Charlotte stared out the bus window as the rain pelted against the glass. As the blue and white Ulsterbus trundled its way up the hill from the Ballygawley roundabout, she thought of her weekend with Fiona.
They’d spent most of the rest of the weekend in bed once they got home from the shopping and drinking trip. She blushed at the memory of having left the room to go for a pee and, wearing only a tee-shirt, she’d met Tara in the hall with a boy she’d brought home. She’d felt the boy running his eyes over her as she struggled to pull the material down to cover her bits. They’d stood and watched her as she walked towards the bathroom and she cringed knowing they could see her bare arse.
She touched her cheek, remembering Fiona kissing it before she boarded the bus. She’d wished she could have kissed Fiona properly but there were too many people around. Fiona had been a bit vague about when she’d be next back in Strabane. She said she had to pack up her stuff and she’d be heading to London soon but she promised she’d write and hopefully they’d get together again before too long.
Charlotte hoped it would be soon. She’d never had so many orgasms in a row before. She winced slightly when her hand brushed her breast. She’d never screamed as loudly as when Fiona had bit her swollen pink nipple. That, the whole being tied to the bed, and the spanking were all so new to Charlotte that she half-wondered if they had really happened. The bite marks and bruises on her inner thighs however told their own story.
The bus slowed to a stop on the outskirts of Strabane and Charlotte, along with the rest of the passengers, rubbernecked to see what was happening behind the line of white tape stretched across a side road. Two soldiers and a policeman stood by the armoured Landrover parked in such a way that that bus had to squeeze past.
Charlotte was looking forward to a hot bath and a long sleep and hoped that when she saw her Dad’s car wasn’t parked in the driveway, that they were both out and she could have the house to herself for a while. As she lay, soaking in the mound of bubbles, she examined her marks and bruises properly.
It had all started as a joke with Fiona’s whispered question, “Are you my little slut?”
Charlotte’s giggled response, “Yes, of course, I am,” caused Fiona to straddle her and grip her wrists, pulling them above her head. Charlotte had licked her lips and smiled, and when Fiona had whispered, “What would you like me to do to you?” The only appropriate response seemed to be “anything”.
Charlotte’s fingers traced the bruise around her left nipple. Fiona had bitten and sucked it whilst Charlotte writhed, her wrists tied to the bedposts. When Charlotte had screamed, Fiona had stuffed her panties into Charlotte’s mouth to gag her. The taste of Fiona’s cum mingled with a hint of pee was more erotic than Charlotte could ever have imagined.
Charlotte’s fingers moved down as she lifted a leg out of the bath. The three red lines where Fiona had dragged her nails along Charlotte’s inner thigh were still clearly visible. Charlotte remembered the sting of the repeated slaps on her clit as the juices poured out of her pussy. She had stared, glassy-eyed at Fiona, begging through the pantie-gag for Fiona to let her cum.
She thrust two fingers deep inside her, not caring that the bathwater was splashing all over the floor as she remembered how Fiona had fingerfucked her while she struggled, spreadeagled, arms and wrists tied to the four corners of the bed. She’d lost count of the number of orgasms by the time Fiona had untied her ravaged body and let her sleep.
She was wrapped in her towelling dressing gown, sitting on the sofa, and eating a packet of crips when her parents came home. Her mum asked the obvious questions and seemed satisfied with Charlotte’s version of events, a weekend of shopping and talking about art schools and her future.
Then her mum uttered the dreaded words, “You’ll be back at school in a few weeks and then you’ll need to think about applying to university.”
“Yes, Mum,” Charlotte muttered back. All she wanted to do was play some music, meet her friends and enjoy what was left of the summer. Her mum did her characteristic eye-roll and left her to the David Attenborough programme she was only half watching.
The next afternoon, she wandered around to Emma’s house. Her rat-a-tat-tat on the frosted glass in the front door was answered eventually by Emma’s mum.
“I’m sorry, Charlotte. You just missed her. She left about fifteen minutes ago.”
Charlotte’s suspicions were raised when Emma’s mum said that she didn’t know where she’d gone. That woman was like the KGB and there was no way Emma would have got out of the house without saying where she was going. She asked her mum to tell Emma that she was back and to call around whenever. Emma’s mum was very quick to agree, without even bothering with the usual interrogation that had come with every previous visit to the house.
There was no answer at Deirdre’s house. Charlotte turned and went home.
Charlotte spent the evening in her room, picking on the guitar and thinking about Fiona. She had a grin on her face every time she thought back to the weekend.
After three days of calling around and always just missing her and being reassured that Emma had got her messages, Charlotte gave up. She lay on her bed and sobbed. With school just around the corner, she’d lost the only friends she had.
