Sex on the Beach

'My round,' said Maria, ordering three beers and saying "and whatever you want" to Estela. The look on her face when she was charged the going rate was priceless. She'd clearly expected freebies like I'd got.

'Don't you ever drink poolside again,' she snarled, waving a fifty under Estela's nose.

'Gotcha,' said Estela with a laugh. 'Keep your money and exchange the favour. That's all I ask.'

I watched the interchanges between the three Lanzarote girls with interest. In her role as "Mother of all Lesbians" Sabria was held in respect, maybe even regarded with a degree of fear. The other two obviously treated each other as equals and happily squabbled over trifles.

Was Maria really a virgin before sleeping with me? I wondered. Don't get me wrong, I could tell she wasn't a virgin full stop because I knew the signs (or so I believed, perhaps based more on her body language than any ruptured hymen) but had she really, truly been a girl-on-girl virgin in every sense of the term?

I honestly couldn't say. In the bedroom she'd reacted like a seasoned pro with a hunger that matched my own. Her lower body rhythms had been exquisite . . . and the things she'd said!

No doubt about it, she was right there in the general bar, ready willing and able to go for a three with two openly lesbian ladies.

If the other night really had been her first time she'd come on in leaps and bounds. Give her another six months and, never mind Sabria's nickname, she'd be queen of the lesbian world.

She was seriously fit, too. The only reservation I had about her . . . or about anything at all . . . was of me accidentally calling her "Camila" in a moment of extreme passion.

As I've said before, she and the Argentinian babe could have been either half of a split egg.

And however had I let Camila go after just one very luscious encounter? Full social diary or not, why I hadn't arranged to be with her again was a mystery. Okay, I'd "see" her again in the steakhouse, but I wanted to more than "see" her again.

I wanted to screw her until neither of us could walk.

That's right; I owed her, big-time. We'd agreed to share workloads and she'd eclipsed me.

While my three local girls cheerily chatted and squabbled I thought about the Banos de Damas. Could I catch Camila in there? Could we get it on in a locked cubicle without screaming and shouting?

But there again, was a (theoretical) snatched five minutes enough?

No, five fleeting minutes wasn't anywhere fucking near enough.

There and then I decided to return to the island next Easter. I'd book the same hotel, same room if at all possible, and Camila could go first at filling my diary.

I'd balance the books too. That went without saying. In fact I'd retake the lead even more emphatically than Mo Farah.

(Not that Mo often ever had to "retake" the lead!)

Dragging my attention back to the present I realized my companions were waiting for me to speak.

'What?' I blundered.

'I asked if we should share a bottle of blanco or go up to your room,' Sabria said patiently, 'unless you want to come to my place and be chained to the wall.'

I wasn't so sure about that so went for a bottle of blanco, with the three of us chipping in for payments to prevent Estela being sacked after the next stock-takers' inquest.

Asif she didn't know every trick in the book!

A large glass of wine later and Sabria's strong hand landed on my thigh, just as I was about to order a second bottle.

'I have got an early start compared to some lazybones,' she said nodding at the pair of barmaids, as if they lived the life of Riley. 'So what's it going to be, girl, chains or room 417?'

'Room 417,' my mouth replied of its own accord. 'I'll race you both.'

But I was too late; Maria had already set off, faster than Dina Asher-Smith.

*****

By the time we got there Maria was pawing my door, like a bull at a gate. No doubt at all, she was up for it, even more so than me and Sabria (and Sabria's hand had been squeezing my arse ever since we left the bar).

Talk about lack of inhibitions. Still early-ish evening, there'd been a lot of folk coming and going, most of them fellow guests who must have known who Sabria was. But did she care one fig?

Make that a no.

Edging past Maria I unlocked the door and waved the two of them inside. Then, taking a deep breath, I went in and shut us away from the world.

Unsurprisingly Sabria immediately took control. 'Okay Charley,' she began, 'strip for us.'

I was cool with that. They had both seen me naked before and I had nothing to hide. Or had I? I had taken a long and thorough seeing to that afternoon; kitty-kitty wasn't leaking yet but my labia felt more than a little swollen. Still, these two were women of the world and they already knew what I'd been up to earlier.

Well, not to the extent of knowing about the strapless delight, yet sufficiently well to be aware I'd been out for sex.

So what if confirmation was there before their eyes? As far as I was concerned they could read it and weep.

Not that I really expected weeping. The way Sabria was behaving, weeping wasn't on the cards at all.

'There you go,' I said, giving them a twirl in the altogether.

'Lovely as ever,' observed Sabria, grabbing Maria's arm before she could make a lunge for me. 'You next, Maria,' she went on. 'I've always wanted to see you as Mother Nature intended.'

Maria was in her pool bar "uniform", which was more informal than Estela and Sabria's. It looked very good on her, though. And the view only improved as she discarded item after item.

Item after item!I'm making it sound as if she was dressed for the Antarctic, not the subtropical-desert climate of Lanzarote. Discarding her few items took perhaps thirty seconds.

