Chapter 2

Alarmed, Anne tried to get her hands to pull his away from her, muttering - "No! Philip!" - but his lips came down on hers again, and, despite herself, she returned his kiss, and ceased her token struggle.

If anything, she was now returning his kisses more fiercely and, indeed, she could feel herself becoming completely aroused as his lips mashed against hers. She moaned softly as his hands squeezed her breasts and, when he stood back again and lifted her sweater and bra, she did nothing to stop him exposing them, naked, to his hungry gaze.

"Oh, Anne," he breathed, no longer smiling, but staring at her firm young body with undiluted admiration. Then he bent his head and his mouth closed round her left nipple, his tongue teasing it to full erection.

"Are you ready, Anne?" It was her mother's voice, and Philip leapt back from her, pulling her sweater down, guiltily. He looked over the banister.

"I'm just waiting for her to come out of the loo!" he called down the stairs, motioning, behind his back, to Anne to go back in there. Anne needed no second bidding and dashed back into the loo, to sort out her disarranged clothing and repair her make-up before emerging a minute or so later to join her parents and Clive for the homeward journey.

In the early part of the year, she had thought a lot about that encounter, sometimes with pangs of conscience, but more often, if she were honest with herself, with a thrill of pleasure. But then had come the break-up with Clive and the incident had faded from her mind, somewhat.

But now it was back with a vengeance and Anne's face was very hot as she eventually forced herself to meet Kate's level scrutiny.

"I'm sorry, Kate," she blurted out. "I think Philip had had a little too much to drink, and... and... I... " She trailed off.

"And you?" prompted Kate, gently.

"I - I really don't know," said Anne, lamely.

"I think I do," said Kate. "I think you've fancied Philip for years and when, at last, he kissed you properly - like a man, and not an 'uncle' - you responded - like a woman, not a little girl."

"But I shouldn't have," said Anne, miserably. "He's married - and you're a friend - and Clive was downstairs - and... "

"... and you forgot all of that when you felt his tongue in your mouth and his hard cock against your belly! Am I right?"

"I suppose so," muttered Anne.

"And all that proves," continued Kate, triumphantly, "is that you're as open to temptation as the rest of us!"

"But - weren't you angry when you found out?" Anne asked, hesitantly. Her companion laughed.

"How do you think I 'found out'?" she asked. "After all, no-one saw you, and you didn't tell me."

Anne looked at her in puzzlement. "Well, I assume Philip must have told you - you must have guessed something had happened and... "

"... he broke down under my relentless questioning and eventually confessed all?" Kate burst out laughing, then stopped abruptly on catching Anne's baffled expression.

"As a matter of fact," Kate said, after a few moments, "he told me as soon as you had all left. As you can imagine, he was still pretty worked up about it - after all, he's been having guilty fantasies about you for the best part of two years, and he couldn't wait to tell me what your tits felt like - and looked like, with your bra and your top pulled up to your chin!"

"Actually, he took me up to the landing and re-enacted it all, with me playing the part of you - with smaller boobs, of course - but he got my knickers off, as well! You see, Anne, fantasy and tale-telling plays a large part in our sex life. We tell each other most of what we get up to - and what we think about. It can be very exciting and, let's face it, there's only so much excitement can be derived from the same old stiff prick - or pair of tits, for that matter - after a few years."

Kate was silent for another few moments, then she went on. "Have you any idea how excited Philip will get when I tell him about Marco?"

"You won't?" said Anne, incredulously.

"Oh, yes," responded Kate, dreamily. "I'll pick my moment, of course. I'll start to tell him when we're somewhere he can't do anything about it - perhaps when we're in the car, just arriving at some friends for dinner, or a party. I'll give him enough to arouse his interest - among other things! - then feed him the odd titbit during the evening, when the opportunity arises, just to keep him on the boil."

"Then I'll make sure we bring someone back for a drink and enjoy watching Philip trying to get rid of them - then, when they've gone, he'll get a blow by blow account. It'll keep us going for hours - and for many nights after that."

"Your little escapade is discussed in great detail - and improved upon, in our imaginations - very frequently, in our bedroom, you know. Philip loves to reminisce about the moment when he pushed your bra up and your tits fell into his hands. I make sure I've got my hand on his cock when he comes to that bit - it really leaps to attention! And then he fantasises about what might have happened if you had had a few minutes more, without being interrupted..."

Her voice trailed off and she turned her face up to the sun, a smile playing round her lips. Her voice continued, dreamily.

