The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

By LimeyLady

Copyright Mark C Woolridge (writing as LimeyLady), 2017

Distributed by Smashwords

All characters and events in this publication,

other than those clearly in the public domain,

are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons,

living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Table of Contents

Author’s Note

Chapter One - Christmas preparations

Chapter Two - Joe

Chapter Three - Christmas Day

Chapter Four - Molly and Fiona

Chapter Five - Meet me by moonlight

Chapter Six - A spiteful bitch

Other Books by LimeyLady

Author’s Note: This story contains a limited amount of male/female sex, which occurs as part of the main character’s “learning curve”. I have tried to keep this to a minimum without actually skimping. If anyone wants to avoid reading about sex with a man, start with Chapter One but avoid Chapter Two. From Chapter Three it’s back to girl-on-girl.

And, with Angie being Angie, that means more than just one girl . . .

Chapter One

(Christmas Eve 1997)

Angie checked herself in the mirror before following Fiona out of the ladies’. She had lipstick smudges around her mouth; otherwise her makeup was okay (because she never wore any). Using a tissue to wipe away the evidence, she reckoned she’d pass any inspection she was likely to get.

Or were her cheeks a little flushed from all that unexpected exertion?

She grinned as she splashed cold water over her shaven head. Fiona always looked immaculate. She had tripped off, pretty as a picture in her short and colourful girly skirt. Hopefully her live-in girlfriend would not notice the missing lippy and wonder what she’d been up to.

With hope always springing eternal, no?

Thoroughly dried, Angie attempted a smile. Her reflection grimaced in response. She had never been great shakes at smiling. Still, she was tall, broad-shouldered and built like a man; a smile on her face wouldn’t ever seem sincere.

Not even if she really was sincere . . . for a change.

God only knew why women found her attractive. In her opinion she was, at best, plain, although she’d often been told she had beautiful bone structure. Maybe everyone else could see something she couldn’t.

And maybe she’d better check her knickers before she went back behind the bar. Brief as it had been, that unexpected little skirmish had ended very well indeed.

*****

‘At last,’ said Joe in greeting, ‘I was expecting a much older woman.’

Working a week with Joe, seeing him virtually every waking moment, Angie was by then used to his particular brand of sarcasm. Not caring that he was her boss she simply stuck her tongue out at him and got on with serving some customers. Joe, meanwhile, got on with chatting to his lecturer friend.

Angie scowled as she pulled pints. Professor Parkinson was about forty, elegant and beautiful beyond belief. She was only supposed to be seen there in the Union Bar a couple of times a year, but tonight was her third visit since Monday.

Like three days in a row.

The cradle-snatching bitch was after Joe; Angie was sure she was.

Looking elsewhere she saw that her dart-playing friend, Eileen, had gone. On the positive side, Eileen had agreed to come across after Christmas. On the negative side, she would be away for another five days and Angie hadn’t had a fuck in nearly two weeks.

Turning another virgin was nothing to sniff at, but five whole days!

And nearly two weeks without!!

Okay, so she’d just skirmished to an orgasm, but that hadn’t lasted more than two or three minutes. It was marathons she preferred, not sprints. She was used to at least two or three hours a night, not two or three minutes a fortnight.

Thinking about skirmishing, Angie shifted her attention to Lesbians’ Corner. Fiona was there, sitting with Molly at “their” table, along with a couple of guys from LGBT. Not that there was any seduction or hint of wife-swapping in the air. The two guys were hand-in-hand and Fiona was up close, talking very earnestly to her girlfriend.

Hmmm. Before tripping off Fiona had said she wanted more. Was this part of her cunning plan? Was she busy spinning Molly some yarn that would conveniently get her out of the way?

Angie rather hoped she was. Skirmishing with Fiona had only whetted her appetite. She was horny as hell in the afterglow. And Madhu had “borrowed” her strapless strap-on, “forgetting” to return it before going home for Christmas. So she had a strapless-less month before her. Unless Fiona’s mysterious plan paid dividends, she’d be reduced to a common or garden dildo and her own left hand.

As if Fiona’s plan could possibly pay dividends. She and Molly were inseparable. Practically joined at the hip, they did everything together, as if they were one. Fiona showing up alone in the restroom had been a major achievement. Escaping for an hour or more would be a miracle worthy of God Himself.

Serving drinks on auto-pilot, Angie watched Joe and Professor Parkinson. Joe kept on serving as he chatted, so Angie couldn’t say that he wasn’t pulling his weight. She couldn’t immediately explain why she was jealous, either. Folk had assumed she was a lesbian for years. She’d assumed they were all correct, as well. And, once she’d tried it for real, she’d become convinced.

Yes, she was a lezzie through and through. So why was she jealous of the Parkinson bitch?

The answer to that was a no-brainer. She liked Joe and didn’t want to see him hurt. Parkinson had to be ten years older than him. She also had to be well-off and in need of a gigolo rather than somebody masquerading as a husband. Face it; a good-looking creature like her could have secured a genuine hubby decades ago if she’d really wanted to.

No, the fucking bitch was after a stud . . . and a short-term one at that.

Poor old Joe was ripe for the plucking.

The juke box had been churning out all the Christmas faves. Abruptly the music changed and Chrissie Hynde was there. And yes, she’d got some lucky “babe”.

Make that some very, very lucky “babe”.

She probably had some brass in her pocket too. Next single up, hopefully . . .

At that point in her mental grumblings Angie chuckled. She had no room to criticize anyone for having a fling with an older woman. Or for having a varied sex life, come to that. Her first female lover wasn’t very forthcoming about her age, but she’d been at least fifteen years older than she was. And she had given her a taste for variation, too.

And it was a very wide and much appreciated taste at that.

But never mind the history. Joe was one of the good guys, and he was being stalked by a predator; a predator who’d been in the bar with friends on Monday and conspicuously alone ever since.

Meaning she’d come back twice, solitary and prowling.

Fuck it, no; she really was stalking.

As Angie watched, Professor Bitch got off her barstool and pecked Joe on the cheek before leaving. It was the third time in a row she’d done that: given him just one miserly peck as reward for two hours of rapt attention.

What a horrible woman!

‘She’s teasing you,’ Angie observed, as soon as she got chance to have a quiet word.

‘Kettle and pot,’ Joe replied.

Angie winced reflexively. On Monday, perhaps influenced by the bitch’s first visit, she had kissed Joe. No, she’d waited until everyone had gone then nearly snogged his face off. Enjoying it and pressing her groin against his erection. But had she fucked him?

Of course she hadn’t.

He had asked . . . sort of . . . albeit tentatively, and she had reluctantly said no. And the silly bugger hadn’t had the sense to ask twice.

Twice would have clinched the deal, wouldn’t it? What girl could ever say no twice to a guy she really liked?

Basic orientation aside, she did like Joe. She liked him lots and lots.

Lezzie as she was, she’d have fucked him if he’d asked twice.

Frigging men! What did they know!!

‘Sorry,’ she said now.

‘Me too,’ said Joe. ‘It didn’t mean to come out like that. I’ve just been hearing about Pat’s divorce. It was even messier than mine.’

