"The intent here is to determine what effect your presence as the lone male in the class has on women who are presented with a series of controversial topics. All tests and assignments have already been created, leaving you free, really to do no more than to simply monitor the class sessions. Oh, and another thing: class attendance is mandatory. Students may miss no more than two classes." Bonnie's deep brown eyes bored into me as she tried to read me. She saw I had one primary question, however, and she was quick to address it. "I chose you to teach this course for two reasons, Matt," Bonnie said as she leaned back in her tall, leather chair. "First, you're the one person in this department who has concentrated his work on that particular era. I believe you're perfect for the assignment." She paused, causing me to believe the second reason I'd been chose to teach this course had little to do with my expertise. Leaning forward now, her white jacket opening somewhat with the motion to reveal a low cut, pink colored blouse underneath, her neck surrounded by a string of oversized pearls, Bonnie continued. "And secondly, you were chosen because you're the newest member of the staff." Smiling across her desk at me, Bonnie said, "You'll learn that's how seniority works at a college, Matt."
I doubt Bonnie knew the hell she'd just placed me in. You see, at age twenty-eight, I'd already been divorced, was still neck-deep in debt from student loans, and the sixty-four year old aunt who raised me was pestering me to come and visit. Well, visit is a loose term: she meant to come and move in. And with my past history with my sixty-three year old Aunt Becky, sharing an apartment with her was more than just her having her bedroom and me having mine. It was more "complicated" than that. But more on that topic later.
The problem, really, was that I'm addicted to women. What straight, twenty-eight year old man isn't? Here I was, days away from standing before a class of thirty women, the only male in the class. Yes, I knew the strict guidelines about fraternizing with the students, but, hey, a man can withstand only so much temptation. I had no idea how the next semester would unfold, and to be honest, I was a bit frightened.
You see, a college classroom is one of the most diverse environs you will ever find yourself in. Because this course was filled only with female students, I knew I'd be faced three times a week with the widest variety of women and a wider range of temptations. And believe me, I'm not picky: I love women of all body shapes and sizes. Tall women, short women. Skinny women, women who could lose a few pounds. Women who dress well and women who look as if they just crawled out of bed ten minutes ago. Women who wear dresses and heels, or women who believe going barefoot is the only way to go. You see my point. And now, I was faced with this challenge of my young college teaching career. Still, in the name of higher education, I set out to do the best job I could.
I've developed a system where I classify women into one of four categories. It is possible for a woman to be a member of two groups at one time, but that is dependent upon age. You'll see what I mean as we go along. Category One is made up of women who are the younger members of the class. They giggle about everything and rarely complete their assignments without whining and begging for additional time. I refer to them as "Babies" of the class. They range in age from eighteen to twenty, and find it attractive to wear t-shirts and hats with slogans stating principles they really don't understand. They do their best to convince their classmates they're more experienced at life's matters than they really are. But we're not fooled.
Group Two, the Up-And-Comers, consists of women aged twenty-one to thirty years of age. More mature than the Babies, yes, but only half as inexperienced in the ways of the world. They have no desire to settle down and the ones who are married are that way usually because they let some worthless idiot impregnate them on the promise that he'd "always be there." Many of the members of this group are miserable with their lives but have no idea how to get out of it. They're here at the college because their employer offered to pay for the course if they agreed to work at whatever low-paying job they have for another year. The Up and Comers dress better than the Babies: this group usually presents a mixture of women attired in business suits they picked up on sale at a local mall or women who wear halter tops and gym shorts, high heels, and make sure they display enough leg to show off the new tattoo they got at the beach last summer. They can come or they can go, but the Up and Comers are in a better position to leave our small community and to move on to a better life. Unless, of course, there are children involved. And a husband in prison. Fortunately, not all women in this age group match each one of these descriptions. Many are newly successful business persons or teachers just starting out in life with a great job and a loving husband.
You'll find women aged thirty-two to thirty-nine years of age in Group Three. Half of these women have come to their senses and divorced Bubba, or, he was, unfortunately, killed in Afghanistan or Iraq and they're now living on their husband's military benefits. Their outlook for the future is more cemented, however, in the fact that they realize the door for escape closed a long time ago. No more looking out the door and dreaming about where the road might take them. No more thumbing through a magazine and telling themselves they still look as good as the models in the advertisements, romping across a sun-soaked beach in a bikini that barely conceals their saggy tits or small gut that seems to have appeared out of nowhere, and overnight. But Group Three is where the hope begins to come back, though. This group knows that by refocusing on their education -something they neglected to do when they were members of Group One - they can find a better life beyond being a clerk at the local convenience store. They know that with enough college courses, they can improve their financial situation, and damn it, they're going to buckle down this time and succeed. Group Three members won't dress in high-necked, mom and apple pie dresses, but they won't display a lot of skin, either. They know the long cleavage they once possessed and the tight ass cheeks are in their first stages of disappearing, and despite their best efforts, they simply cannot fight against and defeat Father Time. I refer to Group Three as the I'm Going Places Gang.
