Thursday

In no hurry to rise on Thursday morning, when eventually I did, the storm of the previous day’s malaise had been washed away by the kind of beautiful sunshine the girls would doubtless have given up their precious cherries for. Though I did like to think that two of them, at least, had enjoyed their time indoors with me. Talking of the girls, as I hobbled from the couch, it was hard not to notice that the bungalow was as quiet as a library. A scribbled note from Sophie on the kitchen side informed me that belatedly they’d gone off to the seaside. Oh to be young again and able to flit around as carefree as a butterfly.

With my sexy little playthings gone, I wondered over a breakfast of boiled eggs, toast and a cup of tea what on earth to do to amuse myself for the day. I could probably manage a mile outside on the crutches if I was feeling especially brave, though it would have to be something cheap and cheerful, as money was a real issue. No job, no car, a grand in debt, and with bills to pay, it was little wonder Debbie had wanted to see the back of me. At that point, however, it had still to really dawn on me that this was the best week of my life.

However, not wanting to spend a third successive day incarcerated, after getting dressed for the first time since the accident, I decided to venture outside, though clinging to the crutches like a baby to its mother. I wasn’t particularly sure where to head, content to let fate decide as it had done since the unfortunate spill. Little more than a pound in loose change in my pocket, I could kill for a pint of lager now the short course of antibiotics was finished, but was going to have to settle for a newspaper instead, it seemed.

Well, would you believe it? Barely the other side of the gate, I ran almost literally into fairweather friend and long time debtor, Bobby Noble – or Bobby No-balls as he was commonly known. One of those debts that had dragged on so long I’d forgotten how it had arisen in the first place, it had been effectively written-off ages ago. Surely it was too much to expect repayment after all this time, wasn’t it?

Well actually no it wasn’t. Thrusting a fistful of mullah into my grasp, Bobby muttered something about a yankee having come up on the horses, and with that he was gone, wishing me luck and, even stopping to ask why I was on crutches. Not that I needed a conversation, or for that matter any further luck, it seemed. About to set off again, I pondered the luck that had come my way thus far this week: first the Tranters with their weird incestuous and voyeuristic perversions, then Gina and her lovely bum, then Jessie and her pee fetish, and now this windfall from Bobby. For a brief moment it crossed my mind that some kind of divine intervention was afoot. Not being a religious man, however, I readily dismissed it. Besides, luck had a habit of changing all too soon as I was about to discover.

Accosted twice inside five minutes outside my parent’s front gate, what faced me this time, I feared, was going to be somewhat less pleasant. Roaring up in her little green sportscar, Debbie’s seventeen-year old daughter Shannon alighted, two binbags in hand. It quickly transpired, as she tossed them at my feet, that they contained the remainder of my clothes. Evidently Debbie had no wish to see me or indeed to carry out her own dirty work. “Mum asked why haven’t you been round for…” Shannon began, before clocking the crutches and plaster cast, a dead giveaway really.

A contented little smile arose on the spoilt little brunette’s face, and I wouldn’t mind betting she was hoped I’d suffered. We’d hardly seen eye-to-eye since Debbie moved me in to their flat a year or so back and an air of tension always seemed to prevail even in the most benign situations. The simple fact was that the girl had resented having me around, whilst I’d grown to loathe the manner in which she was so easily able to manipulate her mother’s good nature. Well, at least one good thing had come from Debbie’s decision to dump me: I’d be seeing the last of this stuck-up little bitch. “Aren’t you supposed to be at school?” I shot back.

The spoiled brat tossed back her head and sneered. “Mind your own business, loser.”

Well I was only human and proud, and hearing that sort of taunt coming from a teenager’s mouth, when really didn’t deserve it, naturally enraged me. Tottering on the sticks, I raised a hand, pulling back only at the last minute. Shannon eyeballed me and stood her ground like a proper little madam, arms folded across her chest. “Go on then, I dare you, and then you see what happens,” she glowered.

I fought to bring under control the seething rage. “It’s the least you deserve,” I answered with disdain. “Maybe if your mother had been a bit firmer…”

Flinching, Shannon took a step back to safety, the cockiness in remission, issuing the kind of look I couldn’t readily translate. Either way, a newfound menace in me had succeeded in silencing her for the first time ever, no attempt even to get in the last word before she climbed back in the car. A little lingering glance over the shoulder as she pulled away, I’d a feeling this wasn’t the last time Shannon and I would cross swords. I rubbed my chin thoughtfully, electing to hold the thought for later. For now there were more pressing matters to attend to, now that I was back in the game and in the money.

