tangled web of arms and legs.
It always amazed me that none of them refused Victoria's wishes, although, when they woke up the next day, quite a few of them wore shameful expressions as they remembered what had taken place the previous evening. It was during this period that I learned almost everything there is to know about sex. What I like, don’t like, not much, by the way, what men love and dislike, surprisingly more than you’d think, and most importantly, what made Victoria tick; she could be quite demanding.
On more than a few occasions, when I came home from work, tired and knackered, she would wait for me, and after walking through the door, she would order me to strip, and I don't mean just get undressed. No, I had to give her the whole nine yards.
Pretending to hear raunchy music in my head, I would sway my hips rhythmically as strippers do. Then I'd remove my jacket, slowly, sensually, parading myself and my full figure in front of her. As the discarded garment lay in a crumpled heap on the floor, I would then start to undo the buttons on my blouse. One by one, I would loosen them, each time flashing her a tantalising glimpse of my breasts as I went.
She would stand there, sometimes naked, occasionally fully clothed, but usually in some sexy and revealing lingerie, and as I continued my performance, I'd see her body responding to the visual stimulation. As she grew more turned on, Victoria would start fondling herself, generally grabbing at her excited bosom with one hand, and stuffing the other meaningfully into her panties.
While doing my thing, I would watch Victoria's fingers rapidly slipping in and out of her steamy wet snatch, still hidden beneath the shiny silk fabric, and I swear, the top of her thighs soon began glistening from all the sweet nectar she was secreting. The atmosphere in the hallway was so thick with lust. I could not only see her arousal, I could smell it from where I was standing.
After completely undoing my blouse, I would shrug it from my shoulders, feeling the crisp cotton fabric sliding sensually down my back, before joining the abandoned jacket lying on the hard wooden floor. My nipples would be nice and hard, and clearly visible, and between my thighs, my panties were well and truly soaked. I would see her watching me, observing my excitement, and watch her lick her lips in anticipation.
"Lick them," she would order, removing whatever she was wearing to expose her magnificent breasts. Her big nipples would be sticking out towards me, and when she flicked them with her fingers and thumb, they seemed to spring upwards.
Then, obeying her command, I would free my breasts from my brassiere, and after cupping them, I would bring each hard, tight nipple to my mouth. Losing sight of her as I bent my head forward, I couldn't see what Victoria was doing, but from the moans coming from the end of the hallway, I could tell how far she was.
"Take your skirt off, darling, and finger yourself," she would order, her voice a husky whisper, while she continued frigging herself. Still swaying my hips, I would reach for the tiny zipper and release the tight waistband, allowing the loose garment to glide down my heaving body. Kicking the last of my office attire, to join the rest of my discarded clothes, I'd stand there, high heels, stockings and suspenders, and my push up bra's matching panties.
Victoria bought all my lingerie. Tough, demanding and very unpredictable, she was also very generous. After we became lovers, Victoria went through my underwear drawer with a fine tooth comb, throwing away everything unacceptable in her opinion. When I protested, she explained she wanted something sweet and sexy to look at, peel off or tear to shreds, whichever her mood dictated.
In the beginning, I wasn’t so sure about her choices, but in time I learned to appreciate the joys of wearing sexy lingerie. Apart from how feminine it made me feel, it had an unexpected bonus; Victoria wasn't the only one who got turned seeing me in raunchy underwear. The occasional boyfriend also got the chance to appreciate Victoria's choice.
"Go on, baby," she'd urge, "Play with yourself. See if we can cum at the same time." Then I would mimic her. Leaning my back against the wall, I'd splay my legs wide and move my hands between my thighs. I'd pull my gusset aside with one, and run the fingertips of the other along my labia, feeling them open up to expose my moist slit.
While using the heel of my thumb to tease my clit, having opened up my juicy slit, I would thrust a couple of fingers into my pink wetness. The distinctive squelching sounds would fill the hallway, and my moans would compete with Victoria's as we continued playing with ourselves. Sometimes, when I was feeling very horny, I'd vary things by turning around and getting down on all fours. Then looking over my shoulder, I would arch my back, and after using my copious juices as lubricant, I would shove my fingers up my back passage. That was a huge turn on for Victoria.
We would pleasure ourselves, each looking at the other, watching them perform, but neither moving from their position so that we could get close and personal; that was the rule. Sometimes, it developed into a race, neither of us daring to stop until finally, the winner began wailing and shaking, as the throes of orgasm announced their victory. Mostly though, we took our time, enjoying the intensely erotic situation we had created, until one of us couldn’t contain the powerful forces welling up inside of us.
Taut muscles and tormented expressions would be the trigger, and we would scream the building down, each shuddering violently as powerful climaxes tore through our heaving bodies. Only then was contact permitted. With cum dripping from our fingers and cunts, did we offer ourselves to each other, allowing hungry mouths to lick off the sweet nectar from sticky fingers, before finally abandoning ourselves to an evening full of uninhibited lovemaking.
Often, after such nights, I would be greeted the following day by neighbours, all sporting knowing grins and curious expressions. After treating them to a quick hello and a brief smile, I would walk away, feeling their inquisitive gaze burning into my back. Before meeting Victoria, I would have died of embarrassment, knowing the apartment buildings other inhabitants could hear me getting fucked, but since becoming her lover, I didn’t care. It was all part and parcel of our sexual adventure. Even now, thinking about our debauched antics, I still get wet.
o0o
Are you alone? I asked, sensing Victoria’s restlessness. I could feel my heartbeat skip a little faster.
Yes, I'm in my office.
I smiled remotely. No-one could see what Victoria was doing, and knowing her as I did, she was probably up to something: She always was when she contacted me.
Are you being naughty, Victoria? xxx.
The three 'See no evil, hear no evil and speak no evil,' appeared on my screen. I started to giggle when a thumbs up and a smiling devil's face flashed across my screen. Then some more text appeared.
I'm thinking about you... how you looked like when we last fucked.
o0o
I remembered it well, and my heart beat a little faster. We'd been to our local and gotten a bit drunk. We'd been chatted up by a couple of cute guys, even though we explained we were together, and to be honest, I was enjoying the attention a little too much for Victoria’s liking. After leaving the pub, the guys insisted on walking us home, despite Victoria's objections, and when we reached our apartment, she rudely said goodnight and went straight indoors.