The Best Week of my Life Pt5
Introduction:
An opportunity to gain revenge takes our hero into darkly voyeuristic realms.
What a difference a week can make. It was around this time last week that my life plummed to its lowest depth in thirty years on earth. Wiped out at the card table the previous Friday and a grand in debt, yesterday the losses had been retrieved with interest – and then some. Not only that, I’d managed to get one over on longtime arch nemesis, Ronnie Carver. Whilst the win was undoubtedly a godsend, it was made so much sweeter by the fact that Ronnie was Debbie’s former husband. He’d been trying to split us up for ages and I suspected had wasted no time in phoning Debbie’s with the news of my loss, something that in turn prompted her decision to end our relationship. Well, he’d succeeded, I couldn’t take that away from him, but I liked to hope I’d had the last laugh.
Then, to add to my woes, arriving home from the pub potless and indebted, I’d discovered the near vintage XR3i stolen. Yet miraculously, with a new week came fresh luck and by some strange twist of fate, I’d recovered the precious stolen car yesterday. Broken knee notwithstanding, being back behind the wheel gave me such a buzz.
In amongst all of that good luck, I’d enjoyed a sexual menu, ranging from virginal teenaged girls to a twenty-something Russian stripper, so things were not looking too bad. Call me greedy, but they could still look better. There was still some equilibrium left to balance up and it was also what had happened the previous Friday that occupied my mind and for which I intended to gain revenge.
—
Laurie Johnson had been my line manager at work for a year or so until last week, when he helped to get me fired. The sort of boss that loved to talk the talk, like so many wannabe powermongers, he could rarely walk the walk. Transparent and full of bullshit, lies and hollow promises, I’d sussed straight away he’d been promoted above his capabilities.
It would be no hollow boast to say that, with my first rate negotiating skills and encyclopaedic knowledge of the business, I’d almost single-handedly made whatever department I worked in among the most profitable in the organisation. Yet, despite that, did I see any of the proceeds? Did I hell? Johnson took the plaudits and the big bonus as well, lining his own pockets at my expense. Five per cent? That barely covered my weekly bar bill.
Unsurprisingly, that financial kick in the teeth six months ago coincided with my declining attitude. Well, once it became apparent that no matter how hard I tried or how many extra hours I put in, I was going to be treated like dirt, my enthusiasm ebbed away and I started to slack. Silly things like turning up late in the morning, taking the odd long lunch, sick days and bad-mouthing the customers started to become more commonplace in a previously exemplary employee.
But, in spite of joining the herd, little did I know my days at the firm were numbered. Unbeknown to me, my every move was being monitored hawkishly and the misdemeanours rigorously catalogued by Mr Johnson. Had I known, I doubt it would have made much difference other than perhaps to make me jump ship earlier, and avoid the embarrassment that followed.
Well, last week it finally came to a head. £200 down in The Crown during lunchtime, I was hardly inclined to dash back to the office. So I played on, ignoring the clock and foolishly chasing my losses. The trouble was that, by half past two. the debt had doubled and I was in a foul mood.
Upon my grudging return to the office Johnson was waiting, arms folded and face thunderous. Frogmarched unceremoniously down to HR like an AWOL soldier to a court martial, the threat of “You’re for the high jump this time, Mills,” rang hollowly in my ears.
Undoubtedly I could have bluffed my way out, issued a humbling apology and promised never to do it again. That way I might have escaped with a verbal warning. But, so wound up was I at losing at cards and Johnson’s supercilious attitude that I chose instead to end the anguish – by thumping the little gimp Johnson fell like a Portuguese football player, clutching his bloodied nose.
That it happened under the watchful eye of the MD gave me little mitigation. There was no excusing that kind of behaviour even under intense provocation and I was sacked on the spot. What made matters worse, if that were possible, as I trudged away dejectedly, was that Johnson made a miraculous recovery, sporting a huge grin in my wake. I hadn’t even hurt him and like a sucker, I’d fallen for the oldest trick in the book. At least being dismissed on the spot had one consolation: I could return to The Crown to try to retrieve my losses. Though, as you well know, those losses had snowballed to £1000 before the day was done.
But, as the saying goes, that was then and this is now. A week on and my luck had never been better. The worm had turned and taking Carver’s wedge was just the start. Now it was Laurie Johnson’s turn to feel the full force of Steven Mills’ wrath.
