Three Times a Lady Page 3

  The hot wetness of her was incredible. So too was her tight elasticity.

  Cumming herself and scarcely noticing, Abigail began to probe. Angie wasn’t just oozing by now, she was practically streaming.

  If ever a girl needed shagging she was the one.

  Being as tender and gentle as possible, Abigail eased the rabbit’s shaft into Angie, taking care to get its ears just-so.

  Angie responded by yelling, ‘Yes, yes, yes.’

  Then Abigail moved the shaft control, making it start to vibrate at slow-to-medium.

  Hopefully the neighbours were out because Angie didn’t squeal at that, she screamed.

  ‘Yes, yes, yes!!!’

  Abigail had kept the toy moving inside her lover all along, but slowly, and using very short strokes.

  ‘Does the speed feel right?’ she asked, her voice husky and low.

  ‘I can feel it in my fingers and toes,’ Angie gasped. ‘Nothing’s ever felt righter.’

  ‘Okay, so I’m going to turn off the shaft and switch on the ears. Can you feel them against your clit?’

  ‘Oh my God, yes.’

  ‘They feel wonderful even when they’re switched off, don’t they?’

  ‘Oh my God, yes.’

  ‘Right, here goes.’

  The devil in Abigail prompted her to go for a relatively high speed. Going for a high speed had been a mistake she’d made when she’d first rabbit-practiced solo. Well, this time the selection was maybe not a “mistake” at all but no matter: it produced the same result: Angie came instantaneously.

  Abigail reduced the speed while Angie noisily re-landed on planet earth.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said insincerely. ‘It’s something else, isn’t it?’

  ‘Does it have slower speeds?’

  ‘Yeah; try this.’

  Angie took it at the second slowest and impressed Abs with her self-control.

  ‘I could stand a lot of this,’ she said eventually.

  ‘It’s time for two vibrations at once.’ Abigail chuckled. ‘Let’s aim for that dual orgasm. But don’t worry if you miss it at first. We’ve got all afternoon. And practice makes perfect, doesn’t it?’

  *****

  Going down on Angie was the bravest thing Abigail had ever done. Conversely, it was also one of the easiest things she’d ever done. There was no subconscious hesitation or anything along those lines. After an hour or so of “practice” she’d simply left the vibrator buzzing inside a grateful puss-puss and chewed on Angie’s tits awhile. Then, when Angie announced it was “her turn”, she’d done it.

  ‘This first,’ she’d said, moving into position, recalling the feel of those short bristles on her fingers.

  And wondering what they’d feel like on her tongue.

  The direct taste of Angie was beyond belief. The earlier finger sample hadn’t done her justice. And of course by then Angie wasn’t streaming; she was spewing forth like a volcano.

  Suddenly Abigail was hauled off and tossed unceremoniously onto her back. She actually felt a stab of fear as she considered Angie’s physique and the history between them.

  What if this is the brutal revenge fuck, her brain yammered.

  But it wasn’t. For a large, fearsome-looking skinhead Angie had the touch of an angel. Being kissed by her was like enjoying a soft summer breeze. And the places she kissed . . .

  Abigail had expected tits and pussy. Angie kissed her everywhere. She also sucked on her toes and licked her armpits.

  Armpits, for God’s sake!

  Angie’s lovemaking put Abigail’s in the shade. Okay, so she’d successfully led the way with the sex toy, but her subsequent efforts seemed amateurish in the extreme. She may have talked the talk but Angie definitely walked the walk.

  Finally, after a million orgasms for her and perhaps two for Angie, positions shifted. The strong, oh-so beautiful skinhead was on her in a missionary sort of a way.

  ‘That was frigging awesome,’ Abigail said in absolute, total honesty.

  ‘Haven’t even started yet,’ Angie replied. ‘Wrap your legs around me. No, not like that; not around the back of my legs . . . Wrap them higher, over my hips.

  Abigail obliged and almost died. Their vaginas were kissing! It was hot, sloppy and wet and the best feeling ever.

  Then Angie started to move and whole new horizons opened up.

  ‘Fuck me,’ Abigail panted.

  ‘Dead right I will,’ Angie grunted. ‘Great minds and all that . . . ‘

  *****

  Abigail had an “old-fashioned” electric alarm clock on a cabinet beside her bed. It was showing 16:59 when Angie stopped tribbing and asked how much longer they had.

  ‘Shit,’ said Abigail, ‘half an hour if we’re lucky. Maybe not even that.’

  Angie climbed off her and stretched. ‘Time to go,’ she said. ‘Thank you for having me.’

  ‘I think you’ve had me, haven’t you?’

  ‘No, I think we both held our ends up splendidly. I can’t remember a more fun afternoon. Or one that was more unexpected, come to that.’

  ‘Ange . . .’

  Abigail broke off uncertainly. Angie regarded her, noting her beauty but also a worried expression.

