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Another One Bites The Dust

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 - Going to the Game

Chapter Two - The Big Match

Chapter Three - Hunting Maid Marian

Chapter Four - Caught by the Sheriff

Chapter Five - Escape!

Author’s Note

Other Books by LimeyLady

Chapter One

It was a spring Wednesday in 1997 and there was a feeling of finality in the air. At least there was for upper sixth students at Angie’s school. With A-level exams imminent lessons were coming to an end. Leave of absence for revision started the coming Monday. Some teachers had already taken their last class and chance to wish everyone well for the future. Even the endless stream of eighteenth birthday parties was starting to dry up.

They were exciting times then, yet sad ones too. The students had become adults in their two years of sixth form, but now the sands had almost run out on them. After Monday a lot of long-familiar faces wouldn’t be seen again until Results Day. And after the results were out most would be off to live their new lives in halls of residence across the land.

Two years of the closest friendships scattered on the wind.

Angie hadn’t made many close friends during her time at school but she wasn’t immune to the general melancholy. She had a good thing going, what with a couple of beautiful lovers and sexual energy to burn. It would be a wrench to leave them. And it would be a wrench to leave the school and her daily routines. Suddenly even the schoolmates who got on her nerves seemed to have redeeming features.

Well, most of them did, anyway.

Exams weren’t a major concern to Angie, imminent or not. She’d always been a good student, exams didn’t faze her. In her mind she’d as good as passed already. She’d got A-stars in all of her GCSEs; these latest tests were just chance to repeat that success at a higher level.

Yes, entry to her university of choice was virtually guaranteed.

Not that she was an entirely worry-free zone.

Right now Angie wished she was as proficient and confident personally as she was academically. No, she wasn’t lacking in any way in her two “romances”; she was on edge because she was alone with a girl who blatantly admired her.

Make that yet another beautiful girl who blatantly admired her!

In keeping with the finality theme the two of them were on their way to watch a football match. And it really was a final. To cap a successful season, the school’s “women’s” soccer team had won the right to contest the county cup decider. That was the good news. The bad news was that their opponents tonight were the unbeaten league champions who scored goals for fun.

Local bookmakers hadn’t taken any interest. If they had the “reds” would have been odds-on over the “blues”.

Still it wasn’t the winning that mattered, was it? It was the taking part.

Angie took a moment to assess Suzanne. Together with Liz, Suzanne made up the sixth form’s first lesbian pairing. Together with Sandra, Angie made up a more recent lesbian duo. They’d been seen as an item since Sandra stayed with her over Easter, shagging for most of a fortnight while Angie’s parents were sunning themselves in Lanzarote. Okay, they’d openly flirted long before then, but that spell of cohabiting sealed the deal in the eyes of their contemporaries.

If only everything was so simple!

Sandra and Liz were both fixtures in the school first team. Angie and Suzanne were obliged to attend their biggest match ever by virtue of being “WAGs”. And, although the school had provided free buses for anyone and everyone interested in watching, Suzanne had arranged a loan of her mum’s car.

(Isn’t it amazing how it’s always Mum’s car, Dad’s never enters the equation, does it?)

The final was being held after school at a neutral ground: one that belonged to a professional football league team based twenty-odd miles out of town. The plan was for Suzanne and Angie to travel there together, to spectate and applaud and then travel back with Liz and Sandra in tow. The possibility of stopping to celebrate/commiserate in a pub on their way home was very much on the cards.

Problem was that Suzanne openly fancied Angie . . . and Liz was suitably jealous.

Angie blamed herself to some extent. That is to say, she’d made a policy decision to abandon her bra back in January. Secretly, that had been because she didn’t do sexy clothes and bras looked like crap on her. She was six feet tall, weighed over thirteen stones and, though totally fat-free, built like a guy.

That was except for her tits.

But how was a brassiere ever going to look cute on her!

Never was the answer, so out the window they all went, not ever to be seen again.