—
Being Friday morning, I knew from experience Johnson’s rouyine: ‘meeting a broker for a business breakfast’. I’d always suspected that was just a cover. “That’s him,” I mouthed to Natalya, face pressed to the windscreen and pointing to my former boss, crossing the road hurriedly.
“That’s who, Stee-vee?” she asked.
I really couldn’t be bothered explaining why I hated the man so much, electing to speak in terms I knew she’d understand: sex and cash. Reaching into my pocket to extract £100, I stated: “Just do what you do best, Natalya darling.”
The Russian stripper nodded. In spite of the a sometimes impenetrable language barrier, on this occasion she seemed to understood. “You want me to fuck that man, yah?”
“Spot on,” I confirmed. “Do good job and I give you hundred more,” I volunteered, cursing inwardly that I’d been reduced to speaking in tongues like her.
Sure enough the ‘broker breakfast’ was a falsehood, my hunch holding good so far. Parking the car, we trailed Johnson at a safe distance to a local park I knew to be a local pickup point. Damn these crutches, they almost gave the game away as I click-clicked along, and I yearned to be free of them. Thankfully Johnson was lost in a world of his own, stopping only to admire two teenaged girls playing tennis, issuing lecherous glances at their bare legs and jigglesome breasts.
Happily married, or so he claimed in the office, I’d always suspected from the manner in which he leered at the younger girls in the department, he might be a sex pest. One young girl, barely out of school, had even confided in me that Johnson had spiked her drinks and taken advantage at one of our firm’s parties. Well, in my book that constituted rape but she was too scared on the repercussions to make a formal complaint. One way or the other, Johnson was an odious individual who deserved all that was coming, entrapment or not.
My only regret was that I hadn’t persuaded a girl like young Jessie to come along. I wouldn’t have minded betting Mr Johnson would love to get his filthy hands on some fourteen-year old pussy. However, Jessie was still incredibly naive and I was safe in the knowledge Natalya, wizened old slutbag that she was, could handle herself. She’d probably even enjoy it – and get paid for the privilege. Yet, in spite of the cost, this was undoubtedly the best £200 I’d ever spend. “Go to work,” I whispered to my Russian acquaintance.
Johnson, the filthy fucker, could hardly believe his luck when the scantily clad and half decent-looking girl almost half his age walked past, smiled then took a seat on the same park bench where he sat discreetly reading a newspaper. Natalya’s tiny denim skirt had ridden up her thighs and immediately drew the first furtive glance. But, a reticent Johnson unprepared to make the first move, it needed Natalya’s guile to make the breakthrough, ‘accidentally’ dropping her phone to the grass. Reaching down like the gentleman he believed he was, my former boss scooped it up, handing it back with an asinine grin. Natalya offered a pouted thank you, before engaging him in the first stilted lines of conversation.
Keeping a safe distance on the trusty crutches, I had little doubt Johnson would be stupid enough to fall for the honeytrap. Natalya was a natural, the foreign accent and broken English making her seem easy prey for a man of Johnson’s perceived social standing. Within minutes he was leading her off into the bushes, greeted by a rub of the hands from me. Clunking closer and thankful when the path turned to less audible grass, I eased up as near as I dared. Ensuring to capture it all on the videophone, I tried to maintain Natalya’s anonymity. It was Johnson’s life I wanted to ruin, not hers, though knowing Natalya, she’d probably get off on being filmed.
Crucially, the time, 9.46, was displayed. There could be no doubting that he was engaging in this sleazy act during company time. As Johnson went to kiss her, clearly craving the affection he was starved of at home, Natalya shook her head indignantly. Lowering to her knees, she wrestled with the zipper to his suit trousers. “Mmmm, you’re a keen little slut, aren’t you?” observed the little weasel, surely unable to believe this incredible ‘stroke of luck’.
Okay, it was low, but did I care? Did I hell. The nasty cunt deserved everything that came his way and I could think of worse ways for him to go down. As I filmed, Natalya fished out a shrivelled penis, working her lips around the deflated purple head, trying to blow some life into it. She stroked the slowly stiffening shaft before undertaking a deft deepthroating manoeuvre. Reaching into her hair, Johnson took grip and gave it a good hard tug. Natalya yelped and pulled back, the spittle-coated and erect manhood slipping clear of her lips. “Hey, none of the rough stuff,” she spat.
Well that was a veiled challenge, if ever I’d heard one, and Johnson issued a dark and ugly scowl. Used to getting his own way in every facet of life, I could tell he wasn’t going to be spoken to in that manner by some cheap foreign tart, probably an illegal immigrant. Raising a backhand he delivered a sharp, cruel slap across her face. Natalya cried out in anguish and surprise, wobbling on her knees. As she went to stand, Johnson cuffed the back of her head, sending the disorientated girl face first into the undergrowth. “Dirty slut,” he mouthed.
