Hotbeds Ch. 01

We went into a long kiss and I continued running my finger-tips along her vulva and slipping them into her vestibule. She broke the kiss. 'So tantalising,' she said. 'Can I show you something? Lie down. We may have to be quick tonight, though. This is the night of the month, you see. You know what I mean?' Thanks to my mother's instruction I did know.

'It could start any time, but I can't feel it yet.' She put a finger in her vagina, stirred about, withdrew, smelt and inspected it.'

I lay down and she straddled me. I felt her slippery wet slit sliding up my body as she brought her bottom onto my chest. 'Lift your head,' she said, and when I did she reached past it to double my pillow in support. She laughed quietly, because this disclosed Madam's knickers, which I had forgotten about. 'These may come in useful,' she said, putting them back on the bed. Then she slid her bottom further towards my face and I realised what I should do, because as she leaned back her labia and clitoris were open to me and I went eagerly for them with my tongue and lips.

'Hold bott,' she said, voice quivery with nearness to the climax. I took those sweet globes in my palms and squeezed. 'Finger in bott,' she went on and I got a hand under a buttock and slipped a finger-top into her anus. 'Keep going,' she bade me, 'Keep going. It's nearly there. Nearly there. Shall I go all the way?'

'Oh yes, please,' I mumbled between the inner lips.

'I so much want to,' she said, gripping my finger tight in bum and pushing her clit onto my eager mouth.

'Tell me when,' I managed to articulate quickly, realising how exciting it was when she said she was coming.

'Yes, it's coming. Now, it's now!' And she thrashed her bottom back and forth, side to side on my ribs, sucking in deep breaths and letting them go in great gusts. Then she slid herself back down my body and collapsed with her breasts pressed into the slick left from her oozings. Her breathing slowed and she lifted her head and offered her lips. 'I need you to kiss me and tell me it's all right.'

We kissed tenderly at length and then I asked her what she meant. She said 'I don't want to use you like Madam. I want to do it completely. I want you inside me, but I don't feel ready. Please forgive me. Maybe after the next few days...'

'There's nothing to forgive,' I said. 'This is marvellous. I'm so happy. Whatever you do is perfect.'

'Thank you. I'm going to have you inside me now, but in my mouth. Has a woman done that for you before? No? I thought not.' She wriggled backwards till only her upper body was on the bed, resting on my thighs, and took my cock between her lips. The sensation of her hot, wet mouth was so intense I nearly came at once. But sensing this she took her lips away and waited a few moments. 'I want to take it out of you,' she said. 'I love it when it springs in my mouth.' She took me in again and licked at the glans inside her mouth, and as the sperm began to gather she withdrew long enough to say, 'It's coming, isn't it? I can feel it coming. Let it come, darling.'

I needed no more urging. My penis pulsed and swelled and the ejaculations shook my whole body. She gripped me with her tongue and cheeks and swallowed again and again. But a good deal dribbled onto my stomach, so we were now both thoroughly coated in sexcretions. She picked up Madam's knickers and wiped us both off. 'I'll take these and put them in the laundry. That should puzzle her when they come back clean - she'll think you used them and had them washed.'

That reminded me. 'What am I going to do if she wants me to do it again?' I asked her. She thought a moment. 'You'd better do it, or there'd be consequences we don't want. Close your eyes and think of me while your fingers are busy, or treat it as a chore, like being on duty. And now I must go, because I'll be on any minute after that lovely time. Would you like me to come here again, even if I'm not fully active? There would be things we could do...' Of course, I wanted her to come to me again, as often as possible.

Next day at lunchtime in the dining-hall, Madam managed to mutter as she passed behind me, 'Eight o'clock in the gym.'

The gym was a large wooden hut with a corrugated iron roof, on which the rain was drumming so loudly I didn't hear her come in. The place was deserted out of school hours. I had slipped away from the staff common room, and its cosy fire, where Gwen and Tony were making a snack and Ben was drooping over some exercise books. Denise was in her room, perhaps nursing cramps, because Tony prepared a hot-water-bottle and went off with it.

Tony and Gwen, as I am calling them, were the kindest, most delightful colleagues, and beloved of the youngest boys, whom they were responsible for. And I shall shortly enjoy describing their kindness to me.

