Davina Falls Out

Chapter Sixty-Two

It's fair to say I got mixed reactions to my career change/house purchase. On the work front my team mates all said that they'd miss me, my line manager seemed to be devastated and my departmental head, Steve, just shook his head and sighed deeply.

'Another one,' he said, 'how much are they paying you?'

Feeling Judas-like, I showed him the offer letter on my phone. He sighed again and turned to my line manager, who had booked the meeting room for the three of us to "discuss" my resignation in private.

'Sorry mate,' he said, 'you know how it is with salaries at the moment. Even if times were a lot better, I couldn't compete with that.'

My old school chums didn't care much about my new job but were all impressed by the house buying. I got plenty of messages congratulating me using words like "brilliant" and "excellent". And Meryl rang within seconds to bagsie the first night of sex under my new roof.

'I'll help you move all your stuff,' she added, 'then I'll make the earth move for you.'

Well, I had to honour her bagsie, didn't I? It was our old school tradition to give dibs to the first claimant. Not that Philippa was happy about someone else helping me to move in.

'I wanted to help you,' she said moodily. 'And I just bet she wants to sleep with you.'

I hadn't told Philippa about the sex element of Meryl's bagsie and shrugged as if I had never even considered sleeping with my self-appointed helper. 'I've known Meryl for ages,' I told her. 'She's going to do a three hundred mile round trip when she should be concentrating on her finals. And I've already agreed and thanked her for her friendship. I can't put her off now.'

In the end Philippa shut up and kept out of the way on moving day (and, thankfully, moving night). Her views on my house purchase were, however, expressed again and again. On the one hand I'd bought far too quickly and had undoubtedly paid too much. On the other hand the distance "over the tops" between East Morton and her place in Silsden wasn't great; we would be able to see even more of each other than we did when we were working together.

Sally was less impressed. Since she'd returned from college she had rarely ventured out of Skipton. In her eyes East Morton might as well be on the dark side of the Moon.

'I'll miss our Tuesday nights,' she said sadly. 'You will keep in touch, won't you?'

I assured her that I would but it was never quite the same after I'd broken the news. I guess we both knew that our "thing" was as good as over. Gradually we drifted apart.

Margot wasn't at all put off by the distance. 'Morton's a lovely village,' she gushed. 'We can carry on as always; all we'll have to do is meet up in The Busfeild rather than The Black Horse.'

*****

Two months after I'd made my offer, already four weeks into my new job, I moved in to my cottage. And I almost immediately launched my decorating project. Not that there was anything wrong with the way the rooms already were; I just intended to live there a long time and wanted to make them reflect my personality.

And no; I didn't intend them to resemble a house of ill repute!

Looking back, I didn't move in with very much furniture. All I really took with me was my sturdy kitchen table. Other brand-new bits and pieces arrived via delivery vans throughout the day, including a "large single" bed, which went straight into the spare room, where I meant to sleep until the bigger bedroom had been repainted, re-carpeted and furnished with a brand-new "large double" bed. Then it would be time to start on the kitchen . . .

The bad news was that we were getting busier and busier at work. I was overnighting minimally twice a week and was expected to be there in the office three Saturday mornings out of four. Finding a few hours to decorate was nearly as tricky as finding someone to share my new large single.

More exaggeration from me, you may assume. Well, yes and no. The academic year was as good as over but a lot of my old crowd were not going to return. They'd fixed themselves up with jobs of their own, you see, mostly located anywhere but West Yorkshire. I had flying visits from Sara and Kelly and that was about it.

To tell the truth, I had a hit and miss existence. Margot did visit quite a few times before doing another of her vanishing acts, and Sally was nowhere to be seen. Ten weeks living in my lovely cottage and I was down to Philippa and the odd tryst with Meryl (she was by then working in the West Midlands but regularly travelled north to see her mum).

Now I liked Philippa and the sex only got better, but she was clingy with it, and getting clingier as time went by. As if that wasn't a horrible enough scenario, she'd also started talking about us being faithful. Believe you me; I soon dismissed that as a possibility.

Even if, conscious of my diminishing sex life, I was discreet about the way I dismissed it.

'Being faithful isn't in my DNA,' I told her. 'I'll sleep with you whenever you want, but I can't promise to be a one girl gal. Sorry and all that, but it just isn't my scene.'

