by Limey Lady
‘Goal,’ the reds’ fans cried.
‘Shit no,’ the blues’ countered.
Time became elastic as the ball curved. A thousand throats gulped in air.
And still the ball curved, wending its way to the equalizer the black-haired beauty and her teammates so dearly deserved.
But the blues’ goalie was up to the challenge. Heroically, diving at absolute full stretch, she somehow finger-tipped the goal-bound shot around the post.
It was a corner to the reds and probably their last chance to force extra time. Every single woman on the pitch was in the blues’ area. Well, every single one apart from the corner taker herself. The reds’ keeper was up there. Even Sandra, usually glued to the halfway line, was back there; woman-marking that centre-half for a change.
‘I daren’t watch,’ Suzanne gasped, gripping Angie’s hand harder than ever.
‘We’ll do it,’ Angie replied, not convincing anyone, not even herself.
The corner was unexpectedly clever. After perhaps twenty longer ones the taker went short, aiming at the smallest girl on the pitch who was standing just in front of the near post. Obviously expecting it, the small girl flicked it on, over and above the relative giants behind her.
Luck was on her side. The intention was clearly to pass the ball on to one of her teammates but her angle wasn’t quite right. Instead of going straight back it made a beeline for inside of the far post.
Afterwards Liz would claim she made the perfect defensive header. In truth the ball hit her smack in the face and bounced in a direction favourable for the blues. Even more fortunately, it then landed at the feet of the blue’s skipper, Christine. Christine didn’t fanny about back-heeling the bastard thing; she immediately gave it more air than it had ever seen before.
Pandemonium erupted again. Twenty-one out of twenty-two players followed the leather out of the area, all of them trying for world records, the reds’ keeper leading the charge. And never mind Gail Devers; big as she was that goalkeeper would have left Donovan Bailey in her wake.
But she wasn’t fast enough. Clear from her shadows once more, Sandra got herself underneath the highly lofted ball. It bounced perhaps two yards in front of her.
She hit it as it came down a second time, not letting it bounce again.
Sandra was out forty yards and at an angle. Her accuracy was immaculate. It would have shamed a top-class rugby kicker. It also made a mockery out of the reds’ keeper’s efforts to get back in position. Zooming perhaps fifty feet over her sprinting head, it bounced once, just shy of the penalty spot . . .
And then it careered on over the bar.
Angie and Suzanne joined the chorus of agonized wails but the miss didn’t matter. The referee let the panting keeper take the goal kick then blew the final whistle as the ball was still aloft.
Victory was theirs!
Against all the odds!!
Chapter Three
The aftermath was overwhelming. Angie, Suzanne and hordes of schoolmates flooded the pitch in spite of the stadium announcer’s pleas to keep off. Somehow “a few more league games” didn’t seem as important as the here and now.
Bugger the state of the pitch! Who cared about blades of grass at a moment like that!!
To their enormous credit the reds’ fans stayed to applaud the medal presentations. By then the blues’ fans weren’t going anywhere.
“Champions,” they roared as Christine lifted the trophy. Then, a tad optimistically, ‘We are champions, champions of Europe!’
All of the school’s PE teachers were present, male and female. And that evening they all deferred to the women’s first team coach.
‘Everyone back to school,’ she commanded. ‘It’s been a big secret but we’ve kept the caterers there this afternoon. We’re going to hold the biggest party ever held anywhere.’
Everybody shouted out enthusiasm.
As if she didn’t believe them the coach coughed, mock-politely. ‘Don’t tell the headmaster,’ she said, ‘but it’s a champagne reception. So make sure you get there before the victorious team, yeah? Can’t be greeting them with empty glasses, can we?’
The unruly supporters on the pitch were constantly jostling, constantly hugging. At one stage, going from hug to hug, Angie came face to face with Abigail.
‘Angie Baby,’ she sighed, pulling her close and kissing her on the mouth.
Carried away with the spirit of the moment, Angie kissed back, amazing herself by enjoying it.
‘I didn’t really give Bobby seven out of ten,’ she whispered into Abigail’s ear. ‘Suzy made that up. I wouldn’t know where to begin.’
Abigail laughed. She could be a bit of a bitch but just then her eyes shone with sincerity. ‘Never mind his score,’ she said, ‘I want to know more about your perfect ten.’
*****
Encouraged by the PE teacher (or maybe herded like sheep by border collies) the crowd finally left the pitch. By then Sandra had convinced Angie that she “simply had to” travel back on the team coach. A massive welcome awaited them; sneaking off for a few beers in a country pub wasn’t an option. Liz had simultaneously told Suzanne a similar story.
‘You guys need to head off,’ she’d said. ‘We’ll fool about in the bath while you go. I have to be with my teammates at a time like this.’