"He thinks he might have got into your panties, you know? He shows me how he would have slid his middle finger between your lips, through all that damp fanny hair, and teased your clitoris. And, as he does it to me, he likes me to pretend to be you, and gasp a little, and protest a little, then sigh with satisfaction as it stimulates you. If I do it well, he comes all over my hand and... "

Her voice trailed away again and, in the ensuing silence, Anne could almost hear her heart, it was beating so wildly...

Anne was in a turmoil. For weeks afterwards, she had wondered what might have happened if they had had a little more time. Alone in her bed, she had imagined Philip's hand slipping under her dress and caressing her upper thighs until it reached her panties. She still did not know whether she would have - could have - stopped him, but, alone with her imagination, she did her best to convince herself it was Philip's fingers, not her own, sliding inside the leg of her panties and expertly seeking out her moist, parted lips through the damp undergrowth of her pubic hair, and gently teasing her sensitive clitoris to erection and, ultimately, a mind-shattering climax.

And, sometimes, in her mind, it was not his fingers which slid between her thighs, but the hard erection she had felt against her belly when Philip had kissed her for the second time. Her face burned as she recalled the mental image she had played with - her panties, somehow, removed, Philip's strong brown hands gripped the backs of her thighs as he lifted her up.

Then, her back supported against the wall on the landing, he lowered her, legs held apart, unerringly on to his straining penis and slid it up inside her until it could go no further. And she wrapped her legs round his waist and trapped his pulsating member inside her, feeling it grow and grow until, suddenly, he groaned and threw his head back as his seed spurted into her in long, strong jets.

The image was overpowering her, now, and the urge to slip her fingers down between her thighs to massage her twitching clitoris was almost irresistible. Deep down, Anne now knew that she would not have been able to resist Philip had his hands slid under her skirt to her panties. Surreptitiously, she moved her buttocks on the hard wooden bench, to ease the damp warm sensation between her thighs. Kate observed her movement and knew, as she had suspected from Anne's distracted attempts at conversation, that the girl's thoughts were elsewhere.

Gently, she reached across and covered Anne's hand with hers.

"I'll be able to tell him what you look like, down there, now," she whispered, a wicked smile tugging the corners of her mouth. A surge of heat assailed Anne and her face flamed, but, catching Kate's eye, she couldn't stifle an embarrassed giggle. The events of the day - and the three glasses of dry, white wine she had drunk, quickly, were having a strange effect on her, and she now felt bolder, more curious - more like a woman than ever before.

"It'll drive him mad!" Kate asserted, confidently.

"I can't imagine him preferring anyone - after you," protested Anne.

"Oh, it's not a question of better, but different - strange - new. And young, and firm, like your bottom. He loves a cheeky bottom, and I could balance a cup and saucer on yours!"

Despite herself, Anne giggled again. Clive had always raved about her bottom, but, privately, Anne was a trifle embarrassed about the way it jutted out, and always tried to avoid rolling her hips when she walked.

Again, inevitably, her mind again conjured up the image of Kate holding Philip's erect penis in her hand as Philip told her how he had unclipped Anne's bra and caressed her naked breasts in his hands.

She wanted, more than anything else, for Kate to tell her about it again - but, this time, to describe, in detail, how it felt to have her fingers around Philip's penis as it stretched and lengthened...

But Kate's mind was on other things. Draining her glass, she leaned back, looking up to the sun, and sighed reminiscently, her eyes fluttering shut, her mouth turning upwards in a lascivious smile.

"Didn't Marco have a lovely cock?" she said, dreamily, running her hands down over the front of her T-shirt and squeezing her breasts on the way down.

"I thought it was quite... frightening," replied Anne, truthfully, when she realised Kate was waiting for a comment. Kate opened her eyes and leaned forward onto the table, her eyes on Anne's.

"Yes, it was, wasn't it? So dark, and thick. God, it was thick! When it started to slide inside me... " Her hands pressed down on her groin, outside her jeans, and her voice trailed off in an ecstatic moan.

"How would you like to be lifted up and lowered onto that monster, Anne? Can you imagine it? That's what Philip said he wished he'd done with you. He was describing it when he came all over my hand - how your tight cunt would grip his hard prick, and how warm and wet it would be... "

Anne swallowed, as her throat tightened. To think that Philip's fantasy had been exactly the same as hers... Again, she squirmed uncomfortably on the rough bench, as the moist dampness assailed once more.

Hesitantly, she stammered - "Is it... I mean, was Marco anything like Philip?"

Kate looked hard at her, an amused smile playing round the corner of her mouth. "You want me to describe Philip's cock, don't you?"

"No!" denied Anne, her face flaming. "No! I just wondered... "

Kate laughed, softly.

"When we get home, I'll invite you round for an evening - I know he'll be only too happy to let you have a look for yourself."

Anne shook her head, miserably.