'It will be,' she assured me. 'Your back hasn't been clawed for weeks now, so you're slowly but surely getting there. Meanwhile I'll be faithful for both of us. You'll catch me up, eventually.'

*****

I did actually manage a few weeks of being a one girl gal and didn't feel too uneasy about it. But then I had an installation to do in London, involving two nights in a reasonably decent hotel.

Did I just say "reasonably decent"? I'd had a couple of drinks in the bar and was in my room, yawning, preparing for bed, when a knock came at my door. I answered in all innocence to see a young painted lady outside, her eyes spinning like cartwheels.

'Fancy a bit of business?' she slurred.

Startled, I shook my head. She immediately moved on to the next door and repeated her question.

Bugger me, I thought, she's a whore!

As I watched the girl she knocked on yet another door and was almost immediately ushered inside.

I blinked rapidly. The hotel had to be in on this. Maybe the whore was paying off key individuals . . . reception, security and the likes. Or maybe she was employed by the hotel . . . maybe she was one of the "other luxury services" they mentioned but didn't itemize in the glossy brochures.

Regretting my instinctive head shake, I wondered if a girl like that would be clean. No two ways about it; I was intrigued. Okay, she was a junkie and possibly infected with God knew what . . .

But the idea of fucking a stranger for money turned me on.

And yes, I never have denied being a shameless slut.

Still full of regrets I turned back towards the bed and froze.

Someone else was knocking on my door.

This girl was a little older and shorter. Her eyes seemed to be under control and she had a punky sort of look about her that reminded me of Sandra from Aberdeen.

'Hi mate,' she said, 'fancy a bit of business?'

'I'm a girl,' I replied, in case she hadn't realized.

'And a sexy one at that,' she smiled. 'Fancy fucking or what?'

I waved her in and swiftly shut us away from the world.

'How much is it?' I asked, my heart pounding harder than ever before.

'Depends what you want,' she countered. 'Name your game and I'll give you my price.'

I hesitated a second or two. A girl like this had to be an HIV risk. But surely safe sex was a possibility.

'Head,' I said, 'exclusively you on me.'

'Forty quid,' she said.

That sounded to be a lot and, conscious I might have overvalued my cottage, I wangled. 'I'd want an hour for that, at least.'

'It's a done deal.' She held out her hand.

I gave her a twenty. 'Here's half now; you'll get the rest when I've checked the clock.'

She laughed. 'I like your style. Now get your pants off and get on your back.'

Chapter Sixty-Three

That hour was well worth the money. I'd go as far as to say it was the best forty quid I've ever spent. My hired harlot's tongue never left one bit or other of my pussy for even a second. Okay, so she used her fingers from time to time as well, but everything about her attentions was perfect.

And right at the end, when her mobile buzzed to signal that my sixty minutes were up, sensing I was eighty per cent of the way, she didn't just stop and demand the rest of her dosh. Oh no, even though she had to be aware I'd already cum multiply, she gave me enough unpaid overtime to properly finish the job.

Afterwards, with the door safely locked behind her and me on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, I did wonder about the meaning of life and everything.

Omigod, I'd just had the best-ever eating and I didn't even know what the girl was called!

Despite everything I giggled. How naughty had I been! That girl could have been anybody and I had let her tongue me to heaven and back. Heck, she could have pulled a knife on me or anything.

But she hadn't. She'd struck a deal and played her part better than I could ever possibly have hoped for. Okay, maybe the exciting circumstances had helped but, even so . . .

So there you are then. I'd found a new outlet for my carnal desires. And yes, by that I mean that I had other hotel liaisons. None of them solicited by me, I hasten to add. All I'm saying is that if I was away and a knock came at my door, I'd always invite my lady caller in.

Not that it happened every time, you understand. I can recall one in a different London hotel, one in Manchester and two in Newcastle. And the first Newcastle caller virtually ran away when I announced I was a girl. I had to twiddle my thumbs until she sent round a friend, eager to earn herself forty notes.

*****

As I approached my twenty-second birthday I accepted that I was quite deeply involved with Philippa. Margot was still AWOL, Meryl was visiting perhaps once a month and Sally had dropped off the radar. I'd paid a total of four prostitutes to gnaw my pussy but otherwise I was pure.

And before you ask, East Morton was a dead zone when it came to lesbian action. If Skipton was a bit lacking, then my new home village was next to barren. The pub was great but by no means a place to meet like-minded ladies. In fact the closest I came to a pick-up was that barman (the one I'd asked to guard my pint when I nipped out to check that for sale sign).