‘Pat?’ Angie echoed. ‘She’s Professor Pat Parkinson? It sounds like someone out of Wacky Races.’

‘There’s nothing wacky about her,’ Joe said defensively.

‘Has she any children?’

‘No.’

‘I’m not surprised with a figure like that.’ Angie sighed before continuing. ‘So you’re on a par then: two gay divorcées with no kids.’

‘I’m not gay and no way am I on a par with Pat.’

‘Listen, Joe, tell me to mind my own business, but . . .’

‘She’s out of my league,’ Joe cut in, totally misunderstanding. ‘Look but don’t touch; that’s how it is for me. Story of my life, isn’t it? You, Pat . . . every beautiful woman I’ve ever met.’

*****

Angie was mildly concerned when Molly caught her on her next break. Molly was almost as big as she was, with a similar-sized chest. And cheated-upon-on girlfriends could get quite heated; she knew that from bitter experience.

In fact she knew that from Ruby, who was (thankfully) too small to take her on.

Well, not in a fistfight, anyway. Verbally she could more than hold her own.

As for spitting and snarling . . . Who’d have even half a chance against a force of nature like Ruby?

‘Fiona tells me you’re home alone for Christmas,’ Molly began.

‘I’m working here at lunchtime,’ Angie volunteered, grateful the restroom tryst hadn’t been spotted.

She hoped!

‘What are you doing for Christmas dinner?’

Angie thought a moment. Was this part of Fiona’s plan? And if so, what was her answer supposed to be?

‘I’m dining at Gandhi’s,’ she said eventually. ‘Then I’m off to Ye Olde John of Gaunt for a few beers.’

‘What, at their prices!’

‘Joe’s staying shut tomorrow evening. It’s a family sort of thing, so I’ll have to go elsewhere.’

‘Meaning Joe’s family?’

‘Yes.’

‘So you’ll be going out on your own?’

‘Yes.’

‘That’s crazy,’ Molly said with conviction. ‘I cannot allow it. No, I will not allow it. You can come to ours and have dinner with us.’

She took Angie’s hand across the bar as she spoke, gripping it tight; gripping it unsettlingly tight.

What’s the answer to this? Angie wondered. Is there an answer to this?

‘Please say yes,’ Molly continued. I’d die if you spent the best part of Christmas Day on your own.

Now Angie really was in a dilemma. Unsure how she was supposed to react (or if she was supposed to react) she hedged.

‘That’s very kind of you, but I couldn’t possibly impose.’

‘There’ll only be the three of us, so imposing isn’t an issue.’

‘I feel like it will be. Surely you two will want to be . . .  Well, alone to kiss and hug; to sing a few carols and what have you.’

‘No we won’t,’ said Molly. Then, leaning in close and personal, ‘Say yes, Angie, otherwise I might start to wonder why you two spent so long in the restroom.’

‘We were talking . . .’

‘Like hell you were.’

*****

Back behind the bar Angie had a few drinks. That is to say, she took advantage of the drinks she had already been bought. No way would she take a drink without paying for it first.

And no way would she risk another pint of Marston’s. It was closing in on nine o’clock and she’d been in the bar since morning. Racehorses had been known to piss less enthusiastically than her.

And less copiously, too, come to that.

Bénédictine was, in those parts, something of a speciality. Apparently the world’s biggest consumer of the liqueur was Burnley Miners’ Club, not a million miles away from Angie’s uni. A couple of hundred years ago, in Normandy, a load of (presumably) alcoholic monks had devised a secret herbal remedy. Then, during World War One, the Lancashire regiments had acquired the same taste.

Béné ‘n’ hot, they called it, meaning Bénédictine with boiling hot water, meant to ward off trench-foot, cold, homesickness . . . and, no doubt, the sheer terror before going over the top.

And to counter the after-war drudgery of life down the pit, naturally.

Local mining was as good as done but Angie drank her Béné like one of the boys . . . without the hot and in doubles. After three she stealthily sidled up to Joe and pinched his ass. Accustomed to such behaviour by then, Joe kept pulling his latest pint of Marston’s.

‘Sorry for being a tease,’ Angie whispered. ‘It won’t happen again.’

‘Huh,’ went Joe.

‘I mean it,’ she went on. ‘Santa doesn’t tease.’

Leaving him to ponder, Angie served more customers. Then, not long after ten, Fiona and Molly were at the bar, almost but not quite confronting her.

‘We’re off for an early night,’ Molly announced. ‘Tomorrow’s a big day.’

‘No,’ Fiona giggled, ‘tomorrow’s the Big Day.’

Angie had long since given up trying to decline her Christmas invitation. ‘Should I bring anything?’ she asked.

‘Just your sexy ass,’ Fiona said, faster than fast.

Molly rolled her eyes. ‘We have everything we’re ever likely to need,’ she said.

‘Not even beer or wine?’ Angie persisted, ‘or something for the meal?’

‘The meal’s all under control,’ Fiona replied. ‘I’ve got it covered.’

That nearly made Molly’s eyes pop out of her head. ‘Don’t you worry about her getting anywhere near my kitchen,’ she told Angie. ‘That girl can burn the water making a cup of tea.’

‘So when do you want me?’ Angie wondered.

‘Right now,’ said Fiona, ‘here on the bar.’

‘What time will you be working until tomorrow?’ from Molly.

‘Joe says twelve until three,’ Angie replied. ‘Or if we’re still busy, four at the latest. Then it’s everybody out and come back on Boxing Day.’

‘We’ll be in around half past one, then,’ said Molly. ‘Now, give her a kiss and we’ll be off.’

‘No,’ Fiona sniggered, ‘ladies first.’

Angie had already exchanged Christmas kisses with both of them. Her kiss with Molly had been long and warm . . . but not nearly as long and warm as this one. And the involvement of Molly’s tongue was new and exciting.

She sucked on it avidly.

The involvement of Fiona’s tongue wasn’t quite so new (at least not since that restroom incident) but it was just as welcome.

‘See you tomorrow lunch,’ Fiona said in parting. ‘I’ll make sure Molly gives you her special stuffing . . .’

Chapter Two

(Christmas Day 1997)

Three more Bénés and it was closing time. And, aided by alcohol, Angie had made a decision. In truth she’d made a decision much earlier, when Professor Bitch was still on the prowl. In all innocence, Joe closed the doors on the last revellers and turned straight into her face.

‘Kissy, kissy,’ she said before devouring his mouth.

Joe didn’t object but, as he hardened, he tried to shift his body away. Angie wouldn’t let him. Part of her wanted to fuck him there and then, on the floor of the bar.

Oh yes; the Union was her favourite place on earth. Where better to fuck? What better qualification for a nympho’s CV?

But bugger CVs, she wanted to fuck him properly.

Just then her brain played a minor role in proceedings. Yes, she was lezzie, but horny and more than ready to rut. She wanted to fuck Fiona . . . and Molly and Eileen . . .  maybe even the Parkinson bitch herself . . . but Joe was here and now.

And, of course, Professor Pat-frigging-Pending-frigging Parkinson wanted to use and abuse Joe, as if he was a sex toy. Fuck the bitch. She wasn’t getting in there first.

