three

Rachel jumped at the demonic bark that resounded from the enclosed space of the garage. It sounded both feral and musical; but died quickly to a high, gravelly idle as something edged into sight. A sharp white point, diminishing on either side to gaping air intakes beneath and rounded headlights above.

The short bonnet gave way to windscreen, and then Susan’s beautiful face. Rachel could not help hopping on the spot, laughing and clapping. She was wearing one of Susan’s dresses, a flowery white affair that did not quite manage to hide the top of her bra. As Susan rolled to a stop beside her, she reached for the tiny white triangle at the door-edge, then jumped again as Susan touched the throttle.

‘Tubi exhaust,’ Susan called over the crackles of the engine falling back to idle, as though this explained everything. Her sporty shades suited her athletic build, but clashed a little with her tidy white tank-top blouse and the trousers of her tan business suit.

‘I love it!’ shouted Rachel, then giggled with joy as she opened the door. The dream was still as intense as the Californian sunshine, and as real, burning her. Last evening, as she lay naked in Susan’s arms on the white sheets, watching the same sun playing on the bedclothes scattered on the floor, she had wondered how it would end. Would she suddenly wake, alone in her hotel room? Or at home in England, with her mother calling her to breakfast?

But no: when she did waken, it had been to a soft kiss and a caress. As soon as she recognised Susan’s lips, she had pressed upward hungrily. But Susan had retreated and placed a finger on hers, in the gentle but final way that should be maddening, but Rachel now knew as a precursor to something even more special.

‘I told you,’ Susan had taunted. ‘I’m busy today.’

‘You were busy yesterday,’ Rachel objected, pouting. As Susan had predicted after their morning tussle in the pool, they had rapidly lost track of time. Their lovemaking was relentless; and almost uninterrupted, for even though at first Rachel could be brought to an explosive climax with only moments of Susan’s rhythmic tongue or finger, Susan’s fuse was not nearly so short. Rachel was still full of the smell and taste of her, and the sound of breathless instructions that she was only too eager to obey.

Occasionally, when intensity died to luxurious soreness, they had surfaced into quiet embraces and kisses. Rachel had revelled in the closeness, almost more ecstatic than the ravages of orgasm, because she could wallow in the feel of Susan’s body with all of her conscious mind.

‘Different kind of busy,’ Susan had said, redundantly. ‘Magazines don’t edit themselves. Besides, you won’t miss me.’

Now, as Rachel stepped one foot into the passenger footwell, she remembered the insecurity she had felt at Susan’s plans for her. Not only was Susan proposing to spend the working day apart, but she wanted to introduce Rachel to some ‘friends’. Given the choice, Rachel would have spent the time fantasising in Susan’s bed. The thought of meeting anyone, and especially of being sociable, was practically unconscionable. But Susan had insisted. ‘You’re on vacation,’ she said, tucking a strand of Rachel’s loose blonde hair behind her ear. ‘You have to meet some locals. Take in some sights. Go with it. Trust me.’

And while playing the tourist was the last thing on Rachel’s mind, she also had a suspicion that Susan was not being entirely straight with her, and that made her even more nervous. When Susan played the hinting game, seismic things tended to happen next.

But in the burgeoning heat of the morning air, with the smell of ‘Tubi’ exhaust in her nostrils, Rachel’s apprehensiveness seemed to contribute to a sense of ongoing adventure. Instead of sitting down she leaned further over, placing her left hand onto the console between the seats, and encompassed Susan’s mouth with her own.

She kissed forcefully, intending to let Susan know her passion for her; but it snowballed into an outpouring of possessive energy and lust. Susan did not object, only laying a gentle hand on Rachel’s shoulder when her tongue pushed forward so hard that their teeth ground together.

‘Hmm. Message received,’ she said knowingly when Rachel finally disengaged. Rachel stayed in her twisted position, trying her best to look sultry. ‘But I’m still going.’

