Victoria had never ridden pillion on a motorbike before. But then she’d done a lot of new things during the short but intense weeks of her friendship with Leanne Miller.

Leanne was charismatic, energetic, heedless of tomorrow – and lesbian. She’d made that very clear when she first asked Victoria to stay behind after a painting class to discuss her use of pink. The second the door had closed behind the last of the students, Leanne was on her, kissing her neck, squeezing her breasts and telling her in no uncertain terms just what she intended to do. And over the next hour or so, she was as good as her word.

Victoria knew what to do with another woman – but only if there was a man watching. This time, there was no audience. They moved quickly from the hallway to the living room and on to the sofa, rolling around on books and magazines until Leanne had her fingers inside Victoria’s jeans and then inside Victoria. She brought her to climax quickly, and only then did she let her come up for air.

‘Strip. I want to see you naked.’

She did as she was told.

‘Look at your boobs,’ said Leanne, whose eyes were popping out of their sockets. ‘They’re lovely.’ Victoria nearly choked at the word ‘boobs’, but managed to control herself. ‘Turn around. Christ. Your arse. It’s fantastic.’

So much for soft-focus fantasies of lesbian sex, all tender and romantic, full of sighing, little broken cries and biting of the lower lip. No, this was ‘boobs’ and ‘arse’ and hands kneading her flesh in all the places where, ordinarily, Victoria wished she was flatter and thinner.

‘You’re fucking magnificent,’ said Leanne, who had managed somehow to keep on all her clothes except for her shirt. Her torso was tanned and strong, and her breasts, still contained in a white bra, much bigger than they looked when she was dressed. ‘I’ve got to paint you. Here.’ She cleared clothes and bags off an armchair. ‘Sit there. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right back.’ She darted into the studio for paper and paint, setting up on a coffee table, dipping her brushes into a cup of cold herbal tea that happened to by lying around. She worked fast, driving the paint into the paper, staring ravenously at Victoria, who opened her legs and let her head fall back, exposing her throat.

Either Leanne Miller was a fast worker, or this was just a preliminary sketch, because she hadn’t been at it for more than ten minutes when she launched herself on to Victoria again. Victoria held on to the top of Leanne’s head and let herself go. Was this what it felt like when she gave a blowjob to a man? If so, it was little wonder they kept coming back for more.