The myth about black men and the size of their equipment is just that; a myth, probably exacerbated by the porn industry. I know—sadly not first-hand—because I've researched it for a commissioned article. If I was solely after big dicks to fulfil my seemingly insatiable appetite for sex, statistically speaking I'd have moved to Ecuador ages ago.

There's nothing spectacular, per se, about Owen's dick as I ride him. He plunges up into my bare slit while I cup my tits and pinch my nipple bars, head lolling, ass rippling each time our flesh slaps. I've had longer cocks. I've had shorter ones. Fatter ones, and thinner. But the adage about not being the size but how it’s used… now that's true.

This guy knows how to use what he’s been dealt. I sigh and gasp and dig my nails into the wiry hair on his dark, muscular chest as his strong hands coax my hips to take him deeper. I lean forward and my tits bounce agonisingly close to Chantal's as she makes similar noises grinding his mouth. It's a direct ride-reversal of the time we shared that randomer in Majorca last year.

Her breath plays across my cheek, my blonde hair swishing against the deep cerise caps of her luscious breasts at our rapturous motions. I can't help but brush her lips with mine. We'd shared a brief kiss on the plane and it was a lightning bolt to my pussy. In that moment, I knew what I'd missed since Majorca. During this past nine months of continuing to be besties, we seemed to have—well, I had—avoided talking about what happened, through fear of losing our friendship.

It had been one night of drunken debauchery. Two friends blowing off steam in the hedonistic voodoo of the Mediterranean heat. I'd slunk back to my room in the early evening, buzzing and glowing and conflicted. And stretched. My god, he must have been in the world's upper ninetieth percentile, and would have given the average Ecuadorian an inferiority complex. He should have been a pornstar. She sure knew how to pick ‘em.

On more than one occasion, I’ve been close to mentioning it. We share so much of our lives, and she'd be the first to tell anyone I'm pretty shameless, so it seems crazy to bottle it up. But despite many other drunken adventures with her, it never seemed the right time or circumstances. Now though, the genie’s out and I fully intend to show her the depths of my feelings.

Starting with her mouth.

We play lippy-lip a few times, taking it in turns to nip or capture the other as we bounce and grind on Owen. Neither of us give in until I’m overwhelmed and simply go for it, planting a full kiss. My tongue snakes inside, hers does likewise, and that's it. We moan. I slide both hands to her tits and take their weight, and she encourages the exploration of my fingertips on her flesh.

The hotel room we're in has probably seen more than its fair share of action in its time, but perhaps not quite like this. As I surface from Chantal's lips and we share a loaded gaze into one another’s eyes, I sit up and grind my hips in wide circles. Owen’s boner hits all the right spots, and then some. When she reaches out to cup my cheeks and trails her fingers down to my boobs, the act of her pulling my nipple bars sets off the chain reaction that’s been threatening to swamp me for the last twenty minutes or so.

It rockets to my stuffed pussy. I throw my head back and groan, throaty rhythmic rasps matching the pulse of my orgasmic beat. I flutter and soar, hand involuntarily gravitating to circle my clit, doubling the intensity. For the first time in a long time, I'm not cumming for me, I'm cumming for someone else. For her.

Whether it's watching me fall or Owen’s insistent tongue driving against her pussy and clit, Chantal stiffens, her mouth dropping open as her orgasm stakes its claim on her body too.

Separated from me by a few feet of muscled man, she's fucking beautiful, alive, matt skin glistening with perspiration as her cries fill the room alongside mine. Her tits heave and I thumb a nipple that makes her break out into a grin.

There’s so much I know about her. We like much of the same music, and that's how we initially bonded, but that's where the similarity ends. I like Marmite on toast, she prefers peanut butter. I love the comfort of being surrounded by people in the city, she prefers desolate beach walks. I'm a bit gung-ho towards sex since I ditched my lazy-ass boyfriend, while she has very specific tastes in men. Being a graphic designer, she once told me, ‘Girl, I don't date anyone more than two Pantone shades lighter than me.’

But even with all this foreknowledge, I see her anew inside her orgasm. Like she's secure enough in our friendship to reveal more of herself. To let me in, trusting me with her sexuality. It's a magic moment and I shiver, which transfers into the long tail of my climax that throbs and ebbs as Owen, oblivious to our connection, pounds away in my dripping snatch.

I've no doubt he’s gearing up to flood my pussy with silky ropes of cum, but one thing interrupts the moment. A female command from the armchair across the room:

“Stop.”

