The Beach Picnic free porn video

The Beach Picnic By Charlotte Dickles The beach picnic was almost surreal. Even as it was happening, I knew it was one of those events that would be lodged in my mind for decades to come. There were four of us there on the otherwise empty beach: Helen Noble, aged in her mid-forties and pleasantly attractive with a large frame. She was wearing a white, one-piece swimming costume from which her ample breasts and buttocks agreeably bulged. If you live in the UK, you'll almost certainly have heard of her absent husband, John Noble, a junior Cabinet Minister, who's been picked as a potential prime minister. Maybe. He's a devious, evil bastard with a disarming smile, so he undoubtedly has all the necessary qualifications. Then there was John and Helen's nineteen-year old daughter, Annabella - not shortened to Anna, I'd been firmly told more than once, and definitely not shortened to Bella. We'd picked her up from university - Cambridge, of course - the previous day, for the start of the summer break. Fortunately she had none of her father's attributes, except for the disarming smile, which in her case was almost certainly genuine. She threw it at people without restraint - a smile to warm the heart of everyone it touched. For her age, she was quite small, and had a slim teenager's body with pert breasts. In her skimpy, bright yellow bikini, she was definitely a sight for sore eyes. The third member of the group was the Nobles' housekeeper, Brigit Walker. I reckoned she must be in her mid-twenties, and in her red bikini she revealed a body almost as slim at the waist as Annabella's, but with a gorgeously succulent pair of tits and a nicely rounded arse. Until today, I hadn't seen much of Brigit (in all senses of the expression). Sometimes, I'd had to knock on the door when I collected John or, more often, Helen; occasionally Brigit had answered, wearing her black, uniform dress with white pinafore apron - the kind of vision from which erotic fantasies (especially mine) are created. She was obviously treated as one of the family - on the journey down in the car, she and Annabella had chatted like sisters, and Helen joined in with no apparent distinction between employer and employee. Then there was me, Steve Owen, recently employed chauffeur: thirty-eight years old, divorced, five-feet, nine in height, with a prematurely balding hairline. I was the only one of the four not to be wearing swimming gear. I'd driven them down to their beach villa in Seacombe, that morning - a four hour drive from their Hampstead home - and since I'd been expecting to return to London that afternoon, I'd been wearing my normal uniform: grey suit and peaked cap, white shirt with grey tie, and black leather shoes. I'd better explain here that I'm not a Government driver. Obviously, John gets his own chauffeur for official business but he was narked that, since he was only a junior minister, the official chauffeur wasn't available to him for social occasions. Then came the 7/7 London bombings, and Helen got worried about travelling by public transport. So they decided to hire a private chauffeur who, during the day would ferry Helen around on her shopping expeditions, museum visits, and lunch dates with her friends, and in the evening would be available to overcome difficulties created by Britain's stringent drink-driving laws. I'd only been in the job for a week. So far, I'd found it comfortable, provided I could put up with John's whip-lashing tongue, which apparently the previous series of chauffeurs could not. Fortunately, the majority of driving was for Helen, the work was not arduous, and I got live-in accommodation above the garage where the cars were kept - worth an absolute fortune in London. So, to get back to that picnic on the beach, the four of us had arrived that Sunday at their villa at around midday, and they'd decided they were going to have an immediate picnic on the beach. 'Steve, you can help us carry the stuff down there, and then you can stay and have lunch with us.' It sounded a fair deal to me, so as the others all dashed into bedrooms and changed into swimming gear, I took off my jacket, cap and tie, and started carrying the stuff down to the place where Helen indicated, at the edge of the sand dunes. After a couple of journeys, they had got changed, and they helped me carry down the final load. That's when the first surreal event occurred. I've already mentioned the skimpy bikinis that Annabella and Brigit wore. No doubt in London, they'd have given me hell if they'd caught me staring at their tits; consequently, I was admiring their forms with discretion. But no sooner had they dropped their towels on the huge beach-rug I'd spread out on the sand, than they were slipping off their bikini tops without a shred of embarrassment. I gulped. 'Some wine, Steve?' Helen offered, as she passed the bottle and glasses around. 'You look as though you could do with something to stop you imploding. Don't mind these two. They have no shame.' 'I don't think Steve does mind, Mummy,' Annabella said. 'He appears to be quite appreciative.' There was no answer to that, so I responded directly to Helen's question. 'Sorry, I'd better not have any wine. I'm driving back, later.' 'No you're not,' Helen said. 'I've decided.' 'Er, sorry?' 'I'm still annoyed about those people in the car following us down here,' she said. 'I've decided I'm going to keep you here for the next few days so you can drive us around.' The previous Tuesday, the second day of my job, I noted a white Peugeot had been behind us for some distance. It's one of the things they teach you on the defensive driving courses; essential training nowadays for any professional chauffeur. I'd made a couple of turns until I was satisfied we were definitely being followed, and then I discretely brought it to Helen's attention, as a prelude to dialling 999 and asking for police assistance to catch the potential terrorists, or whatever. 'Bugger!' she'd replied. 'He's doing it again.' 'Sorry, madam?' I'd asked. 'I keep telling you,' she said, 'call me Helen. They aren't terrorists in that car; they're simply private detectives hired by my husband to record my infidelity.' 'Oh,' I said, unprepared for such honesty; and then: 'Do you want me to lose them?' Her eyes twinkled. 'Not today,' she said. I'd seen the same car several times, over the rest of the week; each time I'd pointed it out to Helen, who had been unperturbed. This morning, as I'd driven up to the Noble's beach villa, I noticed a white Peugeot parked at another villa, about a hundred yards away. I mentally checked the registration number - it matched - and when we'd got into the cottage, I quietly told Helen about it, not wanting the others to hear. But it seemed Helen had no such inhibitions now, and she relayed the news about the private detectives with relish to the others. 'But isn't Daddy still having that affair with his secretary?' Annabella asked. 'Of course he is,' Helen said. 'And he's tried it on with Brigit enough times. Threatened her with the sack as well, when she wouldn't drop her knickers for him.' 