Trousers around his ankles, my former boss wasted no time pinning his prey to the ground, full weight on the backs of her knees. Lifting up the denim miniskirt and allowing a brief moment to admire her arsecheeks, he started fumbling with her panties, wrestling them down unceremoniously. Head unclouding, Natalya bucked and kicked out, trying to wriggle clear. Her steely determination and fight elicited in Johnson a truly ugly side, rarely witnessed by me before. Animately he slapped her, proclaiming: “You fucking cheap little foreign whore.” As the prone Natalya protested, over and over in her broken accent, he snarled: “You know you want it, you filthy slut.”
I have to say, as I filmed the unfolding scene, it wasn’t entirely clear whether Natalya actually did ‘want it’. Her heightened squeals and desperate pleas for clemency carried quite the air of authenticity as Johnson struggled to force her thighs apart. It may be that she’d bitten off more than she could chew in this venture. I’d have stepped in, but the accumulating footage was like gold dust. The harder she fought back, the rougher, more foul-mouthed and vicious Johnson became, slaps reining down on the cowering Russian.
In response, Natalya cried out desperately for help. With several warnings to shut the fuck up going unheeded, Johnson lifted her head by the hair and pushed it down, rubbing her face in the dusty undergrowth, twigs snapping beneath. I looked on uneasily as Natalya’s fingernails scraped the surface, and it was at this point that I feared things may have gone too far. I contemplated wading in to help the poor girl and finish off what I’d started last week with a proper punch or three. But that would have meant giving the game away and witnessing the whole carefully constructed plan disintegrate to little more than a minor humiliation of the man who’d cost me my career. No, I had to hold back and trust my instincts.
Those instincts were based on what I recalled having heard from guys down the pub who’d been with Natalya. In our threesome there’d be no clue but perhaps that was because Saskia had been present. Apparently she had some rather choice kinks and wasn’t averse to a little rough play between the sheets. Some claimed she’d toyed with bondage and adored rape fantasies. Certainly she seemed to derive a weird thrill from walking home alone late at night after a shift in The Crown, almost asking to be abducted. This wasn’t exactly the safest neighbourhood to be around, even in broad daylight.
That probably helped explain some of the exotic bruises she sported from time to time. And word had it that she adored being tied up, hit and bitten, which was why I’d chosen her. Apparently she she also derived a thrill from being held tightly by the neck during copulation. I never had quite been able to understand that particular fetish, though evidently it heightens the orgasm.
And now, with Laurie Johnson of all people, family man and respectable office worker, that wish was coming true. Hands at her throat he squeezed purposefully whilst trying to silence her. I agonised over the right thing to do, becoming genuinely unsettled by the ferocity of the attack and desperately checking that her face wasn’t turning purple yet. It was a tough call but I surmised that if she was genuinely in distress, knowing I was there, she’d have summoned help by now. So instead, and perhaps against my better judgement, I maintained a safe distance as Natalya gasped and cried and struggled. Suffice to say I was mightily relieved when finally Johnson eased his grip on her slender neck.
It had the desired effect, for, facedown in the dirt, suddenly she became compliant and he rockhard, stabbing blindly between her legs. Clenching tight, the feisty Russian denied his urgings. Growing impatient, Johnson drew a penknife from his pocket, holding the cold blade to the girl’s spine. Drenched in sweat and fear and feeling the cold sharp length of steel, immediately Natalya submitted, parting her thighs. A red-faced and equally sweaty Johnson blew hard before sliding in forcibly from behind. It wasn’t clear whether the ability to impale his whole length in one easy thrust owed more to his oaken hardness or to Natalya’s lush wetness. It was probably 50/50.
Nibbling at her neck and drooling in her ear, he pumped purposefully downwards as Natalya laid spreadeagled and helpless, tits crushed to the sundried ground. In and out he pumped brutishly for a good two minutes, during which he called her all manner of slut-bitch-whore names. I looked on, still uneasy, struggling to comprehend the need for this ferocity of attack. Johnson was like a man possessed. Natalya, on the other hand, was reduced to issuing short whimpers, hands clenched into little fists, banging the ground either side. Gripping her neck once more from above, he tightened until she gagged, at the same time driving his cock deep and mercilessly into her wombwall. Pausing momentarily to wipe a paw across a sweat-soaked brow, Johnson observed: “You’re so fucking wet, you’re loving it, aren’t you.”
