Chapter 18

Natasha called the Police as we scrapped and the two women pulled the man from my naked frame. Within a couple of minutes, blue flashing lights illuminated my garden and the officers’ first sight was witnessing the attacker’s aggressive behaviour towards a nude homeowner. They restored calm as I recounted the events of the combative intruder and my eyes focused on the bride and her sister - Catherine and Holly - watching with horror at the actions of Cath’s husband.

“That guy’s friend put a baby inside my wife on her Hen Do,” he yelled at the sympathetic copper. “I want a name and an address of his scumbag mate, and I’m going to kill him.” Making death threats in front of an officer of the law was not his wisest move, and any chance he had of escaping with a warning evaporated quicker than an ice cube in the Sahara.

Cath - with a pained expression - went in the squad car with her arrested husband as Natasha and I wrapped dressing gowns around our nude bodies. The officers smelt alcohol on his breath, and they promised his wife they would interview him in the morning when sober. “Marriage trouble?” My girlfriend asked Holly as the Police hatchback left my driveway.

“Two weeks before the wedding, Robin found out that he’s firing blanks. So when my sister has a positive pregnancy test a month after they got hitched, it’s obvious she cheated. She confessed, and he did his nut. He’s told everyone, so half the Hen Party is in trouble with their blokes. She knew nothing about your group apart from Natasha, so he employed a PI to trace you. And now Robin’s obsessed about finding Aaron.”

“Tubby’s Best Man!”

Holly nodded. “He was the only guy she screwed.”

“Sure.” My beau took my phone from the table. “Oi!” I complained, but my girlfriend ignored my half-hearted protests. She scanned my address book and dialled my old school friend’s Best Man. “Natasha?” I said, but she smirked.

“It’s ringing!” She gleefully muttered and cleared her throat when Aaron answered. “Hi, it’s Natasha. Y’know, the slutty bitch John’s shacked up with. We’ve had a visitor today and I’m now with the sister of the bride you screwed at Tubby’s Stag Party. Cath’s pregnant, so congratulations, you’re going to be a daddy.” She paused. “Again.” She smiled as she waited for the arrogant estate agent to swear and held the mobile phone away from her ear. “Oh, of course, if that’s how you feel, I will arrange for Catherine to have your address and details and the CSA can take it up with you. And your lovely wife.”

Holly smiled as my girlfriend taunted the cocky salesman. Natasha put my smartphone on loudspeaker and read from my contacts list. “Oh, Aaron Conners. 12 Palace Court Drive. That sounds like a swanky place. Hebden Bridge is beautiful, isn’t it? That’s fucking posh. I’m up in Halifax in two weeks’ time. I can pop in and see you and your wife, as I reckon Cath’ll have a message. And a bill. Her husband came to beat the shit out of John for being at the party, and the cops have just carted him off. God knows what he’ll do to your fucking kneecaps. Anyway, I’ll do as you ask and ‘fuck right off.’ Toodle-pip, Daddy!”

“If you fucking...” Natasha hung up before Aaron could finish his sentence and she ignored his attempts to return the call.

“Is there anyone else you need the details for?” The punk rocker asked. Holly shook her head and muttered. “Yeah. Is there a good taxi company around here or something? Cath and Robin got rooms for us at a service station. South Mimms, I think. But I don’t know where that is.”

“That’s miles away,” Natasha replied. “We’ll both be over the limit. We can’t take you anywhere. You’ll need a taxi from Chorleywood. How did you get here?”

“Robin’s car. It’s in the village, but I can’t drive.” Natasha licked her lips as she surveyed the bride’s sister.

“Do you want to stay the night? We have the room. Cheaper than getting a taxi.” Holly’s expression changed. She looked a little scared and apprehensive, and Natasha giggled. “I know you two played about on the Hen Party and I don’t care. I told him to fucking play as I keep encouraging him, but he’s shy.”

Her green eyes softened. She tucked her dirty blonde hair behind her ears and adjusted her summer clothing. “I feel a bit shit. Coming here, mithering you, my brother-in-law being a dick and then crashing.”

“Nonsense,” my girlfriend cried, and got up from her seated position. “Let me show you to your room and then come have some wine in the garden.” She spoke on the phone with her sister, and then the sexy Holly joined us ten minutes later with my partner, dressed in just an old pink nightie of Natasha’s. “I’ve put Holly’s clothes onto wash, as they were all sweaty. They’ll be dry by morning.” I nodded and poured our guest a drink from the bottle.

Holly was a little taller than Natasha. The nightie was a high-cut garment, and it had shrunk in the wash so the nightwear barely reached the top of Holly’s thighs, and it rose up as she sat in the chair, chatting with us.

The conversation was ribald and filthy. The young Mancunian remembered the admissions I made in the Mediterranean that my girlfriend and I played with watersports every day, and Natasha elaborated further. My eyes wandered to the tops of her legs and I spied her exposed pussy. I didn’t see any black stubble any more, just a waxed smoothness that looked divine.

I replenished the wine bottle from our fridge as we drank it and cooked three pizzas. The girls were grateful, and Natasha explained about the tour and gave a sanitised version of the sordid events on it. Holly kept adjusting herself as my girlfriend described the sexual antics of the band.

The bright sunshine had barely dipped, and I felt relaxed in my garden without clothes. Natasha saw the tattoos on Holly’s ankles and dropped to her knees in front of our guest to admire the bawdy ink. “They’re fucking amazing,” she cooed, and her eyes caught sight of the bare slit inches from her eyes. “And that’s pretty tidy, too!” My girlfriend gazed at Holly, and her fingers slowly traced the insides of the young Mancunian’s thighs.

She gulped. The sexual tension as the punk rocker’s hand stroked her bare leg, inching towards the glistening slit of the beautiful stranger, was clear. “I’ve not done lesbian stuff before,” she whispered.

“Do you want to?” Natasha asked. Her fingertips traced Holly’s hairless mons, slowly circling her prize as she stared at the aroused guest. “I can make you feel amazing,” she promised, and she leant forward to kiss Holly. Their mouths became intertwined as they snogged.

After several peaks, the sexy Mancunian stopped my lover and lay immobile in the grass, panting and gasping. Her glazed eyes looked at my partner with lustful desire, and she scrambled across the lawn and they kissed.

“Piss,” Natasha whispered, and their gazes met. “I have to go too.”

“You sure?” She breathlessly whispered, and my lover nodded. The stranger sighed as she released the pressure on her bladder and a low hissing sound of her pee, fired from her slit, replaced the serenity in my garden. The foul fluid emerged from underneath our guest. Natasha giggled, as she felt the liquid surround her flesh and I saw the piss drain onto the grass over my girlfriend, lay on the ground hugging the Mancunian.

They kissed as the tinkling grew louder. Holly squealed as my girlfriend fired her warm acrid waste into her mons, covering the two in more recycled wine. Natasha’s hands roamed over Holly’s back as she caressed the woman, that her legs were wrapped around.