We arrived at the hotel for Nellie’s hen weekend around seven o’clock on the Friday. When we checked in the lady of the house, clad exactly as before, seemed not to remember us. Donna was getting a bag from the car when the hotelier said to me, ‘Is that young man staying too?’
I replied, perhaps a little shirtily, that that young man happened to be my girlfriend. ‘Now you mention it, I can tell. Odd eyes though.’ She said all this as if to herself and then with the walk of one over-burdened by life, led us to our room which was large and light and had wonderful views over the neighbouring fields. I took the key from her and told her that we had arranged a stripper after all. He’d be arriving about 9.30 on the Saturday evening. This bucked her up no end. ‘I do like a good stripper. If anyone has to vomit, get her to do it outside? Had to change the curtains last time we had a hen. Worse than the boys, girls are.’ She gave Donna a long, examining stare and then, reluctantly, left us alone. Donna was almost shaking with laughter.
I went up to her where she stood at the foot of the bed and slowly, deliberately, opened the buttons of her blouse, looking directly into her eyes. I kissed her mouth and my hand slipped inside to touch, tentatively at first, then more firmly her breast. As my lips sucked her tongue my fingers mirrored the action on her nipple and her hand went to cup my arse but I pushed it gently away. I whispered, ‘This is for you.’ I undid her belt and the waist of her black jeans and unzipped her. I slowly knelt, pulling her jeans and knickers (mine I noted triumphantly) down as I went, kissing her breasts, licking over her tummy, nuzzling into her warm, trimmed triangle of hair. There was a little difficulty since I had reckoned without her lovely, black boots but managed to remove jeans and boots without too much loss of romantic charm. She stood and let me love her as I knelt at her feet, not in supplication but in adoration. I pressed my face to her, curled my tongue over her and between her lips. Her hands gently grasped my hair and then she moved backwards a little to sit on the bed. Open to me now I redoubled my efforts. My hands roamed freely over her lovely, long legs and ultimately my finger slid easily inside her as I suckled on her hard clitoris. I heard a moan of pleasure and my finger curled and sought out her spot. I have mentioned before that Donna does a strange back-arching thing as she approaches her climax. This time she did that but also her legs lifted and crossed behind my head. Her thighs held me fast against her and as her back arched she lifted me with her so contact was uninterrupted.
We showered together and she held me against her soapy body and asked if she’d hurt me with her clamping thighs. I had apparently and unwittingly done something particularly special with her ‘clitoris allsort’ that had lifted her and, as it transpired, me as she climaxed. I assured her I was unharmed. She kissed me.
Drinks were taken in a large lounge with the twelve us in a variety of fancy frocks. Donna had not worn a dress, she was saving that for the wedding but she had decided upon a pair of beautifully cut, dark blue trousers with a white camisole top. I have said she is androgynous but no one could have looked more feminine in my eyes. Her hair was beautifully cut, short to frame her elfin face and she had a simple band of gold around her neck. Nellie was quite astonishing. She had chosen a halter necked dress which was clearly designed to let the air get to her chest. Its hem was no more than three inches below the cheeks of her arse. The others were in a selection of long and short dresses. Mine was black, calf length, straight cut across the top of my tits, tight at the waist and with a full skirt. The stockings were not optional and had I not resisted we might still have been in our room. I cannot afford to let Donna have her own way all the time!
The French maids were hilarious. They served the meal which was surprisingly good. One of them was built, as Donna said, like a Sumo Wrestler and the other was about sixty. ‘She probably served Marie Antoinette,’ said Nellie with a rare shaft of wit. The lady of the house managed the drinks and seemed almost cheerful as we downed more and more. Over coffee we had arranged that everyone should read a short poem of their own creation. They were mostly doggerel but, with drink taken, they had us in fits especially those which had rhymes, unconsummated, for words relating to the mammaries. We retired to bed in great spirits and Donna and I curled up happily and a little drunkenly but not, of course, until we’d had a little puss comes to shove.
The morning was bright and Nellie’s surprise treat of clay pigeon shooting was a huge success. The man who taught us was a stickler for safety and seemed particularly anxious to ensure Nellie held the gun correctly. Donna shouted, ‘Get her tits out of the way!’ and I feared for a moment he might take her at her word. Donna surprised me by proving a natural shooter. I noticed she closed her blue eye but then I tend to notice her.
The afternoon, after a light lunch of soup and salads, was free time for all. I won’t bore you with all the details but let me just say that Donna and I had decided not to walk. We, well, retired and as we ascended the stairs, Nellie shouted after us, ‘Get at it girls,’ which caused the hotelier, sitting behind the reception desk to glance up and shake her head at us, more, it seemed to me, in bewilderment than.in judgement. She had the air of one who has seen it all.
The evening was an absolute scream. We had told Nellie to come dressed as a school girl because it was a school days theme party. This was a lie and Nellie, last to arrive as always, found us all in normal clothes while she wore a St Trinians fantasy of gymslip, exposed stockings and suspenders, white shirt and tie. The stripper we had arranged was an old fashioned schoolmaster with cap, gown and a curly handled cane. I swear I saw the landlady’s hand pressing into her groin but Donna said I was indulging one of my more lurid fantasies. Nellie’s friend, Chelsea, got uproariously drunk and tried to shag the stripper and, when he had gone, did that ‘You’re my best friend,’ bit to all. She managed to manifest her drunkenness on the patio which elicited a grateful if lugubrious smile from the landlady. As she wandered past with a bucket and mop she said, ‘Hens – always one as vomits. Nice stripper though.’
All in all the weekend was a triumph. Nellie wept most of the Saturday night, claiming she loved all her friends and would never abandon them. Donna and I spent a lot of time indulging our carnal desires with, by turns, gusto and tenderness.
As we drove home she started to speak but I forestalled her by saying, ‘If you’re going to mention tweenies, don’t.’
‘Me,’ she smirked. ‘As if.’ She stroked the back of my head as I drove. ‘Taste good though. Naughty, lovely Donna.
6 comments:
Good Morning Mons. Ohhhhhhhhhhh a veritable omnibus version of Donna and by far the most deliciously erotic one so far. The thighs took me so much by surprise that I too found myself under pressure and so early in the morning too. Having now been left to face a day’s work all at sixes and sevens, I wonder if a watershed should be placed on Donna, say until we have taken afternoon tea when we take our normal afternoon repose?
Dear, dear, dear the wedding is approaching so fast and I still haven’t got my hat. Wonderful imagery Mons. Surely one of the best Donnas yet? I wouldn’t be surprised if Auntie Jill spends all day in bed with an attack of the vapours.
Another well written piece. I am enjoying reading of the exploits of Donna too.
i find myself in such anticipation of the next episode, and ever so much more delighted after the read, so wonderfully done monica, thank you
Another great episode Monica. Still waiting for my invite.
Dan - what would a wedding be without a handsome Irishman. Nellie assures me you are invited bu please promise to sing Danny Boy?
You might not get me off the stage.
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