My God, he fancied me!

I mean where did that come from? I certainly wasn't encouraging him and I didn't dress provocatively, did I?

Thankfully I was on my own when he first revealed his interest. At the time, kitchen- and cooker-less, I was dining in The Busfeild Arms every evening and twice a day at weekends.

'You do realize I'm a Davina,' I said to him, as gently as I could.

'Of course I do,' he replied. 'I'm not a shirt-lifter.'

I momentarily closed my eyes at his lack of tactfulness, visualising a bright rainbow flag. Then, in spite of myself, I laughed.

'I'm not a shirt-lifter either,' I assured him, 'but I'm not the sort of girl you should be asking out. Thanks for asking, but that's how it is.'

Dave (yes, he was as much of a "Dave" as I was!) never did take no for an answer. Four years on and counting, he still keeps openly flirting with me. These days I think it has become out of habit as much as in any real hope. Flattered as I always am, I only wish that he'd turn his attentions toward some of those slinky waitresses he works with. I'm sure that one or other of them would gladly supply him with the sort of "friendship" I cannot.

Yet another digression over with; let's move on to the naughtiest night of my (naughty, naughty) life.

*****

Ellie was one of my many old chums who had found post-grad employment away from home. Oxford was her new stomping ground (not that she'd been to the local uni!). Consequently, when I had to go do a branch refit in the city, I rang her before booking a hotel.

'Do not even think about sleeping anywhere else,' she said sternly. 'You're sleeping with me.'

'Go on, then,' I replied flightily, 'if you insist.'

'I do, but I have to warn you; my housemates are rather bohemian. Officially they're mature students, but unofficially they're not very mature at all.' She chuckled. 'I reckon you'll fit like a hand in a glove.'

I wasn't sure what she meant by that but was keen to sleep with Ellie. It was far too long since I'd had the pleasure and a few dippy housemates weren't going to keep me away.

'I'll need two nights,' I warned her.

She chuckled again. 'That'll be two too few.'

*****

Ellie had a couple of housemates. Angie was in her late twenties and my sort of height. She had vivid blue hair and several facial piercings. She also had an adorably cheeky grin and looked good enough to eat. Housemate number two had a cock . . .

Yes, he was as "bohemian" as that!

Mark was about twenty-five with long hair and an athletic body. I'm crap at describing men, so I'll let you imagine the rest. Suffice to say, he wasn't going to be mistaken for a respectable office worker.

'This is our humble abode,' Ellie said, leading me into her sitting room.

I nodded appreciatively, although the house wasn't so far removed from being a squat. Well, it was compared to the palace my cottage would soon become (if I ever got that damn decorating done).

'What's that?' I wondered, pointing to an ornamental object on a coffee table, suspecting the worst.

'It's a hookah,' Mark said proudly. 'A friend brought it back from India for me. Here, I'll show you how it works.'

'Don't worry,' Angie added, 'we only use it for smoking pot. Opium is verboten in this house.'

Ellie just grinned at me. I knew she was silently issuing a challenge. Fully aware that I had never used drugs, she was daring me to be outraged. Determined not to rise to the bait, I grinned back at Mark.

'Go on then,' I said, 'show me how it's done.'

*****

After two hours taking turns to inhale all four of us were very mellow. We'd downed a lot of wine while puffing away on that ornamental waterpipe and, convinced the smoke hadn't affected me, I reckoned I was just ever-so-slightly tipsy. Then Ellie leant my way and kissed me and abruptly, out of nowhere, I was very horny.

Like very, very, very horny, even by my nymphomaniac standards.

'Let's go to bed,' I whispered urgently into her ear.

'No,' she said in her normal, quite penetrating voice, 'let's fuck right here on the rug.'

I sneaked a glance at her housemates. Omigod, they had their tongues down each other's throats.

'They won't mind,' Ellie went on. 'And we have an open door policy in this house. They'll be offended if we sneak off and leave them.'

Chapter Sixty-Four

I'm beyond embarrassment by now, so I'll just relate what happened.

Overcome by that horniness, assuring myself that the others wouldn't even notice, I removed Ellie's T-shirt and got reacquainted with her tits. Then, prior to removing her leggings, I sneaked another glance up at Angie and Mark.

Stone me, they were naked. How did that happen?

