Dottily up for Sex

Yes, she was impressive and sexy as fuck.

Thankfully we passed the initial inspection and were allowed indoors where, as I had expected, no men were anywhere to be seen. Michelle bought us two large pinots and the barmaid (who wasn't last night's but had even more tattoos and piercings) ogled our chests. Not that we complained. It was that sort of place. Girls went there to meet . . . or at least eyeball . . . girls; end of.

As we turned from the bar four girls came onto the stage off to our right.

Except that one in the front wasn't a mere girl; she was Ziggy Stardust.

At this point I should explain that my dad was David Bowie's biggest fan, back in the early years. And that this female "Ziggy" was a spitting image of David at his androgynous, red-maned best.

The rest of the would-be audience ignored the start-up band's arrival but I was captivated. How could anyone have any percentage of Bowie's presence? If he hadn't have died I would have been certain it was him.

(And nobody properly impersonates Bowie; millions copycat Elvis or Cliff, but Bowie is out on his own.)

Michelle was chuntering away about something, as good as talking to herself when the band's first chords rang out.

Avoiding strict track listings (and going for David's most common B-side) they kicked off with one that wasn't even on the album: John, I'm Only Dancing. And Ziggy's voice was pitch-perfect. How she could be slim, sexy and gritty at the same time escaped me. All I knew was that I was witnessing raw talent.

By then others had noticed too.

'She turns me on,' everybody chanted as one, 'don't get me wrong . . .'

Next up the band went for Five Years and thereafter they really did follow the track order. I lasted until Ziggy was like some cat from Japan, being the nazz with God-given ass, and suddenly realized I desperately needed to pee.

Leaving Michelle to buy more vino I went and obeyed the most natural call of nature. Then, when I came out of my cubicle I found myself face-to-face with that familiar bouncer: the tall blonde-white one with shoulders and muscles.

She was blocking my way to the hand basins.

'Thought it was you,' she said, her face stern, without a trace of a smile. 'Seen you before, haven't I?'

'I was here last night,' I managed, overawed by her physical presence.

'So I noticed; two nights in two. Are you freshly out of your closet?'

I hesitated. Unsmiling as she was, this beast of a woman didn't seem threatening. Well, not much.

'I've been curious a while,' I hedged, 'but now I'm out. So yeah, you've got me to rights.'

'That girl's no good for you.'

'What . . .'

'That girl who's fucking you blue is no good for you. She's nothing but trouble.'

Generally short-fused, I fired up at that. 'Excuse me, but Shelly's only been in town a week. You can't possibly know anything about her.'

'I only need to look at her. I know the type.'

The big woman took a step towards me and I must have cringed. That produced a very first smile and transformed her face. From grimly attractive she became impossibly beautiful.

'I'm Robin,' she said, holding out her hand. 'And I'm pleased to meet you.'

I automatically held out my hand, expecting her manly fist to crush my feeble fingers, surprised by her relatively gentle grip.

'I mean it,' Robin said, hanging on to my hand longer than was strictly necessary. 'That girl's not good for you. You need an older, more experienced lady. When she breaks your heart come looking for me.'

For a second I thought she might kiss me.

And I might have let her, flummoxed as I was.

'I am rough and I'm ready,' Robin went on. 'And I'm a better option than her. Think about it. Make sure you come to see me when you finally find out the truth.'

Then, with a passing peck on my forehead, she was gone.

*****

'Where have you been?' Michelle demanded, thrusting a 250mil glass into my hand. 'I was just about to send out search parties.'

I tended to doubt that. Her eyes were on Ziggy who was now minus a top but otherwise still fully clad. In other words she'd ditched her glittery blouse and depended on a loose-fitting jacket to keep her honest.

Compared to Tiger Lily she was a paragon of virtue. But she was still hotter than hot. And her tits were more pronounced than I'd reasonably expected . . .

Yes, me and tits. I guess you think that I have a fixation on breasts. And I guess you may be right. Two weeks ago I'd hardly spared a nice pair a glance. Now they were all around me, alluring as heck and preferably right in my face.

Yes please, yum, yum.

'Where do you think I've been?' I replied.

'Oh wherever; chatting up some horny chick: probably a younger babe than me.'

'I wouldn't look at a younger chick,' I said, not quite lying because Robin had to be thirty at least.

'What about Queen Bitch up there?'