When Natalya failed to respond, lolling brokenly beneath him, Johnson lifted her tentatively by the collar, the pair of us fearing he’d suffocated her. Somewhat ironically I held my breath. A splutter and the girl came to life. “Yes, oh God yes I love it…harder!” Natalya panted, causing both men in her presence to issue relieved breaths.
I couldn’t be sure whether she truly meant it or was trying to appease him. Again it was probably 50/50. Johnson pressed back down once more and administered a series of short sharp thrusts, bringing himself to the verge of orgasm. He was dribbling like a baby. Rat face contorting, with a grunt he unloaded inside her, filling her cunt with his demon seed. Lying on top till every last drop had been milked, he reminded her in wheezy tones what a filthy cockloving whore she was. Unless I was very much mistaken, the prone Natalya begged for more. Or was I just trying to excuse my complicity in the whole sorry episode?
Clambering to his knees, Johnson wiped his sticky cock head on her knee-high panties before lifting them back up her thighs and patting her bum. Natalya moaned under her breath, remaining motionless on the ground, arms bent at ninety degrees. Standing to compose and pull up his trousers, my ex-boss glanced straight at the lens. He looked as guilty as sin and genuinely appalled at the inner demons that had made him do that to a helpless girl. Dusting down, personal excuses were already slipping from his lips as the enormity of the situation dawned. “She came on to me, yeah the filthy slut was gagging for it,” he whispered under his breath in an attempt to pacify his conscience and somehow exonerate blame.
From my hiding place, my breathing came equally as heavy. I was unable to believe my eyes or, more guiltily, my luck. I’d only intended to catch Johnson messing around in work hours, the whole tawdry rape element an unexpected bonus. Was the fucker for the high jump, or what! A dishevelled Johnson stumbled past me through the bushes, meeting the sunlight and starting to weep, a horrible strangled sound. “Oh God, what have I done?” he wailed.
I surmised that, even if my nefarious little plan to get him fired didn’t come off, he’d be scarred for life by the incident and beating himself up mentally for the rest of his sorry life. I almost felt pity. Almost. Well that’d teach the prick to mess with someone like me. I fingered the phone hesitantly. A stolen pay-as-you-go model, bought cheaply off one of the crowd in the pub, I’d not used it before so would be amazed if anyone could trace it back to me, if push came to shove.
Wrestling with my conscience, I looked down at Natalya, still on the ground, body quivering, breath heavy. That made up my mind. Fuck you Johnson, you’re gonna pay for for doing that to her and what you did to me, I said to myself. It took the merest press of a thumb to fire off a copy of the video to the MD at the office and another to Johnson’s home e-mail address. Maybe his wife might be on the net, maybe not. I was happy to let fate take its course.
As Natalya climbed to her feet, she sucked in the air through gritted brown teeth, looking sheepish and forlorn, her face dusty, before finally she cracked a grin. “I do good, yah Stee-vee?”
I smiled back with a mix of satisfaction and relief. Her reaction and the huge wet patch patch on her panties told me pretty much all I needed to know, and I doubted we needed to get the police involved. “Yes, you did good, Natalya honey.”
A silent journey, dropping her back at her flat, I counted out £300 more for a job well done, twice that originally offered. Well she deserved every penny, “Ah Stee-vee, you promise me much less than this, sweetie,” she enthused, a warm kiss on the brow to settle my nerves once and for all.
Well, one good turn deserves another, as they say. From benevolence, suddenly I became all moralistic in my head. If only Johnson had done the same and shared the wealth among those deserving members in his team, ie me, he wouldn’t be in this mess now. As she went to alight, Natalya enquired if we might go out some time. I’d let her know, I replied, unsure – certain in fact – whether I was man enough.
Driving away, I passed my former flat, catching sight of Shannon’s green sportscar outside. Slowing to a crawl, I saw Shannon in the lounge when she should be at school, immediately my good early mood turning sour. Perhaps I had one more wrong to right before the week was out. But first I felt the need for a celebratory drink and nerve calmer, rolling up at The Crown.
Well one drink has a habit of turning to two then three and it turned out a longer stay than originally I’d envisaged. So many faces willing to share my recent good fortune, as I tried desperately to avoid falling into Natalya’s clutches, I was dizzy from the attention. Ronnie Carver was less liked than I thought. Refreshed from the early morning workout, evidently Natalya craved more, issuing lustful looks whenever I was in range. Even after a couple of liveners, I still doubted I was man enough.