'I don't really understand,' Brigit said. 'Does he want a divorce?' Helen shook her head. 'He simply wants to intimidate me - to show that he expects me to behave according to the rules, whilst he can simply ignore them. That's just the way he is. Well, I'll show him two can play games. I'll tell him tonight that I want you, Steve, to stay with us for another day and ferry us around as necessary. And if he finds that inconvenient, that's bloody tough luck. 'Now then, Steve,' she continued, her moment of anger behind her, 'pass some of this food around, and for God's sake fill up your wine glass. I'm not having you behaving as a party pooper.' *** So, we ate, drank and were merry. After lunch, the women stretched out in the sun and, feeling comfortably bloated and ready to do the same, I removed my shirt, to some 'Woo!'s from the girls, and then started to take off my shoes and socks. 'Oh my God!' Brigit exclaimed, as I removed one of my socks. 'He's got a huge, erect... big toe,' to which we all burst into laughter. As I removed the other sock, the girls der-rahd to the tune of 'The Stripper', and then, with the revelation of my other big toe, Annabella pretended to swoon in horror, whilst Brigit shouted, 'He's got another erection there. That's three in total!' 'Girls! Calm down,' Helen shouted, but she was laughing as much as the rest of us. And Brigit was perfectly correct about the number of erections (if you included my big toes). I had found the whole picnic with fun and games, in the midst of the three, half-naked, beautiful women, incredibly erotic. Things did calm down a little, until Helen pointed out that, with my white skin, I was going to burn in the fierce heat of the sun. Whereupon, Brigit got onto her knees, held up a tube of suntan lotion and told me to sit up whilst she spread it on me. I'm sure she deliberately let her boobs drag across my back as she worked the lotion onto my shoulders and leant around the front of me to reach my chest. After months of sexual isolation following my divorce, I had entered paradise. *** Later on, probably around three o'clock, Helen picked up the beach-ball which had been lying next to her and threw it so it landed with a smack on Annabella's tummy. 'A-a-h-h-h! You rat!' 'That's enough lazing about,' Helen said. 'It's time for a swim. Come on, Brigit, and you too, Steve.' 'I haven't got any swimming trunks,' I said. 'I suppose I could go in wearing just my underpants.' 'Presumably, they're your only pair,' Helen said. 'You don't want to get those sopping wet. And I'm not really happy if you come in naked and start waving that thing...' she gesticulated at the bulge still showing in my trousers, '...at us. We might think it's a killer whale.' My respect for Helen, at that moment, went through the roof. We'd all been fooling around plenty, with lots of innuendo, and her daughter and housekeeper were half-naked, but Helen was drawing the line in the sand which I must not cross. Fine to joke with everyone, and frolic around, but pulling out my throbbing, bare prick, in company, was definitely off- limits. I nodded. I could understand that. 'Easily solved,' Brigit said. She stood up, and with as little embarrassment as she'd shown when removing her top, she slid her bikini briefs down her legs and threw them across, with both considerable force and accuracy, into my face. By the time I'd pulled them from my eyes, she was racing, completely naked, down to the sea, with Annabella close behind. 'I promise not to look around as I go down to the sea,' Helen said, a big smile on her face. 'But I want you there in two minutes.' I suppose I could have protested to Helen's receding back, but it seemed such a trivial issue - slipping on the bikini briefs that only seconds before, had been nestling around a pussy I would very much like to get closer to - much, much closer to. I undid my trousers and pulled them, and my underpants, off in one movement, pretending to ignore the wolf- whistles which came from the girls playing in the surf. The bikini briefs were very tight as I slid them up my legs but, with a bit of force, they went to the top and adequately covered my throbbing prick. One minute after Helen, I was racing into the water. *** As kids, we used to play a game called 'Piggy in the Middle'. Two people would toss a ball between them, and the 'piggy in the middle' would try to catch it in mid-flight. If successful, the person who missed the catch would become the new piggy. With four people, we played a variation of that game based upon two teams - one the throwers and catchers - the other, the piggies. The main object of the game seemed to be for the piggy to manhandle the catcher out to the way of the ball, just as it was about to descend, so that the other piggy could catch it in their place. And when I say 'manhandle', of course for most of the time, I meant 'woman-handle'. As the rules were explained to me, it was suggested that one should handle one's partner with relative dignity, grabbing them around the waist, and throwing them to one side. But as soon as I realised that both Helen and Annabella had a habit of grabbing me and 'accidentally' squeezing my bum, or brushing against my erection, I developed the technique of grabbing them just under their breasts (well, almost under, anyway), and in Annabella's case tweaking her nipple as I lifted her aside. As for Brigit, she would slip her hand into my bikini bottom as she grabbed me. Since she didn't have a bikini bottom into which to slip my hand, I couldn't reciprocate in the same way, so I usually gave her pussy a stroke as I threw her aside. Remarkably, no one called 'Foul' for the whole of the game, a mark of the close bond, which had developed between us. It was Annabella who first decided she'd had enough, saying that she'd got too cold and that she'd leave the sea to get warm. The game reverted to the conventional three- person variety, but that didn't reduce the amount of man/woman-handling, which we all enjoyed. Finally, we wrapped our arms around each other's shoulders as we walked back though the surf to the beach, and up to the point where our gear was. *** We sat wrapped in our towels, smiling at each other for a few minutes; perhaps each of us was wondering just exactly where this was leading. For my part, I'd willingly have had sex on the beach with all or any of them, but knew that pushing it at that moment was the worst possible thing I could do. So, I was happy to grin back at them, while we all contemplated the immediate future. 'Where are my trousers?' I asked, looking around. I thought I'd left them lying in a heap, on top of my shoes and shirt, but now I couldn't even see those. 'Annabella?' Helen said. 'Sorry Mummy?' Annabella said, in a tone of mock innocence. 'Was there something you wanted?' 'Steve has lost his clothes,' Helen said. 'Do you know anything about that?' 'Of course not, Mummy,' she continued. 'But there was this note I found on the rug when I came out of the sea, about buried treasure. I don't know whether that's got anything to do with it.' She pointed at a scrap of paper covered in handwriting.' Helen picked it up. 