A Safe Pair of Hands

I was coming to the end of my 12-year commission in the British Army, and was at something of a loss as what to do next. Keen to develop my contacts amongst well-funded civilian contractors as much as possible, I had waived my right to spend my final months back in the UK and volunteered to do back-to-back tours in Umm Qasr and Basra. I had spent both tours, as I always had, in extremely close proximity with a small group of contractors and fellow servicemen; we worked together, ate together, exercised together, and shared cramped accommodation in some fairly inhospitable places. Now, as I said goodbye to the Army, I was ready to spend some time alone.

After the requisite long weekend with my parents, I packed a small rucksack with a handful of changes of clothing and started on the first in a series of train journeys to somewhere I thought I could spend a little quality time with myself out in the fresh air — the Cotswolds. I had never been there, but liked the sound of the internet description of the area as a “famous area of picturesque hills & meadows dotted with villages, grand residences & castles”. Although I could argue that I had seen enough of the sun for a while, I was pleased to see that the weather forecast for the foreseeable future seemed decent and might even provide the customary week-long summer that prompts all British people to go a little crazy and start acting like we live in the Mediterranean.

I arrived in the village of Humby in the early evening, and checked myself into a pleasant-looking thatched pub for the night. The following day, I set off without any particular plan and hiked for nine hours, with the occasional break to enjoy the kind of views that still made me proud to be an Englishman — verdant rolling hills, bursting with colour and dotted with woodland and the occasional clutch of rustic cottages. Despite my leisurely pace and the fact that I was in good shape from years of regular exercise, by the early evening I was looking forward to a relaxing meal and a few drinks in another village pub, followed by an early night in a bed not covered by a mosquito net. Fortunately, the village of Daneforth supplied just such a place, and after showering and changing into a fresh shirt and jeans, I tucked into a well-earned dinner then settled myself into a corner of the comfortable old-fashioned bar downstairs.

It was impossible not to notice the two women. Among the usual country-pub crowd of white-haired old men in ancient sweaters drinking pints of obscure ale, they stood out like a beacon on a stormy night. The taller of the two had an exotic look which could not have been more out of place in these surroundings. She wore her dark hair long and slightly curled, falling down around her almond-shaped face onto a tight crimson v-necked sweater which showed off a frankly magnificent cleavage. Her naturally tanned skin and dark, almost black, eyes suggested that she just might not be local. She sat with her long legs crossed, her skirt riding up enough to just make out the lace tops of her black stockings. This was a woman who knew that the eyes of every man in the room were on her, and she clearly loved it.

Her friend was a different story. I could tell that she was fairly athletic, despite what seemed like her best efforts to disguise her figure beneath a loose-fitting white blouse and light grey trousers. Her blond hair was worn up, and she completed her somewhat formal outfit with a pair of thick-rimmed glasses and low-fashion pumps. Despite all this, I could see that she was clearly a very attractive woman, and if I’m honest I was at least as taken with her as I was with her more obviously alluring friend. I told myself that it was because I like a challenge, the thrill of the hunt. The alternative was that I just liked the idea that a woman could be beautiful without feeling the need to show it off.

The brunette, on the other hand, was not a challenge. From the moment we made eye-contact, I realised that the night could only end one way. The repeated crossing and uncrossing of her legs, the use of a straw in her drink to draw attention to the gentle sucking motion of her lips, and the near-constant coy looks in my direction all meant that she liked what she saw and knew she could get it. I wouldn’t say that I have film star looks by any means, but my former profession and the fact that I had been working outdoors in a hot climate for the last eight months meant that I was by far the best option for a woman on the pull in this sleepy little village.

The brunette leaned closer to her friend and murmured something, with a not-so-subtle nod in my direction. The blonde and I shared a steady look into each other’s eyes, before she turned back to her friend and nodded an agreement which seemed to me to be ever so slightly reluctant. When the brunette stood up and slowly walked towards me, I was surprised to see her friend follow her.

“Do you mind if we join you?” the taller girl asked, in a soft French accent which confirmed my earlier suspicions. Without waiting for a reply, she sat next to me, her leg just brushing against mine as she did so. The blond took a seat across the table from me, giving a nervous smile which endeared her to me a little more.

