We lay like that for two or three minutes, companionably close and sharing the wondrous sensation of having been thoroughly, completely, earth-movingl... lesbo-fucked. Finally, and with evident regret, Ms Brewster said we would have to call time for today, as she had a charity fund-raising dinner to attend in the evening, and needed to drive home, shower and change into an evening dress beforehand. She produced from her filing cabinet (which I soon came to call the ‘fucking cabinet’) two. “Can you clean that up? It’s gross!” Megan complained, pointing at the spattered newspapers that still lined the table like a crime scene. Sophie, while not petrified like her friend was, also kept her distance as if the guts might jump onto her shirt if she got too close.“What are you talking about? That’s actually our tablecloth,” I deadpanned, getting a laugh from everyone except Meg. She only offered me a patently sour look. I disposed of the newspaper in the fire, noticing that Alana was. More

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