Is It for Real

Maybe on this all-girls week, several were prepared to experiment and push boundaries of their own making.

In the spirit of the exceptional environment, naturally.

Two percent? No way, José; here and now it was twenty at the bare minimum. Hopefully more.

Hopefully with Rebecca very much included.

*****

Trogging it down to "town" was surprisingly enjoyable. We'd all had a decent tea ("tea" being a term for "evening meal", fresh out of "The North") and we were all eager for beer, preferably plenty of it.

Laughing and joking, taking most of the time getting out of the manor house's enormous grounds we did eventually make it to the first pub.

'These are on me,' I announced as hundreds of male eyes alighted on us new arrivals.

'You can't buy every round,' a glamorous brunette protested.

'It's not me paying,' I replied, 'it's WYB and this magic card. And I've been ordered to make good use of it.'

That did the trick. Okay, so I didn't buy every last drink that night, but I did stand an awful lot.

And best of all, Rebecca attached herself to me like a leech.

Not that there was anything leech-like about the girl. Every time I looked at her, her legs got a tad longer and her beauty intensified. And don't get me going about that hair of hers.

Utterly, utterly magnificent. There are no other words to describe it.

Needless to say, I didn't discourage her one whit. No, I chatted on like a good un and kept her glass up to the top, even more than everyone else's. And I hardly paid any attention to Lottie and Helen, who were practically tonsil-bashing already.

Perhaps I'm exaggerating but, three pubs into our crawl, they did disappear outside for an awful long time. And neither of them happened to be smokers, not in the tobacco sense, anyway.

So, draw your own conclusions, Sherlock.

'It's the Little John next en route,' the lovely brunette told us, 'but the SOP is to save that for last. It serves late, you see. Best to use up the early closers first.'

Who were we to argue with long-established protocol?

Letting someone else buy a fifteen-girl round in the Scotsmans Pack, we went with the flow. Was it my imagination or was Rebecca edging ever closer?

Was she slowly but steadily becoming my personal Bex?

*****

In the Little John I achieved instant fame. Well, apart from buying all the booze I did. As it happened, for once only funding drinks for myself and Rebecca, I literally bumped into a powerfully built young lady, all short, bristly bleached white hair and muscles.

'Sorry,' we said simultaneously. Then grinned at each other. I didn't need gaydar to detect this babe.

Oh no, this babe was in there, in that supposed one or two per cent.

Yes, in there with a vengeance.

'What are you doing on my patch?' she asked, her eyes holding me back from the bar.

'I'm on a management course.'

'Up the hill,' she finished for me.

'Yeah. What is it you do for a living?'

'Don't worry, I'm off duty. But I'm a policewoman.'

That triggered my uncontrollable mouth. 'It's way, way after closing time,' it said, 'have you got your handcuffs with you?'

Cue thunderous applause from all quarters, girly gang and locals combined.

Cool as a cucumber, my WPC replied, 'Sadly no. Be in here this time Thursday and my answer may be different.'

Cue even more thunderous applause. If only I'd had the guts to kiss her.

Taking the coward's way out I asked her if she'd like a drink. She raised a mostly full pint of lager and said her "so-called boyfriend" was buying. 'That's him in the corner. The one with cauliflower ears.'

I had to smile at that. The guy she indicated wouldn't have been out of place there on Church Green, Keighley. He even had the obligatory broken nose.

'Thursday,' she said as she turned away, 'I'll be in here, watching out for you.'

Chapter Seven

Still hunting as a pack all fifteen of us headed back to base. Back very much uphill. Isn't it odd how a slope can seem like nothing going down but like a mountain going up? Consoling myself, I thought of Goose Eye Brow back home. Now that hill is short but really steep. The Tour de France had relatively recently kicked off in Yorkshire and even the famous "mountain men" had winced as they battled up it.

Compared to the Alps and remote parts of Keighley, the hike out of Hathersage was a doddle.

If only we hadn't all needed to stop so often for unladylike pees on the grass verges.

(Much easier for girls in skirts, tee-hee.)

Anyhow, we somehow made it and headed for our rooms. That is to say, best I could tell, most of us headed for our rooms. Beyond subtlety, Lottie and Helen headed for her room, right next to mine. I exchanged knowing glances with Rebecca.

'Who'd have guessed it,' I ventured.

'I would have,' she replied to my surprise. 'And I'm ready for some shuteye. Is a goodnight kiss out of the question? I owe you one for all those pints.'