Madam clearly had a routine, no doubt established with my predecessor. Without so much as a 'Good evening,' or 'Nice of you to come,' she drew me over to a vaulting-horse, stripped off another pair of pink knickers and clumsily climbed on to and straddled the horse. Then she lay face down on it and wriggled to project her rear out over the end, legs dangling and toes braced on the floor.

She turned her head and gave me an imperious, expectant look, and, determined to get something out of this engagement, I threw back her skirt to expose that bulging arse, which gleamed in the dim light. She made a protesting grunt but I was already at work, squeezing those lardy cheeks hard and running a thumb down the deep crack into the abundant coarse hair. With considerable force I thrust three fingers into her cunt and began to pump them in and out. This was approved by a throaty groaning. I knew that the clitoris would be needed, but I was going to see the whole apparatus this time, come what may. So I knelt beneath the back end of the horse and the back end of Madam.

Knowing the light was going to be poor I had brought the torch we staff kept for movement after dark. I switched it on and looked up. She growled, 'What are you doing? Switch that off! People will see the light.' 'I want to see,' I said. 'You don't need to see,' she ground out. 'Go by touch.' But by this time I had taken in the view. Her inner labia were almost purple and straggling, the vulval gash dark pink, surrounded by the abundant, crinkly black hair. The clitoris was huge. It looked like a little penis was nestling into the upper end of the slit. I switched off the torch, increased the slam of the fingers into that gaping hole and applied the other hand vigorously to the hard nub.

She laid her cheek on the horse and began sliding back and forth on her stomach to meet my busy fingers. The throaty grunting resumed and increased in volume and frequency, until her bum clenched and her body rocked with her panting. She went limp for a moment, then slid backwards off the horse on to her braced legs.

She pointed to the floor and the knickers. Evidently I was to mop up the juice. Then, without any valediction she strode out. There was, indeed, a little pool and I wiped it up, folded the knickers damp side in and put them in my pocket. Since my hands reeked of cunt I hastened to the communal bathroom in the staff-house. When I went into the common room Gwen and Tony were crunching cheese on toast and drinking tea. They looked at me without comment, but I knew from their expressions they knew what I had been doing. I was glad they knew, though I didn't know why.

Denise arrived next night in her white cotton knickers. These were, I was to discover over the next few years, the standard underwear of women teachers. They were sensible, because voyeuristic colleagues and pupils sneaking an up-skirt would see little. Though there are many, not necessarily elderly people like me, who still find those garments inflammatory.

When she took off the dressing-gown she said, 'Some men like the woman covered at these times.' I assured her I wanted her lovely bottom naked. 'Not that there's anything much to see,' she continued. 'I don't use pads, so there's just the string.' It was, indeed, the first time I had seen a tampon's rip cord, but there was nothing unpleasant about it. And I have never been squeamish about menstruation. 'Mind you,' she said as I removed the knickers, 'Some men like to go up into the pants. Would you like that?' I said that would be interesting, but first I noticed the string did not prevent access to everything.

I picked her up under the shoulders and knees, lifted her onto the bed and lay down beside her. We went into a breathless kiss and I opened her thighs with a questing hand and applied a finger to her clitoris. 'Oh yes,' she murmured. 'There's no problem about that. Do my nips, too?' Of course I was happy to tongue and lick those delicious nipples. 'It's very quick tonight,' she told me after a few minutes. 'It's starting. It's...Now!' Her pelvis flexed and her thighs clamped on my hand and she breathed deeply. I was so excited I nearly ejaculated, but I wanted her to make me come and waited for her tide to ebb.

After a while she said, 'Now what can I do for you. Would you like the pants back on?' And, recognising that I was becoming a lifelong knicker-fetishist, I said Yes. So, she stood, resumed them and stood waiting. 'Front or back?' she asked, smiling. 'Back,' I replied and she turned, and when she held open the left leg and that delightful transverse crease below the cheek came into view I felt my innards melting. 'You can get between, if you like,' she offered. I had to bend my knees to reach the right height for my penis to slip under the elastic, past her hand and seek the natal crevice. Once my cock-head was lodged in that heavenly crease she shifted her hand to hold it there and I began to slide my tool up and down in the groove, and she rubbed at it through the fabric. 'I think it's coming,' she said. 'Let it come. I like it so much.' 'It's coming,' I told her, controlling my voice, and then the sperm burst into the groove in gouts, as she clamped my cock against her bottom.

Semen leaked down the backs of her thighs, and when eventually I withdrew my shrinking organ she took off the knickers and folded them to find a dry patch and wiped her bum and legs. 'Did you like that?' she asked, unnecessarily. 'I'm so glad. There wouldn't be any going inside this week, anyway.'

