by Monica Belle
Bobbie was panting, her skin wet with sweat, her scent mixed with his. It was all perfume and girl and man, a wonderful combination of sexual aromas. Niall had us both, bottoms up on his bed, surrendered to him side by side, nude but for our stockings and heels – his to enjoy as he pleased. We’d done the lot. We’d licked and sucked his cock and balls, I’d kissed his anus, we’d been fucked side by side, on our backs and on our knees.
I was coming, and at the exact moment my muscles started to go tight in orgasm he did it, entering me again, his hands closing on my hips and his cock pushing into me with a single, deep thrust. My breath came out in one long, ecstatic groan and I was there, in heaven, coming hard as he fucked me. I was still clinging to Bobbie as I rode it. At the very highest peak Niall grunted, and I knew he’d come too, deep inside me, adding a final glorious jolt to my pleasure.
He held it in, as deep as he could go, as I finished off, rubbing at myself and wriggling my body against his until at last it was over. As I slumped down on the bed he slipped free, his penis still rock hard, rearing up from his belly. Bobbie twisted around to look at him, this fit, rough bloke with a still-tumescent but spent member, revelling in his wantonness.
An instant later we both dissolved in relief, lying together, thoroughly pleased with ourselves, but not half as much as Niall. He was grinning from ear to ear, a cat who not only had just had the cream, but the canary and the goldfish too. Not that we’d finished, because I knew how quickly he’d be ready again, and with two naked girls on his bed it would be faster than ever. In due course.
‘Fetch us a drink, Niall,’ we demanded.
He went, content to play the host now that he’d come, and that he had us firmly where he wanted us. I settled back, adjusting the pillows to make myself comfy, naked and content on his bed with Bobbie beside me, ready for a night of sex. She stretched, her hands on her taut little breasts, stroking. I knew she hadn’t come, and it looked like she needed to. As she began to lazily toy with herself I felt a twinge of embarrassment, but I couldn’t help watching fascinated as she played with her nipples and gently stroked her belly and inner thighs.
Niall was soon back, and Bobbie stopped playing with herself as she heard him approach. He had a bottle of Jameson’s and three tumblers, all brimful of ice. I accepted one and we chinked them together in a toast. He’d sat down at the far end of the bed, his cock lying heavy and flaccid on one thigh. It stirred slightly as he eyed our naked bodies. He took a swallow of whiskey and nodded.
‘Now that was just grand, and I’ve a mind for more of the same, or perhaps something a little different.’
‘Oh yes, what?’
‘How about you two get together?’
I just laughed.
‘You wish, Niall Flynn!’
‘Why not? You held on, didn’t you, just now?’
‘That’s different. Get away with you, Niall. I know it’s every man’s fantasy to see two girls together, but . . . hey, Bobbie!’
She’d moved up a little on the bed, and suddenly put a hand on my thigh, stroking upwards.
‘Come on, Miss Perks, let’s give him his show,’ she whispered.
Niall’s eyes were like saucers and his cock had already begun to move up his leg as it swelled. I hesitated, not wanting to stop Bobbie, telling myself I was no lesbian, but unable not to react to the gentle caress of her fingers, not knowing what I wanted and what I didn’t.
He shifted, taking himself in hand to tug gently at the shaft, his eyes fixed on where Bobbie’s hand was tickling in the groove of my firmly closed thighs.
‘Open up, pretty please?’
She was so eager, even a little hurt. Still I hesitated, not wanting to admit to myself that it felt nice, not sure I could cope with the implication. Bobbie spoke again.
‘Come on, Lucy, it’s just for him.’
Niall nodded in agreement.
‘That’s right, Lucy. No harm in it, not when it’s for your man.’
Bobbie’s finger had reached my tummy, tickling in my bellybutton, and lower.
‘Be fair, Lucy, you wanted to watch one man suck another off.’
