Hoff and Hols, a Romance Ch. 03

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Brunette

I looked at AK as she slept. I liked looking at her, full stop, but asleep was, somehow, more intimate. Her features softened in sleep, she seemed peaceful, vulnerable, and utterly adorable. Yes, I realised, I had it bad. She had been, of course, right. I was jealous as hell that she was going to let Crispin have her arse; but I had her anal cherry, so there. How childish was that? What did lesbian virginity consist of? If I used the toy on her pussy, would that do? Sod it.

I found the vibrating dildo and turned it on; it made a quiet hum. I moved it against my own pussy, and it sent delicious vibrations through me; my clit liked it. In that case, I thought – and slowly moved it against AK’s pussy.

The hum changed its sound as it moved between her lips, still ravaged from my oral attentions earlier; there was a steady buzz as it pressed on her clit. She moaned. I moved it in a circular fashion, slowly, gently, but keeping it there, before moving it further down. She was getting wet. She stirred. I moved it lower, wriggling it between her folds until I could push it inside. I slid down inside the duvet. It was dark and sweaty and smelt of pussy.

As I inserted the dildo, I left it on low, letting my tongue find her clit. She did more than stir. I could hear muffled sounds, but that just made me turn the vibe up and lick harder. Her legs moved, she tried to shift. I thrust it in and out, licking her clit faster. She stopped struggling and opened up for me. I varied the intensity of the vibrations, and the licks, but kept up a steady thrusting in and out. Her legs moved, her feet gripping my head, her arse lifted, she pushed and then – then my face was wet, and the bed smelt even more of wet pussy.

As the cover was thrust back, I felt the cool air. I looked up.

“Good morning, that is the Hoff waked up call for the Hols. Time to get the show on the road before you get buggered later!”

“Fuck, Squirt, that was the best wakeup call ever – but turn the fucking thing off, I can’t take any more!”

Obliging as ever, I did so.

I looked at her as I raised the dildo to my lips and sucked it clean.

“Is that the nearest you are going to get to sucking a cock, Squirt?”

“Yeppers,” I replied, “and don’t you dare suggest I help with Crapsin.”

“Green-eyed still, Squirt? He’s called Crispin. You know I love you.”

“Do you?” I asked.

“Whatever love is?” She replied, teasing me.

“Well,” I said, refusing to be drawn, “I think we need to do something to make sure you remain ready for your ‘ordeal’ later, so, all fours, now!”

“Ooh, assertive Squirt, I like!”

“In that case,” I said, smacking her arse as she turned over. “Now, spread.”

The sight of AK with her head down and that gorgeous arse facing me, her wet pussy still glistening with her orgasm, made me want to take her again, but I restrained myself. Spitting on her arsehole, I took the butt plug I had found in her bedside cabinet drawer and, sucking it, I slowly but firmly teased her there, and, twisting it gently, I plugged her. ‘Fuck’, I thought! But I wanted her to be ready for later, not exhausted by my desire for her.

“Fuck, you kinky little bitch, that feels so good.”

“Well it will keep you open!”

And so it did.

It was rather fun watching AK as she went about the day with her plug in.

I only took it out as we got ready for the dance. I made her squat to expel it, which seemed to excite her hugely – as it did me.

After we showered, I helped her choose her outfit – black lace bra and G-string with the tightest and shortest blue dress she had. I knew what I wanted to do, but again, help back, and instead helped her with her make-up.

There being no way I could compete; I went for the classic little black dress and tights combo.

“You look cute, Pix!”

“Meaning you are going to let whatsisname bugger you. You going back to his?”

Damn, I thought, even to myself I sounded petulant, so I apologised.

“Sorry AK, I am being a silly bitch. On the off-chance I get lucky, will the room be free?”

AK smiled sweetly.

“Apology accepted and,” kissing me tenderly, she added, “I know it’s ‘cos you are jealous and love me, but things are as they are Pix, and you are off to be Miss Brain-Box and I am off to be Miss Marple in uniform, so we’d better get used to it.”

