by Limey Lady
Three Times a Lady
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 final exam
Chapter Two - Making friends
Chapter Three - Toy time
Chapter Four - Taking big steps
Chapter Five - Four become three
Chapter Six - Shopping
Chapter Seven - Caught!
Chapter Eight - The inevitable happens
Chapter Nine - Friends ever after
Author’s Note
Other Books by LimeyLady
Chapter One
(June 1997)
The old Temperance Hall was packed with anxious sixth form students from three different schools, a lot of them ready to take their last-ever A-level exam. The final Physics paper kicked off at 9am. Two and a half hours later, in many cases, it would be the end of the trail.
Well okay, so would-be chemists had another sitting to endure tomorrow, but that was their hard luck, wasn’t it?
Angie wasn’t a chemist and wasn’t particularly anxious. Today was definitely a last-ever for her as far as A-levels were concerned. It was also icing on the Physics cake. She was sure that she’d already done enough to pass; for her this final paper only served to decide if she got an A or a B.
Naturally she wanted an A but her future didn’t depend on it. Consequently there was no need to fret.
No, while most of her contemporaries sweated nervously, waiting for the off, she fretted about her sex life instead.
Sex had become very important to Angie, so her concerns weren’t exactly irrelevant.
Officially she had one girlfriend. Sandra was black, athletic and the nicest girl she could ever hope to meet. In theory she couldn’t have asked for anything more. But in practice she had other girlfriends, both of them top secret.
Yes, not one extra lover on the side but two. Greedy or what!
Or was she just incredibly lucky?
Juggling the trio was tricky but fun, even if it was sometimes difficult to remember who knew what. Not in the heat of the moment, anyway. It was easy enough to work out what to and what not to say when she wasn’t on heat but, in the throes of passion . . .
Well, it was only too easy to shout out the wrong name.
Not that she ever had.
Not yet.
‘Thank you ladies and gentlemen,’ the Invigilator said, breaking into Angie’s rambling thoughts. ‘Your time starts now. Please feel free to turn over your papers.’
Being an exemplary student Angie had worked her way through all of the exam questions set over the last decade, answering them in depth again and again. The usual format was more familiar than the back of her hand. But today something was wrong. For an agonizing moment or two she simply sat and stared. Then she looked at the cover sheet more closely, expecting to find she’d been given her copy in some foreign language; Latvian, maybe, or perhaps Swahili.
She swallowed a groan as she realized the text was in English. And, glancing around, she saw other examinees were already pulling their hair in despair.
Be rational, she told herself sternly. You only have to answer five of the questions. Pick out the ones you know best, and give them your all.
And try to forget that your banker . . . the one about vectors that’s been in all the last ten papers . . . is nowhere to be seen.
You’re good enough, girl; just do it.
Duly motivated she began and time flew by until she hit the wall. Checking her watch she found she had forty minutes to answer one more question. But the remaining options were lousy. Hedging, she re-read the answers she’d already written, making amendments as she went along, perhaps saving herself a couple of lost points.
Looking up for a second she noticed that the hall was more than half empty. Most of the hair-pullers had already given up and gone.
But bugger them. She was on the verge of an A and wanted it so badly it hurt. She wasn’t going to cut and run. No, she needed to pick the easiest of the unanswered questions and attack it as best as she could. Half of a correct answer would get her the grade, surely.
Ignoring the increasing flow of departing students, she studied the questions again.
And Number Seven smacked her between the eyes.
It was her vector question, heavily in disguise.
And now, seeing through it, she could answer in full.
Fuck, there were only twenty minutes left!
Writing manically, ignoring spasms of cramp, her hand whizzed over the paper. It was as near a run thing as the Battle of Waterloo but, in the end, she prevailed. Just as she entered her final full stop the Invigilator called time.
Even without chance to read through her answer Angie knew that she’d nailed it. Gratefully dropping her pen she punched two clenched fists into the air.
‘Yes,’ she cried.
The Invigilator smiled at her. ‘I’m glad I’ve got at least one satisfied customer,’ he said as he collected her answer sheets.
By then there were less than a dozen examinees left in the enormous hall. The mathematical part of Angie’s brain told her that guaranteed her the A. Guys and gals who couldn’t finish couldn’t be in the top ten per cent, could they? It was as simple as that.
Grinning, she went out into the street and bumped into Abigail, the school’s most popular girl and her supposed rival in love. Not that Angie saw her as a rival. On the contrary, by “stealing” her boyfriend Abigail had opened up all sorts of new frontiers for her, all of them good.