'A goodnight kiss would be only too welcome,' said I, conscious of a weird hollowness in my legs.

Conscious also of her towering height, hoping she'd kiss me for real and not just peck.

Girl oh girl, didn't she kiss me! It probably only lasted twenty seconds but her input was awesome.

Gripping her like a drowning woman gipping a lifebelt, I kissed back as best I could. But Rebecca was in control; no doubt about that.

No doubt and I had the wobbly knees to prove it.

Then suddenly, quite abruptly, she broke away, smiled at me, assured me tonight had been fun, and fled as if chased by all the devils in hell.

I wasn't quite sure how to take that. Our kiss had been as hot as any I could remember, and I was a veteran of many, many kisses. The feel of her boobs more or less on mine (more or less because of the altogether small height difference) had been exquisite.

Yet she'd run off like a startled deer.

Scowling, wishing I'd brought wine, I let myself into my room and had a (hopefully) final pee.

Next, I removed my blouse and, on impulse, opened my case and extracted my super-sized dildo.

It didn't seem too big just then. Just then it seemed quite the ticket. Slipping a condom on it felt as if I was about to favour a lucky, lucky man.

Not to mention favouring lucky, lucky me, of course.

Already self-lubricating at the prospect, I hesitated as a knock came at my door. Hoping whoever it was would go away, I ignored it. But it was repeated in a way I instinctively knew meant the caller wasn't likely to quit.

Sighing, I hid my dildo under a pillow and opened the door.

And what a good decision was that.

The caller was Rebecca, clad in a white dressing gown. We stared at each other, her noting both of my exposed boobs, me noting the length of her legs beneath that only-partially shielding gown.

Long, long, long!

'I chickened,' she said after a slightly uncomfortable silence. 'I owe you a far bigger kiss.'

'Go for it if that's what you really want,' I as good as gulped.

'Trust me, it really, really is.'

Was I the girl to refuse such an offer? Make that the biggest of noes ever.

'So, pay up,' said I, presenting my lips like the willing hussy I was.

Rebecca pounced on me and this time twenty seconds shrank off the scale. This time it was minutes if not a whole hour. And this time her hands were moving on me, on my bare back and lower, much, much lower.

Unzipping my skirt as if she had every right to do so. Wantonly discarding it.

Just then she certainly did have every right. Just then I'd have permitted anything to keep that hotter than hot kiss going.

What a joy that was. I can't begin to describe the sensations but I'm sure every woman knows where I'm coming from. Fingers exploring flesh, for now avoiding erogenous zones but taunting, teasing all the same.

How marvellous is human contact? Even men can stimulate us girls, but not nearly as well as we girls can do the job.

Not that I'm knocking guys out of hand. As I've said already, they have their uses.

But girl-on-girl has entranced me ever since my Manor days. Girls know, don't they?

And amazingly enough, seemingly straight Rebecca knew better than most.

She clearly still wanted to be the girl in charge, so I thankfully let her be. Far as I was concerned, I'd

no problem with standing there and taking it.

Far as I was concerned, the more the merrier.

Bring it on.

*****

So, sixty minutes or more after her surprise arrival, Rebecca stopped snogging my face off. Stopping coincided with the unmistakable sounds of a major orgasm in the room next door.

'Must be Lottie,' said I, 'getting what she's been after all evening.'

'That's not Lottie,' my beautiful visitor said confidently, 'it must be Helen, getting what she's been after ever since lunchtime.'

Then, without any prompting whatsoever, she let her dressing gown fall away.

And what a sight was she! Totally naked, fanny completely shaved to exhibit its perfection, boobs as immaculate as possibly could be.

Nipples prominently erect.

Those legs! Like wow!! Who was it who had her legs insured for a million dollars back in the day? It was Betty Grable, I believe. But never mind a mere million, Rebecca's had to be worth trillions, and not just accounting for inflation.

'Ahem,' she said, glancing down my semi-clad body, 'aren't you a little over-dressed?'

I made to unfasten my suspender belt but was instantly stayed.

'I've been ogling those nylons ever since we left WYB,' she assured me. 'I can hardly wait to have them wrapped tight around my back.'

'I've had similar thoughts about your show-stopping legs,' I confessed.

'Let's get on with it, then. Off with your knickers.'

Needless to report my panties were as good as microscopic. When Rebecca's hands had strayed, she had been able to grip, stroke, squeeze and caress a pair of virtually bare buns.