'Just as lovely,' said Sabria. 'Now it's my turn.'

Watching her much more formal uniform come off was a treat. She dragged it out as well, which was a good thing in my opinion. My labia felt more swollen than ever and kitty-kitty was leaking copiously.

'Okay,' Sabria declared when the three of us were equally naked, 'it's time to progress.'

I had been given the impression I was going to be the subject of a two girl assault. In fact the phrase "doubled-teamed" had been used at least once. Consequently I was astonished when the Mother of all Lesbians ordered Maria to get on her back on the bed.

Grinning widely, Maria obeyed.

Chapter Seven

'I'll let you choose, Charley' said Sabria as I drank in as much of Maria as I possibly could. 'What's it to be, the top half or the bottom?'

You know me and tits, right? I was sorely tempted to go for tops. But then I considered those tastes I would find down below. Okay, so I'd already tasted two different girls that day, but I wanted more. And I wanted to taste Maria first, before Sabria licked all the heavenly honey out of her.

So I went for bottoms and Sabria set about those delightful boobs. And didn't she set about them with a will! I must have wasted two minutes of valuable kitty-kitty time watching her head bobbing, listening to Maria's encouraging groans and moans.

Then I kicked into gear and got on the bed, between obligingly widespread (and very shapely) legs.

By then Maria was visibly self-lubricating and her labia were nearly as swollen as mine. Beginning by pushing the tip of my tongue into her belly button, I drew lines of saliva down her body, taking my time about it, initially ending up licking her right-hand labium. Then I went back to her navel and repeated the process, ending up licking her left-hand labium. And I was repetitive about it.

Right, left, right, left, right.

Please don't take me to be predictable. Ten minutes or so of repetitiveness and I varied randomly.

Right, right, left, right, left, left, right, left.

That seemed to go down well indeed.

Sabria meanwhile had straddled Maria's face, presumably with the pool bar's manager's tongue deep inside her. Her hands were still busily working on those delightful boobs and it was hard to tell whose moaning and groaning was loudest.

Well, it was Sabria, obviously. Her mouth was free while Maria's was otherwise occupied.

As for me . . . I was grunting through my nose. I couldn't help myself. Maria was like a bucking bronco under me. Much more of that and I'd get a sore neck. Not that I was about to let such worries stop me at a moment like that. Not when I hadn't even properly tasted her yet.

Time to rectify that little oversight . . .

While Sabria continued riding face and aggressively fondling tits I pressed my tongue into Maria in a slow, friendly sort of a way.

Utter, total magic!

Those swollen labia of hers parted like the Red Sea. And the heat of her! I'd never known anything to begin to compare. She was hotter than ovens and tighter than tight.

And forgive me for not mentioning the taste of her. You know me and the taste of kitty-kitty juice. I just love every new experience and always rate "new" as "best ever". Maria wasn't exactly new to me but right then she seemed different. And yeah, she was definitely best ever.

Wasn't she just!

Maria orgasmed seconds after my intrusion, three or maybe four times. Or maybe she was reacting to Sabria's assault on her mouth and chest.

Perhaps she was simply reacting to the occasion. Trust me: I was quite close to cumming without the skilled attention of tongues and knowing fingers. And Sabria's moaning and groaning had become fit to raise the dead. Any louder and the police would be kicking down my door.

Mouth full of kitty-kitty, I laughed out loud, probably sounding like a strangled seal (and please don't ask where that one came from). Then, as Maria orgasmed yet again, I found myself going with her.

Yes, yes, yes! More, more, more!

God only knows how long later I found myself being pulled up by my hair. Yes, also yet again! At least three times in twenty-four hours after never before in my life; how unfair was that!

'Time to switch,' Sabria announced mistressfully. One glance at Maria's tits and I was convinced that was a good idea. I did my usual diving in face first trick and left the Mother of all Lesbians to her own devices.

And did I have fun?

You bet I did. Maria was very yummy, yummy!

Her ongoing commentary was very interesting too. I couldn't see her, my face immersed as it was, but apparently Sabria was servicing kitty-kitty just as well as I had.

Speaking of which . . .

Straddling Maria like Sabria had, facing along her body so suddenly I could see what was happening to her down below, I manual grabbed her tits and lowered myself onto her hungrily probing tongue.

Bliss, bliss, bliss!

That time I genuinely climaxed more often than Maria, and believe me, she climaxed often enough.

Then I turned through one-hundred and eighty degrees and vigorously rode tongue that way, relishing all of the changed angles and Maria's tireless attentions.

Yes, bliss, bliss, bliss!

But only too soon Sabria was calling off proceedings, saying it was time to swap roles. I assumed I was about to get my (by then long-desired) double-teaming. I was therefore astonished when Sabria threw herself on her back beside Maria, who was in the process of sitting up, boobs bobbing, a goofy grin on her face.