*****

Afterwards, mulling over events, Angie would thank the stars that she didn’t go for the Union Bar floor. Going for it would have been only too easy. If Joe hadn’t been so much of a gentleman she might well have got down on her back and let him have her as often as he liked.

But he insisted on taking her home; home to his home, walking her there arm-in-arm, across campus and through streets lined with terraced houses.

Then they were in his bedroom, conversation and surroundings a blur, stripping the clothes off each other. That raging horniness inside her showed no sign of abating. It was fiercer than ever. And she had already dismissed regrets and reservations.

Sarah-Jayne had a cock and fucked like a maestro. Angie adored Sarah-Jayne’s cock . . . and Joe’s felt almost as big.

Assuming size mattered.

Assuming anything mattered with her so desperately needing sex.

Suddenly they were on the bed. Joe’s mouth was on her tits and Angie’s sighs were totally authentic. She loved it when her tits were being mauled and yes, the guy could certainly maul.

Omigod, and couldn’t he eat pussy!

Angie yelled as she came once, twice, thrice.

‘Fuck me,’ she cried, grabbing him by the ears, ‘fuck me. Please fuck me. Fuck me!’

Joe’s cock trailed up her thighs as she dragged him into position.

‘In me,’ she demanded, ‘get it in me.’

He eased in an inch or so then used the underside of his blood-engorged helmet to stimulate Angie’s favourite bundle of nerve endings. Angie wailed and came violently.

Joe eased in a bit more, maybe as far as halfway, and rocked steadily in and out. Now his helmet was stimulating Angie’s G-spot as well as the nerves just inside her vagina. She wailed again as she came even more violently.

Then her groin acted of its own volition, slamming up and onto Joe’s, forcing his cock all the way in.

‘Fuck me,’ she begged, ‘please fuck me.’

He readily obliged, using long slow strokes, almost leaving her before pressing back in until his balls slapped the cheeks of her bum. Angie wanted to grip him with her legs but desisted, on the grounds that he obviously knew what he was doing.

And that above all else, she wanted to open for him.

Yes, yes, yes!

Oh goodness, wasn’t he doing it well! She came yet again but still he didn’t miss a stroke; in and out, in and out with the precision of a metronome. Closing her eyes, she revelled in it.

In and out, he went, in and out.

Angie felt wonderfully full. Every nerve in her body was zinging and singing along with her best bundle of endings. Joe’s hairy chest was rubbing against her tits and the sensation was great. No, better than great, it was terrific. Moaning in time with him, she pictured his rock-hard cock moving inside her.

In and out, he went, in and out.

Soon, she thought. Oh yes, soon he’ll . . .

Omigod!

Her eyes flew open.

‘Joe,’ she gasped, ‘not inside me!’

He instantly pulled away, coming out with an audible plop.

‘Oh my God,’ he said breathlessly, ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘I’m not on the pill.’ Angie gulped before asking: ‘Did you?’

‘No, I’ve got good staying power, me. I could have gone on for hours.’

‘Have you really,’ she persisted, ‘held it in, I mean?’

‘Yes, I really have. I didn’t even trickle.’

Relief washed through Angie. ‘Well thank goodness for that,’ she said. ‘Put on a condom on and let’s start over.’

‘I . . . er, I haven’t got any. I wasn’t expecting . . . well, you know.’

Joe’s embarrassment shamed Angie. ‘My fault,’ she said. ‘My fault all round. Impulsive or what! Here, let me make up for my mistake.’

‘Angie . . .’

‘Don’t Angie me. It’s my fault. I should have remembered. And I shouldn’t have let you start in the first place. Seeing as I did, I’m going to finish you off.’

‘Angie . . .’

‘Shush and leave everything to me.’

Using a hand and her mouth she brought him to a climax in perhaps five minutes. He tasted different to Sarah-Jayne, but just as salty, just as acceptable. Swallowing, she kept going.

‘Oh Angie,’ he groaned.

His staying power was much better that second time. He must have lasted over an hour before firing four mighty blasts for her to greedily gobble. Still into it, enjoying herself, she set about getting the hat-trick, only to be pulled up and off.

‘You haven’t gone soft,’ she protested.

‘I’m a bit tender,’ Joe explained, tentatively.

Angie rolled onto her back and drew him close, pillowing his head on her breasts and running fingers through his hair.

‘Next time I’ll bring condoms,’ she assured him.

‘You want a next time, do you?’ Joe sounded genuinely surprised.

‘Don’t worry, I haven’t turned. It’s just that I owe you. And I always pay my debts. So there has to be at least one next time.’

He didn’t argue.

‘I can’t believe I forgot,’ she went on. ‘I’ve spent half the evening peeing in the ladies’ and never once thought about buying any rubber. Anyway, let’s call it fate.’

‘Suits me,’ said Joe.

‘How long does this . . . this tenderness take to go away?’

‘Maybe another ten minutes.’

‘What do you want to do when it’s gone? You can fuck my arse if you like. We can do that without any protection, can’t we?’

Joe flinched.

‘No, really,’ she continued, ‘I’ll let you.’

‘I don’t do anal,’ said Joe. ‘And your language is quite appalling. I had you down as such a nice girl.’

‘Well in that case you can fuck my tits.’

‘Angie!’

‘I don’t really do love-making,’ she said after a lengthy pause. ‘Well, I do from time to time, obviously. I mostly I fuck with people I consider friends, though. Friends fuck, don’t they? They don’t want love to come into the equation. Love can ruin a good friendship.’

‘What about Ruby?’

‘What about her?’

‘I don’t know if you fuck or make love, but she’s hardly your friend, is she?’

‘Okay, so she’s the exception that proves the rule.’

‘Does that mean you do make love with her?’

‘No, we definitely fuck. Or at least, I do. And fucking with her is better than fighting her, isn’t it?’

Joe shrugged and said nothing.

‘Don’t get big-headed about it,’ said Angie, ‘but here’s news. You’re the first man who has ever made me cum.’

‘What about Sarah-Jayne?’ he asked, rounding on her . . . rounding on her with a self-satisfied grin on his face.

‘She’s not a man; she’s a girl with a cock. And before you ask, every single one of my girlfriends has made me cum again and again.’

‘Have they really; every one of them?’

‘Yes, it’s a girl thing.’

‘And I’m your first man, am I?’

‘No, I’m not vastly experienced with men, but you’re not my first. And come to think of it, you being a man and able to make me cum is another reason there has to be a next time. Speaking of which, are you ready yet?’

Joe sighed theatrically. ‘Oh go on then, if you insist . . .’

Chapter Three

Retracing their route from Joe’s to the campus he dropped his bombshell. Well, maybe not the world’s biggest bombshell, but he certainly took Angie by surprise when he invited her to come for Christmas dinner . . . at his mother’s.

‘She always makes too much,’ he added, ‘and there’s always a full house. One more won’t make a lot of difference.’

‘Hang on a mo; are you planning on showing me off as your new girlfriend?’

‘No I am not. I’ll introduce you as my lesbian friend; my very dearest, totally, completely lesbian friend who has just helped me out at work, way, way beyond the call of duty. In fact . . .’

