Trixie, Gail & Babs Group Fuck!

Trixie:

I've been wanting, or should I say craving, sex with Daniel for quite some time but being the shy, demure, unassuming girl I am, I can't seem to pluck up the courage to ask him. I do dream about him, lots, wet dreams, every night. I wake up dripping with sweat, feeling all tight, tingly in my wingly, imagining he is inside me. I want to have sex with Dan, just once mind, to see what he feels like. Gail told me she and Daniel are having a housewarming party to celebrate moving into their new bedroom in Ilford. I said I'd luv to cum. Would she like me to bring a bottle or help her to make the titbits and dressings? Never in a million years did I think my dreams might come true.

You see, I'm dating Jack. Think I should fill you in, don't you? Jack's an investment banker who earns a lot of money, using investors cash to make himself rich. We share his luxury flat in the better half of Ilford. He pays for all of it, and the food, as I'm still at school studying for my T-levels. I want to train to be a hairdresser when I pass my exams. Jack suffers lots of stress in his job. He's four years older than me and gets worn out. He expects to have lots of sex with me when he gets home. Don't get me wrong, I'm a very lucky girl having a boyfriend like Jack: he's big (down there,) solid muscle with curly brown hair that I love to twist, bald as a chicken's bottom, hairless, smooth, and very sexy. He's like a bull in a china shop when he fucks me. He shows no tenderness or feelings towards me whatsoever, just a quick on-out. He fancies Gail and Babs. I know he does: by the way he fawned over them when we went on holiday to the Costa del Sol as a family, always to the Costa del Sol, never to Marbella or anywhere nice.

Jack's in the shower. I stand in front of the bedroom mirror admiring my body, wondering if I'll hit the jackpot tonight. I have beautifully pale skin, ash blonde hair, ample well-rounded breasts, a surprise waiting downstairs. I pull on my best lacy see thru black panties. I'm just about to clip my bra when he stands behind me in his towel and wraps his arm around my waist. I tell him off.

'Get off me, you're all wet,' I feel his todger press against my arse, his hand, caressing my belly, I gasp, 'Can't do it at the moment, Jack, have to get ready for the party, so do you for that matter.'

'Pretty, please, Trix. Just a quickie.'

He drops his towel. I feel his muscly chest press against my shoulders; his lips caressing my neck.

'You men! You're just, just insatiable!'

'Please, Trixie. Just a quick in-out. I won't take long.'

I know you won't, bastard. I think of Dan sunning himself on the beach last summer in his thong.

'Have to do my face,' I tell my piggy, pushing him out of the way with my butt, 'Get ready, or we'll be late.'

He sulks off to the wardrobe to find a sexy shirt and jeans. I lock myself safely inside the bathroom where I can do my face without his constant badgering. He left his razor, shaving foam, and soap in the sink for me to clean up after him. The mirror's all steamed up. I despair of him, I really do!

Gail:

I'm beginning to have doubts about getting married. It isn't that I don't love Dan anymore. I never loved him, not in a romantic way, at least. I just loved the way he made love to me, his corkscrew twist. I am in the shower at the moment, rinsing off my hair before I put on my face. I think about the day we first met.

I was sitting in the college refectory when he saw me, smartly dressed in a creamy-beige blouse, my top three buttons undone, a dark brown corduroy skirt worn above my knees. My tights were flesh-tone. I had shoulder-length, greasy, brown hair then. He couldn't take his eyes off of me. I looked somehow different to him I think. My face was strange, painted, my face was an inverted triangle.

He glanced at me. I smiled at him, appreciating his thick curly bran hair, his steel-blue eyes, lean smooth tanned face, his slim physique. The smile lit up the canvas of my face. He smiled at me, excited. I was hypnotized by him. I laughed. He loved to hear me laugh. He fancied me. My face was delicately painted, a lovely masque: beige crème foundation, teak eyeliner, black mascara, dark cherry red lipstick. He was struck by my alien beauty, my intimate make-up.

He was rather scruffy, unkempt, in need of my care and attention. He needed me to cherish him. I hoped he felt a powerful sense of attraction towards me, as I'd never felt that way about a boy before, and I wanted to make him happy. He hadn't shaved. A hot flush spread through my body, scintillating me. I felt myself liquify in his presence. I raised an arm to scratch my scalp. I had bad dandruff, see, thick make-up, plastered-on like war paint... he must've wondered what my face would look like nude?

I intrigued him. He wanted me.

