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The Girl from IT

By: sauceofallevil



Charlie woke up with a start. There was a damp patch on the pillow by her mouth. She raised her head and wiped the drool from her lips. Urgh, disgusting, she thought. She peered blearily around her. She knew at once that she wasn't in her own bed. The sheets were different, the smell was different. So she'd pulled last night. Well, that was okay.

She lifted her head a bit higher. The space next to her was empty. A wave of nausea hit her and she groaned. There was a glass of water on the bedside table next to her and she downed it all in a few gulps. She laid her head down again on the pillow for a few minutes and then, with a supreme effort, hauled herself up onto one elbow.

Daylight was shining through thin curtains, showing posters on the wall of Art Deco or Art Nouveau design - Charlie had never been able to tell the difference - and vintage adverts for Bovril and Cadbury's. Fuck, thought Charlie. I must have pulled a hipster. 

She glanced down and noticed that she was wearing a T-shirt with a Batman logo on it. She looked up again and noticed that the whole of one wall was taken up with a crammed bookshelf of what looked like sci-fi and fantasy novels. 

She frowned, trying to summon up memories of the Christmas party the night before. Sci-fi novels and a Batman T-shirt...could she have pulled one of the guys from IT? Panic rose slowly in her stomach - surely not. They all had beards and she couldn't abide a beard on a man. No way, she wouldn't have pulled a hairy IT man, no matter how pissed she'd been.

The door opened suddenly and Hannah from IT came in, carrying two steaming mugs.

"Oh you're awake," she said. "I didn't know if you'd want coffee or tea so I made one of each. I'll drink whichever one you don't want."

A wave of relief flooded over Charlie. She'd never been so glad to see Hannah in her life. Usually Hannah's tall, dark figure coming into her office meant that something in IT land had gone wrong and if there was one thing guaranteed to wind Charlie up it was IT issues.

"Thank God!" she said, her mouth feeling like she'd swallowed a sand pit. "I'll have the coffee." 

That was the good thing about waking up in a hipster's bed - the beverages were guaranteed to be top notch.

Hannah handed her the coffee and sat on the end of the bed, just past Charlie's feet. She was wearing stripy cotton pyjamas and her feet were bare. Charlie closed her eyes as she sipped the coffee. God, that was good. And she hadn't pulled some hairy IT man after all. She'd just crashed at Hannah's - she must have been too drunk to make it home by herself. 

Although she'd never had that problem before. No matter how much Charlie drunk, when the time came to go home, her auto pilot kicked in and she would wake up in her own bed, make up removed, pyjamas on and glass of water on standby. Even if she had no memory of leaving the bar, her auto pilot never failed her.

"How do you feel?" asked Hannah.

"Bit rough," said Charlie. "God I must have been really wasted." Hannah nodded.

"We all were."

"Thanks for letting me stay," Charlie said. 

"That's okay," said Hannah. "I wasn't gonna kick you out was I?" 

Charlie smiled, uncertainly. She'd suddenly noticed her dress and shoes from last night in a heap on the floor by the bed. At the same moment, she realised that her legs were bare under the duvet. She lifted up the duvet and looked down. She wasn't wearing any pants. She looked up at Hannah and frowned.

"Did you undress me?" she asked. 

Hannah looked at her for a moment in silence, her dark eyes resting on Charlie's face.

"Do you not remember?" she said. Charlie thought for a moment.

"Last thing I remember is Dave making that crappy speech...or no wait I ordered a bottle of Prosecco...no hang on..." Blurry memories of the night jumbled together. "I remember putting on my make up in the toilets." The image of herself reflected in the bathroom mirror came into her mind with crystal clarity. "I looked hot," she said, smiling in her mind's eye at her own reflection - her blonde hair sweeping down to touch her shoulders and her blue eyes outlined with mascara. She had looked good.

"Yeah you did," said Hannah and then blushed. It was the blush that did it. A sudden, cold suspicion settled in Charlie's stomach like a stone. 

"Did we...did something happen last night?" Hannah looked into her tea cup like it was the most fascinating thing she'd seen in her life.

"You really don't remember?"

"If I remembered I wouldn't be asking would I?" Charlie snapped, impatiently.

"We...um...well we...you know," Hannah mumbled into her tea. Charlie shook her head emphatically.

"We did not have sex." Hannah raised her eyes again, her cheeks still slightly red.

"Er...we did," she said.

"No way. Absolutely not. Why on earth would I have had sex with you?"

"Well...cos you wanted to I guess." 

Charlie stared at her. She was just Hannah, the girl from IT. The only interaction Charlie ever had with her was when Hannah came up to fix her PC. That was it - no chit chat, no banter, no flirting. 

"This is bullshit!" 

She flung the covers back and got out of bed, putting her coffee on the side. She picked her dress up off the floor and looked around for her bra. Hannah unhooked it from the end of the bed frame and held it out to her. Charlie snatched it from her and started to pull the T-shirt over her head. She stopped halfway. "Turn around!" she barked. 

"Sorry," Hannah mumbled and turned her back towards Charlie. 

"Look," she said, as Charlie dressed herself in the silky frock she'd worn the night before, "Look, it's okay. I get that it was a one night thing. We were both drunk - it's fine."

"We did not have sex!" 

"I won't tell anyone at work. It'll be like it never happened."

"It didn't happen!" 

Charlie sat back on the bed to fasten her shoes. The glamorous, gorgeous outfit from the night before now felt stale and crumpled. She was already thinking how stupid she would look trying to get home and her anger and indignation mounted. 

"Why the hell would I ever have sex with you? I don't even fancy you."

Hannah turned back to face her.

"Well you certainly fancied me last night."

"I was drunk. Too drunk to remember anything that happened. And that means you," she pointed her finger accusingly, "took advantage."

"What?" Hannah's voice rose. "Are you fucking kidding me? You came on to me!"

"Oh bollocks I did! Why would I do that? I told you, I don't fancy you and no amount of booze would have made me!" 

Hannah stood up abruptly, still holding her tea with one hand and flung open the bedroom door.

"Why don't you just fuck off, yeah?" 

"Don't worry, I'm going!" 

Charlie stood and tottered towards the door on her stilettos. She felt ridiculous. She stopped by the door and faced Hannah, her heels making her the same height as the other girl. "Don't go spreading this shit around the office, all right? No one will believe you."

"Don't worry, this isn't something I want people knowing about." 

Charlie hesitated and Hannah pointed towards the front door. 

"It's that way."

Charlie marched down the hallway, heels clacking. She walked through into the living room, where a girl and a guy were sitting on the sofa, obviously just out of bed. They both looked up at her, mouths open slightly in surprise.

Charlie marched on and wrenched open the front door. She slammed it behind her and she walked down the steps onto the street. 

She stopped. She realised firstly that she was cold and secondly, she had no idea where she was. She looked up and down the road. A residential street, somewhere in London. Shit.

A middle aged man walked past on the other side of the road and whistled.

"Walk of shame, love?"

"Oh fuck off!" Charlie shouted. "Oh wait, actually! Where's the nearest Tube?" 

The man guffawed and jabbed his thumb down the street. Charlie set off with as much dignity as she could muster.

What a fucking nightmare. As if she would have shagged Hannah. No way - just no. She couldn't have gone in the space of one evening from barely passing the time of day with her to having sex with her.

The last time Hannah had come to fix her PC had been the week before the Christmas party. It had been running slowly, so desperately slowly that Charlie felt like taking a hammer to it. She had a massive event running that weekend and needed to print off final details, email the attendees and do all the last minute jobs. Hannah had sauntered up sometime in the afternoon to find Charlie shouting at her PC and calling it a piece of fucking shit. Hannah leaned against the wall of Charlie's office, her hands in the pockets of her low slung jeans.

"What seems to be the problem?" Her calm voice wound Charlie up even more.

"It won't bloody work - that's the problem!"

"When you say it won't work, what do you mean exactly?" Charlie felt like screaming.

"I mean it's taking fifteen minutes to load up a sodding document!" 

Hannah frowned with professional curiosity.

"Let me take a look," she murmured, seating herself at Charlie's desk and clicking away. 

Charlie took a strategic trip to the toilet, as she always did when she neared boiling point and when she came back Hannah said, 

"Should be a bit quicker now. I cleared your - " Charlie held up her hand.

"I don't care what you did. So long as it's fixed." 

Hannah had smiled at her in the slightly amused way that always infuriated Charlie. 

People smiled like that when they thought they were somehow cleverer or superior to her. Charlie knew that lots of people were cleverer than her - they had better qualifications, knew more about everything and could fling long words about.

But what she lacked in cleverness, Charlie made up for in charm. And she knew that ultimately, charm counted for more.

