Davina Falls Out

Talking about Ellie . . .

She got off Mark and I gasped as I saw a trickle of . . . of fluid running down the inside of her thigh.

No condom, I thought. The dirty bastard's fucked her without using a fucking condom!

Ellie didn't seem concerned. 'You two keep at it,' she said to Angie and me, 'I'm off to mop up. Then we can decide what happens next.'

She disappeared upstairs, leaving Mark on the settee with a hard-on and Angie licking my clit. And I do feel for poor Angie. During those next ten minutes it must have been like licking a cold slab of dead meat. I was totally unresponsive and my head was filled with wild thoughts, you see.

I wanted to flee.

I couldn't run out on my friend and my county.

I wanted to find an excuse to stay chaste . . . maybe a lack of condoms.

I couldn't let trivia make me seem like a wimp.

I'm sure some of my fellow gold star holders are scratching their heads at this point. I am too, to tell you the truth. I guess I was going through a spell of uncertainty (more of that shortly), and I was also halfway stoned. Whatever the reason, fucking a guy suddenly didn't seem such a big deal.

I could do it and it wouldn't kill me. Ellie could watch and congratulate me on my Yorkshire grit . . .

But that glorious Providence intervened once more. Or, rather, Ellie proved she was considerate after all.

'Sorry Mark,' she said, strutting back into the sitting room, her strap-on cock pointing up at her tummy-button, 'but this is where you become a spectator.'

She tossed Angie a matching harness.

'You're not spectating anything, honey; you and me have work to do.'

I could have raised the roof with a cheer. Instead I silently thanked the Lord and gratefully let them have their wicked way with me.

Chapter Sixty-Five

The branch refit went like clockwork. That is to say it went as smoothly as any of the others, even if I was hampered by the staff's need to deal with swarms of customers all day long. Standard operating procedure was to replace individual PCs one-by-one and then wait until closing to replace the "branch micro" (an almost stand-alone computer that served as the outlet's till and could never be switched off during trading hours).

Although I was satisfied I'd done my job I still needed to revisit the branch next morning, to make sure everything functioned as well in the working day as it did during my tests. Consequently I went back to Ellie's for Orgy Part 2.

I won't dwell on details other than to advise that I kept off the end of Mark's cock. And that I also was one of the harness-wearers when it came to a very enthusiastic and protracted threesome . . .

Happy days!

*****

Perhaps a week later I had my first bust-up with Philippa. And I assure you, it was totally unplanned. I was, you should recall, almost entirely dependent on her for sex at the time. And, dependency aside, I did actually like her.

Or so I thought.

It was a weekend and it began well. Meeting early Friday evening to dine in The Busfeild (and where else?) we then retired to mine and took turns to bring each other off. And then, snuggled together in the bed in my spare room, she surprised me.

'My ass,' she said out of the wide blue yonder. 'I want you to fuck my ass.'

I can't begin to tell you how big a leap that was. Philippa said "fuck" even less often than me (and yes, I know that, as my narrative has progressed, I have been using it more and more!). More to the point, Philippa's ass had been a bit of a no-go area up until that moment.

Okay, so I'll be explicit. She'd strap-on and take me up mine at the drop of a hat, but hers was out of bounds. Well, it had been at first . . .

Over our months-long relationship she'd thawed a little. Squeezing her buns had always been allowed but it had taken ages for me to be permitted to stroke the cleft between them. And even more ages for me to get to circle her ring and more.

By that Friday night I had perhaps fingered her that way five times. Not an equal partnership, you may conclude but hey, I will never do anything a girl doesn't want, even if refusing isn't in her best interest, even if the girl doesn't know what she's missing.

Yet after an eternity of putting me off, all of a sudden Philippa wanted fucking up there!

Well, you know me and opportunities. Gift horses are never to be looked in the mouth. I was strapped up with a very modest dildo in no time at all; strapped up, sheathed and dripping with K-Y jelly.

Philippa lay on her back. Knowing the most basic procedure, she hitched up her legs and I took her as softly and slowly as falling snowflakes. Then, gulping in air, she demanded, 'Faster, harder.'

So I took her a little more vigorously. Afterwards she demanded: 'Bigger, faster and harder.'

I obliged with a six-inch dildo and just a touch more vigour.

'Biggest and hardest,' she demanded.

I couldn't possibly take her with my finest specimen (that glass beaded affair of Ellie's) so I plumped for an extra-girth, eight-inch affair. By the time I'd slotted it into the harness Philippa was on all fours.

