The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

by Limey Lady

  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

&nb
sp; 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