Reformatory Girls Ch. 17: Rebecca Lucie 05

When Rebecca arrives for what she fears is to be a fateful interview, she finds Siobhan and another girl just winding up for the day. The other girl nods, indifferently; but Siobhan comes up to her, gives her a sympathetic smile, and whispers that she'll be alright.

Heather gets straight to the point:

"I've heard Jade's account of what happened yesterday," she says. "Now I want to hear what you've got to say."

Rebecca gives her a more or less accurate account – omitting only the final assault on Jade's cunt.

"Right," says Heather. "First, Jade was out of order, and I've told her so. The customer has the right to choose, and whether the girl likes it or not, she smiles at him and respects his choice."

"Oh," says Rebecca, breathing more easily.

"Fighting in the street is a different matter," says Heather. "Can you imagine what would have happened yesterday if someone had called the Police?"

"I'm sorry," says Rebecca.

"I won't have girls fighting or making spectacles of themselves in the street. We try to run a happy ship here – if anyone has a problem they bring it to me."

"She attacked me," says Rebecca. "I was only defending myself."

"By ramming your finger up her snatch?"

Rebecca's face gives her away before she has time to lie. Heather allows her to suffer for a moment, then says:

"You're popular here, and you're reliable. I wouldn't want to lose you. But if ever you do anything like this again you're out."

"I won't," Rebecca promises. "Thanks."

"Now," says Heather: "you can't work the same shift as Jade again. Could you swap Tuesdays for Fridays and work with Siobhan?"

"Yes," says Rebecca.

"Good," says Heather. "That's an end to it then."

When Rebecca, much relieved, steps outside again she's surprised to see Siobhan waiting for her.

"How did it go?" the Irish girl asks.

"Just a telling off," says Rebecca. "You know about it?"

"Jade was in earlier: it's all over the shop."

"Oh God," says Rebecca. "I suppose my name's shit."

"Not really," says Siobhan. "Jade's not very popular." Then she leans closer to Rebecca – she's wearing some sensual fragrance that Rebecca doesn't recognise – and, smiling conspiratorially, asks in her soft voice:

"Is it true you pushed your fingers up her snatch?"

"One finger," Rebecca concedes.

The smile on the Irish girl's face becomes a grin; then the grin becomes a chuckle; and so infectious is her merriment that soon Rebecca is chuckling too. Then Siobhan claps her on the shoulder, the pair of them are laughing like idiots together, and all of a sudden the incident that had weighed so heavily on Rebecca seems unimportant.

"Shall we go and have a drink?" Siobhan suggests.

It's a mild evening, so they sit in the pub garden and Siobhan buys them a pint of Guinness each.

"This will put hairs on your chest," she tells Rebecca.

"I don't think I want hairs on my chest."

"On your pussy then."

"Not really there either."

They laugh, sharing massage parlour humour. The ice is broken so quickly it seems there was never any ice to break. They begin to swap stories about clients. Siobhan tells of a man she has to cane until he bleeds; of another who likes her to flick his balls with a wet towel; of a third who likes to watch her piss in her pants.

"He brings a plastic bag," she says. "Seals them in and takes them home soaking in piss. Lord knows what he does with them then."

They tap their heads simultaneously to denote the mental deficiencies of men. When Rebecca tells of her vicar with the castration fixation, the two of them chortle like drains. Then, when the laugh seems to have run it's course, Siobhan doubles up again, and laughs so unrestrainedly she seems about to choke.

"Sorry," she splutters, looking up at Rebecca through streaming eyes. "I just had this idea. Do you know those instruments they use to castrate horses?"

Rebecca doesn't.

"They're called Emasculators: they're like giant pincers: you put them over the horses' bollocks and – snap. Suppose we could get hold of a pair? You could keep them handy, and next time the Reverend calls you could get them out and give him the shock of his life."

Rebecca, too, is in stitches at the prospect. She's probably never laughed so freely before in her life.

"We have to do it," Siobhan says, her green eyes alight. She sighs: "If I was back home I could get a pair no problem, every other person there works with horses. I don't suppose you know a vet do you? No? We're going to have to think about this."

The conversation moves on. Siobhan talks about her childhood in Ireland, growing up with horses, and how one day, when she's made enough money, she'll buy a place in the country and take up riding again.

"When I've lost my looks and my figure and only horses will look twice at me."

"That day's a long way off," says Rebecca.

"Thank you," says Siobhan: their eyes meet and linger – before Siobhan looks at her watch.

"I have to go," she says. "But let's do this again."