The refectory was up the rear of the college, a prefab, late-sixties, a concrete monolith. A clean rectangular room, light, airy, warmed by the unseasonal noon sun. To the left was a mishmash of round and oblong tables, a line of square tables for two near the full-length plate glass windows. The fire doors were open, halfway down, leading to the paved courtyard. Beyond that stretched a grass field, bordered by a line of trees: oak, chestnut changing colours, beech, the hazy outline of the downs in the distance. The courtyard was a hive of activity. I sat by the window and took a closer look.

Some of the girls, dressed in white nylon coats, were beautiful: not a smudge in their lipsticks, blemish on their faces, a hair out of place. I think these were Beauticians. Other girls were wearing smart formal charcoal jackets, skirts, crisp-white blouses. Receptionists? They all seemed relaxed enough, chatty, at ease with each other. None of them smoked. The rest of the Catering students were huddled along the window, sunning themselves.

I bowed my head in my hands, my face covered, shoulders slumped. Careful not to tilt his tray, he walked toward me content to study my feet and bandy calves. I visibly relaxed, easing my legs apart for him under the table. The shin of my left calf grazed during my rush to the toilet, laddering my tights, shaving layers of dermis off my skin. I'd bled out, a flesh wound. My blood ran in a scarlet rivulet down the front of my calf, over the bridge of my foot, under the vamp of my open-toed shoe, drying in a nasty scab.

'Gail?'

At the sound of his voice, I uncovered my face, put my hands palms-down on the table, and stared at him. He could tell I'd been crying. My eyes were sored red. Four streaks of mascara ran down my cheeks, smudging my perfect foundation with tear trails. My delightful snub nose was running with unsightly snot.

I sniffed, 'Yeah?'

'I saw you crying.'

'So? Girls can cry, can't they?'

'I was worried about you.'

'Worried? Why'd you worry about me? Don't even know me.'

The soothing words flowed from his mouth unhindered, 'Gail, I care for you.'

'Sit wiv me,' I said, cheering up, 'Must look a mess. Don't have a tissue, do you?'

He pulled up a chair and sat opposite, pushing his tray aside to create space for me. On the table sat my half-eaten egg mayo cress roll. He noticed I'd picked out all the cress, leaving it in a neat heap next to my can of Tab. I reached across and held his hand. To him, my hand must've felt soft, pudgy and warm. I made him lose his appetite. Fishing in his jean pocket, he found a Kleenex. He offered me his tissue. I waved him off with my hand. I broke into my endearing childish, baby voice. A voice, he'd find out soon enough, I could put on at will whenever I needed his attention.

'Dab my eyes.'

He dabbed my eyes dry, smudging his tissue black.

'Wipe my dose.'

He hesitated, worried by the intimacy of our exchange?, 'I don't think I should.'

I insisted, raising my voice so that everyone in the refectory could hear me, 'Wipe my dose!'

He wiped the runny snot out of my cute nose, pressing the tissue into my nostrils to collect my mucous, squeezing me with his fingertips, wiping all the gunge off my lips, my feint moustache. By the time he'd finished with me, his tissue was stained deep cherry red. I watched him, wild-eyed, a clown-girl without her make-up.

'Tanks.'

He stuffed the dirty hankie in his pocket for later, beguiled, mesmerized by my naked face. I felt my cream leather handbag sitting on my lap, took out a face mirror and embroidered gold make-up bag, unscrewed a silver tube, and applied more deep cherry red to my flaking lip. In a smooth, sweeping motion. He marvelled at my technique, letting me finish my mouth before he broke our silence.

'Why were you crying, Gail?'

I'm baby-faced with a well-rounded chin. The difference in size in my nostrils is remarkable. My left nostril is three times the size of my right one, which is miniscule. He delighted in the subtly creased divide under my nose, the childish purse of my lips. I opened my small mouth to reveal my off-white teeth. My hand shook as I applied the lipstick to my thick lower lip. I'm left-handed. I support myself with my right.

He enjoyed the flex of my bony fingers, noticing my chipped nail varnish. The simple gold band on my ring finger. Why did I wear the ring? Was I a child bride? Unanswered questions must've flowed through his tormented mind like mental syrup.

The intimate act of smoothing cherry red onto my lips brought me out in a blush, a pink blossom filled my face. He witnessed my faint blemishes, the spots garnishing my chin. He studied me in intimate detail. My spots were blunt dormant volcanoes, yet to erupt stress moles. My blush ended abruptly in the soft puffy flesh under my chin, aligned with my beige foundation. The contrast between my face, neck and chest was arresting. I had pale natural skin, a light dappling of freckles on my chest, from where I'd been kissed by the sun in the summer holidays. The fourth button on my blouse came undone. He thrilled at the shallow indent dividing my little breasts, dumbstruck by their sex appeal. I wasn't pretty, beautiful, even attractive, not in the conventional sense. I was plain without my make-up on, plain sexy.