‘That’s enough!’ Angie laughed. ‘Thank you for the offer, but I’m already fixed up.’

‘Do you mean at Gandhi’s Revenge?’

‘No, a better offer came along, and I accepted it.’

He looked at her askance. ‘So it’s with Molly and Fiona, is it?’

‘It might be.’

‘You want to watch yourself with them. They’re post-grads. Older and more experienced.’

‘Joe, what are you; thirty? You’re five years older than them, and at least five years younger than Ronnie.’

‘Who’s Ronnie?’

‘She’s the lovely lady who first showed me how sex should be done. I doubt that Molly and Fiona will come up with anything new. If, that is, they come up with anything at all; I’m invited to have Christmas dinner, not an orgy.’

‘Do you really believe that?’

‘No,’ said Angie, honestly, ‘but there again, I live in hope.’

Joe trudged on a while before saying: ‘No chance of seeing you later, then.’

‘Oh,’ Angie exclaimed, ‘now I get it. Dinner with Mum was supposed to be followed by excessive use of condoms, was it?’

‘No, not now you’ve turned me down.’

Joe was grinning again but clearly disappointed.

‘Tomorrow night,’ said Angie. ‘We get our very busy Boxing Day out of the way then it’s back to yours. Okay?’

Judging by Joe’s expression it was okay indeed. Even, so, he raised a frown.

‘What do you mean by our very busy Boxing Day?’

‘You said it would be as hectic as it got over the break. So fucking away the stress afterwards is the way to go, no?’

‘Well, if you put it like that . . .’

‘I do, Joe. I do.’

‘Okay,’ he said, much more cheerily.

‘I read this book once,’ Angie went on, speaking without engaging her brain. ‘When two lovers had to spend time apart they agreed to climax at midnight every night, thinking about each other as they did so, of course. We could do that tonight.’

‘Like phone sex, you mean.’

‘Yes, I suppose; but without the phones, seeing as I don’t have one. Are you up for it?’

*****

Christmas Day in the Union was, as Joe had predicted in advance, patchy. Drinkers were supposed hold student union cards but nobody ever checked. As a result a lot of “passing trade” dropped by, in the most locals in-between pubs, attracted by the competitive prices.

It was unpredictable, though. There were flows and ebbs, probably governed by ley lines as much as any other, common sense factor.

Professor Parkinson flowed into the bar during a quieter spell. She was alone again, Angie noted, and she was hogging Joe’s attention again as well. That made it four visits in a row. The woman clearly had it bad and silly sod Joe was oblivious.

It was, beyond question, a situation that needed a catalyst.

Overcome by seasonal goodwill and a certain degree of mischievousness, Angie interrupted them.

‘You’d never believe it,’ she said to the professor, ‘but Joe’s shy.’

Up close the Parkinson woman was even more attractive than she was seen from behind the bar. She used a hint of lipstick and eye-shadow but was otherwise makeup-free . . . because the frigging bitch did not need any help whatsoever. There wasn’t a single wrinkle or crease in her flawless skin. Her deep blue eyes studied Angie curiously.

Suddenly Angie could see the attraction. Wouldn’t it be great staring down into those marvellous eyes as she pounded something big and hard into her?

Yes, harder and harder, again and again.

Joe, meanwhile, was glaring at her speechlessly.

‘He doesn’t get much time off,’ Angie continued, ‘but he’s free tonight. It’ll be the first night off he’s had in ages. I’m sure he’d be glad if you can join him somewhere for a drink.’

‘I’m having dinner with my parents,’ Professor Parkinson said to Joe, completely blanking Angie. ‘But that new wine bar in Castle Street is open tonight. I could see you there at, say, nine?’

Angie laughed inside. How easy was that! The bitch really was hot for him.

‘He’ll be there,’ she replied on Joe’s behalf, ‘wearing a white carnation.’

‘Great,’ said the Parkinson woman, still concentrating solely on Joe. ‘I’ll be there. And I’ll look forward to it all afternoon.’

Somehow Joe nodded and grinned.

Result, Angie’s mind roared. Result!

Okay, she wouldn’t get to fuck the bitch personally, but Joe could do it by proxy; fucking vicariously, if such a thing was possible. How good would that be?

And she would enjoy hearing all about it tomorrow . . . when she fucked Joe in her turn.

*****

Pulling pint after pint, Angie did occasionally question her sanity. She hated Professor Bitch yet she’d set her up with the only guy she’d ever liked. And she genuinely wanted said guy to fuck her.

Just so she could compare notes!

Was she crazy or what?

Or was she really trying to test the Parkinson woman’s mettle? Was she secretly hoping that the bitch would fuck and run, never to darken the Union again?

Come to think about it, was she subconsciously giving Joe a way out? Was she hoping he would fall for the professor hook, line and sinker, and feel obliged to forgo his Boxing Day treat?

Maybe that was it. Maybe there was method in her madness after all.

Molly and Fiona arrived at half past one, as advertised. Molly was dressed as per always: plain sweat and denims. Fiona looked like a fairy plucked off of a Christmas tree, all in differing shades of pink.

‘Hey Ange,’ Molly said, strutting up to the bar.

‘Hey Molls,’ Angie replied, watching Fiona’s ass as she secured places around their usual table. ‘Are you having the same as always?’

‘No, it’s Christmas. Two medium glasses of Shiraz, please; preferably Hardys.’

‘You like a little Australian,’ said Angie, opening a bottle.

‘This time last year we were backpacking down there.’

‘What, for Christmas?’

‘No, we were there for nearly a year; me, Fiona and lots of weird wildlife. I still knock my trainers of a morning . . . to dislodge scorpions, obviously.’

‘Bloody Lancashire,’ Angie grinned. ‘Whenever will they get that influx of scorpions under control?’

She gave Molly two glasses, a bottle of red and a carrier-bag containing two bottles of champers; two bottles she’d diverted to halls to collect.

‘My mum sent me them,’ she said in explanation. ‘It’s non-vintage but goes down a treat.’

‘We told you not to bring anything.’

‘The red’s on me,’ Angie continued, overriding Molly. ‘It’s cheaper by the bottle. And cheaper still with my staff discount. Now go drink and be merry . . . And merry Christmas, by the way.’

‘You’re not a conformist,’ Molly replied. ‘Promising . . . very, very promising.’

*****

The Union Bar closed at three-thirty, with all the customers except Molly and Fiona leaving well before four. Joe, no doubt keen to be off to his mother’s . . . and whatever lay in store for him afterwards . . . told Angie she didn’t have to stay.

‘I can finish the free bar snacks on my own,’ he said, indicating the dishes he’d laid out, in a once in a year sort of a way.

‘Ten tons of black pudding,’ said Fiona, turning up her sexy nose. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

‘Are you sure,’ Angie asked.

‘Go,’ Joe said with an ushering forth gesture.’

‘Midnight,’ Angie said in reply. ‘Don’t let me down.’

Chapter Four

Angie’s hosts’ house was, by student standards, very nice. So too was the smell of roasting turkey.

‘It’s supposed to feed a family of ten,’ said Molly, leading the way into a well-appointed kitchen. ‘This is my domain,’ she went on. ‘Fiona is allowed in the fridge and nowhere else. She’s also chomping at the bit. Why don’t you two go upstairs?’

