Escort in Training Chapter 7
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“I will keep these items, Miss Carling. You won’t be needing them in the near future.”
It’s barely two minutes since Rupert pulled his fully erect dick out of my sopping sex. And now he’s telling me to get out – with all of my clothing bunched up in his fist. He snatches up my panties off the floor before I even have the chance to think of retrieving them.
My mind is addled with a churn of mixed emotions. The euphoria of my orgasm, that wonderful release, is still there, but it’s draining away fast. He’s shaking it out of me like sugar from a sieve. I haven’t been allowed a moment to recover: he’s had his way with me, wiped his dripping seed from my vagina with a tissue and now he’s pointing to the door with a set jaw. It’s barbaric.
As I stand and stare at him, uncomprehending, I feel dirtier by the second. Suddenly I have been shamelessly used. Nothing but a pound of flesh to this man. Was a few moments to recover, a few sweet nothings, so much to ask? Will it always be this harsh? Will they always build a wall afterwards? And now he wants to keep my clothes? Why, to make me feel more humiliated?
I fight back the welling tears and crave a cigarette.
“Miss Carling, I won’t ask you again. You have no further business here. And Miss Jackson has sent word that you’re to remain naked until further notice.”
He turns away and begins to put on his shirt, fastening his cuff links. Where does he need to be? The awful thought crosses my mind that another of the girls is waiting outside. Christ.
Why are you surprised, Emma? This isn’t playschool. You’re in hooker training. What else did you expect?
I don’t know, but I know I didn’t expect to feel like shit so soon.
I’m not sure how much time passes. He turns and frowns and me over his shoulder. Fine, I don’t want to be here anyway. But…
“Rupert,” I choke. “Do you really have to keep my clothes? Why…will I be the only one…?”
He frowns again. “I don’t know what programme or dress code the other trainees are on. But if you want to pass then I strongly suggest you do as you’re told. No bathrobes, no towels. Now please, go.”
I heave a loud sigh as I feel the stroppiness rising within me. I must fight it.
This is just another test, Emma. You don’t back down from a challenge.
I turn my back on him, open the door and step out into the hallway. Cautious. Naked.
This wing seems dark and deserted, but who knows what everyone else is up to? I’ve got every reason to take my time here. I walk slowly, listening. Somewhere in the distance, I hear something. It sounds like a girl…enjoying herself. Much as I just did. Or, rather…is that a note of angst in her cry? I think I hear a cracking sound, but maybe I imagine it.
I move closer to the sound and pause outside a door that stands between me and its source. The noises are clearer now. They’re those of a woman receiving some kind of beating. Oh, fuck, run away. Real-world Emma’s instinct is to storm in and scream at the bastards. But real-world Emma is already in retreat. Deep down she knows this kind of shit must be part of the world she’s training for. You’ll probably be next. I shudder.
I gather my wits as I turn onto the central wing of the house. I can’t think where to head besides my room. I can only think of how ridiculous this is. I can get used to the group showers, but walking around the house like this? Having meals? Are these people serious?
There are footsteps on the staircase. Miss Honeywell. Act cool, girl. Cool. She’s coming my way with a bundle of laundry. Probably destined for the Lachlan Room, I dare say. How am I meant not to blush?
But Miss Honeywell is a treasure. Nobody here can put me at ease like she can. She doesn’t bat an eyelid as she stops in front of me. I almost feel clothed again.
“Miss Carling!” she beams. “How are we today? Wasn’t last night wonderful? You looked magnificent!”
“Er, thanks, I’m fine, thanks,” I say, suddenly feeling a whole lot more comfortable. “How are you?”
“Well, you know, keeping busy,” she winks, patting the bundle of fresh linen. “It might have passed you by, but it’s gorgeous outside! If I were you I’d get out to the pool pronto. You never know if the sun’s going to last.
“And I think,” she says, running her eyes admiringly up and down my body. “You’ll look even more angelic with an all-over tan.”
