Excerpt for Art For Art's Sake by , available in its entirety at Smashwords

This page may contain adult content. If you are under age 18, or you arrived by accident, please do not read further.

Art For Art’s Sake

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

Chapter One - A Liberated Lady

Chapter Two - A Secret Assignation

Chapter Three - Getting to Know Each Other

Chapter Four - Ade’s Party

Chapter Five - Sandra

Chapter Six - Easter Holidays

Chapter Seven - The Big Sleepover

Author’s Note

Other Books by LimeyLady

Chapter One

As a responsible member of the upper sixth Angie didn’t have to wear a uniform. She had, however, settled on a sort of uniform of her own. Consisting of Doc’s, jeans and a sweatshirt or a T, it wasn’t a million miles away from the way she dressed out of school.

Face it: with a build like hers she wasn’t going to wear anything girly, was she? A little over six feet tall and weighing in at thirteen stone-odd, Angie wasn’t really cut out for dresses and skirts. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on her body but there weren’t many feminine bumps and curves either. Her legs were strong, mannish and definitely not made to be publically exhibited.

For her dresses and skirts were right out.

Going by the book, sixth formers weren’t supposed to wear jeans but a girl could get away with smart ones. Angie ensured that hers were always pristine, never slashed, patched or frayed and not in the least tight-fitting. And she always got away with it.

Today, the most important Friday in living memory, she’d varied her outfit in two ways. Although it was late January and she’d normally be wearing a sweat, she’d gone for a white T. And more significantly, for the first time in years and years, she wasn’t wearing a bra.

Tight white T and no bra . . . whatever had possessed her!

Tight T or not, the feeling of freedom was nothing short of exhilarating. Her body was unshapely and masculine but her breasts were definitely redeeming features. They were large round and, unfettered as they now were, they had a life of their own. She felt like those brave bra-burning sisters of the 60s must have felt: daring, defiant and above all, liberated.

Oh yes, that liberation: the gentle bouncing at even the slightest movement; the sensation when she suddenly turned and her tits kept going a moment before springing back and jiggling up and down.

And better still, the thin fabric of her T-shirt constantly rubbing against her nipples.

Make that rubbing against her rock-hard nipples . . .

Angie’s journey in to school passed uneventfully. There again, she was wearing a jacket which more or less held everything in place. It wasn’t until she’d got to the sixth form centre and ditched the coat that folk started to take notice.

Suzanne and Liz commented first. They were the school’s prominent lesbian pairing and were almost inseparable. Even at quarter past eight in the morning they were holding hands in the cloakroom.

Holding hands and, in Suzanne’s case, gaping open-mouthed.

‘Blimey Ange,’ she said, ‘what’s with you?’

Angie shrugged, inadvertently setting her chest in motion, giving Suzanne visible palpitations.

‘Hands off, you,’ said Liz, dragging her girlfriend away.

Not sure who exactly Liz had been talking to, Angie made her way into the common room. And, while her entry wasn’t quite like a gunslinger walking into a saloon, there were similarities.

(If they’d had a piano player he would have stopped playing, for sure!)

Conscious of several sets of eyes on her, she went to the coffee bar and bought a cup.

Men, she thought dismissively. They have no use for a girl in eighteen years and then, when she has a tiny nip erection, what are they all suddenly like!

Personally, Angie had no use for men anymore. She’d never really been interested but had tried one to make sure she wasn’t missing out. After that disastrous experiment she was convinced she wasn’t missing anything at all. As she’d suspected all along, girls were much more fun.

What a pity Suzanne was already committed.

And how could she be thinking of Suzanne with the night she had ahead of her!!

Sipping her hot drink Angie noticed that the sixth former currently on coffee bar duty (a guy known to pupils and staff alike as “Treacle”) was trying to look down the top of her T-shirt. How pathetic was that! It wasn’t low-cut and he’d never even spared her a glance before.

‘Hey,’ she said, ‘keep your eyes to yourself.’

‘I can’t.’ Treacle replied with a grin. ‘I’m seeing you in a whole new light.’

‘You’ll be seeing me in the casualty ward if you don’t watch out.’

Angie drained her cup and set of for Registration, arriving there miles ahead of anyone else. Her form room was a sixth form classroom and therefore small. Taking the backmost seat to the left she let out a sigh.

Unbelievable! Me an object of male lust!

Sandra arrived while Angie was still laughing at the mysterious workings of the world.

‘Angie Baby,’ she crooned, ‘just look at you! Are you hot or what!’

“Angie Baby” struck a chord. Only one person had ever used that before; one very significant person.

In fact she’d been a same-sex lover sort of a person.

Not that Angie was in a position to name names. Not even in confidence to the loveliest person she’d ever met.

Tall, black and beautiful beyond belief, Sandra was in Angie’s opinion the best-looking girl in school. Come to that she was the best looking girl in town and very possibly the best-looking girl in Europe. It was mystifying why she wasn’t widely classed as “popular”, but there again maybe she was too nice to be “popular”.

Maybe she wasn’t nearly bitchy enough.

‘Hi yourself,’ Angie replied. Then, to her own astonishment, she added: ‘You always look hot.’

‘Why thank you, kind lady.’ Sandra had West Indian roots but, like two generations of her ancestors, she’d been born in England. The words, accents and inflections she used were pure East Midlands.

There was still a lot of husky promise in her, though. Her low, tuneful voice ran her appearance close for sexiness. Smitten with another as she was, Angie couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to have Sandra whispering sweet nothings into her ear . . . very naughty, very exciting sweet nothings.

No woman should sound so good.

Nonsense: scrap that . . . every woman should sound so good!

‘I’m wondering, duck,’ Sandra went on, ‘was it last night or is it tonight?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I’m talking about luck, duck. It either happened last night or it’s happening tonight. Never mind your hard nips; you are a girl with gladness in her heart. Lady Luck is on your side, that’s plain to see.’

Angie glanced down. Sure enough her nipples were poking out of her T . . . again.

‘It’s the cold,’ she said.

Sandra hooted. ‘It’s the hot,’ she said, ‘cold isn’t involved. So come on and tell me: who’s the lucky guy? And where and when is it going to pass? Are you off to Brian’s eighteenth?

Angie hesitated. She’d already told white lies about Brian’s eighteenth and didn’t want to tell more.

‘Trust me,’ Sandra persisted, ‘I keep secrets safe, yeah?’