It wasn't just about looks - Charlie knew perfectly well that she wasn't beautiful. But she was pretty enough and she could talk to anyone. Give her a room full of people and within half an hour she would know everyone's name, their kids' names and what they did for a living. She could talk to anyone about anything and appear fascinated by every word they said. That had got her further in her career than any of her admittedly mediocre qualifications. 

She came to the end of Hannah's street and emerged onto a main road. She walked to the nearest bus stop and consulted the map. She was pleased to discover that she wasn't too far from home and could catch a bus to within a ten minute walk of her flat. She sat at the bus stop and waited, shivering in the cold wind.

She'd gone far in the company because of her charm. She'd started at the bottom as an events assistant - the girl who made the name badges and booked the transport and now she was deputy head of the department, deciding what events should be run to best entice and keep clients with the company. She got on well with all the senior managers - she could chat to Paul about his golf and to Steve about his house that he was always renovating. And to the blokes beneath them, she could talk about football, about whether Balotelli was worth the money and whether Man United would ever return to their glory days. 

And sometimes, work nights out would end up with her in bed with one of the lads but she was always cool about it. She didn't expect or want anything more and never brought it up at work and the boys liked her for it. She was officially 'all right'. 

The bus came and Charlie took a seat at the back, trying to ignore the smirks and curious looks of the other passengers.

Charlie was a success and she held that knowledge in front of her like a shield, deflecting everything that came in her path. Which was why it was impossible that she would have jumped into bed with some geeky, Star Trek loving - she stopped, as if her thoughts had hit a brick wall. 

Star Trek - she could remember talking about Star Trek to Hannah last night. She blinked, as the conversation gradually came back to her.

She'd been slurring her words slightly so she must have been quite far gone. They were in the bar, a trendy place under the arches at London Bridge, all bare brick walls and waiters in black waistcoats. She'd been leaning against the bar next to Hannah, tilting her head up to Hannah's ear to be heard over the too loud house music.

"Yeah, me and my dad would always watch Star Trek together. That was the only thing we used to do together. Cos he'd been in the Army..." 

The whole conversation came back to Charlie and she put her hand over her mouth. Had she really talked to Hannah about her dad? She never spoke to anyone about him - especially not at work. But as her memory of the conversation replayed, she realised she had told Hannah everything. 

About her dad being an Army man through and through and he'd never been anything else. He'd got out of the Army when Charlie was eight and her main memory of him was of a morose and silent man, sitting on the sofa. Watching Star Trek once a week had been the only thing they'd shared. 

The bus took a speed bump too fast and Charlie closed her eyes as a wave of nausea swept over her. Why on earth had she told Hannah all of that? Of all people?

The bus lurched to a halt and Charlie realised almost too late that it was her stop. She clattered down the aisle and squeezed through the doors just as they were closing. She stepped straight into a puddle on the kerb and swore. Several passers-by looked at her with a knowing smirk. Charlie wanted to punch them all in the face. 

She walked down the high street in the direction of home. As she remembered her embarrassing chat with Hannah, she started to remember other details. 

She could picture Hannah's head bent towards hers and Charlie had an impression of a white collar and something different about Hannah's hair. 

She scowled as she clomped along, trying desperately to penetrate the layers of alcohol fugging her brain. Had Hannah been wearing something unusual?

Suddenly it came back to her, like a mist clearing. She could remember standing in the bar with Helen Lansdale from Marketing, both of them sipping Prosecco and bitching about everyone's outfits. 

Charlie was on her third or fourth glass and feeling pleasantly tipsy. They'd just finished with the Accounts girls' outfits, when someone else had come into the bar, directly opposite where they were standing. 

At first, Charlie had thought it was an incredibly handsome man in a tuxedo. She was admiring the cut of his suit jacket and the way his bow tie was clearly not a clip on when Helen had said,

"Is that the girl from IT?" Charlie had looked up to the man's face and almost choked on her drink. 

It was Hannah - her dark hair slicked back and looking for all the world like a matinee idol from the thirties. 

Charlie's jaw had dropped.

At that moment, Dave Pearson had waddled over. Dave worked in the chief exec's office and was a wanker of epic proportions. He looked at Hannah and said,

"Fucking hell. Did someone tell her it was fancy dress?"

"Shut up Dave," said Helen. "You're just jealous that she looks better in a suit than you do." 

"Yeah," said Charlie, not taking her eyes from Hannah. "She looks hot." Dave had snorted and walked off. 

Back in the high street, Charlie stopped suddenly. Shit. Hannah had looked hot. She could remember the feeling as if she was suddenly seeing her for the first time. The slightly annoying girl from IT who could never fix her computer fast enough had somehow transformed into something exotic and sexy. 

Charlie resumed walking, her head thrumming as she replayed the scene. 

She'd watched Hannah saunter up to the bar, seen the heads turn to look at her and watched as a slow smile had spread over Hannah's face. She knew the impact she was making and she was enjoying it. Her usual shy, geeky manner was gone and the confidence and charisma coming off her was like a heady scent.

Charlie had left Helen straight away and joined Hannah at the bar. She'd signalled to the bar man for another bottle of Prosecco and had looked Hannah up and down. Hannah gave her the usual amused smile.

"You look...different," said Charlie.

"Yeah. Well this is a party isn't it?"

"You look like...whatshername. That film star. My gran had magazines with pictures of her. German."

"Marlene Dietrich?"

"That's the one!" The Prosecco arrived and Hannah raised her glass to Charlie.

"That's a great compliment. Thanks." She took a sip of Prosecco. "You look good too." Charlie snorted.

"I always look good."

"And so modest with it!"

"Modesty has nothing to do with it. I'm just stating a fact."

"Must be nice to have such a high opinion of yourself."

"It's essential. If you don't think highly of yourself, no one else will." 

Helen had chosen that moment to saunter unsteadily over to them. 

"We didn't recognise you!" she said to Hannah. She reached out a hand and touched the lapel of Hannah's suit. "This is a bit different from your usual get up. This something you save for the weekends eh?"

"Some weekends, yes," said Hannah, with a mischievous smile.

"You mean those weekends when you're not at Star Trek conventions?" 

Helen laughed the laugh that Charlie recognised as her flirting laugh - high pitched and shrill. Hannah smiled her amused smile at Helen.

"You think everyone who works in IT is into Star Trek?"

"Well aren't you?" Helen asked, with a giggle that ended in a hiccup. 

"Well...maybe a little," said Hannah, winking at her. 

Charlie was irritated that Helen had gate-crashed their conversation and infuriated that she was now actually flirting with Hannah. She was determined to wrest Hannah's attention back to her so she said,

"Ah, but which Star Trek?"

"There's more than one?" asked Helen, looking dismayed.

"Afraid so," said Hannah.

"My favourite is the original series," said Charlie. "No contest. But DS9 would come in second." 

Helen shook her head sadly and tottered off. Charlie tried to keep the triumphant smile from her face.

"You like Star Trek?" Hannah said, incredulously. 

"Yeah."

"Really?"

"Yes. Why shouldn't I?"

"I mean it's just...not what I would expect."

"Well the company motto is all about challenging expectations isn't it?" Hannah laughed and Charlie felt a thrill of delight.

"True. So come on then. Why the original series?"

"Cos of Kirk and Spock. My dad used to say it was the greatest love story ever told." 

And that was how she'd got on to tell Hannah all about her dad.

Charlie turned into her street, quickening her pace now that home was practically in sight. It had been Hannah's wink to Helen that had done it. That had been the moment that Charlie had decided that Hannah from IT, despite her superior smile and general geekiness, was definitely shag-able and Charlie wasn't about to let anyone else muscle in. 

Charlie bit her lip as she put her keys in her front door, remembering her words to Hannah an hour earlier. God, she'd been a bit harsh. She clacked down the hallway, making straight for the bathroom. Her flat mate Laura opened the door of her room and poked her head out. She looked at Charlie and opened her mouth.

"Don't say a fucking word!" Charlie snapped. 

Laura held her hands up.

"All right! Sorry for breathing." 

Charlie went into the bathroom and slammed the door behind her.

It felt good to strip off the dress and even better to stand in the shower under jets of hot water. Charlie closed her eyes and let her mind wander back over the evening. It was finally becoming clearer.

They'd talked about Star Trek for a while and then about work and then the music had started up and Charlie tried to talk Hannah into dancing. Hannah shook her head.

"I can't dance."


The Girl from IT



"Oh come on! You have to dance at the Christmas party. It's company policy."

"No, honestly. I look really stupid when I try to dance."

"Everyone does! The point is to act like you know you look stupid. Like this."

Charlie went straight into the Robot and followed it up with some moves from Gangnam Style. Hannah laughed but still shook her head. 