"I'm sorry, Kate," she said. "This morning - it's left me all very confused. I can't look on it like you. I was terrified when... he started touching you and then, when your top came undone and his hands touched your breasts... I've never seen anything like that before."

Kate nodded, understandingly.

"I was frightened, too," she confessed, "and I suppose I didn't really think it would go as far as it did, but... well, the truth is, it was his hands - the roughness of them. I suppose it's the work he does, but all the surfaces of his hands were really hard and when they rasped against my skin... Well, they were so different from Philip's - and anyone else who's touched me there - well, I just melted inside. And then, when he took hold of my nipples and rolled them against these roughened fingers..."

Her voice trailed away and one of her hands slid off the table and, again, pushed hard against her groin. "It must be true what they say about a 'bit of rough'," she laughed, shakily.

"Well," said Anne, "I've only ever done it with Clive, so... "

"You're not talking about having your tits felt now, though, are you?" interrupted Kate, quickly.

"Surely Philip's not the only other one who's done that?"

"Well, no," confessed Anne, reluctantly, "but... "

"Who else?" Kate interrupted, again. "When was the first time?"

"Oh, I'm not sure," Anne lied, flustered, her cheeks flaming at the memory, but Kate was relentless.

"Rubbish!" she asserted. "Every girl remembers the first time she had her tits felt. I certainly do!"

"When was it?" Anne asked, eagerly, keen to switch the spotlight from herself.

"Oh, no!" laughed Kate. "You first! How old were you? Was it in the back row of the cinema?"

"No," muttered Anne. "It was when I was thirteen - I was staying with my aunt and uncle in Hastings and, one night, when they were out, my cousin Helen invited her boyfriend round and he brought a friend of his. They were all two years older than me, and we played some records and drank some wine, then we danced a little. I liked Helen's boyfriend, Russell - in fact, I suppose I had a bit of a crush on him. I quite liked his friend, Simon, as well, but something happened between Helen and Russell - they had a bit of an argument and I suppose I started flirting with Russell a little."

"At first, Helen tried to get her own back on Russell by flirting with Simon, but that didn't work because Simon was a bit frightened of Russell, I think, and Helen started getting a bit nasty with me for chatting up Russell. By that time, I had had too much to drink and I started backchatting Helen, although we were really very good friends and she was really like a big sister to me."

"Then suddenly she said to Russell - 'Well, you can have her if you're so keen, but don't expect her to let you do what I do!' Then she turned to Simon, who was sitting beside her on the settee, and kissed him and put his hand on her breast. Russell was absolutely livid and he grabbed me and kissed me."

"We had been dancing, so we were standing up, and he backed me against the wall, then pulled my blouse away from my skirt, at the back, and put his hand underneath it, onto the bare skin of my back. I didn't know what to do. His lips were hard against mine and his tongue was in my mouth - then I felt his erection pressing against me. I knew I should stop him, but - well, I think it was embarrassment as much as anything. I had told Helen I'd never let a boy touch me there, but I didn't think she'd tell anyone else, and... I didn't want to look like a silly young girl in front of them."

"So, I... I didn't do anything. I let Russell keep kissing me, but I didn't put my arms round him - but I didn't stop him, either, even when he undid the clips on my brassiere. I felt the last one go then, suddenly, his hands slid round my sides onto my front and he pushed up my cups and took hold of my bare breasts. He put his hands right on them, and squeezed, and his tongue pushed right to the back of my mouth."

Anne stopped, shaking at the recollection, then continued, her voice low and trembling.

"Then... then, he pulled me away from the wall and turned me round, to face Helen and Simon, with him behind me. He put my arms in a sort of half-nelson, then swept his hands up my chest, pulling my blouse and bra up to my neck, and... showed my bare breasts to the others. Then he put his hands on them, again, and said something like - 'well, she's had her tits felt now'"

"And what happened then?" asked Kate.

"Well, Russell squeezed my breasts again, then he let me go, and I ran out of the room, crying, and ran upstairs to the bedroom I was sharing with Helen. I could hear them laughing, downstairs. I got my clothes off and got into my bed, but I couldn't sleep. I kept remembering standing there, with my clothes round my neck and the two of them looking at my bare breasts... " Her voice trailed off. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears.

"And it still upsets you, doesn't it?" murmured Kate, whose eyes were also glittering brightly. Anne nodded, wordlessly, and gulped, then continued.

"You see, I wasn't... very big, then. I was a fairly late developer. But Helen had lovely big breasts, with dark round nipples. She was always walking round our bedroom, stripped to the waist, but I would never let her see... mine. She used to talk about how Russell loved to fondle her 'boobs', as she called them, and how he only liked girls with big ones. She was so proud of them!"