‘Ange,’ Abs said in greeting. ‘I’ve been looking out for you. How’d it go?’
‘I nearly missed Question Seven,’ Angie replied, ‘but I got it just in time. Maybe it pulled me through.’
Abigail laughed. ‘Spoken like the straight-A girl you are. You’ll have sailed through, as per always. But stuff exams. Is that it for you?’
‘Yep, I’m done with them.’
‘It was my last one too. Fancy a drink?’
Angie considered for perhaps five seconds. It was lunchtime and there was a Wetherspoon’s not fifty yards away.
‘I’m not exactly flush with cash,’ she warned, ‘but I could stand a couple of rounds.’
‘Sounds good to me,’ said Abigail, linking arms. ‘What are we waiting for?’
*****
After some of the less demanding exams ‘Spoon’s had been packed with Angie’s schoolmates . . . but it wasn’t packed that Thursday. With most examinees fleeing halfway through the ordeal there wasn’t one face that she recognized.
Well, not from school, anyway. A lot of the battle-hardened boozers did look familiar but she struggled to put a name to any of them. They were, she reckoned, part of the everyday fixtures and fittings.
Abigail insisted on buying the first drinks and continued to be charm personified. That unsettled Angie because she equated “popular” with “bitchy”. But their conversation was light and cheery and Abs was drinking Guinness, matching her pint for pint, so she couldn’t be all bad.
‘What’s on the cards for this afternoon?’ she asked when Angie got them refills. ‘Sandra’s got English Lit, hasn’t she?’
Angie nodded and tried not to look glum. Being exam-free at last she wouldn’t have minded a romp or two. But nobody was free to o
blige before teatime.
‘I’m seeing Sand later,’ she said. ‘We’re wining and dining tonight.’
‘Lucky Sand,’ said Abigail.
‘I think we’re both going to get lucky.’ Angie clapped a hand over her mouth. ‘Sorry, I guess you didn’t need to know that.’
Abigail smiled. ‘Oh yes I did, I admire you two. You look great together. Everybody says so. And I still want to know why everybody gives you a perfect ten.’
Angie swigged black, velvety beer. “Everybody” meant Sandra and Suzanne. And Suzanne wasn’t so seriously believed because she was full of baloney. In fact she’d as good as told Abigail they were lovers an hour or so before they actually became intimate. Abs had, as usual, taken that with a pinch of salt . . . and that goodness for small mercies! Suzanne was in another, long-running relationship and therefore the most secret of Angie’s secret lovers.
Somehow Angie smothered a grin. Her thing with Suzanne was supposed to have been a one-off but once was too much; they’d become addicted to each other. Every “last time” prompted “one more time”. That had been the case for over five weeks now, so the liaison was starting to seem permanent.
‘You’ll have to use your imagination,’ she said to Abigail, doing her best to be prim. Then, somewhat spoiling the illusion: ‘Try thinking about me next time you’re at it with Bobby.’
‘Don’t talk to me about Bobby. I’ve got the house to myself this afternoon and where is he? He’s only gone playing golf with his mates.’
Golf was the year’s male sixth form craze; one that none of the females could understand.
‘Yuk,’ said Angie, ‘I take it he’s finished his exams.’
‘He sat his last one on Tuesday and he’s been off with his mates ever since.’ Abigail’s eyes twinkled as she leant across the table. ‘I got a fresh supply of grass to celebrate and he’s spurned me. Do you fancy helping me smoke it instead?’
What to reply to that? Angie suddenly had a curious, light sensation in her stomach. She had every reason to believe that Abs was straight but here she was, inviting her to smoke dope on a one-to-one basis. And there was a lot of afternoon left to smoke it in.
In her heart of hearts Angie didn’t begin to hope that sex was a possibility. Come to that she didn’t let herself even begin to begin to hope. Surely, given the Bobby situation she shouldn’t even be drinking with the girl, never mind contemplating sex.
Yet no so very long ago she had contemplated having sex with Abigail. To be brutally honest, Abigail had featured in several of her fantasies. She’d masturbated with images of the popular blonde playing through her mind.
And not just once or twice.
‘I’m not a big grass smoker,’ she said carefully. ‘But Sandra’s brother is. He’s let me have a drag or two before now.’
‘Do you mean Evan?’ Abigail laughed, and with good reason. The rest of Sandra’s family was utterly respectable but Evan was . . . well, a little less so. By day he worked in a bank and looked the part to perfection. By night he resembled a Rasta but minus the dreads.
According to Evan, smoking the weed was an obligation, not a luxury.
‘I bet Evan doesn’t let you stop at a drag or two,’ said Abigail.