"You can get away with that but I can't."

"All right - well how about a waltz? That's just going in a triangle. Even you can do that." She grabbed Hannah's hand and pulled her protesting onto the dance floor. 

"You be the man," she said, placing Hannah's hand on her waist and reaching up to place her own hand on Hannah's shoulder. "Now, one-two-three, one-two-three - "

They waltzed inelegantly to the sound of pumping house music, grinning at each other.

"Why can I get away with cheesy dancing but you can't?" Charlie asked.

"A girl like you can get away with anything," Hannah replied and then blushed, the darkness of her skin contrasting with her white shirt front. 

Charlie stretched up and kissed her. It was a clumsy kiss because Charlie was slightly unsteady on her feet and trying to waltz at the same time. 

Hannah pulled her head back immediately and said something that Charlie couldn't hear over the music. Charlie grabbed Hannah's lapels and led her off the dance floor and almost half dragged her to the end of the bar, where the light was dimmer and the music less pounding. 

Even in the dim light, Charlie could see the amused smile on Hannah's face.

"I didn't think you liked girls," Hannah said. Charlie smiled her best seductive smile, the one that always worked.

"I like anyone that's hot," she said. As the colour rose in Hannah's cheeks, Charlie leaned in to kiss her again. This time, she felt Hannah responding; her lips parted and her hands moved to Charlie's hips. 

Charlie pushed her back against the brick wall and slid her hands up Hannah's back and the kiss became more urgent, their tongues slipping and sliding.

Charlie said breathlessly,

"Can we go back to yours?" 

"Yeah, sure." 

Charlie grabbed her hand and the next thing she could remember, they were sitting side by side in the back of a cab, kissing again. Charlie's hands roamed over Hannah's face and then down to her throat and her waist. She pulled the shirt out from Hannah's trousers and slid her hands over Hannah's flat, muscled stomach. 

Hannah had one arm around Charlie's neck and her other hand slid slowly up Charlie's thigh, moving under the hem of her dress and gently squeezing her bottom. Charlie moaned and the cab driver let out an exasperated sigh.

"Steady on girls! Wait til you get home, yeah?"

Then another blank until they were in Hannah's bedroom, Charlie tugging desperately at the buttons on Hannah's shirt. As soon as it was open Charlie took Hannah's breasts in her hands, stroking her fingers over the bra material. 

Hannah's breathing quickened as she pulled Charlie's dress over her head. 

In a frenzy of impatience, Charlie pushed Hannah onto the bed and climbed astride her. She reached back and undid her bra, flinging it to one side. Hannah's hands were on her breast immediately, stroking and kneading. 

Charlie closed her eyes as Hannah ran her thumbs over her hard nipples. Charlie leaned forward, resting her hands on either side of Hannah's head, her breasts brushing Hannah's face. Hannah took Charlie's right nipple into her mouth, sucking it gently at first, then with more urgency, rolling the nipple in her mouth and grazing it against her teeth. 

Charlie couldn't take any more. She grabbed Hannah's hand and pushed it inside her damp knickers. 

Hannah whispered hoarsely,

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," Charlie said. "I want you to do it."

Hannah gently slipped a finger inside her. Charlie sighed and moved her hips slowly up and down. She pushed a second finger in and Charlie purred with pleasure. She bent her head and kissed Hannah, her tongue lapping at Hannah's as she moved her slippery sex up and down on Hannah's fingers.

Hannah arched upwards, pushing her fingers deeper. Charlie groaned as she felt Hannah's fingertips brushing the deepest part of her. She moved harder against her, forcing her fingers inside as far as they would go. Hannah's other hand fondled Charlie's breast, rolling the nipple between her fingers. 

Charlie felt herself getting close to coming - she grabbed hold of the bed head with one hand as she pumped her hips frantically back and forth on Hannah's hand, her breasts bouncing on her chest.

"Ah, ah, ah - " her cries were cut off as an orgasm rushed through her. She threw back her head as her body shuddered and her cunt convulsed around Hannah's fingers.

She collapsed forward onto the other girl, panting and sticky.

Charlie turned off the shower and listened to the droplets of water falling. 

That was the last thing she could remember. Had she just fallen asleep after that? She put her hand over her face. Oh God, she probably had. Hannah had made her come and she'd just fallen asleep without returning the favour. And worse, the next morning she had denied it had ever happened and then accused Hannah of taking advantage of her. 

Charlie stepped out of the shower and stood shivering on the bath mat. Tears gathered at the corner of her eyes. She'd been completely horrible to Hannah and she'd done nothing to deserve it. 

Charlie prided herself on her self-knowledge. She knew perfectly well what her failings were but she had never before counted cruelty amongst them. 

A tear spilled down her cheek and Charlie brushed it away. She couldn't just stand here crying. She had to do something.

She could speak to Hannah at work first thing - no. They wouldn't be back at work until after Christmas. She would text Hannah - no. She didn't have her number. Charlie grabbed a towel and wrapped it round herself. No, she knew what she had to do. 

She padded quickly to her own room and pulled on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. She rubbed her hair dry with the towel and paused briefly to look at her face in the mirror. Last night's mascara had at least been washed off. She considered whether she should put make up on again and dismissed the idea. No time.

As she headed for the front door, Laura's door opened.

"Are you going out again?" she asked, sounding amazed.

"Looks like it!" Charlie closed the front door behind her and retraced her steps to the high street. 

Would she be able to remember the way back to Hannah's place? What if Hannah refused to see her when she got there? Or what if she'd gone out? 

Charlie bit her lip. She wasn't going fast enough. She broke into a jog which turned into a sprint when she saw the bus she needed pulling up at the stop a few hundred yards away. 

She ran down the street, shouting apologies at the people she bumped into as she went. She flung herself at the closing doors and almost fell into the driver.

"You know there's another one in three minutes, love?" the driver said. 

"Sorry," Charlie panted. "Emergency." 

She took a seat but then stood up again, feeling too agitated to sit still. The bus crawled along the high street. Charlie looked furiously at the other cars clogging the road - who the hell were these people and where the fuck were they going? She tapped her fingers impatiently against the pole she was holding. 

What if Hannah wouldn't speak to her? That would be understandable, after all that Charlie had said. No, Charlie would find a way. She'd grovel if she had to. She thought of Hannah's face, of those dark eyes turning on her with contempt and panic started to rise through her. She had to apologise, she had to make Hannah listen to her.

The bus lumbered slowly round a corner. Charlie craned her head to look out of the window and recognised the kebab shop on the corner. She wasn't too far now. The road ahead was still full of traffic so Charlie rang the bell and got out at the next stop.  

She started jogging along the road again. She passed a bakery and the smell of fresh bread wafting out of the door made her stop. She had an idea and ducked into the shop. She emerged a few minutes later clutching a paper bag and carried on running down the road.

After ten minutes, Charlie finally saw the turning to Hannah's street. She paused at the corner, leaning on her knees to catch her breath. She tried to go over in her head what she would say to Hannah but her heart was pounding too loudly for her to concentrate. 

She took a deep breath and sprinted the final few hundred metres to Hannah's front door and rang the bell. She leaned on the door frame, panting hard. The door was opened by the girl that Charlie had seen that morning. She scowled at Charlie.

"What do you want?" Charlie was so out of breath that she struggled to force her words out.

"Hannah..."

"Doesn't want to see you. Obviously." 

Charlie fought to control her breathing and saw that the girl was about to close the door in her face. Throwing caution to the wind, she shoulder barged the door as hard as she could, sending Hannah's flatmate flailing backwards. Charlie pushed past her before she could recover and stumbled into the living room.

The same boy was sitting on the sofa, his mouth open in surprise. The kitchen was visible through an archway to the right: Hannah was standing by the fridge, staring incredulously at her.

"Charlie?"

Charlie made towards her but the bloke stood up suddenly, blocking her way.

"Hang on a sec," he said, just as the girl finally caught up with Charlie.

"Han, I'm really sorry, she just barged in - " 

Charlie wanted to scream with frustration.

"Hannah - " she began, still struggling to catch her breath.

"I told you she doesn't want to talk to you!" the girl shouted, grabbing Charlie by the arm. 

Great, thought Charlie. I somehow need to deck both of her flatmates before I can even speak to her.

"Wait, Amy," Hannah said. She ducked past the boy and laid her hand on the girl's arm. "It's ok. I don't want any drama." 

She looked coldly at Charlie and Charlie felt it as if she'd been slapped.

"What do you want?" 

"I...just...wanted...to...talk...to..." Charlie took deep breaths to try and slow her breathing down. 

Christ, she needed to start going to the gym. She held out the paper bag to Hannah. 