Niall flinched, but he didn’t speak, perhaps sensing that I was right on the brink, the urge to open my legs building in my head. They were right, it was for a show, so it wasn’t like it made me a lesbian or anything. Only I knew full well that Bobbie wouldn’t just be putting on a show, that she’d probably fancied me from the start. I didn’t fancy her, but she was a friend, and there was no denying how stiff my nipples felt, and how strong the urge was to let my thighs come apart, especially after I’d witnessed the hardness of Niall’s now erect cock.
I caught the sound of my own sob as my legs came open. Niall swore softly, and Bobbie had begun to masturbate me, rubbing in the groove of my fur. She’d make me come, I knew, and I didn’t want it to go that far, to surrender so much of myself. But I told myself it was a show, bums and tits for the boys, no different to flashing a friend’s tits for a laugh, not really . . .
‘OK, you dirty bastard,’ I said. ‘What would you like to see best?’
‘Get in a sixty-nine.’
He sounded like he was going to choke with lust, and for all my misgivings it was impossible not to giggle. I was still uncertain, and might have demanded something not quite so intimate, only Bobbie had already scrambled around, mounting me with her bits right in my face before I could give more than a squeak of protest. Suddenly all I could see was her open thighs, the swell of her bottom and her open, ready pussy, but I caught Niall’s voice from beyond.
‘Fuck me, that’s good. Now lick each other. Go on, get dirty.’
Bobbie didn’t need to be asked, her arms already curling around my thighs, to pull them wide and immediately bury her face between. Her tongue found my clit and, despite myself, I was gasping in pleasure. Still I held back, the scent of her sex strong in my nostrils, not sure if I could do it.
I never even realised Niall had moved until he took me by the ankles. An instant later the head of his cock was at my entrance, and in, deep in me. Bobbie kept licking, awkwardly, for just a moment, and then she’d sat up. Niall was already moving in me, thrusting deep to make me pant, even as Bobbie’s bottom settled into my face, her pussy right on my mouth. I couldn’t speak. I could barely breathe. Niall was in me, now holding my thighs, fucking me hard and deep. His voice came again, thick with passion, harsh and commanding.
‘Lick her, Lucy. I’ve got to see it.’
Bobbie giggled, wiggling her bum in my face, and I was doing it, licking her, my tongue on her sex, lapping at her clit. He groaned in ecstasy, she gave a little happy sigh, and I just gave in, showing off as I lapped at her, to give him the dirty lesbian show he wanted, even as he fucked me.
They rode me, all the way, both coming to orgasm over my body. Bobbie first, with her thighs and bottom cheeks contracting right in my face, then Niall, all over my belly as he pulled out at the last instant. By then I no longer cared, and as Bobbie’s fingers found my sex and her mouth my breasts I simply let her get on with it, soaking up physical ecstasy as she brought me off.
4
8 August, 11.45 a.m. – Lucy Doyle wakes up next to Niall Flynn and Bobbie Davenport.
WHAT HAD I done? Three in a bed and sex with another girl, on the same night!
What I’d done was enjoy myself, and there was no getting away from it. It had been good, great, brilliant. I was still there too, snuggled onto Niall’s chest with Bobbie on the far side, all three of us well content. It was late morning, according to the clock on Niall’s beside table, and the sun was streaming in the room as we hadn’t even bothered to close the curtains before falling asleep. As I pulled myself out of bed I was thinking vague thoughts about Mrs Peabody and the Simms family across the road, both of whom would have had a prime view of our threesome if they’d been watching. If so, it would be round the district in seconds, but I found it hard to care.
As it was, every person I’d ever known was soo
n going to know that I’d sucked Niall off in the loos at Gogarty’s. The additional news, that I’d slept three in a bed and had sex with my mate would make it worse, but only so much worse. If anything, it was what I needed. It was an excuse to get out, to find myself, and a life of my own where I didn’t have to be what other people wanted me to be.
That was all very well, but for the time being I had practicalities to deal with. I didn’t have enough money to raise a deposit for a flat, and I didn’t want to rely on favours. There was going to be some serious disapproval if I moved in with Niall; and if I seemed to be heading that way in the fast lane in any case, it was at least an excuse not to. Play was one thing, but I wasn’t ready for settling down.