‘No,’ Angie admitted. ‘I’ve been obliged to smoke quite a few reefers with him.’
‘He’s a hunk, isn’t he?’
Angie had to agree. She had no intention of ever sleeping with a man ever again but, if forced to pick one, Evan would top her list.
In fact he’d fill the first three places.
‘He makes me laugh,’ she said. ‘And he’s fiercely protective of his baby sister. Whatever you do, don’t let him find out.’
Abigail chuckled at that. ‘I’m only proposing a smoke, not anything that shouldn’t be found out about. But it’s an interesting thought, isn’t it; us being found-outed? Are you on or what?’
‘Go on then, count me in.’
Chapter Two
Abs kept her weed in her bedroom. Angie couldn’t help but admire the size and organization of her stash. Hidden under a loose floorboard she had a large re-sealable bag full of the stuff, and an old tobacco tin containing half a dozen pre-rolled joints.
‘This is my smoking chair,’ she said, pointing to a battered leather tuffet. ‘You can have the bed.’
Angie sat obediently, accepting a reefer when it was passed to her.
‘I won’t tell you how to do it, seeing as you’ve been smoking with Evan,’ said Abigail. ‘You’ve already been taught by a master of the art.’
That made Angie snigger. She’d been taught all sorts by a “Mistress of Art”. The idea of tuition from a “master” was a bit much.
Mistresses were her forte, not masters.
Taking a long, slow pull she drew fragrant smoke into her lungs and held it there as long as she could. The grass was, she noted, very good quality. Just like Evan’s always was. Maybe Abigail had sourced it from the man himself.
Abigail meanwhile was fiddling with her video player. ‘There,’ she said as a picture appeared on her TV screen. ‘Excuse me for keeping the sound down. We need to leave the window open to let out the smoke. And I don’t want the neighbours complaining again.’
It was a sex film and a relatively recent one, if the definition and colours were anything to go by. Angie raised her eyebrows as two young blondes appeared hand-in-hand in a luxurious apartment.
‘I wouldn’t have thought this was your thing,’ she observed before taking another pull.
‘I’m like Alice in Wonderland, me.’ Abs laughed prettily. ‘I just get curiouser and curiouser.’
That light sensation was back in Angie’s stomach. She doubted that Abigail could be curiouser than she was right then. Where oh where was this going?
Was she headed for real-life sex with Abigail?
Could she be as lucky as that?
Hmmm, who knew all of life’s little intricacies? Watch and wait; that was the ticket.
Part of her mind snarled at her racing heart. Do not make a move, it warned. Do not let her be able to claim that she turned you down!
There was actually some sense in the self-warning. Abs could be just as calculating as the rest of the really popular girls. She might well be teasing her boyfriend’s ex into making a foolish approach.
Filling her lungs again, Angie watched . . . and waited.
*****
For maybe half a joint the two blondes playfully stripped each other, kissing a lot along the way. And then, finally naked, they settled down to some serious fingering.
Angie turned from the screen a moment, studying Abs instead. She was either raptly into the action or else a better actress than the two blondes put together (and they weren’t too bad at all!). Abs seemed to be oblivious of her scrutiny.
Her small, knowing smile was sexy as heck. What on earth was going on in that clever head of hers?
When Angie returned her attention to the film its plot had changed for the worse.
‘Where’s he come from?’ she demanded.
‘I’m not sure who he’s supposed to be.’ Abigail shrugged. ‘Perhaps he’s some sort of repairman. Don’t worry, though; he’s not in it for very long. Or should I say he’s not in them for very long.’
Watching the repairman getting stripped and sucked didn’t do much for Angie. She wished he would just get on with it and leave the girls alone again. But the girls were making a meal about sucking him, taking turns and kissing each other as well as every square inch of his genitals.
‘Bobby says you’re brilliant at that,’ Abigail said out of nowhere.
‘What?’
‘He says you’re brilliant at blow jobs.’
Angie rolled her eyes. ‘And there was I, believing he was a perfect gentleman.’
‘He is,’ Abigail laughed, ‘but I know how to extract secrets out of him. Not that he’s dished out the dirt. He only has good things to say about you.’
‘So why am I not grateful
?’
‘I don’t know. You should be grateful. I would be if he said the same about me.’
‘You mean he doesn’t?’
‘Not to my knowledge.’
‘Then he’s a cad and a bounder.’ Angie sighed. ‘And who else has he told?’
‘I doubt he’s told anyone.’ Abigail laughed that pretty laugh of hers. ‘As I said, I know how to extract his secrets.’