He asked me why I'd been crying. I put away my make-up bag, squeezed his hand and explained.

'Come from Wickleigh, Essex. Dad owns an engineering business. Spends his time working in the shed. Carol tends to his every need, cooks his meals, washes his dirty pants, does the ironing, cleans the house, mows the lawn. They play table tennis in the garage at weekends. Sometimes, she even lets me play him. Never lets me play her. Oh no! She knows I'll beat her!'

There was no mistaking the sarcasm in my voice, my acid tone. He found himself immersed in my story, absorbed by the unfurling drama. He felt for the fork, his lunch, his free hand feeding himself his stone cold beans, chips and fish fingers, as all the tension swelled up inside my throat.

'I love Dad. Warn him every day about what she's doing, taking him from us, his real family.'

Dan gulped down his soggy fish finger first, before he interrupted me with, 'His real family?'

'Yeah. I've got an older sister, Babs. She's twenty-one. She's beautiful, made-up. We've got plain faces. We paint our faces for you lucky men!' I snorted, 'Bab's is a beauty queen. She's engaged to Chris. He's an engineer, like my dad.'

'A beauty queen? I've never met a beauty queen before.'

I smiled, caressing his hand tenderly with mine, reassuring him, 'Perhaps, one day, you will.'

He squeezed my hand, rubbing my mound of Venus with his thumb, in gentle response to mine.

'I'd like that, Gail. Like that very much. What does it feel like being a beauty queen?'

'Oh, it feels wonderful! Babs competes in pageants all over the county. We go in Chris's car. He drives a Robin Reliant, you know, a three-wheeler?'

I beamed from ear-to-ear. My lips cracked into the loveliest smile. He was thrilled for me, seeing me that happy. Tears welled in my eyes. I think he wanted to take me in his arms and hold me but he couldn't, not in front of the others.

'A Robin Reliant? How do you all fit in a Robin Reliant?'

'Oh, we manage,' I stared at my hand holding his, 'Least we used to, before I moved to Eaglesham to be with my dad. Used to have fun, the free of us.'

'Three of you?'

'Yeah, I have a younger sister, Trixie. She was only sixteen. Chris used to take us all to TOTS.'

'TOTS?'

'Yeah, TOTS. Talk of the South. It's a club in Southend. We used to row the boat, conga to Nellie the Elephant, dance the night away till the early hours, smooch boys. Trixie was naughty. We had fun! Smooching the boys. Getting pissed.'

'You said Trixie was only sixteen. How did she get into a nightclub if she was under-age?'

I took a sip of my Tab and belched, 'Oh, she looked older than that. She looks beautiful made-up. S'pose that makes me her ugly sister.'

'Well, I don't think so,' he said graciously, 'I think you're gorgeous.'

He made me go all weak at the knees, 'Thank you, you are kind!'

'Why did you move to Eaglesham. When you were so happy?'

'Carol convinced me moving South was the right fing to do if I wanted to go to college. I was never any good at school. Couldn't concentrate.'

I looked out of the window. My almond eyes searched the courtyard. I refocused.

'I can cook,' I said, 'Nothing fancy, basic food. I can clean, do the housework, wash, do laundry, make beds. I wanted to train to be a chef. Carol wants me to go into management. She forced me to take the course. I didn't want to. I made a mistake coming here. I should never have left home, Babs, Trix: I miss them. Then there's the way she treats my dad. The way she behaves when I'm in her house.'

I tensed, my hand stiffened, gripping his fingers. I released him, staring at the ceiling, trembling with rage, struggling to reassert myself.

He persisted, 'How does she behave, Gail?'

'She controls him,' I moaned, 'I listen to her, fucking him, thru the bedroom wall. Carol isn't my real mum. My real mum's dead. She killed herself when my dad walked out of our lives, for her.'

He looked shocked by my filthy language. I wilted in front of him. I put on my best baby voice.

'I can't live wiv her no more. I've run away from home. I've nowhere to live. Can you help me? I can cook for you, clean the house, do the housework, wash up, do the laundry, make our bed?'

He was besotted with me. I had him wrapped all around my face and body. My hand gripped his. There was nothing, in that insane moment, he wouldn't do for me. I pictured the two of us in love.

The words fell out of his mouth, 'I'm sure I can help you, Gail...'

I could feel how much he cared for me, loved me. I felt in love with him, my eyes went all sparkly.

'Well, if we're gonna sleep together, I fink you should tell me your name, don't you?'