Lying to Angie’s mum was a precarious occupation. Mum had an inbuilt bullshit detector strong enough to rule out presidential hopefuls. Tricky Dicky would never have made it as far as Watergate if she’d had half a sniff at him.

Before seven o’clock was a different matter, however. Mum managed the bars in a local nightclub. If she ever got home before three in the morning they’d been raided. After she had worked a normal night updating her at seven while she was still mostly asleep was as safe as it got.

“I’ll not be home this afternoon,” Angie had said (truthfully), speaking through a half-opened bedroom door.

“It’s Brian’s party tonight,” she’d added. (Also true.)

“There’ll be a spread on.” (Reasonably true; she’d been to parties at that venue before and there had always been a buffet.)

“It’s an early start so it’d be madness to come home first. I’m going to get myself straight off.” (Utter bollocks: school ended at half past two and Brian’s party started at eight.)

“Don’t worry, I’ll be snuggled up and snoring long before you get home.” (True enough . . . hopefully!)

Sandra’s bullshit detector wasn’t too far behind Mum’s. And Sandra was wide awake.

‘You’re not, are you,’ she said. ‘You’ve better things to be doing. Who is he?’

Angie’s silence must have spoken volumes.

‘Omigod it’s a girl!’ Sandra’s body was supermodel-good. Her eyes were even better; “magical” didn’t even begin to describe them. Long-lashed, deep brown and invariably glowing, right then they were flashing.

‘I’m so glad,’ she half-whispered. ‘So are you going to Brian’s?’

‘I’m probably not. I’ve . . . Like you said, I’ve got something else on.’

‘What a pity, duck. I’d love to slow-dance with you. I’d saved you ten slots on my dance card.’

Other students arrived before Angie could answer. She wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or bad. As the room filled up she had another look at Sandra.

Was the girl just being her effusive, naturally warm self? Or was she actually flirting?

A girl like that couldn’t possibly be interested in me, Angie thought. What could she possibly see in an unattractive supersized skinhead?

But Sandra smiled back at her.

‘Have a great night,’ she said, ‘but save something for me.’

Chapter Two

Friday afternoon was the worst afternoon in the whole week as far as Angie was concerned. She liked Physics as a subject but didn’t like Friday’s teacher. The other Physics teacher was witty and capable of making the dullest subject interesting if not exciting. Friday’s teacher couldn’t have made bungee-jumping exciting.

And Friday’s was only a triple lesson!

A triple flipping lesson!!!

Being positive, almost two hours of sheer, unadulterated boredom could not fail to make the weekend shine alluringly, filling it full of possibilities. Being negative, watching grass grow was more entertaining than listening to that boring old fart.

Somehow Angie survived and, stowing her books and stuff in her locker, cheerfully made the mile or so walk into town. Even more cheerfully, she found a café and treated herself to a large, very greasy all-day breakfast then walked back towards school.

Not that she was paying a return visit to academia. No, ignoring the everyday turn-off she kept going along the bottom road and finally wound up at the Roebuck, her lover’s local pub.

By then it was nearly half past four. The sun may or may not have set; thanks to a blanket of dismal cloud it was impossible to be sure. In any case darkness was setting in and, for Angie, darkness was a friend.

The Roebuck wasn’t too busy when she arrived. And her lover wasn’t there. Not that she’d supposed she would have been there. Her lover was expecting Angie to discreetly show up at her place at six o’clock . . . and in that she wasn’t going to be disappointed.

Angie had never been up for anything as much as tonight. She was determined to present herself at six on the dot. Not one second sooner or later.

She smiled as she sipped her first pint of Worthington’s. Thus far she’d only had two close encounters with the delightful Miss Pearce: one in a car, the other in an art storeroom. Tonight was destined to be much less cramped and totally free from time restraints.

Assuming Miss Pearce hadn’t had second thoughts.

A scowl creased Angie’s brow, creating familiar frown lines. Miss Pearce was in her early thirties and already Head of Art and Design. She had more than once maintained that having an affair with a pupil was not the way to behave. Indeed she’d suggested that her career would be toast if word got out.

For her part Angie wanted word to get out. Everyone thought she was a lesbian anyway, so why not be loud and proud? And it wasn’t as if Miss Pearce was actually one of her teachers. She’d ditched art years ago. As far as she was concerned they were consenting adults over the age of eighteen, so why shouldn’t they fuck?

She did, however, see Miss Pearce’s point of view. The Headmaster was a martinet who probably did not approve of Bohemian, arty people and would jump at the chance to sack one. It wouldn’t be fair to give him the opportunity.

Limiting herself to two pints and a small Coke, Angie somehow made it to quarter to six. Then, after a quick pee, she climbed the hill opposite the pub and was at Miss Pearce’s bang on time.

It was completely dark by then; she was completely anonymous.

And ya boo sucks to everyone in so-called authority!

The door opened before she could knock.

‘At last,’ Miss Pearce said in greeting.

Angie’s eyes nearly popped out. Normally Miss Pearce was to be found in voluminous, multicoloured skirts and abbreviated gypsy-style blouses. Tonight she was wearing a see-through robe, lacy lingerie and stay-up stockings . . . and all in tasteful black.

Miss Pearce obviously wasn’t having second thoughts. She was also seriously seductive. Even in her usual clobber she resembled Brigitte Bardot in her prime, except taller, and with round John Lennon glasses perched on her sexy nose. Now, dressed very much for the bedroom . . .

‘My God,’ Angie murmured.

Miss Pearce ushered her inside then closed the door, letting it lock itself before further securing it with bolts and chains.

‘There’s no escape,’ she said, kissing Angie lightly on the cheek. ‘You’re mine for the duration.’

‘Let’s go to your room,’ Angie replied breathlessly. ‘I’m happy to be yours.’

‘Not as happy as I am. But where are my manners? Would you like a glass of wine?’

‘Not right now. Let’s go straight to your room. Do not pass “Go”.’

‘Okay, if you insist.’

Angie felt less than perfect as she followed the older woman’s amazing body sashaying up the flight of stairs. Miss Pearce was usually bra-less but not tonight. In all honesty Angie herself was bra-less in a sort of tribute to her. Well, a tribute and a reluctant acceptance that her own selection of bras left a lot to be desired in the way of sexiness.

She’d been so embarrassed last Friday when Miss Pearce took off her sweatshirt, exposing her plain and very unsexy undergarment!