Angie raised an eyebrow. She’d expected something, but not this. Not so matter-of-fact and so soon, anyway.

‘Is that all right by you?’ she wondered.

‘I have things to do down here,’ said Molly, her eyes twinkling. ‘I’ll join you in an hour. Now hurry along and let chef get on with her chores.’

Abandoning her Docs on the doormat, Angie followed Fiona up a steep staircase, ogling her ass all of the way. Fiona had ditched her jacket and pumps. She was barefoot, in a tiny skirt and low-cut T. As rear-views went, hers was stupendous.

‘I don’t believe this is happening so easily,’ Angie said as she closed the bedroom door behind her.

‘It’s my finder’s fee,’ Fiona replied. ‘I get an hour free for luring you here.’ She laughed. ‘I’m not going to be the one doing all the doings, though; that’s down to you. Come on girl, how do you want me?’

‘Naked,’ said Angie.

Smiling sweetly, Fiona removed her T-shirt. She was flat-chested and bra-less beneath. Angie noticed that her nipples were regular-sized . . . regular-sized and startlingly erect.

‘You take off yours,’ Fiona said saucily.

Angie was also bra-less. Her tits sprang out when she removed her top. Then, enjoying the feel of the girl’s eyes on her, she removed her jeans without being asked.

‘Get that skirt off,’ she commanded.

Fiona obeyed.

‘That’ll do for now,’ said Angie. ‘Get on the bed.’

The bed was a large double. There was plenty of room on it for two girls clad only in panties. Rolling onto her back Fiona held open her arms. Angie fell into her embrace and kissed her, but not for long. Time was tight so she swiftly moved into foreplay mode.

And Fiona got the full treatment. Angie kissed every square inch of her face then nibbled her ears and nuzzled her neck. Running the tip of her tongue up her throat and under her chin was fun too.

She did that lots and lots.

Next up (or down) were her hair-free armpits. Fiona squealed when Angie licked them. It would have been easy to overlook her non-existent tits but those nips were impossible to ignore. As she teased at them, making them even harder, a thought occurred to her.

She must have the same titty sensations as everyone else. It’d be rude to pass on by.

So Angie paid at least as much attention to Fiona’s minute buds as anyone had ever paid to her own big ones. In response Fiona moaned, groaned and almost certainly came.

Like maybe five times.

Tempus was fugiting. Angie ran her tongue over Fiona’s curvy hips and down the fronts of her legs. In a hurry or not, she took occasion to suck Fiona’s toes, all of them, individually, and then five at a time.

Then she licked her way up the insides of two trembling thighs, finally arriving at a pair of panties.

Well okay, she arrived at a very soggy pair of panties.

She couldn’t help but chuckle. Fiona used all sorts of perfumes and deodorants but none of them had worked on her pussy. The overriding scent was that of a woman; a very, very aroused woman.

The panties were predictably pink and flimsy. Fiona’s pussy was predictably swollen. Angie tugged at the fabric, encouraging it into the valley between two blood-engorged lips.

‘You’re as ripe as a peach,’ she murmured, before slowly running the flat of her tongue over receptive, oh-so grateful labia, right and then left, right and then left.

This time there was no doubt that Fiona came.

Like maybe another five times . . . else maybe even ten.

The panties were getting in the way now. Angie yanked them off altogether and tossed them over her shoulder, caring not where they landed.

‘Beautiful,’ she said sincerely, drinking in the sight, ‘you are really, truly beautiful.’

She’d been right to compare Fiona with a peach. She was juicy and ripe. Everything about her was as good as gold. Even her landing strip was short, thin and golden, as was her all-over tan.

Almost clean-shaven, soft and golden! Eating her was not going to be any great hardship.

At first Angie alternated between the mouth of Fiona’s vagina and the area around her clit. Satisfied that she wasn’t overly sensitive, she then used her tongue directly on the clit and penetrated her with two rigid fingers.

Fiona liked that; she liked it massively.

Two big orgasms later and Angie was ready to fuck. She was ready to cheat, too. Her self-control was better while tribbing than it was during any other sexual activity, mostly because she could direct most of the contact onto her partner. She was, in other words, well-practiced.

Right now it was a double cheat. She still had her knickers on while Fiona was open to any incitement that came her way.

And, over the next twenty minutes or so, a lot of very direct incitement came her way.

Talk about wailing and screaming!

Eventually the added protection of panties ceased working. Angie’s orgasm was suddenly rushing at her like an express train. And, unless she was very much mistaken, it was bringing Fiona’s umpteenth cum along with it.

Dimly conscious of a figure over by the window, she grunted commands.

‘Fight it, Fifi, not yet, not yet!’

But she wasn’t fooling anyone, least of all herself. They went off together like volcanoes, spewing out red hot fluids and screaming like banshees.

And it went on forever, their bodies clashing and clashing before gradually dying the death.

‘Bravo,’ said the figure, applauding. ‘Now is it my turn?’

*****

Angie never did find out how long Molly had been watching them. It might have been a long time or it might have been a few seconds. And did it matter one jot anyway?

No, did it heck.

Molly grinned at her from her position by the window.

Angie grinned back. Molly was wearing a kitchen apron and nothing else; not one stitch. Still grinning, she unfastened the apron and let it fall away, exposing a harness with a decent-sized dildo.

It was a fetching purple and twitching in anticipation.

Seven inches, Angie reckoned.

‘Fifi is my pet name for Fiona,’ Molly intoned. ‘I said you could fuck her but I didn’t give you permission to call her by her pet name. I’m afraid I’m going to have to punish you for that.’

Angie rolled onto her back. ‘I’m afraid I’m going to have to let you,’ she replied.

Being fucked by Molly wasn’t a problem. Okay, so she went in halfway to begin with, missing out all of the slow and gradual teasing of Angie’s favourite internal nerves, but she got them right enough when she began to fuck for real. And she got her G, too. Angie had to admit she was good at the game.

And what a rhythm! She was neither fast nor slow. It was a rhythm all of her own, not plodding by any means, but well-paced and determined.

Her self-control lost as per usual, Angie came and came.

Then Molly’s hands were exploring. Her finger was easing into Angie’s ass.

‘I guess this isn’t Star Trek territory,’ she said, laughing delightedly.

‘Women have been there before,’ Angie countered, ‘but no man.’

‘Can I go there?’

‘As long as you have lube, go for it. No, go boldly!’

Molly got off the bed and Angie noticed Fiona for the first time in ages. Fifi must have been downstairs because she was armed with glasses of white wine.

‘Here,’ she said, thrusting one at Angie, ‘wet your whistle.’

The wine was cool rather than chilled but Angie downed most of it in one.

Molly, meanwhile, was rolling a condom onto her artificial cock before lavishing it with KY Jelly.

Angie drained her glass before taking her turn to ask the question: ‘How do you want me?’

‘On your back and relaxed,’ said Molly. ‘I suspect you know the drill.’

Chapter Five

Being ass-fucked by Molly was a great experience. That not-quite-plodding rhythm worked supremely well. So too did that tireless, endless endurance. God only knew how many times Angie came before Molly decided she’d had her fill.