Not everyone can reference my white bits quite so inoffensively, but she’s just managed it. I give her a smile.
“You’re probably right…I might just do that!”
We go our separate ways and I scuttle back to my room without running into anybody else. Petra is there, as luck would have it. Wearing one of her trademark miniskirts.
She looks up in surprise when I walk in, then smirks. How does she manage to be everything Miss Honeywell isn’t?
“What?” I say grumpily.
“Did they tell you to go like that?”
“Yes, so?”
She doesn’t answer. I grab a cigarette and walk over to the window. I suppose I might get away with covering up my nudity in here, but I don’t feel like giving her an inch now. And anyway, it was expressly forbidden by Rupert and I wouldn’t be surprised if the walls have eyes.
“What have you been doing the last couple of hours?” I ask her. I’m fishing for something as humiliating as what I’ve experienced.
“I had to fuck two guys. From last night,” she says bluntly.
“Oh,” I’m taken aback. “And…what was it like?”
She looks at me as if it was a silly question.
“What do you think? It was just a fuck. It was not like anything.”
Jesus, this woman’s…possibly onto something. She just takes it all in her stride.
“Mm, okay.”
The room goes quiet for a while as she folds a few clothes and I contemplate my toes while the calming smoke fills my lungs and my head begins to clear.
“Anything lined up for this afternoon?” I ask her, suddenly feeling confident enough to look Petra in the eye.
“No appointments yet. So I will go to the pool.”
Always one step ahead, this bloody Petra. Fucking great. And with that she dashes into the closet, emerging a minute later in her swimming towel.
Fine, I’ll do it. Let her look, I’m better than her anyway. We’ve all seen each other with our kit off already, and I’m in an I-don’t-care-anymore mood now. Besides, Miss Honeywell is right: there’s no better use for a summer’s afternoon. I grab my suntan lotion and follow her out of the room without a word.
She keeps on walking a couple of steps ahead of me. Typical. She knows I’m there. It’s like some kind of power thing.
And once again, just like that first day on the stairs, I am captivated by her moving in front of me. It’s her pretty little feet I notice now. So young and full and creamy. So shiny and well looked-after, with cute toes that are neither stumpy nor froggishly long. They’re just right, perfectly in tune with her proportions. I watch their confident steps along the cool hallway floor. Left, right, left, right.
I’m lost in that reverie when I realise that she’s leading us through the lounge. Through the far window I notice a few people seated around a table on the terrace: One of them is Rupert.
And his words come flooding back to me. No bathrobes. No towels. I start as I realise I’ve unthinkingly wrapped up in my towel. I’ve got to drop it before he spots me. I pause in front of the fireplace, suppress the tiny tremor of thrill that’s been threatening to hit me ever since I lost my clothes.
It doesn’t seem right, me having to do this. Why should I listen to him, the arsehole? Why should I parade naked like I’ve done something wrong? Should I just leave this crazy house? I just wish I had someone I could talk to. But it’s silent in here. The grandfather clock ticks, as if impatient for me to get through this moment of self-doubt.
Self-doubt? Is that what this is? I feel the fighter within me awaken. Emma, you don’t doubt yourself. This is a test, not a punishment. Now, go.
I flick open my towel with new resolve, expose my bare body once again. My towel is in my hand just in time for Rupert to look up. I think he had spotted me through the window. He seems not to notice Petra make her way past him and down the steps.
I avoid his gaze as I pass through the French door. I’ll look anyone in the eye, but not him. There is a mix of mentors and gents on the terrace. Miss Jackson is out here too.
“Good afternoon, Emma,” says the woman who photographed all my privates close-up and sent me the prints. “Wow, just as stunning as yesterday!”
“Thanks,” I say to her, slowing but hoping I won’t have to stop. “I thought I’d do some work on my tan.”