Our actions slow. Chantal and I swivel our attention to Francesca framed in the window, her crossed, endless legs encased in sheer stay-ups, elbow propped on the glass table top alongside her. Still fully dressed in her navy flight attendant uniform, its white blouse offset by the splash of the bright red necktie, she twiddles an oaky strand of hair. Owen would have looked her way too had his vision not been filled with Chantal's beautiful, plump butt.

When Francesca speaks, we listen. She demands attention. It’s her hotel room after all. Her invite. Her rodeo.

As the flight had worn on, the prospect of using the bathroom to play with Owen after he’d watched Luke and I masturbate from across the aisle, grew less appealing. A steady stream of passengers were queuing after the drinks trolleys had been cleared away, and the one time we did get the chance, Francesca raised her eyebrows at me outside the bathroom door. Shook her head. “We land soon. Wait.”

I'm not sure she grasped how desperate Owen was to blow his load and how desperate I was to help. Maybe she did, and that's why she stopped us. Maybe she knew that her 24hr layover was the perfect opportunity to indulge in some fun with two ragingly horny people. Three, counting Chantal who had joined us at the back of the plane in the spare seat alongside Owen as we chatted nonsense waiting for our chance to hook up in the bathroom. We somehow kept a lid on our flirting; just occasional touches. He was an IT consultant with an eye-watering hourly rate and bravado to match. Bagging two women was only going to boost his ego.

Perhaps Francesca wanted a proper taste, instead of only sampling me via her dripping fingers. Or maybe she wanted me to eat her again, like she made me do in the galley, crushing my head to her spasming pussy.

So many possibilities for four people to have fun.

As we disembarked, she caught my eye and smiled. Not the thank you for flying our airline and enjoy your onward journey kind of smile. It was far dirtier. More like an I'll see you later and you’re mine kind of smile. I shivered, and not just because of the cooler UK temperatures compared with Spain.

Immigration was a blur. Then came the tedious wait for the baggage carousel to start. The jostling shoulders to hench our cases off. More waiting. More anticipation.

When we were reunited with our luggage, the three of us congregated near the customs area, strolled through, then past the sea of people. Some were waiting excitedly for loved ones, others nonchalant taxi drivers holding handmade signs with names on.

As we loitered in the arrivals hall trying to figure out the best place to release our pent-up desires, in she strode. It was like something from a movie, almost slow motion. The captain, co-pilot, and both flight attendants rounded the corner dragging wheelie suitcases in their wake like they were in the fucking Matrix, strutting past passengers as if they didn't exist. We were mesmerised and as they approached, Francesca said something to them and peeled off, ending up alongside us.

“Looking for a place to have some fun?” I nodded. She smiled. “Follow me.”

So here we are. In her room a short transfer ride from the terminal. And she's the only one dressed.

Uncrossing her legs, she stands, smooths her skirt leaving that delectable strip of exposed thigh between its hem and the stay-ups, and paces to the bed. She leans in and kisses me, long and hard. Pulls away. “I need to taste you again.” I nod and begin to lift off Owen’s slick rod. “From him,” she adds.

I hide my disappointment. “Of course.”

Letting him exit fully, his meat slaps back against his lower belly and Francesca wastes no time bending, nursing him in her palm to pull him upright and then wrapping her lips around the fat head of his exposed glans.

A muted groan drifts from between Chantal’s thighs, and she in turn exhales as Owen redoubles his efforts to eat her, despite how sensitive she must be after her orgasm. I shuffle behind Chantal and hug her, nuzzling her neck and cupping her tits, squeezing them in sync with her escalating moans.

She crests again. Might even be a continuation of her first and I hold her as she shakes. Owen moans from beneath, slurping her juices, “Fuuck, gonna cum.”

Francesca lifts her fluttering tongue and swoops away from his tool. She slaps it once and squeezes the head hard. “No. You save it for her cunt.”

He groans, hips stiffening and a single stream of thick pearly spunk forms at his crown and oozes down his shaft. The contrast is mesmerising. I picture crawling to it and lapping from root to tip, savouring the slippery texture, but Francesca beats me to it. Collects the yummy trail to pool on her tongue, rises and steps towards me.

Our kiss is passionate and we share the creamy morsel back and forth. Lost in the moment, I must squeeze Chantal's boobs too hard because she squeaks. Francesca grins against my mouth and lets me take and swallow Owen’s offering.

She returns to brush the quivering cock. “Move. Just watch.”