Well, despite that, I ended up staying most of the day, and into the early evening and would probably have stayed even longer had I not received the text that read: Fancy some fun right now, big boy? Bonnie. Now there was an offer that was somewhat more palatable and hard to refuse. Days had passed since the wonderful liaison that had set the best week of my life in motion. I wondered just what she had in mind. Responding in the affirmative, I bayed a grudging farewell to the guys and saw daylight, well twilight actually, for the first time in nearly eight hours.
My arrival home was greeted by my melancholy parents. Sadly the best week of my life was turning out to be the worst week of theirs. But, just like me, maybe their luck would change too. Having not known Aunt Edith particularly well, I struggled to share their grief, though my heartfelt condolences were gladly received. In the dialogue that followed, they disclosed having to leave again on Sunday for Monday’s funeral, and asked if I wouldn’t mind another eye on young Sophie.
Inwardly I smiled, only too happy to bear that onerous – not! -responsibilty. If only they knew my motives were somewhat charitable. Everyone content, we reconvened, they to their grief, me to my lust. Leaving the room, I read the text that had just arrived. Bonnie, it seemed, was at work, a revelation that took the edge somewhat off my anticipation. I didn’t imagine the workplace, wherever it was, could be too condusive to enjoyment. Though I wasn’t banking on the guile of Mrs Tranter.
The message went on to relate that she worked at a youth soccer club and had just the thing I’d appreciate. Well, according to mum there was an hour till Sophie arrived home and our supper would be ready, so I decided to go off to find out. With a newfound spring in my hobble and thoughts of that luscious MILF Bonnie in mind, I was back behind the wheel in moments. I knew of the football club from my own youth and having failed a trial all those years back so I was there in five minutes flat, the XR3i purring contentedly as I put my good foot down.
After pulling up in an eerily deserted car park, I could be forgiven for thinking this was some kind of practical joke. The evening before match day was never going to be bursting with life yet this seemed positively post-nuclear-war-esque. Hobbling up to the entrance on the trusty conveyances, the swish double doors opened automatically and there waiting in reception to spare my apprehension was sexy Bonnie Tranter, sporting a huge smile to match her huge tits. In a shapeless polo shirt and trackie bottoms, there was no clue as to the delightful curves I’d feasted my eyes upon the previous Monday.
At that moment a girl of fourteen, maybe fifteen, came charging out of a changing room to our left, looking as if she was late for someone or something. Her outfit, something a cheerleader might wear, crept into her arse crack and she reached down to fish it out. As she strode ahead purposefully, I could see the edges of her firm, tiny bum peeking out the edge, all smooth and firm. Bonnie gestured with an index finger, and I followed unsteadily through to a back office, whereupon a proper greeting was meted out. As we held, cushioned by those enormous boobs, a warm wet tongue flicked all over mine. Breaking off, she enquired: “Well, did you like what you just saw?”
“That young girl you mean?” I replied with a grin. “I think you know me too well, Bonnie.”
Bonnie smiled. “You are in for a real treat then, Steven.”
I liked the sound of that, though ensuring to protest that I liked the older woman equally too. Grinning, she reached for a remote control on the glass coffee table to activated a TV up on the wall. No ordinary TV, this one beamed closed circuit images of various corners of the club. I could only surmise that Bonnie worked on the club’s security, that or she ran the show.
Finally, after flicking around various sites, from the pitch to the bar, all as deserted as the car park, she settled on what appeared to be a gym or a sports hall, before resting the remote. A woman of similar age to Bonnie, dressed in a green and purple tracksuit with gold braid, the team’s colours, stood with her arms folded. “Okay girls, chop chop,” she announced, before looking up. “Ah, glad you could make it, Mandy.”
As the camera panned slowly back and forth, the girl who’d just passed us in the corridor was captured by its lens, stumbling forward and offering flustered excuses for her tardiness. I seemed to remember the name. Ah yes, Mandy was Ally’s naughty friend from detention. I decided this could be fun.
As the angle changed past the apologetic young Mandy, I was pleasantly surprised to renew aquainances, albeit from afar, with Ally. Bonnie’s daughter was also sporting a cheerleader’s outfit, comprising a half top with a deep V enclosing her breasts snugly, a maroon and gold pleated skirt, the hem at upper thigh level, gold socks and small white trainers. She held two purple pom-poms and, when she turned to look at her friend Mandy, I could see bare shoulders, over which her strawberry blonde hair was tied in a ponytail. “Well, what do you think?” Bonnie enquired as I took a seat in a voluminous black leather sofa.