Hauling the bags inside, I noted they contained clothes only and none of my CD’s or DVD’s, a mental note quickly made to rectify that soon. And then I was off again on my not-so-merry way. A sweltering hot day, the English summer at its zenith, it was really tough going on the sticks. With the run of good fortune at the forefront of my mind and feeling exhausted, at the newsagents I decided to stop and test the luck theory by buying a scratchcard with my loose change. Now wouldn’t it be nice to scoop the ten grand jackpot, I thought, as the edge of the coin scraped over the boxes. My handiwork revealed three stars. Wow! Though it was not the jackpot I’d wished for, £200 was about as much as they could pay out over the counter so I was able to collect immediately. Maybe this was going to be my day after all.

—

With £700 lining my pocket, I was now just £300 short of repaying arch nemesis Ronnie Carver. However, in my current rich vein of form / luck, a retrieval mission was definitely on the cards. Heading along with snail-like urgency to The Crown, a dingy little pub on the junction of Water Street and Broadway, it was time to re-enter a twilight world where day and night intertwined, where cards was played around the clock and where girls shed their clothes at lunchtime for a motley collection of lowlifes.

Clunking up to the bar, I availed myself of a much-needed pint of lager from Saskia, one the few decent things about the pub. I made the usual punter / barmaid small talk and explained for the first of doubtless a trillion times how I’d come by the injury. A pretty-looking yet seemingly cold-hearted bottle-blonde student originally from Eastern Europe, she dispensed pints until lunchtime came around, after which she dispensed with her clothes. A warm smile from the ice maiden as he handed over the change took me aback somewhat. Maybe the bush telepath had forwarded news of my recent singledom, that or maybe it was something inexplicable to do with the inner workings of the female mind.

Either way, I hadn’t time to dwell upon it as there were bigger fish to fry. Edging away from the bar to hover on the fringes of the card game, I made furtive eye contact with Ronnie, Jonesey, Mac and Shorty, the usual suspects. I stood to watch, balancing on the sticks and sipping at the pint for a quarter of an hour before Shorty made enough money to cover the forthcoming weekend’s drinking and gracefully give up his seat. To show willing, immediately I repaid half of the debt to Ronnie, counting out twenty-five twenties which left £195 in notes to speculate with. Now to see if my early luck could hold.

As ever, the first few hands with a new player at the table were cagy, like boxers sparring. A few quid changed hands but nothing of note. A second pint was needed and Saskia obliged, making a point of addressing me in her broken English: “How you do, Stee-vee, you winning money yes?”

Unless I was mistaken, she deliberately brushed a breast across my cheek as she bent to place the frothing pint on the table before me. Waitress service too, my luck must be in totally. And after five more minutes of sparring, finally it translated to the card table as the beer took hold and things started to loosen up. Looking me in the eye, Ronnie announced: “Okay, I’ll raise it a tenner.”

I lifted my cards and smoothed them apart to reveal two eights. A fair hand though a marginal call in Texas Hold’em to a five times the big blind, it was nonetheless worth seeing the flop for, and I tossed in the money more in hope than confidence. When Jonesey threw in a speculative tenner too, there were prospects of triple action. Only Shorty folded, with the retired Mac acting as dealer. Now just give me that eight, or two eights, Mac, I thought greedily, putting Ronnie on either a bigger pair or an ace with a picture. Jonesey, I hoped, was coming along for the ride and would fold to any serious post-flop activity. unless he happened to luck out.

The flop contained a magic eight, giving me three-of-a-kind and a strong hand to stand my ground against a renowned and aggressive bully such as Carver. The four and six of different suits that accompanied it only added to my confidence, for if Ronnie had a big pair, his confidence would be sky high too and he’d bet accordingly. £20 went in, and I sighed quasi-grudgingly but followed and Jonesey picked up his cards, looked them over like he was trying to change the numbers and decided it wasn’t worth paying a score to stay in. We waited eagerly for fourth street.

“A hundred,” Ronnie announced nonchalantly after a seemingly harmless five fell on the turn.