Then we lay down again, held each other and began to talk. There was little of my biography to relate. That my mother was a widow, that we were close, that, after an uneventful boyhood and schooling, some parts of my army service had been traumatic.

But her life-story was much fuller, naturally, thanks to her being older. Most important was that when she went to France, just before the Second World War, to perfect her command of the language, she had fallen in love with Marcel, who was twenty-eight to her eighteen. They had married and set up home in a provincial town where he was an engineer. Then came the War and the agonising decision about what she was to do. They concluded she should return home to her parents and hope the War would soon be over. Naively, they had no doubt they would be together again sooner or later.

She worked as a translator and interpreter, and didn't learn till France was liberated, that he had worked for the Resistance and had survived. Joyfully they were reunited and resumed domestic life. But it was established after multiple investigations that she was unable to bear children and Marcel couldn't accept that he wouldn't be a father. The marriage deteriorated, and finally Denise returned, heartbroken, to England. had noticed that she wore a gold band on her right third finger, but had not realised that was where continental Europeans wore it.

I was much moved by the story, of course, and wished there were some comfort I could offer. At the same time, I was inwardly cast down, because I had begun to dream of our marrying, and never mind the age-difference. All I could do was to hug and caress her, and we fell asleep. Fortunately, we awoke before our colleagues were stirring and she slipped away, holding the damp knickers. Though Gwen and Tony almost certainly knew, it was better not to make them certain.

Time and period passed. I was hoping that when we resumed fuller sexual activity it might lead to her wanting full intercourse. But she kept putting it off, even offering anal sex, which she had never engaged in. But I could tell that she didn't really want that, and I declined. Everything else I think we did, and I loved it, and her. But I was disappointed that after all we had done, all the preliminaries, the final fulfilment was withheld. It was wonderful to come in her mouth, hands, bum crack, but...

I think she understood that I was in love with her, but I knew better than to say so. Why would a mature woman, still in love with her estranged husband, want to commit herself to a callow youth? She might feel free to seek release through casual sex, even an affair, but that would be all. The man might think himself entitled to total vaginal immersion, but she might not feel that way.

The term went on. There were more summonses from Madam. I even entertained the idea of asking her to grant me the favour of full intercourse, including fantasising about sinking my yearning tool into that hot, hairy, gaping cunt, but I knew that that spell trouble.

In the last week of term Denise became agitated, and, without any explanation, didn't come to my room. I lay in bed, longing for her arrival, but not surprised she didn't appear. I read till the small hours and sometimes masturbated into Madam's knickers, for I was by then so used to ejaculating night after night that a night without left me tense.

I had also entertained the possibility of our being together during the Christmas holidays, perhaps staying at the school if the other staff went away, but I dared not broach the subject, especially in the face of her increasing withdrawal.

Then, on the last day of term, I arrived at supper to find her absent. Gwen and Tony were keeping a look-out for me, they beckoned from the staff table, pointing to the vacant chair between them. Tony said, 'Get your tucker, boy.' And when I brought over my plate Gwen poured me a mug of tea and said quietly, 'She's gone. Eat up, then we'll tell you.'

Although there was a sinking feeling in me I was able to down my meal and two mugs of sugary tea, because I was not all that surprised. Her behaviour of the last week or so had prepared me. I passed on the treacle tart, however. I knew that Ben had already departed for his sister's for Christmas, so there were only the three of us when we remaining resident staff returned to the common room.

The two women sat me on the lumpy old sofa between them. Gwen put her arm round me and said, 'She's not coming back. You know that already, don't you? She's been keeping away from you. Yes, we know about you and her. She's always told us everything.'

Tony gripped my thigh. 'It's not because of you. She's gone to France.'

'Marcel,' I said.

'Yes,' said Gwen. 'His youngest brother was killed in the war and now that brother's wife has died. They have five children and Marcel is looking after them. He wrote and asked Denise to come back and be their foster-mother. We thought she would tell you, but...'

A little insight came to me. 'She couldn't afford any emotional complications. She just had to decide and go.'

Tony said, 'We think she couldn't face you after holding out on you so long, too.'

'You know everything all right,' I said.

'We do know how you felt about her,' Gwen said. There was a silence, then Tony said meaningfully, 'We want to take you there. We told her we'd take care of you.'