Owen scrambles from under Chantal and she flops to all fours in front of me. That luscious ass is so inviting, so exotic. I place my hands on it, peel her apart and bend to lick from her juicy slit to asshole. My first taste of my best friend. She moans so I do it again, smearing her considerable, sweet arousal between holes.

Francesca climbs on the bed behind me and does the same to me, creating a sawtooth of bodies, chained by pleasure. We lick and feast and shudder as Owen stands idly by at the spectacle, his cock very obviously enjoying it.

When Francesca lifts clear of my crease, I'm not expecting the spanking but I cry into Chantal's pussy for more as each swat lands. The strikes are savage and she clearly enjoys dishing it. My ass throbs and I wiggle back against her as she sets up an irregular pattern: a harsh slap, soothed with a gentle palm, before immediately burying her face back between my legs to slurp leaking wetness, her nose against my ass. Repeat.

The attention from her long tongue and gentle palm over searing flesh enhances the heat that spreads through my bottom and sets up residence around my clit. She expertly flicks my jittery nub with each swab and is clearly accustomed to pleasuring women. I briefly wonder how many times she's indulged, until the next slap scatters such thoughts and demands I focus solely on the glow and her.

Each time a spank lands, Chantal is rewarded with my face mashing against her ass, my chin soaked in the juices oozing from her vivid pink lips nestled among the matted mess of curls, and drizzling down her dusky thighs. She is utterly delicious. Thicker than mine. Creamier. I can't get enough.

When Francesca lets my stinging rear recover, she holds my cheeks apart and ploughs her tongue in. The heat is incredible, spreading from hole to handprints. I do the same to Chantal, burying my tongue in her plump bum and daring to rain a few spanks alongside. We all sigh in our respective rhythms.

A few paces away, Owen is growling and cussing. I risk a glance. His fat meat is encased in a tight grip and he's slowly jacking the foreskin back and forth, keeping himself on edge. It's riveting watching the dark sheath retract and the shiny pink head emerging each time. I want to wrap my lips around it. Slurp it. Take him in my throat and gaze up with need burning behind my expression. Want to watch him gradually lose control as every inch disappears and I cough at his invasion. Maybe he'll fuck my throat. Make my eyes water as I beg with them, wide and willing.

I'm not sure if Francesca is psychic or very good at reading body language but she withdraws and taps my behind. I kneel up and she guides me to lie face up with my legs dangling over the bed edge. She signals Owen who is only too eager to step in and fill me.

His hands slide to my tits and he picks up the same pace from before we were interrupted, this time him very much in control. God he fills me so well. Snug. My flesh ripples as his powerful thrusts slam me against the soft duvet.

“Yeah,” he growls, “you like that, slut?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Fuck I've wanted to drill you since I watched you on the plane. Been nursing this boner for hours. Now you're gonna fuckin’ get it.”

He slows his rhythm, grabs my thighs and lifts my legs, the change in angle allowing him to drive deeper and slower. I gasp. “Yes. Fuck. Give it to me.”

He does.

“Harder.”

He does and the friction of the heat on my ass against the bed adds a dimension to his pounding.

“Yesss. Jesus fuck YES!”

Chantal shuffles forward, swings her leg over my head and grinds her sweet pussy against me. “Shut up will you?”

I don't. But my pleas are at least muffled by her bush. Owen releases my legs and reaches up to cup her tits. Squeezes and kisses her. She moans and rotates her hips in lazy circles on my mouth, hissing through gritted teeth, “Yeah, lick me. Shove that tongue in.”

As if anything would stop me. I want to fuck her as hard and loud as I can until even people in neighbouring rooms need a cigarette.

She fucks my tongue, hips alternating between rapid tight bounces and slow wide circles, drenching me. My pussy leaks around Owen’s shaft, and his thrusts intensify as he grips Chantal's tits, throws his head back and groans.

Every pulse slashes my insides. Hot stripes of creamy cum, all for me, and I purr and mewl up into Chantal's needy cunt as he fills me. Her climax is less obvious—she’s not the showoff I am—but I drink every droplet nonetheless. Hooking my hands over her thighs, I clamp her to my eager mouth and share her rapture.

When Owen withdraws, she flops forward and laps at the echo his girth left behind, cleaning my hairless, messy snatch. I sigh as her tongue works magic over my sensitive clit and spunk-filled folds. She might have even triggered another orgasm if Francesca didn't stop her.

I huff in frustration as my best friend is guided off me. My mouth and chin are soaked. My pussy is splotched with Owen’s delicious cum and I run fingertips through my snatch, scooping him up and sucking them clean. Groaning, I exhale. “God I want to cum.”