She nods and smiles, and I gather I needn’t stop for another naked conversation. When I reach the top of the steps, though, I feel as though all the world is watching me. A few of the other girls are already soaking up the rays, and I swear I see their heads turn at the sight of nude Emma.
And then it hits me: I’m not the only naked one. I’m thrilled and relieved to see Simone stretched out on a sun lounger, relaxed as can be in her birthday suit. Petra has claimed another of the loungers. She’s already lost her bikini top and is now casually climbing out of the bottoms. They’ve done this before: suddenly I’m very aware of my tan lines.
I feel a whole lot better as I go down to the stairs. Who else is down here? There’s that Jane girl, looking rather overdressed in a frilly one-piece. And Carol, the pretty but quiet Singaporean who was also at my table last night, seemingly asleep in a pink bikini.
As I reach the bottom I notice a fantastic, juicy pair of breasts in the near corner, previously hidden to me: they could only belong to Latifa. She’s in nothing but a purple thong with pink sequins. Next to her, also topless, is the blonde girl who wore that mad see-through dress yesterday. All of a sudden I feel empowered, braver and bolder than the ones in swimsuits. I feel like I’m winning here.
I spot a lounger next to Latifa and see-through-dress girl. I make for it and spread out my towel.
“Hey, girl,” says the confident Latifa. “Welcome to the fun corner! I’m not sure if you’ve met my room-mate, Alyssia…have you?”
“No, hi,” I say, offering her my hand. I smile as I do so, because it’s so weird. Being formal when she’s topless and I’m nude.
“How ya going?” she says with a warm but distinctly Australian twang. She’s got one of those cracked surfer-chick voices, sounds like someone who’s spent too much time singing along at rock concerts. But her deep, golden-brown tan – only a little lighter in tone than Latifa’s, but clearly not something she was born with - makes sense to me now. She’s clearly spent half her life on some Aussie beach, and judging by her seamless bronzing she’s had her tits out for most of it.
It turns out Alyssia is another of the friendly girls. Really down-to-earth and no bullshit. Alyssia is in the UK on a working holiday and trying out the school to ‘see what happens’. I don’t say anything, but figure she must have a fair bit of money in her family to come here just on a whim. Charles hadn’t told me any numbers, but suggested the fees here were astronomical. Sure enough, she mentions her dad’s a mining boss, and doing pretty well for himself.
I discover that she’s about my age and hails from Perth. She tells me it’s known as the sunniest city on the planet. I make a note to include it on my travels…if I can really bring myself to do what I need to do to earn that well.
I nestle back in my semi-reclined deck chair as I talk with Alyssia and Latifa. I’m feeling good again. The sun usually has that effect, and so does pleasant company. There’s silence for a couple of minutes.
“Come on, Emma, don’t be so bloody English!”
It’s Alyssia. And I’m puzzled.
“What do you mean?”
She sighs with mock exasperation: “You need to put some sunscreen on. Who’s gonna want to root you when you’re peeling?”
Shit. She’s probably right. Of course I haven’t thought to bring any on this particular trip. In my defence, nobody packs lotion for a trip to England.
“Hah, I knew it! She hasn’t got any! Probably like your English friend over there,” says Alyssia, jerking her head at Jane across the pool. “She’s gonna go lobster in a minute, but I’m not saying a thing. I don’t like her.”
“Really?” I say, innocently. I don’t mention that Jane hadn’t given me a great vibe when we spoke last night.
“Yeah, there’s just something cold about her. She’s fake.”
“I know what you mean,” Latifa chimes in. “She thinks she’s better than us but she’s not a very good actor!”
“I guess you’ll get a bit of that here,” I venture. “I mean…my room-mate’s not exactly a sackful of fun either.”
“You’re with that blonde one?” says Latifa, gesturing towards Petra.
“Yeah, and it’s not great…she doesn’t have time for me either, but she doesn’t even bother acting.”
The girls are quiet for a moment as they contemplate the Bulgarian blonde across the water. Petra’s reading a book, apparently oblivious to our conversation.