Hannah took it and looked inside with a puzzled frown.

"You've brought me croissants?" Charlie nodded and attempted a weak smile. Amy rolled her eyes. Hannah glanced at her flatmates, looked at Charlie and then motioned her head towards her room. 

Charlie walked down the hallway and back into Hannah's bedroom. She felt a surge of affection for the vintage Bovril advert, like she was seeing an old friend. 

Hannah followed her in and closed the door behind her. She put the bag containing the croissants on the bookcase and folded her arms. She was wearing a denim shirt and sweat pants, her dark hair pulled back in a loose bun and strands of hair falling around her ears. Charlie bit her lip, desperate to touch her.

"Look, I already said I wouldn't say anything at work," said Hannah, brusquely. "So you don't need to try and buy my silence with croissants."

"No, the croissants were to say sorry. For what I said this morning. I was totally out of order."

"You thought croissants were the best way to apologise?"

"No, I mean...I thought it might help and at least you can eat them. I mean you can't eat flowers can you - look, forget about the croissants all right? I came back because I remember what happened now and...and I'm so sorry. I said horrible things to you and..." 

Charlie broke off as she felt tears rising again. Hannah shuffled her feet and looked at the floor.

"It's ok," she muttered.

"No, it's not ok," Charlie said, trying to keep her voice under control. She noticed the Batman T-shirt lying discarded on the bed, just as Hannah started saying,

"Look, I appreciate that you came all the way back here to say sorry. And bringing croissants. I like croissants. But this is awkward for both of us so why don't you just go and we'll forget - what are you doing?"

Charlie had pulled off her t-shirt and was unbuttoning her jeans.

"Let's start again," she said, sitting on the bed to take off her shoes. 

"What?" Hannah stared at her blankly. 

Charlie pulled her jeans off and saw the now familiar blush rising to Hannah's cheeks. Charlie pulled the Batman T-shirt over her head and got into the bed.

"Let's start this morning again. Clean slate. You've just walked in and I've just woken up." 

Hannah looked at her like she was mad.

"This is silly," she said. 

"Yes, yes it is," Charlie agreed. "But I want to try and put things right. To...atone for this morning. Please let me try." 

She pulled out her best beseeching look - a Charlie Foster special. It had never failed her before and it didn't fail now. Hannah sighed.

"All right." She mimed holding a cup in each hand. "But I'm not making more tea ok?"

"You're fine as you are. Now, you say good morning." 

Hannah's lips twitched as she suppressed a smile. She walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge. 

"Good morning," she said. "I've made you some tea." 

She handed Charlie an imaginary mug. Charlie took it and knocked it back like it was a shot. 

"That's the best fucking tea I've ever tasted," she said. 

Hannah laughed and Charlie grinned at her. She placed her imaginary mug carefully on the bedside table. 

"Now," she said, "I remember most of what happened last night but there are still some gaps." 

She dropped her eyes from Hannah's face, suddenly feeling shy. "I...I remember you...er...sorting me out - "

"Is that what the kids are calling it these days?" Hannah cocked an eyebrow. 

"Well I mean - I don't remember if I returned the favour." Hannah gave her the amused look that Charlie was used to.

"No. You went to sleep straight after." Charlie nodded slowly. 

"I see. So - " she leaned forward, "I owe you don't I?" 

"It's ok. No one's keeping score. You don't have to - "

"But I want to." Hannah's face was unreadable. 

Charlie leaned even further forward until her face was a few inches from Hannah's. 

"Don't you?" she whispered. She hardly dared breathe as she searched Hannah's eyes for an answer. If she said no...

Hannah leaned forward and brushed her lips gently against Charlie's. Charlie felt the blood humming in her veins as she kissed Hannah back. Hannah's lips were soft and Charlie lost herself in the kiss, putting her hands up to cup Hannah's face. Hannah's tongue grazed softly along Charlie's bottom lip. Charlie ran her hands down Hannah's arms to her waist and slid her hands under Hannah's shirt. She moved them across the taut expanse of stomach and rested them on her hips. 

Charlie pushed gently, easing Hannah onto her back, their mouths still intertwined. Charlie's hair fell about Hannah's face as she crouched above her. 

Charlie broke the kiss and began to slowly undo the buttons on Hannah's shirt. Hannah watched, her eyes dark with a desire that Charlie could remember from last night. As she pulled off the shirt, Charlie ran her hands over Hannah's stomach and then slowly moved them up to graze over Hannah's bra. 

Charlie stroked her palms lightly over each cup and heard the change in Hannah's breathing. She reached under Hannah's back and fumbled with the clasp for a few moments before Hannah chuckled and helped her out. 

As the bra came off, Charlie sat back on her haunches and drank in the sight of the other girl's body. She'd been in such a hurry last night that she hadn't stopped to appreciate it. Hannah's breasts were neat and compact and fitted easily within Charlie's hands. She cupped them gently and grazed her thumbs over the dark nipples.

Hannah drew breath sharply and Charlie felt her hips bucking gently against her. She felt herself growing wet as she stroked Hannah's nipples. She leaned forward and kissed Hannah. Their tongues locked together and Charlie began kneading Hannah's breasts in earnes. Hannah moaned softly into her mouth and Charlie's desire sharpened.

She moved her hands from Hannah's breasts and pulled clumsily at her trousers. Hannah wasted no time in lifting her hips to help Charlie pull them off completely. Charlie looked at Hannah's pants and then looked at Hannah.

"Batman knickers? Really?" Hannah shrugged.

"If you don't like them, take them off," she said. 

Charlie needed no further encouragement. She pulled them off impatiently and began kissing Hannah's thighs. As she lowered her head to kiss the soft flesh of the inner thigh, she could smell the unmistakable scent of Hannah's arousal - a deep, musky scent. 

Hannah opened her legs wider and Charlie ran the tip of her tongue along Hannah's inner thigh and then softly kissed the fleshy mound between her legs. 

Hannah squirmed and then squealed as Charlie 

kissed her way down and then back up again. She repeated this a few times, loving the taste of her and wanting more. She ran the tip of her tongue along Hannah's slick opening and felt Hannah's hands tangle themselves in her hair. She repeated the motion but more firmly this time. And then she did it again and again and again, her tongue lapping at Hannah's slit, her lips sodden with Hannah's juices.

Hannah moaned, short guttural sounds as her hips bucked against Charlie's face, moving away as if trying to escape yet then returning for more. 

Finally, Hannah pulled Charlie's head up. Hannah was breathing hard, dark strands of hair curling around her face. She cupped Charlie's face in her hands and pulled her into a kiss. Charlie opened her lips and felt Hannah's tongue running over them, tasting herself. 

Charlie kissed her harder, pushing her tongue into her mouth, trying to taste every bit of her. The wetness of Hannah's mouth and the firmness of the body beneath her drove Charlie into a frenzy. 

She grabbed Hannah's breasts and kneaded them 

mercilessly, working the flesh round and round. Hannah arched upwards and her hips bucked. As Charlie plunged her tongue ever deeper into Hannah's mouth, she moved a hand between Hannah's legs and slipped a finger inside her. 

The kiss broke as Hannah gasped and threw her head back as Charlie pushed her finger up as far as she could. She withdrew slowly and then pushed up again, her finger gliding seamlessly into Hannah's wetness. Hannah's eyes were closed as she moved her body up and down with Charlie's thrusts. Charlie slipped a second finger in and began to move in and out more quickly, loving the sight of Hannah's breasts bouncing up and down with the rhythm. 

Her fingers made a wet slapping sound as she moved her hand faster and faster. Hannah's moans became louder, her head moving from side to side. Charlie kissed her, her tongue pushing into Hannah's mouth in time with her fingers.

Charlie's fingers flew back and forth, coated in Hannah's slickness, pushing and pushing and then she felt Hannah's body begin to shudder beneath her, the hips bucking madly and Hannah crying out against her mouth. 

The wetness and ache between Charlie's legs was almost unbearable. As Hannah gasped against her face, Charlie suddenly felt Hannah's hand reach into her knickers. Hannah was in the throes of orgasm as she pressed her thumb firmly against Charlie's clitoris.

Charlie almost screamed. The sound caught in her throat and was strangled as her whole body juddered with an intense climax. She fell forward onto Hannah, her face buried in her neck, her breasts and hips grinding against Hannah's as the wave crashed over her. 

At some point her fingers slipped out of Hannah but she wasn't aware of anything except the wetness of her face, the hardness of Hannah's body beneath her and the convulsive clutching of their hands against each other's flesh. 




The Girl from IT



It seemed an age before Charlie returned to herself, her face still pressed against Hannah's neck. Hannah was breathily steadily, her chest rising and falling under Charlie's own. Charlie rolled to one side, dismounting from Hannah and turned her head towards her.