She was, damn it, right as usual, I reflected.

So, in more cheerful escort kocaeli mood we went off to the old gym, which had been fixed up as the venue for the dance. And then, on with the motley – and a motley crew they were to be sure. The Crispins, the Quentins, the Damians, the Jims and the Jocks, heaven help us, the Nerds, and their Squirts. I managed, by dint of helping with the Bar, to avoid it, and watch AK sweep all before her. It was like watching an Olympic Gold Medal skater dance her way to yet another triumph. As the evening ended, she and, yes, inevitably, Crispin, melted away.

I helped the crew from town tidy up, noticing Amanda sitting by herself. She noticed me.

“What’s up, lezzer, no one fancy you?”

“Nope, and I didn’t fancy them either – what’s your excuse, gorgeous?” I asked, smiling.

“I’m not fucking gorgeous, I’m a fat ugly cow and no one wants me.”

Amanda had been unremittingly horrible to me, and I guess I should have seized the opportunity to twist the knife in, even as she had been trying to with her opening remarks; but I could not.

“No one wants you Amanda because you are so nasty to people – there’s nothing wrong with the way you look.”

“Oh yeah, so you’d do me would you, Hoff?”

“I wouldn’t say no, but then until you stop being so bitchy, I wouldn’t talk too long with you.”

At that, to my utter amazement, she dissolved into tears.

“I can’t help being a fucking bitch. No one wants me because I am fat and ugly, and that makes me want to hit out.”

I pulled her to me as she sobbed.

Fergie, our House Mistress, came over.

“All okay, Hoff, where’s AK?”

“Not bad Miss, just Amanda being a bit tired and emotional. AK wandered off with the Crispin of the Crispins.”

Fergie, who knew my nickname for the boys from St Edmund’s, laughed.

“You sure you are okay,” she asked, pointedly looking at Amanda and mouthing ‘her?’ at me.

“Sure Miss, she is just upset.”

Amanda looked at me.

“You really think I look okay?”

Her tears were staining her make-up.

“Sure”, I said, reassuring her, “it’s just you look so much better when you aren’t scowling and saying nasty things to others. Can’t you see, you create a vicious circle?”

She hugged me to her very capacious bosom.

“Thanks Hoff, you’re a doll! Sorry I was such a bitch, Hols is right, I shouldn’t knock what I have never tried.”

Extricating myself from her cleavage, which, I thought, might well swallow most of me whole, I smiled.

“I, erm, don’t suppose…?” She began.

“What?” I asked, as though I had no idea that she was implicitly asking if I would make love to her.

“I guess you and Hols will want the space?”

“Didn’t you hear me tell Fergie; Hols is off with Crispin. You asking?”

Amanda looked at me, a little stunned.

“You saying yes?”

I nodded and said, “Yes.”

Her face lost its scowl and relaxed. I had been right, minus the scowl and the attitude, she looked good. I leaned in and, getting on tip toe, kissed her.

As we walked back to the room I shared with AK, I could not help worrying about what I was about to do. What on earth would AK say if she came in on us? What would she say, full stop? There was me, telling her I loved her, and now I was going to make out with Amanda.

Once in the room, I pressed Amanda against the wall; it was important I stayed in control.

My hands pushed up her dress as my face once more found itself engulfed in her breasts. As my hands gripped her arse, she gasped. I felt her wriggle, and she disengaged my face for a moment to pull her dress down, exposing the most underwired bra I had ever seen. Wow, I thought!

My hands changed target for a moment, and turning her, I unhooked her bra. As she turned back, those huge breasts hanging free, I could not resist, and my hands and lips and tongue began to devour them. As I did that, Amanda pulled her knickers down and somehow got out of them. Rather than continue against the wall in some discomfort, I got her to my bed, pushing her back, slipping my little black dress off before, wearing just my (by now rather damp) knickers, I lay on her.

“Oh Hoff, fuck, yes!”