“Jesus, but she’s not bad to look at,” says Alyssia, taking in Petra. “I could go for a tight little body like that.”
“I bet you could,” Latifa sniggers. Am I imagining the double entendre or is it really there?
“Back to the sunscreen then!” says Alyssia dismissively, handing one of her bottles of factor 15 to Latifa. “You just lay back Emma. We’ll take care of it.”
“Er….really? I can…”
“Shoosh! It’s easier for someone else to do this.”
“Yeah, I mean, if it was my back…”
She just gives me a look as she stands up and rubs some cream in between her palms. And I realise she won’t be taking no for an answer.
“You take the left and I’ll take the right, Okay, Latifa? That way we don’t miss a spot!”
Okay, so these girls want to cream me up. Fine. We’re all practically fucking naked, so how weird is it really? I’m not going to argue with a pampering. I close my eyes, let go, and start to feel like the Queen bee.
They start with my legs. And they’re true to the word. Their warm, liquid-lathered hands really don’t miss a spot as they massage the cream into each of my toes, my feet, and all the way up to my knees. No sun-ray is going to have its way with me, that’s for sure.
And this is nice. The four hands are moving their way up my thighs now, inside and outside. I wonder if I’m making a spectacle of myself, but remember that we’re hidden below the terrace. The other girls at the poolside might have an eye on me, but so what? Everyone needs sunscreen.
I can feel their breath on me as their stooped bodies work their way up mine. I flinch as Alyssia’s thumb brushes near my clit while she works the top of my legs. They give my pussy a berth, but not a wide one, and I take in a sharp breath once or twice when they get close.
“Don’t worry, we’re not going to finger you, girl!” says Latifa.
“Not yet anyway…” replies Alyssia. My eyes are open long enough to see her wink at her Arab friend. It’s impossible to know if she’s joking or not. And impossible for me to know if I want her to be. Do I?
Their fingers splay their way across my tummy as they move up and over my little patch. I love how it feels when their fingers trail in the wake of their hands, one at a time, like a slithering snake working its way along my sides. Especially the way Latifa does it. Alyssia is a little rough, slightly masculine in her movements, but Latifa’s a natural.
And now, my sides and tummy fully coated, their slick hands glide onto my breasts. Back and forth, around and around, than one last smoothing pet. OK, this is a first. But I don’t say anything. Instead I hold my breath. My eyes are shut again, and I become intensely aware of the sun beating down on my forehead while their hands apply the cream. I swear I feel a little pinch on my left nipple as Alyssia’s hand retreats for the last time.
And did they take a little longer than necessary?
“Nothing worse than burnt tits, hey?” Alyssia says to the world in general. “Gotta take care…especially when they’ve not seen the sun before. Your nips would sting like hell if we didn’t cream them up.”
Latifa chuckles and I sigh: enough about the white bits now! The girls finish up with my collar and shoulders.
“You can do your face,” says Alyssia, handing me the bottle. “But I’ll be watching you!”
“All right, all right, I won’t cheat, promise!” I say.
“Yeah don’t miss a spot, not after all that effort we put in.”
I give my face a gentle layer of sunscreen while the girls settle back into their loungers.
“Thanks, guys,” I say. And I just stop myself from adding ‘that was nice’.
The sun beats down on us and conversation peters out as we all get a little drowsy. My mind is spinning so fast that it’s crying out for a shutdown. It’s lumbered with so much: the slight hangover, the whole thing with Rupert, having my clothes taken off me. And now the weirdly cool feeling I had when Latifa and Alyssia worked their hands over my body.
I expect myself to dwell on some of today’s more trying moments, but instead it’s the good times that push their way to the front of my thoughts. Lying here in the sun with my legs slightly ajar, I can’t help but think how good that fuck was. This place is pushing me, yes, but I think I’m going to find a lot to like. If I let myself.