'Come on,' she crooned, 'fuck me this way.'

I didn't need asking twice. On my knees, I entered her with some delicacy then proceeded to go faster and faster . . . and harder and harder.

Quite typically, I came more often than she did. And, at the mutually juddering conclusion, I made a grab for her tits. She laughed before collapsing, taking me with her. By some miracle I stayed inside her and found myself fully on top, my hands trapped under her chest in a grasping sort of a way, my body stretched out along hers.

It seemed only natural to start grinding and rotating my hips.

'Fuck me, yes,' Philippa cried.

It felt incredibly good to me too. Suitably encouraged, I kept going.

'Yes, yes, yes,' she endorsed. 'Give me more, more, more!'

*****

Afterwards, when I was spent and drifting sleep-wards, Philippa kissed my snub of a nose. 'I love you,' she breathed.

My heart lurched. Did I not need that! There I was, relaxed and as good as sated . . .

And she had to go spoil everything.

Please don't take me for a total so-and-so. I knew the obvious answer was to reply in kind. But I didn't love Philippa. And I never would love Philippa. Lying to her was out of the question, and so too was a non-committal answer such as "I'm very fond of you". She'd slice through a nothing sort of answer like that faster than a red-hot knife through butter.

Lost for an acceptable response, I kissed her sexily raised eyebrows (only slightly bashing our pairs of supersized specs together in my clumsiness).

'I know you can't say it yet,' she murmured as I dozed off. 'But believe me, you will.'

Chapter Sixty-Six

I woke on Saturday morning to find sunshine streaming in through my mullions. And to find that I was alone in my large single.

My first instinct was to reach for my phone, to check the time. But it was nowhere to be seen. The sun was high in the sky, though, so it wasn't too early. Thankfully, I wasn't due in at work for once, so lying in wasn't an issue.

Unlike the abrupt caffeine craving that gripped me.

I got out of bed and, in the absence of my dressing gown, briefly considered hunting out a spare. But then I thought, what the heck, it's my flipping house.

Stark naked, I went downstairs, following the aromatic smell of coffee into the as yet un-renovated kitchen. Philippa was sitting at the table (the one she was too prim and proper to fuck on). She had a mug of coffee in front of her and a mobile in her hand.

I frowned. Something in that perfect picture wasn't quite right. Looking a little closer I realized it was the mobile. All Philippa's gadgets were jet-black; she didn't do colourful. But the one in her hand was red.

Omigod; she was snooping on my phone!

In my opinion, nowadays a girl's phone is her most personal possession. Don't take me for a prude; I have no problem with a girl rooting about in my underwear drawer. And as you know, I regularly issue invitations for lovers to explore my toy drawer. My phone is something else, however. That phone is my private business and not to be rooted in.

'Excuse me,' I began as calmly as I could. 'But is that yours?'

Philippa's face was thunderous. Without speaking she held my mobile up so I could that see that she was watching a video. Curious, I moved closer and almost swooned.

It was a video of me!

I was being double-penetrated by Ellie and Angie!!

Mark must have filmed us at it!!

'So that's how you spent your time in the City of Dreaming Spires,' Philippa observed, glacially.

I stared at the video. The three of us were standing, albeit awkwardly. Angie was behind me, Ellie was in front, bearing a lot of my weight. The upright shape of the screen captured the action perfectly and the picture resolution was excellent. No way could I pretend that we were merely larking about. There I was, centre stage, large as life and with decent-sized dildos pounding into both holes.

Then the view changed and we were looking down at man's hand moving on his erect cock. Almost immediately a dribble of white fluid came out of the purple head. That was swiftly followed by four or five much larger squirts.

Now I am no expert when it comes to men. Even so (and stunned as I was), I was impressed. By that stage of proceedings there'd been four used condoms on the floor. And Mark had additionally cum at least once more inside Ellie, condom-free. That had to be minimally cum number six, and he was still copious with it.

'Wow,' my treacherous mouth said. 'I thought guys could only orgasm twice before giving up.'

'How many times did he orgasm in you?' Philippa sneered. 'Ten, was it?'

'None at all if you must know,' I countered. 'I'm still pure as far as men are concerned.'

Philippa clearly didn't believe me. 'You're nothing but a whore,' she snarled.

Snatching my phone away from her I stopped the video. It had, I noticed, arrived just an hour earlier, along with a brief message from Ellie.

"Visit us again soon; you know you want to."

