Continued from Katie and Paul Part 4...
I awoke. My head felt really fuzzy and heavy. I struggled to open my eyes. I could sense sunlight coming through the window.
I was lying facing the edge of the bed, so peered towards my bedside table to see what time it was showing on my alarm clock. I couldn't make out the recognisable red lights from the numbers. My head hurt, a lot.
I finally half-opened my eyes, my alarm clock wasn't there. I reached out a hand to try to find my watch. I normally put it on the bedside table when I get into bed, that also wasn't there. My head hurt. I had a recollection of drinking last night. A lot of drinking actually. Everything else seemed a blur.
I noticed the wall. My bedroom wall wasn't in that colour. What room had I slept in? I was lying on a bed, so I wasn't at my home. Mild panic came over me, who's bed was I in?
Someone behind me, spooning me, stirred a little. A hand was resting right on my hip, at the very top of my thigh. Hard nipples were digging into my shoulder. Oh god, what had I done? I lifted the duvet as slowly as possible and looked down. I was naked, I didn't even have knickers on. The hand was very feminine looking though, smallish in size but perfect pale skin and very well-manicured fingernails, and nail polish in a deep crimson colour. Those nails seemed so familiar, but my brain wouldn't go into gear. How many drinks had I had last night?
"Morning sleepyhead," I heard a female voice say, "I wasn't sure if you were awake yet so was trying to keep still."
I knew I recognised the voice, but my brain still wouldn't let me think clearly. I rolled over, and let out a sigh of relief. It was Claire, a longtime friend.
"Thank god it's you!" I exclaimed.
"Who did you think it was going to be, dirty girl?" she said with a big grin on her face.
"Paul actually," I answered. "I'm not that kind of girl."
"Well the way you were dancing around that stripper pole in the club last night like a professional I'd have to query that," she giggled.
Stripper pole. Club. Memories were starting to come back to me a little. We'd been out on a hen party and had been on a pub crawl. Ten girls in all, the girl getting married was someone Claire and I knew from school, she'd been in our school year. I couldn't remember everything yet but did now remember mixing my drinks. Lots of drinks.
I remember the club was in a seedier part of town. It was well known for having 'men's nights' and some of the rumours of what went on in there were legendary. Claire reminded me that we'd entered to a huge chorus of wolf whistles and shouts of the strippers arriving. The bride to be had got up and started dirty dancing with one of the guys in there, and I'd tried to outdo her by whisking off my skirt and top, and performing a very sexy dance on the pole, even turning upside down at one point and clinging onto the pole just by gripping with my thighs, and pushing my tits together at my baying audience.
"It was so sexy you turned me on too," said Claire, "But don't worry, we didn't get up to anything. I could barely undress myself let alone you."
I looked down the bed and realised that Claire was also fully naked. I was in awe of her body. I've been told that I look pretty damn good, but being only five foot four inches tall has its drawbacks. Claire was perfection.
I'd known Claire back to starting school, we started nursery school on the same day. We'd marvelled at her birthday being the day before mine, I'd always said her being one day older was why she was much taller.
Claire was a five-foot eleven-inch redhead. She has stunning pale skin, with no imperfections at all, apart from a few scatterings of very pale, almost non-noticeable, freckles across her face. She looked like a painting. Her hair was long and naturally wavy. She'd had a lot of stigma throughout school about her hair colouring. The usual 'ginger' comments and similar, I'd even overheard a group of boys mocking her freckles, calling her a human dot to dot. Claire never took any notice, if anything it made her a stronger person. We were very close throughout school, I think I really endeared to her strength. By the time we left school, all the girls wanted to be her, and all the boys fancied her. A few of the girls fancied her too, me included.
She now modelled part-time, it's how she's met her boyfriend Pete. Pete was good looking, the same age as us, but not my type. He was five feet eight inches tall, very muscly, and had a boyband haircut, all floppy fringe, and tossled. It almost always looked like he'd just got out of bed. We'd sometimes joked about having the wrong boyfriends as Paul is six feet tall. Pete did a lot of television work for adverts and such, so was away on photoshoots a lot. He was very attentive to Claire and always brought her back extravagant gifts from his travels. However much of his time when he was back home was spent either in the gym or in tanning salons.
Claire had told me early on in their relationship that they liked to perform oral on each other in risky public places. Dressing rooms, pub toilets, shopping centre car parks, that kind of thing. They'd nearly been caught a few times and she said that was more of a turn-on than the oral sex itself. However now Pete's face was becoming more publicly known, they'd had to cut down. They only needed one person to take a photo and leak it, and Pete's modelling career may well have been ended.
We'd gone downstairs and were sat either side of her breakfast bar, drinking coffee, after both taking paracetamols. Claire suddenly stood up and said "Oooh I've just remembered, I've something I need to show you. These will freak you out!"
She left the room and ran upstairs, and left me bewildered staring into my mug. She returned shortly after with a very excited grin on her face, and a laptop. She placed the laptop on the breakfast bar, turned it on, and started typing. She looked up at me staring at her, looked back at the screen, and smiled. She turned the laptop so the screen was facing my way.
I took the laptop and slid it closer to me. Six pictures were on screen, all of a naked girl. The girl was a brunette and small in size. In each picture, a black square was covering her face, apart from the last one. The final picture was an arse shot, hands pulling open her arse cheeks, and she was come splattered. A necklace of sperm hung down between her legs. I instantly recognised the pictures, although I'd never seen them before. It was from my pizza delivery. The profile was imaginatively called Pizza Girl.
"That's not me, don't be silly," I stammered, trying to act innocent.
"Both me and Pete thought it was," she replied. "Pete even admitted he'd wanked and come over them, imagining it was you. I told him he was very naughty and you'd be disgusted in his behaviour, but didn't tell him I had too."
There was a momentary pause. Seeing the pictures again set off a tingling in my pussy, as I remembered that night.
"Are you sure it's not you?" she asked again, "Or did Paul not take the photos which is why you're being coy?"
She turned the laptop around again. She looked at the pictures again, gasped, and walked around the breakfast bar so she was by my side. Before I had a chance to say anything she grabbed my top with both hands and yanked it up. She poked a finger between my shoulder blades.
"I knew it, It is you! you have the same birthmark!" she exclaimed.
I knew I couldn't argue. The birthmark was a giveaway. It was two small marks together, but they merged and it looked like a little butterfly, directly central to my shoulder blades. My face told the story.
"Oh my god, we were right. But why deny it?" she asked. A look came over her face, and she continued "Oh, Paul really didn't take the photos did he?"
"No, he didn't. But he was upstairs recording everything."