And that’s the last thing I remember thinking before I drift off.
*
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It’s barely two minutes since Rupert pulled his fully erect dick out of my sopping sex. And now he’s telling me to get out – with all of my clothing bunched up in his fist. He snatches up my panties off the floor before I even have the chance to think of retrieving them.
My mind is addled with a churn of mixed emotions. The euphoria of my orgasm, that wonderful release, is still there, but it’s draining away fast. He’s shaking it out of me like sugar from a sieve. I haven’t been allowed a moment to recover: he’s had his way with me, wiped his dripping seed from my vagina with a tissue and now he’s pointing to the door with a set jaw. It’s barbaric.
As I stand and stare at him, uncomprehending, I feel dirtier by the second. Suddenly I have been shamelessly used. Nothing but a pound of flesh to this man. Was a few moments to recover, a few sweet nothings, so much to ask? Will it always be this harsh? Will they always build a wall afterwards? And now he wants to keep my clothes? Why, to make me feel more humiliated?
I fight back the welling tears and crave a cigarette.
“Miss Carling, I won’t ask you again. You have no further business here. And Miss Jackson has sent word that you’re to remain naked until further notice.”
He turns away and begins to put on his shirt, fastening his cuff links. Where does he need to be? The awful thought crosses my mind that another of the girls is waiting outside. Christ.
Why are you surprised, Emma? This isn’t playschool. You’re in hooker training. What else did you expect?
I don’t know, but I know I didn’t expect to feel like shit so soon.
I’m not sure how much time passes. He turns and frowns and me over his shoulder. Fine, I don’t want to be here anyway. But…
“Rupert,” I choke. “Do you really have to keep my clothes? Why…will I be the only one…?”
He frowns again. “I don’t know what programme or dress code the other trainees are on. But if you want to pass then I strongly suggest you do as you’re told. No bathrobes, no towels. Now please, go.”
I heave a loud sigh as I feel the stroppiness rising within me. I must fight it.
This is just another test, Emma. You don’t back down from a challenge.
I turn my back on him, open the door and step out into the hallway. Cautious. Naked.
This wing seems dark and deserted, but who knows what everyone else is up to? I’ve got every reason to take my time here. I walk slowly, listening. Somewhere in the distance, I hear something. It sounds like a girl…enjoying herself. Much as I just did. Or, rather…is that a note of angst in her cry? I think I hear a cracking sound, but maybe I imagine it.
I move closer to the sound and pause outside a door that stands between me and its source. The noises are clearer now. They’re those of a woman receiving some kind of beating. Oh, fuck, run away. Real-world Emma’s instinct is to storm in and scream at the bastards. But real-world Emma is already in retreat. Deep down she knows this kind of shit must be part of the world she’s training for. You’ll probably be next. I shudder.
I gather my wits as I turn onto the central wing of the house. I can’t think where to head besides my room. I can only think of how ridiculous this is. I can get used to the group showers, but walking around the house like this? Having meals? Are these people serious?
There are footsteps on the staircase. Miss Honeywell. Act cool, girl. Cool. She’s coming my way with a bundle of laundry. Probably destined for the Lachlan Room, I dare say. How am I meant not to blush?
But Miss Honeywell is a treasure. Nobody here can put me at ease like she can. She doesn’t bat an eyelid as she stops in front of me. I almost feel clothed again.
“Miss Carling!” she beams. “How are we today? Wasn’t last night wonderful? You looked magnificent!”
“Er, thanks, I’m fine, thanks,” I say, suddenly feeling a whole lot more comfortable. “How are you?”
“Well, you know, keeping busy,” she winks, patting the bundle of fresh linen. “It might have passed you by, but it’s gorgeous outside! If I were you I’d get out to the pool pronto. You never know if the sun’s going to last.
“And I think,” she says, running her eyes admiringly up and down my body. “You’ll look even more angelic with an all-over tan.”