Hannah was smiling at her - a sleepy, cat like smile. 

"Was that ok?" asked Charlie. 

"What do you think?" Hannah stretched her arms above her head. "I'm amazed you could do that with a hangover."

"Yeah, me too." Charlie felt suddenly shy; for once in her life, she wasn't quite sure what to say. 

"Do you think we should eat those croissants?" asked Hannah.

"Sure - why not?"

Hannah got up and walked over to the bookcase. Charlie rolled onto her stomach and watched her, marvelling at the sight of Hannah's slim, athletic body. 

Hannah sat down on the bed beside Charlie and bit into a croissant. 

Flakes of pastry fluttered down onto her breasts. Charlie couldn't take her eyes off them. Hannah carried on eating, seemingly oblivious. #

But Charlie knew she wasn't really. This geeky girl from IT knew exactly what she was doing.

Hannah finished the croissant and licked her fingers. 

"That was yummy." Charlie didn't reply. She was still gazing at Hannah's breasts, now dusted with a layer of croissant crumbs. She raised her eyes slowly to meet Hannah's.

Hannah winked at her and Charlie knew she was in real danger of falling head over heels for the girl from IT.



The Girl From Italy



'Come on dude, it's the weekend!'

'Yeah it may be the weekend but some of us have work in the morning.'

'You do too much work nowadays. You need to get out and enjoy yourself! And trust me this party is the perfect place to do it, Rodge throws insane parties dude!'

'Well...'

'Come on, you know you wanna!'

'Well... ok, but I'm not drinking through a funnel like you do! I still have to go to work tomorrow.'

'Good man! See you there dude!'

Simon hung up the phone and sighed. He shouldn't have let Rob convince him to go... but Rob was right, Simon had been working a lot lately. Simon opened his wardrobe and picked out a black shirt and blue jeans to wear then went into the bathroom and washed his face. He checked his reflection in the mirror, which showed olive green eyes and neatly combed black hair. 

Simon had not long left college and, after getting many qualifications, had dived straight into a job as a teacher at another college nearby. At 20 he was the youngest teacher there.

Simon had never really had many serious relationships before. He wasn't bad with women; he had just not met many nice ones. Nice in looks maybe but they all dropped him like a hot coal as soon as someone with more money came along. So Simon concentrated on work, and his social life was pretty dire. In fact, Simon thought as he put on some aftershave, he couldn't even remember the last time he had gone to a party.

Still half not wanting to go, Simon grabbed his coat and walked out to his car, locking the front door behind him. As he drove to Roger's house (Roger was another friend of Rob's) he wondered if he would meet any girls there, and whether he would care if he did. Probably not, he answered himself. Besides, he couldn't afford to meet any girls, he told himself. Simon drove the thought out of his mind for the rest of the journey.

Simon pulled up outside Roger's house and could already hear the sound of loud rock music blasting from it before he had even got out of his car. He could feel a hangover coming on already.

Simon walked up to the front door and rang the bell, smoothing his hair. The door opened and Simon immediately got a waft of alcohol as Rob opened the door with a half drank beer bottle hanging from his hand.

'Hey dude! Glad you could make it... here man have a beer...' said Rob, grabbing a beer from the table.

'No thanks,' said Simon quickly. He looked quickly around for a place to go to get away from Rob; he was clearly smashed. He settled on the nearest doorway, which led to the living room. In it there were several people (some drunk) socializing. Most were talking, drinks in hand, others were just sitting looking bored, and some were attempting to dance but falling over soon after.

Simon noticed that there were girls in the room, but he tried to avoid them and blend in. He found a few workmates and started talking to them. For a while he was enjoying himself, but then a girl walked into the room and Simon simply could not ignore her.

She had long blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes, with succulent looking lips and a body to die for. She seemed to float across the floor in her long red dress, which didn't show off her legs, but did show off some tantalizing cleavage. Simon could tell that it wasn't just his eye she had caught. She seemed to know this as she showed a small smile as she sat down with another girl in the room. Simon heart fluttered as she gave him a definite small smile of his own.

After watching her hopelessly for several minutes, Simon saw her get up and walk towards the doorway. Just before she got there, she looked back at him and nudged her head towards the doorway, then walked through it. Simon decided to try his luck and follow her, as his friends were now too drunk to realize if he left anyway.

Simon walked out of the doorway after her and saw her going up the stairs, showing him a tiny but cock twinging portion of her legs. Simon followed her up at almost twice the speed and found her standing in the hallway at the top of the stairs, standing with her back to him opening a door.

'Hi,' said Simon, deciding to break the ice first.

'Hi,' she replied in a sexy voice with an Italian accent, turning around with that same cute smile on her face.

'You did tell me to follow you right?' said Simon.

'Mm-hm,' she nodded. Maybe Simon was imagining it, but he thought she had a hungry look in her eyes as she looked into his.

'So err... what did you want me to follow you for?' asked Simon innocently.

'Honestly?' she said, prompting Simon to nod. 'I wanted you to follow me because I haven't seen a guy as hot as you for a while, and I'm horny, so I wanted you to follow me to the bedroom,' she said unblushingly, with her hungry eyes still fixed on Simon's.

'You want... sex?' said Simon in slight disbelief.

'Well... not just sex...' she said, giving him a cheeky smile and turning to walk sexily into the bedroom. Simon wasted no time in following. Once he had almost run inside the room, she quickly closed and locked the door, then walked up to Simon, ending up almost face to face with him.

'What's your name, stud?' she asked in a sexy purr.

'Simon,' said Simon. 'What's yours?'

'Lucia,' she said, still giving him a hungry look.

'Sexy...' said Simon quietly. She heard him and smiled.

'So... you want sex,' she said, her look growing hungrier.

'It was your idea,' Simon reminded her, but with a smile.

'Yes and I want sex only – no strings attached afterwards,' she said.

'Deal,' said Simon. Boy was he glad he came now.

'That's settled then,' said Lucia, smiling a seductive smile which Simon returned. Then the hunger that had momentarily lessened in her eyes returned in full, and she practically dived on Simon, knocking him back onto the bed in a lip lock.

Simon quickly got over the surprise and returned the kiss, which was fiery and driven by sheer lust. She obviously had experience, thought Simon, as it was probably the quickest erection he had ever had from a kiss. He decided to make sure she got horny too by running his fingers through her hair whilst holding her neck with his other hand, supporting the intense kiss. Their lips were moving over each other at some pace, and it wasn't long before she involved tongue as well, which Simon had no objection to. As their tongues started dancing over each other, Simon ran both of his hands down her back, feeling her perfect body and luscious curves. Then he got to her ass, which was also perfectly rounded and even got a very slight moan from Lucia when he squeezed it lightly.

Then Lucia lifted her ass up, disappointing Simon slightly as he could no longer feel that part of her body on his own, but then he realized she had done this for a good reason. Taking a glance out of the corner of his eye he saw her hand moving down towards his crotch. Just as his heart jumped in anticipation her hand wrapped itself around his throbbing cock and started to move very slowly up and down it, bringing a small grunt of pleasure from Simon. Even through his jeans and boxers, it felt incredible.

Their kissing was now at its fastest and most intense. Their tongues were now dueling, not dancing, and their lips were moving over each other so fast they were getting warmer from the friction. Simon had definitely never enjoyed kissing this much before, and from her small noises undoubtedly from pleasure, she was enjoying it too.

Letting nothing but lust control him now, Simon rolled over so that he was on top of Lucia's exquisite body and started to kiss her neck just as fiercly. This got an immediate reaction from Lucia as her body started to writhe and buck slightly, and her small noises turned into short moans and groans. It was clear she was trying to stifle these moans, but Simon was determined to force them out of her at full volume. Simon moved his lips up and down, side to side, diagonally, trying to taste as much of her neck as he could. Her moans became louder and longer, all stifling forgotten, and her body writhed more forcefully.

'Oh god you're making me so wet!' she exclaimed, putting both of her hands on the back of his head so that he couldn't move away from her neck one inch. Simon was glad to know that it wasn't just him that was horny as hell.

Suddenly Lucia rolled over so that she was back on top of Simon, then wriggled down his body in one move, pushing down slightly on the top of his erection. She then proceeded to kiss Simon's neck just as fiercly, if not more fiercly than Simon had done on hers. Simon could immediately see why it had made her so horny, and he had a hard time stifling his own moans this time. It appeared she also wanted to get the full volume out of his moans however, as she started to grind her crotch area against Simon's.

'Oh my fucking GOD!' said Simon very audibly. Lucia emitted a small noise of triumph. Lucia was almost humping him now, and Simon was sure he had a felt a small amount of pre-cum be released from his cock.