And finally, we have Group Four. You probably refer to these members as "soccer moms." They often arrive to class directly from work, and certainly not before they've prepared a casserole the night before and left instructions on the kitchen counter for hubby to defrost the meal and serve it to the kids. The age group of this particular group is fuzzy, actually: You won't find members of the Babies or the Up and Comers, but it's not uncommon for the ladies from the Going Places Gang to intermingle with Group Four. These women are generally aged forty and older, the wise old owls who have seen many, many things in their lives. Let's refer to this special group of older women as the "Been There, Done That," pack. Group Four members know they're safe in their marriages and have no desire to cheat on Thomas or Bill or Steve, or whatever their husband is called. However, you will also find a greater number of divorced women in this group. Why? Simple. There are more divorced women in the Been There pack because after twenty or thirty or forty years of marriage, Thomas or Bill or Steve arrived home one afternoon to announce he was running away with Amber, a local cocktail waitress and part-time stripper he's been fucking for the past year. "I love you, honey," these women have heard time and again, "But Amber and I love each other, and it's off to Fiji we go." Members of Group Four who are divorced usually receive enough alimony and child support that they don't need to work, and so, have the time to go back to school. After all, hadn't they quit school so Thomas or Bill or Steve could attend Medical School or Law School or Dentistry School without having to worry about working? Of the four groups, the Been There's are the most defiant, the proudest, and the most protective. They arrive clad in more conservative dresses and sensible high heels although it no longer surprises me to see a Been There enter class with a short skirt, a low cut blouse, displaying more skin than they have in the last ten years. Group Four members often take the Babies under their wings, hoping to educate them in the ways of the world while there's still time. Sometimes they're successful, sometimes not.
Group Four is my favorite. When I was an eighteen year old college freshman, a sudden and unexpected encounter with my best friend's mom - who would qualify for Group Four membership - taught me the ways of older women. Betty was both gentle and rough, kind and demanding. The memory of her pulling her bikini bottom to the side and pulling my rock hard cock into her cunt has remained with me these past ten years in vivid detail. Since that hot afternoon, I've had an appreciation for older women that has remained with me. I guess that's why I'm so close to my Aunt Becky: but as I said, more on that later. Stick around for that: you won't be disappointed.
I studied the women as they filed into the room the first night of class. I've always been the type of professor who encourages debate in class and since I had really nothing to do but to monitor the class for the next three or four months, my job was easy. Their first assignment was to complete a short biographical information card telling me a little about themselves. Name, address, phone number, e-mail address, and so on. "Turn the card in at the end of class," I instructed the class.
And then I presented the statement I'd written on the board. It was simple, but designed to draw comments both in support and against. "Consider A New Constitutional Proposal: No female shall receive an abortion before the age of twenty-one. After reaching the age of twenty-one, she must have parental consent to abort a fetus until she reaches the age of thirty-five." Simple. Designed to generate discussion. And much, much heated debate.
The debate began almost before I completed the task of writing it on the board. The moment the question came into view, a low rumbling began in the far right corner which seemed to hold a mixture of Babies and Up and Comers. From there, the noise carried to every corner of the room until after less than three minutes, there were women pointing their fingers at each other, voices so loud I had to close the classroom door, and a distinct outpouring of beliefs based on politics, religion, upbringing, and culture.
Two women in particular caught my attention. Belinda, clearly a member of Group Four, took an active role with comments that clearly supported the statement. Because of my experience with older women, I judged Belinda to be in her early fifties. A deep brown with occasional streaks of grey, football helmet-shaped shock of hair covered her head, extending downward only as far as her ear lobes, each covered with a single pearl earring. Brown eyes widened each time she heard a comment she disagreed with while her red-lipstick pasted lips bracketed two rows of perfectly set, perfectly white teeth. A huge golden ring surrounded the third finger of her left hand, the color matching the gold-colored cross suspended from her neck. Belinda's dress was just as I expected it to be for a member of Group Four: High, lace neck, various colors melting together, and a hem that stretched at least four inches below her knees. Black pantyhose covered her legs, and she supported her weight with three-inch high heels. While she rarely raised her voice, her comments were insightful and indicated a religious dedication -or was it a religious intolerance? - toward the topic of abortion.
Belinda's opposite was an Up and Comer named Jodie. Judging Jodie's age at no more than thirty, I watched as this woman, dressed in jeans and a yellow, backless halter top did her best to defend her opinion. A butterfly tattoo drew my attention to Jodie's right shoulder, probably having been there for at least five years or more. Jodie's off-blonde hair sat atop her head in a loose knot, the relaxed manner allowing several strands of her hair to fall along the sides of her head. A long, graceful neck led the eye to Jodie's chest, which was, in a single word, spectacular. The halter top hung loose, perhaps more loose than Jodie either realized or cared to know, allowing the sides of each titty to be in perfect view. Now, normally, this would not be a problem and I could easily avert my attention elsewhere. But Jodie's tits were not normal: They were enhanced. How did I know: Simple: The scar left behind by the cosmetic surgery extended under each of Jodie's tits was clearly visible. At least it was to me. There was no doubt, as I did my best not to stare, that Jodie's tits had, at one time, been much smaller than they were now. Perhaps that's why she wore such a revealing garment.
But the jeans Jodie wore also added to her appearance. I like tight pants on a woman and Jodie did not disappoint in that area, either. Although she sat with her left leg crossed over the right, it was easy to see Jodie's ass was almost as perfect as her tits. The blue denim clung so tightly as to appear more as a coat of paint than fabric. With each statement she made, two things happened: First, her cosmetically created tits jiggled under the halter top each time she lifted her arm to make a point, and her four-inch, high heeled sandal-encased feet swung back and forth as if to emphasize Jodie's words. One thing you'll learn about me is that two things a woman wears can cause my knees to go weak: high heels and stockings. Each time Jodie swung her high heels back and forth, my cock fluttered. It was a good thing I was sitting down and my dick was concealed under the desk: Otherwise, the growing bulge in my trousers would have very, very obvious.