I followed Michelle's glance back to the stage. Seeing Ziggy again gave me a sexual boost. Just how fit was she! And how could anyone's body move as perfectly as hers!

'She's so swishy in her satin and tat,' everyone around us sang, 'her frock coat and bipperty-bopperty hat . . .'

Forgetting else deliberately ignoring Robin's warning, I snuggled up to Michelle.

'I have an urgent need to be tribbed again,' I told her. 'I could even be persuaded to trib you. Are we on or not?'

Turned out we were.

Chapter Four

The diversion to halls didn't waylay us for very long. I loitered outside under the unrelenting gaze of a security guard who made mountain gorillas look like Liberace.

Okay, so that's maybe another of my exaggerations, but that guy was uncompromising. If I'd been given the choice I'd have chosen the mountain gorilla every time.

Then Michelle was back with me and we were heading for home; for my home, soon to be hers as well.

'What did you need to collect?' I wondered.

'I needed fresh panties for two and a couple of other essential items.'

Reassured about knickers but intrigued by "other items", I pressed for details. Stonewall Jackson couldn't have deflected me better. We arrived home with me none the wiser, regularly advised that I had to "wait and see".

Martha was not in evidence. Presumably she was out somewhere with Cauliflower Ears or a few of his teammates. We would have probably ignored her anyway but, in her absence, we went straight up to my room and stripped relatively swiftly, keen to get back to it.

Leastways I was keen. I knew Michelle had something up her sleeve and wanted to find out what it was.

Not that she kept me waiting much longer.

'Panties for two,' she said, carefully placing two neatly ironed pairs on my bedside table, 'and . . .'

Grinning at me, more endearing than ever, she held up what seemed to be a complicated network of black leather straps.

'It's my harness,' she said, answering my quizzical stare. 'And this is your choice of what I get to use in it.'

Now she was holding up two dildos: one maybe six inches, the other significantly larger.

Determined not to wimp, I pointed to the larger one.

'Excellent decision,' Michelle purred. 'I can make you happier than any man ever has with this.'

More than slightly dazed, I watched her step into her harness, put the chosen dildo in place and tighten a baffling variety of straps before grinning at me yet again, her artificial cock standing upright and very evidently ready for action.

'I mean it,' she said, 'I'm going to make you happier than any man ever has.'

And she was as good as her word.

*****

This is where I get nervy. Not that I resisted Michelle's attentions in any way at all. And not that she failed to live up to her claims. Trust me; I had never been fucked as thoroughly or skilfully. Michelle had me six ways from Sunday and I loved every last stroke.

But Shelly was gone, as was the love-making. Maybe it was that strap-on cock, but the girly side of her had vanished.

Please don't think I'm crying "rape!" No way was she rough or violent. If anything she was strong but tender and considerate. All I'm saying is that there was a noticeable difference. When in Shelly mode she was nothing but loving. But give her an artificial cock and she wanted to rule the world.

And psychologists everywhere please excuse me! I'm a mathematician, not a crazy-doctor. All I'm really trying to say is that girl-on-girl relationships seem to be changeable.

Yes, thrilling, fulfilling and very, very changeable.

*****

I'm going to skimp a bit about our harness fucking exploits, not least because so far this story seems to have been little other than sex, sex, sex.

Nothing wrong with that, I hear you cry.

And I agree whole-heartedly. I simply see the need to move our situation on a tad.

But not necessarily without a clash or three more of hungry female groins; please don't think that I want to sell you short.

At first Michelle must have had me in ten very different positions, setting off with me kneeling by my bed, her kneeling behind me. Then I lay on the bed while she knelt before me. Then I got on all-fours and she had me like that.

Best of the best, she had me flat on my back, face-to-face, tits-to-tits, the missionary way. I didn't contribute overmuch in that. Well, apart from wrapping my arms and legs tight around her and jerking my body up to meet her increasingly energetic thrusts . . .

Fuck me but she was good. And she was right too. She made me happier than any guy ever had.

*****

Maybe about midnight Michelle told me it was my turn.

(That's right; Shelly still AWOL, she didn't invite or seduce me, she told me.)

'Fuck me as hard as you like,' she added. 'I want it even more than you do.'

As if that was remotely possible! I did my utmost to make love to her whilst still giving her as much stimulation as I could. And that wasn't easy. Michelle had masses more experience than me and, men aside, I'd never previously indulged.

