By Niki
(FF, Oral)

Perched on their barstools, they each survey the crushed ice remnants of their third Daiquiri Sunrise.

“You gotta lighten-up Babe. It’s no good carrying the torch for poor old Desmond: he’s dead and gone!”

Doreen sullenly fights back the tears. “It’s all right for you, Barbara: your glitzy lifestyle - thanks to two wealthy ex-husbands – and your Spanish apartment. I’m a fifty-something singleton, with nothing more to look forward to than my next shift at the Oxfam Bookshop!”

The two women couldn’t be more contrasting: staid Doreen, in her neat M&S skirt and pearl necklace; blonde, buxom Barbara, making no attempt to hide her best assets beneath her white tracksuit.

“Look, Dor. I’m booked to go out to Benidorm next week. Why don’t I see if I can get you a seat on the flight? Stuff Oxfam.”

Doreen accedes and the deed is done. The apartment she’s heard so much about turns out to be a well-appointed two-bedroom flat with a big balcony, in a chic sea-front tower. They unpack and settle in.

“I’ll need to check that my gentlemen are all ok,” announces Barbara, furiously tapping the keys on her answerphone.

“What ‘gentlemen’?”

“Why, my English clientele, Babe.” She clicks the keys, hurriedly rewinding the waiting messages. A disconnected voice booms: “Babs? You coming over tonight? Miss you, darling!”

“Who on earth was that?”

“One of my gentlemen. That’s Trevor. He’s into kinky French waitresses at the moment. Haven’t got time for all that dressing up stuff tonight.”

Doreen lowers her coffee mug cautiously onto the table. “Barbara – are you ‘on the game’?”

“Nah, Babe. Just ‘playing the field’, as you might say. Look: there’s a shed load of single blokes living out here – ex-pats, loaded, mostly widowers. And they’re still gagging for it – even though they’re all in their 60s. There’s the Spanish TV porn channels and the DVDs they rent from the local sex shop. But apart from the weekly bingo session at the Watneys Red Barrel bar they never meet a soul! It’s live action – English-speaking live action – they want – so little Babs is giving it to ‘em! Don’t worry; most of ‘em can’t even get their leg over. It’s just sex talk, I flash me tits and then give ‘em a quick hand job.”

“And they pay for that?”

“You bet. One hundred euros is my basic call out fee. Plus various extras. ‘Course I don’t do watersports or anal. Sometimes it can get a bit messy though: they’re all into coming over my tits at the moment. Some new craze they’ve picked up off of them Russian porn DVDs. Hey, Dor - fancy coming along? Trev’s always going on about a threesome.”

“Certainly not!”

The next morning, Doreen is lazily sunbathing on one of the balcony’s sun loungers, as a dishevelled and slightly hung-over topless Barbara arrives.

“Late night?”

“Trevor talked me into doing the full French maid bit: serving ‘im champagne, bending over so ‘e could grope my bum, then pouring the bloody champagne all over my tits. Here, you’re looking great. I never knew you had such a trim figure.” Leaning forward, somewhat shakely, Barbara moves to untie Doreen’s halter neck. “Take your top off, Babe, you’ll get a dreadful tanning line where them straps are.”

Doreen’s resistance is ignored and she lolls back, bare-breasted, on the sun lounger and begins reading a magazine.

“Nice tits, Babe. Want some sun oil on them?”

“No thanks, I’m fine, really.”

Barbara ignores Doreen’s request, picks up a tube of sun oil from the table and gently begins spreading the amber oil across her friend’s breasts. She deliberately slows the pace as she crosses the dark nipples, which she notes have now hardened like small marbles. “Slip your bikini bottom off too and I’ll oil you down there if you like.”

“I’d rather not, Barbara; someone might come in.”

“No-one’s going to come in, silly,” pulling the bikini bottom’s bow.

“Ooops: what have we here? A 60s retro beaver! Darling, you’ve got to shave that lot off! It’s not only unhygienic, it’s a bloody no-no as far as my gentlemen are concerned.”

“Well seeing as how your ‘gentlemen’ aren’t likely to catch sight of my…”


“…my pussy, I’ll leave it as it is if you don’t mind!”

Barbara stops her sun oiling and stands up. She unties and drops her own bikini bottom onto the terrace: “Take a look, Babe.” She steps forward, giving Doreen an eye-level view of her smoothly-shaved vagina. “’Smooth as baby’s bum’ is how my Trevor describes it. She absent-mindedly strokes its opening with the oil left on her forefinger.

Without so much as a by-your-leave, Barbara then athletically hoists one leg across the sun bed, so that she faces Doreen’s feet, her ample posterior now brushing against the magazine’s cover. “Now I’m going to give you a real treat, while I go exploring in your ‘lady garden’. So just relax.”

Doreen drops the magazine in alarm, but as her friend is now sitting firmly astride her midriff, she’s powerless to get up off the sun bed. Barbara dives enthusiastically into the other woman’s hirsute crotch, performing countless imaginative variations of cunnilingus, so that very soon Doreen is quietly moaning with ecstatic delight. Barbara’s soft fleshy bottom is in vivid close-up, with the tight puckered ring of her ‘dark star’ pulsating to the rhythm of her ministrations. Pausing, she lifts her head and looks back at her friend with a smirk. “Nice?”

“Oh don’t stop, please! It’s simply amazing!”

With the tip of her tongue, Barbara lovingly traces the folds of the other woman’s moist labia, rimming it with fluttering circles. Doreen’s hips rise up off the sun bed to press her crotch even closer. Now Barbara concentrates on her clitoris, forming her tongue into a conical sheath to slip around the erect flesh. Tenderly, masturbatingly, she works her tongue back and forth. Doreen softly moans: “Oh Babs, I think I’m going to cum.”

“That’s it sweetheart – cum for little Babs: let me taste your lovely pussy juices.”

Doreen’s orgasm is long and deep-felt. She shudders and slumps back on the lounger, her eyes closed and a smile of blissful ecstasy on her face.

Barbara slowly climbs off, kneels down and nuzzles close to her exhausted friend. Planting a moist, cum-perfumed kiss on her lips, she gently whispers: “Your turn on top next,. sweetie…”

© Copyright November 2011 Niki

Feedback to the Author

If you enjoyed this story, please support the Author by voting for it