He told me his name was Daniel, he acted as if he suddenly remembered something, he went cold.

'But...' he looked all sheepish, I could tell he was lying to me, 'I can't be sure Mum will let me. Is there somewhere else you can stay tonight?'

I pushed my tray across the table at him and stood up, 'There isn't! You know there isn't! All that fancy stuff about you caring for me. All that crap, just for this. I thought you luvved me, thought you cared about me. Thanks a bunch for letting me sleep on the wet streets tonight, I don't think.'

I turned away, ready to walk out of his life, my life, my future, catering, college, everything I had.

'Wait! I didn't mean it.'

'You were lying to me?'

'No, not lying. I wasn't sure.'

'Sure about what?'

'My mum suffers from paranoid schizophrenia. She's locked up in a mental institution. I can't tell if she'll ever be allowed out. I have to do it all: work in a café at weekends, do my own laundry and ironing, cook my own meals.'

My heart bled for him at that moment, it really did. I sat back down. I reached for his hairy hand.

'I luv you, Dan, let me look after you. I'll take care of all the housework, cook your meals, do the washing, ironing, let you get on wiv your college work. If your mum comes out of hospital, I'll look after her as well.'

There were tears in his eyes when he spoke, 'Would you, Gail? Really?'

'Course, I would.'

The bell rang: time for double housekeeping, followed by cookery theory then home, with Daniel.

I managed to find an empty compartment on the train to Horsham. I held his hand, at first, then I kissed him on the lips. He opened his mouth, willingly, to me. I undid the stud on his Levis. I slid my hand into his jeans, felt inside his pants. His cock was all hard and wet. I took my hand out. I dried myself on my skirt. I'd turned him on, made him blush. He stared at me, pleading with me.

'That felt lovely, don't stop.'

I held up my hand to stay him, his traffic policeman directing cars at a junction, I told him to wait.

'Let me undo the buttons on my blouse, first, loosen this silly skirt for you.'

I undid the last four buttons on my blouse and held it open for him, so he could enjoy my bra and little breasts. I undid the stud on my skirt then pulled down the zip. He could see my floral panties.

'You're not an ugly sister at all, Gail. I think you're gorgeous,' was all he could manage to say.

I kissed his lips. I guided his hand inside the cup of my bra. He felt my breast, my teat, hardening with his touch. I tugged his other hand inside my pants. My bald cunt was soaking wet with dew.

Babs, 25, married:

I think our marriage is over. At least, in bed it is. It isn't that I don't love Chris. It's just, he doesn't want sex with me anymore. And it isn't that I don't try hard for him. I never stop trying. I keep my penny shaved nice and trim for him, the way he likes it. I spend all of my allowance on sexy lingerie, you know, lace-up basques, corsets, red suspender belts, peek-a-boo bras, open-crotch panties, those sorts of things. I wear musk, vaginal scent. I stick vibrators in my penny, a plug up my arse. I do all of that. Have hot baths, get to bed early, keep myself all nice and fresh, for him.

None of it makes a blind bit of difference.

I blame social media. Chris stays up all hours watching young naked girls cavort with well-hung studs on Blue Sky, I know he does. I caught him playing with his willy last night, jerking himself off, wanking in front of his bloody pc screen till one o'clock in the morning. He never masturbates in front of me these days, he always used to when we were engaged.

When we were engaged, I used to straddle him cowgirl, not reverse cowgirl as I liked to see his face when he reached up with his hands, scrunched my breasts and came for me, so I could come for him, which I did, always. That was before we tied the knot. We haven't had sex since. Just as well we didn't have any kids, as I want to get a divorce, a cheapie, otherwise I'll be stuck in here forever, trapped in our loveless marriage. Gail says I should just walk out. Trouble is, I don't have anywhere to walk to, no place to go. Chris, he's an electrician by the way, earns a small fortune. He pays all the bills, gives me an allowance - it includes the weekly shop.

I'm not staying with Trixie and Jack in his pad. I wouldn't stay there if you paid me: what with all the grunts he makes at night when he gets his wicked way with her, which he does, often: sexy bastard. No, I'll meet Vic, get one of those quickie divorces on the grounds of cruelty, of failing to consummate our marriage or suchlike. Gail Whatsapped me earlier, said she and Daniel, bless him, are having a housewarming party to celebrate moving into their new bedroom in Ilford. Trix and Jack are going. Gail wants me to come as well. She says she has a surprise in store for me.

I said, 'I'd love to cum. Don't tell Chris, will you? Far as he's concerned I'm having a glass of wine wiv my best mate Celeste at her place.'