"One night, as I was drawing the curtains in the bedroom, I noticed the man next door take his dog out, to the bottom of his garden, and I mentioned it to Helen. She told me to leave the curtains open, then went over to the window and started taking off her clothes, with her back to it. She made me stand where I could see the man, so that I could tell her when he noticed what was happening. Well, he noticed almost immediately, and he hid behind a tree, watching. I told Helen, but she just carried on until she was down to her bra and panties."

"Then, she turned to face the window, just for a couple of seconds, then walked away to the side, where she was hidden. She told me to keep an eye on the man, then she took off her bra and walked slowly across the room, past the window, then turned and walked back. I was watching him, and I could see his face, staring up at the window."

"I couldn't see his expression, but his eyes were definitely fixed on our window. Then Helen slipped off her panties and started to walk over again. But then she lost her nerve and stopped, and I ran over and closed the curtains. We both collapsed on the bed, giggling, and she told me she had often given him 'a flash', but that was the first time she had actually had the courage to take off her bra. She said it was because I was there... "

"She sounds like a girl after my own heart," smiled Kate, wryly.

"Oh, yes!" said Anne. "I'd forgotten that!"

"Have you never 'flashed' at a boy, then, Anne?" queried Kate.

"No!" replied Anne, then "... unless... "

"Unless what?" Kate seized on her hesitation.

"Well, once, when we had a school lesson outside, sitting on the grass, I was sitting with my knees up - you know - when I realised that a few boys opposite could see up my skirt and, instead of straightening my legs and putting my knees down, I watched them trying to move around, casually, so that they could get a better view of my legs. It began to get quite exciting and, well, eventually, I let my knees drift apart a few inches, so that they could see my bare thighs, right up to my panties."

"And was that it?" asked Kate, disappointed.

"Well, yes," answered Anne. "When the bell went, we all stood up and went to our next class."

"So you never flashed your tits, then?"

"Well, Clive and I used to go out in a foursome with his friend Alex and his girlfriend, Liz, and I think Alex might have seen... something... "

"How?"

"Well, once, in the cinema, Clive undid my blouse and bra and I caught Alex - looking - but I doubt if he saw anything because Clive's hands would have been in the way. But there was another time, in Alex's car, when Alex and Liz were in the front seat and Clive and I were in the back. We often parked up on the cliffs, later on, for kissing, and so on. I didn't usually let Clive do more than kiss me when the others were there, but, one night, we had been to the pub and Alex had obviously got Liz's bra open, so I let Clive undo mine."

"I was kissing him, and he had one hand in my hair, and the other on one of my breasts, when I felt a hand on my other breast!"

"What did you do?" asked Kate, breathlessly.

"I didn't do anything," confessed Anne, in a small voice. "I was scared of causing trouble, between Clive and Alex, so I didn't do - or say - anything."

"Did you like it?" asked her companion, and Anne shivered a little.

"At the time, I was too frightened to think about whether I was enjoying it, but I do remember, when Alex's hand went away, I felt a sort of 'sense of loss' immediately before the sense of relief. But that night, in bed, at home, I pictured how it must have looked like and... it excited me."

Kate licked her lips.

"What was it that excited you?" she asked.

"I'm not sure," breathed Anne. "I think it just felt so... wanton. You know, letting two boys touch my breasts - at the same time! I imagined what my parents would think if they knew what I had been up to..."

Kate commented that Anne shouldn't presume that her parents hadn't had their own little adventures, in their younger days.

"Yes," Anne agreed, "but it's difficult to imagine Mum having her bare breasts handled by two boys at once... "

"Well, she's well enough endowed up there," commented Kate. "I'd be surprised if there weren't plenty boys trying to cop a feel."

"Yes, but she wouldn't have been that kind... " Anne's voice trailed off as she realised what she was about to say might be offensive to her companion.

"You mean, you find it hard to see her screwing some foreign fisherman on the deck of his boat!" laughed Kate. "Well, maybe you're right, but don't put her on a pedestal - she's no 'goody two-shoes'. No more's your Dad!"

Anne's response surprised her. "Why? What do you know?" she asked, eagerly.

"Do you really want to know?" asked Kate.

"Oh, yes." Anne was surprised, herself, at her curiosity, but she did really want to know... "I've listened to them, you know," she went on. "They almost always have sex on a Friday night and, if their bedroom door isn't closed, I can hear quite a lot!"

"What have you heard?"

"Well, not very much of what they actually say but, sometimes, Mum's quite... noisy - and once I'm sure Dad was pretending to actually rape her, because I could hear her putting on a different voice, and pleading with him, and things... "

"Yes," agreed Kate. "Your Mum's told me they do a bit of role-play - and they fantasise about other people. Adam - your Dad - likes to pretend your Mum is your English teacher - that dark-haired Welsh one."

