by Primula Bond
I slide up and down Skylar’s cock, showing off now but also trying to ease the increasingly frantic urges to come. My body tightens each time to grab hold and keep him inside me, and his cock is hardening even more with each thrust.
I’m just poised to ram down onto him harder than ever when my butt cheeks are pulled apart and Pieter presses up against my back.
‘I’d happily watch, but I can’t let you have all the fun, Sky,’ he says softly. ‘The others can come back and watch. But I want to fuck her arse. Then I want to fuck her cunt.’
‘You’ve got some catching up to do, mate.If she doesn’t mind, of course.’
Sky pulls me harder down on top of him so that my breasts are squashed hard against his face and his cock is rammed right up inside.
‘You don’t mind, do you?’ Pieter murmurs in my ear.‘Just say, Mrs Epsom. You don’t mind, do you? Want to hear you say it.’
‘No,’ I gasp, barely able to speak.‘Don’t mind. Want it. Want you to do it.’
I have no power left.No life. Nothing except my cunt and Skylar’s cock.
I feel small and dirty and overpowered.They’re treating me like a whore. I like all that. I like not having to think, or decide, or even be anything other than a female to be fucked. So I allow myself to fall, or rather be pulled, first forwards, my tits licked and sucked to burning point by my gorgeous new lover, and then to be tugged backwards by his older, stronger mate, who now has his own erection wedged up between my cheeks and he’s sliding it rapidly up and down my warm crack, sliding right under to reach the tender spot where Skylar has me spliced open, parting my sex still further so that as well as having a big cock up my cunt, another cock and several fingers are tickling my exposed clitoris.
I’m dizzy now. I gyrate as if dancing on Skylar’s pole, flinging myself wildly about as I lose control all together.
Both the boys take hold of me then and hold me still.Their fingers dig into my arms and thighs, and bottom and breasts. The pause is as titillating as the wild movement. My cunt keeps working, keeps gripping, my nipples tingle till they’re sore. And I’m red raw with embarrassment and humiliation. Skylar holds me suspended above him, so that he can go on sucking my nipples. But he stops his thrusting for a moment and I let the hovering orgasm recede a little to relish the wait.
Pieter slides his stiff cock back up to my bottom and starts to push it towards the tightly closed hole of my anus.I stay rigid. I can feel the hole tightening like an angry little fist against the intrusion, but he’s still wrenching my cheeks open till the flesh stings, and that starts up a deep, lustful throbbing inside.
I open my eyes.Just one glance at Skylar still engrossed between my tits increases the desire building like a fire inside me, and then the other little hole loosens to let Pieter’s cock in, because I can feel his thick knob pushing inside, my own shy muscles trying to push it out at first, and then slackening to accommodate him and grabbing, gobbling, welcoming the new length of male hardness, so that inch by inch it grinds up my backside and I’m light headed with all this, how did I end up in a house boat, impaled on two stiff young cocks, both wedged inside me, and I’m welcoming them both in, straining and yearning to keep them there and to milk them for all the hot pleasure they’re pumping into me.
Pieter is deep inside now.His thighs are propping up mine. He starts to rock back and forth, his breath hot on my neck, one big hand fanned out over my stomach to support us both in that position, and I let his rocking move me, carefully at first, the tender skin stretching for him, and I see my body as an amazing design, all conflicting zones of exquisite pleasure.
He’s reading my mind, because he grunts like the animal he is, ‘This is better than any of those live shows. Christ, you’re dynamite, Mrs Epsom.’
They both laugh.From the outside looking in, from the pavement or the bridge, looking into this old wooden haven of sex, you’d see my white body, my bottom, my swinging breasts, all being touched, manhandled, used, sucked, fucked by these two gorgeous young studs.
You see?Tonight, I’m the sex toy.
I fall forwards first onto the rigid cock inside my cunt, then back onto the one in my backside, and then they’re both ramming up me. As I move off one the other penetrates me so that the storm of orgasm is gathering at both entrances, sluicing up both orifices. I can hear the gathering shouts of both the guys and my own moans rising somewhere in my throat and being snatched away in gasps, and then it’s happening, we’re all three rocking frantically, both boys going at me, ramming their cocks up in unison so that I’m spiralling down at the same time, welcoming the burning heat, my first boy smacking and pummelling my tits back and forth over his face until he can hold it back no longer and it comes spurting out of him, met by my own gripping, convulsive orgasm and then the hot spunk of Pieter bringing up the rear oh yes, as he goes at me like a dog and then comes like a rocket up inside me and he laughs and yells and at last I topple sideways, still gripping the first boy inside me and still with Pieter wedged up behind.