I raised my eyebrows. Maybe it wasn’t such a harmless card after all. The five opened up the possibility of a straight, but would Ronnie be likely to have a seven in his hand? I thought not, based on his pprevious actions, convinced I hhad him well beat and deciding to take the pot there and then. “I’ll raise it another monkey on top.”

Though I didn’t have the money on me, thankfully my credit was good and most of our games ended up with IOU’s. It was what kept the card playing fraternity together. Though had they known I’d just lost my job, maybe the same benevolence might not have been afforded. “Five hundred quid more!” Jonesey gasped, his ferret-like eyes darting from me to Ronnie and back again as things suddenly took a somewhat thrilling, not to say dangerous, turn.

Ronnie looked me up and down, deferring the decision momentarily whilst trying to get a tell. He knew that if I had nothing in my hand that was the sort of bet I’d make to try to steal the nice pot. Or he might just have that seven and be trying to get me to commit more by acting unsure of himself. He gave it a couple of minutes before announcing: “Okay, let’s not fuck about, I’ll raise a another grand on top.”

A rumble ran around the other three other guys at the table and the onlooking barmaids like something out of a courtroom drama scheme. Pots as big as this came around about as rarely as Halley’s Comet. Unlike me, Ronnie always had the money on him, digging a lump of notes from his jacket pocket and tossing it in. The centre of the table resembled something out of the World Series of Poker. Now I faced a dilemma, the raise having caused my confidence to drain like a deflating balloon. Three eights was good, but far from guaranteed to win and when faced with another thousand to call it was no certainty to call. Plus I couldn’t afford to lose which just made things worse.

My whole body shook, way beyond the point of caring about giving away a tell. Fuck it, I’ve three eights, I told my wavering conscience. Win and I was laughing, lose and I owed two grand. “Okay, I call,” I confirmed, heart fluttering.

The size of the pot and our unofficial house rules dictated a showdown at this point. With just the river card to come, we threw the pocket cards on their backs. Immediately I was sickened to see two sevens, making Ronnie his miracle straight four-five-six-seven-eight. He’d been behind all the way until fourth street then shot ahead. Unless my three eights hit its miracle four-of-a-kind, I was dead and buried. Worse news was to follow when Jonesey revealed crushingly: “I had the other eight.”

Well that was that then. Mac spun over the river card, a four and Ronnie went to rake in the cash. Yet what had escaped his attention and everyone else’s too was that the four made a pair of fours on the board and I’d made a full house to crack his straight. It took a moment to register, less time for me to scoop the wad of notes homeward.

Ronnie looked truly gutted, not so much for losing the money, which he could adequately afford, but because it was to me. There was history between us on and off the table. I, on the other hand, was overjoyed. From having entered the pub an hour so earlier a grand down, I was now able to give Ronnie back the other £500 to clear the debt and still count well over a grand profit. A two grand turnaround in an hour – what a result! Yet Ronnie wasn’t finished yet. Pride was at stake. “This £500 on a game of pool,” Ronnie challenged, pointing to what I’d just handed over.

I exhaled long and hard till my lungs were empty. Now don’t get me wrong, I’d been a pretty handy player in my time, an erstwhile hustler if the truth be known. But a one-off game for such a huge stake? And on cruches? I’d be crazy to accept. It was Saskia’s fault I did. The barmaid had been eagerly watching developments in the grey corner of the pub. “Go on Stee-vee, play him, be a man not mouse,” she goaded in that broken accent of hers.

—

Five minutes later, I was sick to the very pit of my stomach as Ronnie addressed the black ball about to dispense it in the corner below my eye. A straight shot, he couldn’t miss. Lifting back the cue, he launched and the money ball fired into the dead centre of the pocket to retrieve £500 that I could really have put to better use. A relieved sigh slipped from Ronnie’s lips as the black ball hit the target.

Yet for some reason, unbeknown even to the man himself, he’d put some top on the cue ball. We all watched, mouths agape, as the white began to travel down the baize, hot on the heels of the black. God knows where the momentum came from, but it rolled…and rolled…and rolled. Ker-plunk, it sunk in the same pocket as the black. A foul and game to me, I’d won, albeit by default, but won nonetheless. I took the wad and stuffed it firmly in my pocket, refusing the plea of ‘double or quits’. No fucking way.