"Oh, Mrs. Davies?"

"What's her first name?"

"Linda, I think."

"That's the one. He fantasises about them being the last parents to see her at one of those consultation evenings. Everyone else has gone and the two of them strip her naked and Glenda holds her wrists while Adam feels her big round tits, then pushes her back on to her desk and spreads her legs apart, opening up her wet hairy cunt while your Mum still holds her arms. Then he takes his cock out and slides it into her and, while he's screwing her, your Mum gets her own tits out and leans over Mrs Davies so that Adam can feel both pairs of tits at the same time. Your Mum told me about that one!"

Kate's use of earthy language, and deliberately referring to Anne's parents' sexual parts coarsely, was deliberate and she watched as Anne's face registered shock, especially at the mention of her father's 'cock'.

"My God!" said Anne, at last. "Did Mum tell you - that?"

"Yes," said Kate, brutally, not mentioning that, while this was true, Glenda's language had been much more circumspect, and adding - "Well, you can't deny that Linda Davies is one sexy-looking lady. She used to make the odd 'guest appearance' in our fantasies, as well," said Kate.

Then she added, mischievously - "As, of course, does your Mum - and your Dad!"

"You didn't tell my Mum - that?" said Anne, in horror.

"Not in so many words, I suppose," answered Kate, "but I did tell her we fantasised about people we knew, and she must have put two and two together." This was, literally, true, but what Kate decided, reluctantly, Anne was not yet ready to hear was a description of the occasion when a very convivial dinner at Kate and Philip's house had ended up with Adam's hands inside Kate's sweater - and bra - while they were, allegedly, washing up in the kitchen, and Philip fondling Glenda's abundant breasts on the very same landing where, some six months later, he was destined to feel Anne's!

Anne was very quiet, her brain reeling with confused images. Something in Kate's demeanour made her suspect that maybe somewhere along the line the friendship between Kate and Philip and her parents had developed into something else. She could see that, objectively, her parents, who were still in their late thirties, must still be sexually active - she had the evidence of her own ears, if not her eyes, for that - but that they might be involved with others, in a sexual way, was a shattering thought.

She considered her mother. Glenda was tall and straight-backed, with glorious dark auburn hair, which tumbled over her shoulders. Her eyes were brown and set wide apart over a straight nose and a wide, full-lipped mouth. She had large, impressive breasts, but her hips were slim, as were her legs, saving her figure from the automatic classification of 'voluptuous'. Anne was aware that her own breasts and bottom were not far short of that description, and she regretted that, since her nature was anything but 'voluptuous'. With a shock, she realised that, sub-consciously, she had been thinking that her figure would have suited her mother's nature more than hers - what could that mean?

Considering her mother, she realised, the picture which sprang to mind was always of someone attractively - no, seductively - dressed. Mum always wore tight-fitting clothes, many of them with plunging necklines. She seldom wore trousers and her skirts never reached below her knees. Her underwear and nightwear was always of the brief, lacy variety - indeed, most of her nightdresses were flimsy, and often diaphanous.

"What are you thinking?" Kate enquired, quietly. Anne coloured.

"Oh, about Mum - and me. I think maybe we're both - sexier - than I thought."

"So, does that mean - you enjoyed Roberto's attempted grope, on the boat."

"No!", protested Anne, violently, the sheer terror of these moments suddenly flooding back. "No! That was - horrible!"

"Think about it from his point of view," urged Kate. "No doubt, he had watched Marco and me. He watches his cousin strip one of the English women naked, while the other girl looks on, then he sees him having sex with her on the deck. Meanwhile, the other one - the young one with the big, firm tits and gorgeous bottom - goes away and sits on a deckchair in her bikini. He watches her, eyeing her lovely tits. Everybody says English girls are easy, he thinks to himself. He imagines his hands feeling the young one's tits, rolling her nipples until they get hard, then untying the bottom half of her bikini. Her legs part, showing her blonde pubic hair, and his hands grip that luscious bottom as his cock snakes inside her tight, wet young vulva. By now, his penis is like a ramrod and he is approaching her, from behind."

"She's curled up on the chair, and he can see the top half of her breasts. They're glistening slightly, and he can't help himself. He has to touch them, and his hand plunges down into her bikini and squeezes the warm, firm flesh..."

"Well, it wasn't like that for me," interrupted Anne, defiantly. "The first I knew of it was when this dirty, rough hand grabbed my breast, and really hurt it. Then he ripped my top off and grabbed both of them - and then he kissed me! His breath was absolutely foul!"