Miss Pearce’s room was as seductive as the woman herself. The double bed had crimson covers and the walls and curtains were scarlet; the ceiling and carpet were white. Dressed (or mostly undressed) as she was, she certainly went with the décor.

‘You are beautiful,’ she said to Angie, stroking her cheek, staring into her eyes. ‘I’ve been dreaming of this moment all week.’

Nobody except Miss Pearce had ever complimented Angie’s appearance. The words didn’t quite ring true. Intensely aroused as she was, Angie snorted.

‘No, really,’ Miss Pearce went on. ‘Just wait until I paint you. You’ll see.’

Then she was tugging off Angie’s T.

‘Goodness me yes,’ she sighed as Angie’s tits spilled out. Then, reverting to teacher mode: ‘Take off your boots.’

Angie sat on the edge of the bed and took off her Docs and white ankle socks.

‘Beautiful,’ Miss Pearce said again, shrugging off her robe, ‘now take of your jeans.’

Fingers trembling, Angie took off her jeans.

And she thanked the gods that, although she didn’t have a sexy bra in her wardrobe, she did possess a couple of decent pairs of panties. Tonight’s pair was red silk and positively her best. They were wet too, but Miss Pearce didn’t seem to mind.

‘Knickers off,’ she commanded.

Fingers trembling more than ever, Angie took off her knickers.

‘I don’t know if I dare paint you,’ Miss Pearce said, awe replacing command in her voice. ‘Not like this. I would have to show you in every gallery in the world. I couldn’t possibly keep you to myself.’

Authoritative again, she told Angie to get on the bed.

Angie threw herself onto the crimson covers and wantonly parted her legs.

‘I’m yours,’ she said. ‘Take me.’

Chapter Three

Miss Pearce must have had black belts in lovemaking. Starting with Angie’s tits she soon brought her to a peak then effortlessly held her there. And it was so, so good. The way she licked, nibbled, kissed and caressed was exquisite. So too was the way she varied her attentions: sometimes above Angie’s breasts, sometimes below; sometimes holding them apart so she could run her tongue up and down the U-shaped valley in-between. And sometimes pressing them tightly together, making more of a V-shaped valley but tonguing it just as avidly.

Angie came the very second Miss Pearce bit her right nipple.

Then she came even harder when she bit her left.

And then Miss Pearce started on Angie’s armpits.

With the benefit of hindsight Angie reckoned Miss Pearce had a thing about pits. Hers were hairy and not at all attractive but Miss Pearce couldn’t get enough of them. She used that wicked tongue of hers in a million wonderful ways: from her an armpit lick could start at waist level, divert to the sides of only too receptive tits and still end up in an unruly bush of hair.

So two more cums there, then: right side and left . . . hard on the right side, harder still on the left.

Amid her ecstasy Angie found time to watch the action in the overhead mirror. Not that she spent very much time on reflections. No, she preferred sensations to reflections. Still, glancing upwards every so often was a good way to spend a moment or two in-between orgasms. It certainly added something to the occasion.

Flat on her back as she was, her own body didn’t look too bad for once: big tits there to be chewed, her legs widely spread and strong-looking if not shapely. But best of all was the sight of Miss Pearce in see-through black, kissing at her, sucking at her . . . chewing at her.

Angie only ever looked at her own reflection in order to criticize. She believed she was ordinary if not downright ugly, and totally incapable of smiling. Whenever she tried to smile she seemed to glower or grimace so she’d given up trying.

But now her face was . . .

Well, she’d always had decent bone structure. Even she couldn’t deny that. And now, well on her way to her umpteenth cum . . .

Well, suddenly all the frown lines were gone.

Maybe I’m the polar opposite to other girls, she marvelled. Maybe I don’t contort my face when I cum.

Maybe this is the real me.


Miss Pearce’s oral skills were unparalleled. They also went on seemingly forever . . . for which Angie was eternally grateful. The older woman’s fingers were bedecked with rings and her wrists carried an unreasonable amount of bangles. Angie struggled to decide which was best: the feel of all those rings inside her or the steady, rhythmical rattle of bracelets chinking. Perhaps it was that wicked tongue of Miss Pearce’s, working all the while on her clit . . .

Or perhaps it was the older woman’s other hand, incessantly scouring her body, inevitably ending up with a grip on her boobs, squeezing and squeezing and squeezing.

And all the while Angie was able to watch the straw blonde’s head bobbing away at her. All the while she could see the blonde’s black-lingerie as she wriggled and writhed on her.

Time had become meaningless when Miss Pearce was finally done. Sliding up Angie’s body she took a brief diversion back at her tits then moved on, grinning down at her, John Lennon’s glasses shining if a little steamed up.

‘That’s me,’ she said, ‘it’s your turn to do whatever.’

Angie pointed to the painting opposite the foot of the bed: the one depicting Miss Pearce in the classic sixty-nine position underneath a curvaceous, auburn-haired lady.

‘That’s what I’m here for,’ she said. ‘You know it is, just as well as I know it is.’

‘You’d better bottom,’ said Miss Pearce. ‘It’s easier on the neck muscles. But it might be an idea to go down first. And not least because I desperately want you to.’ She laughed a little nervously. ‘Not that I am insisting or anything. The choice is all yours.’

Angie’s “male experiment” had been with a schoolmate called Bobby. They’d been together for about ten weeks and, although she’d been fucking him most of that time, she’d been reluctant to suck him. It had taken her a month and a lager and lime flavoured condom before she at last took the plunge.

She felt no reluctance at all with Miss Pearce, however. In fact it took her enormous willpower to keep from diving straight in there.

Somehow, remembering her lover’s patience and tenderness, Angie restrained herself. Unfastening the lacy black bra she lavished attention on Miss Pearce’s breasts, increasingly excited when already hard nipples grew harder still between her lips.

Then she shifted lower and kissed the hazel-brown gemstone in Miss Pearce’s navel. Realizing she’d forgotten something, she licked cleanly shaven armpits awhile before moving up to kiss Miss Pearce’s silver nose piercing. The teacher’s eyes matched the stone in her bellybutton; just then they were full of lust.

‘Oh yes,’ she sighed. ‘Oh Angie Baby, you’re so beautiful.’

Resisting the urge to snort again, Angie kissed her way down a deliciously sweaty, trembling body.

I’m exciting her, she thought. Flipping heck, she’s nearly as excited as I am!

Miss Pearce raised her bum off the bed unasked, easing the removal of her panties. Angie gasped at the beauty below. She knew she’d find a hair-free pussy but hadn’t expected it to look quite as good as it did. And she certainly hadn’t expected the butterfly tattoo.