'I want to suck your cock,' she suddenly said between changing area on Simon's neck.

'I want to lick your pussy,' Simon responded.

'Get undressed,' said Lucia, finally getting off Simon and starting to unzip her dress. Simon quickly kicked off his shoes and almost ripped off his socks tossing them aside and moving quickly on to his jeans, which he whipped off equally fast and then pulled his t-shirt up over his head, then tossing that away too. He stopped to take a breath, looking up at Lucia.

They were now both standing opposite each other wearing nothing but underwear. They took in each other's appearance, Simon admiring the perfect tone of her skin, the wonderful curves of her body and the perfect legs that held up the most beautiful woman he had ever set eyes on. Lucia too was looking him up and down, her eyes filled with hunger again. There was only one last step to take. Their eyes met and communicated what they didn't need to say with words. Lucia's hands went behind her back as she undid her bra strap, and Simon's hands went to his boxers, and started to push them down his legs. Simon finished first and straightened up to see a perfect set of tits, and a little bit of what looked like an equally perfect pussy as she got free of her panties.

'Wow!' said Lucia, straightening up with her eyes fixed firmly on Simon's cock. Simon looked down at it and let out a gasp of surprise; he had never seen it even close to being that big before, it was at least 7 inches.

'I look forward to playing with that!' said Lucia, making Simon's cock give a very noticeable twitch.

'I want to play with you first,' said Simon, giving Lucia a smile.

'Let's do a 69er then,' she said, her look at its hungriest so far. Simon grabbed her sexily and flung himself backwards onto the bed, bringing a noise of surprise from Lucia, but she was quick to move her naked body over Simon's so that soon he was faced with her glistening pink pussy.

Simon took a moment to look at it; it was almost perfectly symmetrical and deliciously moist. Simon decided to see what it tasted like and drove his tongue inside it, wiggling it inside her. She immediately let out a moan and started rubbing his thigh in acknowledgement, which Simon was surprised to find felt very sexy. This was definitely the best pussy Simon had ever tasted; arguably the best thing he had ever tasted. As he licked away furiously at it, it released a sweet tasting nectar which Simon was only too happy to lap up.

Then Simon felt something wet and warm touch the tip of his cock and he let out a small moan. She was swirling her tongue around his cock, making him groan with pleasure and lick her with even more vigor. Simon then felt her mouth close ahead his cock head and start to push itself downwards. The pressure it caused on his cock was too exquisite for words and the only way he could respond was by licking her out even more fiercly.

'Mmmmmmm...' she said, sucking his cock faster as she did so. Simon realized her moaning was sending wonderful vibrations down his shaft, so he licked her out more fiercly still, thrashing his tongue around her pussy and grinding his lips against her pussy lips. This made her moan more, and she sucked his cock faster still, swirling her tongue around his cock head as she had done before. Simon noticed he was getting a lot more nectar from her than he was getting before, and he knew she must be close to orgasm as he was. He felt some pre cum release itself, a definite sign he was approaching the point of no return. He decided to make sure she came at the same time and sought out her clit with his tongue. 

This got an immediate reaction as Lucia started to moan louder than ever, and her breathing got heavier. Simon felt his orgasm start and he let out a long groan just as Lucia's body bucked and writhed and released incredible amounts of hot, gushing liquid right onto Simon's face. Simon felt his own cum splash against the roof of Lucia's mouth, spurt after spurt, and he heard her swallowing between moans which had reached an unbelievable volume. Simon too was moaning as he never had before, holding Lucia's ass cheeks so her pussy was clamped to his soaked lips. Eventually, both of them stopped and made their last swallows of each other's juices, still breathing heavily and letting out quiet moans every few seconds.

After a few minutes, Simon felt Lucia's mouth move off his now softened cock, and she rolled off him so she was lying next to him.

'That was the best orgasm of my life!' she panted.

'Same here,' said Simon, who was panting slightly less.

'Come here stud,' she said, crawling up his body until their lips met again. Simon kissed back. As they were both slightly tired, their kiss was now slow and passionate rather than quick and fiery, but Simon could feel another erection coming on already. After just five minutes, he had one again, just as big as before.

'I want you to fuck me,' said Lucia, who had clearly noticed the erection pushing up against her mound.

'Good, because I want to fuck you too,' said Simon.

'Nothing fancy, I like it hard and fast,' said Lucia, straddling him and starting to line up her pussy with his cock.

'Then that's what you'll get,' said Simon, looking down to help her get onto his cock. Simon felt the very tip of it touch the very tip of her pussy and he looked up into her eyes.

'Are you ready?' he asked. He felt Lucia pull up very slightly, then she drove herself down on his cock, which penetrated her fully. 'Ahhh!' shouted Lucia, falling down on top of Simon and gripping his shoulders for support. Simon's cock felt great inside her pussy, which was just the right tightness for him. Slowly, she started to move up and down on Simon's body, bringing his cock in and out of her wet hole. She was also very close to Simon's upper body, close enough to pleasure herself further by rubbing her nipples against his chest. This was also very erotic for Simon to have such a perfect body sliding against his.

'Mmmmm yeahhh...' groaned Lucia, as she started to fuck Simon slightly faster. Simon supported this by moving his cock up into Lucia as well as her pushing down onto it. This felt wonderful for both parties and caused more moaning from both parties as well. Simon was making grunting noises with each thrust and Lucia was moaning almost constantly, fucking Simon faster and moaning louder with each passing minute. Even though this was the best sex Simon had ever had, he was no where close to orgasm. Perhaps this was because he had not long ago had one, but it was good news for Lucia in any case, who seemed to be closing in on another orgasm.

After a few more minutes, there was no denying she was ready to cum again. She was now fucking him so hard that the mattress springs were almost drowning out her moans, which were reaching pre-orgasm volumes again.

After barely ten seconds of pre-orgasm moaning, increasing in volume constantly, Lucia came. Her arms wrapped around Simon's back and she started screaming as her pussy contracted forcefully around Simon's cock, she shaked and gripped his entire body, squeezing him erotically as he moaned with her from the sheer feeling of it all. Just as Lucia's moans were dying down and her body was only shaking slightly, Simon flipped her over and pounded into her as hard as he could.

'GOD FUCK YES YES YES YESSS!!!!' screamed Lucia instantly as she wrapped her legs around him, intertwining her body with his again as she was forced into a second orgasm, louder and longer than the first. Her hips kept forcing themselves upwards every time her pussy contracted, heightening the wonderful pressures being exerted on Simon's cock, which was now also drenched by Lucia's sweet juices.

Eventually, Lucia's orgasm stopped and they were left to lie on each other for a quick rest bite. When Lucia's breathing had slowed somewhat, Simon slowly slid his cock in and out of her wet pussy again, both of them enjoying how slick it felt inside there after Lucia's orgasms.

'Mmmmm...' moaned Lucia quietly. Simon was also enjoying the slow, sensual fucking he was now giving her. He could not block out the fact that he had not cum yet however, and every time he did think of that fact he felt his cock give a small twinge and he unconsciously quickened his pace slightly. This meant that after a while he was screwing her fairly fast and hard and both of them were breathing heavier. Simon could feel he was getting close to orgasm, and he wanted to time it so that Lucia came with him, so he kept his pace at the same steady rate. Every time Lucia let out a moan louder than normal, Simon would fuck her slightly faster and harder, getting ever closer to the big orgasm they both knew was coming (or rather, cumming.)

Simon felt a small amount of pre cum leave his cock and he knew he would not be able to hold on much longer. Lucia was feeling the same however, as she was whimpering with sustained pleasure at each thrust and her grip on him, from her arms and legs, were tightening again. Simon decided to follow suit and wrapped his arms around Lucia so that their hot, sweaty bodies were sliding against each other as they fucked harder and harder.

Then Lucia's body writhed upwards violently and she gripped Simon as hard as she could and her pussy squeezed his cock, finally sending him over the edge. His cock burst wave after wave of hot cum inside her as she still cumming herself, shaking and jolting upwards as her pussy contracted and squeezed every last drop of pleasure from them both. It felt as though their bodies were as one as their orgasmic explosion came to a close.

Both Simon and Lucia were both breathing as if they had run ten marathons as they lay in each other's arms. After twenty minutes, they looked at each other and smiled, sharing one last kiss and then getting cleaned up and dressed.

Just as Simon was getting back into his car, thinking that he would probably never have better sex than that, when his hand found a piece of paper with his car keys in his pocket. He unfolded it. It had on it a phone number and underneath the message:

'Lucia – call if you need anything ;)'

Simon smiled to himself, placed the paper back in his pocket, and drove off.