Then she brushed the throttle so that the car jumped, making Rachel lose her balance and fall onto the back of her seat. She squealed melodramatically, then righted herself and punched Susan on the elegant, tanned muscle of her shoulder. Susan ignored her, but nodded at the still-open passenger door.

Rachel reached out for the handle, then turned her head back. ‘Promise you’ll fuck me some more tonight,’ she said.

Susan broke into a wider smile, melting Rachel’s half-pretend sulk in an instant. God, she was beautiful. Rachel was more used to her features now, and the first impression of a classical Mediterranean archetype had gained more detail: Rachel had spent hours gazing at the scarcely credible span of her neck, angular chin, regal nose, and piercing brown eyes. Oh my, Rachel thought. I should be satisfied just having spent one intimate day with her.

The next moment the car was bumping out of the end of the drive, and Rachel settled into the thinly-padded white leather. She was still looking at Susan; was determined to spend every moment looking at her. But as Susan gunned the car and it leaped away, Rachel could not help but take in everything about the moment, and gasp and giggle at the absurdity of her waking dream.

‘My girlfriend has a white Porsche!’ she sang, then leaned over to peck Susan on the cheek.

‘Ferrari,’ corrected Susan. ‘Spider.’ She turned her head to Rachel with mock seriousness. ‘With a Tubi exhaust.’ She braked hard for the end of the road, forcing Rachel to brace against the dashboard; glanced left, and turned right down the slope of the hill.

‘My girlfriend has a Ferrari,’ said Rachel, laughing, leaning further; then determinedly moved her right hand from the dashboard to cup Susan’s left breast while kissing her cheek again. ‘Three-sixty spider.’ Susan took a hand from the wheel to pluck Rachel’s wrist away, then slapped it. But Rachel immediately returned it to her breast, singing, ‘With a too bee exhaust.’

‘Get your filthy hands off me and buckle up,’ chided Susan, glancing in the mirror. ‘You’re going to cause an accident.’

Rachel looked left between the seats. The only other vehicle on the road was a sports motorbike following them rather closely, the whine of its engine just audible over the Ferrari’s baritone.

‘He doesn’t care,’ she said. ‘Can’t I just…’ she began, then dragged her hand further down the front of Susan’s blouse, the buttons catching between her fingers. She touched her tongue to Susan’s ear. Susan ignored her stonily, her lips pressed together, watching the mirror. As Susan guided the car with her fingertips along the gentle curves of the road, Rachel pushed her fingers between her legs and tried to press inward.

Rachel revelled in her lust and brazenness, determined not to care that Susan was not responding, even enjoying it. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that the motorbike was overtaking them, slowly, the rider’s red helmet turned towards them. Let him look, she began to think; but then with a jolt, she took in the form on the bike.

She stared as it passed their front quarter. The bare arms were powerfully carved, Adonis-like; but the loose white T-shirt was pressed by the wind onto the unmistakable curves of a woman. Rachel’s attention had been claimed by strikingly large and pointed breasts, but now as the bike cut in front she also saw a narrow waist and the rise of hips clad in leather.

They were coming to a large intersection, a gas station on their right. Rachel suddenly felt ridiculous: she was still twisted awkwardly, her fingers limp between Susan’s legs, but gazing forward at the form they were now following. Guiltily she looked back at Susan. She was grinning knowingly.

‘I know,’ Susan said, as they filtered right behind the motorbike. ‘I want her too.’

Rachel gaped, while her stomach knotted. She had felt shame, now she flipped seamlessly to jealousy; while another part of her was immediately angry at herself. She recoiled back into her seat, feeling nauseous.

The motorbike was turning right again, into a parking lot behind the gas station. Susan followed it, the car lurching in and out of the roadside gutter with a faint scrape of bodywork; and Rachel looked at her, wide-eyed. What was going on?