Gail:

I work as a chef at a soap and oil factory in Ilford. Dan's the manager at the steak house on Ilford High Street. The room, our first place living together since we moved out of his mum's house in Horsham, suits us just right. I can walk to work. Daniel takes the bus. We moved in this morning, just unpacked our things. The landlord's a nice man. He lives in the same house as us with his wife and teenage daughters. We share the same kitchen, loo and bathroom. They're all out this evening, treating themselves to a cheeseburger or something at the local Turkish grill, perfect excuse for us to have a party.

I look around the room, check my Barbie alarm clock: seven o'clock, we're all ready. Dan has pushed his single bed to the far end of the room. Mine's in the corner, next to our three-seater sofa bed. I only have one spare chair: one of us will have make do with the rug or a bed. I've laid out the glass coffee table with crisps, Pringles, nuts, silver skin onions, cheesy Quavers, and a pack of playing cards. I'll cum to those later. Dan has set the bar up on the dining room table from his mum's house. She won't mind. See, she passed last week, leaving us to clear her council house. We took all we needed. I drove the removal van to the tip rather well I think, considering Dan can't drive. He has failed his test three times already. Can you believe that? No, me neither. Earlier today, we drove my old Escort down to the supermarket and stocked up with as many beers, lagers and bottles of cheap booze as we could cram into the car.

Ah, there goes the doorbell. I wonder who it is. Trixie and Jack or Babs? I check my hair's swept back off my face, readying myself to greet our guests, while Dan pours out the crisps and cracks open a cold bottle of Prosecco to help us celebrate in style. I undo all the security latches and padlocks on our private dark teak stained bedroom door, then step out onto the landing. The playing cards are for my little game, later.

'Just cumming!' I shout at the stained glass door in the hall, leaping the stairs in twos to join them.

Look what the cat brought in, I nearly announce to the whole neighbourhood.

'Oh, it's you, Babs,' I say aloud, my upper lip curling with disdain. Babs is wearing a flimsy mauve bustier without her bra, baggy pink pyjama bottoms with a red printed leaf motif, and white slip-ons.

'Planning on staying the night are we?'

She snarls at me, 'It's all I can afford on my allowance these days.'

I let her indoors, trying to sound interested as I lead her up the threadbare stairs, 'Your allowance?'

'Yep, the bloody pittance I get from Chris. It's all I can do to make ends meet, what wiv the gas, water, electric, food and petrol prices all going up.'

'How is the bastard these days?'

'We're getting a divorce. At least, I am. He treats me like a piece of shit, never raises so much as a fist to help me wiv the cleaning, housework, cooking, laundry, the washing up. I could go on.'

You already are, babe, going on and on, and on. It's a relief when we reach the landing. I push on the door, letting Babs into the party. Dan's waiting for her in his white t-shirt with fake sailing club motif, his thick tanned leather belt, navy needlecords, and stocking feet. He offers her a glass of bubbly. She downs it in one.

'You look like you could do with a top-up, Babs,' he says, refilling her glass, 'How's the husband?'

'He isn't, or he soon won't be. I'm seeing Vic about getting a cheap quickie divorce if I can afford it.'

'I can lend you a couple of hundred quid if that helps?'

'Oh, that'll be nice.'

Nice, that'll be nice?! I move across quickly, pinching the flab on Dan's underarm, then hiss, 'Dan!'

'What?'

'We can't afford to give away our life savings willy-nilly.'

'I'm only lending it to her, Gail.'

'We can't afford it, period!' our argument is brought to an abrupt halt by the ringing of the doorbell. I eyeball Dan, well annoyed with him, 'That'll be Trixie and Jack. I'll leave you to change the subject.'

I hurtle down the stairs in case they've change their minds: Trixie doesn't trust Babs - not with Jack, and fling the door wide open, ' Trixie! Jack! How are you?'

'Raring to party, aren't we Trix?'

'I should say!'

We laugh and embrace and hug. We hold each other close. We kiss each other's cheeks. Trixie looks daring this evening: all dolled up in a thin black blouse with her top four buttons are undone: I can see the deep crease dividing her firm round breasts; a black leather micro miniskirt that leaves little to the imagination, bare legs, red stilettoes. Trix's dressed to kill. She'll be up for my little game. She steps into the hallway, squats on the welcome rug, and stares up at me. I can clearly see her butt, her black lace. So can Jack who's eyes seem to have grown stalks. He looks rugged, handsome, desirable in his open-necked tennis shirt and jeans, white socks, and spotless slip on pumps. I want his body - to fuck.

'Mind if I take these shoes off? They're killing me,' I hear Trixie asking me in the background.