Amanda was mauling her own breasts, pulling on her nipples. I took one between my lips, drawing her out, licking and sucking. My right hand soon found her wetness through her bush, and pulling two fingers up her wetness, I massaged gölcük escort and pressed her clit. She went wild, she thrashed and arched and moaned. If I did not slow this down, she was going to cum, I thought, but by that stage it was too late – with my fingers just teasing her entrance and beginning to press, she came, and she came hard, her fingers pulling on her engorged nipples.

No sooner had she cum than she pushed on my fingers, forcing them into her still quivering pussy. She left me in no doubt as to what she wanted, and for the next five or ten minutes, I finger fucked her, building up a rhythm, not too fast, not too slow, but pulling my two fingers apart to open her.

As my fingers pleasured her pussy, I used my lips and tongue to play with her breasts, realising that she liked her nipples to be played with roughly. I sucked, slow at first, but then with a steady rhythmic pulse. As Amanda responded, my thumb manoeuvred to be able to brush against her clit. And slowly and deliberately, I played her body as a virtuoso would her violin, coaxing from her sounds of pleasure building, again into an ecstatic climax. She came again.

I pulled her to my titlets as we lay together, stroking her hair.

Amanda was sobbing. I let her. Not all tears are bad.

We lay together for what seemed the longest while. She needed the warmth and the tenderness after the hurly-burly of our lovemaking.

“Hoff,” she said, turning to me, “thank you. I have never felt anything like that. Maybe I am a lezzer too?”

I smiled at her.

“Maybe you are!”

She kissed me.

“I don’t want to queer things with Hols, so you okay if I go?”

I giggled at the aptness of her word, but said that would be fine. I kissed her. She dressed, we kissed again. As it had not occurred to her to ask if I needed satisfying sexually, I let it go. I ached, but not for her.

After she went, I showered, cleaning all traces of her from me, even washing my hair, which meant getting the dryer out.

It was, I noticed, gone midnight.

I woke in the early hours, still no sign of AK.

I rose earlier than usual for Sunday breakfast.

There were a lot of hung-over young women at breakfast – and a larger number missing.

Amanda came in with her usual friends and smiled at me.

“You know, Hoff, you’re okay!”

And to my utter amazement, she kissed my forehead, turning to her mates and saying:

“Some good things come in little packages.”

That was sweet of her.

I finished breakfast and went to chapel. Still no sign of AK, so I went for a walk down by the river. It was one of my favourite walks, and as long as one stayed our side of the bridge, on St Guthlac’s land; the other side was St Edmund’s.

Was I “lonely as a cloud” as I wandered? My mood was more Byronic than Wordsworthian. Maybe, I thought, I should aspire more to prose and Austen? ‘It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single blonde in possession of a stunning figure and personality should be pursued by flat-chested midgets and men alike” p might, I pondered, have done it.

I must have walked for half an hour, the sun on my face making me feel as though I should have put sunscreen on, but I am quite dark-complexioned, so did not worry. I looked across the river to the hawthorn tree and there I saw it – well them.

He, Crispin, I assumed, had his hand on AK’s arse while trying, by the look of it, to excavate her tonsils with him tongue. I thought that falling into the thorn bush might have hurt me less. And yet, and yet. As I watched, feeling a (totally unjustified, I know even then) sense of betrayal, I felt something else stir; there was a tingling between my thighs. I watched. I must have been hidden from them by the bushes, but I could see clearly enough his hands up her skirt. Then she knelt. I could not look. I turned and ran back, my eyes misty with tears. I knew I was being stupid; what did I think they had been doing?

As I approached the school playing fields I turned again, and walked back. AK would surely come back this way, I thought, and I wanted, no I needed to see her.

I calmed down. I had walked about half a mile when I saw a familiar blonde figure striding along athletically. When she saw me, she broke into a run, and before I had a chance to say anything, I found myself lifted up and swept round by her. Her big blue eyes were shining with mischief.