So now you see why I was reluctant to take this course. But before I describe the end of the semester to you, let me continue with what happened on this first night of class. After several moments, it was clear that both Belinda and Jodie had their stances picked and a whole list of supporters spread across the classroom. I was surprised to discover that there seemed to be only two sides in this divisive topic. And despite the fact that the words spoken were truly believed by the two teams, I was happy to see no one threatened anyone else with physical harm.
And suddenly, it was over. The end of class had arrived and the class members filed out of the room. I was happy to hear several students continuing to discuss the topic. But as I gathered my own materials, I noticed something. Neither Belinda nor Jodie had left. They'd reseated themselves to sit beside each other now and were continuing their debate on a one-on-one basis. Their tones were hushed and each still seemed dedicated to the same stance they'd taken in class. Intrigued, I made my way to where they sat and took a seat in a desk beside them, forming a triangle of sorts. When they both stopped and looked at me, I said, "Please: don't let me interrupt. I'm very interested in this continuation of your debate." And for the next hour - yes, an entire hour! - Jodie and Belinda continued their arguments in a respectful and intelligent manner. As the evening began to slip away, neither woman changed her opinion, yet seemed to respect deeply the other's viewpoint. To me, this was what teaching was all about.
But the evening had to end and I offered to escort both ladies to their cars, now sitting across campus in a parking lot in the dark. "Oh, I'll be fine, Professor," Jodie said as she scampered off in her four inch heels, the click-click-click sound of the pencil-thin stems receding in the distance. Just as Jodie passed under the halo of a streetlight, it was impossible not to stare at her well-shaped ass and fantasize. I'm sure I don't have to describe to you the thoughts I had.
"Well, that leaves just you and me," Belinda said as she slid her arm in mine and allowed me to escort her to her car. Belinda filled me in on her life as we crossed campus: Airline pilot husband who was away from home for a week at a time twice a month, three college-aged kids at school and away from the house. A dedicated Sunday school teacher, and a myriad of other details that proved what I'd initially believed. Belinda was a good woman and an excellent housewife, dedicated to her family and her husband and never wavering in her desire to please others. By the time we reached her car, I discovered I liked Belinda, and was happy she'd enrolled in my class. I was also happy when she accepted my offer to have a cup of coffee at a local shop. "I might as well, professor," she said. "It's just me and the dog at home. My husband's on a layover in Tampa and won't be home until Thursday." She agreed to drive me to the faculty parking lot so I could follow her in my car.
We made it to the faculty parking lot, but not without difficulty. Belinda's car was making a terrible groaning sound and while I was convinced she could still drive the vehicle the short drive to her home, there was no way I could allow her to do so unaccompanied. We agreed to have the coffee at her house instead after she dropped me off at my car and I followed her to her house. I couldn't help but notice the signs of wealth as we drove through Belinda's neighborhood. As we entered her house, however, something odd happened. After getting the coffee to brewing, Belinda turned and stared at me, silently. I had the impression that she had something to say, but did not know how to ask. After this long moment of silence, Belinda excused herself to make a phone call. "Gotta see what my hubby thinks of an idea I have," she said, disappearing into another room.
Ten minutes later, I found myself alone with Belinda on a wide sofa in her den. Her mood was more upbeat, especially since she'd gotten off the phone with her husband. She'd removed her high heels, the two shoes lying on the carpet below the sofa. Although she'd drawn her black pantyhose covered legs underneath her on the sofa, it was still possible to see that Belinda had a set of attractive legs. We chatted over coffee as time slipped away. And the more we chatted the more I found I enjoyed being around Belinda. Before I knew it, two hours had elapsed. I felt as if I'd been rude and overstayed my welcome. Stating the need to leave and to allow her to go to bed, Belinda asked if I'd stay of one final glass of wine. "Besides," she said. "Today's my fifty-second birthday. You have to stay for at least one more glass of wine." Not wanting to be a bad guest, I agreed to stay.
During the several hours Belinda and I chatted, she received almost half-hourly calls from her husband. Each time he called, Belinda left the room. I attributed her husband's frequent calls to the fact that I was here, a strange man, in his house alone with his wife. After each call, Belinda returned to the sofa and sat beside me, each time moving her body a bit closer to mine. And, as I predicted, she received a call from her husband exactly thirty minutes after the last call. As usual, Belinda indicated with hand motions that she'd take the call in the next room. As she made her way to the door, I heard Belinda say, "Yes, Chuck: I think it may be possible. I certainly hope so, dear. Yes, tonight." And then Belinda disappeared into another room.
She returned two minutes later, entering the room with the cell phone not pressed to the side of her head, but, rather, in her palm at the end of her outstretched arm. "My husband would like to speak to you, Matt," she said as she extended the phone in my direction. And from that moment on, I had one of the strangest but most productive phone calls I've had in my entire life.
Now, this is odd, I said to myself. Odd indeed. Did her pilot husband think I was up to no good, here alone in his house with his wife? Was he mistrustful of me? Did he want me to leave? Taking the phone from Belinda, I placed the small device to the side of my ear and watched as Belinda retrieved her wine glass and without so much as a backward glance, departed the room. What the hell is going on here? I asked myself.