Drinks all round, Natalya, the other East European barmaid did the honours. Not as attractive as Saskia, she was a good few years older, in her late twenties, with crow’s feet around the eyes and a nose that was too long and thin for my taste. Yet what did appeal about Natalya was an air she exuded of being a dirty-as-hell bitch, the sort of woman you could take out on a first date and guarantee getting in her knickers before the evening was over. She issued a sly look that had as much to do with my newfound wealth and her gold digging tendencies as any deep-seated attraction, but I smiled back nonetheless.

With lunchtime pressing, the pub began to swell with office workers and migrant builders, arriving for the show. A hush ascending, all attention focused on a stage at the far end, lined with garish silver tinsel. Abandoning the bar, the younger one Saskia took up position and began gyrating sexily at a strategically placed pole, her outer clothing shed seductively, piece by piece.

Swinging around to face away from the audience, she thrust a pair of firm buttocks, separated by a black cheese-wire thong, in time to a funky disco beat. The staccato movements mesmerised the odd mix of grimy all-day drinkers and bespoke thrillseekers. Whilst this was going on, at ground level, Malcolm the landlord moved among the herd, collecting the compulsory £1 toll in a sturdy pint mug. Benevolently, I treated the vanquished card players to a freebie, pressing a crushed fiver into the glass though Ronnie had already departed, his pride dented heavily.

Up on stage, having lowered the thong down her thighs and calves, Saskia stepped out of it, naked now but for a pair of skyscraper heels. Palming her perky tits whilst licking her lips, her thighs were clamped tightly together to conceal her snatch from the heavy breathing audience. Tilting forward, she squeezed her breasts into a cleavage whilst pouting at the baying onlookers. I had to admit that what she did she did well, providing a teasing show.

Taking to a chair at the centre of the stage the young stripper rocked back, kicking a pair of long slender legs high in the air. Slowly they parted to form a V-shape, revealing the knot of a puckered anus and the pink sheen of a baby smooth pussy. The crowd mumbled its approval and even I, still excited from hitting the jackpot, began to feel the first stirrings of arousal in my groin.

Saskia issued a seductive smile to the audience through her legs, stroking a finger up the mound of her pussy whilst groaning theatrically. The long fingers trailed up over her belly, between the cleavage and to her lips. Reaching down, she retrieved the micro thong from the floor, stretching it between each thumb. Parting her legs, she worked the slender length of nylon back and forth across the frictionless groove, moaning as her pussy lips petalled. Almost like a porn channel freeview, that was it. Easing up, she curtseyed before disappearing amid a ripple of muted applause.

Only young and working her way through university, the hardcore stuff was left to Natalya. A few moments later, Saskia appeared back behind the bar, fully clothed once more, to count the spoils in the pint mug. A paltry share after Malcolm had taken his half-cut of the proceeds, discreetly I slipped an extra tenner into her hand. My generosity was rewarded with a peck on the cheek.

A five-minute recess and it was Natalya’s turn to take to the stage. Paying less attention to the striptease side of the act than Saskia had, the older girl knew just what the audience craved, positioning herself at the very front of the stage, legs spread and dangling over the edge. Blowing a kiss, she reached aside into a little handbag, extracting a smooth black dildo. An obligatory circulation of the breasts and nipples, then a suck on the end followed by a fake groan of lust, Natalya trailed the plastic toy down her stomach before teasing a pair of plump and protruding cuntlips.

Holding the dildo still, she thrust forward from the hips, pressing her pussy onto the tapered head and letting it penetrate her twat. Those at the front leaned in closer as it pushed up inch by inch up inside her welcoming snatch, accompanied by a well-practiced groan. With the other hand she licked a finger and played with her stiff nipples. The clink of tithes ringing out once more from the pub floor pre-empted another freebie for the card players, donated cheerily by me. With a good couple of grand on me, I couldn’t be more pleased with the way the day was going. That sort of money would go a long way.

Working the dildo in and out purposefully, Natalya brought herself to a quasi-climax, writhing in mock ecstasy on the stage front. Removing the plastic penis with a squelch, she lifted it to her lips before issuing a loving lollypop suck. The crowd went wild, craving an encore. But sadly that was all their two quid bought. The lunchtime peepshow over for another day, the office workers returned to their desks content, the builders to their sites and the lowlifes went back to their beers.