But stuff the false diffidence: I fucked her good. I fucked her so good I'm not sure which of us got most out of the experience. By silly o'clock in the morning both of us were screaming, No, both of us were howling at the moon.

And then, as I collapsed on her, still in her, her wickedly knowing fingers stole down the cleft of my ass.

Perhaps three seconds later, I had a finger in me.

'This ain't a virgin asshole,' Michelle crooned, 'this is one that wants what I want. Can I?'

I hesitated.

'Come on girlfriend,' she went on, 'you know you want to.'

I gulped and pointed to my bedside cabinet. 'There's lube in there.'

'Way to go, girl.' Michelle whooped with glee. 'And don't worry,' she added, 'I'll use the small one.'

*****

The use of "girlfriend" disturbed me although I can't explain why. But of course Michelle was spot-on correct: I did not have a virgin asshole. And yes . . . tell the truth and shame the devil . . . I did like to take it up there.

So Michelle fucked me anally. And she was as amazing as ever.

She also made me marvel as she possessed me with pure expertise and BOG standard precision. Why oh why had I ever wasted time with guys? Compared to her guys couldn't lick a clit for nuts and their cocks weren't exactly infallible. Remind me again what I ever saw in them.

On the other hand, don't bother. Even with Shelly still mysteriously absent, Michelle was in a class of her own.

Yes, wherever and however she fucked me, I was cool with the result.

The only downside came after, when she told me that, as far as asses were concerned, she'd give but wouldn't take. At the time I took the news with a pinch of salt. Way I saw it giving was a generous thing and taking was selfish. How could I blame the girl of my dreams for being generous?

Give, give, give . . .

How could I blame Michelle for anything?

And Robin reckoned she was trouble?

Not from my viewpoint she wasn't.

Chapter Five

Let's flash on a while. Michelle (or Shelly and whoever else in hell she could be) moved in as planned and the two of us slept together every night. Usually we went girl-on-girl . . . meaning harness-free . . . and she was always a willing, very-loving, caring partner. In other words she was most usually Shelly whether on me or under me.

Most usually she was, but not forever. In three weeks she wanted to fuck me three times, but only once up the ass. Being as I was, a girl of the world, I took that as being reasonable. As I have already admitted, I actually liked it up the ass and her touch was, to say the least, perfection.

During those three weeks we spent literally every last minute together. We sat close in lectures, always right next to each other, often touching each other under our desks; we invariably ate lunches together; we supped copious amounts of beer together and, needless to report, we always ended up in the same bed.

(Hers one night, mine the next. Don't ask why; it just seemed to be the right thing to do.)

So there we were, three weeks of living as lovers and suddenly it was her big birthday.

Twenty-one with the key of the door and all that!

'My Mother's booked us a hotel in Manchester,' she told me a day or so before. 'Well, she thinks she's booked it for me, but the room's a double so I've called and told them to expect you as well. And the hotel sounds great. It's got a spa, a gym and a sauna. We're there two nights: from Friday evening to Sunday morning. We've also got complimentary drinks and the breakfasts are self-service; go back as many times as you like. Isn't that just fab?'

Having a certain addiction to bacon and eggs, saunas and complimentary drinks, I agreed it was.

And our first night in room 666 (I kid you not!) went swimmingly. We luxuriated in bubble baths; we spent far too long on sunbeds, we quaffed gallons of complimentary cocktails and we fucked like two randy rabbits.

No change there, then!

On the fucking front, I mean!!

Saturday followed much of the same pattern, although Michelle did insist that we visited Legoland and a rather large aquarium filled with fish of astounding colours. Over a stupendously good supper, I asked how her mum could afford such extravagance.

'It's my dad,' she explained, 'he's on a mega salary. The more Mum spends, the harder he works and the more he earns. And he spoils both of us terribly. Mum more than me, I hasten to add.'

After several drinks in the hotel bar (none of them in the least complimentary) we went upstairs to fuck. That went as smoothly as ever until, at maybe 9pm, there was the rap of a knock on the door.

That'll be Amber,' said Michelle, untangling herself from me and heading off to answer.

'Who's Amber I asked, aghast.

'She's here to help us celebrate.'

At that moment in time I was on the bed rather than in it. And I had an urge to cover myself but not a clue where to start. Tits or pussy, I wondered frantically.

What on God's own earth had Michelle got us into?