Now, I've had strange phone conversations before, but none such as the one I was on the verge of having with Belinda's husband. The sounds of a long distance cell call sounded in the phone as I placed the phone to my ear. "Hello, this is Professor Matt Charles," I said into the receiver. After the normal introductions, Belinda's airline pilot husband asked me about his wife's car and what I thought might be the cause of the mechanical trouble. This part of the conversation required less than one minute of time, and I quickly got the impression that Chuck really wasn't interested in the mechanical status of his wife's car. And then, the pilot siting in a hotel room went silent. Completely silent.
And then, he spoke. "Matt, do you like women? Do you enjoy having sex with women?" I was stunned, asking myself where the hell these questions had come from. Before I could respond, Chuck spoke again, another question. "Have you ever been with an older woman, professor? Have you ever been intimate with an older woman?" Again stunned to the point that I was unsure how to respond, Chuck again interrupted me before I could tell him about my Aunt Becky. "Would you fuck another man's wife, Matt, especially if that man gave you permission to do so? Would you?"
Somewhere in the back of my brain, voices screamed at me to answer Chuck's many questions. It dawned on me now why Belinda had departed the room and left me alone in the room. And although a complete silence had descended upon the room and it was completely silent - except, of course, for the pounding, pounding of my heart in my chest - I felt as if my heartbeat could be heard several city blocks away.
But still, the voices screamed at me to respond. Answer his questions, Matt, one voice said. Drop the phone and run, another suggested. What are we going to do? Yet a third voice called out. Finally, intrigued, the voice demanding that I respond to Chuck's questions won over the others. "Yes, Chuck, I do like women," I said, my voice somewhat shaky. "And yes, I enjoy being with older women. In fact, I like being with older women quite a bit," I informed Chuck who reacted with a long, audible, sigh of relief. But there were three questions left to answer, and each of them had been posed in a very specific way and focused on a very specific topic: Belinda.
It was here that my educational training kicked in as I stalled for time to think of how I should react to Chuck's questions. It's called the Socratic Method, and as any teacher knows, it's the technique of responding to a question with a question which, in turn, is actually a response. "Are you asking me if I'd fuck your wife, Chuck?" I asked, realizing the point had been reached where there was no going back. "Are you asking me to have sex with your wife in your house?" Again, silence, nothing from Chuck. "Is that it, Chuck? Are you asking me to have sex with your wife?" Now, it was my turn to wait for answers, my turn to see if Chuck knew that I had guessed where this conversation was going.
I'd heard or read about situations such as this. A man offers his wife to another man because he or she - or they both do - receive sexual pleasure from watching their partner fuck another man or woman. The person being fucked usually commits to the sexual act because they too derive sexual pleasure from knowing their wife or husband is watching, or at least knows the act is being performed. It's most often the man who offers up the wife, but usually, she goes along for the sex ride because she wants to. Sometimes the man is there to view the sexual action, sometimes not. There might be a video camera involved, or not. Perhaps the woman, dressed in lingerie, meets the gentleman in a hotel or perhaps she welcomes him into her home. Usually, soon after the encounter, the husband and wife fuck, the quality and the heat and the intensity of the sex magnified now as the man slams his dick into his wife's invaded pussy, which only hours ago was being filled by another man's hard, stiff cock. The orgasms they have usually result in powerful, body-slamming orgasmic waves, so intense, so strong as to be almost violent in nature. But no matter the process, it's the initial act that brought them to this place of high sexual intrigue. It's the knowledge that a man is fully aware that his wife fucked another man with her husband's blessing that intensifies anything and everything they do. Blowjobs become better. Tongues probing into cunts slide deeper within the woman's moist, dark caverns. And it's all done with a mutual blessing, by agreement, that it's perfectly acceptable for the husband to fuck another woman, or the wife to fuck another man.
The seconds seemed like hours as I waited for Chuck's response. Finally, he spoke, playing the game as he'd learned to ensure success. When he spoke, his voice was again firm, and secure that if I found my way to Belinda's bed, there existed no threat whatsoever to their marriage. "No, Matt, I do not want you to have sex with my wife in my house," he said. A shuffling sound, indicating he was shifting the phone to the other ear. "I want you to fuck her. There's a difference. Do you understand me?" When I offered no comment in response, Chuck said, "Well, Professor, what's it going to be? Will you fuck Belinda or not? Yes, or no?"
There was nothing left to do but to answer Chuck's question. And there was no doubt what I would do. I realized I'd been brought here for a specific reason, that Belinda had been on a scouting mission for some special way to celebrate her fifty-second birthday. And while the reason had been for her to have sex with a man who was not her husband, it was me who would be the icing on the cake. So to speak, that is. Now, all that remained was for me to make a decision. Could I? Would I? Yes, I'd been intimate with an older woman before, but she had been a widow. Could I fuck a married woman? Could I slam my cock into a married woman in her home, even if I did have the husband's blessings? So much indecision.
Until I spied Belinda's high heels still lying on the carpet. Recall how earlier in this tale I explained that two items a woman wears make my knees weak: stockings and high heels. Looking down, there on the floor lay Belinda's high heels exactly where she'd left them when we sat down for coffee. The two black leather shoes were no sexier than any other women's high heels, but it was the knowledge that Belinda waited for me somewhere in this house - as long as I agreed to Chuck's proposal, of course - and perhaps wore another set of heels that caused me to decide. Knowing the potentially troubling territory I was going into and how this could affect my career as a professor, I informed Chuck that yes, I would fuck his wife. Lust is a powerful motivator, it seems. A long sigh of relief escaped the receiver and settled into my ears. For the next moment, Chuck gave me instructions, details, and told me how to arrive at his bedroom. "She's waiting for you there, Matt," he said. And then the line went dead.
