Best Ever Holiday in the Sun

Well, she certainly distracted anyone who ever caught a glimpse of her, me very much included.

I say that without downplaying Carla in any way. When I claimed that Carla was the most beautiful woman I'd set eyes on, I meant it. I could come out with a list including Sophia Loren, Debbie Harry and Brigit Bardot, amongst dozens of others, but I'm not going to. Carla had her own look and it was simply superior.

I'm touching myself as I write this. It's impossible not to when thinking about that beautiful, beautiful vision.

And thinking about kissing her . . .

Go figure!

Anyway I didn't object to her actions in the slightest. Without for one second breaking mouth-to-mouth contact, not least because nobody in her right mind would have, I felt for the flimsy strings of her next-to non-existent top, knowing only too well how to undo it.

As races go that one was a dead heat. My dusky new lover beat me to the tits-grab though. Yes, she beat me by miles and miles.

Still holding that initial, best-ever first kiss I slid my hands up Carla and took a firm grip of my own.

'Hello, hello,' came another familiar voice. 'I said not to start without me.'

Neither of us deigned to answer. The instruction had been unreasonable to begin with.

Maybe accepting the reality of the situation, Lottie didn't further her accusations. She came up behind me instead, turning our embrace into a three-way girly hug.

And omigod, it did wonders for me. I could feel those amazing tits of hers against my bare back . . . so near yet so frigging far . . . and I couldn't possibly miss the feel of her string-clad groin, grinding on the cheeks of my almost bare ass.

Some things in life are precious. Those fleeting moments definitely qualified.

Although perhaps "fleeting" is yet another of my very gross exaggerations. We stayed in situ for quite a while until Carla finally detached our mouths and grinned at me.

'Hotter than hot,' she gushed, appreciatively.

What a loss that ultimate break of contact was. Not that I let it show . . . well, not much.

I had some pride, if not a lot!

'Takes two to tango,' I replied, no doubt grinning inanely.

'Fuck the tango,' Lottie cut in. 'Get on your back on that bed right now.'

The bed was, co-incidentally, a double, not two singles pushed together, as I'd secretly suspected it would be.

No, it was large, maybe it was even what our American cousins would call a "queen".

But never mind that, it was plenty big enough.

Being an obedient soul . . . for once in my lifetime . . . I got on my back and spread my legs.

'Farther up,' Lottie demanded. 'Farther, farther . . . Yes, that's it.'

Clearly in complete agreement, Carla dived on me. And wasn't she divine! Briefly . . . relatively briefly by her standards . . . she kissed my mouth. Then she kissed, licked and nibbled my tits. And then she ran the tip of her tongue all the way down my tummy.

Oh, yummy, yummy!

Excuse my girlishness, but I can't explain how much l like the feel of a willing girl's tongue on me.

And Carla's was as willing as any I have ever encountered.

Didn't she know exactly what to do!

Wasn't her nuzzle of my short (currently dyed blue) pubic triangle as thorough as I'd ever had!

Fuck me and call me Grateful, but that girl was thorough. I'm quite accomplished at bringing myself off but she taught me tricks I'd never imagined.

Her external examination of my sex could not possibly have been matched by anyone.

Lottie, meanwhile, was not inactive. That is to say she watched us while Carla gave me one big thrill after another. Leastways I suppose she did.

Then, suddenly, out of nowhere, there Lottie was, standing beside the bed, kitted up to the eyeballs in a big fuck-off strap-on.

Honesty to the fore, I hadn't dared bring sex toys along with me. Screw all of the supposed Eurovision

Unity, didn't the Customs Gestapo search everyone nowadays?

Most of them guys, happy to have a good grope . . .

Okay, fair enough, a lot of the Customs gals might be happy to have a good grope too . . .

And baggage was routinely ransacked. Last thing I wanted was some smirking fag holding up a dildo of mine and exclaiming out loud for the whole queue to hear.

"Oh my, isn't this a good size."

Or else: "Who on earth needs ten different speeds with one single love egg?"

Lottie obviously hadn't shared my reservations. Or perhaps she'd relished the conflict. I could easily see her at a check point, angrily, stridently wondering what the hell was wrong with vibrators and the likes.

Not that there was much amiss with her current equipment. I'd dearly like to compare her with a super stud but "super studs" don't really come into my ball game.

(Whoops! Is that another double entendre?)

Let's simply say Lottie's strap-on kit was impressive. I found out later it was eleven inches long and as wide as my wrist.