‘Did the earth move for you?’ Molly enquired after, ever-so-slightly soppily.

‘It certainly did,’ said Angie, just as soppy. ‘That was lovely in every respect.’

‘It can get better,’ Fiona put in.

Angie had to look around the bedroom to find her. Yet again she’d forgotten she was there, waiting in the wings, like the most beautiful actress, about to play the starring role.

‘Do you do DP?’ Fiona went on.

Angie shrugged. ‘I don’t even know what it is.’

‘The D is for double,’ said Molly, obligingly.

‘P is for penetration,’ Fiona added with a giggle. ‘It’s somewhat of a speciality of ours. Want to give it a go?’

It wasn’t the time to wimp, even if Angie did uncharacteristically doubt herself. ‘I’m an innocent,’ she said. ‘If I go for it, will you be gentle?’

‘You’ll never have had anything more loving in your life,’ Molly assured her. ‘Roll onto your side.’

That first time was bliss. Molly entered her back passage from behind, being tender and caring. Then Fiona’s flat chest was up against Angie’s tits as she eased into her pussy.

By then the rhythms had changed, and for the better. Abandoning her usual pace, Molly moved with a faster tempo. Fiona matched her, but in a definite counter-rhythm. When Molly pushed in, she pulled out. When Molly pulled out, she pushed in.

The feeling of fullness was exquisite. Angie could always be pleasured by one seven-incher in either of the obvious places. Having two at once wasn’t just twice as good . . . it was infinitely, incalculably way up there beyond belief.

That orgasm control of hers hadn’t improved . . . no, not at all. And it got even worse when Fiona and Molly switched places and rhythms. Suddenly they were going into her at the exact same time, Molly now in and out of her pussy, Fiona now in and out of her ass.

In together, out together they went, steadily doing it faster and faster.

Cue titanic climax.

And cue her two lovers to ditch synchronization. Deliberately, discordantly, both of them were going at her as fast and furious as they could, harmony no longer important, both wanting to fuck hardest and deepest . . .

Yes, it was one of the best afternoons of Angie’s life.

*****

Christmas dinner finally came to pass around eight o’clock. At Fiona’s insistence they dined wearing no more than panties and colourful paper hats out of crackers. They mostly washed their meals down with glasses of Angie’s Moet and took their time over proceedings, talking intimately.

Molly and Fiona had, they said, been together for five years. They never strayed but did like to sleep with a “third party” every now and then.

‘It’s always a female third party,’ Fiona said, ‘and always a game one. Please don’t get me wrong, but you were as obvious a candidate as we’ve ever had.’

‘You’ve the best ever reputation on Lesbians’ Corner,’ Molly added. ‘And yes, we do listen to gossip.’

‘I dunno if that should make me glad or sad,’ Angie confessed.

‘Trust me,’ said Fiona with her sauciest grin, ‘you ought to be glad.’

‘How often do you sleep with third parties?’ Angie wondered.

‘We only ever recruit one new one a year.’ Molly chuckled. ‘But then we sleep with her as often as we possibly can.’

‘I guess you’ll be seeing more of me, then.’

‘I guess we will.’

‘Tell us about your first lady,’ said Fiona, emptying the second of the champagne bottles, dividing the spoils equally.

So Angie told them about Ronnie, withholding names to protect reputations.

‘Jesus,’ said Molly, swiftly crossing herself, ‘and forgive me my blasphemy. But you’ve been fucking a mature woman all this time!’

‘Twice a week when she wasn’t swanning off,’ Angie said proudly.

‘And she was your teacher.’ Molly stressed “and” as if it was weighted with lead.

‘Technically she hasn’t been my teacher for years. But at the time she reckoned it was something she shouldn’t have been doing. That made it even more exciting, of course.’

‘What about Joe?’ Fiona asked. ‘You seem awful close; have you fucked him?’

‘No,’ said Angie, ‘not quite.’

‘Not quite,’ Molly echoed. ‘Come on, Ange. Either you have or you haven’t.’

‘I don’t tell tales after the fact.’

‘Unlike your conquests on the Corner,’ Fiona sniggered. ‘Come on, Ange, we’re all girls together here. Confess . . . you know you want to.’

‘I can’t. And I don’t have conquests. I’m conquered, not conquering.’

‘My arse,’ said Fiona.

‘Okay then,’ said Molly, ‘tell us what this midnight thing is all about.’

‘What midnight thing?’

‘The one you reminded Joe about earlier . . . Unless he has several to be reminded about.’

Angie tried to stall but the other two were relentless. A few more drinks and they knew everything: the close encounter; the Boxing Day promise of sex . . . and the midnight accord.

She’d even let slip about her game of darts!

‘I think meet me by midnight’s cute,’ said Fiona. ‘I want to watch you do it.’

‘It’s by moonlight,’ Molly corrected. ‘Not midnight; moonlight.’

‘Who cares? I still want to watch.’

‘Bugger watching,’ said Molly after a pause, ‘I want to do it too.

‘What,’ said Angie, ‘thinking about Joe along with me?’

‘Probably not, but I can find something else to think about. Your next-room neighbour usually does the trick.’

‘I know,’ said Fiona, ‘let’s all do it.’

‘Hang on,’ said Angie, ‘do you honestly believe I can think about a bloke with you two jilling beside me?’

‘You’ll have to,’ Fiona said smugly. ‘You promised and you always keep your promises, don’t you?’

That was true so, after Fiona took her turn to be Lucky Pierre, with Molly due her turn next, the three of them jilled side by side awaiting midnight. And, because they were all girls together, the workload was equally shared.

Angie, in the middle, frigged Fiona with her left hand, Molly with her right.

And the other two frigged her with one hand each, as good friends always should.

‘Ten to go,’ said Fiona, checking her state-of-the-art watch. ‘I’ll count us down by the minute, and then by the second.’

‘Are you thinking exclusively of Joe?’ Molly enquired.

‘Yes I am,’ Angie said sincerely.

‘No,’ Fiona chuckled. ‘I’m thinking of that darts player Angie’s gonna fuck on Monday. Legs on her! Up to her chin, they are. Bet Angie can’t wait to have ‘em wrapped around her neck.’

Angie grimaced at that, wishing she hadn’t let Eileen’s name drop.

‘Eight minutes to go,’ said Fiona.

Pushing Eileen out of her head, Angie concentrated solely on Joe, trusting her hands to work on auto.

*****

At the other side of town Joe was on his back on his bed, a hand steadily working on his exceptionally hard hard-on. And yes, he was thinking solely of Angie.

He’d been attracted to Angie from his very first glimpse. And that was despite, after three decades in the pub trade he’d been practically born into, knowing precisely what she was.

Joe had always liked lesbians. Most of them had the gritty sort of sense of humour that resonated.

Well okay, maybe not most of them . . . but an awful lot.

More generally, Joe had no problem with other folks’ sexuality. His dad, courtesy of fifty years behind bars (and none of them in Strangeways!) had had his sayings. One of them was about “queers”.

“Each to their own,” he’d say. “As long as they don’t do it in the street and frighten the horses.”