The bedroom door opened easily to reveal a room lit by the soft, orange glow of candles. The scent of incense, something Mediterranean in nature, drifted to me, entered my nostrils, enhanced the mystery of this situation. A rather large bed sat in the center of the room, the mattress high and thick, as wide as it was long. The blankets had been thrown back to reveal white satin sheets, the material so luxurious and so silky that they reflected the muted candle light. And there in the center of the bed, leaning forward on two bent knees, her white lace, gloved hands resting on stocking-encased thighs, and her calves running under her ass, sat Belinda, the same woman who'd defended a constitutional position limiting other women's rights, the same woman who still wore a golden cross on a thin chain around her neck. Belinda's absence while I spoke to Chuck had given her time to apply new layers of makeup: the mascara was thicker, the red lipstick more dense, the rouge tinting her cheeks applied in wide circles. Belinda now resembled a woman who was attempting to impersonate a prostitute: I loved it. I stood transfixed and unable to move, the obvious differences in the classroom Belinda and the bedroom Belinda contrasting and drawing me to her.
Not surprisingly, Belinda had also changed from her classroom attire. A white lace bustier covered her upper torso, the tops of each titty pushed upward, the nipples still concealed, but only barely so. Was that the left areole peeking at me from the left bra cup? Perhaps so. Perhaps not. As my eyes traveled downward, I saw Belinda wore either white panties or a white thong over her cunt: it was impossible to tell which until I got closer. White, lace top stockings covered Belinda's legs, which, even in the candlelight, appeared thicker than I'd guess when I saw her in a dress. Her legs extended underneath her as she sat on her haunches, causing me to only guess at the color and style of her shoes, if she wore any at all.
Hello, Matt," Belinda said. "I'm glad you decided to come." Because I'd not yet truly entered the room, Belinda extended her right arm and offered her hand, palm facing up. "Will you join me?" she asked. Three, steps, two steps, one step: I was now standing beside the bed, facing Belinda's left side. I saw that in addition to her resting her weight on her calves and bent knees, Belinda also leaned back on a pair of red leather pumps with four inch, pencil thin stems. She turned her head to face me. "There's room for you here, Matt," she said, patting the bed beside her.
One by one, I removed each garment covering my body. I did my best not to undress too quickly: I certainly did not want to expose my lack of experience at fucking another man's wife, especially in light of the fact that he knew it was happening at this very moment. Belinda watched me, silent, but allowing her eyes to focus on whatever part of my body I was exposing. When I had nothing left but my undershorts, when all that stood between me and total nudity, I hesitated. Again, the war of the inner voices: What are you doing? Why are you stopping? We should leave, Matt: This isn't right. No, we're staying. We're going to fuck Belinda. I froze, unable to make any further moves while the voices inside my head settled down.
It was Belinda's experience and her knowledge that I was hesitant to begin this unique adventure that propelled her to move and to begin the action. On hands and knees, she crawled to the edge of the bed and sat, her thong-covered ass resting on the mattress, her white stocking covered legs descending down the side of the bed, the stems of her red high heels now lost somewhere in the thick carpet. Looking down, past the growing bulge of my cock, I was provided with a view that left me breathless. The simple dress she'd worn to class that evening had done nothing to even suggest Belinda had such large tits. Nothing about her normal attire gave the slightest hint that underneath the plain clothes lay one of the sexiest women I'd ever found myself with. Belinda slipped her fingers just inside the waistband of my shorts and began to circle my waist, her fingertips stimulating the nerves. While Belinda kept her focus on the waist band of my undershorts, I felt my cock growing, fluttering madly under the thin cotton material keeping it from view.
There was no reason to dispute why I was here now, and both Belinda and I knew it. In one pull, she removed my undershorts, the cotton garment lying at my feet only temporarily to be kicked away to some distant corner. Belinda's hands rested on either side of each of my ass cheeks, her face lifted upward to stare into my eyes. Using her right hand, she grasped my cock between her warm fingers, leveled the shaft, and extended her head forward. The head and three full inches of hard dick meat slid easily between Belinda's heavily pasted lips. For a long second, Belinda sat with my cock in her mouth. But then I heard her inhale, and within thirty seconds, had started to suck my cock as only an experienced and older woman can do. I began to moan, to thrust my hips forward, to mouth fuck Belinda. As each minute passed, the tempo and power of my thrusts increased, my cock diving deeper into Belinda's mouth, pounding her lips with the base of the shaft, doing my best to give the pilot's wife every last millimeter of hard, hard cock. Belinda took everything I could give her, every forward thrust that rocked her back almost to a horizontal position, every hard pull of her hair as I looked down at her and realized I'd never in my life felt this intense a level of sexual desire.
"Fuck!" Belinda cried out when she released my cock from her mouth in order to catch her breath. But just as quickly as she released my shaft, she once again opened her lips and swallowed the glistening tube between her lips. By now, Belinda's head was driving, sucking my cock deep into her mouth as loud slurping sounds began to mingle with the moans coming from my lips. After several more moments, Belinda again broke the oral lock on my cock, and with the meaty tube secure in her glove-covered hand, looked up at me, and asked, "How am I doing, baby?"