I was ready for more sex, and I got it on the Sunday; first on the bed with Bobbie watching, again when Niall caught me in the shower, and a third time after she’d gone, leaving him with his well-sucked dick sticking out of his trousers. He wanted me to stay, but I was too nervous of the reception I’d get at home, and I left in the early afternoon. Fortunately, it wasn’t as bad as I’d expected. Siobhan and Tara both knew what had happened at Gogarty’s, but they’d kept it to themselves, while if either Mrs Peabody or the Simmses had seen me with Niall and Bobbie they’d presumably dropped dead from shock. It was short of eight o’clock when I collapsed gratefully into bed.
The prospect of a return to Tilbury was less than thrilling, but I knew they wanted me for another week at the least and there was nothing to be done about it. At least, so I thought until shortly before eight o’clock on the Tuesday morning, when Mrs Maryam Smith rang to ask if I’d take a different assignment, somewhere out near Watford. I accepted like a shot, sure that whatever it was it couldn’t possibly be duller than the Tilbury job.
My first thought was that somebody, probably Bobbie, had put in a good word for me and that I’d be back with the girls. I wasn’t, which I found out after arriving a huge, sprawling factory built in 1930s style and painted pastel green. They made customised motorbikes, with lines of gleaming machines ranked outside ready for delivery, and the huge entrance hall was a shrine to the successes of their products over the years. The reception desk seemed tiny, the girl behind it tinier still, but neat and cool, well in keeping with her surroundings. I approached her, feeling slightly awed.
‘Hi. I’m Lucy Doyle, from Super Staff.’
She looked at me over her glasses, her expression suggesting that I was cluttering up the hall. With a faint click of her tongue she began to consult her computer screen, her expression growing puzzled, then irritable.
‘For Mr Drake?’
‘That’s right.’
‘He is expecting a Miss Cherwell.’
I shrugged.
‘He’s got me.’
‘So I see.’
She sighed and shook her head, lifted her telephone and quickly tapped in what was obviously the number of an extension.
‘Mr Drake? There’s a Ms Doyle here for you, from Super Staff . . . in her place, apparently. I’ll send her up.’
She put the phone down and looked up at me.
‘You can go up. First floor, right of centre.’
‘Thank you.’
She didn’t bother to respond, and I made for the stairs, a great double zigzag fully in keeping with the imposing architecture of the place. At the top was a broad corridor, completely empty with doors opening from it at wide intervals. The central ones were tall, veneered wood, and opened on to what looked like a committee room, with a long central table around which were ranged a good two dozen elegant, high-backed chairs. The next to the right, presumably the one she meant, was firmly closed. I knocked. A voice answered, male, controlled and a little stern. I opened the door to find a man looking at me from behind a huge keyhole-shaped desk of polished wood. He was youngish, maybe thirty or thirty-five, clean-cut, smartly dressed, very much at ease with himself, and not particularly pleased to see me.
‘You’ve been sent in place of Miss Cherwell?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is there a reason for this? I had specifically asked for Miss Cherwell.’
‘I’m sorry. I’m sure I can cope with anything she can, but if you’d rather I went . . .’
‘You’ve spoken to her, then?’
His voice had softened considerably. I decided to lie, or at least to bend the truth.
‘Briefly, yes, on Saturday night.’
‘She’s not ill then?’
She’d been in the best of health, her arms around two men, but I was sure the detail was irrelevant.
‘Er . . . no, not at all.’
‘Hmm. I wonder what the matter is.’
I had no idea, but I could see what had happened. He’d wanted Sophie, and for whatever reason, she’d convinced Mrs Maryam Smith that I should go instead. Possibly she really was ill, and I’d been chosen at random, but unlikely, when I’d been in the middle of another assignment. Mr Drake was looking at me thoughtfully. I smiled sweetly, meanwhile silently cursing Sophie for not telling me what was going on. His next remark provided a hint.
‘You’ll be joining me at Interconference, then, in her place?’
I hesitated, unsure what to say. It looked as if Sophie had dropped me into one of ‘those’ assignments, where the girl’s not wanted for her work skills, but for her looks, maybe more. I’d heard the stories, and seen the results. Talia was with Lucas Sherringham, living the life of Riley, for however long. Bobbie had done it, and Sophie, evidently. Mr Drake was good-looking, young enough, hopefully man enough . . .