"I'd like that," says Rebecca. "And I'll see you on Friday, Heather's swapped my shift."

"That's brilliant," says Siobhan. "We'll have some fun." She stands, squeezes Rebecca's shoulder and plants a kiss on her forehead before she leaves.

Back in her flat Rebecca can't sleep. Siobhan's is such a strong presence her conversation circles round in Rebecca's mind; her conversation, her mannerisms and gestures, her perfect ease and grace. At first Rebecca's too buzzy to masturbate: but when midnight comes round and she still can't sleep she resorts to the only relaxation technique she knows, rubbing that warm little nut between her legs, coaxing waves of pleasure that break from her clitoris and travel the length and breadth of her body, orgasm after orgasm, rippling over and through her, carrying away all the tensions and excitements of the day until she subsides into unconsciousness.

Friday is busy. Both the girls are highly sought after, and until the lunch hour is passed Rebecca hardly gets a break. There's a lull in the afternoon, then trade picks up again around 4 pm as people start leaving work. At 5.30pm Rebecca is showering, having just said goodbye to her last client of the day, when there's a tap at the door, and Siobhan, dressed only in a shimmering white bra and pants, puts her head around.

"Are you free?" she asks.

"Yes."

"Only – I've got a client who likes the look of you. He asked if we'd do a two girl special. Put on a bit of a show for him."

"A show?" Rebecca asks.

"Just a bit of lezzie stuff – you know. He's a regular: decent guy, tips well. He'll pay for both of us. You don't have to do it – but I'm game of you are."

When Rebecca says yes she's thinking primarily of the money: another punt, possibly with a tip. She has no idea just how the next half-hour will change her life.

She dries herself hurriedly, slips into her bra and knickers, and follows Siobhan into the other room. A broad, overweight, naked man stands to greet her with a hug.

"Hiya, how you doing?" he asks, clearly American.

"I'm doing great," Rebecca says. They stand in a clinch for a while, the American – Gary – running his hands all over her.

"Wow," he says presently. "Aren't I the lucky guy? Two of the most beautiful girls in England."

There's a chair in the room without arms: he sits down heavily, spreads his hairy legs, and beckons the girls to straddle him, one astride each leg.

"But lets take these off first," he says, peeling down first Siobhan's then Rebecca's pants. Siobhan unhooks and discards her bra, so Rebecca does the same.

Sitting astride his hairy leg Rebecca is aware of the heat of her pussy against his skin. But she's equally aware of her thigh against Siobhan's thigh, and her shoulder against Siobhan's shoulder, as the two girls straddle and simultaneously rub their pussies back and forth. Gary runs his right hand over the contours of Rebecca's left side, and his left hand down the contours of Siobhan's right side, as though the girls are one, or Siamese twins. Then he chucks one hand under each girl's breast and lifts and strokes. Siobhan's nipple stiffens: Rebecca, whose nipples don't usually stiffen when clients stroke them, finds hers stiffening in tandem.

"Okay girls," says Gary: "why don't you entertain me?"

The two of them slip off his legs: then they come together in an embrace. Siobhan plants her lips on Rebecca's mouth. Rebecca had imagined they'd go through the motions, a bit of cuddling, a bit of groping and stroking, a bit of fingering down below: she hadn't expected a full-on kiss. But Siobhan is really going for it, she has her tongue in Rebecca's mouth, her wet lips all over Rebecca's moistening lips – and what can Rebecca do but respond in kind? Their hands get to work on each-other's shoulders and backs, and soon they are locked in an embrace, their tongues exploring each-other's mouths, their hands exploring each-other's bodies, pulling back a little so that they can fondle each-other's breasts. Rebecca shivers with genuine pleasure. Seamlessly Siobhan slides to her knees and begins to lick between Rebecca's legs whilst stroking her buttocks and running her fingers between her thighs from behind.

Rebecca is wet; her pussy is quivering under Siobhan's tongue. Gary is watching with his mouth and eyes wide; but she is so caught up in her own pleasure she scarcely notices him. Siobhan stands, takes Rebecca's hand and leads her to the bed.

They lie and embrace again, their hands quickly finding their ways between each-other's legs. Siobhan is also wet; Rebecca feels for her clitoris, glides her fingers easily over her slit, feels her cunt-lips lubricating and swelling. Both girls are writhing on the bed now; Siobhan has her lips and her tongue around Rebecca's mouth again, her breasts press and glide against Rebecca's breasts, Rebecca is so horny and turned-on she forgets all about Gary, they are no longer putting on a show because the way Siobhan is tweaking her clitoris is for real, if it goes on much longer she's going to come, and Siobhan, too, has her head thrown back and is making noises which are far too authentic to be simulated, the two girls so absorbed in each other's responses that it takes several interjections for Gary to claim their attention again.