The smell of sex was overwhelming, filling the air with pheromones. Aroused by it, Angie kissed the tattoo then ran her tongue up Miss Pearce’s folds, onto her clitoris.

‘Oh yes,’ she moaned. ‘Oh Angie Baby, yes, yes please.’

Angie didn’t need asking twice. She launched a direct clit assault, using her tongue tip to lash it and to roll it, bringing forth a torrent of tiny yelps and groans. Taking the first, almost instantaneous orgasm as encouragement, she kept going and brought her fingers into play. Using two of them, she probed as deeply as she could, not even thinking about G-spots, concentrating solely on rhythm.

And Miss Pearce responded. Her lower body was moving in time with her, dancing along with Angie’s tune. She was very hot in there and flowing like a river. Soon she started cumming and didn’t seem to be able to stop. As well as pheromones the air was suddenly filled with moans, gasps and the tiniest of screams.

Suddenly Angie had to taste that flow. Moving of its own accord her tongue drew a straight line down a quivering slit and replaced her fingers, pushing in until it was straining at its roots.

Miss Pearce came immediately, contracting hard around her, simultaneously gushing all over her chin and chest.

She tasted of apples and honey.

She tasted divine.

Angie withdrew her tongue and lapped up juice from every wet surface she could find. Inside she was glowing and not so far away from cumming herself. The feeling of bringing a fellow female off was just as good as it had been before. Indeed it only ever got better. She wanted to do it again and again.

So she did.

Chapter Four

Angie never did get that Friday night glass of wine. Instead they stayed in bed, taking turns to top and bottom, mastering at least sixty-nine different sixty-nine positions and a couple of basic ways to trib.

Yes, not only was it the most important Friday in living memory, it was far and away the best.

There were no incriminations afterwards. Miss Pearce reminded Angie she didn’t do relationships and that they had to stay secret. Then, grinning broadly, she assured her tonight wasn’t a one-off and that some of her non-relationships had lasted for years.

‘You’ll be off to university in September,’ she said. ‘We can meet on the QT until then, surely. And if we do occasionally hook up again afterwards, by then it won’t matter, will it?’

‘Do you mean afterwards we can be out of the closest, going out on dates and that?

‘Yes I do. Not all the time but now and again, when you’re visiting home. You can sneak in an extra night and sleep with me.’

From that signal Friday a pattern emerged. They would spend two nights a week in the teacher’s bed, when Angie was supposed to be at the youth club or some party or other. Not that she ever stayed all night. No, she would arrive at Miss Pearce’s between six and seven and they’d fuck until two the next morning. Then Miss Pearce would drive Angie home so she’d be tucked up in her own bed before her mum got back from work.

And the things they got up to! That first Tuesday was declared Body Painting Day. Miss Pearce had a large supply of water-based paints and used them to transform Angie’s body, covering every last inch with colourful designs. Then, while Angie was still a painted lady, she’d fucked her with a dildo.

Make that hard and very, very skilfully.

How good was that! Bobby must have fucked Angie with his real cock at least twenty times without ever making her cum. It took Miss Pearce perhaps two minutes to set her off with her artificial one.

And once she’d set her off, Miss Pearce hadn’t stopped for hours and hours.

Not that Angie always thought of her lover as “Miss Pearce” outside of school. No, she was only Miss Pearce when she was the active partner. In that role she was very much the authoritarian, giving out orders such as “Take off your clothes”, “Open your legs” and (most often of all) “Cum for me”.

When Angie was the active partner her lover was “Veronica”. The lady in question didn’t like the name but somehow it suited her when she was being fucked. Angie didn’t know why, precisely, but believed it seemed sexy yet compliant.

The rest of the time, when they were engaged in mutual acts or simply pillow-talking, the teacher was “Ronnie”. She liked that name and insisted Angie used nothing else when they were alone together. Angie played along with that and did her best to limit unintentional lapses (not always easy when she was carried away getting fucked or fucking!).

And amazingly enough, she was already doing more fucking than being fucked. Miss Pearce was slowly but certainly been usurped by Veronica.

Not that anyone was complaining.

Apart from weekends their non-relationship was definitely a good one. But Ronnie had a side-line in painting landscapes and seascapes which she sold through a network of small shops and galleries. To do this she spent her weekends in more scenic places, most of them in the Peak District. And she seemed to have a “friend” in every town.

‘Girlfriends mostly,’ she told Angie. ‘But there is the odd man knocking about. And they are all glad to put me up, if you know what I mean.’

‘You do men as well?’ Angie raised her eyebrows at the very idea.

‘Mother Nature gave me a pussy designed to take a man. I feel obliged to use it that way every now and then. Only with guys I can trust, mind. Mother Nature also gave me a rather large appetite. That’s not true with most men I’ve ever known. And that’s one of the reasons why I prefer girls.’

‘Let me get this straight: when you’re away you stay with one friend or other on the Saturday night. And instead of paying board you sleep with them.’

‘Yes, but it’s not as tacky as you make it sound. Most of my friends go back to my university days. I’ve slept with them all before and want to keep on sleeping with them, even if it only is for one night every few months.’

Angie didn’t like the arrangement but Mother Nature had given her a rather large appetite too. Seeing as Ronnie was her only outlet right then she accepted the way things were.

It’s her hippy past, she told herself. It’s the way she is.


Her new love life severely dented Angie’s attendance record at eighteenth birthday parties. She found it surprising she still got invites because, by the end of February, she must have blobbed on ten if not more occasions. Unlike most parties, however, Ade’s was on a Saturday. And, with Ronnie spending the weekend with Sam in Hathersage, there was no reason not to go.

(Angie never did find out if “Sam” was a Samuel or a Samantha; Ronnie hadn’t volunteered and she hadn’t wanted to ask.)

Never a girl with a wide circle of friends, Angie was used to turning up at functions on her own so she wasn’t fazed by being unaccompanied at Ade’s. Following the old routine she simply marched up to the bar and, damning the expense, ordered a pint of Guinness. Then she looked around to see what was what and if there was anyone worth talking to.

The first person she saw was Bobby, sitting at a table beside the dance floor, talking to Abigail. She felt no envy at all at the sight, even though popular opinion had it that Abigail had stolen Bobby from her. No, if anything she felt grateful.

Omigod, if it wasn’t for Abigail I’d probably still be fucking him to this day.