Charlotte was sitting on the floor of her room, listening to The Cure’s album, Faith. The slow, mournful songs with the accompanying funeral bells seemed to sum up her mood perfectly. She barely looked up when her mother stuck her head around the door and informed her that she and her father were off out to the cinema and would be back around 11 o’clock and she was to get her own tea. Charlotte grunted that she understood and she could hear her mother muttering to her father as they headed down the path to the car.
She had just polished off a plate of beans on toast when the doorbell rang. Hoping against hope that it was Emma or Deirdre, she sprang up and almost ran to the door. When she saw it was Fergal, her face fell and she was forced to apologise profusely when he looked so hurt.
She stepped aside to invite him in and they both sat slumped on the living room sofa.
“I’ve missed you,” he told her, gazing into her eyes. The lack of human contact for the past few days, her parents obviously didn’t count, meant Charlotte was much more tactile than previously.
“I missed you too,” she whispered, and then she leant in and kissed him.
Fergal kissed her back and they were quickly wrapped in an embrace as their tongues fought for supremacy in each other’s mouths.
“Are your parents around?”
Charlotte shook her head. Then a naughty thought entered her head and she stripped off her tee-shirt.
“They’ve gone to the cinema. They won’t be back for hours.”
Fergal grinned, her stripping her tee-shirt off was a clear signal of intent. He pulled her to him, his hands sliding up and down her spine. Sometimes his fingers slid over the bra strap, sometimes underneath. She could feel his cock hardening as he pressed it against her thigh.
She unbuttoned the black army surplus shirt and slid her hands over his chest. Her weekend with Fiona and given her so much confidence and she bit her lip as she gazed into his eyes and pulled at the belt of his combat trousers.
He pushed her skirt up, revealing her green satin panties. His thumbs slid over the shiny material, stroking her swollen labia as she whimpered to signal her approval. He got on top of her and pressed his cock against her satin-covered pussy.
“Do you have any condoms?” she whispered in his ear as he dry-humped her.
“No,” he whispered sheepishly.
Charlotte pushed him off her and quickly ran upstairs and retrieved the packet they’d been given as part of the sex education class back in Liverpool. She couldn’t remember why she’d brought them with her but was thankful now that she had.
When she came back into the living room, Fergal was sitting with his cock still poking out of his trousers. Charlotte handed him the condom, pulled her panties down and lay on the sofa.
He climbed on top of her and pushed inside her. She winced slightly, grateful the condoms were lubricated and wrapped her legs around his ass. He began to thrust in and out before giving a strangled cry and burying his head in her shoulder.
“I’m sorry. I usually last a bit longer the second time.”
Charlotte stroked his face, smiling at the embarrassed blush rising up his neck.
“It’s ok,” she whispered and rolled him off her and slid down onto her knees. After pulling off the used condom, she ran her tongue up his cock, tasting his cum. She held the shaft of the semi-hard cock in one hand while she swirled her tongue around the tip before taking it into her mouth and sucking it as if she was trying to suck the blood back into it.
When she’d sucked him hard again, she grabbed another condom, ripped the wrapper open and hurriedly rolled it on. She climbed on top and lowered herself down onto his cock.
“Fuckkk,” she groaned. She gazed into his eyes, one hand on his shoulder as she slowly ground herself up and down on his shaft. She arched her back and threw her head back as Fergal reached forward and grabbed her tits. His fingers pawed at them through the bra. She reached behind and unfastened it. It was only as she dropped it on the floor that she remembered Fiona’s love bite on her left breast.
She knew Fergal had seen it when she saw the quizzical expression on his face, but fuck it, she was close. No time to think about that now. She bounced up and down on his cock. His hands gripped her hips. She reached down and rubbed her clit with her middle finger as he fucked her.
So close, so close. Don’t cum yet, she silently begged. She watched his face. Saw the contortions in his expression. She rubbed her clit faster and faster. He stiffened. She felt his cock jerk and pulse inside her. She didn’t stop. As he thrust his hips up, pulling her down deeper onto his spasming cock, her fingers did their magic and she came.
She slumped on top of him, gulping oxygen back into her lungs and she felt his hand slowly caress her spine and hips. She climbed off and pulled her tee-shirt back on, gathered up the used condoms and after wrapping them in a tissue, hid them at the bottom of the kitchen bin.
“Are you, um, ok?” Fergal stammered, pointing to his own chest just around the left nipple area.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Charlotte did not want to get into a conversation about Fiona right now. She stepped closer and wrapped her arms around him and held him close to her.
“I’m really sorry,” Fergal whispered in her ear.
“What for?” Charlotte giggled. “I enjoyed it.”
“No, I mean about the band.”
“It’s alright. Me and Emma will sort things out.”
“The band’s finished, Charlotte.”
She pushed him away and glared at him suspiciously.
“How?” she demanded.
“I’m leaving the band. I’m going to London. My uncle has got me a job on a building site. I start on Monday.”