Car and motorbike parked up haphazardly in the mostly empty lot, and Susan popped her door and sprang up out of the Ferrari without a backward glance. The woman on the bike was removing her helmet, her androgynous clothing and musculature failing to hide her richly curved frame. She had a peroxide blonde crew-cut, and when her face lifted Rachel was struck by angular features, tanned and elegantly lined to suggest graceful middle age.

Rachel felt a whimper in her throat when Susan and the rider approached each other, then embraced warmly, kissing each cheek. She was shuffling downward in her seat, her face on fire. Susan knew this woman? Were they friends… oh god, were they lovers? She wanted to run. Why had she been so obsessed with showing off?

Susan was walking back now, still not looking at Rachel, doing something with the key still in her hand. There was a hollow thunk from somewhere behind, and out of the corner of her eye, Rachel saw the bootlid rise.

Then Susan was opening the door beside her, something white in her other hand. ‘Time to meet a local,’ she said, and her voice was gentle through her smile.

‘What?’ managed Rachel, staying put.

‘You’ll need this,’ said Susan, proffering the open-face helmet that she held.

Rachel swallowed, then looked at the blonde biker. All of a sudden something clicked, and she smiled a little. ‘See some sights,’ she said quietly, then levered herself up, reaching out to take the helmet. She was damned if she was going to be ashamed. Not of herself. Not ever again.

Susan only grinned and turned to walk back round the car, thumping the bootlid shut as she passed. Rachel stood and faced the newcomer, who was watching the interplay with interest.

‘Hi,’ said Rachel, then took a step forward. ‘I’m Rachel.’

‘I know,’ said the biker with the barest upward flinch of one corner of her mouth. ‘Susan told me all about you.’ She looked Rachel up and down disconcertingly. ‘You’re gorgeous, aren’t you?’

There was a shout of orchestral brass from behind them as the Ferrari re-started. ‘She’s Syn,’ called Susan laughingly. ‘With a “Y”.’ She reversed, turning, then stopped. ‘Don’t be too gentle with her,’ she finished, and drove out of the parking lot. Rachel watched her go, wondering to whom that last remark had been directed.

‘It’s going to be a bit uncomfortable,’ came the muffled voice of Syn. She had re-donned her helmet and was swinging her leg over the sports bike. Then she patted the tiny trapezoid of padding behind her. ‘But we’re not going far. Hop on.’

Rachel stepped forward, then remembered the headgear dangling from her hand. She lifted it, inspecting the chinstrap; luckily it looked straightforward. Her heart was in her mouth: she had never ridden on a motorbike before, let alone pillion to a stunning and intimidating stranger. To compound her apprehension Syn started the engine: it had a lighter bark than the Ferrari but still hollow and aggressive, and when she guided it closer and let it return to idle, it clattered loudly as though something were broken.

‘Keep your skirt forward under you,’ advised Syn as Rachel eyed the ‘seat’. It was higher than the level of her crotch, so there was nothing for it: getting on was going to require her to lean close to Syn’s back and hike her leg over the brake light and exhausts. She paused to guide the helmet over her loose blonde hair, clicked the strap; then took a breath and shuffled her feet closer.

Even though Syn’s head was turned to watch, their helmets made the invasion of personal space seem unremarkable; and Rachel managed the first part without incident. But as soon as her thigh was resting on the seat, her skirt crumpled at her waist on top, she was suddenly faced with having both legs leave the ground and she paused, uncertain.

‘Lean into me and put your hands around me,’ said Syn. ‘The foot-pegs are way up above the wheel.’ Even though the words were dry and factual, Rachel gaped a little, her mind racing. She was going to be so high up, how could she hold on without...? To stall for time, she looked for the footrests; but their position didn’t help her nerves.

Syn waited, and Rachel did as she was told. She tried to keep her hands low, but the leverage needed meant her wrists and forearms pressed upward. Syn was not wearing a bra, and her breasts were yielding but heavy. They consumed Rachel’s attention as though they were hot, and somehow the adrenalin of the moment changed her latent, distracted admiration of Syn’s body to laser-focused lust.