My reaction was simple and based my desire to come in Belinda's pussy rather than in her mouth. I bent forward at the waist and pushed Belinda back onto the mattress, now hovering over her with my hands located on either side of her head. "Oh, my, I like this!" she said as a wide grin spread across her heavily-painted lips. "Yes, I like this very much, indeed!" I began to slowly and gently prod Belinda's thong-covered cunt with the tip of my dick, all the time making sure to not reach the point of orgasm. I was thoroughly enjoying this sexual session with this special older woman and I had no intention of rushing matters. I extended my neck downward and pressed my lips upon Belinda's mouth. Belinda's tongue slid easily between my lips, the long, eel-like appendage greeting my tongue and beginning an oral wrestling match inside our mouths. The kiss went on for several moments while I continued to probe the outside of Belinda's thong with the tip of my cock.
Although she was not necessarily a large woman, Belinda still possessed a certain amount of unexpected strength. She wrapped her arms around my bare shoulders, grasped me in a tight embrace, and in one swift motion, rolled our joined bodies over so that she now hovered over me. "I knew I wanted to do this as soon as I entered class this evening, Matt," Belinda informed me as she lifted her hands to the tight space between her tits and grasped the small tab attached to the zipper causing the bustier to remain closed. "And right now, I know that I wish to lose this garment." With a steady pace, Belinda lowered the tab, the bustier opening wider and wider as her hands neared her cunt, exposing tanned flesh and the inner rims of her massive, massive titties. When the bustier's zipper no longer held the item closed, Belinda grasped my hands and slid them inside the tit-concealing piece of clothing. "Here, baby," she said. "Try these on for size."
As you know, stockings and high heels on a woman bring out the hottest of my sexual desires. But friends, let me tell you this: big titties comes in a very, very close third place. As the bustier widened due to the presence of both of my forearms, wrists, and hands now grasping each of Belinda's mammoth melons and pushing the material outward, she began to moan softly as I palmed the titties in my hands. "Oh, fuck, Matt, baby," she moaned, arching her back and closing her eyes. "Baby, baby, baby." In one swift motion, Belinda removed the bustier, discarding it by tossing it onto the floor beside the bed. She giggled like a schoolgirl when I pinched the right nipple, slapping my hand as if I'd caused her pain, although she and I both knew I had done nothing of the kind. Straddling my body while I continued to maul her tits, Belinda began a slow, back and forth motion involving her lower body that caused her cunt, still somewhat concealed inside the thong, to slide over my exposed cock shaft. Each time her body moved in either direction, the silk stockings stimulated my skin, sending me closer to that point where my cock would erupt in a flood of hot, hot crème.
Releasing her left tit, I slid my hand between our bodies and went in search of Belinda's clit. Because of her dense mat of cunt hair and the position of our bodies, I needed a few more seconds to find her cunt's love button than I normally do. But regardless, the result was still the same: The instant I found her meaty clit and began to stimulate and tease it with my finger, Belinda entered some new sexual world that caused her to react in a manner that also drove me closer to coming. Each of her eyes widened, her mouth opened wide as she formed her lips into a large "O" shape, and for the next several moments, low-toned moans slipped from Belinda's mouth as she allowed me to use my fingers to arouse her clit and deliver her to that point where she would have an orgasm. "Oh, Matt, oh, Matt," she repeated over and over as I continued to paw at her tit with my left hand. By now, the nipple I was tweaking and teasing was harder than any other nipple I'd ever had the pleasure of teasing: Each time I pulled it between my fingers and pinched it lightly or pulled on it, Belinda let out a moan that was louder than the previous cry of ecstasy. And each time my other fingers pushed, pulled, or flicked he clit, she again moaned, although I noticed that clit stimulations resulted in more of a scream-like exclamation than a low, throat-produced moan.
But her screams lasted only so long. Yelling out, "FUCK!" Belinda again shifted her body so that now, suddenly, her pussy hovered over my face while her lips opened wide and I felt my cock sliding into her mouth. In one of the most agile moves I've ever seen anyone perform while having sex, Belinda reversed her body so that we could now go at each other's genital areas. "EAT!" I heard her demand as she began to assault my cock with her mouth. Moving the thong to the side, I was presented with a close-up view of Belinda's hairy cunt, the pussy lips certainly used over the years, the opening to her cunt almost dripping wet with sexual juices.
Evidently, Belinda believed I was not doing my part. After lifting her ass several inches, she slammed it down again, her cunt sliding down the length of my face, her asshole stopping just above my nose. ‘I SAID EAT, DAMN IT!" Belinda demanded. Gladly complying with my lover's request, I used both hands to open her cunt lips, began to stimulate each fleshy flap with my middle fingers, and extended my neck upwards. Belinda's cunt juices reminded me of some type of sweet nectar, neither salty nor tart. Each time my tongue slid between her cunt lips, Belinda allowed herself a long, drawn out moan, accompanied by a lifting and dropping of her ass, the movement allowing me to eat her cunt with minimal effort.
While I certainly felt Belinda's oral assault on my cock, I was unable to view her actions until I turned my head to the right and saw our images reflected in a mirror located on a vanity table. Somehow, this image of this older woman's head bobbing up and down on my prick, taking inch after inch between her red-painted lips, actually caused my cock to stiffen even more. The mirror's reflection showed what appeared to be a human blob: An older woman with tan skin, white stockings and thong, and red high heels folded over the body of a younger man, his cock sliding in and out of her mouth, her tits pressed like two melons against his upper thighs and on the verge of bursting. The mirror's image showed the same two bodies locked in a sexual bond, and while there was no way to reflect the thoughts inside our brains, there was no need: Both Belinda and I were on the path to coming.