“I only came round to tell you.”
“And what? Decided you may as well get a goodbye fuck out of it? I can’t believe you.”
Fergal just shrugged.
Oh, just fuck off, Fergal!”
She stormed to the front door and pulled it open. Fergal buttoned his shirt and stopped at the door.
“I really am sorry.”
The sound of the door slam could be heard across the estate.
“Charlotte, get down here right now!”
Charlotte poked her head out from under the pillow and peered at the clock. 10.07 am. What could be so important that she had to get up in the middle of the night. She pulled on her dressing gown and trudged down the stairs.
Her mother was standing in the kitchen. She seemed icy calm which alerted Charlotte’s spidey senses.
“What were you up to last night?”
“Don’t lie to me. What were you up to?”
Charlotte rolled her eyes. “Nothing. I watched some telly and messed around a bit.”
Charlotte paused. She ran various scenarios through her head at lightning speed. What had the neighbours seen or heard? She decided partial honesty might be the best policy.
“Fergal called round. We had a row. He’s quitting the band and moving to London.”
“Was this before or after you decided to have sex under my roof?”
Charlotte froze and watched in slow motion as her mother slapped part of a condom wrapper down on the kitchen worktop. Her mouth opened and closed like a goldfish but no words came out.
“I did not raise you to be some kind of slut.”
Her mother’s voice had changed tone. There was a venomous pitch to the whispered words. Charlotte reflected that this was the second time she’d been called a slut lately and unfortunately smiled at the thought. A fatal mistake.
“You think that is funny? Do you? Well, let me tell you, young madam, that you won’t be going anywhere for a long time. You’re grounded. Now get to your room. And don’t think you’ve heard the last of this. I’ll be telling your father as soon as he gets home.”
Her voice trailed off as Charlotte climbed the stairs back to her room. The thought of her father dying of embarrassment at the thought of his daughter having sex was the only bright spark on the horizon.
Being grounded didn’t really mean anything to Charlotte just now. She didn’t have any friends. Fiona was moving to London, Fergal was moving to London. Fuck it, she might as well move to London. The thought of Fergal and Fiona fucking in London only made her more miserable.
Charlotte was beginning to see herself as a female Brian Keenan. She may not have been chained to a radiator for four and a half years but she was sure she felt the loss of freedom as keenly. Meals were served in a frosty silence and Charlotte’s attempts to lighten the mood with statements that at least she used a condom and wouldn’t be pregnant didn’t seem to cut much ice.
Music and masturbation were how Charlotte filled the last weeks of the holidays. She replayed all the sex she’d ever had and ranked her six partners, four boys and two girls, in order. Fiona was obviously the best sex she’d ever had and despite Feargal’s performance being clouded by the whole leaving the band thing, it’s wasn’t as bad as either the night she lost her virginity. Drunk on cider, behind the youth club, fully clothed with tights and knickers round her ankles and over in seconds. Or the time she had drunken sex at a party and both her and the guy rolled off each other and vomited straight after.
She dreaded the start of the new school year. She was finally face-to-face with Emma and Deirdre. As they filed into the art rooms, Charlotte went to speak to them but was silenced dismissively by Deirdre.
“So you fucked Fergal anyway despite us saying not to?“
Charlotte was gobsmacked. How did they know?
“Oh, don’t play the innocent. Fergal told me when he called round to say he was leaving for London.”
She smirked as she continued
“Has the love bite healed up yet?”
“Don’t know what business it is of yours,” Charlotte retorted.
“Look you stupid little English whore, you waltz in here knowing nothing and disrupt everything.”
Deirdre sneered at Charlotte as she tried to find out what Deirdre was talking about.
“Fiona had a breakdown after having her heart broken by another little lezzie slut. Dropped out of college and everything. She’d only just got herself back together again when you came along.”
She straightened up but didn’t break eye contact.
“So help me, if you hurt Fiona, I’ll kill you.”
Charlotte stood, flabbergasted as Deirdre turned to go
“And that’s why you won’t talk to me?”
Deirdre turned back.
“No, not just that. For not being there for Emma when Richard was back. For not supporting her. For getting off with Fergal behind our backs. Basically, for being an untrustworthy bitch. We don’t like you and don’t want you here. Just fuck off, Charlotte.”
Charlotte turned and ran. She locked the door of the toilet stall and wept. She pulled square after square of toilet paper out of the dispenser and held it to her eyes. She hated Strabane. She hated everything about this shitty little country. She hated seeing the soldiers on the street. She hated the rain and dampness. She hated the crappy shops with yellow pack food. She hated the accent and how they talked too fast. She hated the blatant racism towards the English. She hated that her friends hated her.
She looked at the graffiti scrawled on the toilet door. ‘Up the RA’, ‘Touts will be shot’ and ‘Brits out’. She wanted out, she just wanted to go home.