Being a Girl (7 page)

‘Get the carpet for the girlies, what are you waiting for, laddie?' he said, and Byron took the fleece from the fireside and placed it at our feet.

My arms hurt. We had been standing on our toes for so long, we collapsed on the soft pile of the fleece, our slippery soaked bodies coiling together. I reached for Binky's breast, popped the hard mount in my mouth, and bit down on the bud until she squealed.
She did the same to me, and the agony was excruciating, so intense fresh tears stung my eyes. I bit her neck. I licked the entire surface of her ear, and we kissed with some unimaginable yearning. I was grunting, sucking at the air, my body turning instinctively, driven by the pull of the moon, by some alien lust.

As I moved my tongue down between Binky's breasts, she did the same to me. I supped at the tiny cup of her belly button, and down into the sopping pink gash between her legs. Her puffy lips opened and her taste on my tongue was fresh and bittersweet. It was the taste of a girl, my own little sister, something new to me, divine, something to savour. Her clever tongue was exploring the cavern of my sex, pushing in and out, in and out, and I did the same, bathing my face in her smell, gorging on her lush creamy juice, oblivious to everything except Binky's hot oozing pussy.

I wasn't even aware of the two men standing above us, gazing down as if at animals in the zoo, two naked creatures with spanked bottoms slurping at each other's most intimate places. There had been knots inside my tummy ever since we had arrived at the manor house, but now those knots were undoing, smoothing out, caressing me like tiny hands, the feeling of relief spreading like nectar down my throat, through my breasts, my organs, my flaming insides. I gripped Binky's soft thighs in my palms and lapped at her, her thick creamy girl-juice sticky and warm on my face.

Binky's tongue was nursing the glowing nib of my clitoris. I did the same for her. We were
yin
and
yang
, blonde and dark, four emerald eyes. The spasms running through me were running through her. A sprinkle of pre-orgasm fluids soft as raindrops touched my tongue. Binky lifted her bottom up from
the fleece and, as she started to come, my own orgasm broke from me like a fizzing firework, a beating pulse of pure energy that reverberated through my body. Never, never, had anything like this happened to me before, and I pressed my sex into Binky until I had emptied every last drop of hot fluid into her throat.

I gasped for air, then ran my tongue through the crack in her bottom, into the dark winking eyelet throbbing restlessly, wetly above, tasting her, wanting every part of her, giving every part of myself to her. Had we always wanted this? We had been together since we were babies, sisters more than step-sisters, but step-sisters nonetheless.

Stray thoughts fluttered through my mind. I felt Binky's little tongue wriggle into my bottom, the pressure reaching my swollen clitoris, and I started to come again, the pitch softer, the energy spent, a feeling like the last glow of the setting sun.

I was sopping and delirious, too exhausted to struggle as the Laird suddenly, unexpectedly lifted me from Binky in his big hands and carried me limply to the table. He placed me at the far end, away from the plates and silverware set for three, and I lay there exhausted.

‘There, lassie, there,' he whispered.

Byron pulled at Binky's hand; she came unsteadily to her feet. He placed her opposite me across the width of the table, the expanse of polished walnut so wide between us, and when they again connected the bindings at our wrists, our arms were stretched out, my torso resting on the tabletop in such a way that my spanked bottom was forced up in the air.

‘Together, then,' said the Laird.

I watched as Byron pushed his sporran to one side. He tucked the hem of his kilt in the waistband, and
from out of the darkness revealed his erect penis. He eased Binky's legs apart, and at the same moment I felt my own legs being opened, the ricochet effect obscene and inexplicably carnal. As Byron slid his cock into Binky, the Laird's cock ran up my thighs until the head rested against the entrance to my vagina. It was huge and, as it pushed patiently through my drenched lips, the walls of my hot pussy were expanding and contracting, pushing back, the giant cock greased by my orgasm sliding slowly, inevitably, like a landslide up inside me, breaking my hymen. I'd finally lost my virginity and it was a little thrill that the Laird didn't even know.

My mouth fell open. I closed my eyes. I was a woman. I was making love, and it was like nothing I'd ever known before because I'd never done it before. My hips bucked and rolled. I pushed back, thrusting out my thrashed bottom, absorbing every inch of the monster. I was impaled, skewered, his big balls like church bells chiming mutely against my thighs, his coarse hair chafing my soft skin as he rammed into me harder and harder, faster and faster.

