Lucky in Cards, Unlucky in Love?

Damn. i didnt get this finished in time for the Valentine's day contest, but it is good experience to help me improve my writing for future contests, I hope.

Chapter One.

Lucky in cards, unlucky in love. That's what my granny used to say, when we played aggressively competitive games of Pontoon, which was a regular thing from my early teen to young adult years. Those rainy days indoors were a welcome break from days and days of vigorous outdoor activity, back when summer holidays were a simple caravan at the seaside.

I was indeed lucky in cards, very lucky, playing Pontoon on those warm, wet summer days, but I was rarely lucky in Valentine's cards come harsh, wintery February. I had to fix a fake "I'm so pleased for you!" smile on my face every year at school, then later at work, when I had to watch my friends and colleagues receive cards and bouquets of red roses. School was all girls, and having no brothers, or male cousins living within 50 miles of me, who could introduce me to their friends, I had little opportunity to mix with the opposite sex. University and work however had been a pretty even 50-50 mix of gender, so I didn't have that excuse there.

It wasn't like I didn't have work romances, or outside work romances, I did, I had lots. But oddly, they were pretty short lived affairs that mostly ended after four to six months, and always ended before February 14th.

I'm 28 now, and about to start work tomorrow for a multimedia marketing agency specialising in computer animation. I'll be working from home so the chances of a workplace romance by the 14th of next month, Saint V Day, is going to be pretty unlikely. Impossible in fact. I'm one of five new recruits and the company are putting us all up in residential accommodation during a six week intensive training course, in a town four and half hours from me. I'm so nervous as I've only ever lived with my granny, and then on my own since her death six years ago.

I start packing. We'll be stuck indoors at our computers most of the time so I throw all five pairs of leggings I own in, some jeans, a gazillion butter soft, old as the hills t-shirts, a few hoodies, two going out dresses with a pair of heels, for "just incasies", and all my toiletries into my case and the overflow in a hold all. As I scour my bedside drawers, ensuring I don't forget anything essential like my contact lens solution, eye drops, Bluetooth earbuds, and small first aid kit, I pull open the bottom drawer. My toy drawer. I'll hardly be needing anything from here, right? It's probably going to be all work, no time for pleasure. Although... What if we get a day off and I get the place to myself? Will I be able to go a full six weeks without anything but the fingers on my right hand!?

I spy a vanity case on the floor that I'd pulled out from the back of the wardrobe earlier. It locks, so maybe I could just throw a few vibes and my little remote nipple massagers with matching clit sucker in, and decide once I'm there if I should use them? Yes. I can use the rest of the space and load up on some other home comforts like books and a small hot water bottle. Sorted.

Tomorrow is going to be an exhausting day, but now the packing is done, I'm washed and have pulled the only t-shirt not packed over my head and climbed into bed, I'm just too excited to sleep. I jump back out and grab my vanity, unlock, unzip, and delve my hand in, in search of the Janet Evanovich book I'd started two nights ago. That'll help me unwind. Before my fingers can caress the glossy cover of the soft paper back novel, they bump into and stroke against the familiar soft rubber of one of my vibes. It's the small curved C shaped wand that tucks up against my bum hole and clit at the same time, or can also slip up inside and thrum against my g spot. Just remembering the last delicious night of orgasm I had with it at the weekend has my inner thighs clenching.

I curl my fingertips around it and pull it out. One orgasm will be a much quicker way to get to sleep than reading a few chapters of my book, so I'm being economical with my time really, it's practically a necessity.

I flop back onto my mattress and start to slip it gently into the entrance of my twitching pussy and think about the soft porn film I'd been watching on Saturday night in bed, that resulted in an earth shattering orgasm I had with the toy buried deep inside me. My g spot had got bashed senseless as I watched a handsome business man, stripped of his perfectly fitted dark blue suit, hammer his girthy big cock into the cute, wavy haired waitress he'd picked up in a diner earlier. She was still in her ugly mustard coloured work dress, white trainers and ankle socks on her feet, little floral knickers pulled down and still pooled around one foot. She had given him an intensly long blow job first, sucked on his balls until he was growling with suppressed pleasure. Then he had pushed her dress up, bent her over the writing desk in his hotel room and slapped her perfectly rounded bum with his full length, still glistening with her saliva, then slid himself in with a grunt. I'd fucked myself in time with his every energetic thrust, holding back until he pulled out and shot his creamy load all over her beautiful bum cheeks.