'Do,' I gesture them towards the landing, 'Come on up.'

'You look nice, Gail,' she says, admiring me from behind.

I am wearing the same smart creamy-beige blouse with my top four buttons undone, the dark brown corduroy skirt worn above my knees, that I wore the day I met Dan. I can't believe they still fit. I'm not wearing any tights or shoes, though. Won't need tights and shoes where I'm going tonight. They'll only get in the way. I glance back over my shoulder as I reach the landing.

'So do you, Trix.'

'I try my hardest.'

'I can see that.' The stilted conversation dries up before we can enter the room. When I open the door, Babs is already swaying. I give Dan a scolding glance, speaking out of one corner of my mouth 'How much has she had to drink?'

'Rather a lot, I'm afraid.'

'Try to get her onto soft drinks.'

'We didn't buy any.'

I clasp my itching scalp in frustration, 'Tap water, then.'

He ignores me for, 'Trixie!'

'Dan!'

'Great to see you,' they hug and kiss, much too closely for Babs's liking, 'You too Jack, how's Trix?'

I groan and cringe at their awful sexist man joke. It gets worse.

'Trix is feeling really horny tonight, aren't you Trix?'

My younger sister blushes bright puce, 'If you say so.'

Dan lets her go, standing back to admire her, 'You certainly look hot in that outfit.' He reaches for a brace of glasses, 'Now what can I get you both to drink?'

'I'll have a large glass of bubbly, please.'

'Jack?'

'Just a soft drink if you have one, Dan. I've got to drive her highness back to the flat tonight.'

'Afraid we only have beer and lager. Will that do?'

Jack eyes me accusingly as if to say, did you do the shopping, Gail, or did he? 'Suppose it'll have to.'

I pass around the crisps and nuts in earnest.

'Nice bedroom,' Babs notes, 'How much did this lot set you back?'

'Not much.'

Trixie's ears prick up like pink bunnies in the headlights, she is quaffing, 'How much is not much?'

'A thousand pounds a month.'

Babs can tell, I am lying through my back teeth, 'I thought rented rooms in Ilford started at £1,500?'

I reach for my saucer of bubbly, hiding my face, 'I think it's the first time the landlord has rented.'

Dan to the rescue, 'Gail has a little game she'd like us to play, to break the ice, haven't you Gail?'

Trixie, half-cut already, has a cheeky, saucy look on her face, 'Like playing games don't we, Dan?'

If looks could kill. If Dan could whistle. If I could get them all to join in the fun, with me, tonight.

Babs, well gone, rudely inebriated, slumps against Jack's shoulder, 'We do indeed, don't we, Jack?'

He brushes her off as if she's an interfering gnat in a heatwave that's biting his neck on their balcony.

I take control, 'Shall we make a start? Trix, if you sit on the sofa bed between Jack and Dan, I'll sit here on the chair. Babs?'

'Yesh?'

'Do you mind sitting on the rug?'

She's well pissed, 'Don't mind at all. Can I do my lotush potishun?'

'Sure. Make yourself comfortable.'

Babs slips off her slip-ons and squats on the rug in the lotus position. Trixi wedges her lithe body into the narrow gap between Jack and Dan.

While I deal out the cards.

Trixie:

Each of us has a full hand of cards, held face-down, as Gail says we mustn't see the fronts, not until we play. Ever the gentleman, Dan kicks off the game with his invitation to the sister sitting on the rug.

'Oldest woman, first, Babette. You go first.'

'Lesh of the old if you don't mind,' she says, swaying as she lays the ace of spades.

'Well done, Babs. Ace is high,' he nods at Gail.

Gail carefully places her four of hearts on top of her sister's ace.

'Ah, a low red. Trix?'

My heart thumps out of my chest as I draw the card. I flip it onto the table, breathing a sigh of relief, 'The seven of diamonds. Shame we're not playing Sevens isn't it, as I'd get to start the game, Jack?'

Jack lays a ten of clubs. You know what they say, lucky in cards, unlucky in love? Well, it isn't true.

All eyes turn on Dan, who lays the two of spades. A black two counts as anything in Switch. Pity, in this case, it doesn't. I marvel at his hairless chest as he pulls his white tee-shirt off over his head, and throws it on the carpet. Smiling, Gail scoops up the cards, collects our packs, shuffles, and re-deals. Is it me, or is it getting hot in here? Her man without a shirt gets up to refill our glasses. Jack gobbles up the last mouthful of crisps.

'You're turn next, Gail.'

Gail lays a nine of clubs. Jack lays a five of spades. I lay a red two. And Dan lays a six of diamonds.