And then: the engine note rose, the bike jumped a little, the clattering stopped; Rachel over-corrected and her body thumped into Syn’s back. ‘Stay like that,’ said Syn curtly, ‘and try to keep still.’

Rachel said nothing: sensations were flooding her mind. The impossibly precarious position; the jarring and vibrations of the machine; the clashing tautness and softness of Syn’s incredible shape pressed against her. When the asphalt beneath began to accelerate backward, Rachel found herself mesmerised by it, and she clung on even tighter; and her arousal paradoxically snowballed. Even though the position of her legs kept her vulva off the seat, she still felt her clit responding to the vibration; and even though her terrified hands were clamped to Syn’s ribs, she so wanted to turn them upward, to find the shapes above.

When the bike leaned for the first time she squeaked with fright; but she lifted her eyes and found that looking forward over Syn’s shoulder was far preferable to watching the ground. They were not travelling very fast at all: in fact, they were just following a gentle curve of the multi-lane boulevard among the lazy morning traffic.

At the next intersection, Syn filtered right, and when the low-speed turn failed to pitch her into the concrete kerb as she expected, Rachel began to feel a little more comfortable. With that came a little joy to mix in with her nerves and her lust, and she felt so completely, perfectly, rapturously alive that she laughed out loud.

Syn responded by opening the throttle, and the laugh turned into a squeal.

After that there was a left turn, taken at a crazy angle (it felt to Rachel), as Syn navigated into another wealthy suburban area. The road became narrow, then climbed steeply. The villas on either side were becoming further apart, more set back, and bigger. Finally, they bumped into a ragged avenue lined with large, unkempt poplars.

Syn gunned the throttle unexpectedly in the low gear. Rachel seemed to float away from her, panicked, and clamped her arms inward with all her might. Then Syn let off; the exhaust crackled fiercely in protest, and the bike slowed.

They were on the very private drive of a very large villa. The shabby look continued in the yellowing scrub that surrounded the bases of proud palm and cypress trees, and the rambling single-storey building was visibly marred by missing shingles and peeling grey paint. A dirty white truck was parked haphazardly by one wing, on a patch of bare earth that might once have been a lawn.

The motorcycle came to a halt beside it. All the rumbling, whining, and clattering stopped in an instant, and Syn turned her head. ‘You first,’ she commanded. Rachel twisted and heaved until one of the toes of her left foot found the ground, then lifted the other leg around.

As she stood brushing the crumples of her skirt back into place, Syn rested the bike on its kickstand and dismounted. ‘We only just got the place,’ she said without preamble, as she pulled off her helmet. ‘So don’t judge.’

‘Oh no!’ protested Rachel before she could curb her default English politeness. ‘It looks fab. You must be really happy with it.’

To her surprise Syn glanced at the ground, smiling, accentuating her dramatic cheekbones and jaw. ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘It’s a dream.’ She paused, returning her bold blue eyes to Rachel and considering her for a moment. ‘Wait here.’

And then she was striding away. Rachel stared after her. She walked powerfully, like a lioness; not a movement wasted, but neither a curve hidden. Somehow it was sexier than any hip-flaunting that Rachel had ever seen; and Rachel sighed, perplexed. ‘Wait here?’ she mouthed to herself. Why?

She glanced around again, taking in the quiet but irresistible encroachment of nature all around. The dust of the bike’s coming still hung over the drive, merging and shifting with the heat haze where the sun shone directly on patches of bare asphalt. Next to her, the machine clicked and pinged randomly as it cooled. When she looked back to where Syn had been heading, the blonde biker had disappeared.

Rachel’s attention was drawn back to the bike. It was almost a living thing, sitting contented and panting in the heat. She reached out to the rider’s seat and rested her fingers on the leather, feeling the warmth where Syn had sat, and knowing that strangely it would get hotter now in the sun. The thought of Syn’s shape there was expanding in her mind, bringing back the feelings that their arrival had temporarily pushed aside.