What a sensation was that! She was beyond compare at stroking my back and even better at paying attention to my very pert cheeks.

Telling the truth as per (nearly) always, she'd made me cum at least four times during that marathon snog. And, continuing the honesty theme, she already had me close to number five.

Stepping out of my briefs with more haste than elegance, I measured the clothing balance. Stockings and benders versus nothing at all. Yes, Rebecca was the girl in charge all right.

And I was little better than a brazen hussy.

Not that I cared about feelings just then. The only feelings I cared about just then were sweeter than sweet kisses, caresses and the likes.

Chapter Eight

I have previously indicated my sexual habits tend towards excess. In other words, I get my hands on a babe then lose it altogether. That night was different. That night I played my part better than Judi Dench (not that Dame Judi would ever feature in that sort of bedroom drama).

Yes, letting Rebecca half-lead, half-shove me across the room, I obligingly sat on the bed before lying back and offering free, unlimited access.

And didn't she have a thing about my boobs! She feasted on them for simply ages and ages. She was good at it too, using her hands to stroke, squeeze and caress while her lips, tongue and teeth sucked, kissed, nibbled, licked, teased and tormented.

That's about the time I lost count of my orgasms. Believe you me, by then numbers didn't matter in the least and I was as useless as a statistician; by then all that mattered was the here and now.

She was cunning with it, as well. Always varying her technique, she used her mouth on one breast as she used her hand (or hands) on the other. Frequently swapping targets, always leaving me wanting more.

As if she ever actually left me. That loving was as thorough as any I'd ever known.

Yes, as thorough and three times better.

*****

Eventually, who knows when exactly, Rebecca changed her winning formula. That is to say she kept on using her mouth and one hand on my oh so willing boobs but slid her other hand down my (even more willing) body, taking aeons to arrive on my mons, instantly making me climax again.

As if coming out in sympathy, there was yet another yell from next door. Tell the truth, I found that stereo effect arousing. There was a certain something about two pairs of girls in adjoining rooms.

Something sharing if not precisely caring.

Trust me, I've been in threesomes and moresomes without feeling the sharing so intensely.

'Yes, yes, yes,' I breathed as soon as breathing was possible again. 'More, more, more.'

No change in that old refrain, then!

Expect Rebecca did change again, leaving my boobs feeling wantonly abandoned, she slid her oh so luscious body down mine, deliberately taking her time, prolonging the anticipation to the max.

'Yes, yes, yes,' I wailed. 'More, more, more,' I as good as yelled.

Thankfully, she didn't keep me waiting forever. Oh no, not her. Shifting her hand from my mound of joy she brought her face close to me, so close I could feel her breath on my own shaven sex.

She didn't totally remove that hand either. Two fingers slid into me without a by your leave.

Not that I complained. Forget wailing and yelling, that time I squealed in sheer rapture. Scrambled as my brain was just then, I vaguely recall an answering squeal from next door. Maybe it was Lottie. Or perhaps it was still Helen. Whoever it was, that person was maintaining the values of sisterhood.

Sisters doing it for themselves. Hardly. We sisters were very much doing it for each other.

'That's so good,' I crooned as those wickedly knowing digits pistoned in and out of me.

Again, again and (deliciously) again.

Have l previously mentioned my wave theory? I know others have but I'm sure I haven't so here it is.

Back in my girlhood, back in black and white, my parents took me to Cornwall for a week. Previously I'd only had day trips to the seaside, Morecambe and Blackpool mostly, because they were nearer to us than Scarborough and Brid, even though the first two were in Lancashire, not God's Own County.

But Cornwall was something else. We stayed in Mevagissey where, thanks to the double harbour, all seemed calm out at sea. Then, two or three days into our holiday, Dad drove us up to Newquay.

(Please don't think we went all the way down there in his battered old Landy. He'd borrowed some fancier wheels off a friend, no doubt bribing him with oodles of free dairy products.)

And good grief, wasn't the sea something in Newquay! Everywhere else I had ever been had been fit for paddling toddlers, but Newquay looked like Bondi or Surfers' Paradise. The size of those rollers!

They even had an Aussie lifeguard, sitting on a mile-high chair to give him the best possible view out over the bay.

That's when I was landed with the notion.