It was also green and, for some curious reason, that turned me on.

Yes, yes, yes, I thought, come get me, come get me . . .

Chapter Four

To demonstrate how wonderful that "siesta" was I need to announce that it wasn't all about fucking.

No, well-equipped as she was, Lottie initially homed in on my breasts.

And like wow! Having two mouths working on me simultaneously! Carla, for now at least, being totally external and gentle, Lottie all lips, tongue and teeth, perfectly balancing her attention from my right tit to my left . . . then back once more, again and again and again.

Take it from me: two at once was ten times better than one-on-one.

That's coming from a girl who rapturously adores the girly version of one-on-one, by the way. Okay, I may well exaggerate now and then, but rapture is something else.

Rapture is beyond exaggeration. Rapture is for real.

Isn't it just!

Yet still we progressed, those two working on me like a practiced team . . . as no doubt they were.

Making me wait far too long, Carla finally sipped a couple of fingers inside of me. I instantly contracted like the best porn star ever filmed, arching my back and bouncing on the bed springs like billyo.

In fact I nearly jumped off the mattress in hot excitement. Luckily Lottie was ready for that eventuality. Holding me in place, still all lips, tongue and teeth, she kept on going.

And listen to this . . . I couldn't stop cumming. I'd cum multiply before . . . as I may have mentioned in passing . . . but nothing so extreme. Instead of climaxing and steadily rebuilding, I simply came again and again and again.

Then, when life couldn't possibly get any better, Lottie decided I needed to be fucked.

*****

Well, not directly, at least not at first.

There I was, experiencing the unbelievable delight of having two mouths munching on me at the self-same time and suddenly Lottie was issuing demands, sergeant-major like, barking them out in tones impossible to ignore.

Think Windsor Davies in "It Ain't Half Hot Mum" . . . she didn't resemble him at all . . . didn't have even the start of his handlebar moustache. But all said and done, she gave the same impression.

And yes, she was far tougher than he ever was.

In the words of the man himself, "Oh dear, what a pity, never mind!"

That's British Army slang for shut the fuck up and get on with it! . . . I'm sure readers elsewhere have a variation of the same.

God only knows what the Aussies say! They tend to make us pommies seem sweet and innocent.

Aussies are without a doubt foremost at swearing; they make Russians sound like choirboys. From an Aussie a couple of casual, friendly words can make the roughest New York street hoodlum sound like rich Auntie Jane from Winchester.

Where was I?

Oh yes, what a pity . . .

****

I can't begin to estimate how long I was doubly munched. All I can say is I relished every second of it and wish it was still happening now.

Bliss, bliss, bliss!

Girls' mouths are so moreish . . .

I can't get enough.

Yes, yes, yes!

But then positions changed. Commanding again, Lottie dragged Carla's head away from my groin . . . and rats about that . . . then she repositioned me on the bed.

'Ninety degrees,' she snapped, 'feet on the tiles.'

I couldn't remember getting naked but somehow we all had. A trace of a memory had me arching my back in eager ecstasy but that seemed . . .

Well, that seemed like aeons ago.

Yes, it really was aeons ago.

So I did as instructed and turned through ninety degrees, obediently planting my feel on the cool floor and wondering what was going to happen next.

Not that that wait was such a long one. Carla was back between my wide-spread legs in no time at all, there on her knees before me, hungry, hungry, hungry.

And, (not) taking me too much by surprise, Lottie took place behind my avaricious lady lover.

Indeed Lottie, shuffling a little on her knees, positioned herself perfectly and then entered Carla, being firm and slow yet insistent, burying her eleven-inch weapon of war in her up to the hilt.

God, I wished it was in me!

On either end, I mean. As I keep saying, I can give or take and appreciate the joys of both.

Oh boy, can I appreciate them!

How amazing was that? I'd seen videos of threes on line . . . as who hasn't . . . and this was up there with the very best, two mouths at once had been brilliant . . .

Now there was a large artificial cock, easing its slow, gradual way into Carla while she did a very good impression of being an unkindness of ravens . . .

Making me squawk raucously I mean, making me squawk in sheer delight.

As if I found her in any way unkind! Oh no, she was the kindest lover I'd ever had, and the most skilful by far.

Who was I to complain about that!

I might be off real-life cocks but artificial ones didn't go amiss. I was built like that downstairs wasn't I? I was built ready to accept cocks . . . even if knowledgeable fingers and tongues were way superior.