She touched her own wrist where it had pressed up against Syn’s breast, and smiled to herself. It was the third pair of breasts she had touched in that last two days; each had been so different, and yet all so madly infatuating, now that her mind had been set loose to feel in that way.

She raised her hand towards her chest, then hesitated and looked around. No neighbours could possibly overlook her through the tangle of scrub, and the windows of the villa were dark and lifeless. She backed a step and leaned against the truck so that its bulk hid her from most of the building; then rested her hand on her own breast, at the same time letting her imagination fly free; while keeping one eye open for Syn’s return.

And there she was, immediately front and centre in Rachel’s mind. The feel of her hard back against Rachel’s stomach. The languorous dragging of her breasts against Rachel’s wrists as the motorbike leaned. The ostentatious muscle of her bare arms; and her sharply defined face, looking vulnerable for that most fleeting moment when Rachel had praised her home.

Rachel bit her lip. She could feel a blush blooming on her face, matched in her knickers. She glanced round at the building again, noting that the line of the truck’s load bed was at her chest-level, so no-one could possibly see if she… and how could she not?

She gathered her dress upward slowly with her fingers, not wanting to lean over in case it gave her away. When her fingers found the hem she tucked them under it, released the cloth onto her wrist, and pushed inward. She had to adjust her stance a little to give them space; and she tutted to herself, amused, when her middle finger found an unmistakable dampness.

Then she was back with Syn, back on the bike. But even while it was rushing along so that all around was a blur, it did not buck or lean. So her hands were free; free to twist upward, free to caress, free to hold the heavy sensuous flesh they found. Somehow the vibrations of the bike were pressing right onto her clit, and somehow Syn’s powerful physique was holding her close, moving with the pushes of her hips; back and forth, back and forth. Now, seamlessly, they were kissing, bodies clamped together; and with each desperate convulsion a gasp escaped Rachel’s mouth over the rising scream of the engine. Syn was moaning now; they had no breath for kisses, cheek pressed and rubbed against cheek as their shared rhythm grew wilder and yet wilder…

Like a single raindrop shattering a mirrored sky, a tiny realisation brought Rachel staggering back to reality. Her eyes snapped open wide. The kaleidoscope of fantasy had blown away like dust on the wind, leaving just one thing remaining, more real than anything in the world: the unsuppressed sighing moan of a woman.

She stood frozen, both hands lifted fractionally from where they had worked. The sound had stopped. She threw her head around to gaze over the load bed of the truck. What the hell? She saw nothing.

A part of her burned with something like embarrassment, both for herself and for whomever she had overheard. But that seemed to belong to an old way of thinking; to a time when sex was taboo, and incomprehensible. Another part of her consciousness was new, raw, and shameless; and immediately yearned to find that sound, to join with it.

So with a twist of her torso, she heaved her weight onto her feet, letting her skirt drop. And as soon as she moved, someone else did too.

A rustle of leaves brought her attention to the scrub almost ahead of her; like a vision of Eden, a woman was emerging; fully naked, young, maybe as young as Rachel herself; but tanned, dark-haired, lithe, and so, so pretty.

‘Don’t stop,’ she admonished. ‘I was enjoying you.’

Rachel gaped at the girl’s brazenness as much as at the bizarre turn of phrase. She now saw that one hand rested lightly beside her fully-shaven pubic mound, as if just withdrawn from a deeper position. The raw intimation, and the sight of the girl’s pure, incredible body were like a spray of napalm on the embers of Rachel’s imaginings, and she could feel the blood surging to her face and loins.

The girl saw. ‘Oh you’re a cute one,’ she breathed, leaning her head and shoulders to one side to look Rachel up and down. ‘Well, enjoy.’

And she turned a little askance, a sinuous ripple cascading down her back to reveal the toned curve of her hip and bottom. Her nearer hand lifted to gently cup a small, perfect breast. Her gaze locked, smouldering, onto Rachel's, while the fingers of her other hand tucked closer inward; and her lips parted with a playful spasm of pleasure.