Never mind, they were still oblivious to us. Swiftly stripping Ellie, I nose-dived into her pussy and did my best to emulate a hired harlot. And she tasted as fine as ever. I could easily have given her the full forty quid's worth but, all too soon, she was pulling me off.

'Naked,' she gasped. 'I want you naked.'

Now I hate to admit this, but I got distracted while Ellie was eating me. From my new position (on my back and on the rug) I could see the couple on the settee. And Angie was sucking Mark's cock.

I'd never seen that before, not even in videos. I knew that it happened, of course, but to my selective mind it had always seemed to be a degrading, submissive thing for a girl to do. Yet seeing it done was a revelation. It didn't seem degrading at all and, if anyone was being submissive, it was Mark.

My God, I thought, she's playing him like a flute.

And look at his face! Total ecstasy or what!!

Ellie recaptured my attention by sticking three fingers in me and attacking my special spot with a will. I duly orgasmed half a dozen times and there was a long interval until I looked back to the settee.

Mark was still in a mostly seated position but Angie was now riding him hard. Sadly, I only had a rear view of her, but what I could see was magnificent: tight buns and all the muscles in her back flexing as she bounced and bounced. How I wished I could see her tits bouncing too!!

And the sounds she was making! Liquid, slapping sounds, not unlike the ones I could make with one of my dildos.

'Oh yes,' Mark cried as the pace of the slapping accelerated.

'Not yet,' Angie snarled. 'Not yet, not yet . . . Now! Oh fuck me yesss!!'

I'd never seen a man and a woman cumming together before; the sight was surprisingly exciting.

Then, while I watched the couple's bodies still writhing in the aftermath, Ellie shifted every goalpost on the planet.

'Ding, ding,' she called brightly. 'Oxford station, all change.'

*****

For one awkward second I thought Ellie was going to offer me to Mark. That is what she wanted me to think, naturally. Grinning, indicating I should stay where I was, she stood and approached the settee.

'Dave doesn't do guys,' she said after dragging out a painful silence. 'So you'll have to do her, Angie.'

'It'll be my pleasure,' she replied, climbing off Mark.

My initial relief at not being tested was overcome by a new fear. Angie's pussy was going to be full of Mark's cum. How could I go down on her knowing that?

Then I saw something that restored my lost breath. Mark's still-erect cock was sheathed. And there were another two used sheaths on the carpet. I'd get the familiar tang of slightly burnt rubber from Angie, but no gobful of second-hand semen.

'Okay,' I said to her, 'bring it on.'

And then the blue-haired beauty was kissing me. Not stopping to consider where her mouth had so recently been, I kissed back, letting Fervent Dave off her leash.

Omigod but Angie was fun. Okay, her tits were a bit on the small side, but they were firm as you could ever ask for, and infinitely superior to my feeble excuse for breasts. I dined on them for ages before I greedily slid my way lower, dividing my time equally twixt clit, vagina and all surrounding areas. And I don't know what the neighbours must have thought. In fact they must have been out because nobody came round to investigate or complain, and I made that sexy mature student squeal and squawk and ultimately scream.

Or maybe we couldn't hear them knocking for the racket she was making!

All too soon Angie was pushing me onto my back and returning the compliment. I didn't scream (at least I don't think I did) but I squealed and squawked for England. God but she did me thoroughly!

Finally glancing settee-wards, I saw that Mark was at last getting a go on top. He was between Ellie's spread legs, thrusting away as if his life depended on it. And suddenly he was grunting and they were both yelling and cumming as one.

'Ding, ding,' Ellie called when she was done gasping and panting. 'Oxford station, all change.'

*****

I have to admit that I was petrified at that moment. There was only one pairing to change into, wasn't there? And I did not want to be the northern numpty who chickened out of a perfectly good orgy.

Yet I did not want to be the former gold star lezzie who weakly crumbled and fucked a guy under peer pressure, either. It was what you might call a tricky situation.

Cards on the table: I had previously had zero exposure to straight sex. And seeing Ellie and Angie at it hadn't been as disgusting as I'd expected. They had both taken it like troopers and given every last impression of enjoying themselves.

A Yorkshire lass cannot chicken, I told myself. The pride of God's Own County is at stake.

For fuck's sake, it was only a cock. I'd had loads of artificial ones with loads of different girls. Could it really be so bad taking one for real? It wasn't as if I was going to tear or bruise, was it? No way could Mark's cock be harder or stronger than that knobbly glass toy Ellie had given me years before.