Bloody typical! Caught out by friendly fire!! Blue on blue or what!!

'I'm a girl who likes sex,' I said, looking Philippa in the eye. 'I've never pretended to be something I'm not, and I never will.'

'You couldn't be faithful if you wanted to be,' she replied. 'Some say men's cocks rule their heads, but your head is ruled by your cunt.'

'And you are in my kitchen, abusing my hospitality,' I snapped. 'You're wearing my favourite dressing gown, drinking my coffee out of my favourite mug, and spying on my life via my favourite mobile.'

'I'm sorry,' she countered, looking anything but. 'I was looking to see if the bitch had been in touch.'

By that I assumed she meant Ellie and got even madder. Philippa didn't even know my old friend yet there she was, hurling insults at her too.

'I'm not going to let you dictate how to behave,' I said. 'Here's how it is: I'm happy to fuck with you but I'll never be faithful. I've never agreed to be faithful to you or anyone else and I possibly never will. If you don't like that, the door's right behind you.'

I gesticulated fiercely and, sure enough, the door wasn't two feet behind her.

Philippa's expression changed abruptly at my show of violent, angry emotion. She wasn't thunderous now, she was more alarmed.

'I wasn't spying on you,' she bleated, 'I was checking up on the bitch.'

That did it for me. How many times was she going to slag off a girl she'd never even met?

'I'm going back to bed,' I announced. 'If you come with me I'm going to smack your ass until it shines brighter than the sun. Then I'm going to fuck you until you can't walk. And then I'm going to carry you round to the pub for lunch. And then I'm going to bring you back and do it all again.'

She just stared at me, eyes wide behind her nerd convention specs.

'You have ten minutes to decide,' I concluded. 'If you're not across my knee by then you can lock the door on your way out. And while you're at it, you can delete me from your satnav, because you won't be coming here again.'

I honestly didn't care if she followed me upstairs or not. Talk about angry! I'd never been so furious in my life. Magnificent in my nakedness (or so I hope!), I stormed out of the kitchen and stomped up the staircase.

How dare she call my friend names! I could take whore and worse myself, but Ellie wasn't a bitch; she was sweet underneath her abrasive façade.

Well, sweet-ish . . .

And Philippa was a cow. If she left then so be it. If she stayed she was going to get the ass slapping of a lifetime.

She was going to get strap-on fucked with that beaded glass device too, and not just in her pussy.

Yes folks, I was steaming. I almost pulled my toy drawer off its runners when I opened it.

'Bugger the K-Y,' I muttered, picking out Exhibit A and perching on the side of the bed, 'she can take it as it comes.'

After perhaps two minutes the bedroom door opened. Realizing Philippa may have just come for her clothes, I glared in her general direction.

'Well?' I grated.

She let the dressing gown fall from her and came to me.

'I don't want to lose you,' she whimpered, 'so do what you will.'

*****

I had miscalculated when I promised Philippa lunch and the inability to walk. It was after two o'clock by the time we went out to eat and, if anything, I was hobbling more than she was. I'd been spot on about the ass-slapping, though. My hands are tingling even now, just reminiscing. Margot would have given her right arm for a spanking like that.

That "Saturday morning reconciliation" lasted four hours and I burnt off a lot of aggression as well as zillions of calories. And, me being truthful as ever, I must admit I was still belligerent when we were in the boozer, ordering our char-grilled steaks.

'Would you like wine or beer?' the waitress asked, knowing us of old.

'Both,' I replied, not bothering to consider and definitely not conferring with Philippa. 'We'll have bottle of the Australian Shiraz and two pints of Landlord.' Then, remembering my manners, I smiled warmly at the sexy young thing and added, 'Please.'

The restaurant wasn't so far off closing for the afternoon. We weren't alone but we certainly weren't in danger of being overhead. Taking my hand across the table, Philippa told me she loved me. 'Let's not fall out,' she said. 'I'll mend my ways. I swear I'll never look on your phone again. I'll get my own gown and mug, and you can do anything you like to me, whenever you want.'

She was serious, I could see that. She was also trying to be semi-humorous (or as semi-humorous as a senior accountant could ever be, anyway).

'Okay,' said I, swayed by her good intentions. 'But please, don't ever call Ellie a bitch again. She's a lovely person.'

Philippa scowled. 'Who's Ellie?'

I looked at her in disbelief, wondering if I'd screwed away all her brain cells as well as most of my own. 'Ellie's the one who sent me that video,' I explained patiently.

