Cordelia, Lucy & The Barmaid Training

By Cordelia Jones and Lucy Spender

"Cordelia is not happy with Lucy, the playful new barmaid at your local. That night sees the two girls become friends. Then enemies. Then friends again. Then enemies again. Until neither one can sit down."

Cordelia & Lucy. The adventures of two young women whose principal interests are fabulous outfits, threesomes, and light S&M.

We don't waste words.
Every detail's delicious.
Every scene's a sex scene.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Publishdrive
• Release date: May 1, 2024

Book preview

CORDELIA, LUCY & THE BARMAID TRAINING

The Cambridge was that rarest of things, a decent, independent pub built on personalities.

The oak bar ran round the inside corner of the L-shaped space, five or six barstools, topped with shiny red leather, arranged in front of it. The door behind it led to a staircase; down to the cellar, up to the accommodation above the pub.

A dozen tables, thick sturdy things of pale wood, were scattered around the rest of the place, old-school wooden chairs placed at them, all sat on the highly polished floorboards.

Half of one side was set up as a snug bar, cordoned off from the rest by an internal wall and a door with a panel of smoked glass. The snug lived up to its name, with just two tables and a battered old chesterfield sofa squeezed into the small space.

The Cambridge managed to function both as a traditional boozer and cool, knowing bar. you'd been a regular visitor since moving nearby a few months ago. Today - a weekday afternoon - you were the only occupant.

The only one aside from Cordelia Jones. Slim and athletic with cover-model looks, the blonde, 24 year old barmaid was the chief reason for at least half of The Cambridge's custom. You would never choose a bar on the basis of the staff, but even you had to admit it certainly didn't hurt.

Today Cordelia was sporting the regulation white shirt, hanging loosely off her firm tits, and with the top few buttons undone to reveal a tantalising glimpse of cleavage. The required little red apron, folded over at the top so it skimmed her crotch in front, pulled the shirt in at the waist.

Below the waist, uniform regulations allowed Cordelia to express herself, in black, and she had chosen to do so with a pair of skintight, wetlook leggings, tucked into a pair of shiny, high heeled, black knee high boots.

Her long, shaggy blonde hair bouncing around her shoulders, Cordelia clicked up the bar towards you.

Same again, sir?

She enquired brightly.

Yes please Miss Jones.

Cordelia laughed at the formality, snapped off a pretty little salute and bent down to fetch another bottle of Peroni from the fridge.

The shirt was far too long, you caught yourself thinking.

Even bent almost double, one leg crooked underneath her, the other stretched out before her like a dancer, only a heartbreakingly brief amount of Cordelia's firm little ass was visible, the hem of the white shirt skimming the shiny skintight material as it hugged the lower half of her buttocks.

Her long, athletic legs were quite another matter however, and