But maybe they weren't too superior to Lottie. The service she was giving to Carla! I got it, if second-hand, so to speak, but I kid you not, being orally serviced by a girl who was getting seriously screwed . . .

Well again, go figure. I've already acknowledged that I like sex, who in her right mind doesn't?

And I will maintain that position forever. I'll never lie about penetration, either.

I love being penetrated. Even now, ten years man-free, I feel the temptation.

With me the problem is not the cock, it's the dickhead on the other end.

And his obvious lack of endurance . . .

Not that us girls are all sweetness and light . . .

But sod the philosophy; at long last it was my turn.

At last at last at last!

*****

Taking Lottie's outsized substitute was better than glorious. So too was the way she used it on and in me.

She was way beyond perfection.

Carla's input into the equation wasn't to be discounted, either. While Lottie merrily frigged away she sat on my face, reverse cowgirl style, almost as shameless as me.

My only regret was that I still couldn't be hands-on with Lottie's marvellous tits. Instead, being fucked and simultaneously eating the sweetest pussy ever created, I gripped Carla's ample chest and made do.

And how unfair is that! Carla's tits were up there with Scarlett Johansson's, but still not in Lottie's top of the class range.

Lottie's had a life all of their own.

I wanted to share that life desperately.

What warm-blooded girl wouldn't have?

'Yes, yes, yes,' Carla suddenly cried before drenching my face, as good as drowning me. Pleased by her response, not complaining in the least, I kept on at her, doing my best to mirror the attention she'd previously given to me.

Meanwhile Lottie plunged, her tongue into me repetitively, time after time. The feel of her tongue . . .

Inside, so deeply inside . . .

Where it belonged . . .

Believe you me: Lottie's tongue is exceptionally good, particularly creative when she plunges it into a girl. Whatever might be your sexual persuasion, I can't recommend her input highly enough.

Listen out all of you supposedly straight girls: try one quick session with her then tell me it wasn't the best fun that you've ever had without laughing.

Trust me . . . if you tried even just once, denying the truth would make you wrong by light years.

Chapter Five

Eventually, finally, the three of us collapsed in a heap. We were coated in sweat and juice and who knows what else. We were all totally breathless, too. As siestas go, we hadn't slept much . . . indeed we hadn't slept as much as one wink.

'My stomach's rumbling,' Lottie announced.

'Not surprised, the way you've been acting,' Carla countered. 'Were you like randy Casanova on horn or what?'

'About time you took some,' Lottie replied dismissively. Then, after glancing at her mobile: 'It's late. So what next, Charley? If we stop here and now is that it?'

'What time are we at?' I wondered.

'Ten after seven.'

Shit! We'd taken an early siesta . . . or so I assumed, based on my previous invite. After seven meant we'd been at it . . . well, six hours, as good as.

Six hours that had flown by like six glorious minutes.

'So,' Lottie persisted, 'what happens next?'

I did my best to conjure a mental version of my social diary . . . which was not easy, having left control of said diary mostly in Maria's (hopefully) capable hands.

'I'm fresh from a break-up,' I reminded them both, 'so commitments are out of the equation. But I'm as free as a bird tonight. Far as I'm concerned we can go out, eat and drink then do it all again.'

Carla's grin materialized a fraction before Lottie's.

'Doing it again sounds great,' she said, 'but tonight I'm Frank Sinatra. Tonight we're doing it my way.'

Intrigued, I shrugged and said, 'Whatever.'

Her grin noticeably broadened. 'Que sera, sera,' she replied, 'whatever will be will be.'

'That's Doris Day,' I protested, 'not Ol' Blue Eyes.'

'Maybe so,' she replied, 'but the sentiment is the same.'

*****

And like wow, wasn't it just to be!

Taking me out to drink and dine . . . thankfully heading away from the best Argentinian steak house in the world . . . we dined at an English place. Well, everything was in English; there was a live Liverpool match on the large TV screen . . . courtesy of Sky, naturally . . . but the staff looked local even though their spoken English was better than mine.

(I'm not absolutely sure if English is a global curse or what. Aussies take terms of abuse to amazingly new levels while Americans twist things in all directions. Perhaps thanks to Hollywood, everyone else seems fluent from birth. Being a Yorkshire lass I'm proud of all Britain has achieved. But I'm also a tad uneasy. What if the Danes had beaten us to it? Just imagine "Saving Private Ryan" in Danish, without any of the sub-titles.