And if Belinda knew how to do anything, she knew how to draw a hard cock into her mouth. She alternated between lowering her head and making sure every millimeter of my hard rod entered her mouth to releasing the pole from its oral lock and holding it in her gloved hand while she slid her tongue down the outside length. Belinda was an expert at sucking cock and while I did my best to keep pace by attacking her cunt with my tongue and lips, it was Belinda who had the upper edge here. I probed and kissed and flicked her cunt, but to be honest, I simply did not have the talent to equal Belinda's oral skills. On and on, she sucked my cock, bringing me ever nearer to depositing a load of pearl-tinted cream inside her mouth. Time after time, I'd been on the edge of exploding either inside Belinda's mouth or on her thong-covered pussy. And each time, Belinda knew just when to back off, when to ease up in her actions and provide me with just brief enough of a rest to ensure I came when she wanted me to.
And it seemed that we'd reached that point. Once more, the room's light reached my eyes as Belinda lifted her bent over body from mine and came to a standing position beside the bed. "Baby, I want to ride your cock," Belinda said as she slid the soaking wet thong down her white-stocking legs and over the red high heels, kicking the almost useless piece of clothing to the side with her right foot. Without any words, Belinda returned to the bed, straddled my body yet again, and leaned forward. "Are you ready for this, Matt?" she asked. Without waiting for a response - that's one thing I learned from Aunt Becky: Older women are not afraid to move forward on satisfying their desires - Belinda extended her right arm between our bodies and once again grasped my hard, hard cock in her gloved hand. She closed her eyes as she positioned the shaft in an upward, vertical position, the tip hovering just below the very well cunt opening.
I love to fuck: I mean, what male doesn't? To me, fucking is the ultimate in pleasure producing activities. That's why, as Belinda lowered her body and my prick entered her pussy, I let out a long, slow, pleasure-induced moan that seemed to last forever. Belinda knew what she was doing by not slamming her ass downward quickly: She knew the longer it took for her cunt to engulf my cock, the more sensuous it would be for both of us. As she leaned forward and her tits hung within kissing distance of my mouth, I extended my neck upwards to take the hard right nipple between my lips. Immediately, Belinda began to moan again, but to her credit, she remained semi-focused on the task she'd started.
And that task was to ensure my cock entered her cunt. My eyes were open as she bent even more forward, her tits now pressed against my face. I always enjoy watching that moment when my cock slides between a pair of sweet pussy lips and I begin the fucking process. I had to release Belinda's nipple from my lips, but watching as Belinda's gloved hand teased her cunt with the arrow-like tip of my cock was worth letting the nipple go. Even though my cock had not yet entered Belinda's pussy, she was moaning as she massaged her clit with the hard point of my cock. "Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck," she hissed, her voice falling upon my ears softly. "Baby, baby, bay," she said again as she began a back and forth motion that pushed harder against my cock head, but did not yet allow any portion of my dick to penetrate her pussy.
I wanted to kiss Belinda, to mash my mouth against hers, but looking up at her, I saw her biting her lower lips in pure, sex-driven ecstasy. "Goddamn, Matt," she said. "Goddamn." More of the back and forth, more of the cock teasing. Finally releasing her tits, I slid each hand down her stocking legs, over her thighs, and around her waist to cup each ass cheek in the palms of my hands. I knew that unless we began to fuck soon, I would come while my cock was still outside Belinda's cunt.
Belinda knew that as well. With one smooth, backward motion of her body, my cock slid so easily between her pussy lips and into her cunt that for one long, quiet second, I wasn't sure I'd entered her pussy or not. But then, there it was: the warm, moist, side-of-the-shaft grasping sensation that only comes when a hard cock enters a pussy. "YES!" Belinda moaned as she sat up now, her body almost perfectly vertical, her tits resting in each of her gloved hands. "YES!" she hissed again as she began to lift her ass, the action releasing several inches of hard cock, before she slipped her body downward again and her cunt regained the lost cock it had given up. ‘OH, MOTHER FUCKER!" Belinda cried out, "OH, MOTHER FUCKER," she cried again, repeating the curse words faster now, almost to the point where they ran together and became inaudible.
As for me, I began to fuck Belinda as much as she was fucking me. By now, the sounds of the room came from a variety of sources: the creaking bed, sounding as if the intense, hot fucking Belinda and I were performing might break the bed. The sounds of Belinda's moans and cries, words and curses, reaching the walls and rebounding back to us. The sounds of my own moans, deep-throated and sex-produced, progressively matching Belinda's cries in both volume and length. On and on and on, as Belinda and I slammed away at each other, we each sounded out our pleasure. And with each passing second, we also neared the long-awaited orgasms that had been too long in coming.
Yet again, just when I was on the very edge of erupting, Belinda surprised me with another unexpected change in fucking position. In between her moans, Belinda lifted her body high from my cock, exposing the cunt-juice soaked shaft to the room light. And again showing an agility that was amazing for a woman of fifty-two years, Belinda reversed her body so that I was now looking at her ass and her body straddled mine, but facing away. Her left, white gloved hand appeared between her legs, wrapped itself around the shaft of my cock, and once again guided the pole between her soaking wet cunt lips. Just after my cock reentered her pussy, Belinda leaned forward so far that her hands seemed to rest on the mattress well beyond my feet. And then, dear me, did this woman begin to fuck.
Where she'd sucked my cock into her cunt like a starving man before, now, Belinda applied so much vertical force on her cunt that her pussy slammed down upon the base of my cock with a loud, flesh slapping sound. WHAM! The sound rebounded from my cock to my ears. WHAM! Again. WHAM! As the full length of my cock became swallowed between her cunt lips, my eyes focused widely on the way her pussy lips gripped the sides of my cock tightly. On and on and on, Belinda fucked me as I had never been fucked before.