She shuddered violently at the recollection.

"And Guido and that horrible old woman were watching - they were enjoying it! And when he pushed his hand down between my legs... "

"Oh," said Kate. "I didn't realise he'd done that."

"Yes," said Anne. "That was when I found the strength, somehow, to push him off and run away but, even then, I don't know what I'd have done if he'd come after me... I can't go back on their boat, Kate - even if you want to... "

"No," said Kate, reassuringly. "We'll find another one to take us back. I think Marco and Roberto might have plans for us that would be even too rich for my blood."

"Thank goodness for that," said Anne, with feeling.

"So, your encounter with Roberto didn't do anything for you at all?" asked Kate, after a short silence. Anne shook her head, firmly, her lips tightly pursed.

"I know you can't believe it, now," said Kate, "but one night, in your own little bed, in your own safe little house, in November or December, you'll remember it, and a little tingle will go through you and your fingers'll touch your clitoris, and the memory will make you come... and... " she went on, as Anne opened her mouth to deny it, "... and... in a few years time, when you're a safe suburban housewife, you'll tell your husband all about it and his cock will straighten like a rod of iron... "

Anne giggled with embarrassment and Kate smiled.

"There! You're laughing already! Tell you what - when he's fed up with that story, you can tell him about me and Marco!"

"I think I'll tell him that one first!" said Anne. "But, honestly, Kate, you can't imagine what it was like... "

"Oh, can't I?" responded Kate. "Do you think I've never had my tits felt when I didn't want to? And worse!"

"Have you?" asked Anne, wide-eyed.

"Oh, yes," said Kate, soberly... "but maybe I'll tell you about that later. Right now, we need to find a hotel - unless you want to go back with Marco and Roberto... "

It was only a small hotel, but it was clean and comfortable, and their rooms backed on to the long, undulating beach. Each room had a shower and a small bed, easy chair and dressing table, with a balcony, equipped with deckchairs, overlooking the beach.

Anne had had a long shower, her mind filled with the images of the day, but she now felt relaxed as she slipped into her two-piece swimsuit and looked forward to the pre-dinner dip in the sea, which Kate had suggested.

There was a knock at the connecting door, and Kate appeared. Anne was not surprised to see her friend wearing a startlingly brief bikini - in fact, by now, she would have been surprised by anything else! It was bright scarlet, and left little to the imagination. For a second, Anne had a fleeing sense of admiration at Kate's courage in wearing it - she knew she would never dare to. But then, she reassured herself, there was a bit more of her to cover! As a reflex action, almost, she picked up her beach robe and slipped it over her shoulders.

Kate strolled in and made for the balcony. Anne followed. It was nearly six o'clock and, although it was still warm, there were only a few people left on the beach, mainly strolling by the distant shoreline.

There were also one or two joggers, and Kate nudged Anne and pointed at a tall male figure, in very brief trunks, running along the edge of the water. Even at this distance, they could see he was very fit and well-muscled, with long black shiny hair, tied back in a pony-tail. He seemed to catch the movement of Kate's hand as she pointed, and his head turned towards them. He lifted a hand in greeting and Kate waved back, enthusiastically.

Hesitantly, Anne raised her hand, also, but almost immediately dropped it by her side again.

"You don't see many of those at Clacton," chuckled Kate and, although Anne smiled in reply, she felt a first little twinge of concern as she observed the runner now veering slightly away from the water's edge.

"Shall we go now?" she said, quickly. "We don't want to have to rush for dinner."

But she was too late. Kate, too, had seen the change of direction and, eyes brightening with increased interest, was watching as the runner headed away from the water, in a wide circle, loping easily along the sand. The circle, both women could now see, would bring him past their balcony. They could also see that he was incredibly good-looking - mid-twenties, tanned, broad-shouldered and narrow-hipped. He moved with the easy gait of a stalking animal and his eyes were now fixed on the balcony from which Kate and, less obviously, Anne, were looking down at him.

As he got closer, they could see dark eyebrows over jet-black eyes, a straight nose, and white, even teeth gleaming in a confident smile. He began to slow as he got nearer, and Anne realised, with a tremor of fright, that he was going to stop.

"God!" whispered Kate. "He's gorgeous!"

"Oh, Kate," responded Anne. "Please don't... "

But the runner had stopped beneath them and was looking up.

He uttered a few words in Italian, and Kate replied. His eyes left Kate and moved to Anne. There was another short passage of conversation, then Kate whirled and, grabbing Anne's room key from the dressing table, dropped it over the balcony. The runner caught it neatly, looked at the number, and, with a final gleaming smile, disappeared from their view.

"Kate!" Anne almost shouted at her, but Kate raised a hand.