‘You know what, Mrs Epsom,’ Skylar says dreamily, pulling my skirt down for me much later when I’ve sucked Pieter’s really huge cock and then let him fuck me, and promised Skylar another go. The candles have started one by one to burn out. ‘I guess that makes us mother fuckers.’
They both laugh, but the aggression’s gone.
‘In a good way, honey.’ I stand up, trying to button my cardigan. My legs are weak as a new colt’s as I totter towards the door, knowing they are watching my every movement and still wanting me. My arse and my cunt ache and throb as if I’m still being fucked. ‘In a good way.’
‘And Mrs Epsom!’ Pieter is holding up an over-sized black dildo with a bulbous knob. ‘Come back tomorrow, and for a special treat you can ride this one.’
I saw you from the hotel window, Sophie. You were standing on the bridge right here on the Keizersgracht. Dinner’s fucked, too. Where are you now?
On my way, I text back, stepping off the house boat and scurrying back, on bare feet now and wearing no knickers, across the bridge towards the hotel which I can see burning brightly just across the water.
But I sure as hell know where I’ll be tomorrow
First Love
REUNIONS ARE LIKE NEW shoes. Alluring in theory but agony in practice.
At least, that’s how Mimi sums it up, stepping out of Nice station into the sizzling heat. She sucks in her flat stomach. Tugs tight her pelvic floor. Why couldn’t Regina have organised this in London, or New York, better still Paris? No trains, or boats, or planes. Some cool hotel, nice city, easy to get to. Or escape from. But no, Regina has to be the hostess, the queen, as always, show off her fuck-off villa in Antibes or wherever the hell this chauffeur is taking her.
The limo sweeps her away from the Baie des Anges and all those comforting markets and restaurants and beaches, through the predictably ugly outskirts of the town, and up into the hills and the unknown behind Nice.
Fancy dress, darlings. I’ll provide the costumes. Suzanne is doing the makeup.
Mimi squirms irritably on the white seat. Her bare thighs squeak on the clean leather as her satin summer dress rides up. She has spent the last two years tiptoeing round film sets, getting walk-on parts, acting the hysterical extra in a crowd or solemn extra in a restaurant scene, making tea and, yes, being fucked by directors on the casting couch. If she’s honest, that’s the part she’s enjoyed the most so far. So much so that she’s written a script about it. Anyway, the last thing she needs on a precious break is to dress up as someone else.
So what is Regina going to do to them? Why can’t they just be themselves, as they are, photographers, lawyers, writers, whatever? She and Regina, sometimes Salome, they used to be the princesses. But you can bet your bottom dollar Regina will have reserved some amazing Marie Antoinette-style regalia for herself, and ordered the rest of them to eat cake and be trussed up as wenches.
She catches the eye of the chauffeur in the rear-view mirror. Don’
t know why, but he looks bland, like a tennis player. Direct black eyes. Smooth skin the colour of caramel. One lick of oiled black hair visible when he adjusted his cap to greet her.
She feels silly now. There is a definite gleam of amusement in the chauffeur’s eyes, as if he can read her surly, childish thoughts. And he’s right. What’s the big deal? Mimi smiles at him, and lifts one leg to cross it over the other. The air conditioning whispers over her fanny. It’s just a load of girls who were at school together, coming together for the weekend. She smoothes her skirt back down and retouches her red lipstick.
Somewhere over there is Elton John’s villa.
The chauffeur frowns back at the road, which is beginning to curl and bend sickeningly up the hairpins carved into the mountains. Lorries thunder past, making the sleek car shake, dry stones scatter. Didn’t Princess Grace drive off a cliff somewhere around here?