"Girls, girls," he's saying. "What are you doing to me? Jesus, I need a fuck."

Its painful dragging her pussy away from Siobhan's hand, but Gary is standing up and leaning over them, so the two girls part, Gary looks from one to the other, decides on Siobhan, and unrolls the condom over his straining dick as fast as he can.

"Come on Gary," says Siobhan in her husky brogue, "fuck me like you've never fucked me before." She wriggles up the bed, lies with her legs spread and her wet pussy waiting. "Fuck me hard Gary," she enjoins him: "fuck me hard and long and deep, come on Gary, get that cock inside me."

Gary really needs no encouragement. He climbs heavily onto the bed, staring all the while at Siobhan's pussy, pushes her legs even further apart and works himself inside.

"Oh yes," he says.

Rebecca, perching on the edge of the bed, watches as Siobhan's cunt parts around his cock, then watches as he thrusts up and down, his hairy balls banging back and forth. She wants to be part of it somehow, she's not sure how; she wonders if she should rub herself off: she'd certainly like to, but the client has to come first. Then remembering what one of her customers told her she takes a firm hold round Gary's balls and gives a light tug.

"Oh yes, yes," says Gary. And with his balls gripped in Rebecca's hand Gary explodes into a loud, panting, writhing orgasm, and empties his straining balls into the condom inside Siobhan's cunt.

When he's subsided, and rolled off Siobhan onto his back, the two girls snuggle up to him, one on each side. Since Gary has his eyes closed they wink at each other across him.

"Jesus, girls," Gary says when he comes round. "You two are something else."

They smile sweetly at him; Siobhan ruffles what's left of his hair.

"Our pleasure Gary," she says.

As Siobhan promised he tips them both well. When he's gone Siobhan looks at the banknotes appreciatively; then she looks at Rebecca:

"Did you enjoy that as much as I did?"

"Jesus," says Rebecca. "I was about to come."

"Me too," Siobhan chuckles. She gives Rebecca a long look:

"How about we go back to my flat and finish what we started?"

Rebecca feels a tremor between her legs.

"I don't know if I can wait that long," she says, looking suggestively at the bed.

"Heather will want to lock up," says Siobhan. "We can treat ourselves to a taxi – it won't take long."

They don't bother to shower, just do the necessary to prepare the bed for the morning. Fifteen minutes later their taxi is pulling up outside Siobhan's flat.

They skip the niceties, cups of coffee, tours of the flat. They go straight into the bedroom, where they tear off each-other's clothes and plunge onto the double bed.

The next hour passes in a whirlwind of lust. The salty tang of pussy; the musty tang of anus; the sweat of flesh, the abundance of flesh, the feel of breasts and legs and thighs, the wetness, the tightness, the heat, the writhing like coiling snakes, the orgasms the like of which Rebecca has never experienced before. She's never tasted another girl's pussy, and she might have expected to be reticent: instead she licks and sucks feverishly at Siobhan's cunt, drawing her labia deep into her mouth, tonguing her forcefully, flicking her clitoris with the tip of her tongue, drawing gasps of lustful pleasure from the Irish girl. Driven on by lust she finds her face between Siobhan's buttocks and her tongue licking at the brown penumbra, no squeamishness here, only a rampant desire to get more of her partner into her mouth, more of her mouth into her partner, wanting to suck and lick and eat and devour every smell and taste and texture of the wonderful body writhing above and below and alongside her. At the same time she's feeling the blissful, moist warmth of Siobhan's tongue between her own thighs, over her clitoris, sensationally over her own tight little anus, the heat and the moistness causing her to come unrestrainedly, careless of where she's doing it, letting her juices flow into Siobhan's mouth. They lose track of their movements and positions, rubbing themselves everywhere, against each-other's naked legs and arms and faces, one orgasm morphing into another, fingers up pussies, up anuses, tongues nibbling, sucking, exploring, one serpentine coil of lusty flesh – until Siobhan is the first to call time:

"Stop," she implores Rebecca, laughing, breathless: "I can't come any more."

So they lie, head to toe, nuzzling each other's sex, Rebecca both stimulated and replete, until their breathing subsides: then Siobhan turns, and they lie in each other's arms, saying things like 'wow', and 'oh my God' and wondering what kind of force of nature has taken over them.