I was still cumming though, once he was done, so I had continued to watch her as she sat down on the chair at the desk, he fell onto the big bed and watched as she quickly snapped open the buttons of her uniform, exposing two big juicy ripe melons.

"Take it off."

She obeyed him, stood up quickly, pulling the dress over her head and kicked her knickers off her foot. Now naked but for her bright white trainers and little ankle socks, she was back on the chair, her legs spread to show a glistening bald pussy. She grabbed one of the little pink nipples that looked just a bit too small for her big mounds, and bucked her hips as she pinched it hard. She swapped to the other tit and slipped a hand between her legs and started lazily rotating her fingers against her pussy. My initial orgasm slowed down and started to fade by then, but I didn't feel like I was done. I loved that she was taking her pleasure into her own hands while he watched. It turned me on so much.

I tugged the curved vibe out of my pussy, dripping with my juices, and switched it to an intermittent, slightly gentler vibe pattern, and slipped it lower so that it pulstated against my tight little button and my clit, and held it against me firmly. With my free hand I started pulling on one then the other nipple, building up to another orgasm along with the waitress in the film. She had her fingers buried inside herself now and her thumb was strumming her clit. Her breathing got louder, lower, and I matched my own moans with hers.

I got greedy and needed both nipples stimulated at once but knew I couldn't bare to stop long enough to get my nipple toys out. Instead I grabbed two pillows and bunched them between my legs so I was straddling them and they pushed the vibe tighter against me. Hands free, I slapped both tits and caressed them, enjoying the feel of my hard nipples against my soft palms, before starting to pinch and pull, to mirror the waitress, now bouncing up and down on the chair, pounding herself with her hand. Her orgasm was incredible, she made the sexiest, real, guttural sounds that sent me, humping hard, over the edge.

Just as it does now.

As the vibe, now buried deep in my pussy, takes care of my insides I suck two fingers and press them to the top of my vulva, coaxing my swollen clit out and rubbing it hard so that I'm orgasming from my g spot and clit at the same time. My bum is bucking so far off the bed, my legs are spread wide open. I know I'm making a ridiculously lewd tableaux right now, but I don't care. The best thing about having a dry spell with men is being able to really get carried away and make every contorted face during orgasm, and noises like an animal in heat, without anyone being turned off. So, so, so satisfying. I'm spent.

I let my heart rate recover, pull my T-shirt off and use it to dry my dripping toy and sopping pussy. Now I'm ready for sleep.

Chapter Two.

The train journey is long, but the address of the accommodation is easy to find. It's a huge, red brick semi detached house in a long row of almost identical homes on what looks to be the cool edge of town. Using the key I'd been sent, I go through the door, and spot two medium sized suitcases and a heap of canvas rucksack type bags in varying shades of khaki, cluttering up the minimal black and white tiled entrance hall. There's nothing but silence once I step inside and then a distinct pop followed by raucous cheer goes up from a room nearby, and I stop just short of vainly thinking it's for my arrival. I drop my vanity case, hold all and wheely suitcase on the floor, near the heap, and head in the direction of all the noise.

Three bearded hipsters in their mid 20's to early 30's are standing around a butcher block style kitchen island in a minimalist kitchen, holding out stemmed glassware toward a tall, curvy, ebony skinned beauty. She is wearing jeans like me, and a bright white, very tight, shoe string strapped vest, like it was the middle of summer, not Winter. She is also brandishing a magnum of Prosecco, pouring bubbles for everyone.

"Oh hello! Here she is! Let's cheers to the last member of the family! Pass her a glass Ben".

Ben turns to face me and his eyebrows shoot up, he smiles an infectious big grin and dutifully does as he is told. I stand along with them, all five of us with full to the brim glasses and gleefully clink them.

"Slainte!" "Skol!" "Cheers!" "Bottoms up!" "Down the hatch!"

The ebony goddess is first to introduce herself to me. Her perfect white teeth display themselves beautifully and mesmerise me on the spot. It's a moment before I realised she is speaking.

"Hi Roomy! I'm Stella, what's your name?"

"Hi! I'm Nell, lovely to meet you!"