Perfectly innocently, Dad told me to watch the incoming waves, assuring me every seventh was the biggest. I'm still not sure if he was having me on, reckoning it was something to do with the pull of the Moon's gravity, but he seemed to be right.

Decent sized, a little bigger, a little bigger still . . . then a massive seventh and back to decent sized.

Orgasms are like that. At least they are for me. And being naturally orgasmic, I have lots of evidence to back that assertion. Okay, as a ten-year old in Cornwall I didn't even know what an orgasm was. I had to wait a few years until my schoolmates at The Manor first explained and gradually introduced me to the concept.

And no, I'm not dependent on the likes of Mary Rose to verify my theory.

I've verified it for myself many, many times. Alone or accompanied, it works without fail.

*****

Not content with simply pistoning fingers, Rebecca finally kissed me. And with little subtlety at that. In other words, she homed in directly on my clit. She did not pass Go and she did not collect £200.

I instantly climaxed for what had to be a seventh and urged her on.

'More, more, more,' I begged. 'Please, please, please,' I pleaded.

To my eternal delight, she obliged with all the vigour and appetite of a hurricane.

You could say we were made for each other.

I was certainly made up to be there on the receiving end of the best sex onslaught ever.

What right-minded girl wouldn't be?

Chapter Nine

Where was I? Oh yes, I was rambling amid recollections of long-ago holidays and my first sex session with Bex.

That has a ring to it, doesn't it? Sex with Bex.

I'm not sure how much detail readers might like so I'll skimp, not least because I was so enraptured, I can't remember every last lick and nibble.

I can remember those pistoning fingers though; I'll never forget them.

Not ever, ever, ever.

I have, co-incidentally, noticed I keep using words like "best" and better" when referring to Rebecca and her love-making. That's probably down to the chemistry between us.

Yes, we were definitely made for each other.

An hour or so into our first session and I was already halfway in love with her.

And put it this way, if she ever appeared on Mastermind she could pick fanny licking as her specialist subject. She would score very highly too. I tend to doubt she'd get any of the answers wrong in that particular category.

Ask me, she'd trawl through general knowledge then sail off into the distance.

Or is it specialist subject first, then general knowledge . . .

Who cares? She certainly answered all my unspoken questions correctly.

Yes, yes, yes. Please, please, please.

Maybe I telegraphed all the required responses, but she hit the bullseye every time, never missing.

Eat your heart out, Phil Taylor, she was even more accurate than you, and much more powerful.

(Omigod, I just compared cunnilingus with boring old darts. What am I like!)

After several aeons of attention to my clit she moved on. That is to say with a hasty kiss to my totally ignored clitoral hood, she lavishly and painstakingly thoroughly licked my lips, outer and inner.

Yes, yes, yes. More, more, more.

Then her tongue was inside me, somehow co-existing with those tireless fingers. I had a great urge to wrap my (soggy by then) nyloned legs around her back but the geography didn't work out, not on a single bed, anyway. I had to content myself with moans, groans and sighs of encouragement.

As if Rebecca needed encouraging. That girl was a force of nature and I adored every second of her.

Or should that be every hour?

Eventually she desisted. I almost cried as she stopped urgently pistoning. Then she suggested a trib, and I cheered out loud.

(And stuff our noisy neighbours. Somewhere along the line they'd shut up, maybe to snatch shuteye of their own. Did I care if I spoilt their slumber? Did I heckers like. They'd shown zero regard for mine so yah boo.)

Amazingly enough, having Rebecca sliding back up my bod was preferable to having her sliding down it. Okay, I'm talking fine margins, but those breasts of hers . . .

More, more, more. Please, please, please.

Having her staring into my eyes, her scrumptious auburn hair falling around us, framing our faces, in a way locking us off from the rest of the world . . .

Yes, yes, yes!

Then she proceeded to shag me with military precision. Me, the girl who has always been there and done that . . . well, I was sincerely impressed. I was sincerely aroused too but, don't ask how because I don't know, I held off my next big O.

That's right, instead of climaxing every five minutes I lasted a goodly while. I also took opportunity to finally wrap those soggy nylons tight around my newest, best-ever lover.

She showed her gratitude in her motions. In fact, I'd never been tribbed more efficiently.

I appreciated her efforts with ever cell of my being.

Then she was gasping at me. 'Not yet,' she wheezed, 'I want you with me this time.'

Call me self-centred, but I wasn't aware she'd cum previously. Okay, so I had my suspicions, but she had been doing all the doings after all.