The Girl from Lima



It was yet another searing hot day in San Soldado, Arizona. Standing hunched under a tree in a park opposite his workplace, Dr. Gregorio Aquino was trying hard to enjoy his lunchtime cigarette. As a native of Honduras, he found the Copper State's 40-degree summers a little easier to take than most, but it was his understanding that the arrival of autumn meant things were supposed to cool down. It was now mid-September and they certainly hadn't so far. That said, these circumstances were a lot better compared to what he'd had to deal with in New York. The states both enforced draconian smoking laws, but the Empire State's frigid winters meant he'd often had to retreat to his car to light up, just to avoid frostbite: no risk of that happening here.

Taking one last drag, Gregorio stubbed his cigarette out on the tree's trunk and flicked it into the grass, which was looking suspiciously green considering San Soldado was situated on the northern edge of the Sonoran Desert. Crossing the road, he passed under an archway that marked the entrance to the grounds of his workplace, the Archbishop Zumárraga Catholic Preparatory School (Z-Prep to its students). The main school building, a palatial four-storey behemoth with a domed roof, looked more like a cathedral than a high school, but Z-Prep hadn't been designed to look like one. Instead of some municipal draughtsman, a noted Slovenian architect had been brought in to design the place, and the Vatican Bank had picked up the tab.

Just a few years ago, San Soldado had been a town dominated by slums. Situated barely 100 miles from the Mexican border, it was the first port of call for many Latin-American migrants who, unable or unwilling to pay traffickers, crossed the border on foot. Many then moved on to Phoenix and elsewhere, but some, having barely survived the all-too-often deadly trek across the Sonoran Desert, usually lacked the will or energy to journey on, so simply stayed put. As such, over the last forty years, the town's population had ballooned from 10,000 to 90,000. For whatever reason, Arizona's legislature had been quite happy to ignore the town's plight, even as shacks began to outnumber actual houses. Help finally came not from the state authorities, but the Catholic Church, after an influential cardinal paid the town a visit and saw tens of thousands of his church's most devout followers living in squalor. Within months of that, a massive Vatican-funded construction project was underway.

Archbishop Zumárraga Catholic Preparatory School had been the centrepiece of this massive overhaul of San Soldado's infrastructure. Besides English lessons, all Z-Prep classes were taught in Spanish, which considering the fact 95% of the town's children spoke Spanish as their first language, had struck Gregorio as an excellent idea when he'd read about it in his New York parish newspaper. So much so in fact, he'd given up his position as an interpreter at the United Nations and applied for the post of English teacher at Z-Prep. A job offer came in under a week – apparently having a PhD in Linguistics spared him the need for an interview – and his first year had breezed by. As his many tactless aunts had noted in July during his annual vacation home to Honduras, he hadn't looked so healthy (or happy) in years. Alas, the honeymoon had come to a screeching halt with the start of the fall semester.

A certain student, Xiomara Qinallata by name, had presented Gregorio with the first real challenge of his new career. Quite simply, she spoke almost no English, although one could hardly blame her for that. Peruvian by birth, the girl had apparently somehow escaped the human traffickers who'd smuggled her into Arizona. A local priest had found her curled up on the steps of his church, whereafter she was promptly granted special immigration status and placed with a foster family, and had only been enrolled at Z-Prep in March. For her own benefit, Gregorio had tried to arrange for her to take English classes with a lower grade, but admin weren't interested. The fact she was scoring A's and B's in all her other classes probably didn't help.

As he weaved his way round the clusters of chattering students on the school's front lawns, the Honduran glanced at his watch. He had five minutes to avoid the post-lunch stampede. Quickening his stride, the good Dr. Aquino made it to his third-floor classroom with just seconds to spare. No sooner had he collapsed into the chair behind his desk that Z-Prep's eighty-eight bells rang out, and within moments, his classroom door flew open and twenty-five schoolgirls (Z-Prep's classes were gender-segregated) scampered in, seemingly racing one another to take their assigned seats. Xiomara, one of the last ones to arrive, quietly filed in and took her seat in the front row of desks, directly opposite Gregorio's.

All the girls were dressed in the school uniform: a sky-blue polo-shirt with optional black cardigan and a royal-blue plaid skirt that, if worn properly, reached just above the knee. Inevitably, the actual length of the girls' skirts varied considerably, but not Xiomara's. Her uniform was consistently impeccable: her skirt always unaltered, her polo-shirt always tucked in and fully-buttoned, with her silky black hair worn loose, draped over her shoulders. After the taking of attendance, the lesson proceeded as normal. Gregorio explained the day's assignment in Spanish (today's was a writing exercise) before distributing the worksheets personally, closing with the usual caveat than any questions the girls might have would have to be asked in English. Silence then fell as the teacher retook his seat.

The ninety-minute period elapsed without major incident. Throughout, Xiomara put on her usual convincing display of actually seeming to know what she was supposed to be doing. In due course, the bell rang and the girls began to vacate the classroom, placing their worksheets on Gregorio's desk on their way out the door. Xiomara was the last to file past, handing her worksheet in face down.

"Wait, Miss Qinallata," said the good Dr. Aquino as his Peruvian student neared the doorway. The schoolgirl froze. "Please close the door and come sit down. There's something we need to discuss."

It took a few seconds for the startled teenager to react. In complete silence, she gingerly closed the classroom door, and shuffled back to her desk, her head bowed slightly as if expecting to be severely berated. Eventually, she sat down, "What is it you want to discuss, Dr. Aquino?"

"It's your grades, Xiomara."

"Oh," she muttered, biting her lower lip as she lowered her gaze. It looked to Gregorio as if she'd been expecting this conversation.

"I won't lie to you, Miss Qinallata. Unless we can get your English grade up to a D-minus by Christmas, you'll fail my class entirely."

The schoolgirl's eyes widened: "Does that basically mean I'm screwed?"

"No, Xiomara, it doesn't."

"Is that kind of grade turnaround even feasible?"

"It's not like you can't speak any English, is it?"

"Well no, but I never got taught any back home."

Gregorio had suspected as much. Xiomara's impeccable uniform wasn't the only thing that set apart from most of her classmates. Unlike her predominantly mestizo peers, the Peruvian's skin was much darker, indicating indigenous heritage. Such was the lot of South America's native communities, she'd no doubt grown up in one of Lima's poorer neighbourhoods, and as he'd once learnt from a Peruvian colleague, English teachers were in such short supply in Peru, it was usually only the privately-educated who left school with a working knowledge of the language.

"Anyway, I think I may have a solution," said the Honduran.

"Like what?"

"Well, Miss Qinallata, I've spent the last week putting together some tutorials that should be able to save your grade."

"Is there a catch?"

"There is one. There's no time in either of our schedules to do these inside school hours, so you'd have to stay after."

"For how long?"

"Two hours, three days a week, possibly for the whole semester."

Xiomara paused, gently gnawing her lower lip, "Would I have to stay in uniform?"

"We'd be meeting on school property, so yes."

She rolled her eyes, "Should I meet you here?"

"Are you sure you don't want a day to think this over?" asked Gregorio. He had expected her to need rather more convincing.

The schoolgirl shook her head, "No, Dr. Aquino, I'm sure."

"Okay then. Just meet me here after the bell. I have a classroom booked."

Nodding, Xiomara glanced up at the clock hanging above Gregorio's desk, said a quick goodbye then dashed out the classroom: she had all of thirty seconds to get to her biology class. Getting up to close the door, the good Dr. Aquino returned to his desk and spent the next ninety-minute period, which he had free, grading papers. He also began to feel little ambivalent about having extended his working week by six hours. Maybe he should've been the one to take a moment to think this whole tutorial idea over. Still, too late now.

Before long, the end-of-school bell rang, and as instructed, Xiomara knocked on Gregorio's classroom door within minutes. Gregorio then escorted her to the venue of their afterschool sessions: a pokey little second-floor classroom in the school building's east wing, specifically chosen to minimise the risk of them being interrupted by any of his colleagues looking for somewhere to vent. The tutorials were slow going at first. The Honduran found he'd underestimated quite how bad his student's spoken English was, although her reading and ability were light-years ahead of his expectations. Thus, the sessions soon evolved into a series of prolonged discussions rather than intensive one-to-one lessons. Xiomara turned up to each and every tutorial without fail, usually beating Gregorio there by some minutes, and he gradually learned more about his enigmatic student.

In broken English, she told him about her childhood growing up in the barriadas of Peru's capital Lima, and of how she'd lost her father, a labourer at Lima's Callao port, in a freak accident in which he was crushed by a falling shipping container. Apparently, it was the drop in her family's income caused by this death than had driven the 17 year-old Xiomara, then a college freshman – turned out Peruvians finish high school at 16 – to approach the men who'd smuggled her into the US. She didn't talk about the journey itself or how she'd escaped.