I guess that's why I came first, most likely because Belinda had more experience at holding her orgasm for as long as possible. Belinda's ass was a blur now, lifting and dropping, rising and falling, eagerly and hungrily taking as much of my cock as she could possibly manage. The orgasm began as a small tinge, a small, somewhat vibration sensation, between my legs, then erupting, spreading its crème like lava from my cock and spraying the goo deep, deep, deep, into Belinda's hairy pussy. "FUCK!" I screamed, my voice louder than during any orgasm I'd had in the past. ‘RIDE MY COCK, YOU BITCH!" I demanded, although in the back of my mind, I knew there was no need to demand anything. Up and down, harder now, Belinda rode my cock while facing away from me, while her pussy ate my dick, while I grasped each of her ass cheeks in my hands and used her ass as a means of obtaining more thrust in each upward lifting of my lower torso. Wave after wave of sexual seizures spread throughout my body as my cock contracted inside Belinda's sweet, deep pussy. Slowly, my orgasm began to end as my body informed me it could take only so much pleasure in one sitting. The waves began to slow in frequency and intensity and as I watched Belinda slow her motions too, I realized she had not come, that perhaps, in some way, I might have disappointed this woman who was having sex with me because her husband had wanted her to.
But I should not have feared Belinda would not reach orgasm. Just as my orgasm began to reach its weakest stages, Belinda suddenly eased all movement, her cunt now positioned at the top of my cock, with no more than two inches of hard meat inserted inside her pussy. Before I could ask Belinda what was going on, I heard her again, the sound she created a loud but deep-throated sound that resembled an animal's wounded howl rather than a woman whose cunt was erupting in desired orgasm
"OH, OH, OH, OH, OH!" Belinda squealed, her head thrown back toward me, her cunt returned to crashing down upon my cock with great force. "FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!" Again, the sound perhaps coming from some place inside Belinda's body she had not visited sexually for many years. Or, perhaps, Belinda was just a moaner, someone who was incapable of not yelling out during sex. "MATT, YOU BASTARD," Belinda cried out now, the flesh-slapping sounds returning now, as the undersides of her upper thighs made hard, powerful contact with my upper legs. As with me, each wave of Belinda's orgasm overpowered her, spreading from her head to her toes, engulfing her, making her cry out in pure, pure sexual joy. When her almost never ending orgasm ended, Belinda collapsed forward over my legs, my semi-hard cock still contained between her naturally-oiled pussy lips. I could hear Belinda's heavy breathing, even feel her heartbeat through her tits and onto my legs. For long, silent seconds, Belinda and I both lay perfectly still, the only movements of our bodies being that of our heaving chests as we did our best to return to a normal heartrate.
Belinda soon rose from the position she'd been in and placed her exhausted body alongside mine. She kissed me, nuzzled against me, the scent of her perfume mingling with the raw sweat the intense fucking we'd just taken part in. The room reeked of sex, that almost locker room-like odor that comes when a cock and a cunt meet and engage in hot, pure sex. Belinda extended her right arm and grasped my cock, gently caressing the shaft, cooing into my neck, and wanting more of me.
And she would have all of me she desired. But before we fucked again, Belinda lifted her body from the bed and retrieved a small black object from the bedside table. I watched in fascination as I realized the object was a small cell phone. Smiling at me as she placed the phone to her ear, Belinda said into the receiver, "How was that, baby?" Winking at me now that she knew I realized who she was speaking to, Belinda asked her husband, "Did you hear it all? Yes?" More listening as Belinda leaned forward and lifted the discarded thong from the floor. Sitting upright now, Belinda stared at me as Chuck spoke to her, words I was unable to hear. Suddenly, she said, "Yes, I can do that. Here, you can ask him yourself."
Now, it was one thing for me to fuck another man's wife with his permission. It was another thing for him to listen to the incredible sex I'd had with his wife. But Chuck was a man of requests, it seemed, and as Belinda took my cunt-juice encrusted cock into her mouth, I heard Chuck's voice through the phone. "She's going to blow you until you come in her mouth, Matt," he said. "I want to hear that too." And so, for the next ten minutes, I spoke words into the phone that described Belinda, the airline pilot's fifty-two year old wife, sucking my cock. Was I embarrassed to do so? Not really. I'd decided that if Belinda could fuck me as I'd never been fucked before, the least I could do was to accommodate their sexual wishes and allow Chuck to listen. When I came in Belinda's mouth, I groaned into the phone, knowing Chuck knew that for the second time that evening - but not the last time, it would turn out - I came inside his wife. I can't be sure that Chuck didn't have his hand wrapped around his own cock and jacked off while Belinda and I fucked. I can't be sure that Chuck didn't stroke his own cock to orgasm while his beautiful wife brought me to a second orgasm with her mouth. But I can be certain of this: Chuck and Belinda got the very best from me. And if they desired to ever do this again, all they had to do was to ask.
As a professor, it is my duty to share my knowledge with my students and to teach them things they never knew before. It is my job to share my talents in an effort to try and increase a student's base knowledge of a particular subject. I'm good at that job and I truly appreciate others who share my mindset. So, for teaching me the ways of sex with a special older woman, I'm sure you're not surprised to learn that Belinda earned an "A" for her very unique way of teaching a young man that so much can happen in one short night. And if her husband had been a student of mine, he'd have earned an "A" as well.
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