Hotbeds Ch. 05

Mart 31, 2021 0 Yazar: admin

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Female Ejaculation


Introduction: The continuing story of the sexual adventures of a prep school teacher in the 1950s and 1960s.


By that third summer, however, a new colleague had joined us, and I now record my few experiences with her, for she was with us only one term. I will call her Bianca, because she was so pale as to be almost albino. She was also the nearest thing I have come across to a nymphomaniac, without, mercifully, being one, for she was avid for sex almost non-stop but had no trouble at all with coming.

She was in her late twenties, and, as so often with private school teachers, obviously fleeing some liaison, and, as often, eager to form another, probably temporary one, one soonest. As the youngest male on the staff and free of entanglements, she chose me at first sight.

Apart from her pallor, she was not particularly striking physically, being average in height and figure. Her face was pleasant but not pretty, and at first I found her washed-out colouring rather off-putting, for her very fine hair was so pale blonde as to be almost white, and her brows and lashes were all-but invisible.

I happened to be on duty on the first day of that autumn term, while the parents were delivering their sons and the staff was drifting back, for afternoon tea. So I was outside when her taxi pulled up and she sprang out eagerly and surveyed her new home. I knew she had not seen it before because the grapevine had transmitted the news of her last-minute appointment. The taxi driver unloaded her suitcase and drove off.

She looked me up and down and strode over and shook my hand vigorously, announcing her name. I told her mine and we stood grinning at each other a few minutes, till I showed her to the dining-room, poured her some tea and went back to my patrolling. I was wondering whether she might be accessible, and whether I could fancy her, despite her pallid hue. She was smartly dressed in a well-fitting light blue suit and matching blouse, with stockings and black court shoes. I suspected she had private money.

At supper a couple of hours later I was already at table, and she made a bee-line for me. She had changed the blouse for a high necked, cream-coloured, lambs-wool jumper and her shoes were now cream. She sat down beside me and we exchanged some chit-chat. She questioned me about the school a while and then said, ‘And what do you do for relaxation?’

I recognised this as code for ‘What do you do for sex?’ So answered, ‘As we’re a good way from town, we have to make our own.’

She followed on. ‘And how do you make your own?’

Rather recklessly I replied, ‘That rather depends on who I’m with.’

‘Should that be “whom”?’ she asked, but it was not really a grammatical query. It was to draw attention to the possible identity of the fellow relaxer.

‘What do you like to do?’ I asked her.

‘That would be telling,’ she said, meaning that she was telling.

That was about enough for now, I decided, and we talked of other relaxations, including dancing to gramophone records, which we did some weekends. And it was one of those informal dances, the very next weekend, which provided the opening, in all senses.

We used the gymnasium and she appeared all in black skirt and sweater, hair tied back with a black ribbon. As we waltzed I congratulated her on the contrast of her colouring and costume, and she said, ‘Some people think I bleach my hair.’

‘Oh no,’ I said, ‘It’s obviously natural.’

‘But,’ she said, looking up to give me a wicked look and a giggle, ‘Some men want to check, though.’

‘And do you let them?’ I asked.

‘It depends on whom I’m with.’

‘You’re bursa escort with me,’ I said.

‘Do you want to check?’

‘Well, of course, I’d like to be sure,’ I said.

‘Perhaps that could be arranged later. If there’s somewhere suitable.’

Fortunately, as I knew very well, her room was a hastily adapted storeroom on the third floor. My room was adjacent to the stairs on the second floor. So I suggested I might visit her later, after the dance, unobserved. Then I gathered her closer and squeezed her hand, a squeeze she strongly returned.

When I arrived at her room she was still dressed, though now in slippers, and, I noted, without stockings. The hair-ribbon was gone, too. When I embraced her she immediately began to tremble and when I kissed her she sucked my tongue into her open mouth and the kiss became a kind of oral wrestling.

And as soon as the contact ceased she wrenched at the sweater and I pulled it over her head. As I reached to unhook the white lacy bra she had already undone it and shrugged it off and was pulling at my shirt. As soon as the shirt was off she ground her breasts against my chest and the trembling increased. I held her away in order to bend and suck the nipples.

They and the large areolas were very pale, only a shade or two darker than her milky skin, and looked so delicate. But as I watched they began to darken as blood suffused them and to erect. The areolas actually inflated to stand proud of the breast and the nipples swelled and stood rigid.