Yuk, what a waste!

Sandra was sitting a couple of tables away from Bobby, deep in conversation with a hunky white guy. Sensing eyes on her she looked up, recognized Angie and smiled. Two seconds later the hunky white guy was deep in conversation with himself and Sandra had joined the new arrival at the bar.

‘Angie Baby,’ she crooned, ‘I thought I’d never see you at a party again!’

‘I thought I’d show my ugly mug,’ Angie replied.

‘Stop putting yourself down, duck. It doesn’t suit you.’ Sandra batted her lovely long lashes before adding in a low, confidential tone: ‘Am I seeing a girl alone or is your significant other here too?’

‘Yes and no. I’m alone and she’s away for the weekend.’

‘Then you’re not leaving until I’ve had my dances. By my reckoning you owe me a month’s worth.’

‘I’m the world’s worst dancer,’ Angie warned. ‘I’ve got two left feet and they keep tripping over each other.’

‘Don’t worry, duck, I’ll be holding you tight so you won’t fall. Now then, what are you drinking? It’s that wonderful black stuff isn’t it? I think I’ll join you. It matches my skin and tastes even better.’

Angie stared at the girl, wondering at her political correctness.

‘I can say that,’ Sandra said, ‘I can say anything if it’s true.’

She ordered two more pints while Angie finished her first.

‘Cheers,’ Angie said accepting the refill. ‘Er, aren’t you getting your date one?’

‘Richard’s not my date,’ Sandra laughed. ‘He was just angling for a return visit into my knickers. And doing very well, I must admit. But then I saw you and his chances evaporated. Poof, just like that!’

‘You can’t just ditch him.’

‘It was his round next so I’m doing him a favour, saving him money. He’ll get over it, big bruiser that he is.’

Richard captained the school rugby team. He was freckled and good-looking in a rugged sort of a way and yes, he was already moving in on a tableful of girls, most of them glad to see him.

‘He’s been in your knickers, has he?’ Angie asked.

‘More than once but that’s all you’re getting. You won’t tell me about your conquests, so why should I tell you about mine?’

The next couple of hours flew by. Angie was amazed by the number of guys who approached Sandra, asking for dances and being politely refused. The only one who managed to get a single turn around the floor was Ade, and only then because it was his party.

And wasn’t she a sight as she danced; short brown leather skirt and bare black legs gleaming under the lights of the disco. It wasn’t only the guys whose eyes were glued on her; Angie was sure of that!

‘Just one dance for his birthday,’ she said when Sandra returned for yet more Guinness.

‘I’m saving me for you,’ Sandra replied, still brazenly flirting.

‘I’m sort of attached,’ Angie objected, trying not to think of Ronnie clinching with Sam . . . and trying not to wonder if Sam had a cock and, if so, whether it was currently thrusting in and out of Ronnie.

Making Ronnie scream and beg for more.

‘Your mysterious mistress is elsewhere,’ Sandra replied. ‘I’m here and now, duck. And you owe me.’

‘I may owe you a dance,’ said Angie. ‘But you’ll only be sorry when I’ve trampled your feet.’

‘It’s too late for protests. My mind’s made up. As soon as those slow songs start we’re on that floor.’

And that was exactly how it happened. Angie hadn’t been joking about having two left feet but Sandra patently didn’t care. Perhaps two inches shorter, she immediately stepped into the “woman’s role” and immediately took control.

Angie simply had to be impressed. Sandra had long legs so down there they were groin-to-groin, hip-to-hip. And the beautiful black girl was steering her, keeping her in the same small patch of floor and out of danger of collisions.

Their upper body contact was great too. Sandra had very nice, medium-sized tits. The small height difference meant hers were sort of below but still against Angie’s. And her nips rivalled Angie’s when it came to hardness. When it came to hardness they must have had two of the most diamond-like pairs ever recorded.

Then Sandra whispered her first husky sweet nothing into Angie’s ear.

‘I want to shag with you,’ she murmured.

That wasn’t an easy one to answer. Although the music was slow it wasn’t very quiet and Angie might have misheard. She also had Ronnie to consider . . . Ronnie who most likely was fucking at that very moment . . . or being thoroughly fucked.

And Sandra was supposedly straight. Every guy on the planet lusted after her. She’d had countless boyfriends and had admitted Richard had been in her knickers . . . more than once.

But she was here and now, duck. And Angie owed her.

Well, didn’t she?

When Sandra inclined her face, their bodies still pressed cosily together . . .

No red-blooded woman could have resisted.

Angie kissed her.

Bliss or what! Half a dozen pints of Guinness and Sandra’s mouth still tasted like nectar. Darting and very daring, her tongue fought duels with Angie’s. Diamond-like nipples rubbed just as diamond-like nipples. Without pausing for thought Angie’s hands gripped the world’s sexiest, most shapely ass.

Sandra responded by moving her groin against Angie’s. It was a parody of tribbing yet near enough to start an adrenalin rush. Introducing Angie to tribbing had been one of Miss Pearce’s greatest gifts.

Except Miss Pearce wasn’t there and Sandra was.

‘I want to shag with you,’ Sandra repeated. ‘I want to shag with you here and now.’

Chapter Five

At least an hour of slow dancing flew by. Angie knew their schoolmates must have copped them being more than merely friendly. They would be the talk of the sixth form on Monday but she honestly didn’t care. And Sandra very obviously cared even less.

‘I’ll walk you home,’ she said when the DJ announced that was it for the night.

‘Yours is nearer than mine,’ Angie countered practically. ‘So I’ll walk you home.’

‘Fair enough, but I still want to shag with you.’

Sandra lived in one of the city’s more exclusive areas. Her relatively newly-built home was maybe ten minutes from Angie’s outlying village. So it made sense for the two of them to leave the party together but that did not stop a million knowing glances as they left hand-in-hand.

‘Your reputation is shot at,’ Angie said, as soon as they were out of hearing range.

‘I’m well-known as a whore. Me hitching up with you won’t surprise anyone.’

‘No way are you known as a whore.’

‘Richard’s not the only guy who’s been there, duck. Know what I mean?’

‘Well I’ve never heard a bad word about you. I’ve only ever heard positive things.’

‘Hopefully you’ll still be saying that after you’ve shagged me. Like tomorrow morning, when you get asked all about it.’

Angie spluttered at that. Even knowing what Ronnie was most likely up to, she felt loyalty.