  ‘Don’t worry, Abs. I meant what I said. What happened here stays here; I don’t blab. Not ever.’

  ‘It’s not that I’m bothered about. I want more. No, I desperately need more.’

  ‘So the experiment was a success, was it?’

  ‘It couldn’t have gone better. And I really mean it; I desperately need more.’

  It occurred to Angie that this was the moment; she could triumph over her “rival” once and for all. She had had her fun and could easily run. But she dismissed the notion out of hand. She didn’t hate Abs and giving her more wasn’t a bad idea, was it?

  What was it that Miss Pearce said to justify her string of lovers: Friends should always be lovers and lovers should be friends forever? It was something along those lines, anyway.

  ‘I have a complicated sex life,’ said Angie.

  ‘I don’t care. Just fit me in now and again.’

  ‘Do you mean like no commitment and passion all the way?’

  ‘Yes. Particularly the passion bit.’

  ‘And Bobby’s not to know?’

  ‘Stuff Bobby; he can know or not. That’s up to you. I’ll play it any way you want.’

  ‘I think we should keep it quiet for a while.’

  ‘No problem. Any way you want it is fine by me.’

  ‘Okay, you’re on. When do you want to go again?’

  ‘Right now, this minute . . . but we haven’t time. We could do tomorrow afternoon, back here.’

  ‘Tomorrow,’ Angie echoed.

  ‘Isn’t that soon enough?’

  Abigail’s face was a picture. She was as sincere as sincere could be. Angie laughed.

  ‘Okay,’ she said, ‘it’s a date.’

  Chapter Five

  (July 1997)

  A month had passed in the blink of an eye. Now it was a Friday late in July and Angie was obliged to make a trip into school. After many weeks of leave of absence and exams it felt strange catching the usual buses and walking the few hundred yards up to the sixth form block.

  Probably it felt strange because it was the last time she would ever be making that familiar old trip.

  The stress-free weeks following her exams had been eventful and fulfilling. And Angie had landed a job. Okay, it wasn’t a terribly important job: she was just helping out in a busy pub attached to a hotel. And, as she was technically still a student, her position hadn’t an official title. She’d been getting paid cash-in-hand as “casual labour”. But for the first time in her life she had money of her own.

  Her very own Guinness vouchers.

  So far her hours had been limited and her duties varied. Serving behind the bar; waitressing; greeting; collecting and washing glasses; she’d done the lot. She’d also had her shifts in the dreaded kiddies’ play areas,
both indoors and out, and had surprised herself by enjoying them.

  Yes, the girl who hated kids actually connecting!!

  To begin with the kids had seemed scared of her appearance. And to begin with, she’d been scared of her potential reaction to a crowd of screaming brats. But the pub’s geography was good. Both the play areas couldn’t have been better segregated from drinkers and diners, and the kids loved being left to run wild with their peers almost as much as their parents loved leaving them.

  There had been unruly, headstrong brats, of course. Angie dealt with them with a stern frown and soft but forceful words. And a wagging finger, naturally. Every last one of those tiny hardcases had wilted at that. Towering over them as she did, their mum and dad cosy in the main body of the pub, slurping their alcohol and devouring their very reasonably priced meals . . .

  Well, it was only too obvious who was in charge.

  Not that Angie had set herself up as the great dictator. She took pride in helping kiddies when asked and was constantly amazed by her patience.

  Kiddies had never featured in her plans but had moved up a notch. Okay, so she wouldn’t want any of her own, but looking after other folks’ wasn’t so bad. At least she could always give them back.

  This Friday was a game changer in more ways than one. As if marking the end of her school life was not enough, she had a four o’clock “interview” at the pub. Assuming she didn’t mess it up, she would move from casual onto a short term contract, thereby increasing her hours and having more security. Well, she’d be secure until she went to uni, and would see a bit more (taxable!) cash while she was at it.

  Good news there then but, needless to say, the extra hours would cut into her sex-life. In other words her summer might not be quite so eventful and fulfilling . . . Not unless she carefully rescheduled.

  And she had to reschedule anyway, because four were about to become three.

  How sad was that, and how unfortunate. Balancing four lovers hadn’t been any trickier than balancing three. She’d added Abs into her schedule with hardly a ripple.

  *****

  As far as school days went this last one was not at all typical. After registration they were ushered to the main school hall and told to wait in an orderly line.

  Sandra cracked up at that. ‘That’s what they said on the Sheffield,’ she explained.

  Angie wasn’t quite with it.

  ‘The HMS Sheffield,’ Sandra enlarged. ‘It was a warship that got sunk in the Falklands War.’

  ‘And . . .’

  ‘My uncle Frank was on it. Haven’t I told you, duck?’

  ‘No, but I’m sure you’re about to.’