The remaining card players issued farewells, threatening to return soon to win it off me. That I didn’t doubt, my luck surely unable to sustain indefinitely. The pub thinned out to such an extent that only a handful remained, none of whom I was inclined to foist my windfall upon with free drinks. Thus I ensured to treat the barmaids at every opportunity. Growing bored, I was about to sup up and head off home when Natalya came to face me. ‘Enjoy the show, yah honey?’ she purred.

I nodded enthusiastically, whereupon she went into a private clinch with Saskia, giggles emanating from their inner sanctum. I glanced at my watch, electing to defer the departure for now amid a bad case of the horn. It was Saskia that emerged, shuffling close to whisper in my ear: “Hey honey, we finish soon, yah. We go to Natalya’s flat for some fun after…you care to join us, yah?”

My eyebrows elevated to touch my fringe and I spluttered my pint. My luck, it seemed, was holding good. Horny as hell, it was too good an offer to release and I could hardly wait. Nor, it seemed, could the girls, touching each other sensually as their high heels and my sticks click-clicked on the pavement. Two strides behind them, I had the perfect view of their gorgeous arses as they bobbed up and down snugly inside tight denim cutoffs. It was as we crossed the road that I was forced to do a double-take as my car, yes my car, stopped at the lights. “Oi,” I hollered, not even giving a second thought to my injury and bowling over as threateningly as I could, notwithstanding the crutches.

Spotting my approach, the little scumbag in the driver’s seat went straight for the accelerator, only for a juggernaut to start reversing out of a side road and completely block the exit. I cringed as the brakes screeched like hungry babies and the car was swathed in a puff of white smoke. The joyrider contemplated swerving up and around on the pavement before thinking better of it. In that moment’s hesitation, hobbling alongside I stretched for the door, tugging it open before he could activate the lock.

All I can say is that a red mist suddenly descended. Fists flew wildly as I hauled him outside, the scrawny kid taking it all. Somehow I managed to stop short of beating him to a pulp – it was his lucky week too. Though I did ensure to extract a humbling apology before he slunk away like a sewer rat. Taking pity, I tossed a pound coin for the bus fare home his way. He told me to go fuck myself, so easing into the driver’s seat, I roared the engine threateningly. I’ve never seen a guy run so fast, hurdling over a wall to get away.

Saskia and Natalya caught up, gushing and evidently impressed by my pugilistic skills. As they climbed into the back of the newfound ride, I adjusted the driver’s seat back to my own specification, whilst checking that the toe-rag hadn’t caused my pride and joy too much harm. It was a struggle driving with the plaster cast but thankfully Natalya’s flat was only ten minute’s drive away, during which time I was treated to a free show. Clearly their activities on the stage of the grimy pub, coupled with my show of bravado, had brought arousal to their filthy little pussies.

Glancing up in the rearview, it became hard to concentrate on the road as the whimpers and moans came, oh-so-tenderly at first, lips barely touching. Yet that alone was sufficient to set my pulse racing and cock throbbing, such is the sheer eroticism of seeing two women kiss. Those initial butterfly kisses became more urgent as arousal morphed into lust and slender hands came to rest upon waists, caressing gently. I exhaled hard, shifting in the seat for the sake of comfort, in the process taking my eyes off the road momentarily and narrowly avoiding a zigzagging cyclist.

He was about to bang on the roof in admonishment when he caught sight of the two girls in the back, locked in a steamy embrace. By this point tongues were lashing and a cacophony of slurping had risen up. Such was the intensity of the embrace that it looked as if each girl was trying to suck the other’s tongue out of her mouth. I grinned at the wide-mouthed cyclist before accelerating away in a cloud of smoke, denying him any further chance to steal my private action.

And action it was, of the highest order, played out to the roar of the injection under the bonnet. I wasn’t sure what was hotter: the frenzied girl-on-girl exploits in the back or the tiger in my tank. As I angled away from town, Natalya offered flustered directions to her flat, punctuated by bouts of panting and groaning. I glanced up to see she’d rolled her friend’s t-shirt up her flat belly and over a perky pair of tits in a concertina at her neck. The older girl issued a delighted purr before busily kissing all over and around Saskia’s boobs, tongue circling the aureolae seductively, pursed lips giving each nipple a good hard suck. “Mmmmmmm, turn left, baby, oh fuck yahhhhhhh, turn right,” Natalya directed.