Babs flushes with a flourish, 'Look, the jack of hearts! You lose Trix. What'll it be, the skirt?'

Wishing I had kept my stilettoes on, I ease myself up off the sofa, unbutton and take off my blouse. When I squeeze myself in between the boys, I feel Dan's bared muscly left arm, rubbing against mine.

'Next round.' Sounding woozy, Gail scoops up all the cards, collects our packs, shuffles then re-deals.

Babs loses with a two of hearts. I gaze in disbelief as she wriggles free of her baggy pyjama bottoms, to wild shrieks of admiration from my boyfriend.

'Fuck, Babs! You're not wearing any pants.'

'I know, I'm not, babe. Like my little pussy?'

She slumps against the wall, her legs held wide apart for all to study her pussy, neatly shaven, baring her ruddy red lips, showing off her bloody glistening snatch to our beguiled men. I am not amused.

'Behave yourself Babs or Gail will send you home,' I caution, staring hopefully at Gail, 'Won't you?'

She shakes her head dismissively, 'Don't be such an old sour puss, Trix,' she says stressing the word puss, 'Only having fun, aren't you Babs? That puts you out of the game, babe. We're down to four.'

Gail scoops up the cards, collects our packs, shuffles and re-deals. All of us are sweating like pigs, well, perspiring in my case, as us girls perspire. I want to take my clothes off. Dan tops up our drinks.

It comes as a relief when Gail loses, twice. She bought herself a new soft white bra and pants, I see, for the occasion.

'Nice undies Gail,' I remark.

'I got them at M&S. Do you fink they suit me?'

'They make your breasts look bigger.'

She blushes, hard, 'You fink so?'

'Mm, and your pussy.'

Jack and Dan snigger, boyishly, in the background, as Gail gathers up the cards. In no time at all, Jack is left wearing just his leather pouch, Dan sporting his tight-fitting pair of dark grey briefs. I twist my lacy underwear. Our hostess deals the cards, slapping them forcibly onto the coffee table. This is it, I feel, the moment I've been waiting for. I flip over my top card: it's the deuce, the two of clubs. I think of the club in Southend, our wild nights out when I was the youngest girl at the disco, me, Gail, Babs, having the time of our lives. Gail and Dan, closely followed by Jack, play cards with royal suits.

'I lose,' I purr, standing up to face Gail, conscious of our men's eyes feasting on my shoulder blades. I reach behind my back, unclasp my bra, then peel it off, as if I'm peeling rind off a pair of giant Jaffa oranges. I lower my usual chirpy voice to a husky, sexy, syrupy, sensual slur, 'Or should I say, I win?'

Before they can comment, I spin on my heels to face our men, their willing sexual whirligig, 'Think we should go to bed,' I suggest, at my most mischievous, feeling playful, feeling horny, 'Don't you?'

'Think we should, Trix.'

Edging my way through the gap between Jack's bare knees and the heavy glass tabletop, I pad to the waiting bed, turn to face my admirers, sit on the edge of the bed, and tug off my lacy pants, baring my lush surprise: my fine growth of curly lemon-yellow pubic hair. I watch Dan's cock stand to attention.

'Well, are you cumming?' I ask him, looking to Jack for his permission.

My boyfriend eyes up Gail. He nods. Gail takes off her bra and pants, sprawling across their other bed in the missionary position. Jack, pouch stretched to bursting point, unveils his proud flesh. He kneels between her legs. Dan peels off his soiled grey briefs, moist from his arousal due to the sight of my gorgeous bush, comes and sits with me on the bed. He'll soon be cumming inside me, if I get my way. We kiss and make out, we heavily pet each other's private parts, till I feel ready, to have his great sex.

'It's alright, Daniel,' I whisper, using his full forename as a mark of my respect, 'I'm taking the pill.'

He watches me expectantly as I arrange myself on the bed for him. Bristling with anticipation, I lie on my back and spread my legs until my toes are gripping the sides of the single bed. He climbs, and lies, on top of me, gently, smoothly sliding his tool inside my love-hole, careful not to hurt me. I really appreciate him being so considerate after Jack's brutal ins-and-outs. He props up his well-honed body, using his strong elbows to support himself: the veins stand out on his forearms from his manly efforts.

'Fuck me the way you fuck Gail,' I plead, my naughtiest smile creasing my blushing face ear-to-ear.

Sweat pours off his body, making my breasts and stomach wet. We slip, slide, and slither in blissful harmony, our bodies melding, like intertwining eels writhing in slime. His bran hair teaks with sweat.

He stares down at my beatific, seraphic happy face, and casts his magic spell, 'You mean screw you?'