'That's strange,' she said. 'Whoever wrote this has handwriting remarkably similar to my daughter's. What a coincidence.' She read aloud from the paper. 'To find the buried treasure, take ten paces from the beach rug towards the house, turn right and take eight paces, then turn left and... 'Hmm,' she continued. 'Instructions to find buried treasure. I think you'd better see if they lead to anything, Steve.' She held out the scrap of paper towards me. I grinned. OK, so I was the butt of another joke called 'Find Your Clothes'. Well, if the girls didn't want me to get dressed yet, I wasn't complaining. I stood up and obediently pointed towards the beach villa and started my ten paces forward. 'Your paces are too long,' Annabella said. 'That is, I'm certain the pirates who left this message would have used shorter paces.' So I went back to the rug and paced out ten Annabella-sized paces, then turned to the right and started eight paces... 'You've turned in the wrong direction,' Annabella called. I looked down at my instructions. 'It says 'Turn right.' ' 'Are you sure? Well, it should have said 'Turn Left.' ' I moved back to the point where I'd turned, and faced the opposite direction. Eight paces from there took me to the top of a small sand dune. 'I don't think you can be doing it right,' Annabella said. 'You should be to the right of that dune.' 'Annabella,' Helen said, 'the joke's starting to wear a bit thin. It's one thing burying his clothes, but you might have got the instructions right. Why don't you go and do the pacing for Steve?' So Annabella got up, and started pacing out the instructions. The problem was that as soon as we got amongst the dunes, we lost all sense of direction. Were we facing the sea or the house? Was that a ninety-degree turn, or a seventy-degree turn? Was that a straight line, or did it bend? If it did bend, was it meant to bend? Then, there were so many instructions - twenty in all, and an error in writing down just one of them would break the chain of clues. Annabella had wanted to make it challenging; in fact, she made it impossible. After half an hour of us all making attempts to find the buried treasure, digging dozens of holes in every likely spot, we had to give up. My clothes were well and truly lost. 'You'll have to go with Steve into town, tomorrow,' Helen said, 'and buy him replacements.' 'Excuse me,' I said, 'but I don't actually have any clothes to wear. Can't we go into town now?' 'It's Sunday,' Helen said. 'All the shops close at four. You'll just have to make do for tonight. I would make Annabella lend you her best jeans, except she's so sickeningly thin that you'd never get into them; so is Brigit, for that matter. So, I guess I'd better lend you some of my things.' 'Thanks, Mummy. And, er, sorry Steve,' Annabella said. 'Thanks Helen, and as for you,' I said, turning to Annabella, 'I think you need your bottom spanking.' I raised my arm and made as if to slap her, and she went shrieking into the dunes, with me racing after her. Needless to say, I couldn't catch her! We spent a few minutes racing around, before we returned breathless to the rug. Helen had already gone up to the house, taking some of the picnic gear with her, and the three of us spent a few minutes packing everything up. Between us, we managed to carry it all in one load. The beach villa is one of those wonderful art deco buildings dating from the 1930s, which would never have got planning permission today. It bordered the road, with the main accommodation being at that level, whilst beneath, the floor at beach level was mainly devoted to a large storage area, used for keeping a speedboat and a couple of jet skis, along with quad bikes which could be used to tow them down to the water. At the one corner of the building, was a shower, and it was to this that Brigit raced as soon as she'd unceremoniously dropped her load on the ground. 'Race you to the shower,' she shouted, when she was almost there. 'Last one in's a wimp.' Annabella raced after her and squeezed inside, to the accompaniment of girlish screams. Brigit's head popped out. 'That makes you the wimp,' she said, and added with obvious innuendo, 'Are you coming or not?' 'I didn't know I was invited,' I said, a huge grin breaking over my face, 'but yes, I think I might be coming.' 'I'll rephrase that,' Brigit said. 'You're welcome to share our shower, provided you keep on those bikini briefs.' There it was again: the line showing what was off-limits and what was not. I could live with that. 'Sounds great to me,' I said, racing to the cubicle. It was certainly a tight squeeze, made all the tighter because as I entered, Annabella was bending over removing her bikini briefs, presenting her own bottom to me, with just a trace of the slit between her legs on show. 'Just what I wanted,' I said, and gave it a sharp slap with my hand. 'A-a-g-g-h!' She jerked upright, her head lifting one of Brigit's tits and pushing it to one side as she did so. 'You rat! Take that!' She slapped a wet and soapy sponge in my face. 'O-o-h-h!' The soap in my eyes stung like crazy. 'Stop moaning,' Brigit said, 'and use that sponge on my back.' 'Oh dear, I've dropped it,' I said. 'Never mind, I'll put some soap on my hands and use that instead.' 'Well, if you're going to use your hands,' Brigit said, turning around, 'you'd better start with my front.' It was the best foreplay I'd ever experienced in my life. Normally, I'd be in hurry to move onto the next stage, but this time, I knew there'd be no next stage. I was in a shower with two naked, beautiful, young women, who were perfectly happy to indulge in a mutual soaping and washing session. It really was slapstick at its very best. Unfortunately, all good things eventually come to an end. 'You lot are not STILL in the shower, are you?' Helen's voice came through the curtain. 'Well, Helen, one of us is very dirty,' Brigit called. 'We keep rubbing him but he doesn't get any cleaner.' 'Time to get dressed,' Helen replied. 'Perhaps this will encourage you to speed up.' The shower turned icy cold. 'A-a-a-g-g-g-h-h!' we shouted simultaneously, ejecting from the shower in a bundle of arms, legs and boobs. Helen was waiting outside, and she threw a large, fluffy, white towel at each of us. 'Come on, I've sorted out something which I think Steve can wear. And you all need to get dressed.' She, I now noticed, was already wearing a pretty, sleeveless, pink dress, showing off the tan she'd developed that afternoon. *** Five minutes later, we all crept upstairs, our towels wrapped around us. 'Steve, I've laid out a couple of things on my bed,' Helen said. 'Go with him, Brigit, and decide the best thing for him to wear.' Brigit slipped into her own bedroom first, and put on a short dressing gown. Then she led the way into the master bedroom, and I followed. There were a couple of dresses on the bed, but I couldn't see the clothes she'd laid out for me. 'Oh, that's a nice dress, don't you think, Steve?' I glanced at it; a fairly long, red dress, which buttoned right up to a high neckline, with tiny pictures of beach balls, lilos and surfboards scattered randomly across it. 