Seeing my discomfort the woman I knew only as The Teacher got down onto her knees and pressed her mouth against me. She audibly breathed in the scent of my arousal, sighed and began to unbutton my linen jeans. Her hands shook a little (perhaps excitement) but her fingers were deft.
“You don’t… mind do you?” she asked, though it was clear that she already knew the answer.
Almost before I was entirely free The Teacher closed her mouth around the wet tip of me and would have drawn me all the way to the back of her throat if I hadn’t prevented her.
“Am I doing it wrong?” she asked, looking a little hurt.
“Not in the least,” I assured her, as I guided her mouth so that she concentrated on the tip.
“Take your time,” I instructed (I hope kindly).
“There’s no rush…”
We had met barely two hours earlier. I had been invited by a friend to sit with him as he played bridge with his ‘regular group’. Introductions had been brief.
“This is The Mechanic,” he said, pointing to a plump man with an exhaustingly irregular twitch.
“This is The Accountant (a small and withered man who appeared to have removed the top set of his dentures for comfort), and this,” said my friend, with something of a flourish is… The Teacher.”
It was, I thought, a rather disparate group. The Teacher in particular did not look at all as though she belonged. She was a deeply tanned and striking looking woman – perhaps in her late fifties (though her figure suggested a certain youthfulness). Despite being dressed entirely in black she did not look in the least funereal. It was a modest dress with discrete flourishes of lace around the neckline, and yet, on her slim frame it somehow conspired to draw the eye towards the curved line of her breasts.
We exchanged barely a glance as we were introduced.
“She’s teaching us how to play,” my friend explained, somewhat redundantly.
The evening progressed amicably enough. My friend attempted to explain the rules to me but I had hardly listened. Instead I directed any question that I had to The Teacher herself. Before long she had invited me to sit beside her so that I could better follow what she was doing. Now and then she would permit me to glimpse the cards she was holding, but most of the time she kept them pressed between her breasts. Perhaps unconsciously (though I thought that unlikely) she began to lean more and more in my direction. At some point our legs had met under the table. Lacking the usual awkwardness of strangers we had not quickly withdrawn from contact. On the contrary, when I had laid my hand on her thigh – a deliberate gesture on my part – she had hooked her ankle around mine. This almost intimate contact caused a flicker of a smile passed across the striking woman’s lips.
As I shifted my hand upwards on her warm thigh she looked almost shy.
She looked almost shy now, on her knees and tipping her tongue over the wetted dome of my cock. She almost blushed as I tilted her chin upwards so that she could look me in the eye as she trailed her tongue around and down along my shaft.
“I’m supposed to be teaching you bridge,” she said, almost breathless.
Running my fingers through her sand-blonde hair I directed her lips back onto my shaft and let her take me as deeply as she could into her wet mouth. A hunger seemed to grip her as she felt the bulk and weight of me slipping over her tongue. She held my thighs to pull me deeper into her as she sucked with what could only be describe as ‘great enthusiasm’.
“That’s enough for now,” I said – quiet but firm.
My cock, wet now, twitched and pulsed as I slid it out of her lovely mouth.
I lifted her up and onto her feet (her legs seemed a little unsteady) and kissed her on the mouth. I could taste myself on her lips and tongue.
From the first moment I had seen her I had been almost overwhelmed with an urge to run my fingers down the proud line of her neck and to cup my hands under her rather well formed breasts. They were not large but had a fullness to them that was compelling. There was no mistaking the hardness of her nipples as I brushed over them with my fingers. Equally there was no mistaking her wetness as I slipped my other hand up and between her thighs. Her own hands were firmly wrapped around my shaft. She seemed reluctant to let go.
“I want to taste you,” I said, as I slipped my fingers over the wetted silk of her panties.
I hoist her onto the table so that she was perched almost on the edge of it. Then I got onto my knees and slipped the hem of her dress up and over her thighs. To my delight she was wearing hold up stockings, and the pale portion of her flesh invited my mouth to press on it. Working slow, firm, circles with my tongue I tasted the soft-warm skin of her, moving all the time upwards towards the delicious scent of her wetness. Teasingly I slipped my tongue almost under the silk of her panties. The momentary taste of her was… exquisite.
Her breathing quickened pleasingly as she felt the heat of my mouth against her. I felt her hips shift as she tilted them so that she could press herself to my lips. Placing my hands on her almost trembling knees I pushed her legs apart. Then I sat back on my heels so that I could look at her - all of her.
At the card table she had had such poise. Just sitting there in that stiff backed chair there had been an obvious gracefulness about her. Now – back arched and head tilted towards the night sky – she looked positively elegant. Even perched on her own dining table, legs splayed, the silk of her panties clinging to her wetness there was no doubting her elegance.
Leaning forward again I, at last, laid my tongue between the little cleft of her pussy, pressing the silk between the swell of her lips until it her flavours seeped through and onto my tongue. She tasted exactly as I knew she would: musky, sweet and rich.
“Oh!” she said, and:
An almost endless sigh seemed to leak from her throat as I peeled away the silk and pressed the swollen lips of her apart with my fingers. When she was open to me I blew a little chill across the swelling bud of her clit. It hardened and glistened under its little hood. She moaned then, deep and in her belly as I almost (but not quite) tipped my tongue under that hood. Her hips shifted again as she almost drove herself onto my lips. Her wetness -thickening now, almost creamy - gathered in the delicious folds of her pussy inviting me to lap at them. And I did, as I slipped my fingers into her heat. She tightened around my fingers in little spasms. The sounds in her throat intensified as I closed my lips around her cit and, almost gently, began to suck.