I looked down at the tent in my shorts then back to the road and finally up to the rearview. This was turning out to be one hell of a tortuous ride and I only hoped they’d save some of that lust for me. As Natalya’s head dipped out of view, I had to adjust the mirror to see, observing her eagerly kissing down Saskia’s flat tummy and wrestling with her cutoffs. Yet things would go no further – for now at least – given our arrival at the flat.

The pair alighted like greyhounds from a trap, sprinting inside and up the stairs, remaining items of clothes flailing in their wake like late night skinny dippers. Understandably I was slower, not through choice I might add. Laying down the sticks, I sat down to take each stair on my bum, cursing the injury and its effedt on my mobility as heightened sounds of pleasure spilled from the bedroom. It seemed to take forever to get to the top and I prayed they’d not forgotten me.

I needn’t have worried: these two craved cock like a cat craves cream and my cock was ripe for sharing. Wasting not a moment, Saskia placed her hands on my chest and pushed me back on the bed. Gone was the seemingly reserved young student of the stage. Before I’d time even to get comfortable she straddled me, knees either side of my thighs, hips grinding as she lapdanced seductively. As I rose up, her jaunty tits rubbed my face and I reached behind to grope her arse cheeks, pulling the girl closer. The hot little stripper purred with desire as my cock sprung to life.

Meanwhile, Natalya took up a position beside me and was busily feasting upon my neck whilst rubbing a palm across my chest, twisting the fine weave of hair through her slender fingers. Oh this had to be every man’s dream, and for me a welcome first. The lapdance coming to an end, sexy Saskia clambered aside, leaving me in the middle of the pair who were in profile. A desperate dive for my cock ensued, their foreheads inadvertanly bashing together. Quickly they kissed one another better before reaching an entente in their own foreign language. Natalya moved in first, lips pursed to receive the shiny tip, tongue flicking eagerly at the eye.

Saskia ducked down lower, hands on my thighs, soft lips kissing the base of the shaft and chin on my balls. This went on for a good minute before, reaching a new agreement, they swapped places, with Saskia’s warm mouth enveloping the bulbous tip and cleaning away Natalya’s saliva. Clearly eager to impress me, the enthusiastic younger girl plunged up and down like she was bobbing for an apple on Halloween. My cock nudged the back of her throat as she worked her jaw with purpose. Natalya went one step further than her friend by pushing her tonguetip to the puckered knot of my arse, then licking up and down, and around and around, sending a tingle through my loins.

Then once more their faces came together, abandoning my cock and anus momentarily to kiss long and passionately. Returning to the inflated manhood that stood out obscenely from my midriff, they took it in turns, resembling woodpeckers hammering at a tree. Copious amounts of saliva ran down the shaft and pooled in my pubes, and it wasn’t long before I had a firm hold of both crowns, gripping clumps of hair and pushing one head down and raising it, then alternating.

The girls adored my show of forcefulness and having their mouths used like hot little pussy holes as I fucked their faces in turn. That was until Saskia complained that her dripping cunt was badly in need of attention. A further indistinguishable pact reached between the pair, Saskia hopped off the end of the bed to kneel down between my legs, pretty mouth continuing to plunge up and down my stiff appendage. Natalya meanwhile assumed a position at her friend’s hindquarters. Gazing down Saskia’s smooth back, I was able to see Natalya go to work eagerly, slurping hungrily at the elevated arse and cunt.

Well that drove the young Saskia absolutely fucking crazy and I winced as my cock was almost sucked from my balls. Deftly she reached to wank the shaft, driving me closer and closer to orgasm as my cock tip nudged her tonsils. As Natalya drove her into a pre-orgasmic frenzy with long licks to the cunt and anus, her moans of lust were muffled in thick throbbing manhood.

This mutual exchange seemed to go on for an eternity as I fought desperately to prolong the moment. Natalya seemed to sense my impending orgasm, for she ceased the fervent licking, emerging from between her friend’s buttocks to receive the bounty. Lips sticky with cunt honey, she pressed her face to mine, letting me savour the taste of Saskia on her. That, I have to say, tipped me over the edge.