And cue a transformation. Bra-less, her tits had stopped traffic. Suddenly guys and gals were paying her an astonishing amount of attention.

Suzanne had been among the first to notice. Already kittenish, she’d been drooling ever since.

And to be honest, Angie had appreciated her appreciation.

Suzanne was tallish, not remotely like a guy and had medium-length red-blonde hair. She was totally different to Sandra (tall, black and a cross between an Olympic athlete and a Somali supermodel) and Angie’s secret older woman (a thirty-something lookalike of Brigitte Bardot). But however you tried to assess her, Suzanne was seriously fit.

Sometimes Angie wondered how she did it. Discounting the wonderful bone structure of her face (and the bounciness of her tits, of course), she rated herself as utterly unattractive. Yet gorgeous women were after her all of the time. She’d even had approaches from men!

‘That’s a bit of Sherwood Forest,’ said Suzanne, pointing to their left.

‘Really,’ said Angie. ‘I thought that was on the other side of the football ground.’

‘That’s the tourist attraction,’ Suzanne replied. ‘This bit’s smaller but just as original. If we had time we could take a detour and look for Robin Hood.’ She laughed. ‘Or would you rather go looking for Maid Marian?’

‘Maybe I would,’ Angie conceded, ‘but that only makes us quits, doesn’t it?’

‘Knowing my luck I’d end up with Little John.’ Suzanne laughed again.

Then, untypically serious: ‘You went out with Bobby for quite a while, didn’t you?’

Angie watched trees and countryside pass them by. ‘Yes,’ she said carefully, ‘I did.’

‘Did you . . . You know?’

‘Did I what?’

‘Did you fuck with him, sweetheart, what else?’

Up until then Angie had never revealed anything about any lover. And Bobby had been experimental, to say the least.

Not that she was ashamed about anything sexual in any way.

‘I don’t tittle-tattle,’ she said. ‘Ask Bobby, not me.’

Suzanne laughed yet again. ‘He doesn’t tittle-tattle about you. He’s a real gent. But we girls confide at will, don’t we? Sandra gives you the most incredible references. So give me something about Bobby.’

‘I didn’t think you’d want to know gritty details.’

Suzanne was silent for a minute . . . an event in itself. ‘I’ve only ever been with Liz,’ she said finally. ‘So I’m a virgin as far as men are concerned. I haven’t even kissed one with any real intent. I just . . . Well, I just sort of wondered.’

Angie stared out of the side window, seeing the thick knot of woodland vanishing behind them.

‘I was intrigued,’ she said eventually. ‘I’ve never really been interested in men, but Bobby has always been nice to me. I suppose it was flattered when he made a move. So yes, I went out with him.’

‘And did you fuck with him?’

‘Of course I did. I needed to know what it was like. I needed to know what I was missing. So yes, I did fuck with him. And we did it on numerous occasions, if you must know.’

‘What was it like?’

‘Okay,’ Angie admitted. ‘It was . . . cosy, in a lot of ways. It was friendly and warm. I enjoyed it.’

‘Is it better than . . .’

Angie cut Suzanne straight off.

‘It was cosy and cute. And no disrespect to Bobby, but it was nothing like the real thing.’

‘So Sandra’s the real thing?’

Angie rolled her eyes dramatically. ‘Having sex with Sandra’s off the scale.’

‘What about sex with other girls? Have you tried that?’

It wasn’t in Angie’s nature to lie. ‘Yes,’ she said without hesitation.

‘How many other girls have you had sex with?’

‘I’m not telling.’

‘Do I know any of them?’

‘No comment.’

Chapter Two

Admission to the car park and football ground was free of charge. That resulted in a decent number of locals attending as well as swarms of supporters from both schools. It also resulted in a lot of trade for the bars and fast-food concessions, which had been considerately opened for the occasion. Suzanne and Angie were among the early arrivals. Before they’d finished their first pints and burgers the buses turned up and the atmosphere started to buzz.