“Oh!” she said, and:
I felt her hand on the back of my head, almost urgent, as she pulled my mouth onto her, and as she drove my tongue… into her. She almost jerked off of the edge of the table as she began to convulse. And then she convulsed again, even more violently, and it seemed as though her cunt almost gushed into my mouth it was so suddenly so much wetter than before.
When she was still, and my lips dripping with her wetness, I rose to my feet and drew her towards me.
“You taste… exquisite,” I said, and kissed her full on her mouth.
I did not take my fingers out of her as we kissed.
Her posture slackened as our tongues met though – somehow - she stayed upright on her perch. In that moment she seemed like a lightly wounded (but by no means broken) bird: ruffled, her breath feathering as my fingers slipped deeper inside her. I rounded my thumb on the stem of her clit and heard her sigh as little fluttering waves of pleasure rolled up along her spine.
When I had liberated her breasts I kissed them too. Her nipples were hard to the touch, and stiffened satisfyingly to the brush of tongue and lips. I took my fingers out of her and lavished those stiff buds with her own creamy juices unlit they almost dripped with her fragrance. I blew across those peaks and she shivered to the sudden chill.
“I want you to take me in your mouth again,” I said, and she did.
With all of her previous enthusiasm she wound her tongue around the thick shaft of my cock, licking at it. Then she took me it into her hot mouth, and she sucked - noisily. Bent forwards on her perch it felt as though it was only my hardness that kept her from toppling forwards. I cupped her breasts in part to steady her, tugging on her nipples as she took me deeper. She stroked my balls almost too roughly. She gripped the base of my cock and pumped at it as though hoping I would instantly empty myself down her willing throat. When I did not spill she whimpered and sucked even harder. Unable to hold back any longer I came, hard, sending jets of hot cum into her mouth and over her quivering tongue.
“Take all of it,” I said, and she did, gulping me down.
A calm descended - a momentary lull.
I stroked her hair as she almost cooed on her perch. I stroked the soft skin of her face and her tongue flickered on my fingertips as I wiped her cummy lips.
“We’re not done,” I assured her.
She smiled. Just that.
When we had rested I took her down from her perch and turned her around.
“Lean across the table,’ I said.
She laid her herself on the polished wood and I parted her legs – holding her feet apart with mine. Then I lifted up the skirt of her dress and pulled down her cunt-damp panties. Taking the cheeks of her arse my hands I spread them apart and put my mouth where I could lick at her wetness. Then I rose to lay the tip of my thick cock against her flesh. The woman I still knew only as The Teacher reached behind her to take hold of my shaft. She seemed surprised, though not disappointed, to discover that I had already recovered my hardness. I resisted her attempt to guide me inside her.
“Please!” she whispered.
Taking a firm hold of her hips I teased the tight little mouth of her cunt with my tip – almost dripping it was so engorged. Then I tilted my shaft so that I could run the length of my cock between the swell of her lips, and let it slip firmly against her. Her breath altered again and was one long exhale as I glided across her clit. Only pausing now and then to ease myself some little way inside her.
“I am going to fuck you,” I told her in a tone that left her in no doubt of what was to come.
To reinforce my words I told her to look as me as I fed my thick hot cock a little further inside her. Not un-gently I took a handful of her hair and turned her face towards me. There was a fierce intelligence in those bright eyes of her. As our eyes met the slippery collar of her pussy tensed. Her grip on me tightened. It was as though she was trying to pull me inside her. Her wetness, creamy now, ran down the length of my shaft like long tears (not of sadness). With a trembling of her thighs she made the most sensual of sounds as I released her hips enough to take me deeper.
“Can you feel the heat of me inside you?” I asked.
“Yes…!” she said.
Sliding in a little further I asked her if she could feel the pulse of me? But all she said was that she wanted more.
“You’re very tight,” I said, and she was.
I pressed her pale cheeks further apart so that, looking down, I could watch the substantial column of my cock as it slid into her, and out of her. Even to these slow and shallow gestures her pussy responded with the most delicious wet noises. With barely half my length inside her I could feel the walls of her begin to undulate. Her breathing was sudden and shallow.
“Cum for me!” I said, and she did..
“Oh… my…..!” she rasped.
Like wings her arms fluttered across on the tabletop as I filled her up. When she had cum against my mouth there was almost something delicate about it. But this was something wild, something animal. My little bird - un-caged. And because she was already seized in orgasm I fucked her all the harder… and all the deeper.
Below the window the sea lapped on the shore. Inside there was only the sound of our moans and the livid-wet slap of flesh. And when our mutual violence had reached its height I filled her with my cum in huge hot seemingly endless spurts. Filling her up until she almost overflowed.
“God!” she said, and:
It was more a blessing than a blasphemy.
Later, sitting cross-legged on her bed, I showed her a card-trick I had learned years before in Havana. It was not a very good card-trick, but it made her giggle.
“You don’t even know my name,” she said, blushing.
“You’re The Teacher.”
“No,” she said, biting on her bottom lip.
“My name is… Tricia.”
“Pleased to meet you Tricia.”
And, almost absently, she played with my cum as it oozed out from between the smooth lips of her cunt.
It was an invitation to resume. I could not refuse.
8 people like this
3:19 pm Tuesday, 9th June, 2015
Who really is the Teacher and who the pupil?
3 people like this
3:24 pm Tuesday, 9th June, 2015
ah.. well that's true of life in general. you can never be quite sure!
2 people like this
10:57 pm Thursday, 9th July, 2015
Every one we meet teaches us something therefore we are all the pupils and in our turn the teacher. Well worth the wait Guss. Do i sense a change in style of writing?
2 people like this
5:24 am Tuesday, 11th August, 2015
Wow I have really missed your blogs .. not sure for long I will be on site this time but missed you and your blogs xx