Lowering so that their cheeks were pressed tightly together, as if trying to squeeze into a photo, the pair of nymphos waited expectantly, mouths open wide like baby birds at feeding time. Finishing off solo, a sure fist blurred around the unerring shaft and I felt the first telltale signs, eyes slanting. Fuck yesssssss, I was going to cum so damn hard on these two sluts. Finally reaching orgasm, I jerked and sprayed a rope of thick cum. As I moved obliquely, each girl took an equal amount, more than enough to go around, lips and chins splattered, some errant seed even finding its way up their noses and into their hair. Both chomped hungrily on the spunky offering, then turned seductively to lick each other’s faces clean.

Cunts dripping and yearning climaxes of their own, they assumed the sixty-nine position next to me, hands at each other’s butts, fingernails raking. They fitted together perfectly like Russian nesting dolls, rolling around and tonguing each other frenziedly, whilst I watched, offering encouragement, issuing spanks to their tight arses and calling them every bitch-slut-whore name under the sun. The frenzied tongue-lashing continued for five hungry minutes, neither girl seeming to want to come up for air, and intoxicated by pussy fumes. It was Saskia that came next, her toes twitching and legs kicking, a shriek of pleasure that could crack glass ejecting from her lips. Unselfishly she kept lapping away intently until Natalya too writhed in pleasure and screamed her release.

After a brief moment’s respite, the pair uncoupled and rose to their knees before me, lips and chins glistening with one another’s pussyjuice. Each pushed up on haunches, presenting her face in turn to be kissed, licked and sucked by me until the skin was clean. Gulping the heady cocktail to the back of my throat, I swallowed sublimely. Both girls smiled warmly, issuing whimsical sighs as, eyelids heavy, they tilted their heads, resting flushed cheeks on each of my chest mounds and huddling close. The satisfied sound of snoozing soon sent me off to a similar place.

—

With Natalya’s alarm clock showing six o’clock, I awoke with a start. Looking at the two strippers asleep on me, I appraised another unbelievable day in an almost perfect week. Almost perfect. I seriously wondered if it could get any better before remembering my sister Sophie. Mmm, now that was a thought and it could get better if I had my way. The pair roused from their slumbers moments later, gazing up through lustful glazed eyes. Simultaneously, two pairs of hands reached out to for a cock that was still sleeping, and it was all I could do to brush them off with a stern warning. They cowered back, lips pouting. “This is for you,” I said, handing out £50 each amid inevitable protests.

Though that didn’t stop them taking the money, besides which I was happy sharing around my good fortune. And I wanted to keep on their good side a little while longer. A little too late in the day now, I had unfinished business to attend to and an inkling of an idea how to go about it. “Natalya, I need your help soon,” I said.

“For you Stee-vee anything,” she drooled, still enchanted.

“There’ll be more money in it,” I offered, an incentive bound to clinch the deal. “I need you to meet me first thing tomorrow morning before work and I’ll explain.”

“I make it, yes,” she agreed unquestioningly before stroking my cheek. “Now you stay for more fun yah?”

I brushed her away with an apology and the promise that what I had lined up would satisfy even her most lurid demands. I’d love to have stayed for more sex, there was planning to do. I guessed that whilst pussy tasted sweet, revenge tasted even sweeter.

—

As it transpired, the decision to leave Natalya’s flat when I did worked in my favour. Not only did I get to give the XR3i a good spin, there was a pleasant surprise waiting upon my return at the bungalow. Home from her day at the beach and, with Gina and Jessie having departed, Sophie was in the back garden, evidently intent on catching the last sun of the day and topping up an already impressive-looking tan. Stretched out facedown on a sunlounger, chin perched on the back of a hand, the other held a novel at the spine.

Looking on before she became aware of my presence, I savoured the gently roasting flesh of the teenager’s shoulders and back as an unavoidable boner formed between my legs. The straps of the white bikini top loosened and eased aside to prevent a horizontal tan line spoiling the golden brown effect, my fourteen-year old sister looked utterly beguiling as my eyes travelled down a luscious spine to the micro bikini bottom. Youthful bumcheeks half displayed like two half moons, it was what wasn’t on display that fascinated me. “Had a good day out?” I enquired, breaking the spell.

“Mmm very,” she affirmed, looking up with a welcome smile. “You too?”

“Yes, very,” I replied sincerely, if not a little guiltily. “I finally made it outside. Oh and would you believe it, I found my car.”