‘You were imagining Syn, weren’t you,’ she accused softly, her breath catching sexily as if she were being touched, though her hands only hinted. ‘Well, Syn is my girlfriend. But –’ and now her head bent forward, while her voice fell an octave, ‘– we both want you too.’ And she sighed with sultry distraction while she watched Rachel through her lashes.

Every particle of Rachel’s former self was telling her to turn and run. This was crazy. Perverted. Dangerous. She dropped her eyes. But with the truck behind her, she could not back away, and her libido screamed with dismay at losing sight of the beautiful nymph — now, there was only the pressed dirt of the drive under the spread of her skirt.

That dress. Susan’s dress.

‘Go with it. Trust me,’ Susan had said. Trust in what? Her infuriating games? Or, that whatever new madness they led to, Rachel would handle it?

She lifted her gaze, just a little; just enough to see the girl’s narrow feet, finely shaped calves, knees, then thighs.

‘Oh my god, you’re so shy,’ she was remarking. ‘So fucking magically cute. You want me, don’t you?’

Maybe, thought Rachel; but if you want me, you’ll have to earn me.

She reached down again to lift one handful of her skirt; then paused meaningfully.

‘God yes,’ the girl breathed, with a hint of desperation. ‘God, yes. Please.’

Rachel thrilled at the exotic cocktail of fear, power, and lust that threatened to burst out of her. ‘Okay,’ she said, then raised her eyes fully. She deliberately dropped the fold of skirt she held, smirking a little as the girl’s expression flipped quickly through disappointment, to petulance. Then, she lifted both hands to the shoulder straps of her dress. ‘But two can play at your game.’

The drama of the moment just about withstood the slightly farcical force needed to extract herself from the ill-fitting dress; but then she stepped forward, in her bra, knickers, and trainers, and faced down her opponent.

The girl had doubled down on her erotic pose: bringing both hands to the sides of her ribcage, and pushing them downward to show off the perfection of her hourglass figure. But now, perhaps, there was a hint of uncertainty. Some hint that they both knew who had been watching whom.

Rachel responded with the only weapon she knew she had — she turned away.

She heard the outraged gasp — ignored it. She bent at her waist and raised her left hand to the truck’s load-bed side. For a moment she hovered on the edge of panic. Was it even possible to play this game, with a crazily beautiful stranger, and hope to win?

But she had gone too far to give up. She closed her eyes, and with calm deliberation, lifted her right hand slowly to her chest as it leaned.

As she had hoped, the moment it touched the soft cotton of her bra and began to accept the weight within, she could transport herself away — back to the bike, back to Syn. She almost laughed at the ease of it. Her own flesh, transformed, as perfectly erotic as the electrifying body of another. Anxiety gave way to arousal, pouring down her torso, pooling at its base, making her rock her hips uncomfortably.

That movement provoked a mewl of capitulation from behind her; and so as a whimsical mental coup de grâce she brought Syn’s stunning girlfriend into her own fantasy: brash and racy; but naked to her lust.

Too much. Her fingers dropped from her breast, and thrust down inside the band of her knickers: hair, wetness, softness, curling inward without hesitation, shivering with force and need.

A moment — an infinity — later, as she began to lose focused control of her own mind, fingers and body, she opened her eyes; to see, on the other side of the truck, like a replacement for the incoherence of her own imaginings, Syn and her girlfriend deeply kissing. The girl had both hands squarely on Syn’s breasts, but Syn was holding her tightly in the rippling power of her arms.

Then Syn’s eyes chanced to meet Rachel’s; held them for just a moment. And, as the explosion of ecstasy thudded dully into her veins, she thought with distracted clarity: perhaps she would not miss Susan today after all. But when she got hold of her, Susan would learn, in as many orgasms as it took, not to play at riddles again.