The Most Wonderful Time of the Year: Guess who's handing out the presents! (Angie's Adventures Book 9)

by Limey Lady

  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 . . .’

&nbs
p; 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.