'Yes. Is that for you?' I asked. 'What did she do with my clothes?' 'Steve, these are your clothes.' I looked at them again, staring suspiciously, and then I twigged. 'OK, very funny, ha-ha. Don't tell me, Helen never wears trousers or jeans, so I'm going to have to wear a dress, right?' 'Well, you must have noticed that during the week you've been ferrying me around,' Helen's voice came from behind me. 'I never do wear trousers - they simply don't suit my shape. I'd far rather hide these monster hips beneath a flowing skirt than expose them in jeans.' I turned to face her, expecting a smile to break out on her face, as she was unable to keep up the pretence any longer. But the smile was already there. 'I'm sorry, Steve, I know that a man wearing a dress represents a great attack on his virility, his penis will immediately fall off, and everyone will laugh at him, but you're amongst friends, here. OK, we might laugh at you, but we've been doing that all afternoon, and you can't deny you've enjoyed it.' 'But there must be something else I could wear,' I said. 'Oh, come on, Steve,' Brigit said. 'We've been having fun together all afternoon. Let's have some fun now, dressing you up. I'm sure we'll all enjoy doing it. And I reckon we'll make a pretty passable woman out of you.' I shook my head, but couldn't help smiling, partly because I'd glimpsed a flash of Brigit's nipple as she'd turned, but also because I could see the fun and games of the afternoon were going to continue all evening. Well, I was game if they were. 'Now, you're wrong about making me into a passable woman,' I said. 'But OK, I'll go ahead with your games. I'm not entirely convinced there are no trousers I could wear in the entire house, but what the hell, I'm amongst friends.' I splayed my hands out. 'So, you do your damnedest on me. Treat me as your little dolly, to dress up. Only don't be disappointed with the results.' 'OK,' Brigit said. 'That's a challenge. You say we'll be disappointed. Well, I say you'll be astounded by the results. Is that a contest?' 'You bet,' I said, thinking how nice it was that we trusted each other to tell the truth at the end. And it was going to be fun, I thought, just like the rest of the day had been. *** 'I thought the good thing about this dress,' Helen said, pointing to the one Brigit was still holding, 'is that it's got a high neckline, so we don't have to worry about Steve's hairy chest, and it's long enough that when he wears it with boots, it won't show any of his leg, either.' 'But that means we won't have to wax him,' Annabella said, coming into the bedroom. 'I was really looking forward to that bit.' 'Well, never mind, Annabella,' Brigit said. 'I think we'll have our work cut out to get him presentable in a reasonable time for dinner, anyway.' 'We could eat before you've finished with me,' I protested. 'Absolutely not,' Helen said. 'The one thing I insist on here is that we dress up properly for dinner. We may be slobs all day, but we become civilised for dinner. Incidentally,' she turned to Annabella, 'did you ring Morrellis?' 'Yes. No problem.' 'Who are Morrellis?' I asked, suddenly suspicious. 'They only sell the best, takeaway pizzas in the whole of Seacombe,' Brigit answered. 'Oh,' I said, silently thinking, 'and I bet they want me to drive them there in these clothes.' A flutter of excitement went soaring through my body. 'And why not?' I thought. 'So, Brigit,' Helen continued, 'do you want to get him into some underwear? You can use any of my stuff you need.' I knew it was useless to protest that underwear was unnecessary. In any case, wasn't I rather intrigued to discover what it would be like wearing the kind of garments I usually took such delight in removing? I wasn't going to confess it to the girls (or anyone else, for that matter), but in fact, I found the whole idea incredibly erotic. 'First thing,' Brigit said, 'is we get rid of all traces of your stubble. It's a shame that you haven't got a proper beard, because then we would be able to wax it off you. It might have been painful, but it would have given a super finish. As it is, we'll have to rely on shaving. Come into the en-suite, and we'll get you lathered up.' She led me in, carefully positioned the stool in front of the washbasin, and then plonked me down on it and made me lie back so my head was resting on the edge of the washbasin, cushioned by a towel. Personally, I thought she had only made me sit like that so that it made my cock (and yes, my throbbing erection still showed no sign of abating) stand even more proud under the material of the bikini bottom. She found some shaving soap from somewhere, and massaged it into my twelve-hour stubble. 'Are you alright if I leave you like that for a few seconds for it to soften the beard,' she said. 'Then I'll sort out some underwear.' She went out, and had a little discussion in a low voice with Annabella. When she returned, she had a cutthroat razor in her hand. As she started to shave me, she said, 'Fortunately, John always uses a cutthroat, and keeps one here. Good job he doesn't keep any of his clothes here.' ('I wonder,' I thought.) 'We thought stockings and suspender belt, rather than tights. Are you OK, with that?' 'I suppose it's no use protesting that you're not going to see them, so there's no point.' As I said the words, I wondered whether I'd phrased them in such a way they encouraged a 'No' answer. Brigit gave the prompted answer. 'No. To look good as a woman, you have to feel a woman all the way through. That's why we wear sexy underwear, regardless of whether we're expecting to get laid that day.' I had to admit that she was doing a half-decent job of shaving me. I'm always terrified of cutthroats, so I would never use one, but I could tell, as she ran her fingers across my throat, it was a perfect shave. And my throat was still intact! 'We're also going to use a towel to pad out your hips and bum,' she continued. 'I thought most women were always trying to shed inches there, not add to them,' I said. 'Of course, you're right,' Brigit said, 'but that only goes to show that most women are very broad there. For you to look like a woman, we have to get your basic body shape right, so we have to make your hips stick out wider than your shoulders.' 'I didn't realise you'd be doing all this,' I said. 'I thought a bit of makeup, some rolled up socks in my bra, and that would be it.' 'I've told you, you are going to be astounded by the results. We won't achieve that with a bit of make up and some rolled up socks. There, I think I've finished your shave. How does it feel to you?' It felt pretty good to me. As Brigit was washing off the final traces of soap, and then patting my face dry, Annabella came back and said, 'I got everything.' 'Great,' Brigit said. Without further ado, I felt her fingers trace a line down my stomach to the top of my bikini briefs; she slipped her fingers under the elastic and lifted. With my head supported on the washbasin, I couldn't tilt it to see what she was up to, but I reckoned any second, she'd bend down and give me a blow job, or at the very least, a hand job. There was a Schhh noise, as though someone was delivering coals, and then the pain hit me right where it hurts most. 