‘Teammates,’ Suzanne snorted as she drove out of the football car park. ‘I bet they’re all frigging each other in that frigging bath.’
‘I’d frig Christine,’ Angie offered, less than helpfully. ‘I bet she’d be up for it tonight. And I’m prepared to bet Lucy would be too, come to that.’
‘They’re both straighter than straight.’
‘So says she with eyes only for one girl.’
Suzanne was uncharacteristically quiet for a while. Then, perhaps three miles down the road home, she took an unannounced right turn.
‘Let’s go find Maid Marian,’ she said, answering Angie’s unspoken question.
‘What do you mean?’ she managed.
‘I mean bugger the party, let’s go into the forest.’
Angie’s heart was doing strange things. Blood was pounding through her, and not just in her temples.
‘I don’t think Maid Marian does Wednesday evenings,’ she ventured.
‘I do,’ Suzanne replied.
*****
The going steadily deteriorated as the “forest” steadily thickened. Leaving dual carriageway for slight woodland they were soon on an unkempt road surrounded by trees. Another turn and they were on a track under a canopy. And then the track became exactly that: no more than two worn ruts with a line of sorry-for-itself grass growing between them.
‘We’re lost,’ said Angie.
‘No we’re not. I have an aunt who lives round here. I know this bit of country like the back of my hand.’
‘What is she, a witch who lives in a hut in a clearing?’
‘No, she’s a witch who lives in a semi in a nearby village. I still know the area, though.’
‘So where are Robin and his merry men?
Suzanne took yet another turn, this time into an even rougher track; one which dead-ended in dense woodland after less than twenty yards.
‘Screw Maid Marian,’ she said, switching off the engine. ‘Let’s get in the back.’
Angie had mentally rehearsed what she might do if Suzanne made a move. When it came to pass she simply climbed into the backseat. And then, with her last reserves of propriety, she made a limp effort at being reluctant.
‘What about Liz and Sandra?’
‘They’re currently frigging in a bathtub. Stuff them; what they don’t know can’t hurt them.’
‘I don’t know if I can.’
‘Trust me, Ange. You can. And I certainly can, even if you can’t.’
‘But it’s still daylight.’
‘That makes it all the better, doesn’t it? I want to see as well as feel.’
‘What if anyone finds out?’
‘What if
you stop bleating and give me a kiss?’
Kissing Suzanne was crazily good. Angie’s already scrambled brain stopped the analysis and did a bit of serious enjoying instead.
Well, it tried to enjoy but questions still remained.
Why did every new lover seem better than the last?
Why was furtively making out in the back of a borrowed car more exciting than wantonly fucking in a double bed?
Why had she forgotten all about Sandra and Miss Pearce?
And why were her knickers wetter than wet?
Suzanne’s hands were predictably busy. By the time Angie decided to drop the cool kissing sort of an approach they were gripping her tits through her T-shirt. By the time she began sucking on Suzanne’s tongue they were inside the fabric, gripping bare flesh.
Angie’s tits had always been responsive. Having hands on them sent shockwaves down through her body, straight into the core of her. Within moments she came. Then, when Suzanne kept kissing and gripping, she came again . . . and again and again.
Enthusiastic as ever, Suzanne grasped the hem of Angie’s T. Rather than tugging it off she rolled it up so it was above her exposed tits.
‘Delightful,’ she murmured before getting her face in there.
‘Oh my God, yes,’ Angie endorsed.
Space was at a premium on the backseat, not that either of them complained about close quarters.
‘Yes, yes, yes,’ groaned Angie as her latest new lover kissed, sucked, nibbled and gnawed.
Suzanne was tireless. Her admiration had clearly not been exaggerated.
‘Yes, yes, yes,’ Angie repeated. ‘Fuck me, yes!’
Perhaps Suzanne took that as an instruction. Or perhaps she’d decided to move things along anyway. Whatever, her hands were suddenly working lower down, popping the button on Angie’s jeans before unzipping her zip.
‘Help me here,’ she said, momentarily removing her lips from Angie’s diamond-hard nips.
Angie obediently lifted her bum off of the seat. Two seconds later her jeans and panties were around her ankles, only held even remotely in place by her boots.
Fuck my old boots, she thought, laughing insanely.
‘Your tit-work’s good,’ she said aloud, in-between genuine gasps. ‘But I need more.’
Her hands closed on Suzanne’s shoulders and, gently at first, began to push.
Suzanne seemed loath to go but, after a couple of final chews, she slid downwards.
And glad to report, her pussy-work was even better.
Chapter Four
Being eaten was great but Angie was starting to find her vocation. She could remember snooping on Suzanne and Liz in the not-too-distant past. Suzanne had been the receiver on that occasion. Okay, it might have been a one-off, but Suzy had definitely relished Liz’s enthusiastic servicing.
Relished? No, the girl had patently loved it.
And Angie definitely relished servicing a girl.