It grew more intense, more ferocious. He held me in one big hand and with the other started slapping my hips and sides as if urging a race horse to take a high fence, and I took the fence, and the next one, pushing back against the Laird and taking everything he had to give.

He started to groan, his voice emerging from far away, from deep down in the depths of his immense body. He was vanishing inside me, withdrawing almost entirely, then plunging back between the drenched walls of my pussy with great ardent thrusts, my thighs locked, my back arched in a bow, my arms stretched out until both Binky and I rose clean off the
table and I felt like a bird flying through the air. I was being split apart like a length of wood, the Laird's cock a sharpened axe, and then he exploded, roaring, pumping into me, and his semen was an endless gush like oil from a well, like lava from an erupting volcano, like a tidal wave, like a soft warm sea.

Byron was mutely wailing in the background. So was Binky. So was I. I was climaxing again, my body hollowed out. The contractions felt as if I were giving birth, and I was, to a new part of myself, to my future. The Laird kept pumping away, but already he was growing softer and already I sensed a woeful absence as his giant penis slipped from me on a torrent of steaming sperm. I could smell it, rich like fresh milk, thick as cream.

Now that it was over, I felt drained and, I had to admit, indecently satisfied. Binky was panting, her eyes staring without seeing, her cheek resting on the tabletop, the ridge of her bottom rising and falling. My ribs were bruised. My breasts hurt. The lips of my pussy were opening and closing, quivering like a sea anemone as the Laird's sperm oozed from me like syrup in bubbling slurps, vulgar and sensuous. The Laird caught his breath. He gave my backside a playful slap.

‘You're a good girl, lassie,' he said and, absurdly, I felt proud.

Byron straightened his kilt, then released the bindings at our wrists. We slid apart and I came shakily to my feet. The Laird took me by the arms and stared into my eyes.

‘Now, is that better?' he asked seriously, and I bit my lips and nodded.

Binky was still lying across the table, the tips of her toes just touching the floor. Byron was examining her
and, when the Laird joined him, I followed, the sap and semen turning cold as it trickled down the insides of my legs.

Binky's swollen vulva was pressed between her thighs and Byron's emissions put a gloss over the inflamed pattern that covered the entire surface of her bottom. I stared and it was hard to turn my head away. I was transfixed, mesmerised. Binky's bottom was fiery red, glowing like the flames in the fire, the six livid stripes from the crop the same African violet as the trim on Binky's pink car: the same colour as the lines running down the Laird's kilt.

My mouth dropped open. My heart skipped. I stared at his kilt, then up into his eyes. He smiled, nodding his head warmly.

‘Aye, lassie,' he said. ‘You're a clever girl.'

I ran my palm softly over Binky's bottom, and looked back again at the Laird.

‘It's my clan: the tartan plaid of the Black Watch.'

Binky had finally caught her breath. I put my arms around her waist as she slipped to her feet. The Laird crossed the room to the piano, grabbed the carved stool, and placed it at the end of the table facing the place settings at the far end.

‘You can sit here, lassies, you must be famished,' the Laird said, and I felt grateful for his kindness. He turned to Byron, waving his hand towards the fire. ‘Do you think we live in a barn, laddie, all this stuff hanging aboot. Put it away, for heaven's sake, mon.'

I watched without fully taking in what was happening as Byron gathered our damp clothing. My heart was pounding, and only slowly did I become conscious of us sitting there naked, my breasts throbbing, my nipples still erect, Binky holding my hand like a lost girl. My bottom stung, but all my senses were so
alive, the sting was more pleasure than pain. The Laird found a piece of cloth in the chest beside the fire. He gazed up at the portrait of the woman, turned momentarily to me, then turned his attention to the shiny wet discharges we'd deposited on the table.

‘Here, lassie, look at the mess you've made,' he said, and obediently I polished the puddles of sperm from the table.

I had just finished the task when the door opened. Byron returned pushing an old-fashioned serving trolley, the wheels squeaking. Mrs McTavish carried two bowls and soupspoons; she was sucking at her gums and tutting to herself. She set the bowls down in front of us. Byron placed an enormous tureen in front of the Laird and Mrs McTavish served three plates of stew. She glanced in our direction as she sat opposite Byron. The Laird was between them at the head of the table.