‘This is a bigger crowd than County get,’ Suzanne said as they made their way to their seats up in the West Stand.

Angie was watching a steward who was staring at her suspiciously. Maybe he’d noticed the Docs and skinhead cut and supposed it was a grudge match.

Meaning maybe he’d got her down as Troublemaker Number One.

‘He fancied you,’ said Suzanne as they sat down.

‘No he didn’t. He thought he’d seen me on a banned list.’

‘A list,’ Suzanne echoed.

‘Yeah; one of those mug-shot things you see on the news channels.’

‘Maybe he saw your face and was entranced.’

‘And maybe Saturday’s lottery ticket won and I haven’t checked it yet.’

‘Angie Baby you’re so negative, and with so little need!’

There was no segregation as such but the main groups of followers automatically took opposite ends of the stand, reds to the left, blues to the right, neutrals in the middle. Angie was interested to see that the gender mix was just about even. The guys had turned out to support the old school just as keenly as the gals. Or maybe they wanted to leer over lots of bare female legs and sweaty shirts.

In other words pretty much as she did.

‘I’m getting quite tense,’ she confessed.

‘Me too,’ said Suzanne, taking her hand, squeezing it and not letting go.

“Tense” as a description of the first half was an understatement. Both teams set out with the obvious intention of not conceding a goal. Every conceivable safe option was taken and not a single risk was run.

‘Bar time,’ Angie announced as the players went in for their half-time oranges and lemons.

‘I’m driving,’ Suzanne objected.

‘Not for another hour or more you’re not. And you’ve only had one. Come on, I’m buying.’

The bar was predictably busy. It took Angie five minutes to get served. She frowned when she looked around the room for Suzanne and saw her in conversation with Abigail. Abigail was the school’s most popular girl. She’d also “stolen” Bobby from Angie and was supposed to be her rival.

Doing her best to smile (a task she’d never fully mastered), Angie joined the two girls and passed a Guinness to Suzanne.

‘Sorry Abs,’ she said, ‘the barman had moved on to another customer before I saw you.’

Abigail smiled prettily. ‘Don’t worry,’ she replied, ‘Bobby’s getting me a chardonnay.’

‘We were just talking about Bobby,’ Suzanne put in. ‘I told Abs you scored him at seven out of ten in the sack. She’s still weighing up her own score.’

Angie shook her head at the effrontery of the girl. Suzanne had asked for a score and, in the absence of a reply, had obviously made one up. It was typical of her, really. The only surprise was that Abigail seemed to be seriously considering her answer.

‘I haven’t much to compare him with,’ she began.

‘Pull the other one,’ Suzanne hooted. ‘Boyfriends and hot dinners, Abs, you’ve had the lot.’

‘I’m going to say he averages eight,’ Abigail continued. ‘But don’t tell him; he’s big-headed at the best of times.’ Then, smiling that smile again: ‘So come on, Suzy, I’ve shown you mine. It’s your turn. How do you score Liz in the sack?’

‘Ten out of ten,’ Suzanne said without batting an eyelash, ‘same as I score Angie.’


The second half set off as cagily as the first but, after about ten minutes, the breakthrough came. Liz intercepted a pass and, as a good left back always would, immediately kicked the ball up her wing.

Like the rest of the forwards her winger, Wendy, had been tightly woman-marked throughout. As she received Liz’s pass the opposition right back was practically in her shorts with her. Her only obvious option was to play the ball into midfield, in the hope a blue shirt would get to it first.

Surprising everybody, Wendy flicked the ball up and over her head. When she turned and ran after it her marker was caught flat-footed and gaping.

‘Go Wendy,’ Suzanne yelled, along with everyone sitting around her.

As a known goal-scorer Sandra had been marked as tightly as anyone. Now her reactions were faster than fast. For the first time in the game she got clear water between herself and the reds’ centre-half. She sprinted along a left-to-right diagonal while Wendy closed in on the goal line.