In turn, the good Dr. Aquino shared some stories of his own. Initially, all Xiomara got were the same staple anecdotes Gregorio told pretty much everyone, mostly from his years at th United Nations. These included run-ins with various madcap dictators, most of whom were no longer in power, but most of these were lost on the Peruvian, who's knowledge of international politics was forgivably rather lacking. After a month or so though, Xiomara found her English teacher's divulgences became radically more personal.

As far as the people of San Soldado were aware, the good Dr. Gregorio Aquino was an eligible bachelor. Only the IRS and US State Department knew otherwise. Thus did Xiomara Qinallata, an 18 year-old girl he'd known for barely two months, become the town's first resident to hear about the Honduran's estranged Brazilian wife, Renata. When he'd made the decision to take the job at Z-Prep, his wife of five years hadn't been quite so willing to uproot herself to smalltown Arizona. So, they'd separated, but hadn't divorced. They still spoke often enough, but Gregorio hadn't seen his wife since boarding the plane for Phoenix at JFK eighteen month ago.

As October gave way to November, Xiomara's grasp of English continued to strengthen, culminating in the all-important grade of D-minus on a test halfway through the month. Gregorio could see that becoming a D-plus by the midterms and maybe even a C by finals if the tutorials continued. However, Vice-Principal Tancredo had only let the tutorials go ahead under the strict condition that they stopped the moment she made the grade. Tancredo had been concerned about Xiomara gaining an unfair advantage over her classmates. 

Ludicrous as it sounded at the time, the speed of the Peruvian's progress had convinced him of the merit of Tancredo's concerns. With some reluctance, the Honduran chose the last Wednesday in November – their last tutorial before Thanksgiving – to give his student the bittersweet news.

That Wednesday afternoon, Gregorio waited the usual couple of minutes after the bell before setting off for what would be their last tutorial. True to form, Xiomara was already in the second-floor classroom, sat at one end of the two desks they pushed together to work at. Her uniform was pristine as ever, and she was smiling, almost beaming. It was a far cry from the nervous lip-gnawing of a couple months ago.

"Good afternoon, Dr. Aquino," she said, in heavily-accented but otherwise perfect English.

"Good afternoon, Miss Qinallata," replied Gregorio as he took his seat opposite her.

"How are you?"

"Well enough. Had a visit from your sister earlier."

"Lucia?"

"Yes. She told me to stop working you so hard."

"She can be very sweet like that," said Xiomara in Spanish, smirking. An 11th-grader at Z-Prep, Lucia was the only child of the Viviancos, Xiomara's foster family.

"I look forward to teaching her."

"So, what are we doing today?" asked the Peruvian in English. As her teacher sighed, she frowned, "Is something wrong, Dr. Aquino?"

"Quite the opposite, Miss Qinallata. I never told you about my agreement with the Vice-Principal about these sessions. I've been under strict instructions to end them as soon as you reached the required grade," explained Gregorio, switching to Spanish to ensure he wasn't misunderstood.

"So, is this our last tutorial?"

Her teacher nodded. Straight away, the schoolgirl bit down on her lower lip. The Honduran frowned, "Is something wrong, Xiomy?"

"Dr. Aquino, it's time I told you something."

"What about?"

"About how I came to San Soldado."

"You mean how you escaped?"

Xiomara shook her head, "There was never an escape, Dr. Aquino. My smuggler let me go."

"After sneaking you halfway across South America? Why?"

"Because I paid him to."

"I thought your family were poor."

"They are. They still live in the barriada, too. I used the compensation money the port owners gave Mami after Papi died. I was able to pay a professional smuggler instead of some bonehead coyote."

"So how the hell are you on file as a trafficking victim with special immigration status?"

"My smuggler knew who to pay. The immigration service is just as corrupt as the rest of this country's government."

Despite her earnest tone, the good Dr. Aquino wasn't quite sure to what to make of these supposed revelations. He was no psychologist, but it sounded an awful lot like the sort of tall tale a troubled mind might concoct to help paper over a traumatic ordeal, such as being trafficked. Quite how composed Xiomara was didn't help matters.

"Why tell me this now?" asked Gregorio.

"If this is our last tutorial, I might never be able to talk to you like this again, and the man I love deserves to know the truth about me."

"The man you love?"

The schoolgirl nodded, "Don't worry, Dr. Aquino. I might have grown up in a barriada but I'm not some naive child. I don't expect you to love me back. I'm not even sure I'd want you to."

For several minutes, all Gregorio felt able to do was sit in silence, holding Xiomara's calm but unrelenting gaze. The whole situation was wreaking havoc on his cranium. Again, he wasn't sure whether to take what she'd said at face value, or to treat it as another symptom of a traumatised or unstable mind. Her apparent expectation and acceptance of her affections being unrequited only confused him further. That was unless there was something else at work here.

"Did I make a mistake, telling you about Renata?"

Xiomara sighed, smiling faintly at him, "Is there anything I can do to convince you I'm not crazy, Dr. Aquino? This is nothing to do with pity, or jealousy. I see very clearly you still love your wife and I respect that, but I can't help the way I feel about you."

Closing his eyes, Gregorio massaged his temples. Her lucidity continued to unnerve.

"Is that all, then?" he asked, somewhat hopefully.

"Well, there was one favour I wanted to ask."

"Go ahead."

"I would like for you to be the first man to make love to me, Dr. Aquino," said Xiomara, in evidently well-rehearsed English. 

Once again, the good Dr. Aquino went silent for several minutes before speaking, "Are you quite serious?"

The Peruvian nodded.

"Xiomara, you ought to know I could have you expelled simply for asking that."

"Do you really plan on reporting it?"

The Honduran merely sighed at the question, "What if you were to conceive? What then? I'm afraid I don't believe in contraception."

"You don't believe in contraception? How come you aren't a father?"

"I said I don't believe in it. Renata felt differently so we found a way round it."

Xiomara shrugged, "A grandchild would a perfect gift to take home to Mami."

"To take home?"

"San Soldado's nice, but I miss my family."

Conversation trailed off after that as Gregorio fought in vain to gather his thoughts as he cast about in vain for something else to say. He was beyond doubt that he didn't reciprocate Xiomara's affections, but he had yet to categorically rule granting her so-called "favour". The spectres of automatic dismissal, probable prosecution and possible deportation all loomed large, but it had been so very long since a woman had shown interest in him. Was a brief tryst with an 18 year-old girl of uncertain psychological soundness worth the risk? It would take some thought. As such, he decided to play for time.

"Meet me here as normal on Monday, Miss Qinallata. You'll have your answer then."

"As you wish, Dr. Aquino," said Xiomara. She smiled warmly at him as she rose to her feet, as if in no doubt what his answer on Monday would be, "Happy Thanksgiving, by the way."

"And to you," replied Gregorio, raising a hand in farewell until the Peruvian exited the room, suppressing the urge to scoff at her parting words. As if there was any chance of him passing a happy Thanksgiving with her request weighing on his mind, not that he even celebrated the holiday – he'd never quite understood it.

Despite the occasion, his weekend was as low-key as any other. His weekly phone call to Renata in New York on Thursday evening was the shortest yet. In fact, all he got was a recorded message telling him she was out of town in the Hamptons. Only a fool would think she'd gone there alone. It was a sore reminder that they were only really still married in the eyes of the law. Not that he felt particularly uncomfortable about her seeing other men in his absence – it just hadn't really occurred to him to get back in the game himself. Part of it was probably the Catholic dogma he'd been raised on. Also, he'd long suspected Renata's hesitation at filing for divorce had had something to do with the possible ramifications it would have for him. She knew how zealous his family in Honduras were. It was possible she'd just wanted to spare him the aggro a divorce would no doubt provoke. 

As for Xiomara, the fact a part of him seemed perfectly willing to lay his job (and potentially freedom) on the line for a single sexual encounter terrified him. The chances of getting caught were slim. He knew from the janitors' schedule, which he'd consulted when picking the classroom in the first place, that the room was cleaned in the mornings, not evenings, so the only potential interruption was another teacher barging in.

Then there was the truth of her tale about the professional smuggler to consider. Perhaps it was a delusion dreamt up by a traumatised mind, or even just a story Xiomara had concocted to try and persuade him he wouldn't be taking advantage of a vulnerable victim. Frankly, he was amazed at how little it actually seemed to matter to him. If it were true, he guessed he should be happy for her, but even if it were either one of the other scenarios, maybe granting her favour would be the right thing to do anyway. Traumatised or not, the prospect of making a homesick young girl happy was strangely compelling.