Not everyone can reference my white bits quite so inoffensively, but she’s just managed it. I give her a smile.
“You’re probably right…I might just do that!”
We go our separate ways and I scuttle back to my room without running into anybody else. Petra is there, as luck would have it. Wearing one of her trademark miniskirts.
She looks up in surprise when I walk in, then smirks. How does she manage to be everything Miss Honeywell isn’t?
“What?” I say grumpily.
“Did they tell you to go like that?”
“Yes, so?”
She doesn’t answer. I grab a cigarette and walk over to the window. I suppose I might get away with covering up my nudity in here, but I don’t feel like giving her an inch now. And anyway, it was expressly forbidden by Rupert and I wouldn’t be surprised if the walls have eyes.
“What have you been doing the last couple of hours?” I ask her. I’m fishing for something as humiliating as what I’ve experienced.
“I had to fuck two guys. From last night,” she says bluntly.
“Oh,” I’m taken aback. “And…what was it like?”
She looks at me as if it was a silly question.
“What do you think? It was just a fuck. It was not like anything.”
Jesus, this woman’s…possibly onto something. She just takes it all in her stride.
“Mm, okay.”
The room goes quiet for a while as she folds a few clothes and I contemplate my toes while the calming smoke fills my lungs and my head begins to clear.
“Anything lined up for this afternoon?” I ask her, suddenly feeling confident enough to look Petra in the eye.
“No appointments yet. So I will go to the pool.”
Always one step ahead, this bloody Petra. Fucking great. And with that she dashes into the closet, emerging a minute later in her swimming towel.
Fine, I’ll do it. Let her look, I’m better than her anyway. We’ve all seen each other with our kit off already, and I’m in an I-don’t-care-anymore mood now. Besides, Miss Honeywell is right: there’s no better use for a summer’s afternoon. I grab my suntan lotion and follow her out of the room without a word.
She keeps on walking a couple of steps ahead of me. Typical. She knows I’m there. It’s like some kind of power thing.
And once again, just like that first day on the stairs, I am captivated by her moving in front of me. It’s her pretty little feet I notice now. So young and full and creamy. So shiny and well looked-after, with cute toes that are neither stumpy nor froggishly long. They’re just right, perfectly in tune with her proportions. I watch their confident steps along the cool hallway floor. Left, right, left, right.
I’m lost in that reverie when I realise that she’s leading us through the lounge. Through the far window I notice a few people seated around a table on the terrace: One of them is Rupert.
And his words come flooding back to me. No bathrobes. No towels. I start as I realise I’ve unthinkingly wrapped up in my towel. I’ve got to drop it before he spots me. I pause in front of the fireplace, suppress the tiny tremor of thrill that’s been threatening to hit me ever since I lost my clothes.
It doesn’t seem right, me having to do this. Why should I listen to him, the arsehole? Why should I parade naked like I’ve done something wrong? Should I just leave this crazy house? I just wish I had someone I could talk to. But it’s silent in here. The grandfather clock ticks, as if impatient for me to get through this moment of self-doubt.
Self-doubt? Is that what this is? I feel the fighter within me awaken. Emma, you don’t doubt yourself. This is a test, not a punishment. Now, go.
I flick open my towel with new resolve, expose my bare body once again. My towel is in my hand just in time for Rupert to look up. I think he had spotted me through the window. He seems not to notice Petra make her way past him and down the steps.
I avoid his gaze as I pass through the French door. I’ll look anyone in the eye, but not him. There is a mix of mentors and gents on the terrace. Miss Jackson is out here too.
“Good afternoon, Emma,” says the woman who photographed all my privates close-up and sent me the prints. “Wow, just as stunning as yesterday!”
“Thanks,” I say to her, slowing but hoping I won’t have to stop. “I thought I’d do some work on my tan.”
She nods and smiles, and I gather I needn’t stop for another naked conversation. When I reach the top of the steps, though, I feel as though all the world is watching me. A few of the other girls are already soaking up the rays, and I swear I see their heads turn at the sight of nude Emma.