On one level Joe had found that an old-fashioned, possibly offensive viewpoint. On another he found it deadly accurate. Without ever directly quoting, he’d used it as a guideline throughout all of his years in charge of numerous drinking outlets.

Most of those outlets had been pro-lezzie: maybe not out-and-out, but always tolerant.

Yes, he’d been in charge of some of the most tolerant bars in the north of England.

And he was proud that, of the university’s current outlets, the Union Bar was famed as the one for the girls. Okay, so hardened drinkers and gays too, but girls first and foremost.

Even so Angie was something else. The girl often put herself down, for some insane reason believing she was a plain, unattractive person, not realizing how staggering her presence was.

Every straight man in the university wanted to sleep with Angie. So did almost every woman, straight or not.

The clock was ticking towards midnight. Well, it was electric and digital, so it wasn’t ticking . . .

That hand worked steadily on. Three minutes to go and the timing seemed just about right.

He hoped.

Christmas Eve with Angie had been a surprise; so too had the quality of the things she’d done in her bid to “make up”.

How could a card-carrying lezzie suck cocks like that! Over the years he’d been with too many whores to mention, but none of them had gobbled him off as well as she had.

Or as many times, come to that.

Not to mention the thrill of the tight clefts of her bum and tits . . .

One minute to go. This was going to play out perfectly.

‘Angie,’ he sighed, thinking of Boxing Day night, thinking of pleasures to come.

He was going to have her so delicately. He was determined he would. The girl threw the F word about like confetti, but he would be the one to tame her. Never mind obscenely fucking, he would take her to places she’d never been.

Ten seconds to go.

Nine seconds . . .

Joe desperately wanted to cum but wouldn’t allow it.

Five seconds . . .

Four seconds . . .

‘Angie,’ he yelled.

He came on the first stroke of twelve, squirting so hard he caught himself in the eye before coating his belly with sperm.

‘Angie,’ he gasped.

The hand stopped moving on him.

‘There,’ Professor Parkinson said softly, seductively. ‘Surely that’s got the cow out of your system. So now then, is there any chance of you giving me my appropriate reward?’

Chapter Six

(Boxing Day 1997)

‘Out for a run?’ Angie shook her head. ‘You cannot be serious. It’s not even got light yet.’

‘Oh she’s serious all right,’ Molly assured her. ‘She does half-marathons for fun. That’s why she can drink pint after pint and stay slim.’

Fiona finished fastening her laces and stood up. Dressed in her fluorescent running gear she was an eyeful, that was for sure.

‘You’re not coming with me?’

‘It’s still dark.’

‘It won’t be dark for long. And who knows, darkness might make it more fun.’

‘Sorry,’ said Angie, ‘Not my scene.’

‘Not today, darling.’ Molly added, grabbing hold of Angie as if afraid she might jump out of bed. ‘We’ll get our ten miles in here. Off you trot.’

‘I’ll be at least an hour,’ said Fiona, heading for the door. ‘I suppose I owe you that.’

Then, with a wiggle of her sexy ass, she was gone.

‘Alone at last,’ said Molly as a door slammed downstairs.

Angie grinned at her but did wonder what might happen next. On first sight she had assumed Molly was the assertive one. And she’d been assertive enough when she’d joined them yesterday. Yet she had also been submissive when it was her turn in the middle. Unlike Fiona, who’d taken it vigorously and very, very vocally.

Vigorous and loud did sum Fiona up, whatever she happened to be doing . . . When she wasn’t laid back and purring, that was.

‘I watched you trib,’ Molly went on. ‘It was awesome. Will you do to me exactly what you did to Fifi?’

‘Fifi did a lot of lying back and purring,’ Angie warned.

‘That’s fine by me. Honestly it is.’

Straining her memory for details, Angie put on a repeat performance, adding in quite a lot of direct tit-to-tit contact. Then, at Molly’s suggestion, she finished off by scissoring.

Normally Angie wasn’t particularly into that act. In her opinion it was awkward and not as satisfying as a good nose-to-nose trib. It wasn’t too bad with Molly, though. Perhaps their body shapes fit together. Or perhaps it was the heat of the moment. Whatever the reason, the second they pressed their groins she climaxed.

Molly’s pussy was kissing hers! It was kissing hers wetly and sloppily!!

And Molly was still being submissive. She clearly wanted and expected Angie to be the active party.

Shifting position slightly, Angie moved her pussy over Molly’s. That sloppy wetness helped. So too did Molly’s enthusiastic yell. Hoping she was somewhere near to her partner’s clit, she kept moving. It felt good for her but not as good as being on top. Maybe it was familiarity but, if she’d been on top, she’d have found that elusive button straight off.

No, she’d have nailed her button.

But hold on a second. If Molly’s yells and screams were anything to go by, she’d found something.

And the slippery, slidey sheen between them was nothing to be shrugged off.

No, that slippery, slidey sheen was working just fine.

Getting more and more into the exchange, Angie took Molly along a chain of orgasms, taking plenty of opportunity to have a few of her own while she was at it.

Then the bedroom door opened and Fiona came in, accompanied by a blast of cold air.

‘I could hear you from the other end of the street,’ she said, discarding her shorts.

‘Oh no,’ said Molly. ‘You’re not getting back in here all covered in sweat.’

‘The bedclothes are trashed as it is,’ Fiona protested.

‘No,’ Molly said sternly. ‘Go get a shower. And take Angie with you. I’ll make us some breakfast.’

Angie quite liked being passed from one girl to the other. And she immensely liked showering with Fiona. They didn’t bother much with the washing and generally larked about. Then, after she’d rubbed herself off on Fiona’s slickly wet leg, she lifted her off her feet and took her against the tiles.

And she took her hard, with everything about Fiona tightly clasped around her.

Yes oh yes!

Fucking like that was enjoyable but not without its scares. At one point, with Fiona begging for more, Angie lost all her strength when she unexpectedly came. In fact she lost almost everything, including the will to live.

Somehow, instead of collapsing, she managed to concertina onto her knees.

And somehow she managed not to drop her defenceless lover.

Fiona, to all extents and purposes still in position against the wall, laughed. ‘Finish me here,’ she said. ‘Finish me like this.’

Hot water sprayed down on them.

Angie finished her.

*****

Boxing Day was, as Joe had predicted, the busiest yet. Although most of the undergraduates were away the university was still up and running. And a lot of the sports teams had “traditional” fixtures to fulfil. Thanks to the excellence of Joe’s cellar, the Union Bar was flooded with players and spectators right from the word go.

Rugby aficionados drank Boddingtons, Angie noticed. Not all of them, obviously, but more often than not. By contrast those with an interest in ladies’ hockey preferred Marston’s. It was the hockey mob that worried Angie. Rate they were going there’d be none left for her.

She had to look twice to recognize Professor Parkinson. She usually dressed in expensive skirts and looked like a classy lawyer. Today she was wearing a knitted scarf in university colours, tight, figure-hugging blue jeans and a black woollen sweater that showed off her tits.

Angie admitted to herself that the woman looked good. Those tits! They weren’t too big but they were very pointy. And they sent out messages to all interested parties.

Yes, we’re real. Come and feel us if you don’t believe it.