'Y-a-a-a-h-h-h-h!' I sat up with a jerk. The bikini briefs were bulging far more than they had been all afternoon, but I knew it was not with erect penis. Brigit was still holding the empty ice bucket, after she'd dumped its contents around my genitals. 'Fucking hell!' I screamed, standing up and pulling down my bikini briefs, the ice cascading onto the floor. The rampant monster, that had been there just a minute ago, had totally disappeared. 'That's great,' Brigit said. 'Just the effect I wanted. Now take the towel, quickly dry between your legs, then slip on this pantie-girdle.' She made me push my prick backwards between my legs as she pulled it into its final position, and as she gave one last pull upwards, I felt my testicles move in a way that it felt they really shouldn't, but then the discomfort was gone. 'You could have achieved that in a more humane way,' I grumbled. 'Well, if you know a better way to get rid of a massive hard-on, we can try that next time. The important thing is that it's done the trick for now. So now, let's put on your suspender belt and stockings.' They'd selected black lacy stockings for me, and they showed me how to put them on for myself, and clip them to the suspender belt. It was a good job my prick was firmly under control, for I felt incredibly sexy, and I knew, it would have been surging up between us, otherwise. I think Brigit knew that as well, for she was looking extremely pleased with herself. 'I think make-up next,' Brigit said. 'That's going to take some time, so Annabella can be getting on with your manicure whilst I'm doing that. Let's spread some towels on the bed so you can lie down whilst I get on with it. You can even have a sleep, if you want to.' *** It's funny, but if you'd told me at the start of the day that by six pm, I'd be lying on the bed with a beautiful woman standing over me, clad only in a dressing gown only loosely done up, through which I could glimpse wonderful sights, and that I'd then fall asleep, I'd have said you were mad. But that's what happened. Part of the problem was that she made me close my eyes for much of the time, so she didn't get any make-up in them. And the fact that my prick was no longer standing to rigid attention seemed a sign to my body that it could get a brief respite. I didn't know what Annabella was doing to my fingers, but the work of both girls felt very therapeutic. After all, they were making me beautiful. *** 'Time to wake up, now, Steve.' Brigit's voice woke me from my slumber. 'We have just a few more things to do, and then you'll be ready to look at yourself, and agree that we have won the challenge.' 'Yeah, and there's a flying pig just gone by,' I said. I glanced down. My body was unchanged from earlier, with just my erotic suspender belt and stockings and the pantie girdle. I moved my arms in order to help myself sit up, and that's when I saw the flash of red. I moved my hand in front of my face. 'Holy shit!' 'They're wonderful, aren't they? Hasn't Annabella done a superb job.' I was looking at my inch-long, blood-red nails. Totally impractical, but hell, did I feel sexy. The two girls were poised, awaiting my answer. I could have given a begrudging acceptance that they were 'all right', but I felt Brigit was bang-on. In transforming my chipped and uncared for nails into these fabulous fangs, Annabella had done a truly wonderful job. 'I think they're fantastic, Annabella,' I said. 'They're incredible.' I daren't ask if they would come off easily. Those kinds of thoughts were best left until tomorrow. I'd obviously said the right words, because both their faces lit up. 'OK,' Brigit said. 'We have a few things left to do now. The first, let's get your hips and bum padded out. Can you slip on those panties.' She pointed to a pair lying on the bed; they looked enormous. I stepped into them, and pulled them up. The waist elastic was so slack, they barely stayed up. Then, Brigit took a couple of hand towels, folded them each a few times, and proceeded to stuff them into my panties, so they formed a thick padding around my hips and bum. She stood back and inspected me. 'Much better,' Annabella said, although to me I simply looked like someone with towels stuffed into their panties. 'Breasts, next,' Brigit said. 'Now, am I right in thinking that, like many men, you admire big breasts?' I nodded. 'Thought so,' she continued, 'the way you keep ogling mine. Breasts the size of melons is what men usually say is the ideal, but I'm afraid we couldn't stretch that far. So come on through into the en-suite.' She turned and led the way. 'Some people will pay a fortune for a pair of silicone breasts to stuff in their bra, but we have spared no expense in finding an ad hoc substitute.' She pointed into the washbasin and I stared at a pair of balloons, obviously left over from a birthday party some years ago, for they were inscribed, 'Happy Birthday, Annabella.' Only now the balloons had been inflated with water, and they formed huge globes. 'Like I said,' Annabella said, 'we wanted to make them melon sized, but as soon as we started to approach anything like, we realised they would never work. So, these are probably only half-melon sized.' 'God, they're enormous,' I said. It's only when you see something half-melon-sized that you realise how ridiculous the original comparison was. I guessed that Brigit's breasts could realistically be compared to large grapefruit; Helens slightly larger perhaps, but not as firm. These balloons must easily be twice as large as theirs. Which led me on to a question. 'Do you have a bra these are going to fit into? Surely, neither of you have anything to hold these monsters up.' 'We know men prefer bra-less breasts,' Annabella said, 'so we thought we'd give you the opportunity to experience them.' 'How will they stay in place?' Brigit held up a roll of elastic. 'Simple,' she said. 'We hang them around your neck with this.' 'Won't that put an awful strain on my neck?' 'Yes.' Both Annabella and Brigit spoke together, with smiles on their faces. 'You bastards.' 'Oh! Really, Stevie! We cannot have you speaking like a man,' Helen said, returning to the room. 'From now on, you'll talk like a proper young lady, and I want you two,' she fixed Annabella and Brigit with a glare, 'to set a fine example for Stevie.' I took it that Stevie was to be my name for the evening. OK, well I'd gone along with everything else. I guessed this was no great shakes. Brigit tied a noose in the elastic and slipped the neck of the one balloon through it, and pulled it tight. Then she stretched the elastic around my neck and let the balloon hang from it, estimating the position of the noose for the other balloon. She had to adjust it a couple of times to get it right, but then I had two enormous balloons hanging around my neck; they looked in the wrong place. Brigit and Annabella deliberated about the problem, and eventually solved it by passing the elastic right around my back and pulling the two balloons apart, sufficient to position them in front of my nipples. Without any clothes, they looked like exactly what they were, but I suspected that as soon as I pulled on the dress, they would resemble an enormous pair of knockers. Would I have the courage to drive to the takeaway with these? Hell, would I have the courage to walk from the front door to the car, no more than five yards? My heart gave another flutter of excitement. I guessed with the girls behind me, I'd have no choice. 