‘Come on then, eat if you're going to,' he said.

We ladled soup into our bowls, filling them to the brim. The steam was hot and the smell was delicious. We sat and ate like two little animals. Soup dribbled from my mouth, down my chin and fell, burning my breast. As I wiped the drips away with my hand, the Laird caught my eye and smiled.

‘Tell me, Mrs McTavish, have you ever seen finer titties?'

‘What are you talking about, mon?'

‘Look at them, bright as wee buttons.'

‘You're disgusting,' she said, and the Laird grinned as he ate his soup.

His eyes were flicking constantly from the bowl in front of him to the two of us, squeezed together on the stool like ornaments on a shelf. I tried to picture us both in the Laird's eyes, two naked girls like two
little animals, our breasts perky, our cheeks and eyes bright, our bodies electric with life, with new sensations.

It was only as I filled my tummy and my heart began to beat more normally that I became aware that our clothes had been taken away. I gazed back along the table at the Laird.

He nodded.

‘Aye, lassie,' he said. ‘You can bed down in the woodshed. If you piddle in the straw like wee animals you cannae expect a bed to sleep in.'

‘What about our clothes?'

‘You won't be needing those. Not tonight.'

Binky looked at me for an explanation but there wasn't one. I looked back at the Laird and felt a warm dribble leak on his piano stool.

I WASN'T A
girl any more. I was a woman. I had lost my virginity. Did I look different? Did I smell different? When I sashayed by in the street could men sense that I had gone through some subtle transformation? Subtle? Perhaps
total
is the right word. I think I may have grown an inch taller! And as for the little monkeys, they were just so
out there!

I stared for hours at my face in the mirror. I looked at my reflection in every shop window. I was even studying my eyes in the shiny side of the butter knife that day in the restaurant when we had lunch with Mummy.

‘Milly, you didn't used to be quite so vain,' she remarked as she caught my eye.

‘She's discovered the inner Camilla,' said Binky; my little sister had a way with words.

Although I flushed, Mummy was rather too preoccupied gazing at her own reflection in the mirror on the wall facing our table to take much notice of me. Someone once said the faults we condemn in others we excuse in ourselves and I'm sure he must have had my mother in mind when he said it.

The purpose of this lunch at the Jewel Royale was for mama to tell us that she had to go away on ‘
urgent business' for the weekend and we mustn't invite the Chelsea riffraff back to the house for a party, which had happened before when we were younger and found ourselves deserted during school holidays by our parents. They were
so
spoiled.

‘I know what you children are like,' she said.

As the waiter fussed around with bread rolls his eyes fell first on Binky's cleavage and then on my own. We didn't lunch together very often these days and dressed to kill when we did. Kill each other, that is. Mummy's eyes followed the waiter's eyes and if I could read her mind I am certain she was thinking just how much her daughters were like her, less children, more rivals. My step-mother was used to being the most beautiful woman in every room she entered and the expression on her face at that moment reminded me of the Wicked Queen when she inquired as to who was the fairest of them all and the mirror, inanimate thing that it is, gave the wrong reply.

‘Do you really need quite so much bust on display, Binky?' she asked, and turned to me. ‘And you, Milly.'

Binky glanced down at her breasts welling over the white lace trim of a bra pushing over the scooped neck of a sleeveless black dress. ‘It's summer, Honey,' Binky said, and lit a cigarette with a golden tip.

Mummy had honey-coloured dark blonde hair and encouraged us to call her Honey which, except for reasons of irony, we never did. She sighed and as the air escaped from her scarlet lips it stirred the coils of blue smoke rising from Binky's cigarette. Mummy was one of those women who needed to be admired. She had always traded on her beauty and, at the unforgiving age of 39, I'm sure, like the Wicked
Queen's disillusionment with the looking glass, what mother saw in her own reflection was the cruel hand of gravity dragging her down. Her beauty was waning, fading, the freshness of youth was slipping, sliding, running away, and it occurred to me with my limited experience that what mattered to her most was her beauty. I don't think she was really interested in sex. What she wanted was to be desired.