'It's my turn,' Sabria went on, 'feel free to decide ends between yourselves.'

I chuckled at that. Here we were, in the middle of serious sex and she was using tennis terms. Or was she using cricket terms?

Here comes Stokes, abandoning the Kirkstall Lane End, delivering from the Rugby Ground End . . .

(And please forgive me if I've got the names wrong. When it comes to cricket I tend to prefer watching paint dry . . . unless something really dramatic is taking place, like old videos of six sixes in an over or Ian Botham, single-handedly bashing the Aussies. Well, with a little help from Bob Willis . . . if my dad is to be believed.)

Grinning at Maria, probably matching her for goofiness, I asked if she wanted to spin a racquet or toss a coin.

'You decide,' she said generously. 'Although I would prefer tops . . .'

Being a gentlewoman I let her have her way and here's where I'm going to bow out, more or less. I say so because what we did for Sabria more or less mirrored what Sabria and I had done for Maria. And then . . . at last! . . . I got my double-teaming. Not that it varied so very much from what had gone before.

Well, only in the best possible way because that tine I was "it". That time it was happening to me.

Bliss, bliss, bliss!

Afterword

As I mentioned a moment or two ago, this is where I bow out. The last three days of my holiday were, you see, somewhat repetitive. I'd bed my latest duet of an evening then abandon them around eight in the morning, scooting off to my favourite breakfast bar, where Carla and Lottie would be waiting.

Needless to report, we'd consume masses of cholesterol then retreat to the hotel. I'd then have ninety minutes with one of the duo before the other replaced her for her own soccer match-length session.

Lunchtime tapas and drinks at Maria's pool bar revitalized us (and far better than a few orange slices at half-time), then it was back to my room or theirs for a sweaty afternoon three.

Come seven o'clock I'd leave them, in line with the rules of my social diary. Monday night I had Estela and Sabria to contend with, Tuesday I had Maria and Estela. Wednesday I had a very, very luscious one-on-one with the adorable Estela (and as secretively as secret could be).

Not!!

Thursday I was on a plane back to Blighty.

Not that I left without one single backwards glance. I got telephone numbers all round and regularly have phone sex, most often with Carla and Lottie.

It's hard work with Carla and Lottie, I must admit. They're always together, forever fighting each other for control of a mobile. Still, they are holidaying in the Yorkshire Dales this summer and I have already as good as agreed to share their holiday cottage with them.

Fun, fun, fun, no!

When I did finally arrive home, over two hours after landing at Manchester, the first thing I did was go on line and book another fortnight over the coming Easter at the same hotel (after agreeing same with Dianne, who was there at the airport to collect me, of course).

Then, with firm dates before me, I emailed Camila and invited her to pick her slots in my new social diary. She replied almost immediately with "All of them".

"You can't have all of them," I countered. "You've shifts to contend with. You're also the best waitress in far and away the busiest eating joint in town. And I have other friends out there to see. Think about it seriously and let me have a realistic proposal.

By the way, don't expect to hear back from me anytime soon. I've got an awful lot of sleep to catch up with."

That was not a joke. Fuelled by sexy adrenalin, I'd skipped shuteye for far too long. Receiving a rather begrudging "Okay" from my Argentinian babe I went directly to bed. That's right, I did not pass Go and I did not collect £200.

Approved additional holidays in hand, not due back at the practice until Monday, I virtually slept away an extended Friday through Sunday weekend, only ever getting up to use the bathroom and fix highly calorific fast food.

*****

And here I am: Monday morning, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Looking in my full-length mirror I can't say I have a proper Canaries tan. There again, I spent most of my holiday in one bedroom or another so what can I genuinely expect?

Showering, determinedly convincing myself my white bits are really "slightly lighter tanned bits", telling myself I still easily have half an hour to get in to work, I open my inbox for the first time in weeks.

There are tons of spam, quite a few offerings from known suspects and one from Camila.

Trembling as I open her mail, I gasp as I take in the content. Camila, the girl who works eighty hours a week, every week, has somehow found a slot for every one of my fourteen days. Fair enough, some of those slots are for only a few hours or so, but several are for full nights.

Omigod, she wants me as badly as I want her!

Without hesitation I email her back.

"All agreed without exception. I can't wait!"

Then, blanking the name in the already agreed slots, I email Estela, Sabria and Maria. "I said I would be back," I put in explanation. "Get together and fill in the gaps. And don't pussyfoot about. If all of our timetables permit I'm open to a four as well as plenty of threes and twos."

I am as well.

Estela answers instantly. "A four sounds utterly wicked. I'm so sold on the idea."

Two seconds later I get something similar from Maria.

Perhaps half an hour later I get mail from Sabria. "I was held up on Reception by bloody tourists, but none of them as nice as you. I can't wait to see you again, whatever the combinations and love, love, love.'

For no reason I can understand I punch the air.

Roll on Easter!

Roll on twos, threes and fours.

And that's it from me.

Hasta la vista, baby!