What follows is a noisy chorus of hellos and name swapping. Lots of gabbled summaries of our journeys here today, brief life histories, swapping of work horror stories etc. I am quickly given the nickname Nella, by Stella, who decorates the kitchen chalkboard with all our names alongside hilariously clever caricatures, to save us the embarrassment of forgetting who is who in the next few early days.

I top the billing with a quirky stick figure with little boobs drawn on, and a riot of orange chalked curls, and I'm holding a little fan of playing cards, as earlier I'd talked about playing Pontoon with granny, when asked if I'd a competitive nature when the subject of going to pub quizzes came up.

Then Stella draws herself with brown chalk, big red lips and giant space hopper boobs (they are her boobs and she can draw them gigantic if she wants too, according to her). Chalk Stella is drawing another stick figure. Very meta.

Ben, the gym junkie, looks Hispanic, has the shortest beard and hair, but she exaggerates his chalk man with a big triangular chest to portray the huge pecs he is quite rightly not attempting to hide in his tight buttermilk coloured T-shirt. And then she draws two really big feet. I hadn't noticed his feet so take a look down and right enough, those Doc Martins must have to be specially ordered in that size.

Dominic, he has a sandy coloured beard, long dark blonde locks hanging to his shoulders in a mass of waves that she colours in bright yellow, except the chalked Dominic has a floor length beard and hair, like an adorable Big Bird and Cousin IT cross breed. The hairy figure is propping up a colourful surf board.

Connor, the vintage film aficionado, looks like a vintage film heartthrob. He's stunning. Clit tinglingly stunning. He has black hair like a raven, pulled into a half ponytail and a big handlebar mustache waxed to perfection. His beard is an equally well maintained, collar length, tapered affair that Stella has chosen to draw as a long triangle with cow horns on top, in a nod to his mustache. She finishes the cartoon beard with two big eyes and nostrils, and a speech bubble with "Moooovies". It's genius.

It turns out there are five bedrooms, but one has been made up with twin beds to share as our training instructor is arriving later tonight and will stay for the one night as there was a mix up with their hotel booking. Before I arrived the hipsters and Stella had a conversation - if a female arrived Stella and them would take the room with the spare bed and if another male arrived all the menfolk would draw straws to see who'd share. They now start to dish out bottles of beer from a cooler on the kitchen counter, so Stella and I leave them to it, grab our cases and bags, and go in search of this twin room.

Second door lucky, we are both pleased by how spacious it is. The twin beds are still fastened together in one huge bed, but a single duvet and pillow set are rolled up and perched on top. Despite being a bit giggly from the Prosecco, between us we manage to haul up the heavy brocade valance and find the clips to disconnect the beds, rolling one away to make two generous singles. We quickly make up the spare bed and, exhausted by the day of travel, bed making and Prosecco, we agree to hit the sack early, in anticipation of the new unknown, tomorrow.

I wake at 7am, there's a dull band of light coming through the pale blue blind that had not been pulled all the way down. I have a whole hour before I need to be up so I nip quickly to the en-suite for a pee and prepare to climb back into bed to grab a final few zzzeds. I'm distracted by a very faint, girly snore and remember I'm sharing a room with Stella. Her king size duvet, far too big for a single bed, is slumped on the floor and she's lying starfished on her bed, arms and legs spread. The heating has not come on in the house yet so I detour over and pick her duvet up, preparing to cover her sleeping body.

As I lean down I notice the cotton yoga bra she has worn to bed, with matching boy shorts, has twisted and her left boob has almost completely made an escape from between the strap and snagged armpit. It looks to be a perfectly formed teardrop shape with a large, deep dusky pink areola, stunning against her dark glossy skin. Her nipple is puckered in the cool air and fighting to stay within the confines of her bra with every breath she takes. As I pull the big duvet up off the floor and prepare to cover her snuffling body I can't help but notice her little shorts are much tighter in contrast to the bra. The crease between her legs is in such sharp relief I find myself tempted to run a fingernail into the groove and down its length.

The cool air in the room dries on my mouth, revealing to me the fact I've actually licked my lips in temptation. Immediately embarrassed I drop the duvet from my standing position over her sleeping body and she wakes up, completely startled.

"I'm sorry Stella, you looked cold, your duvet had slipped off."