'Stand still whilst I put your wig on,' Annabella commanded. I did, and she flipped it over my head, and spent a few minutes pulling it here, and pulling it there, then giving it a brush, until she was satisfied. 'Time to put on the dress, Stevie.' It was Brigit who spoke, but I could sense an exhilaration running through all three of them, now. This was when they would see the final result. Brigit held up the dress, unbuttoned all the way down the front for me to slip into. I fed my arms down the sleeves and Brigit pulled it on and buttoned me up, and then stepped back to admire me. 'She needs a slip,' Helen said. She turned round and rummaged in a drawer. 'Here you are.' She held out a frilly, white slip; it was so pretty it gave my heart another flutter. Helen handed the slip to Brigit, who bent down in front of me and made me step into it. She pulled it up under my dress, and then stepped back again. 'Boots,' Annabella said. 'Which ones do you suggest, Mummy?' 'The black, Italian pair.' Annabella rummaged in the closet and brought them out. Another shiver of excitement ran through me as I noticed the narrow, high-heels. 'I won't be able to drive in those,' I said. 'I always manage it,' Helen said, 'so I don't see why you shouldn't.' Almost simultaneously, Annabella said, 'Oh, Stevie. Are you suggesting you'll do the driving to Morrellis? That's great.' Damn! I'd fallen into a trap of my own making. I stared around at them, all smiling at me. I smiled back and said, 'Just deny that you hadn't got that in your minds, all along.' No one spoke, apart from Brigit who said, 'We really can't imagine what you're accusing us of. But be a sweetie and slip your left foot into this boot.' 'Aw! That's impossible,' I said, as my foot went in and Brigit zipped it up. 'I can't even stand in this, never mind walk or drive.' 'It'll be much easier when you have the pair on,' Brigit said, opening up the other boot. 'Now, your other foot in here.' Annabella and Helen steadied me as I tottered on the one foot, whilst locating the other. Then Brigit was zipping that boot up too. She stood up, stared critically at me, flicked a lock of my hair, and then said, 'OK, time to see yourself, Stevie.' Helen and Annabella turned me to face the full-length mirror that Brigit now turned away from the wall. 'Bloody hell!' 'Stevie, you know what I've said about your language,' Helen said. 'She does look fucking good, though, doesn't she?' Brigit said. 'Absolutely amazing,' Annabella said. They were right. OK, I was never going to rival Miss Universe, but I was an entirely credible woman, with fantastic breasts, which pleasantly joggled under my dress as I moved. Yes, my arse was too big, but then that's what every woman thought about herself. 'Well?' Brigit asked. 'Disappointed or astounded?' I couldn't stop the grin spreading from ear to ear. 'Astounded,' I said. 'You win.' *** I'd already conceded the position about driving to Morrellis, so I didn't even bother to argue about it. But I did have to take deep breaths as I paused before stepping out of the front door. All three women were really supportive. 'Come on, Stevie, you can do it.' 'You ARE a woman, Stevie. It's really no great shakes to step outside.' 'You're with friends, Stevie. We'll look after you.' I nodded. Brigit pulled open the front door and stepped through, with me immediately on her tail, and Annabella and Helen following behind. The car was only a few paces away and I had a quick glance around; there was no one in sight who could be suspicious of the woman with such enormous boobs amongst the party of four. As I got into the car, I breathed a sigh of relief. I had done it, so far. 'So what was the great big deal?' Annabella asked. 'You're one of us. If you get any weird looks from men, it's because women are always getting weird looks from men. If women look at you strangely, it's because they think you should be wearing a bra.' She was right. There was nothing to worry about - except being able to drive the car properly in these boots with such ridiculous heels! 'Put the car seat a bit further back,' Helen advised. 'Remember, you drive with the soles of your shoes, not your heels.' It was certainly different, but I practised with the pedals for a few minutes before starting the engine and setting off, and I was actually fine, once I got going. Brigit directed me towards the town centre. Even as I was driving there, I was thinking, 'Why have they ALL come to collect a takeaway?' I immediately answered my own question: 'They're going to insist that I go into the shop to pick up the order.' Incredibly, rather than finding that terrifying, I thought it was tremendously exhilarating. I knew my voice wasn't good enough to deal with the assistant, but I guessed they appreciated that too. Presumably, they would all come into the shop with me, to provide moral support and do the talking. I would just be there to be viewed as one of a group of four women. The really great thing was that I had real confidence they would support me, rather than trying to make me look a fool. Brigit guided me to a car park adjacent to Morrellis. I glanced across at the Italian restaurant, and that's when the sheer audacity of their plan hit me. 'My God!' I said. 'It's not a takeaway, it's a restaurant.' 'But Stevie, they do make the best takeaway pizzas in Seacombe,' Brigit insisted. 'Maybe,' I retorted. 'But tell me that you haven't booked a table for the four of us.' There was a moment's silence, before Helen said, 'We were going to try to get you in there without worrying you. We know you'll be fine, and we'll all be there to support you. But if you really don't want to go in, then we'll get a takeaway and take it back to the house. No hard feelings.' My heart was banging against my ribs; my breath was coming in short pants; the adrenaline was coursing around my body; I felt like a sexy woman; if I turned around now, then not only would my relationship with these three women be gone for ever, but my chance to be a woman would be ended. I let my breath steady for a few seconds, getting a little more oxygen into my lungs. 'OK,' I said. 'Let's go in.' Smiles broke out onto all three of their anxious faces. 'That's my girl.' 'Fantastic.' 'You can do it.' I got out the car first, and a couple of blokes passing nearby did a double take of my boobs and then let out a wolf-whistle. I turned my back on them, but I think they saw the grin of sheer delight before I did so. 'Take my arm, Stevie. Then you won't fall over as you get used to your heels,' Helen said. And so we proceeded into Morrelli's restaurant. The manager took one glance at us four gals and immediately decided we should have the table in the window; no doubt thinking it would attract plenty more clientele. 