Rebecca is on a post-coital high for days. Back at the massage parlour she sucks and fucks and generally relieves men of their pent-up spunk: but all the time the sight and feel and taste of Siobhan are present in her mind. One man chides her for not really being present: she sticks her finger up his arse and sucks him off until he's buckling at the knees and gasping with pleasure.

"That better?" she asks him.

To avoid the feeling that she's going through the motions, she stores up incidents to relate to Siobhan. There's a man who wants her to tie a piece of string round his balls and lead him round the room. Another complains his wife hasn't let him fuck her in six years. Then there's her Vicar: she can barely repress a chortle as she thinks of Siobhan and the emasculators.

"One day I might have a little surprise for you," she says, gripping and tugging at his balls. "I'm getting fed up with these little things: I've told you before they've got to come off. But you keep coming back, and here they still are."

"Oh God, yes," the man says, his cock straining.

"Well not for much longer," says Rebecca. "Because these" tug, "are going" tug "to come off once and for all."

"Oh, yes, yes, yes," gasps the man, cream shooting over his chest and dripping down onto her hand.

The girls meet up at Siobhan's flat again. This time they start out more slowly: it's as though they can't believe what happened last time, and want to recreate it, but in slow motion, savouring every moment. But passion quickly takes over: Rebecca is bewitched by Siobhan's arse: she can't get her face far enough between her buttocks: she spreads them, licks at Siobhan's anus, then clamps her buttocks over her own face, wanting to envelop herself in Siobhan's nether regions. The smell intoxicates her like nothing on earth: at the same time Siobhan is diddling her, so tuned-in to her sensations that she is touching her with almost the same sensitivity as she would touch herself.

At times their understanding is practically telepathic. They bring each other off with such sensitivity it's as though they are wired to the same nervous system.

And when Siobhan sticks her fingers up Rebecca's cunt, and through a strange, beckoning movement gives Rebecca her first squirting orgasm, Rebecca thinks she has gone to heaven without dying.

On the morning after the third meeting they are lying in bed together. Sunlight is streaming through the windows, the bedcovers are thrown back, and Siobhan has her fingers inside Rebecca's vagina.

"I could lie like this forever," says Rebecca: "I never want you to take your fingers away." She wriggles, grips with her cunt muscles, and comes for the fifth time that morning.

"So why not move in with me?" Siobhan says.

Rebecca doesn't bother to give notice. Later that day she is back at Siobhan's in a taxi containing all her belongings.

"There's one house rule I forgot to tell you about," says Siobhan seductively, as she starts peeling off Rebecca's dress.

"What's that?" asks Rebecca, wondering if she'll be banned from playing her music, or be reminded to clean the shower every day.

"No clothes to be worn inside the flat," says Siobhan.

A shiver of anticipation runs over Rebecca's body.

"And," says Siobhan: "if we're going to live together we'd better know each other's real names: I'm Kim: Kim Starkey."

"Rebecca Lucie," Rebecca says.

As if it wasn't erotic enough sharing a flat with Siobhan/Kim, the 'no clothes' rule ensures that Rebecca is in a state of constant sexual arousal. It's unbelievably sexy doing ordinary things, like cooking and washing up and eating and watching TV, without any clothes. She feels a kind of naughty thrill as she steps into the kitchen and pours oil into a pan; she's never sure when she is being looked at, when Kim is merely standing next to her helping, or when she is eyeing her admiringly. The boundaries between chores and foreplay blur: the most mundane activities carry an erotic charge. When Kim sits down to eat with her naked legs slightly apart, Rebecca can never be sure if the Irish girl's posture is unconscious, or if she is putting out to her. She herself barely knows when she is sitting naturally and when she is putting out to Kim.

One minute she can be absorbed in the vacuuming: the next there is a hand on her breasts or between her legs. It's a delicious, intoxicating existence.

For all the hundreds of men she has had, Rebecca's only real sexual pleasure hitherto has come from her own hand.

Now at last her sexual needs are being met – and not only met but extended, refined and amplified – by another girl.

And what a girl. For Kim seems like both a lover and an older sister. She may be only a year older in age, but she seems years older in experience. She talks about her upbringing – both her father and Uncle trained racehorses - and all the different social spheres she moved in, and the mix of people she's met. She's travelled widely, too, been schooled to be independent, if necessary to live on her wits. Nothing fazes her: she has a devil-may-care attitude to life, and seems utterly without shame. One day the doorbell rings and she answers as she is, stark naked. It's the postman, with a parcel. She signs for it without a flicker of embarrassment, meets the postman's gaze, then slowly closes the door.