And then it hits me: I’m not the only naked one. I’m thrilled and relieved to see Simone stretched out on a sun lounger, relaxed as can be in her birthday suit. Petra has claimed another of the loungers. She’s already lost her bikini top and is now casually climbing out of the bottoms. They’ve done this before: suddenly I’m very aware of my tan lines.
I feel a whole lot better as I go down to the stairs. Who else is down here? There’s that Jane girl, looking rather overdressed in a frilly one-piece. And Carol, the pretty but quiet Singaporean who was also at my table last night, seemingly asleep in a pink bikini.
As I reach the bottom I notice a fantastic, juicy pair of breasts in the near corner, previously hidden to me: they could only belong to Latifa. She’s in nothing but a purple thong with pink sequins. Next to her, also topless, is the blonde girl who wore that mad see-through dress yesterday. All of a sudden I feel empowered, braver and bolder than the ones in swimsuits. I feel like I’m winning here.
I spot a lounger next to Latifa and see-through-dress girl. I make for it and spread out my towel.
“Hey, girl,” says the confident Latifa. “Welcome to the fun corner! I’m not sure if you’ve met my room-mate, Alyssia…have you?”
“No, hi,” I say, offering her my hand. I smile as I do so, because it’s so weird. Being formal when she’s topless and I’m nude.
“How ya going?” she says with a warm but distinctly Australian twang. She’s got one of those cracked surfer-chick voices, sounds like someone who’s spent too much time singing along at rock concerts. But her deep, golden-brown tan – only a little lighter in tone than Latifa’s, but clearly not something she was born with - makes sense to me now. She’s clearly spent half her life on some Aussie beach, and judging by her seamless bronzing she’s had her tits out for most of it.
It turns out Alyssia is another of the friendly girls. Really down-to-earth and no bullshit. Alyssia is in the UK on a working holiday and trying out the school to ‘see what happens’. I don’t say anything, but figure she must have a fair bit of money in her family to come here just on a whim. Charles hadn’t told me any numbers, but suggested the fees here were astronomical. Sure enough, she mentions her dad’s a mining boss, and doing pretty well for himself.
I discover that she’s about my age and hails from Perth. She tells me it’s known as the sunniest city on the planet. I make a note to include it on my travels…if I can really bring myself to do what I need to do to earn that well.
I nestle back in my semi-reclined deck chair as I talk with Alyssia and Latifa. I’m feeling good again. The sun usually has that effect, and so does pleasant company. There’s silence for a couple of minutes.
“Come on, Emma, don’t be so bloody English!”
It’s Alyssia. And I’m puzzled.
“What do you mean?”
She sighs with mock exasperation: “You need to put some sunscreen on. Who’s gonna want to root you when you’re peeling?”
Shit. She’s probably right. Of course I haven’t thought to bring any on this particular trip. In my defence, nobody packs lotion for a trip to England.
“Hah, I knew it! She hasn’t got any! Probably like your English friend over there,” says Alyssia, jerking her head at Jane across the pool. “She’s gonna go lobster in a minute, but I’m not saying a thing. I don’t like her.”
“Really?” I say, innocently. I don’t mention that Jane hadn’t given me a great vibe when we spoke last night.
“Yeah, there’s just something cold about her. She’s fake.”
“I know what you mean,” Latifa chimes in. “She thinks she’s better than us but she’s not a very good actor!”
“I guess you’ll get a bit of that here,” I venture. “I mean…my room-mate’s not exactly a sackful of fun either.”
“You’re with that blonde one?” says Latifa, gesturing towards Petra.
“Yeah, and it’s not great…she doesn’t have time for me either, but she doesn’t even bother acting.”
The girls are quiet for a moment as they contemplate the Bulgarian blonde across the water. Petra’s reading a book, apparently oblivious to our conversation.