'Can we order some wine, Mummy?' Damn! As always, I had to be careful about drinking. I'd already broken my no-drink-driving rule once today. It was a pain, but it was my career at stake. 'Helen,' Brigit said, 'why don't we get a taxi back, and then Stevie can drink as well?' 'No need, Helen,' I said, using the voice Annabella and Brigit had tried to coach in to me on the way in. 'I don't mind going without.' 'Brigit's right,' Helen said. 'Having got you here by deception, getting a taxi home is the least we can do. Waiter, a couple of bottles of Chianti, please.' *** 'So which of you devised this dastardly plot?' I asked, some time later. The wine had been freely flowing, the food good, service brilliant, and the conversation great. I had lost all trace of self-consciousness; we were just a bunch of girls together. 'Plot?' Brigit said. 'What makes you think it was a plot?' 'It all fitted together too well. You, Brigit, showed no surprise when Helen left dresses on the bed for me. The way you'd been teasing me up till then, you should have been merciless over that. But you knew that if you were, you'd never get me to wear them. 'And you, Helen,' I continued. 'When you initially offered to sort out some clothes for me, surely, you'd have explained the problem. 'And Annabella,' I said. 'Wasn't that just unfortunate that you managed to lose all my clothes in the sand? 'So, I ask again, who was the architect of this scheme?' I smiled at them all. None of them would meet my eyes, so I knew I was right. 'OK, I can't tell a lie,' Brigit said. 'It was Annabella.' 'You pig!' Annabella said. 'Anyway, you started off the whole idea by throwing your bikini briefs in his face and getting him to wear them.' Brigit looked slightly abashed, at that. 'OK, I admit, the bikini briefs were the catalyst. I only did it as a show of bravado - a flash of my naked body in front of you to entice you into the sea, because I knew we'd have a load of fun down there.' 'As we were running down to the sea,' Annabella continued, 'I said, 'He won't put them on,' and Brigit said, 'I bet he does.' Then you did, and I suppose I might have said, 'Wouldn't it be a great laugh if we could get him to wear a complete female outfit.' And that's when Mummy caught up with us.' Helen's smile was stretching from ear to ear. 'I said that getting you to wear female clothes would be easy. The real challenge would be to get you out in public. So, yes, your right, Stevie, we all connived at getting you here. 'But in return for us being honest with you,' she continued, 'you be honest with us.' She looked me directly in the eye, and I knew the question that was coming. 'Are you enjoying this evening, or hating it? So, did we do wrong in turning you into such a good looking woman.' I thought a little about her questions. 'Tonight has been an incredible experience; wearing different clothes, I've become a different person entirely - moved into a whole new world - and everything looks different and feels different.' I gave each of them an enormous smile. 'Then there's the exhilaration of people not realising the truth. Those blokes that came in a few minutes ago, and they all clocked every one of us, and I knew exactly what they were thinking.' 'You must have dirty mind,' Brigit said. 'Perhaps there's a bit of male left inside you, somewhere. Only it's not very obvious from the outside.' *** I guess we'd all had quite a lot to drink, me especially, so I didn't feel at all nervous about the taxi ride home. Helen sat in the front with the driver, whilst us three girls squashed into the rear - me on the left, Annabella on the right with Brigit comfortably nestling in between us. The girls talked a bit, but I couldn't, since - drunk or not - I had enough sense to realise the driver would suss me the second I opened my mouth. When we arrived, I got out first, and then held open the car door and helped Brigit and then Annabella out of the car - it was good to see my professional training hadn't left me after my first evening as a woman. My professional training had also meant I'd been able to accept the note that Brigit pressed into my palm as she got out, without either Helen or Annabella noticing. After the taxi had disappeared and the women had gone into the house, I opened my hand. It wasn't a ten-pound note lying there, or even a miserable fiver; instead it was something much more valuable. A used paper serviette from the restaurant! When I unfolded it, the words leapt out at me, causing my heart to do a gambol. 'WAIT 10 MINS AFTER ALL HAS GONE QUIET. END ROOM ON THE LEFT.' 'Yes!' I said to myself, and punched the air in exuberance. *** It seemed to take forever for Annabella and Brigit to get me undressed and the make-up off my face. I made a bit of small talk with the two of them, but made no reference - not even obliquely - to the contents of the note. Brigit had not wanted the other two to know, so I wasn't going to upset her by giving away her secret passion for the chauffeur. After the make-up, Brigit had to make cocoa for everyone, which I took to my room. I got undressed and lay in bed, sipping my cocoa, listening to Helen and Annabella chattering away in the lounge for almost half an hour. Even after that, I heard toilets flushing and taps running for seemingly ages. Finally, all fell silent. I slipped on the flimsy dressing gown that Helen had lent me, then turned out my light, opened my bedroom door and padded into the pitch-black corridor. Living in London, you never experience anything like real darkness - the sky is always illuminated by thousands of advertising signs, car headlights and streetlights. On the beach at Seacombe, the only light is from the moon and stars, and there was little of that finding its way into the corridor. I felt completely disorientated as I fumbled my way around, desperately trying to remember the layout from this afternoon - but then, my mind had been on other things. Finally, I bumped into the wall which I thought must be at the end of the corridor, then shuffled to the left until I could feel the door and door handle. I turned it, opened the door and stepped inside. 'Hi, it's me,' I whispered. 'Stevie,' the whisper came back. 'This is very wicked of you.' The whisper was sufficient for me to get my bearings, and I shuffled forward until I bumped into the side of the bed. I reached forward and felt for the quilt, which I folded back, then slipped off my dressing gown and got into bed. 'I really don't think you should be doing this, Stevie,' she whispered. 'It's OK,' I whispered back. 'It's not Stevie, it's Steve. We don't have to be lesbians - we can do it the normal way.' My lips found her lips, and I flicked my tongue into her mouth as she opened it to say something else. Then her tongue was flicking back, and working its way into my mouth. We tongue jousted for a few seconds, ending in giggling laughter. 'Be quiet,' she said. 'The others will hear...' Her words were submerged as I kissed her again, and my hand slid across to where I thought her breast should be. Bang on target, a lacy nightdress covering a large, soft, squeezy breast, with a nipple which went rock-hard as soon as I touched it. 