I had to confess to being mightily impressed by the whole set-up and more so by what I’d seen onscreen so far, the reply manifesting itself as a lustful sigh. Taking the cue to move in close, Bonnie plumped down on my lap, careful to balance her bodyweight away from my bad knee, back to my chest so that we could both view the screen. I suspected Bonnie lusted after teenaged girls as much as I did.
Her head lolling back, our cheeks brushed. Both turning in unison, lips touched lips and soon her mouth was open to accommodate my roving tongue. She moaned back into my mouth, pushing out her expansive chest. “So good to see you again, Steven,” she mouthed sincerely as we uncoupled.
“You too,” I responded with equal veracity, an exchange of short kisses before my attention was drawn back to the screen.
Having panned past the lovely young Ally, the itinerant camera lens took in the next girl, inducing a stunned reaction that almost caused me to let Bonnie’s slip from my lap. Standing there, in all her fourteen-year old glory and in a sexy cheerleader’s outfit, was my sister Sophie! I craned forward to make sure my eyes weren’t deceiving me. Yet there could only be one Sophie, resplendant in the team colours, pom-poms at the ready.
Willing the camera to stop so I could feast some more, I marvelled at the little line of a teenaged navel and the curve of a girl’s hip tracing the edge of the top of her skirt as it dipped low on a concave tummy. She was in perfect shape and a sight to behold in the deliberately revealing outfit. Slim legs spread before me on the monitor, her smile was as wide as the ocean and her blue eyes equally as bright, twinkling mischievously. Her pert breasts, held lightly in the maroon fabric, cried out to be squeezed, something I was doing enthusiastically to Bonnie’s fuller assets. “That’s my sister!” I exclaimed, and Bonnie seemed to revel in that thought, writhing sensuously in my lap as I drooled in her ear.
Next to Sophie stood the familiar figure of Gina, a natural to the cheerleading ranks with that willowy frame and long legs that never stopped. Seeing Gina again brought back fond memories, though sadly her bum was hidden from the camera for now. The six-strong troop of junior cheerleaders was complimented by two girls with whom I was unfamilar (though would like to be familiar with, given a chance), a bottle blonde and a moptop brunette. Sadly there was no sign of sweet little accident-prone Jessie but then I guessed she wasn’t the cheerleader type, more akin to being at home in a book, doubtless with a damp stain at her tight panty crotch.
Watching these hot young teenaged girls line up to begin their routine, I was unable to stifle a huge giveaway sigh. “You are enjoying this, aren’t you, Steven? I thought you would,” observed Bonnie with a sly smile, before running a finger over the bulge at the front of my shorts. “Mmm, yes you are.”
Moving the hand away teasingly from my warm crotch, Bonnie began to pinch at her distended nipples through the purple polo shirt, my eyes darting from down her spectacular front to the screen full of nubile beauties and back again. Lifting my hands from my sides, Bonnie moved them to her boobs, craving attention: “Come on Steven, show this filthy slut what a man you are.”
Moulding purposefully, I soon had her moaning lasciviously, tits squirming in my palms. With a sure touch, I squeezed them together, fingers reflexing around the oversized mounds. “Oh baby, you have such greats tits,” I enthused, nibbling an earlobe before my eyes were drawn back to the screen.
The moment the music began and they burst into dance, I was mesmerised. The camera was kind to me, lingering on my sister, and I watched intently the line of Sophie’s toned and tanned tummy as she brought her elbows forward, arms bent, so that her breasts were squeezed together in the V of her top. And then, neck stretched, head up, she turned sideways, as her arms held open, legs apart causing the skirt to flare up and out. Three steps forward, bending down to touch the ground with both arms, her blonde hair flailed. All in perfect time to the music, she never missed a single beat.
I’d have loved the camera to stay there – on her – my darling Sophie as she jumped, breasts shaking seductively in the thin fabric. Step, step and kick, her long legs rose up and the skirt opening exposed her pantied pussy. I was just able to witness the stretched line of cotton between her legs before the camera moved passed on to Gina.
Kick, kick, kick, a turn and bend, a lurch forward and the whole of Gina’s arse came into view to offer some consolation, the skirt laying up on her back as unselfconsciously and blissfully unaware of the secret audience, she cavorted. Little did she or Sophie or the other teenaged beauties realise their every move was being watched over Bonnie’s shoulder as a massive pair of tits compressed joyously in my hands.