‘I don’t know if I can,’ she managed. ‘Not that I don’t want to,’ she added hastily. ‘It’s just that . . .’

‘You’re sort of attached,’ Sandra finished for her. ‘I appreciate that. I respect that.’

‘Okay, as long as that’s established.’

‘It is. But I still want to shag with you, and not at some far-off future date.’

‘There’s nowhere to go,’ said Angie, conveniently “forgetting” her home was mother and father-free for another couple of hours.

‘We can kiss though.’ Sandra stopped in her tracks, surprisingly strong, pulling Angie to face her.

They were currently in more or less open countryside. If it had been July Angie could very easily have been dragged into a field and ravaged . . . or maybe she could have done some ravaging of her own. But it was February and a wet one at that, so fields were out.

Admiring Sandra’s height and figure, convinced she had a thing about tall, athletic women, Angie only had to stoop slightly to reunite their lips.

Bliss; kissing Sandra was bliss.

Screw Ronnie. Concentrate on the present. Ronnie was off fucking around so what did a kiss matter?

In the greater scheme of things a kiss didn’t matter one whit.

So Angie went for it.

And Sandra responded by grabbing her tits. Externally at first then, when Angie grunted her version of encouragement through her nose, she progressed.

Suddenly Sandra’s hand was inside Angie’s sweatshirt. Then it was slowly sliding up her flat belly and onto her big unfettered breast before quite viciously squeezing it.

Angie came instantly.

Even more encouraged, Sandra squeezed her other breast.

Angie came so hard she almost passed out.

‘Fuck me, yes,’ she gasped.

‘No,’ Sandra countered, her lips against Angie’s ear, her voice lower and huskier than ever. ‘You fuck me. Fuck me now.’

Angie had never heard Sandra swear before but didn’t hesitate. The lovely black girl’s bare thigh was smooth as silk and ten times as sexy. Edging up into her leather skirt was easy as pie. And her words certainly helped the progress.

‘Yes, yes, yes,’ she murmured. ‘Do it, please. Please do it.’

If the front of Sandra’s thigh was smooth then the inside was . . .

Was . . .

Well it was beyond compare. Totally breathless, Angie ran her fingers along the joint between leg and groin. Sandra’s panties were damp and the flesh beneath was hotter than hot.

‘Yes, yes, yes,’ she reiterated. ‘Do it, please. Please do it.’

Omigod, Angie thought, I can do it for her too. I can do it for any woman, anywhere on earth!

Touching Sandra’s pussy was an incredible experience. She had a thin patch of short, crinkly hair (a landing strip, Angie supposed) but was otherwise clean-shaven. Finding her clit was no problem at all. Neither was finding the mouth of her hungry vagina.

‘Yes, yes, yes,’ she urged. ‘Do me, do me, do me!’

Even at close quarters their interaction was astounding. Angie desperately wanted to get her tongue in there but they were at the roadside, vulnerable to passing motorists and police patrols. So she held control and did what she had to do. And in her own estimation she did it well. By then something of an expert, she used her thumb on Sandra’s clitoris while poking two rigid fingers inside her.

‘Yes, yes, yes,’ Sandra almost screamed. ‘Do me, do me, DO ME!!

Throughout all this both of Sandra’s hands had been in Angie’s sweatshirt. She’d squeezed almost as hard on Angie’s tits as she’d squeezed elsewhere with more intimate muscles.

Then, after her billionth cum, she changed tactics. Suddenly she was undoing Angie’s jeans.

Suddenly she was rubbing Angie’s pussy, not penetrating but giving it the most amazing friction.

Angie came half a dozen times: bam, bam, bam!

Each was better than the last and Number Six totally drained her.

‘Enough,’ she gasped. ‘My God, Sandra, what are you trying to do to me?’

Leaning against each other, still at the mercy of passing motorists, they struggled for breath.

‘I’m yours, duck,’ Sandra confided. ‘I know you’re committed but you can have me anytime. And I still want to shag with you more than ever.’

‘I think we just did shag,’ said Angie.

Sandra took hold of Angie’s hand, raising it to her mouth before very deliberately sucking her fingers.

‘Like blood brothers,’ she said.

Angie watched as Sandra sucked her own fingers.

‘Blood sisters, more like,’ she said.

‘We’re bonded forever,’ Sandra countered. ‘We just have to do it for real.’

‘For real,’ Angie echoed, laughing. ‘I don’t have any bones in my legs and my knees are jelly.’

Sandra was silent a moment (quite an event in itself!). ‘I’m not a virgin,’ she said finally. ‘Not when it comes to guys. You’re my first girl, though. And haven’t I started off at the top of the food chain!’

Angie just stared at her, unsettled and unsure what to say.

‘I mean it,’ Sandra went on. ‘I don’t fancy many other girls but you send out signals like a lighthouse. I so, so want to shag with you. And I don’t care if you are already involved with someone else; I need to shag with you urgently.’

‘Listen, Sandra, I’m flattered and I . . . I . . .’

‘Don’t dare brush me off like that!’

Angie sighed deeply. Considered Ronnie for maybe three seconds . . . Ronnie who was currently up to God knew what.

‘Let’s take it steady,’ she said, speaking with no forethought at all. ‘I’ll be free again next Saturday. We can go out if you like . . .’

Chapter Six

Angie hadn’t been wrong about being the talk of the sixth form. By Monday everyone had classed her and Sandra up there with Liz and Suzanne. But in keeping with the laissez-faire tradition, nobody was bitchy about it. Indeed, comparing notes that afternoon, Sandra had confided she’d never had so many indecent proposals.

‘I’ve even had them from guys who’ve never been indecent before,’ she said, chuckling. ‘Who’d have thought that being a lezzie could be so alluring!’

Then, seeing Angie’s dubious expression, she’d moved in close and personal.

‘I’m not sure I’m a lezzie,’ she said, ‘but I’m attracted to you. I can’t help myself. You’re just so frigging sexy it’s untrue.’

Angie didn’t believe that for one second but did take it as heartfelt. And she did begin to wonder about herself. Large, broad-shouldered, a skinhead unable to smile without scaring folk . . . yet she’d pulled two of the most glamorous women on the planet.

And both still wanted more!

As did she, of course!!


The next few weeks were slightly awkward. In other words, like the rest of the entire school, Ronnie soon heard about Angie and Sandra. Not that she was unpleasant about it. She actually commended Angie on her taste and congratulated her on her success.