'Do you mean the one with blue hair?'

'No, I mean the blonde.'

'She looks lovely,' Philippa conceded, 'but I wasn't referring to either of those two. I was referring to the queen of all bitches, not them.'

That took a moment to sink in. 'You needn't worry,' I assured her, finally twigging, 'I haven't heard one dicky bird from Kat in nearly a year. She's history.'

Philippa stared at me incredulously. 'But she's not,' she said. 'You are out of touch with all the latest building society gossip, aren't you?'

My heart did funny things inside my flat chest. My mouth was dry. Even if I could have come up with something to say, I'd have done well to even mumble out the words.

I knew what was coming. Philippa needn't have wasted her next breath.

'Queen Bitch Katrina's back,' she said. 'She starts work at our place on Monday.'

Chapter Sixty-Seven

I spent the rest of Saturday and most of Sunday fucking with Philippa. And could I sleep on Sunday night when she'd gone? Make that a big no.

Not that I was missing my severe-looking number cruncher. My lack of sleep was entirely down to that globe-trotting Kim Kardashian clone.

Back in The Busfeild's restaurant I'd told Philippa she needn't fret about Kat "stealing me". I'd told her that I'd cut Kat out of my emotions the day she'd left me; that we'd been completely contactless ever since; that her return was news to me but meant nothing . . .

And to some extent that was true.

Kat had left me. She had let her love for travelling prevail over anything that had grown between us.

Above all else, she hadn't been in touch once. There hadn't been a text or a single phone call, not as much as a postcard . . .

Yet we had agreed not to be clingy. We had agreed not to keep in touch.

Come to that, I'd changed jobs and moved house. I'd also bought a new mobile and switched supplier for broadband and personal email. And, although I'd updated all my other past and present lovers with my new numbers and addresses, I hadn't bothered advising Kat.

Kat had gone, you see. Her way of life had taken precedence over me and now, almost a whole year later she hadn't even informed me she was coming home.

Except how could she have informed me when I'd made myself incommunicado? Perhaps she'd been emailing and texting like crazy to my old numbers and addresses.

Perhaps she wanted to see me again as much as I suddenly wanted to see her.

The usual invisible suspects gathered to give me advice. On my right shoulder the little angel wrung her hands and radiated uncertainty.

'It's so tricky,' she dithered, 'Philippa loves you so much. And you've never ditched a girl before, have you? Could you really be so cruel?'

The little red devil was slyly sympathetic to his counterpart. 'Think of burying your face in Kat's tits,' he said. 'And Philippa knows you'll never be hers alone. There isn't any need to hurt anybody. She's fully aware of what you want. Do what thou wilt, eh? Isn't this the time to go for it?'

Fervent Dave nearly always agreed with the little red devil. 'Too true,' she cried, 'get your face buried deep in those tits, girl!'

'Employ a policy of inactivity,' Logical Dave advised, Solomon-like in her wisdom. 'If Kat really wants to find you, she will. Give it a bit of time and see what happens.'

Ignoring mutterings of discontent from the other three, I did just that.

*****

Kat's lack of contact lasted until eleven Monday morning. I was at the coffee machine, one minute into my morning break (therefore free to check both my personal mobile and my work phone) and guess who'd emailed to my predictable Widget Company address.

"Dave," Kat wrote, "I'm home. Why didn't you tell me you'd changed jobs?"

I immediately summoned another meeting of the Committee of Four.

'You can't betray Philippa,' my angel said, wringing her hands more desperately than ever. 'She does really love you, and you don't do fractious splits, do you? And you know how it'll go. One night in Kat's arms and poor Philippa will be toast. How unfair is that?'

'Bugger Philippa,' my devil replied. 'Or rather, bugger Kat. The arse on her! Just think of them naked and side by side. Okay, so Philippa's fit, but would you even see her if she stood next to Kat?'

(The imp had a point: Kat would have eclipsed most of Hollywood's finest. Philippa wouldn't have had a passing glance if she stood beside her. Sorry to all feminists, but that's simply how it was.)

'Yeah,' said Fervent Dave, completely predictably, 'let me back at her. It's what we all want, isn't it?'

Then Logical Dave spoke.

'Kat will be gone again in a year. It's in her blood. For you it will be twelve months of bliss then back to uncertainty. But Philippa is long-term. And she loves you; she's proven that by not resenting the quite outrageous way you went at her tidy little ass with the flat of your hand. Can you really throw her over for a flash in the pan like Kat?'