Though the routine looked perfect from where I was sat, the female coach, clearly a hard task mistresss, made them do it three more times till they were falling down from exhaustion, leaning on one another for support. A short drinks break, and it was onto a fresh routine, pom-poms tossed high in the air then caught, accompanied by plenty of hip and bum action. This had to be the hottest thing I’d watched i ages. By way of thanks I cupped Bonnie’s pussy through the trackie bottoms, the ball of my thumb massaging her pubic bone.
But then sadly, practice was over, an audible sigh of disappointment accidentally allowed to slip out. Aware of my disappointent, an ever compliant Mrs Tranter reached over to the coffee table, taking the remote control. A flick and the sports hall disappeared from view to be replaced by the inside of a deserted white tiled room. Moments later it sprang to life as a head came into view, then two. They belonged to Gina and Mandy and both, as they moved past, were naked.
Soon they were joined by my sister Sophie and Ally to make up a perfect foursome. I wasn’t sure how Bonnie had managed to rig up a hidden camera inside the showers, or whether it was really necessary to have security in there, but frankly my dears I didn’t give a damn! “Oh nice,” I proclaimed, sinking my teeth into her soft neck and pushing my fingertips against the soft crack of her cunt.
“Mmmmmmmm,” enthused Bonnie with equal gusto, rubbing her arse over my middle, arms elevated above her head invitingly.
I needed little prompting to remove the polo shirt, her huge tits caged only now in a lacy white half cup bra, bouncing seductively. Shimmying out of the top, her hair all golden and electricly charged, Bonnie spun in my lap to face me, gripping my neck and lowering my face into a vast cleavage. I blew a raspberry in the mounds of tit flesh and generally misbehaved as one does when in that position. Though as much as I loved it, desperately I needed to see what was happening in the girl’s shower.
Bonnie placed her arms around my neck and I rested my chin on her shoulder as we swayed together. Standing side-by-side, their backs to the lens, bums on display, each girl reached up simultaneously to turn on the water, waiting for the gush from the overhead nozzle. I watched Sophie as the water poured down over her, accompanied by a little gasp. As she reached down for the bottle of gel, the little angel disappeared out of sight momentarily, the cue to get back on Bonnie’s tits before I was accused of neglect.
Loving their feel and roundness, I could easily lose my head in there, not such a good idea perhaps. As I nuzzled the tops, my eyes craved to get back to the screen, I was caught in a real dilemma. Reaching back Bonnie unloosened fhe bra, those mammoth breasts shifting ever so slightly as they broke free, before finding eliquibrium and jiggling appreciably in my face. The urgent flicking of my tongue over each bloodshot nipple caused Bonnie’s back to arch and she sighed lustfully, taking a firm grip of my hair. As I chewed each swollen teat, her grip tightened and an aroused crotch rubbed back and forth over my bulge.
When finally I surfaced for air, the camera was on the gorgeous Gina. Tilting a bottle of shampoo, she filled a palm then rubbed the glob into her hair. The beauty, with a supermodel’s posture and Julia Roberts’ smile, soaped her head thoroughly, eyes closed as a thick layer of foamy soap rose on her crown. She stepped into the stream of water and let it cascade down over her, feeling the soap dissolving and running down in fluffy white trails. I watched in awe as the suds trickled down over the girl’s precocious breasts, then ran between her thighs and finally down her calves. Sighing, she ran a set of slender fingers through her mahogany-sheened hair, sliding them through the thick wet tresses to work any lingering soap out.
And then Gina too was gone from view. Past Mandy the camera panned onto Ally at the end. Back to Mandy, once more at it retraced its steps to Gina as I waited expectantly for Sophie’s turn to come back around once more.
Somewhat disconcertingly, Bonnie insisted on dispensing butterfly kisses all over my neck and face, her head finding its way in front of the screen at irregular intervals. There was only one thing for it, if I was to enjoy the show uninterrupted: I lifted her off my lap and onto her knees before me. Back arched, shorts tugged down, I pulled out an already rockhard and wet cock. Grinning I smeared a dollop of precum on each nipple and another on the end of her nose. Talented slut that she was, Bonnie quickly raised each tit mound, cleansing each nipple of the dewy deposits before that tongue shot out lizard-like to lick her nose clean. With that she began to lick the bulbous head.