"Jesus Nella, I'm ball froze! It's bloody Baltic in here! Get in, quick, warm me up, in yer big cosy t-shirt, ya wee sensible thing ya."

She pulls me down into the little spoon position and flings a leg over me before I can fly back to my own bed in shyness. I lie curled up, rigid as a poker for nearly a full minute, a silent minute. I figured she'd drifted back off to sleep so I make to get up, disentangling our lower limbs, but she starts mumbling.

"Cold. So so cold."

And pulls me back down, but now I am facing the other way, almost nose to nose with her. I hold my breath, not wanting to poison her with my morning mouth, and try very hard not to notice her big soft boob pressed against my upper arm. It feels like warm velvet. I lie still and wait for her gentle snores to begin again and disentangle, successfully getting up off the bed this time. I tuck the duvet around her as best I can and decide to start the day early, with a significantly cooler shower than planned, to calm my raging hormones.

Chapter 3.

Training goes so well. The instructor is an older father figure type, who makes everything interesting, and even fun at times. After the first night staying with us, when he immediately endeared himself to us by ordering takeaway pizza and beers for everyone, he is now quick to leave every day at 6pm to race back to the hotel. The boys tease him about having a secret lady friend staying with him there, and he laps up the attention with really good humour.

The days are flying in, everyone is getting on like we have been friends since nursery school. We haven't hit the town yet as we were pretty much snowed in in the first three weeks, but now, almost mid February, a slow but steady thaw has begun

It's Saturday afternoon, and we get to stop training at midday on the weekend. Ben, who had been out restocking our dwindling food and drink supplies, comes home all rosy cheeked and excited, with a flyer for a Valentine's Day speed dating night for singles at a pub in town.

Valentine's Day. I'd totally dodged the usual dread in the run up to it, not having been near any shops with the predictable gaudy red displays of hearts, flowers and cards, and all the other, in your face, reminders. Being so busy has helped too. Connor is lounging on the sofa listening to football results on the radio and quickly sits up at the mention of the V word.

"Oh shit! That's what she was hinting at! Guys, I'm in trouble. Help!"

Connor is the only one of our little group of five who is dating. He talks about his girlfriend all the time, which was much to my disappointment, at first. He's definitely the handsomest of the three guys, and for a full hour that first evening I had fantasised about what his big mustache would feel like, against my lips. Both pairs. But then he asked if any of us were in relationships, pretty much as an excuse so he could then bore us all about his girlfriend of eight months, Thalia.

"Oooh, your first Big Val day Connor, you can't balls that one up! Not if you want to enjoy a favourable reunion as hot as your phone sex sessions!"

Stella kindly let me stay in the big room with the ensuite we shared on the first night, and took the room vacated by our trainer after the first night, which is next door to Connor. She loves to tease him about his video calls to Thalia, which are frequent and hours long, and he just laughs it off, not embarrassed one little bit if he has indeed been caught, going hot and heavy on the phone.

"Make yourself useful you trouble maker, and help me plan a big night. Well, not too big. I'm gonna need to get up early to get back here for work the next morning. I'll have to leave here on the dot of 5pm to get the 5.15 train back home in time for a late dinner. Should I warn Thalia, or just surprise her?"

"Nooooo! No! No surprise!" Stella and I shout over each other, with feeling. There is no way a woman wants to be surprised for a romantic night out. Not when she might be slobbing out on her sofa, in ice cream stained pyjamas, hair unwashed, no make up, fully not expecting her boyfriend who is supposedly three hours away to rock up at her door in a romantic gesture.

We put our heads together and nudge him in the direction of creating a personalised Valentine's card with a poem, and big clue she can't miss at the end, revealing he'll be there to pick her up for a meal and a short but sweet night of sexy fun afterwards. We even help him to work out her dress size from the gazillion photos and video clips he has of the two of them on his phone, and have great sport helping him choose some tasteful underwear.

He really was cutting it fine, with Monday the 14th just two days a way, he has to pay up for express delivery and cross everything all arrives on time.

Ben comes back in from putting the shopping away and changing out of his slush soaked jeans, shoes and socks. He does a quick scope of the open plan living and dining room then lets out a big gulder of a shout to attract Dominic's attention. Dominic walks in, hair tousled, looking like he'd been in the middle of a pretty decent nap.