Come and feel us anytime you like!

Ignoring the unspoken invitation Angie got on with her work. And lunch came late, thanks to the thirst and enthusiasm of all those customers. It was approaching three o’clock by the time she left the back of the bar, armed with a pint and a baguette.

Deliberately ignoring Joe and Professor Bitch, she sat on a window ledge close to the darts boards.

Eileen, she thought. Tomorrow night . . .

And Fiona was right. Eileen’s legs were very, very long. She really was looking forward to them being wrapped around her neck.

Yum, yum!

With another twenty minutes to burn Angie went for a pee. She didn’t actually need one but working as a barmaid had made her tactically aware. With almost military competence, she took opportunities when she could. Like being on the front, you never knew when the next chance would arise.

But oh bother! She left her cubicle to find someone waiting for her.

Again!

And this time it wasn’t Fiona, grinning naughtily. This time it was Professor Parkinson, glowering and warlike.

‘We need to talk,’ she began.

Angie wasn’t physically afraid of anybody. A sexy, posh-yet-somehow-slutty forty-something was not going to get anything over on her.

Not physically, that was for sure.

‘So talk,’ she said dismissively, ‘I’m all ears.’

‘I know about you,’ the Parkinson woman said. ‘I know what you’ve promised Joe for tonight. But he is with me now. I’m appealing to your better nature: give it a miss.’

Angie briefly chewed on that. Yes, she had often blundered in the past, but she wasn’t a relationship-wrecker. Not in a deliberate way. But Joe hadn’t given her any negatives. As far as she was aware he was still as up for it tonight as ever.

‘I’m glad you’ve connected,’ she said carefully, ‘not least because I was the one who pushed you into whatever you have. But I’ve made certain promises. And I always honour my promises.’

As an intelligent woman Professor Parkinson could have bargained from there, or more appropriately, reasoned. She didn’t. Instead of inviting Angie to negotiate with the man himself, she snarled.

‘I know your type. “Oh dear me, I seem to have forgotten the condoms . . . maybe next time.” You’re a no-knickers whore. In my day we’d have called you a cock-tease, or worse.’

Angie’s left fist had clenched. She forced it open before she slugged the bitch.

‘Joe’s with me now,’ Parkinson went on. ‘Accept it and go back to whoring with lezzies. That’s more of your scene, isn’t it?’

‘Lezzies are infinitely better company than you,’ Angie growled. Then, still restraining her left arm: ‘I’ll speak to Joe. If he wants an out, he’s got it. If he doesn’t . . .’

‘You’ll fuck him like the cunt you are,’ Parkinson finished, ‘and all in the name of fair play. Joan of Arc can’t hold a candle to you, can she?’

‘Listen, Professor, I really don’t want to punch you, but . . .’

Professor Bitch’s eyes flashed. ‘Did you?’ she demanded. ‘Last night at midnight; did you?’

‘Did I what?’

‘Coming from a girl who always honours her promises that’s laughable.’ Professor Bitch laughed, as if in illustration. ‘Did you bring yourself off at midnight, whore? That was your promise, wasn’t it; Romeo and Juliet, twentieth century style? Yes?’

That low shot hurt. So too did the fact that Joe must have talked out of school.

‘I always honour my promises,’ said Angie, relatively meekly.

‘So you brought yourself off on the first stroke of midnight?’

‘I don’t have to reveal personal details like that.’

‘Yes you do. You’re an honourable whore . . . Sorry! You’re an honourable woman. So did you?’

‘Yes,’ Angie’s mouth said of its own accord.

‘He did too,’ said the bitch, pouncing, ‘right on the very first stroke of twelve. Expect he didn’t do it all on his lonesome. It was me who brought him off. And I doubt he was thinking about you.’ She cackled in a very witchy way.

‘He comes lavishly, you know. That first splash hit the bedhead. It was impressive to see. I enjoyed it nearly as much as having him spurting in me. But you wouldn’t know about that, would you. Not as a girl who . . .’

Before Angie could change her mind about slugging the bitch the door to the ladies’ opened. Two lady hockey players came in, giggling and hugging each other. Angie held off, biting back her hatred, half-expecting the two girls to share a cubicle.

They didn’t.

‘I’ll speak to Joe,’ she said, keeping it down. ‘If he says no then you win. Okay?’

Professor Parkinson’s smooth face rippled as though it contained a bag of snakes. ‘Do what the fuck you want,’ she snapped. ‘But after tonight Joe’s mine. Keep your filthy hands off him.

‘So I get tonight, do I?’

‘Yes, if you haven’t a single compassionate bone in your body. Yes, if you really are a completely shameless whore.’

‘Why thank you, Professor. You’re so graceful . . .’

‘Fuck you, Angela, you’re despicable.’

‘I’m Angie,’ Angie said. ‘And he’s not a freaking possession.’

But it was too late. She wasn’t even talking to Professor Bitch’s back . . . That lady was gone.

Angie washed her hands and waited until the hockey duo departed.

‘Fucking bitch,’ she murmured.

Then, still speaking aloud: ‘She gave up quickly, didn’t she. Maybe Joe’s not so much “mine” as she made out.’

She didn’t know what subject the Parkinson woman “professed” in, but was sure it wasn’t anything to do with human behaviour.

Telling her not to do something could only have one result, couldn’t it?

Yes, she was lesbian. And yes, Joe was only a one-off . . .

But he was a one-off she happened to really like.

In such circumstances telling Angie “no” was the worst thing any rival could do.

She had already bought five condoms in anticipation of the night ahead. Loading the machines with a heap of coins she bought another ten, going for all sorts of shapes and flavours.

‘Better nature my arse,’ she growled. ‘I’ll show the bitch . . .’

###

Other books by LimeyLady

Heather’s Busy Week Pt. 01

Heather’s Busy Week Pt. 02

Heather’s Busy Week Pt. 03

Heather’s Busy Week Pt. 04

Heather’s Busy Week Pt. 05

Heather’s Busy Week Pt. 06

Heather’s Busy Week Pt. 07

New Beginnings

New Beginnings Advance

New Beginnings Falter

New Beginnings Revive

New Beginnings Conclude

Dangerous Dealings

No Holds Barred in London

No Holds Barred in Belfast

No Holds Barred in Boston

No Holds Barred in Munich

Two Sides to Every Story

Unconsecrated Ground

Heather Falls in Love Part One

Heather Falls in Love Part Two

Heather Falls in Love Part Three

Sammy Jo Has a Big Night Out

Sammy Jo Has Another Big Night Out

Sammy Jo Tries Team Building

Heather’s Hectic Weekend Part One

Heather’s Hectic Weekend Part Two

Heather’s Hectic Weekend Part Three

Heather’s Hectic Weekend Part Four

Davina

Davina Again

Davina Does Christmas

Davina Does Easter

Davina Does Older Women

Davina Does Scotland

Best Served Cold

Bedding the Boss

Daddy’s Girl

Short and Sweet

Re-Bedding the Boss

Angie Baby

Art For Art’s Sake

Another One Bites the Dust

Three Times a Lady

Since You’ve Been Gone

Tonight’s the Night

Fat Bottomed Girls

Ruby Tuesday