Invited over to squat in her shadow and, unconcerned of the pain in my knee, just to be this close to the lovely little thing, I divulged the details of the car finding episode. Head turning aside, Sophie laid down the book and pushed a pair of designer rimless shades up off her nose with another smile. “I’m pleased for you, Steven. And you’ll be able to take me places now. Yay!”

Ooh, I liked that thought, salacious ideas quickly forming in my mind, before Sophie continued, her voice and manner as infectious as ever: “Erm, sorry to be a pain, but can I beg a favour?” she enquired, twiddling a few stray strands of blobde hair seductively around a slim finger. Reaching aside to take the plastic orange suncream dispenser in hand, she asked: “You couldn’t do my hard-to-reach bits before I burn to a frazzle, could you?”

A pain? You bet I could! Perching on the edge of the sunlounger, bum brushing her near thigh, upending the bottle I squeezed a dollop of cream into my palms and rubbed them together. By way of direction, Sophie lifted the featherlight ends of blonde hair and I laid my palms on a neck that was as elegant as a swan’s. Slowly my gently swirling hands dispersed a light film of cream over the warm and tender skin. “Mmm, you do have great hands,” she mused dreamily, and I wondered if perhaps Gina had been talking.

Palms shifting from her shoulders, all the way down slowly and surely to her mid back, I continued to rub gently at first, becoming more purposeful as I reached the sides, using my thumbs to indent the soft flesh. Sophie sighed and naturally I wondered if the attention was making her wet. At the same time, I couldn’t help but notice the spread of boob either side of her slim body, each orb’s roundness carefully concealed. This was a body – and a girl – truly to die for and, though Bonnie, Ally, Gina, Jessie, Saskia and Natalya were all incredible in their own ways, Sophie put them all in the shade. One way or the other, I had to have her, and soon.

My firm hands moved back up to her shoulders, applying a sure firm touch. Sliding and flexing, it went way beyond the initial remit of applying suntan lotion, though I think neither of us cared much. Indeed, I was getting as much pleasure from giving as I’d ever done with a past lover. Evidently Sophie felt it too. “Oh gosh, that feels wonderful,” the fourteen-year old lovely sighed, as immersed as I in the sensual massage.

I worked the remnants of oil from my fingertips in fully, before reaching once more for the bottle. The next squeeze unloaded a dollop of cool lotion directly on her lumbar spine, causing Sophie to shiver and coo. “Mmm, that’s it, just there,” she mouthed hoarsely, lips vibrating contentedly as I went about the task with relish.

Palms flat, I dispersed the oil on and around her hips, peering down longingly at the raised curve of her arse. Gina’s was mightily sexy yet nothing compared to Sophie’s peachiness. I so wanted to squeeze both cheeks, to part them and to taste her goodies. I wanted to lick the sweat from the crack and then feast on the tiny brown hole. She seemed to read my mind. “Can you that too, Steven, please?” the girl enquired, indicating to her bum.

I suspected she meant apply more lotion, not lick the hole as I had in mind, though anything more she’d allow would surely satisfy me. I flexed my fingers in readiness, then eased the bikini bottoms down off her hips to a pair of thin yet nicely blossoming fourteen-year old thighs, exposing that taut young bottom. Oh this was the holy grail, a sight that made my mouth water and cock twitch like a seven-inch tall epileptic.

Sadly, mine and Sophie’s back garden games were foreshortened by the unexpected roar of an engine in the driveway. “It’s mum and dad,” I disclosed miserably.

“Oh no,” Sophie replied, seemingly with equal frustration.

As I tore myself grudgingly away and hobbled back up the garden to greet them, my sexy teenaged sister pulled up the bottoms and tied the top to maintain an air of respectability. “Welcome home,” I heralded as my weary parents alighted the car, the words as sincere as a politician’s.

Glancing back, Sophie issued a consolatory smile from the sun longer. It wasn’t as if there wouldn’t be other occasions, but this felt like an opportunity missed as Thursday grew old. Yet Friday offered the chance of fresh fun, adventure and perhaps a little revenge too.

—

Coming up in the next episode of The Best Week of my Life…

Steven’s plan for revenge takes a dark yet thrilling twist.

Natalya ends up getting more than she bargained for.

And a visit to the sports centre to collect his sister from her class throws up some unexpected surprises.

—

Chapter Five will appear soon.

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