Francesca smiles down at me. “I know.”

Returning my fingers to my pussy, I smear spunk up over my clit in tight circles. “Pleeease.”

“Shhh.” She strokes my cheek and shakes her head.

“Why not?”

“Because you cum when I say. Not before.”

I squirm. More when she lays a hand on my breast, scoops it then tweaks my nipple. She lifts and I slam my palms by my sides into the bed, arching with her, gasping as heat ripples from her fingertips to my cunt.

I drip.

Sigh when she lets go.

Scream when she slaps my pussy.

“FUCK.”

The sting registers and I clap my legs shut around her palm, rocking my hips as she soothes the strike point. Incredible heat eddies. Filters through my groin as she wriggles her hand free. I’ve had hard poundings from big cocks that have left me deliriously used, but this is next level. My nostrils flare and I ride out the suddenness of the spank until it’s a dull glow.

Her hand dusts my thigh. Travels up. In to brush my bare mons. “Good girl. I told you I owed you two spankings.”

Fingertips trace a path out to my forearm and she picks my hand up by the wrist. Guides it to her thigh. Between them as she steps apart a fraction and I gasp at the heat and wetness of her core through her panties. I let my fingers and palm explore, stroking the wet patch. She purrs until I withdraw clear of the fiery triangle, bring my fingers across to my face and lick her essence, inhaling her scent.

She gazes down at me. “Does that taste like a woman who’s had enough?”

I shake my head. “No.” She arches an eyebrow. “No, Mistress.”

Nodding, she plays her fingertips across my belly. “So how might we address this?”

Biting my lower lip, I catch her eye. Lift one foot up to the bed surface. Then the other, knees tented like I'd done when Marianna examined me earlier. I then deliberately lift, arching my body and splaying my thighs, just shoulders and feet in contact with the duvet, offering myself and whispering, “A… again.”

Her hand slides up to cup a breast. Pinches each nipple either side of the bars that pierce them. I gasp, thrill shooting down between my legs, anticipation heightened. Knowing what’s coming is almost worse than the surprise of the first slap. But the sharp report that echoes around the room ahead of my scream is just as intense. Just as hot.

My bum crashes to the bed and I rock side to side, knees still raised as the heat tears through me. She managed to catch my clit with her palm and the sting lasts longer as I puff and sigh and curse her name. I drip. God, do I drip. I swear it pools on the hotel sheets, greasing my thighs that rub together until I’m coherent enough to drift my hand out to her stay-ups and walk my fingers up to her panty-clad pussy.

My digits snake along the surface of the cotton. Fuck, she’s wet. I press and rub and she sighs, grinding against me until my fingertips are coated in juice. Bringing them to my face, I make sure to fix her with a hard stare as I breathe in and lick once again. Suck.

She cocks her head. I return my hand to the bed, gaze unwavering on hers. Elevate my hips and part my thighs again. “Harder, Mistress. I want you to cum.”

Her palm skims my body from hip to shoulder. Finds my cheek and strokes it. “Are you sure?”

I nod. Chew my lip.

“It might take more than one. Are you really sure?”

I’m not sure. But I am. Somehow. I steel and nod again. Reaffirm my devotion with a faint thrust of my hips skyward and her hand slides in a tantalisingly slow arc from my face, across my breasts, tummy, and comes to rest cupping my pussy, fingers curled against my drooling slit.

I roll my head, catching sight of Owen and Chantal observing a few feet from the bed. They could easily be mistaken for a couple. He seems to be nursing the beginnings of another erection despite the fact he’d only recently filled me. She’s slack-jawed watching me offer myself to this virtual stranger. Our eyes connect and I don’t look anywhere else when Francesca’s palm lifts, there’s a momentary coolness across the surface of my pussy and then the spanks launch.

Fuck, my cunt is on fire. I have heightened awareness of everything connected to it. The pain helps. It focuses and occupies my mind while she keeps me teetering on the edge of madness by spacing the slaps far enough apart to not tip me over.

I want to grab her wrist and jam it against me. Bury her fingers inside my drooling pussy as her palm mashes my clit, but both my hands are occupied bunching the duvet as I arch up into her savage bliss. All I can do is lock gazes with Chantal and whimper and cry as Francesca endlessly beats me to within a millisecond of climax.