"It'll be all right," she said. "He's just a boy. I can handle him. And we'll be in plenty of time for dinner!"

Before Anne could reply, there was a gentle knock and the door opened. He walked confidently into the room and put the key down on the dressing table, then stood, facing Anne and Kate, his hands dangling easily by his sides.

He was very tall, Anne realised - at least six foot three - and perfectly-proportioned. He could be a professional sportsman - or a male model - or both. He was relaxed and calm as he allowed the two women to look him over - Anne surreptitiously - Kate with a much more obvious interest.

Kate spoke to him again and he smiled and nodded. Then he looked, again, at Anne, and asked a question. Something in his look caused a frisson of real fear in Anne and she retreated back to the wall. When she felt her back come into contact with it, she slid down and sat, cross-legged, on the floor, knees drawn up, with her robe covering her down to her ankles.

Kate gave him quite a long reply to his question. He listened carefully, then nodded again. Again, he glanced at Anne, but, this time, there was a sort of respect in his eyes, which Anne found puzzling, if reassuring.

"What are you saying to him?" she hissed at Kate, whose eyes were now glittering brightly.

"I told him how beautiful he was - and how much we would like to see the rest of him," said Kate, in a low voice.

"Well, I don't," said Anne, fiercely. "What were you saying about me?"

"I told him you were a virgin. His culture respects virginity - he won't trouble you. Trust me!" Kate's voice was low and serious, as though what she was saying was very important.

Anne didn't distrust her friend, but she could not get rid of the nagging suspicion that Kate was leaving something out. She began to rise from her sitting position.

"No!" said Kate. "Stay there! He - he wants you to stay - to see him. Please, Anne - for me?"

Anne sat down again. Deep inside, she knew it was more than loyalty to her friend which was keeping her there, but she snapped back at Kate. "All right - but then you go to your room. OK?"

Kate smiled in relief, then turned to the runner, and nodded. He looked back at her, then down at Anne. Anne curled tighter into a ball on the floor, but could not quite tear her eyes away.

His trunks were fastened with strings at the sides. Deftly, he unfastened one side, then the other. Turning his back on the two women, his hand over his crotch, he pulled the back half forward through his legs, exposing his tight hard-muscled buttocks. For a second or two, he made some rearrangements at the front, then his trunks fell to the carpet and he turned to face them, his hands loose at his sides.

His pubic hair was tight, curly, jet-black. His testicles were large and heavy, hanging low. His penis was circumcised and thick, dangling to just below his testicles.

Kate gave an audible sigh of pleasure, while Anne sat motionless and silent but, nevertheless, unable to tear her eyes away from the display of arrogant male nudity.

He didn't move, but Anne could feel his eyes were on her. She looked up and met his expectant gaze. She stared up at Kate, who shrugged, and looked away.

Then, in a low voice, she said - "I'm sorry, Anne. I had to tell him - he could see you. He won't touch you, but he wants to look at you. He wants to see you - nude. He thinks you are very beautiful. And you are... please do it for him. Please."

Anne was completely confused, her mind and body sending conflicting signals. She could feel her nipples rock-hard against the constricting material of her swimsuit and the urge to slide a hand between her legs to relieve the itch there was almost overpowering.

Without quite knowing what she was doing, she somehow rose to her feet. She stood, facing him, and felt Kate slip the beach robe from her shoulders. She dropped her eyes from his face, and stared at the sight of his penis beginning to stir, and lift.

She felt Kate's hands at her back, pulling the strings holding her top. She shook her head and reached up her back. Kate retreated and went to stand behind the runner, from where she watched as Anne slowly undid the ties at her back.

When they were loosened, Anne let them go and holding her arms away from her sides, let the forces of gravity complete the task of exposing her full young breasts to the two pairs of eyes intently watching her.

Her insides churned as she watched the effect of the exposure on his penis. It grew darker as it filled with engorged blood, and rose steadily until it jutted out from his flat stomach. The sac round his testicles was tightening, and pulling them up into his groin. And his hands were no longer hanging loose - his fists clenched, his knuckles white.

Anne knew her vaginal area was now soaking - it might even be showing through the material of her costume. With that thought, as much as anything, her trembling fingers grasped the side ties of the lower half of her swimsuit, and undid the bows. For a second or two, she held them, undone, then she eased her feet slightly apart and let go.

She was totally naked and, for the first time, she looked into the runner's eyes. What she saw was an incredible mixture of admiration, appreciation and longing, and her responsive was instinctive and unstoppable.

She reached a hand forward to take hold of his jutting, pulsating organ - but, suddenly, another hand encircled it. A small female hand, belonging to Kate - a completely naked Kate - who had also grasped the runner's hand and plunged it deep into the black forest between her thighs.