‘You have something about you that attracts women,’ she said. ‘Even straight women always look at you at least twice. Trust me, Angie Baby; your life at uni is going to be a very full one.’

Angie was still uneasy about receiving compliments. She was uneasy about the dates she’d had with Sandra on Saturday nights, as well. Sandra didn’t know about Ronnie. She took it for granted Angie’s “mistress” was older, possibly married but hadn’t a clue who she was. And, although she often asked for details, she never pressed.

She did, however, regularly press for sex. Their Saturday nights always ended with kisses and fingers but never anything more. “I want to shag with you” became her standard parting phrase.

Then it was Easter.


Angie’s parents had had a timeshare for quite a while. They had the same four weeks every year: two in spring, two in autumn. Up until 1996 they’d always taken Angie with them when they vacated. Last autumn, taking into account the pressure of impending A-levels, they’d left her home alone. Being at the time sexually innocent, Angie had failed to take advantage of the freedom.

But this time . . .

Easter came early in 1997, much to Mum and Dad’s disgruntlement. Normally they’d been and gone before the kids were on holiday. This year they were getting the full load of squealing brats and Angie had never had any intention of sharing it with them.

Liberated in every sense of the word, she had better things in mind than sun, sand and sangria.

But sadly Ronnie had other plans. To her a break of over a fortnight was opportunity to paint and paint and paint.

And it was the opportunity to fuck a few old girlfriends, naturally.

‘I can fill a dozen or more canvasses,’ she told Angie. ‘I’ve had everything arranged for ages.’

And she quite evidently had. Her plans were to spend the first week in the Lake District, staying with Alice in Ambleside. Then to cross-country to spend the four days over Easter with Roberta in Robin Hood’s Bay. And then (as if proving she didn’t only have alliterative venues and lovers) she was going to backtrack to the Dales for a week with Clare in Kettlewell.

Angie was disheartened to learn Ronnie’s plans but somehow held her tongue.

It’s her hippy past, she reminded herself. It’s the way she is.


Like most British holidaymakers, Angie’s parents flew to Lanzarote on a Thursday, the day before she broke up at school and a whole week before Easter itself. Ronnie’s plan was to drive up to the Lakes on the Saturday. Without having to answer to her mum that left Angie free to stay over for two nights and she greatly enjoyed the experience.

Well, she didn’t enjoy having to sneak out of Ronnie’s early on Friday, before other pupils or teachers might be perchance passing by. Otherwise it was excellent fun.

Saturday morning (with Ronnie back in Miss Pearce mode) Angie was woken by a shower of kisses followed by an assault by dildo and vibrator. Then, feeling as horny as she’d ever been, she decided she wanted to fuck Veronica more than anything else on earth.

Veronica didn’t seem to mind. She obligingly rolled onto her back and parted her legs.

‘Oh yes,’ she sighed as Angie kissed first her gemstone, then her tattoo.

And that butterfly was so lifelike! Angie had the irrational feeling that if she kissed it often enough it’d flap its wings for her. A thousand attempts and it hadn’t done yet, but naturally that didn’t keep a girl from trying.

Veronica’s clit was tiny but noticeably erect. She sighed some more when Angie licked, nuzzled and nibbled at it.

‘Oh yes,’ she repeated before saying, in an amazingly normal voice: ‘I wish you could come with me. On my travels, I mean.’

Angie put her tongue on hold and glanced up, her eyes passing over Veronica’s lovely body and tits. Veronica’s head was resting on a pillow so it was easy to meet her hazel-brown eyes behind the glasses she hardly ever took off.

‘I will if you will,’ Angie said, aware of her heart doing strange things in her chest.

‘It’s Alice,’ Veronica said. ‘She doesn’t do threes.’

Angie’s heart suddenly looped the loop in the opposite direction. ‘Threes,’ she echoed.

‘Threes,’ Veronica agreed. ‘Roberta does and Clare lives for them. But Alice is dead-set against.’

‘Are you talking about three-in-a-bed sex?’

‘Of course I am. And don’t tell me you’ve never considered the possibility. I can read you like a book.’

Angie was silent a moment. She had fantasized about being in bed with Suzanne and Liz, but only in a vague sort of a way. And there was a world of difference between fantasy and reality, wasn’t there?

‘Maybe you could skip the Lakes and join me in Robin Hood’s Bay,’ Veronica went on. ‘The trains on Good Friday might be a bit iffy, though. I might have to pick you up in York or Harrogate.’

Angie moved back up Veronica’s body, only stopping when their tits were together and her nose was about an inch from her lover’s.

‘Are you suggesting I have sex with women I’ve never even met before?’

‘It’s a kick, isn’t it?’ Veronica laughed. ‘I can vouch for their integrity. And I know having two pussies to fuck will get you off. I know what you’re like, remember?’

‘I’m sorry Ver . . . Ronnie. I’m not sure I could go through with it.’

‘Don’t dismiss the idea out of hand. Think about it. I’ll ring you on Maundy Thursday. Set something up if you’ve changed your mind.’ Veronica laughed. ‘What am I thinking of. By then you’ll be fucking Sandra night and day, won’t you? What, with the house to yourself and all.’

Angie frowned. ‘Sandra doesn’t know I’ve got the house to myself. And her mum’s very respectable. We’d never get away with days, never mind nights.’

‘Tell her.’ Veronica wrapped her legs tight around Angie, bringing their groins significantly in contact and brushing noses. ‘Tell her,’ she repeated. ‘Tell her then try getting her out of your bed.’

‘Don’t be silly.’

‘Tell her, Angie. And stop arguing. Don’t you know a girl who needs fucking when you see one?’

‘I don’t know if Sandra really wants it,’ Angie fibbed.

‘I’m not talking about Sandra,’ Veronica prompted. ‘I’m talking about me.’


Angie kissed Ronnie goodbye and left her packing travel bags into her Ghia. It was half past ten and, although school holidays had begun, the ladies football team was still in business and playing a game at home.

And Sandra was the star centre forward.

By now well-versed in being devious, Angie took a circuitous route past the Roebuck, doubling back to school and making her way to the playing fields. To her surprise there was a crowd of maybe fifty watching the girls and only half as many watching the “men”. There again, the girls looked fetching in their sky-blue tops and most of their crowd were male. She’d have chosen to watch the girls without a second’s hesitation.

‘Hey,’ said Suzanne in greeting. ‘What brings you here?’ Then, laughingly: ‘It’s not me, is it?’