The crowd gasped as the cross went over. Wendy had pulled it away from the goalkeeper very nicely, but surely it was too high!

Straining every sinew, Sandra threw herself up at the ball. But for once her contact was not ideal. She was falling as she headed it, getting under it so it looped back over the keeper but without enough vim to cross the line. It landed just behind the centre-half who, using her initiative, instinctively back-heeled it away.

Liz should not have even been in the reds’ half of the pitch. She certainly should not have been haring towards their penalty box. And no way should she have met the back-heeled clearance with her weak right foot. She was no markswoman. Nine times out of ten her impulsive shot would have presented more danger to local air traffic than the opposition’s goal.

But she hit the ball perfectly. From twenty yards out, staying at a steady ten inches above the ground, never wavering once, it flew through the area and hit the back of the net like a speeding bullet.

Pandemonium erupted. The blues’ fans were jumping, screaming and openly weeping. And that was just the guys; the girls went utterly bananas.

‘Omigod,’ Suzanne kept saying, ‘omigod.’

Conceding that goal spurred the reds into action. With half an hour to go they poured forward in wave after wave of attacking flair. Their passes were short, precise and constructive. Pushed back onto the defensive, the blues did their best to repel the tide. But suddenly they were unable to string together even two passes. Suddenly they were resorting to hoofed clearances.

The reds’ fans were ever more vocal in their support. “We are the champions,” they sang. “Come on you reds, attack, attack, attack!”

Biting their fingernails, the blues’ fans yelled “Defence, defence!!” For some totally inexplicable reason a group of guys started to sing “We shall overcome.”

And still the waves crashed forward. If the first sixty minutes were tense then the rest of the match was sheer torture.

Two minutes to go. A dozen narrow squeaks but the blues were nearly home. And then the reds won a free kick just outside the area. A black-haired girl with a tidy backside took it, artfully curling the ball up and over the wall.

The sight brought screams all round, and all with differing emotions.

‘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.

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.’

‘Is that Suzanne pulling her knickers up?’


‘Okay. Go sit in there.’ He pointed down the dead-end track which was now blocked by a patrol car.

The cop didn’t need to tell Angie not to make a run for it. They were trapped and her legs had rubber bands in them anyway. Maybe it was the sex or maybe it was fear.

Exposed, she thought as she trudged towards the police jam sandwich. What the fuck is everybody going to say when this gets out!

There was a female officer in the front seat. Her short hair was so blonde it was almost white and her attitude issues were immediately obvious. While Angie let herself into the back she just sat and stared rigidly forward.

Worried as she was, Angie decided it wasn’t the right time to try to make friends.

Whatever will Liz think? She sighed inwardly. And Sandra’s going to hit the roof!

After two or three minutes of silence the policewoman turned in her seat, her dismissive gaze insulting in any language. ‘So what’s your excuse?’ she said. ‘Couldn’t he keep it in his pants?’

In other circumstances Angie would have laughed. The guy had mistaken her for “sonny boy” and the gal assumed she’d been getting a manly shafting.

Ironic, wasn’t it?

‘He’s a she,’ she said as innocently as she could. ‘She doesn’t have anything in her pants. Well, not the sort of anything you mean, anyway.’

Blondie tutted loudly and then reverted to silence, her glacier-like eyes strictly facing forward again.

Angie glanced back up the track to see a fully dressed Suzanne and the arresting officer approaching. Suzanne was speaking to him but he had a radio transmitter to his ear and didn’t seem to be listening.

Following the cop’s signal Suzanne got in the back. As she pulled the door shut Angie saw there were no internal handles; the door could easily be tugged closed but only reopened from outside.

How unfair, she thought. We’re being treated like we’re Bonnie and Clyde. No, make that Thelma and Louise!

‘Oops,’ said Suzanne.