  ‘Imagine the scene,’ said Sandra. ‘The ship had just been hit by an Exocet missile. It was on fire and well on the way to sinking. Injured and dying men were on the deck, some of them in absolute agony. Argentinian planes were sweeping above them, dropping bombs, shooting off more missiles, trying to machine-gun anything that moved; rescue ships included. Sounds like Dante’s Inferno, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Sounds pretty grim,’ Angie agreed, actually hearing the explosions and screams.

  ‘Anyone else would have cut and run,’ Sandra went on. ‘Like the guy on Dad’s Army shouting “Don’t panic!” But the man in charge wasn’t having any of that.’

  Adopting a very decent version of a man’s voice, Sandra mimicked her uncle, no doubt quoting from an oft repeated script.

  ‘Pull yourselves together, you ‘orrible little men. What do you think you’re on, your daddy’s yacht? And for fuck’s sake stop worrying about those fucking Argies. Next man I see looking up will have me to worry about, not a fucking shit Etendard. Form an orderly line.’

  ‘Don’t tell me, let me guess. They formed an orderly line.’

  ‘It was the British thing to do, wasn’t it?’ Sandra laughed. ‘Apparently a senior officer got them singing “Always Look on the Bright Side of Life”. I guess they were more scared of another beasting than being burnt or machine-gunned.’

  ‘Uncle Frank survived,’ said Angie, ‘obviously.’

  ‘He says it was the worst day of his life.’ Sandra shrugged. ‘Then he has a few drinks and says it’s his best.’

  ‘Never did understand men.’

  ‘No, me either.’

  *****

  The intent of the main hall ordeal was to hand back all items of school property that had been “borrowed” over the years. Angie got a mild bollocking because (and God only knew how) she had got two copies of Julius Caesar. Otherwise she passed with flying colours. Sandra handed in two copies of The Rime of the Ancient Mariner and escaped with a similar rebuke.

  Holding hands, they retreated to the sixth form common room where coffee and sandwiches had been lavishly laid on. Quite a few teachers were floating about, laughing and joking with their former pupils, all treating them as equals. Somehow that brought it all home to Angie.

  This really was the end of the road.

  Some of her fellow sixth formers were circulating, hugging and kissing everyone they could, showing the same lack of discretion as those long ago Argentinian gunners. Angie could have predicted the ones who would be circulating without pausing for thought. They were the same guys and gals who went round Christmas parties, mistletoe in hand, lips puckered.

  Or was she being unfair? If asked last year she would have said she’d never made friends at school.

  But now, at the very death, she realized she’d made hundreds of friends; she just hadn’t understood the true meaning of “friendship”.

  Sandra kept flitting hither and thither. ‘I’m getting in my hugs and kisses,’ she said, ‘seeing as you are forsaking me.’

  Finally Angie drew her aside.

  ‘That older woman of mine . . .’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘She’s going away tomorrow. She’ll be gone for a couple of months. That’s why I can’t come out with you tonight. It’s our last time; perhaps our last time ever.’

  ‘I understand.’

  Sandra’s instant acceptance melted Angie’s heart.

  ‘I wasn’t going to tell you,’ she confessed, stumbling over the words. ‘I suppose I thought I could keep Tuesdays and Fridays for . . . for . . .’

  ‘Too late, duck, I know now. But I’m not greedy. You can keep Tuesdays; I’m having Fridays from now on.’

  ‘What’s with Tuesdays?’

  ‘Maybe I’ve got something going Tuesdays myself.’ Sandra’s chuckle was deep and sexier than sex.

  ‘Hey,’ she added, ‘this mystery woman’s a teacher, yeah?’

  Ange froze. ‘No,’ she lied.

  ‘Sure she is. Who else goes off for two months right at the start of the summer holidays?’

  ‘Sand . . .’

  ‘Don’t fret; I’m not going to start rumours.’

  ‘Sand . . .’

  ‘See you duck; I’m off to bash tonsils with boys.’

  Angie drew in a breath as Sandra went off hunting guys . . . or, more accurately, made it apparent she was available for hugs and kisses. Only too predictably, guys and gals fell over themselves to oblige.

  Chapter Six

  Forgoing one final school dinner Angie and Sandra went to the Roebuck for a liquid lunch, along with a crowd of contemporaries. There was talk about not going back but it was half-hearted. They were all in their seats for Afternoon Registration. And they were all at an unexpected loose end when they the form teachers told them that that was their lot, they could go.

  Once and forever . . . just like that.

  Some students piled into cars and set off, horns a-honking. Others returned to the Roebuck or flocked to the bus stop.

  ‘I need a new frock,’ said Sandra, ‘for the party tonight. The one you’re not going to. Will you help me pick something that’ll guarantee a pull?’

  Angie said she would and they spent the next hour or so in the town centre, going from shop to shop until Sandra at last held up a scrap of blue fabric.

&nbs
p; ‘What do you think, duck?’