'Mmmn.'

His cock burrows its way into me, stimulating my nerves to arousal with its sensuous corkscrew twist. I am just about to cum and gush when I feel Jack's hand gripping my calf. He tells me he has finished with Gail. He wants to fuck me. In shock, I cry out in ecstasy, as my lover twists and turns, turns and twists, wriggling around inside me, my fat sex-worm teasing me to clench and squeeze his cock. I feel him spurt out inside me, then I cum. Slowly, he pulls out of me leaving my curly blonde pubes stained a tasteful honey gold colour, my swollen love-hole awash with my gooey, sticky girlie dew. I whisper, sweet nothings in his ear, 'I really luv you, Dan, I'll never, ever, forget the way we made luv, tonight.'

'Truth be told, I love you, too, Trixie, with all my heart.'

His words of love make tears well in my eyes and trickle down my cheeks. My mascara's running, my cheeks are burning hot, my hair is soaking wet: I must look a right mess. We mouth our sad farewells.

Babs:

I squat on the floor between the two beds fingering my pussy, watching Jack have his selfish sex with Trix. I shut my eyes, wet dreaming of when I straddled my man cowgirl, the way his face strained as he came inside me, my penny soaking the plush carpet beneath my bum. I open my eyes to find Jack crouched between my legs holding up a huge hard-on that makes the leaning tower of Pisa look small.

He comes straight to the point, 'You look as if you could do with a really good fuck, Babs.'

The words flow from my startled mouth like a rancid rime, out of a sweating cheese, that's going off.

'I could,' I admit, 'I haven't had a fuck since Chris and I got engaged,' I feel for my pyjama bottoms, fumbling inside the pocket for a thin silver pouch, 'Do you mind wearing one of these? I'm on heat at the moment and I really don't need to fall preggers while I'm busy divorcing my hubby.'

He kneels as if in silent prayer between my thighs. Licking my lips, I watch him avidly as he sheaths his proud flesh. I recline on the fake wool hearth rug. I spread my legs for him. I ask about my bustier.

'On or off, Jack?

'On, please.'

'Try not to make any noise then,' I ask, conspiratorially.

'I'll try my hardest.'

That's what I love the most about Jack: he always tries his hardest. He fucks me with my bustier on. I twist my head, left-to-right, to check no-one's watching. Trixie looks all-in, shagged: she is resting on the bed with her eyes closed, her head turned the other way. I think, hope, she might be asleep. Gail is lying as still as death on her back, recovering from Jack's fuck, staring up at the whorls on the ceiling.

Gail:

I'm lying on my back recovering from Jack, staring up at the whorls on the ceiling. Dan climbs on the bed, and crouches between my thighs. I tell him Jack came inside me, tell him he'll just have to fuck me from behind. He climbs off the bed so that I can roll over onto my front and get up on all fours for him. I feel him dribbling his spit on me. He rubs it in well, then he mounts me, like a boar mounting his sow. I shudder, in muscular spasm, as he slides his rigid shaft inside me, penetrating me to the hilt.

I moan pleasurably, 'Feels lovely,' reaching behind me to clasp his taut buttocks tighter to me, loving the itchy sensation of his coarse pubes tickling my bum, 'Feels so good, babe. Feels so fucking good.'

He shunts my body as if I am his freight train, hauling his cock out of me as far as his throbbing nub, sliding it smoothly into me, pulling his lance out, then plunging his spear of love deep inside my flesh.

I struggle to gasp any sounds at all, managing just a breathless beg, 'Grope my tits.'

He pulls out of me, leaving my sored hole to pulse and twitch, 'Ride me hard, Daniel. Grope my tits.'

This time he fucks me really hard making my body ache and arch in blissful ecstatic rhythm. I feel his sweaty chest cloak my back. He hugs my little breasts, fondling their soft undersides, scratching my tiny teats erect with his sharp nails. He tugs my lank wet hair, I bow, I cum for him, in violent spasms.

'Luv you, Dan! Luv you, Dan!' I cry, tearful for our lost love.

The next day, the landlord, who lives in the same Victorian terraced house as us with his wife and two teenage daughters, unceremoniously kicks us out the house for having sex with unauthorised visitors in the main bedroom. Seems Laura, just thirteen, found Jack's bloated condom, floating, in their toilet.

A year later, we get married at a registry office. Dan and I celebrate with family photos in the town's central park followed by the feast: sausages-on-sticks, sausage rolls, cheddar cheese sandwiches, and mini Scotch eggs, served with cans of lager, beers, and bucketloads of cheap plonk in our nearest pub. My handsome young postman waits patiently for me outside.