‘Yes, of course.’
I’d spoken before I’d really thought about it, eager to break the uncomfortable atmosphere. He smiled. I thought of Niall, but I was one hundred percent determined that he would not possess me, nor any other man. If I wanted to take Mr Drake up on his offer, I would, and it would be my choice, nobody else’s, whatever that offer might be. He gestured to a seat, now relaxed.
‘It had better be Richard, then, and you are?’
‘Lucy.’
‘Lucy, cute name. So you’re a friend of Sophie’s . . . well, you must be.’
‘Sure, yes, we er . . . go around together all the time.’
‘Great. She’s explained, then?’
‘Er, no, not really. Just that . . . that she couldn’t come for the Interwhatsit thing, and could I go instead.’
I smiled, praying that whatever reason Sophie had for dropping me in it, it wasn’t that Mr Drake was into something weird, like the stuff they have on late night cable TV. If he expected to dress up as a woman, or be led around on a dog lead, or have me put him in nappies, I was going to run, and when I caught up with Sophie I wouldn’t be responsible for my actions. Then again, maybe he just wanted to show me off in front of his colleagues, with no strings attached. Fat chance, but I could always quit.
‘You’re rather early, of course. Do you play golf?’
‘Golf? No.’
‘You should. There’s no more useful accomplishment if you want to get on in business, except maybe holding your drink.’
‘That I can do.’
He laughed, sure and easy, and I felt myself relax just that little bit more.
‘I’ll teach you, come on.’
‘What, now?’
‘Certainly.’
I made a vague gesture, taking in the office and the factory in general.
‘Don’t you have any work to do? Or for me to do, maybe?’
‘Work? Not today, no. My position’s largely a sinecure, but I have the name.’
I had no idea what he was talking about, but nodded faithfully. If he’d suggested bonking me across the desk without preliminaries I probably would have freaked, or maybe not. If he wanted to teach me golf, then fair enough. I was still getting paid, and it was a whole lot better than Tilbury. He’d gone to a cupboard, and produced a huge red and black leather bag bristling with clubs of various shapes and sizes. For one awful moment I thought he was going to expect me to carry the wretc
hed thing, but he heaved it onto his shoulder, really quite casually. As he came towards me he made a polite gesture to the door. I went out first and he followed, locking it behind him.
We went out the way I’d come in, down the staircase and across the hall. The receptionist gave him an obsequious ‘Good morning, Mr Drake’, and me a knowing and haughty glance. As I was a step behind him I stuck my tongue out at the snotty little bitch.
Outside he led me past the gleaming ranks of motorbikes, and I finally twigged. Each and every one had a bold, cursive ‘Drake’ on the petrol tank. I’d seen it before, but simply hadn’t made the connection. He owned the place, or at least had a senior place, and one that meant he could spend his day playing golf or anything else if he wanted to.
The few people we saw as we made our way to the car park were as polite as the receptionist. Most of them gave me no more than a glance, and I didn’t care if they knew, or what they thought. I was only going to play golf, anyway. His car was a top of the range, brand new Merc, and as I settled into the black leather upholstered front seat I was thinking that I could get used to the life. If I was a good girl, I could file and type and stack and sort, and make coffee, and get shouted at for making some trivial mistake. If I was a bad girl, the possibilities were endless.
We drove for maybe twenty minutes, out into the open country, to a mansion, now a golf club. It was hard not to stare – at the ranks of expensive cars, and the ranks of expensive men and women. They might have been playing golf, but they were showing off too, in obviously expensive and presumably designer kit that made me feel very tatty indeed in my little blue office suit. As I stood nervously in the reception area I was already wondering what a man like Richard Drake would want with me when he could presumably pick and choose from among so many elegant, beautiful women. More than one I recognised from TV, and even the waitresses looked smarter and more with it than I did. I had to ask, and spoke as soon as Richard had finished signing me in and we wouldn’t be overheard.