‘Pants off,’ she commanded, pulling Suzanne’s head away from her honeypot.
Suzanne didn’t hesitate. Gasping for air, totally up for it, she had the sense to kick away her Nikes before unfastening her jeans and deftly denuding the bottom half of her body.
Angie nearly swooned at the sight. Up until then she’d only had close acquaintance with two pussies and thought she was in love with both of them. But this one belonged on an ancient Greek statue.
Or would she think that about every pussy? Was she literally pussy-struck, hopelessly at the mercy of every new one that strutted along?
Not that she really took time to consider the ins and outs . . . at least not all the philosophical ins and outs, anyway.
With generous use of tongue and two fingers of both hands, she gradually brought Suzanne to climax and then skilfully kept her there, maybe not quite multiply but definitely not just occasionally.
Controlling her like that was ace. Orgasmic in her own right, Angie really got off on seeing and feeling Suzanne cum and cum. And the more Suzanne came, the more orgasmic she got.
Fab deal or what!
*****
A timeless time later Angie slid back upwards. She relished the feel of her tits on Suzanne’s bare legs and tummy. She relished the feel of them on Suzanne’s noticeably damp T-shirt too.
Most of all she relished the feel of their groins pressing together. Hers was shaven with a number one guard, just like her head. Suzanne’s was bare apart from a short neat triangle just over the very gates of heaven.
Cramped and at an odd angle across the seat, they were in prime position;
‘Let’s fuck,’ said Angie, trying for seductive, possibly failing miserably . . . or possibly not.
‘Oh yes,’ Suzanne said eagerly. ‘Yes, yes please.’
Thanks to her secret older woman, Angie was experienced at tribbing. Presumably thanks to Liz, so too was Suzanne. Without needing to be asked the reddish-blonde repositioned her sexy ass. Being as she was, unrestricted by jeans and Docs, she was able to spread out wide.
‘Come on, Ange,’ she said. ‘Fuck me.’
Angie moved tentatively at first, trying to get perfect measure for both of them. In response Suzanne groaned and then flexed her legs up against the car’s roof. Suddenly the mouths of their vaginas were kissing.
It was warm, wet and the best sensation ever.
Conscious she was supposed to be the donor, Angie began to move on a vertical plane. Down a little, so her hood was under Suzanne’s hot, wet mouth, and then slowly up, crossing it a few millimetres at a time. Onwards and still slowly upwards, her hood leading the way between Suzy’s sweet parted lips, along her folds and tantalizingly over her clit. And higher upwards still, enjoying every microsecond of everything.
Suzanne responded with yelps and screams. Angie knew exactly where she was coming from. Within moments she came, damning herself for it, certain Suzanne should have been first. But not stopping, pressing on, their wetness merging, their nerve endings twanging together.
‘I’m gonna cum,’ Suzanne wailed.
‘Not yet,’ Angie grunted.
On and on they went; yelps and screams merged now, both of them closer than close but reluctant to yield.
‘I’m gonna cum,’ Suzanne repeated.
‘Two ticks,’ Angie grunted. ‘Two ticks and I’ll be there with you.’
‘Two ticks . . .’
‘That’s it . . . Now, Suzy!’
Suzanne didn’t need telling twice. She let go and they contracted together. A choreographer couldn’t have timed it better. Nor could she/he have stopped their bodies’ near-death throes. Even in the very heights of ecstasy they continued to clash and writhe and contort.
And they continued to yelp, cry out and scream. Their vocal release wasn’t so far behind the starburst of physical joy.
*****
Angie became aware of the knocking when she finally stopped soaring and began to float back down to earth. Assuming it was her or Suzanne juddering against some car part, she initially ignored it.
Then she saw her lover’s eyes widen.
‘Oh shit,’ said Suzanne. ‘It’s the Sheriff of Nottingham.’
Looking over her shoulder Angie saw that was a half-truth. It wasn’t the actual Sheriff but it was one of his modern-day henchmen. A uniformed policeman was rapping on the window directly behind her.
‘Okay sonny boy,’ he said, ‘your fun is over. Get out of the car.’
Only mildly annoyed by being mistaken for a bloke Angie lifted herself off Suzanne, giving the cop an eyeful of tit and pussy in the process. Expressionless, he had the decency to turn away, but only after he had seen what needed to be seen.
Getting her jeans and panties back into position wasn’t so easy. Unrolling her T was a relative cinch. Somehow, clumsily, she prevailed. Satisfied she was as respectable as she was likely to be, Angie got out of the car, leaving Suzanne mostly naked and scrabbling for her socks.
‘And you are?’ the policeman asked, looking her up and down.
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Angie gave him her name and home town without offering an address. He nodded and didn’t bother taking notes. ‘Is this your vehicle?’
‘No, it’s Suzanne’s.’