As I licked them she shuddered. ‘Please, please…’ she said, grabbing at my trousers, feeling for the fastening.

Hastily I dragged them and my pants off.

She snatched at my iron-hard cock. ‘Please, please…’ Her voice trembled and she pulled me towards the bed and we tumbled onto it, her underneath. She pushed at the elastic of her white lacy knickers and I drew back enough to pull them down and off. At once she opened her legs. ‘There, you see,’ she muttered.

There was a tuft of pale hair above the slit, a little darker than her head. Otherwise the labia were bare. The inner lips lay open, pale pink but also darkening, the clitoris peeping coyly from the upper end. Her vagina was opening as I caressed the clitoris, and she began to come.

‘Don’t wait!’ she gasped, and I plunged in, feeling as I slid home the pulsations of her climaxing cunt. She seized my hips to pull me in and wriggled her bottom to extract the maximum from the orgasm.

She went limp and we lay still a short while. ‘Why didn’t you do it?’ she asked, and I answered, ‘Because you might have wanted to go again.’

‘That’s thoughtful,’ she said, ‘But I can only do it once at a time and need a rest. And it’s better if I feel the man having it, too.’

‘I’ll remember that,’ I said.

‘You’re assuming there’ll be another time.’

‘I certainly hope there will be,’ I assured her.

‘We’ll have to see. But you’ve still not done it. Don’t you want to?’

‘Would you kneel up and let me in from the back?’

‘Ah, you’re a bottom man. All right.’

She obliged and waggled her bottom. ‘Like it?’ she asked, and I did, especially when I glided into her oozing slot and pressed my stomach against the cheeks.

‘Does it feel good in there?’ she asked, and I began to come as my cock lingered in the vestibule and then glissaded inwards. ‘There it goes,’ she said, pushing back and gently moving her bum from side to side.

Some women require silence during sex, but others like a running commentary, as I do. Bianca was a talker, during and after. After I had withdrawn and we had lain down face to face she wanted bursa escort bayan a post-coitum discussion.

‘Oh, I needed that. I haven’t done it for a month. Last time was my fiancé. Well, he was, but he found out I’d had another man and broke it off. The only reason I had the other one was because my fiancé was away and I couldn’t hold on any longer. I’ve had to have it regularly since I was seventeen. When I saw you were interested I was so relieved. I thought this place might have no-one.’

Evidently I had been appointed regular partner, and I was naturally delighted, though I warned her we would have to be circumspect.

‘That’s all right,’ she said. ‘I’m very quick. Just touch my little trigger and go into me and away I go. Just remember to go, too.’

We never slept together, but what she meant by ‘regularly’ turned out to be almost every day, sometimes twice, especially at the mid-point of her cycle. Sometimes her need was so urgent we had to do it elsewhere than in our rooms, for sneaking off upstairs during the day would have been suspicious, and we dared not visit each other at night too often.

But I will sum up my one term of servicing Bianca by recalling the November day we did it three times, beginning after breakfast when she murmured over the second slice of toast, ‘Can we?’

‘I’m on duty,’ I told her, which let her know how we could manage it.

For I had to be outside as the day-boys arrived and joined in the prep-school games of football and French cricket. She would come out in her coat, as if taking the air before attending the daily assembly, and stroll round to the back of the building where there were outbuildings, including an open-sided garage in which the head’s car was kept.

My patrolling could plausibly take me round there, so I quickly joined her, already erecting from the knowledge she would be knickerless. Into the garage I went and onto the bonnet of that useful Wolseley saloon she lay down, skirt pulled up beneath her and vagina open. So that all I had to do was drop my pants, jiggle her clitoris and slam into her.

We came together at once, stayed locked together only a moment or two, then I reluctantly withdrew, helped her to her feet, pulled down her skirt and held her while she put on her knickers, to collect the spillage. Then I walked briskly back to the front of the building, as if having completed the circuit. After five minutes she reappeared as if completing her stroll, having mopped up the damp patch on the car with my handkerchief.

I was not surprised when at lunch time she said quietly, over the pudding, ‘Can we?’ It would have been unwise to use the garage again, especially as the head’s wife might at any time want to use the car. So I said, ‘Lake walk, boat-house.’ I had borrowed the key from AC earlier in the term, no questions asked.