“You are not from here?” asked the brunette, before taking another long slow pull at the straw in her drink.

“No, just passing through. I have a few weeks to kill and thought that the Cotswolds was as good a place as anywhere to do it.”

“Bien. It is a lovely part of your country, non?”

“Beautiful.” I replied, looking her square in the eyes.

The brunette smiled coyly, accepting the obvious compliment but by no means surprised by it. We exchanged a little more small-talk, although after a while it occurred to me that they had asked most of the questions and I had provided most of the answers. Before I could mention this, or start to ask more questions about who these women were and what they were doing here, the brunette placed her hand on my thigh and gave a gentle squeeze.

“My friend and I, we are looking to, meet, someone.”

I glanced at the blonde, who was watching me intently. So, sex was definitely on the table, but who with?

“Unfortunately, I’m here all by myself” I countered.

“That’s okay with us, if it’s okay with you” said the brunette. “I’m Beatrice, and this is my friend Annabelle. We are friends from school. I am staying with Annabelle at her parents’ house for a few weeks.”

“School?” I asked, trying to keep the panic out of my voice.

“Finishing school. In Switzerland” said the blonde, pronouncing every syllable with a prim, recognisably upper-class accent. I momentarily wondered how well that accent stood up during sex.

Beatrice placed her hand under my jaw and drew my face back towards her. She leaned in close enough for me to see all the way down that incredible cleavage. “We are both 21 years old. So, we are old enough to do whatever we want, you see?”

I looked across at the blonde, whose cheeks had gone from slightly rosy to bright pink.

“Uh-uh,” said Beatrice. “I know what you are thinking, and that,” she nodded back toward her friend, “will be earned, not given. I shall be up-front? I want you to make love to me, and Annabelle, she would like to watch. This is something you would enjoy, yes?”

Beatrice’s hand glided over the top of my thigh to rest on the burgeoning lump in my jeans, before giving it a gentle squeeze. She gave a little sigh of appreciation, while I thanked god that the table was stopping everyone in the pub from getting a full view of what was happening. They all knew of course, but it wouldn’t be British to openly watch.

“I’m Dan.”

Beatrice leaned in close. The scent of her perfume was intoxicating, almost as much so as the sexy French voice whispering in my ear.

“We are both very pleased to meet you Dan. I think perhaps you have a room here, yes?”

Our progress up to my room was somewhat hindered by the discomfort of a massive erection inside my fairly tight jeans. I was struggling to believe what was about to happen. For a moment, an old security briefing about “honey-traps” sprang to mind, but I told myself that this wasn’t what was happening. No-one here knew about my job. Besides, even if I had concluded that there was a risk here, I think my penis would have overridden my brain.

I opened the door to my room and waited for the two women to go through first. Thank Christ this was a hotel room, and not my former room in the Officers’ Mess — that had rarely been in any condition for an impromptu visit from two beautiful women. They stepped through and Annabelle stood slightly awkwardly in the middle of the room. Her friend, however, was wasting no time and as I closed the door behind us she pinned me against it and kissed me hard. Her hand again rubbed at my erection through the fabric of my jeans and I broke from the kiss to groan with pleasure. She broke away and turned to Annabelle, motioning to a chair across the room from the bed.

“You sit there, while our new friend and I become more comfortable.” Beatrice giggled as she turned back to me and, without a further word, started to unbutton my shirt. I kicked off my shoes and yanked off my socks. Beatrice’s hands ran over my bare chest and up my back, hugging me close as she again kissed me hard. Out of the corner of my eye I watched the blonde settle back in the armchair. Beatrice’s lips moved to my ear before gently biting it.

“Non, non, non,” Beatrice whispered. “I want all of your attention on me. For now…” She backed away towards the foot of the bed, her hands reaching up and caressing her breasts through her sweater. I closed in, grabbing her backside with both hands and kissing her deeply on the lips. She lifted her arms above her head, and I accepted the invitation, breaking from our kiss to pull her sweater up and off, dropping it onto the floor beside us. Her magnificent breasts filled a lacy black bra, her hard dark nipples visible through the wispy material. I buried my face in her cleavage and she tipped her head back before letting out a deep groan of lust. We kissed again, harder, as my hands moved up to grope her deliciously soft orbs.