‘Of course it is.’ Angie tried her best for a friendly smile. ‘I heard the only time you and Liz are apart is when she’s playing football.’

Suzanne surprised Angie by pecking her on the mouth and grabbing her hand.

‘Let’s make Liz jealous,’ she said. ‘She knows I want a go at your tits and watches me like a hawk if you’re on the scene. Being out there, pretending to be professional . . . It’ll do her head in to see us.’

Angie recalled her threesome fantasies and wondered if they had a realistic chance.

‘Is that Liz right back there?’ she asked.

‘Yes, she’s right back at left back. And look at the face on her!’

At that moment the home team’s winger beat her marker and sent in a high cross. Sandra was in the middle of the goal area, running towards the goalkeeper. The goalie looked odds-on to catch the ball but, leaping like a commentator’s salmon, Sandra got there first.

Fifty voices roared at once.


The sight took Angie’s breath away. Sandra’s athleticism was simply awesome. Her forehead hit the ball and it literally crashed into the net.

‘Two nil and only two minutes to go,’ Suzanne said, hugging Angie and jumping up and down on the spot. ‘Is your girlfriend good or what?’

Before Angie could reply Sandra had the ball again, but this time due to disastrous defending rather than skill on her part. Given a straight run on the hapless goalkeeper she closed in, dropped her right shoulder then dinked left and rolled the ball into an empty net.

‘A hat trick,’ Suzanne yelled. ‘I told you she’s good!’

At the final whistle the sky-blues formed a line and, assisted by the spectators, clapped Sandra off the pitch.

‘Don’t think you’re keeping the match ball,’ the coach shouted, ‘there are more games in it yet.’

Sandra came straight up to Angie who hastily let go of Suzanne’s hand.

‘We’re winding Liz up,’ she explained.

‘It worked,’ said Liz, passing them and stomping off toward the dressing rooms.

‘I’d better go kiss and make up,’ said Suzanne. ‘See you about, Ange; great stuff, Sand.’

After acknowledging countless pats on the back Sandra kissed Angie. She smelt of mud, sweat and grass and was still the most beautiful girl on the planet.

‘I didn’t expect to see you here,’ she said. ‘Don’t say you’re backing out of tonight.’

‘As if I would,’ Angie paused, gathering herself. ‘I’ve got news.’

‘Go on.’

‘I have the house to myself tonight. We can go out as planned. Or . . . or we can stay in.’

Sandra’s eyes lit up. ‘Are you inviting me to a sleepover, duck?’

‘I suppose I am; a strictly two-girl sleepover. If you can swing it with your mum, that is.’

‘Consider it swung. What’s the earliest I can arrive?’

‘I was thinking about us having lunch in the Roebuck. So you can arrive at any time after that.’

‘Same time as you, you mean?’

Yes, I do.’

‘Angie Baby, do I like your style!’

Chapter Seven

Lunch in the Roebuck didn’t last long. When Sandra wasn’t urging Angie to drink her drink she was urging her to eat her steak sandwich.

‘I’m so excited,’ she kept saying. ‘I’m so, so excited.’

The bus ride from town to Angie’s village could have been embarrassing if Angie hadn’t been excited herself.

Regardless of their fellow passengers (most of them fellow villagers who knew who she was), Sandra insisted on touching her . . . kissing her.

Bugger it, Angie concluded. I’m a too-big skinhead girl with an oversexed black girlfriend. It wasn’t as if we weren’t ever going to get noticed!

And Mum and Dad won’t be back for a fortnight. I can worry about all the rumours then . . .

In no time at all they were in Angie’s parents’ bedroom, both of them quaking like aspens.

‘I’m so excited,’ Sandra said predictably.

Angie did her best to assume control. Sandra had already told her that she’d never had sex in a bed before, so it was her duty to make it memorable.

No, it was her duty to be “teacher” for a change.

Hard work, but someone had to do it!

‘Take off your jeans,’ she said, using a tone Miss Pearce would have been proud of.

Sandra obediently took off her jeans. Her knickers were stark, bright white. The contrast between her skin and the fabric could not have been more startling.

‘Omigod,’ said Angie, ‘I think I just died and went to Heaven.’

‘I’m so excited,’ Sandra said yet again. ‘Aren’t you going to strip off too?’

By that stage in her sexual development Angie wasn’t afraid to be seen naked. But she had amassed a certain amount of playfulness.

‘Let’s see your tits,’ she replied. ‘I’ve felt them often enough, but I’ve never seen them.’

‘Haven’t you had a peek in the dressing rooms? Or are you always too busy letting everyone peek at yours?’

‘This is different,’ said Angie. ‘This is as different as it gets.’

Grinning at her, Sandra took off her top and then, tantalizingly slowly, her push-up bra.

Not that she needed a push-up. Her pert medium-sized tits defied gravity. In fact they were a work of art.

‘Heaven,’ Angie repeated, ‘and Heaven really is populated by angels.’

‘I’m so excited,’ Sandra said for the umpteenth time. ‘But I don’t know what to do.’

Filled with power, Angie was unwavering. ‘You just take off your knickers and lie on your tummy,’ she commanded. ‘You’re the hat trick heroine. I’m going to massage all your tense muscles.’

‘I’m not sure if I’m tense,’ said Sandra, complying anyway. ‘Well, not in a strained sort of a way.’

Sandra’s body was truly incredible. Angie had of course seen it in dressing rooms often enough, but there in the privacy of a bedroom . . .

There in glorious daylight . . .

Well it really was as different as it got.

Admiring every last curve, Angie ran the tip of her tongue over and around all the planes of Sandra’s shoulder-blades.

Sandra moaned appreciatively.

Then Angie pushed up Sandra’s long black hair and nuzzled the back of her neck.

Sandra squealed.

Moving to the left, Angie kissed Sandra’s earlobe; tongued it; nibbled it; sucked on it.

Sandra squealed some more.

Keeping a lid on her desires, Angie ran her tongue down Sandra’s spine.

Sandra yelped, wriggled and writhed.

Then Angie arrived at Sandra’s ass and kissing, licking and nibbling didn’t seem to be enough. Using her hands with great abandon she gripped and squeezed mercilessly.

Sandra wriggled, writhed, grunted and very obviously came.

Fascinated by the strong, muscular bum before her, Angie lightly ran the very tip of her tongue along the cleft of Sandra’s backside.

Continue reading this ebook at Smashwords.
Download this book for your ebook reader.
(Pages 1-47 show above.)