“Jesus, but she’s not bad to look at,” says Alyssia, taking in Petra. “I could go for a tight little body like that.”
“I bet you could,” Latifa sniggers. Am I imagining the double entendre or is it really there?
“Back to the sunscreen then!” says Alyssia dismissively, handing one of her bottles of factor 15 to Latifa. “You just lay back Emma. We’ll take care of it.”
“Er….really? I can…”
“Shoosh! It’s easier for someone else to do this.”
“Yeah, I mean, if it was my back…”
She just gives me a look as she stands up and rubs some cream in between her palms. And I realise she won’t be taking no for an answer.
“You take the left and I’ll take the right, Okay, Latifa? That way we don’t miss a spot!”
Okay, so these girls want to cream me up. Fine. We’re all practically fucking naked, so how weird is it really? I’m not going to argue with a pampering. I close my eyes, let go, and start to feel like the Queen bee.
They start with my legs. And they’re true to the word. Their warm, liquid-lathered hands really don’t miss a spot as they massage the cream into each of my toes, my feet, and all the way up to my knees. No sun-ray is going to have its way with me, that’s for sure.
And this is nice. The four hands are moving their way up my thighs now, inside and outside. I wonder if I’m making a spectacle of myself, but remember that we’re hidden below the terrace. The other girls at the poolside might have an eye on me, but so what? Everyone needs sunscreen.
I can feel their breath on me as their stooped bodies work their way up mine. I flinch as Alyssia’s thumb brushes near my clit while she works the top of my legs. They give my pussy a berth, but not a wide one, and I take in a sharp breath once or twice when they get close.
“Don’t worry, we’re not going to finger you, girl!” says Latifa.
“Not yet anyway…” replies Alyssia. My eyes are open long enough to see her wink at her Arab friend. It’s impossible to know if she’s joking or not. And impossible for me to know if I want her to be. Do I?
Their fingers splay their way across my tummy as they move up and over my little patch. I love how it feels when their fingers trail in the wake of their hands, one at a time, like a slithering snake working its way along my sides. Especially the way Latifa does it. Alyssia is a little rough, slightly masculine in her movements, but Latifa’s a natural.
And now, my sides and tummy fully coated, their slick hands glide onto my breasts. Back and forth, around and around, than one last smoothing pet. OK, this is a first. But I don’t say anything. Instead I hold my breath. My eyes are shut again, and I become intensely aware of the sun beating down on my forehead while their hands apply the cream. I swear I feel a little pinch on my left nipple as Alyssia’s hand retreats for the last time.
And did they take a little longer than necessary?
“Nothing worse than burnt tits, hey?” Alyssia says to the world in general. “Gotta take care…especially when they’ve not seen the sun before. Your nips would sting like hell if we didn’t cream them up.”
Latifa chuckles and I sigh: enough about the white bits now! The girls finish up with my collar and shoulders.
“You can do your face,” says Alyssia, handing me the bottle. “But I’ll be watching you!”
“All right, all right, I won’t cheat, promise!” I say.
“Yeah don’t miss a spot, not after all that effort we put in.”
I give my face a gentle layer of sunscreen while the girls settle back into their loungers.
“Thanks, guys,” I say. And I just stop myself from adding ‘that was nice’.
The sun beats down on us and conversation peters out as we all get a little drowsy. My mind is spinning so fast that it’s crying out for a shutdown. It’s lumbered with so much: the slight hangover, the whole thing with Rupert, having my clothes taken off me. And now the weirdly cool feeling I had when Latifa and Alyssia worked their hands over my body.
I expect myself to dwell on some of today’s more trying moments, but instead it’s the good times that push their way to the front of my thoughts. Lying here in the sun with my legs slightly ajar, I can’t help but think how good that fuck was. This place is pushing me, yes, but I think I’m going to find a lot to like. If I let myself.
And that’s the last thing I remember thinking before I drift off.
*
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- 11.05.2022
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