'A-a-h-h!' she gasped, and then, 'Steve, do you mind if I come on top?' 'You can come as often as you like, wherever you like,' I said, turning over onto my back. 'Silly boy,' she said, sitting up. I thought it strange that Brigit should call me that, since I was easily more than ten years her senior, but I wasn't complaining; I was quite happy to lie back and think of England - except that football was the last thing on my mind at that moment. Then I felt her towering over me, and a well-rounded thigh crossed over my hips, and her weight settled onto my legs. And when I say HER weight, I don't mean Brigit's weight. OK, she has nice, large tits and a rounded bum, but everything else was so slim that surely she couldn't be so heavy. 'Oh Steve,' she whispered, lowering her body towards mine. When she was halfway down, her breasts touched my chest, and that's when I KNEW who was on top of me. Annabella had pert breasts, Brigit had succulent, firm breasts, but only Helen had large breasts which, for reasons that were now obvious, she did not allow to play about unsupported. Then Helen was feeding her breast into my mouth, and I was sucking at it like a baby. 'Oh God! That's good, Steve. Now the other one.' And she pulled the one breast away and was feeding - indeed pouring would be a better word - the other breast into my mouth, and I was sucking on it. 'Oh, Steve. I thought you'd be chasing one of the others into bed. I can't think why you chose me.' She removed her breast from my mouth long enough for me to say, 'Helen, you're the most beautiful of all. The others are only kids.' (I may not be the best chatter-up of women, but even I knew it would have been extremely bad form to say that I was only there by mistake.) 'You stupid man,' she said, bending right down and kissing me again. 'Look, when I said on top, would you mind if I... well, took control?' 'Course not,' I said. 'Enjoy yourself.' 'Thanks Steve.' By this time she'd worked herself up my body so she was now kneeling on my shoulders. I could sense her reaching up, and the nightdress, which she'd been wearing, was lifted over her head, and then she was wriggling forward some more, so her shins were resting on my shoulders, she had my wrists pinned down and her torso was hovering directly over my head. And then she did the splits. 'Lick me, Steve! Lick me!' I heard, just before her thighs settled around my ears and my face was forced into her pussy. So I did! I licked for all I was worth. Helen was very considerate, because every few minutes, she'd let me come up for air, except when an orgasm took her, in which case, I'd have to hold my breath for longer, until she'd done. I reckoned after that practice, I'd be able to take up pearl diving for a living. Finally, she was wriggling herself down my body again. As I struggled to adjust my position, I realised she'd taken the opportunity whilst I'd been submerged in pussy to use the ribbon from her nightdress to tie my hands to the bedposts. I was spread-eagled like a laboratory specimen! 'Do you mind if I put the light on?' Helen asked. 'This is so much better if we can see each other.' Without waiting for an answer, she leant over and switched on a bedside lamp, and for the first time I could see what a tremendous woman she was. OK, the breasts did sag a little, but with their size, you'd expect them too. Wide hips, with a big bum behind, which she settled down on my hips, my prick trapped somewhere behind. Her legs straddled me, her hairy pussy on full view, which even as I watched, she slipped her fingers down to stretch the lips apart. 'Best bit coming up,' she said. She lifted up her body and moved it backwards. I could see my poor innocent prick rising to meet the challenge, and then it was engulfed inside her. And it felt fucking great! I think she screwed me for the best part of two hours. Not that my prick is normally capable of keeping itself bottled up for two hours - normally it's spurting semen after just a few minutes. But the reason why Helen wanted the light on soon became obvious. As soon as she saw the glint appear in my eyes, in response to the message my prick was telling me, she was moving backwards to tilt my poor prick to a most extreme angle. It was a wonder she didn't break it in half, but she certainly broke my intending orgasm, and after a few minutes grace, we were off again on the ride of a lifetime. Helen had orgasms of volcanic proportions, which went on and on; yet still she kept me from having mine. Finally, when I could sense that she was growing weary, she let me come, and turned it into a bucking bronco event that had me spurting gallons of semen deep inside her. My hands still tied to the bedposts, she lowered her torso onto mine, and kissed me, then snuggled down onto my shoulder. 'John hates doing it this way,' she murmured. 'He always has to be on top. Don't you think he's missing fantastic sex?' 'Fantastic,' I said, and I meant it. *** Sometime later, I felt a wet mouth latch onto my prick and started sucking, and kissing, and caressing. Ten seconds later, it was hard as rock again, and we spent another hour or so in paradise. So it continued until the morning. Sunlight was streaming through the window, and Helen was shaking me awake. 'Come on,' she said. 'You can't stay in bed much longer. Brigit will be bringing me a cup of tea soon.' In need of at least six hours more sleep, I drowsily got out of bed, found my dressing gown and pulled it on. 'Oh, and Steve?' I looked at her. 'Mmm?' 'Thanks for last night. I enjoyed myself, and I think you did too.' 'You bet,' I said. 'That was absolutely fantastic.' 'I was wondering,' she said, 'whether you wanted to continue the relationship.' Gulp! 'Well, actually I mean the sex,' she added. 'I'm not looking for love. I just want to have lots of orgasms, and I can't remember the last time John gave me a tiny thrill, never mind the kind of blood-tingling, earth- shattering, heart-throbbing, made-in-heaven ecstasies of last night.' Perhaps if I was ruled by my brain rather than my dick, I'd have turned her down, but I don't think I'm much different from most other blokes in that respect. Still, my response showed I still had some kind of thinking capability. 'I'd love to, Helen,' I said. 'Only don't you think that John might suspect if I stay down here for much longer. You said he was continually jealous.' Helen smiled. 'I think we can get around that problem,' she said. 'Didn't you once tell me that you had a sister who was also a chauffeur?' I nodded. 'Yes, but what's that got to do with anything.' 'It means,' Helen said, 'that you can use her identity when I decide to replace my current male chauffeur with a female chauffeur. Like I said last night, John would never suspect a woman.' 'You mean,' I said, 'you want me to continue dressing as a woman.' 'Don't try to tell me,' she said, 'that you weren't turned on by it. I certainly was.' She put her hand on my cock and gave it a few strokes. 'So, are we on? Or are you going back to being a full-time man?' 'Is the Pope Catholic?' I asked.