When the battering stops and my cunt is almost fuschia, I slump to the bed, writhing. Desperate. She grabs my hand, shoves it between her legs and I somehow have the presence of mind to tug her sodden underwear aside and plunge my fingers into her molten snatch, furiously fucking her. She gasps. Barks a command to the others. “Finish her.”

They waste no time. Chantal races to kneel on the floor and dives face first into the raging inferno between my thighs, tongue first connecting with my needy clit, then dropping to snake between my rosy folds. Owen seems far more than Medium Black Cock as he clambers onto the bed and feeds it to my eager mouth, plunging into my throat and stifling my cries.

Chantal slips her tongue from my cunt and flutters it up over my clit. Left and right. Rapid flicks. I hump against her and synchronise my thrusting fingers into Francesca, anchoring my thumb on her nub. Her mewls escalate and then she shudders against me, dripping into my palm.

It's all too much and I stiffen as Chantal's tongue plays and Owen’s cock stuffs my throat. I cry around it as the orgasmic waves thunder through me, lighting up everywhere I am being touched and have been struck since I woke up this morning.

I'm not even sure I stay conscious, zoning out as the two of us cum side by side, but I'm dimly aware of her pussy pulsing around my buried digits, her sighs matching its rhythm.

Owen’s breathing intensifies, almost a snarl and he hauls free of my throat, grabbing hold of his spit-soaked tool and jacking it. His big, dark balls dangle and I lap and suck them, popping each one free to suck the other as he wanks. The growl that forms in his throat lengthens when my tongue ventures rearward and I lap at his hovering ass.

“Fuck yes. Filthy bitch. Lick my asshole.”

He draws air in through his teeth and lowers to grind against my face. I hungrily slather and swab until he stiffens and his ring begins to wink against my tongue. Warm slashes of creamy spunk glaze my tits and I moan up into his musk as he unloads each spurt that splatters and clings to my nipple bars or rolls into the valley of my cleavage.

Owen shakes and wipes his cock on my tits to deposit the remaining globs from his glistening bulb and gradually reverses to let me breathe.

I'm truly aglow. Used. A shameless whore, yes, but one who has learned more about what makes me tick. What I need. Hell, who I need. My dazed expression lands between my legs and I smile down at the shiny mess on Chantal’s mouth, cheeks and nose.

Plucking my fingers free of Francesca's searing slit, I tentatively reach for my best friend’s face and stroke her hair that dusts my thighs. Tracing a slippery cheek, I brush my wet fingertip across her lips to suck. The tenderness triggers another tremor deep inside and I sigh as it rolls through me.

The other two people in the room fade into the background as I loll and bask and Chantal crawls kisses up my abdomen. She pauses to clean my tits of cum, paying particular attention to ensure the bars are clear of everything except her saliva. I sigh as her tongue explores. Flicks. Traverses from breast to breast, circling the sensitive caps and scooping up Owen’s cream.

Her slow crawl continues, lips brushing my collarbone and chin until they hover over mine and we gaze like we're seeing each other for the first time. She offers a tentative smile, lowers her lips and we kiss. Properly. Tenderly. Share Owen’s cum, tongues probing and passing it back and forth. My body fizzes, toes to scalp, the excitement of the day bubbling through me to concentrate where our lips touch and eventually part.

I smile. Find my voice. “We should go on holiday again.”

“Yeah. I’m sure I’ll need to top up my tan soon.”

I giggle. “Silly. I mean it. I've really enjoyed this week.”

“Me too.”

I sense there's something there. Something else she wants to say. My fingertips drift up her nude body to touch her face and sweep a coarse lock of hair away from her face. I cradle her cheek and whisper, “Chantal, I think…” My mouth dries and I swallow, voice catching. “Think I… really like you.”

She captures my thumb between her lips and kisses it. “One step at a time, hey?”

I nod, fighting back a tear that escapes anyway to splash into my pooled hair. “Thing is, I don't want to have to wait until next holiday to do that again.”

Her eyes bore into mine. “Every day’s a holiday if you want it to be.”

My jaw drops. “You mean that?” She nods and I exhale, breaking into a grin, stomach fluttering. “I want it to be, too. Like, so much. Wanted to ask you for ages but didn't want it to be weird and have you go off me or never speak to me and I worried it'd end, y’know, fun us, and I didn't want that and God I'm rambling.”

Chantal just smiles. Kisses me again. “Don't fret. It's all good.”

I breathe another huge sigh. “I hope this doesn't change anything between us.”

She brushes a strand of hair from my temple behind my ear and circles it. “I dunno. I kinda hope it does.”