Enjoying a clear view once more of these four sexy girls – I could only assume the other two went straight home, all hot and sweaty and sticky between the legs – I began to leak precum at an alarming rate on Bonnie’s lips and tongue. Finished on her hair, Gina was sliding her hands around on her butt cheeks, a quite beguiling sight. Then, she did something that nearly made me cum: she pushed a finger into the cleft as I had done previously. Front teeth embedded in bottom lip, she fingered the knot slowly.
I wanted more but then it was over to Ally, making sure her delightful young snatch was nice and clean. When she dropped the bar of soap and bent over to pick it up, Mandy reached across and playfully slid a set of soapy fingers up and down the crack of Ally’s twat. Soon her fingers were deep inside her best friend
Catching on as to what was happening, Sophie moved across to stand in front of Gina, the taller girl’s chin on her shoulder, arm around my sister’s waist, caressing her stomach gently as they stopped to watch. Soon Mandy and Ally were getting into what looked as well practiced a routine as their cheerleading choreography. Mandy, a welcome addition to the teenaged harem, massaged her friend’s blossoming boobs then teased and pulled on her nipples for the camera. Both girls made sure to thoroughly wash one another’s pussies then repeated the process on their firm young bums.
As the camera panned away, I saw that Gina had hold of one of Sophie’s nipples, rolling it between thumb and forefinger. The other hand out of sight, I imagined it was between her own legs or maybe even Sophie’s. The answer came quick as Gina began to moan pre-orgasmically. Next to her, Ally closed her eyes as Mandy worked her fingers in and out of her pussy. She moved her fingers faster and faster as Gina and Sophie stood and watched and smiled, amid delicate touches of one another’s bodies.
The scene was fast proving too much, especially with my cock buried in Bonnie’s delightful mouth, being treated to a topnotch blowjob. Smiling wantonly, her eyes never once leaving mine, Bonnie rose up on her knees, willing me to baw each fleshy tit mound. Wanking away furiously now at a cock that so erect it hurt, experience told her I was close, a pretty mouth open and at ready to receive. A final glance at the screen revealed Mandy fisting Ally furiously whilst Gina and Sophie kissed gently. It was hard to say what was the more erotic. Combine the two with Bonnie’s urgent ministrations and I never stood a chance, coming obscenely hard. “Oh fuck, yesssssss,” I grunted, feeling my balls unload and firing a hot molten load.
It thickly sploshed Bonnie’s lips and chin, whilst a second wave hit her directly on the tongue. Further errant spots dotted her neck and tummy as I milked a third dose onto those heaving breasts. My cum made for the centre as if it was trying to escape down the cleavage. As Bonnie gulped the load back, swallowing eagerly, I hobbled closer, spooning the spillage into a willing mouth with the head, then cleaning it on her soft tongue. Up above on the screen, the shower had been abandoned, though the images would surely linger on my brain till the grave.
As I was preparing to leave, I asked the question that had been troubling me since my arrival: “So what’s the deal with you and all this?” I enquired, hands making huge arcs.
Bonnie smiled knowingly, replying simply: “Never ask too many questions, Steven, just accept.”
A true woman of mystery huh? I elected not to press matters. If ignorance could be bliss, and it was, why spoil a good thing? Full of surprises, she handed me two complimentary tickets for Saturday’s game. Whilst I did enjoy a game of soccer, I’d a feeling half-time couldn’t come quick enough.
Thanking Bonnie manifold: for the warm hospitality, the blowjob, the tickets and my special visual treat, I promised to drop by again some time. She smiled non-committally. Locating the discarded sticks, I was able to get to the car just as Sophie and Gina were ambing outside. It would appear to all the world as if I’d driven over specially to offer a lift. Gina declined, saying her dad would be there shortly, and so, at last, I found myself alone with Sophie – for the journey home at least. A damned shame then that I’d just shot my load all over Bonnie.
Thinking back though, it was not as if Sophie had encouraged me to any particular degree, and naturally I wondered if she might prefer girls. If she did, good luck to her. Maybe it was time I went back to thinking about her as a sister. Why would I want to fuck my own sister? Why would I not want to? The true test would surely come when our parents went away on Sunday and somehow I’d a feeling I’d be left wanting.
—
Coming up in the penultimate instalment of The Best Week of My life:
A visit to his ex-girlfriend’s flat sees Steven Mills collect more than he intended to.
With two tickets to the soccer match, he agonises who to invite along as a date.
The mystery of the Tranters is solved.
And the afternoon throws up a real result on – and off – the pitch.
—
Chapter Six is on its way.