I say that with most sincere apologies to any and all Danish readers. The last bloke I so much as half-fancied was a Dane and I still slightly regret turning him down.

Long, unruly hair, even longer and more unruly beard, six foot tall and full of muscles . . .

But no, he didn't give me a Vegemite sandwich.

And sometimes I wonder at myself.

Brussels ain't in Denmark, is it, not by the wildest stretch!)

Then again, sometimes I see as many as two guys I fancy in one whole day. Meanwhile I must see as many as ten thousand fanciable girls . . .

Or maybe I see ten zillion or more . . .

Our meal was fine and yet again I wasn't allowed to pay the bill. I wasn't allowed to pay for drinks on our way back to the hotel either.

Yes, we stopped off for four "quiet ones", as Carla put it.

Approaching our hotel I toyed with the idea of calling in to Estela's bar, but not for so very long. I was a great fan of Estela and didn't want to embarrass her.

Or me, come to that.

I also wanted to get Lottie and Carla back between the sheets as soon as possible.

Not that we'd ever actually been "between the sheets".

Best part of six hours and "sheets" hadn't come into the equation.

Best six hours ever, ever, ever . . .

Except the next six . . . well eff my old boots!

The next six or maybe eight exceeded all expectations.

*****

Relatively sober, brimming with expectation, we bypassed Estela's and went "directly to Jail", passing "Go" without collecting £200.

(Please excuse me if I've used that before; I know I can be repetitive.)

And suddenly Carla was completely in charge!

Suddenly I was naked on the bed, being tongued, nibbled and gnawed by Lottie while Carla strapped-up like Lisa Ann . . . except quicker and even more efficiently.

Don't get me wrong. Far as I'm concerned Lisa Ann is a goddess. Her part in "Who's Nailin' Paylin" is crude but beyond brilliant. Look it up on the internet. Lisa Ann's tits are nearly as good as Lottie's and the rest of her is beyond compare.

Well, she's right up there. I'd nail her ten times a day, every day, given half a chance.

As indeed would every straight guy in the world, and squillions of others, gals and guys alike.

Where again was I?

Oh yes. I was naked on a decent-sized bed, legs wide-spread, wanting more and more.

That was just as well. Lottie was busily devouring my breasts while Carla continued to prove extreme skill in fucking me.

Excuse the language, but she fucked like a dream. And not a wet dream, a real one.

Trust me, I've been fucked many times but Carla excelled.

And she was so frigging fit! Don't ask me why, but being frigged by an average-looking girl might have been an average sort of an experience.

Being frigged by Carla was something else altogether.

Absolutely nobody could have been frigged by her without showing sincere appreciation.

It's as simple as.

*****

I'm not sure if you want me to expand on anything I've already said. Putting things bluntly, I gave in and let them both mostly fuck me . . . and I loved every last second. If anything Carla was stronger, more demanding . . . but perhaps that is my imagination jumping in.

Truth was they were both excellent at fucking a girl, and at supplementing a girl's best efforts.

Nothing about me wanted to change the status quo. I was young (or youngish), and had no interest in anyone else. Call me Stupid but I genuinely mean it.

Carla and her best buddy were a little older than me. Or maybe they were a little younger.

Whatever they were, they were experienced and they preferred girls.

Which put us on a par. I know I keep admitting to liking guys but I simply haven't done it. With a guy, I mean. I did it often enough in the past, but not in the last decade.

Ten years free!

Yippee!

At the risk of mega-repeating myself, I sincerely prefer girls.

Girls are better than best. Why eff around with a dickhead when someone better qualified is at hand?

Why not lie back and enjoy everything coming my way!

Chapter Six

Saturday morning and, after a very limited amount of shuteye, we all awoke refreshed. Pleasantries of a physical nature were exchanged then I invited the Deadly Duo out for breakfast.

'Trust me,' I assured them, 'you'll never have had such a cholesterol feast ever, ever.'

Taking little persuading the three of us soon ended up in my favourite breakfast bar. The regular male waiter, by then no doubt used to me turning up with different girls every day, grinned when he realized I'd turned up with two at once.

I took that to be a compliment and spared him a kick in the balls.

Bet he'd like to be a fly on the wall, I thought.

Then, struggling to hide my grin, I realized I'd like to be up there, watching beside him.

Tee-he-he!

If only actually taking part wasn't so much more fun . . .

Our beers and breakfasts safely ordered (the beers being delivered to us almost immediately) a touch of girly gossip seemed to be in order.