“Pix! izmit sınırsız escort I won’t kiss you, don’t think you’d like my last mouthwash!”

Damn her, her laughter, like her very presence, was infectious.

“I saw.” That was all I said.

“And?”

“And what?”

“And what did you think? Make you want to?”

“Yuk, no!” I declared.

“But and don’t tell me there is no ‘but’ there Hoff!”

She only ever called me ‘Hoff’ when she was teasing me.

“Fuck you, the but is it made me tingle.”

“Why?”

“You and another!”

“You really are a little perv; you know that Squirt!”

As we wandered back, hand in hand, I agreed.

Back at base she could not wait to show me. No sooner was the door to our room closed than she had lifted her skirt and lowered her knickers. I could see that her arsehole had been used.

“Clean, I hope?” I asked.

“Yeah, showered this morning. Let me brush my teeth and use some mouthwash so I can kiss you.”

“Well if you are going to kiss me, you’d bloody well better.”

With that, she hoisted her knickers back up and went to freshen up.

She told me all about it, and it seemed as though it had, indeed, worked. He had left off trying to fuck her pussy in return for access to her arse.

AK and Crispin saw each other a few times that week. I told AK about Amanda.

“What, fatty? You went with her?”

“No, I helped her cum, not the same thing!”

“Well, Squirt, as I said, you are a perv!”

With term, and indeed our time at school coming to an end, there was only AK’s dalliances with Crispin, and preparations for the end of year concert and ball to keep us focussed. With a scholarship to Oxford, I was in unless I totally failed my A-levels, which was not likely. AK had decided to accept York in the end – she said she preferred the nightlife, but I wondered if the fact that Crispin and his best friend were going there had an influence.

As I surfed the Internet, an idea came to me for what we should do at the concert. AK and I had sung duets before, but given everything else that was happening, I decided I had found the perfect signature tune for our final farewell.

“Not some fucking folk song, Squirt, not going there again.”

Fair enough, I had been thinking of doing “Spanish ladies”, changing the noun to “Guthlac ladies”, so she had a point, but when I showed her the video, she collapsed in tears of laughter.

“Fuck, they’ll expel us if we do that! I’m up for it. Can we practice in private?”

“We’d better – and did you notice, they are the spit of us?”

AK giggled, and said: “Even better.”

We got a bit of practice in.

It was the custom for the leaving sixth form to put on some “numbers”. Most of our contemporaries did something from the charts – and then came us.

I had my ukulele, AK her guitar. We looked mischievously at each other and then I began.

“This song addresses a problem we have all had, ladies. We are taught to be good girls, and when it comes to sex, we’re told to value our virginity. But what happens when you reach the age when you have a boyfriend who is too keen to wait?”

Suddenly both teachers and pupils were alert. I could see Amanda’s mouth open. AK had begun to tune her guitar and struck the first few chords.

“So, there’s the dilemma. Fortunately, my new heroes, Garfunkel and Oates have an answer. There is, as you will see, a “Loophole” in Scripture, so listen with care girls, because you may need it!”

And off we went, getting to the verse before the chorus to an increasingly engaged audience; it was clear some of our friends knew the song as they waited. We sang:

“Oh, thank you for making me holy

And thank you for giving me holes to choose from

And since I’m not a Godless whore

He’ll have to come in the back door”

And then they joined us loudly proclaiming:

“Fuck me in the ass cause I love Jesus

The good Lord would want it that way

Gimme that sweet sensation of a throbbing rationalization

It’s just between you and me

Cause everyone knows it’s the sex that God can’t see”

As we went through the verses, our audience loudly joined in a raucous rendition of every chorus, and as we reached the end, singing:

“Yeah, my chastity belt has locks

But sometimes you need to think outside the box”

we all joined in one final:

“Fuck me in the ass cause I love Jesus”

and then we neatly curtsied and headed for the wings.

There was, of course, hell to pay. But even years later at reunions, we got a thumbs up. It seemed that AK was not the only one to have had to “think outside the box.”

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