‘Oops indeed,’ Angie agreed.

Chapter Five

The two police officers left their prisoners in the back of the car and had a consultation about twenty yards away, beside an oak tree, well out of range of hearing.

‘We’re doomed,’ said Angie. ‘What is the penalty for fucking in public anyway? Is it transportation or straight execution? And will we be humiliated before our peers first?’

‘Fret ye not,’ said Suzanne. ‘Those two aren’t going to arrest us. I’ve got their measure.’

‘That’s why we’re locked in the back of a police car, is it?’

‘Trust me, Angie; I’ve got a good feeling about this. Dave won’t let us down.’


‘That male cop; he’s on our side.’

‘You could have fooled me. And how do you know he’s called Dave?’

‘He asked my name so I asked his. And it’s Polish or Ukrainian or something. When I asked him to repeat it he said to just call him Dave.’

‘Hmmm, I thought you didn’t like blokes.’

‘I don’t, but needs must, eh? And shush, here he comes.’

Leaving the policewoman at the tree Dave got into the patrol car, kneeling on the passenger seat so he could see both his captives at once.

‘My partner’s not afraid of paperwork,’ he began. ‘She wants to throw the book at you. She reckons we have you for Outraging Public Decency and Exposure if nothing else. And there is the possibility of long sentences on both of those offences.’

‘Do you mean sentences as in prison?’ said Angie.

‘Yes, I do.’

‘That’s insane,’ Suzanne said hotly. ‘She’s picking on us because we’re lezzies.’

‘It’s all about decency and exposure,’ he replied calmly, ‘not sexual persuasion.’

‘My arse it is. She can’t accept that there isn’t any age restriction on lesbians in this country, so she’s relying on technicalities.’

‘Suzy,’ said Angie, concerned her friend was about to talk them ever deeper into the mire.

But Suzanne wasn’t for heeding. ‘They’re revising the male age of gay consent,’ she went on. ‘That dates back to Victorian times. But good old Queen Vic didn’t believe us girls could have sex together, so our carte blanche has gone on and on. Yet your partner . . .’

‘Enough,’ Dave snapped. ‘Listen to me or I’ll arrest you for being a pain in the arris, never mind some technicality that doesn’t exist.’

Thankfully, Suzanne canned it . . . for the time being.

‘Thank you,’ Dave resumed. ‘Now here’s how it is. The law makes a big deal out of “possibilities". In other words, nobody should have outdoor sex in broad daylight when there’s the possibility of being seen by two or more persons. Or in pitch black, for that matter.’

‘We’re in the middle of nowhere,’ Suzanne retorted. ‘Okay, so it is broad daylight, but who is around to see us? And what are you doing here, anyway? Shouldn’t you be setting speed traps to catch people doing forty-two in a forty mile zone?’

‘Shouldn’t you have waited until after dark?’ Dave responded.

‘It was sort of spontaneous,’ Angie offered before Suzanne could screw things even further. ‘We don’t have lots of opportunities.’

Dave nodded. ‘Me,’ he said, ‘I hate paperwork. And I’m conscious that this is an isolated spot. I’m also conscious that only one person saw what you were doing. So I’m prepared to let it go.’

‘Thank you, officer,’ Angie said quickly, her fingernails deep into Suzanne’s palm to hopefully keep her mouth shut. ‘We’ll never do it again in daylight. Or in a car anywhere, come to that.’

He nodded then opened the rear doors for them. ‘Vamoose,’ he said, ‘before I get over-ruled.’

They made it back to Mum’s car in double-quick time. Then, showing off considerable driving skills, Suzanne reversed the length of the dead-end track. The patrol car had pulled back to give her room so, showing off even more skills, she deftly turned and headed for the main road.

Neither of the police officers waved them farewell.

‘We nicked their spot,’ Suzanne said as they rounded a corner, out of line of sight.