Suzanne has ringed Mimi’s eyes, and everyone else’s, with smoky shadow and kohl pencil, and stuck on spidery false eyelashes. In the mirror in her gauzy white bedroom overlooking the huge turquoise infinity pool and the misty Mediterranean far below, Mimi’s eyes are now green and elongated like a cat’s. Her mouth looks plumper. It’s because she’s pouting in fury, but it’s also the peachy, glossy lipstick.
‘I never wear gloss,’ she glowers, as Suzanne starts yanking at her long red hair. ‘I can’t leave home without my Chanel matte red.’
‘Barely there, is what Regina asked for. And you’re not at home now. Don’t worry, Mimi. Everyone looks the same.’
Suzanne dots some fake freckles over Mimi’s nose. ‘And you have to admit, it makes you look younger?’
Mimi smiles slightly. ‘Except I never looked this raunchy at school.’
Her hair feels as if it’s been twisted into a vice. And she also has to admit that the tight plaits have given her an instant face lift.
‘That’s because you princesses couldn’t wait to grow up. You wouldn’t have seen the irony in dressing like this.’ Suzanne, already in her outfit, unhooks a coat hanger from the wardrobe. ‘And after tonight you’ll be begging me to make you over like this all the time so that you can be younger again. Why go under the knife? You’ll only end up stretched and polished like a Stepford wife. Who needs Botox when I can give you a Croydon facelift any day of the week just by tying your hair back? Anyway, you’ve still got cheekbones to die for, Mimi.’
Suzanne’s eyes glitter in the dressing table lights. She is the least changed of all of them. She always dresses like a schoolgirl, even though they’re all pushing thirty, but with her round face and cute blonde hair she can still get away with it.
‘I remember you now, Suzi. How you were at school.’ Mimi stands up and lets Suzanne squeeze her into a tight white blouse with short puffed sleeves ‘You had an almighty crush on Regina, didn’t you? Didn’t you kiss her once?’
Suzanne blushes, and starts to do up the buttons. The blouse is tiny, and the buttons strain to remain fastened over Mimi’s big breasts. They both stare at Suzanne’s hands as they hover there. Then they catch each other’s eyes, and smile into the mirror.
‘Yes, OK, I had a crush on her,’ says Suzanne. ‘But I never had a prayer of coming between you two. You couldn’t keep your hands off each other.’ She blushes, and fusses with Mimi’s collar. ‘We used to imagine what the two of you got up to in your special rooms upstairs.’
Mimi lets out a whistle of breath as the memories crowd back in. What did they get up to in those long, boring hours cloistered away from the world? They talked about boys, and cocks, and sex, but boys and cocks and sex were far away from their convent. There was only each other. Two ripening female bodies, side by side, and there for the taking.
She can feel Suzanne’s sweet breath on her skin, puffing nervously, and her own skin prickles with excitement. The memories weaken her as Suzanne goes about transforming her, taking her back to a warped version of her teenage self. Mimi lifts each leg obediently as Suzanne rolls thick black stockings up her thighs, then zips up a tiny grey skirt.
Mimi can’t wait to see Regina. The invitation, out of the blue, was like a horse kick in the stomach. They have met once, maybe twice since school, but always with a crowd of others. LA and Paris are a long way apart and so are their worlds. As Suzanne ties the finishing touch around Mimi’s neck, Mimi sees it all again, feels those long nights closeted alone with Regina in their attic bedrooms at boarding school.
When you’re young you think you have for ever. That she’ll always be there, every morning, stumbling out of bed all warm and heavy-eyed, her brother’s oversized tee shirt slipping off one shoulder. And every night she’ll be there, tiptoeing into your room to smoke, gossip, giggle, spray perfume onto you then sniff it off your neck, creep closer on those narrow beds, pretending to be too cold, or too hot, or too tired, or too pissed, and then, at last, after wondering aloud how cucumbers and bananas and candles would feel shoved up you, too shy to try that, but fingers creeping nevertheless up each other’s legs, pausing for permission, stroking the other’s skin, so soft inside the slim thighs, both of you growing very still and silent when you reach the soft fur of each other’s pussies, pushing your fingers in a little, waiting for rejection. No rejection – shock, maybe – but you pull back as if you’d been burnt when you brush the hot wetness there for the very first time and are desperate to touch it again – let’s find out how it feels when someone fucks you – so, yes, brushing and stroking it again, going in further between the velvet folds, feeling the urgent twitches, no one said the person fucking you had to be a boy, that hot tight part of her trying to close in on your fingers, her whole body wincing with shock and shy pleasure, so you know this is a discovery for her, too, despite all that sophistication, all that jewellery, all those calls from polo players on her mobile.