As I lay there helpless the world's most beautiful woman came into our room and my jaw dropped.

Black, six feet at least and beyond stunning, Amber grinned at me. 'You must be Dotty. And you are even better than Michelle promised. I like you immensely.'

Her voice was Caribbean: meaning deep and even sexier than the rest of her. Trust me; hearing from her moved the ground under my . . .

Well, there wasn't actually ground under any of me. Let's just say the bedsprings reacted in very sincere appreciation.

Michelle took the initiative. 'Amber, if you like Dotty so immensely you'd best get on with it. I was just about to give her a thorough tonguing. You do it for me.'

Any friend of mine would have retorted scornfully. To my amazement Amber stripped off without a moment's hesitation, revealing the greatest pair of tits I'm ever likely to see.

Then with even less hesitation she went down on me.

Call me stunned, but I was unable to resist.

I helplessly stared at Michelle but she was avidly watching us and masturbating as she did so.

'Go for it, Amber,' she said between self-inflicted gasps, 'give her what she wants.'

It's her birthday, I told myself. It's her big birthday and Amber's obviously a very special friend of hers to turn up like this . . .

And my, wasn't Amber talented! Being so hot-looking she could probably have brought me off with one single smile . . . but her skills were much more profound than that.

Two lashes of her tongue and I gushed. Three lashes and I flooded her face.

What ecstasy!!

Very much unperturbed, Amber brought me off again and again . . . one, two, three, four . . . it was as simple as that: fast, efficient and proficient. Yet, amazingly, I did demonstrate some measure of control for the last pair of cums. When I glanced at the clock more than half an hour had passed. Thirty-five minutes of sheer rapture.

Lucky me!

Somewhere along the way Michelle had stopped jilling long enough to strap up. She also seemed to think four big ones were plenty enough for the time being.

'Amber,' she commanded, 'on your back.'

Amber obeyed, smiling sweetly as she did so.

'Sit on her face,' Michelle instructed me shortly. 'Don't argue, just do it.'

Well, it was her birthday . . . And it wasn't the harshest of orders to be given, after all, was it?

So I straddled Amber's lovely face and she stuck her even lovelier tongue in me.

Even more ecstasy!!

For a blissful age I got off on Amber's attentions while Michelle knelt between her legs and very vigorously fucked her.

You may well be wondering at how easily I fell into that threesome. But as I have already admitted in print, I had previously indulged with guys. Like with me and Martha and several guys at once.

(Meaning I'd done it in twosomes, threesomes and more-somes!)

Call me a slut and ask me if I'm bothered! We'd been consenting adults behind closed doors and I had never failed to enjoy myself. Deciding to go in an all-girl three didn't seem to be such a big deal.

In fact it seemed like a bloody good idea.

And in practice doing it with girls was different in all sorts of ways. Yes, it was different and it was better by far, especially when I turned through 180 degrees and lowered myself once more back onto that waiting and very knowing tongue.

Turned, I got to see the action. As I relished Amber's mouth I watched her tits moving in time with Michelle's powerful thrusts. I also watched Michelle's tits bobbing as she relentlessly pounded away.

(Yes, I know! Me and tits . . . again!! Anyone would think I had a thing about them!!)

Watching the large dildo go in and out of a wet pussy was entertaining too. So were all the sounds and smells. Moans and groans, grunts and sighs mixed with the regular squelchy slaps of genuine full penetration. Three different perfumes blended with three different types of sweat; three different types of outpourings of juice blended even better.

All too soon I came. Then I came again. And, a very, very short while later, I came a third time, as hard as if all the heavens had crashed down on me.

How knowing was that tongue!

On I pressed, riding Amber's mouth, doing my best to be gentle while my body wanted to go off in its own wild, possibly berserk direction. Somehow I fought off the impulse and my patience paid off.

Yes, that next cum was my best-ever. The time there really was a chance of crashing up through the ceiling.

As I peaked in ultimate perfection, a phone rang.

'That's my alarm,' said Amber, allowing me to shudder and judder to a halt before shoving me off.

Just like that, without further ado.

'How much for another half hour?' asked Michelle. 'I'll make it worth your while.'

What! I shook my head, thinking I'd misheard.

'Sorry babe' said Amber, putting her clothes back on.

'Fifty for twenty minutes,' went Michelle, 'in cash here and now, between you and me The agency doesn't need to know.'