‘Think about it, Ange. They weren’t patrolling this stretch, were they? They were out for a bit of extra-curricular nooky. I bet they do it out here this time every evening.’

‘I think you’re wildly jumping to conclusions.’

‘Did you see the look on Sour Puss’s face? That was a girl going without. And it was all thanks to us.’

Angie supposed her friend might have a point. ‘So we got away with it,’ she said. ‘Whew, wasn’t that a narrow escape!’

‘I want more,’ said Suzanne, eyes on the road and as sincere-sounding as heck.

‘We’re running late as it is,’ Angie protested.

‘I don’t mean more now, I mean more soon, and somewhere where we’re not likely to be disturbed.’

Angie hesitated. She was at a tipping point, she realized.

‘What about Liz,’ she asked eventually, ‘and what about Sandra?’

‘Sandra knows you have another girlfriend.’ Suzanne laughed. ‘The whole school knows; we just don’t know who she is. But Sand’s cool with it. So why should one more matter?’

Chewing that over didn’t help Angie much. Yes, Sandra did know she had another lover. And yes, that lover’s identity was secret. But Sandra was second in line, wasn’t she? She’d been aware someone else was in the equation all along. She’d been aware and happy to accept. A third lover was different, though, wasn’t it?

And never mind Sandra’s feelings, what about Liz’s?

‘Liz would go ballistic,’ Angie said flatly.

‘She would, but only if she finds out. And you’re good at secrets, aren’t you? Why should she ever find out?’

Angie recalled the feel of Suzanne’s clit under her tongue. She tried to tell herself to reign in but her brain wasn’t listening. Tipping point? Okay, so she tipped.

‘My parents work nights,’ she said. ‘Well, Mum works most of the night. I have the house to myself on more occasions than not. You could call round, I suppose.’

‘Does Sandra call round?’ Suzanne’s eyes were suddenly off the track. ‘Is that why she’s always got a big goofy grin on her face?’

‘It has been known. And look where you’re driving, for God’s sake!’

Suzanne concentrated on her driving again . . . more or less. ‘Are we talking all night here . . . all night in a real bed?’

‘We’re talking up until say three in the morning. You can arrive at any time you like after seven. And it’s my single bed . . . because of the implications as regards sheet-washing.’

‘Fucking hell, Ange, you sound as if you’ve been doing it forever.’

‘Not forever; just often enough. And I’m not proposing forever with you. We’re both committed. A one-off night is all I’m offering. Are you interested?’

‘Angie, baby, I’m there in my dreams already!’


Author’s Note: Thank you again for reading Angie’s continuing adventures.

More will follow very soon.


Other books by LimeyLady

Heather’s Busy Week Pt. 01

Heather’s Busy Week Pt. 02

Heather’s Busy Week Pt. 03

Heather’s Busy Week Pt. 04

Heather’s Busy Week Pt. 05

Heather’s Busy Week Pt. 06

Heather’s Busy Week Pt. 07

New Beginnings

New Beginnings Advance

New Beginnings Falter

New Beginnings Revive

New Beginnings Conclude

Dangerous Dealings

No Holds Barred in London

No Holds Barred in Belfast

No Holds Barred in Boston

No Holds Barred in Munich

Two Sides to Every Story

Unconsecrated Ground

Heather Falls in Love Part One

Heather Falls in Love Part Two

Heather Falls in Love Part Three

Sammy Jo Has a Big Night Out

Sammy Jo Has Another Big Night Out

Sammy Jo Tries Team Building

Heather’s Hectic Weekend Part One

Heather’s Hectic Weekend Part Two

Heather’s Hectic Weekend Part Three

Heather’s Hectic Weekend Part Four


Davina Again

Davina Does Christmas

Davina Does Easter

Davina Does Older Women

Davina Does Scotland

Best Served Cold

Bedding the Boss

Daddy’s Girl

Short and Sweet

Re-Bedding the Boss

Angie Baby

Art For Art’s Sake

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