Zelmas on Tour Pt. 10 by LissyW
Join Zelmas on an unforgettable journey in 'Zelmas on Tour Pt. 10'—an enticing erotic sex story that explores passion, adventure, and desire. Dive into thrilling encounters and sizzling romance as Zelmas navigates new experiences. Perfect for fans of steamy tales and captivating narratives. Read more for an enticing escape!<br/>
This is the 10th and final part of a sequel to the Vix’s Licks series, picking up after the epic gig at the Magna Carta, and following Vix’s band on their European tour.
Best to read the whole Vix’s Licks series, and Parts 1 through 9 of this one before this, to be familiar with the characters and background.
***
‘Thank feck for that. Auntie Flo has left the building.’
Roo chuckled. She always finds that euphemism for my period funny, so I find myself using it every time I “get a visit.”
It was four days since we left Gijón, and I’d had to do the Portugal gig while afflicted, so it was back to my black denim shorts in Lisbon — no cheeky flashes of panty crotch on that occasion. Now though, we were on our way to Barcelona and all was back to normal.
Life on the bus had its challenges, but we had found comfortable routines and coping strategies. Lucy was a wonder when it came to keeping us supplied with drinks, food, and clean laundry, not to mention local places to shower etc in every city we visited, and Rhoni was a safe pair of hands, driving us from place to place. All we had to do was play our music, and enjoy ourselves as much as possible.
I was really pleased that Lucy and Rhoni’s relationship seemed to be flourishing, and all it took was a nudge, provided in no small part by the atmosphere and culture on the “honeybus.” Lindi had said, more than once, that it was ‘100 times better’ than previous (mixed) tour buses she’d been on, and I think even Jemma and Nikki realised that.
Now, we were in Ciudad Real (“Royal City”) our halfway stop on the journey across Spain to Barcelona. We were on our own; the boys had gone via Madrid, but Rhoni had preferred to take a route further south, avoiding the capital and ending with a more scenic drive up the coast from Valencia.
We parked on a dusty, windswept car park and walked into town to eat, passing by the very impressive and ancient Puerta de Toledo, one of the city’s old gates, with a keyhole-shaped arch which looked very Moroccan.
The restaurant we chose was called the Casa de Calamares (“House of Squid”) which didn’t particularly attract me, but there seemed to be a lot of seafood fans in the party. I thought it was a little odd, finding a seafood restaurant, here, at least 300 kilometres from the sea, but hey ho.
The food was good, but the meal was memorable for a discussion that took place about the taste of pussy. Typically, Mads started it. She was munching on a gamba (prawn) when she suddenly said ‘I’ve never understood why people say pussies taste fishy. I’ve never thought they do.’
There was a ripple of slightly gobsmacked giggles, then Lucy said ‘Yea, I’ve wondered about that too.’
This was not a normal dinner-table conversation, even among a bunch of mostly lesbian women, but the subject had been raised now, and everyone had an opinion, even Jemma, who said ‘If I’ve had a strong curry or something, mine tastes definitely spicy.’
‘So, you taste yourself?’ said Nikki.
‘Course I do. If I’m wanking off, fingering myself or something, don’t you?’
Nikki turned bright red and said, shyly, ‘Well yeh, but I thought maybe it meant I was a bit gay or somethin. I’m glad you told me that, Jem.’
Lucy laughed. ‘Not gay at all, Nikki. I’ve always done it.’ She looked around the table to universally nodding heads, including Rhoni’s. ‘When I’m horny, I can’t resist it. Never tastes fishy to me though.’
I was thinking about it… I’ve been doing it since I first started exploring my sexuality when I was very young. It tastes subtly different on different days, but never really what I’d call fishy. I agreed with Jemma. Splcy sometimes.
Mads was holding forth: ‘I think if it’s really fishy, something’s wrong. I’ve never come across a fishy one, and I’ve come across a few….’
‘In more ways than one,’ Roo sniggered.
Everyone struggled to properly describe what it DOES taste like, but we all agreed that the taste changes between initial arousal and orgasm, and that it’s subtly different on different days, and between different women.
‘I bet if I went around this table and tasted all of you, you’d all taste slightly different,’ said Mads, triggering an image in my head of Mads, on her knees under the table, tasting each of us in turn. Not a bad image, actually…
‘Mine might be fishy tomorrow though,’ said Lindi, finishing the last of her lubina with a wry smile.
***
Barcelona was a singular experience. Our gig was the night after our arrival so we had a free evening once we’d lodged the bus near to the venue — a huge place called Razzmatazz.
Lindi had been here before, and she said ‘If anyone’s interested, I know a brilliant lesbian club called La Rosa. It’s great fun.’ We all liked that idea, including (surprisingly) Jemma, but Nikki took a bit of persuading.
‘Come on Nik,’ Jemma pleaded. ‘It will be a laugh. We don’t need to get picked up or anything. I don’t think lesbianism is catching…’ she looked around the group, ‘…though I sometimes wonder.’
Nikki rolled her big blue eyes and sighed. ‘Oh, God… OK then. But just to keep you company, Jem.’
We all grinned and immediately started getting ready. All except Rhoni and Lucy. ‘Aren’t you coming?’ I asked.
‘No,’ said Rhoni, I’m a bit tired I think I’ll just stay here and… rest.’ She shot a glance at Lucy. Hmm, I thought. Rest, eh? I could see what was occurring here. They’d spotted an opportunity to be alone together and they were taking it. And why not? Their relationship was new and exciting and they couldn’t get enough of each other. I was betting they’d be in Rhoni’s bunk within one minute of the rest of us leaving, and I was happy for them.
We others got our glad rags on (though I couldn’t help smirking at the fact that Jemma and Nikki deliberately dressed down a little) and we booked a mini-bus taxi to take us across the city to the club.
I’d never been to an actual lesbian club before. It was suggested when we were in Berlin but it never happened. Now though, here we were. In a crowd of presumably all, or almost all, gay women. Many of them available and on the prowl.
Roo and I had no intention of being picked up, so we acted as much like a couple as possible, linking arms and staying as close as we could, like we were joined at the hip. I noticed Nikki, despite her grungy look, getting a bit of flirtatious chat from an older short-haired redhead who reminded me a little of Annie Lennox. She wasn’t going to get anywhere, but Nikki seemed to be enjoying the attention, despite her fierce anti-lesbian stance.
Lindi tended to stay close to Roo and me, but not Mads. She disappeared somewhere, and we didn’t see her again until much later, when she was spotted smooching with two skinny girls in a corner. The girls were both quite androgynous — some might even say butch — and they made quite a contrast with Mads, who is about as far away from that as you can get.
In between snogs they seemed to be chatting, and I know Mads doesn’t speak Spanish, so I surmised they must’ve been English speakers.