The runner half-turned, his middle finger slipping effortlessly into Kate's warm, inviting channel. Kate gasped and pulled his head down to her waiting mouth and the runner's other hand slid up and cupped a hard-nippled breast.

Anne watched, unbelieving, as Kate, still holding the runner's erect cock, gently steered him towards the connecting door and they disappeared into the next room. For the first time in her life, Anne felt a deep yearning to have her soaking vagina plugged to the hilt with a length of hard male flesh, and she just managed to stagger over to her bed before her knees gave way and she flung herself down on the duvet in sheer frustration.

Automatically, her hand plunged between her thighs and her fingers sought out her aching clitoris - then, as she started to massage it, to gain relief, she heard Kate's moans of pleasure from the next room.

"No!" she thought to herself, through her deep longing. "I'm not going to lie here playing with myself, waiting for him to finish Kate off, then come through to let me have what's left."

With a sudden resolve, she leapt off the bed and pulled her swimsuit back on, then ran as fast as she could out of the hotel, across the beach, and plunged into the cooling sea. A strong swimmer, she spent a good half hour in the water, until, at last, she felt more or less normal, then emerged - to find Kate sitting on the sand, waiting for her.

Anne approached Kate, with mixed feelings. Although the worst of her frustration had worn off, she still felt she been used, betrayed - even set up as the bait in Kate's honey trap to arouse the runner for her friend's benefit!

Kate smiled at her. "You OK?" she asked. Anne nodded, stiffly, and sat down beside Kate, who immediately put an arm round her shoulders.

"Hey," she said. "He wouldn't have been any good for you. He only lasted five minutes - and he was only interested in himself. I only wanted him because he was so beautiful - but the beautiful ones are never any good where it matters."

Anne looked up at her friend and smiled, shakily.

"But you're ready, now, aren't you?" Kate asked. "It's time you got Clive out of your system - finally - isn't it?"

Slowly, Anne nodded her head.

"That's good," said Kate. "Because there's someone I'd really like you to meet... "

Kate and Anne walked leisurely down the surprisingly busy main street. For a small island town, Vicerona had a busy, cosmopolitan feel to it. They had dined very well at a seafood restaurant, and had even tracked down a cyber-café, where they had both managed to e-mail home.

Throughout dinner, Anne had continued to be intrigued by Anne's remark about wanting her to meet someone, but hadn't pressed her for further explanation. It was while they were having their post-meal liqueurs that Anne learned, for the first time, that Kate had visited the island before. It had been two years previously - Kate had spent two nights on the island with the wife of a colleague of Philip's, while the two men were at a conference in Florence.

So she knew the town quite well, and she was leading Anne confidently through some of the narrow, winding alleys as dusk, by now, settled rapidly over the surrounding hills. Kate was chattering brightly as she walked purposefully along, and Anne was happy to let her companion's chatter wash over her as she looked around and took in the unfamiliar ambience of her surroundings.

Then Kate stopped, suddenly, at the bottom of a flight of stone steps, leading upwards, steeply, to an old stone chapel, perched high above them. She peered up, into the gathering gloom, then said - "Yes. This is it."

Taking Anne's hand, she began to climb the steps. Anne felt a little uncomfortable with her hand in Kate's. This had never happened before, and she was sure she could sense an element of tension in Kate's grip on her. Kate was not someone who indulged in casual physical contact - despite her recently-revealed enthusiasm for physical contact of the more intimate kind.

Kate had told Anne, often enough, how attractive she thought her and had not retreated from specific compliments about Anne's breasts and bottom. Kate's last visit here had been with another women - could it be, Anne thought, with a rising sense of panic, that somewhere up here there was some sort of Lesbian club, which Kate had decided Anne was now ready for? Maybe she had decided that Anne was now ready for Kate, herself?

Anne's worst fears re-doubled as Kate stopped halfway up the steps, dragging Anne into a dimly-lit alley, on the left side of which stood a door, covered with a bamboo curtain. Kate knocked twice, while Anne stared around for some sign of what went on here, but there wasn't a light, or another soul, to be seen.

The door opened slightly, and Kate spoke a few quick words of Italian to the unseen person within. The door opened a fraction more, and the two women slipped through.

Anne found herself in a narrow, low hallway, hung with Chinese silks. The very old oriental-looking woman who had let them in scuttled away behind a curtain on the right. To their left, was a partially-closed door, behind which Anne could hear the faint strains of Oriental music and the low murmur of voices. With relief, she realised that the voices were mixed - not exclusively female. Kate squeezed her hand, reassuringly, then released it and pushed the door ajar.