It was raining by this time, but I was known for my penchant for taking brisk walks in the wet, and Bianca had several times accompanied me in innocent perambulations round the lake, so that the sight of us striding out together should prompt no suspicions. All we had to do was interrupt the circuit for three or four minutes.

When she saw there were no convenient surfaces in the building, and the floor was dirty, she said, ‘Looks like your lucky day. It’ll have to be cheeky.’ She took off her raincoat and draped it across her neck, and positioned herself, legs apart, bent over with her hands resting on the wall. I turned up her skirt, and, as I was anticipating, she was, again, knickerless. I opened my own mackintosh, lowered my pants and lodged my tool-tip in her entrance.

‘It’s ready,’ she said, ‘I’ll do this escort bursa bit.’ She reached down and back and agitated her clitoris. ‘Quick!’

I thrust all the way and ejaculated as she drew in a long, sobbing breath and moved the masturbating fingers back to hold my cock inside while she relished the orgasm.

‘That was lovely,’ she said, ‘Even better than this morning.’ She squatted to urinate and squeeze out the spunk and juices. ‘I love it when it goes in and lets fly at once. I can feel you grow and then the stuff shoots out.’

She stood, resumed the raincoat and pulled some knickers from its pocket. ‘Can’t go into class bare-bottomed, can I?’

We were in there less than five minutes, so that anyone watching from the house would have merely thought, when we came into view again on the far side of the water, that we had been walking slowly or stopped to look at something.

As we went, now striding out, she said, ‘I think my fiancé-as-was wants me back. He keeps writing and talking about the future. I think he’s managed to forgive me, and he thinks I’m living like a nun in this place.’

‘What are you going to do? I asked.

‘I don’t know yet. I did love him. He’s a good man, kind and generous, and he’s very good with the sex.’

Perhaps it was the possibility of resuming the engagement, with the implication that fidelity would be expected, that led to the third episode of the day. As if she were having a last fling, or trio of flings, before becoming the faithful fiancée. Anyway, as I was finishing my last responsibility of the day, after tea, going down the drive to close the big cast-iron gates, after the last day-boys had left, and was turning back, Bianca came hastening towards me through the dusk.

She threw herself into my arms and said, ‘Could you again? Please? Feel me.’ I reached under the raincoat and skirt and up. Her knickers, the third pair of the day I guessed, were greasy with secretions, and when I brushed her clitoris she flinched.

‘It’s right on the edge,’ she said. ‘I could just do it with touching, but that’s not enough. I feel hollow inside afterwards.’

‘We can get up the stairs in the dark. Your room. You go first.’

‘Do you want to?’

‘Feel.’ I put her hand on the bulge in my trousers.

When I reached her room I found her naked already, spread open on the bed.

‘I could suck you right in,’ she said. ‘I’ve been thinking all afternoon about the feeling of you inside.’

I stripped quickly, pulled her to the end of the bed, lifted her legs onto my shoulders and probed for her cunt. ‘Let me put it in,’ she said, shaking. ‘Never mind the clissy, I’m ready.’

‘Keep your hand there,’ I said. ‘I want to do it through your fingers.’ Then I dived half way in to that waiting, glutinous tunnel and held still. ‘Use your hand,’ I said.

‘Nice!’ she said. ‘I’m going to make you. Like this? Yes, me, too. Do it now!’

And I ejaculated. She felt it in my cock, and came instantly as I shoved myself all the way in and she took her hand away.

Over the next few weeks she became less demanding. I guessed she was trying to do without, though she was hardly reluctant, and no less speedy, when we had intercourse. I was actually becoming a little reluctant myself. The sex was so quick there was not much chance to enjoy being inside her, to relish the swelling and darkening of nipples and lips. Once she had orgasmed the show was over.

The show was all over at the end of term. She resigned without giving notice. I went to the wedding. Her husband was a big, hearty young army officer, almost as blonde as his wife.

He wrung my hand and said, ‘Awfully glad you could come. Probably owe it to you, anyway. Gather you advised her to take me on again. Wanted to thank you. She’s been a bit wayward, but she’ll settle down now. Think the quiet time at the school with no distractions was good, too.’

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32