You go in harder, push two fingers not just one, in harder, less gentle as the other girl’s leg wraps round you – you’re lying across her now – and her hidden cunt grips and sucks at your fingers and her head falls backwards on the pillow, all those black ringlets spread helplessly, her face hot and damp with sweat, she’s pulling you down with her, your fingers still ramming, ramming, loving that clutching heat, her legs opening and closing with shocked wanting, her bottom thrusting to keep up with you, the opening and wetness as she comes.
The wriggling frustration as you watch her shaking and whimpering, loving what you’ve done to her but impatient for your turn, trying to be sensitive and sexy like a boy might be, but you entice her, forcing her, by taking her hand and putting it up there under your nightdress, to do the same to you.
Nothing said the next day, in lessons, netball, choir. Nothing ever said until the next night, when they would slam their study books shut and do it all over again. And nothing said for the last five years.
‘Come on, Mimi, wake up! You’re the last one. They’ll all be waiting.’
Mimi lets Suzanne drag her through the arched stone corridors of the villa and down the marble stairs. Her knees are shaking. Her clean white pants are damp now, remembering Regina’s schoolgirl pussy.
‘I can’t go out there.’ Mimi is breathless as they cross the huge Hollywood-style sitting room. ‘Not dressed like this – we look ridiculous – Regina’s a fashion designer for God’s sake!’
Suzanne swivels her round and quickly knots her blouse over her navel, Britney Spears style, leaving her stomach bare.
‘Hit me baby,’ she hisses, ‘one more time!’
Then she nudges her onto the starlit terrace where everyone is standing with long glasses in their hands. The pool shimmers in the moonlight, and the lush green garden beyond plunges away into the shadows.
It’s not just girls. This isn’t just a school reunion. There are men there, too, as well as the waiters, who include the chauffeur. Maybe the married girls have brought their husbands. Whoever they are, these men are dressed in cool cream suits and white shirts and look rich, successful and, as they turn to look at her, ve
ry aroused.
And the girls, Chloe, Annie, Salome, Olivia – she’s obviously been let out of the convent for the occasion – they are all, like her, dressed in school uniform.
Suzanne trips away on her high heeled sandals, her blonde hair in Heidi whirls, her little skirt swinging from side to side over her bottom. Mimi stays right where she is, tugging at her gym skirt, kicking the floor with her shoe.
And then she sees Regina over by the pool, surrounded, no surprise there, by a group of men. They are fawning over her, and why not? Even though she’s dressed as a nun, she is even more beautiful, even more like a stern queen than ever, arching her black eyebrows as she speaks, blowing cigarette smoke into the warm, still air.
Except that Mimi knows what her pussy feels like.
The chauffeur comes up to her with a silver tray and Mimi swallows the cold champagne down in one gulp. He hovers beside her. If she wanted, and she feels horny enough, she could have him right now. And he wants her. Who wouldn’t, dressed like this? She smiles at him, but walks right past him, thrusting out her tits, through the chattering crowd, kissing her old classmates as she passes, but making a beeline for her hostess.
‘I don’t get it, Regina,’ she says, pushing in front of the men, who seem only too happy to go off and explore the crowd of fake schoolgirls. ‘You got us to fly halfway round the world, just to dress us up like little girls and humiliate us? And who elected you Mother Superior?’
‘My darling Mim, it’s so gorgeous to see you.’ Regina snakes an arm around Mimi’s waist. The rough material of her sleeve scrapes across Mimi’s hot, bare back. ‘How else was I going to entice you here? You wouldn’t have come if it was just you and me. Much too scared.’
‘Scared? What do you mean? Of course I would have come! I wish it was just you and me. Christ, Reggie, I’ve missed you!’ Mimi presses close to Regina.
Regina stiffens. ‘Don’t call me that.’
Mimi pulls away, stung. She points round at all the short skirts, the white knickers visible underneath, the socks and stockings pulled up over the still girlish, bare legs. ‘So why these stupid uniforms?’
