My head still felt fuzzy when I woke in the early afternoon. Better call my mother and get her to do the school pickup, maybe even keep them with her tonight, I thought.
That done, I collapsed back into unconsciousness.
The next morning, I felt so much better—but still no word from Simon. Damn, he’s probably still annoyed at me after the debacle of the other night. I decided that perhaps I should tone down my appearance this morning; I was still confused over yesterday. Still unsure what was true and what was hallucination. Whichever, Simon wasn’t here to help, to give me advice, so I decided to default to the old me and dress a tad more conservatively.
I pulled on a skirt just above knee-length and my regular heels, but decided that I’d forego the clingy, virtually see-through, bra and top for one that would conceal my nipples despite the warm weather. Yes, I tried a few on in front of the mirror but really wasn’t happy with any of them.
However, let’s face it, I didn’t want to overdo it by coming into school dressed as a spinster librarian, so I compromised and chose one of those uplifting padded ones—you certainly couldn’t see the nipples through it, but instead, it thrust my mammary globes just a bit more in-your-face. I slipped a black sweater with a slight décolleté cut over my head and checked the mirror. Hmm . . . yes, different, maybe more sophisticated without being too demure. I took a last appraising look at my cleavage and decided it was the right side of acceptable and headed off for school.
Walking in through the main doors, the first person I saw was the last one I wanted to see—the headmaster. Roger, the head, was maybe five years older than me and had been my head of department when I’d joined the school. We’d always been friends, in fact, he’d even asked me out way back then, but I’d just started seeing the man I’d end up married to. Huh, maybe I should’ve gone out with him instead, maybe I’d still be happily married just as Roger still was with Jill. Indeed, for some years before my ex decided that Roger and Jill were too boring to be spending time with (or maybe he’d had trouble getting into Jill’s panties—he’d always been an admirer of her monster boobs), we regularly had Chinese takeaways at each other’s homes on the weekend. Anyway, this morning I wasn’t feeling like having to explain yesterday’s mini-breakdown to him. But it was too late. He was already waving to me, indicating I should join him in his office.
“Lizzie,” he said. “I wasn’t expecting you in today after I heard about yesterday. I’ve already got your classes covered.” He phoned the office and ordered a pot of tea. He put his hand on my shoulder and steered me to one of the upholstered chairs in front of his desk. He took my jacket and sat down alongside me, concern on his face, as he asked me how I was keeping.
“I’m fine, Roger, thanks. I may have picked up a bug or a virus that’s made me a little lightheaded the past day or so, that’s all.”
“And your . . .?”
He didn’t know what to say, so I short-circuited his question. “You mean that bastard who ruined my life? Who ruined my twins’ lives? Who continues to haunt my solicitor with demands and complaints?” I leaned my head closer to his and hissed, “Fuck him, Roger. I ache for the children reach the age of majority and become capable of making their own choices just so I never have to see or hear from him again.”
“Don’t punish yourself like this Lizzie, that time will come, but in the meantime, you’ve got to get on with your life. Try to forget about him and get out and meet someone new.” He paused, “Of course, maybe you have . . .?”
I shook my head. I didn’t want my colleagues to know the ins and outs of my private life. I certainly wasn’t going to tell him about Simon anyway.
“Look,” he said. “Are you free this evening? Jill and I will be having our customary weekend Chinese at home, just the two of us, and I know she’d be delighted if you’d join us.”
At that, the door was knocked and a tray with tea and biscuits was brought in. It gave me time to think. Simon hadn’t contacted me, and of course, I wasn’t going to go running after him. But I didn’t want to run the risk of the biker boys and the two young men landing at my home as they said they would—it was Friday and the twins wouldn’t be there. I shivered at the thought of the dragon, even though it seemed like a dream.
“What do you say?” Roger said, as his secretary left.
He sounded genuine, as if he really wanted me to go along. But his next sentence, made my mind up for me.
“We’ll have a terrific evening: Chinese, a few bottles of wine. You can stay the night in the spare room so you can imbibe to your heart’s desire and you won’t have to drive. What do you say?”
“Thanks, Roger, I’d be delighted to. You’re right, it’s probably just what I need—it’s a date!”
Yes, and it also meant that I could just turn off my phone and I needn’t worry about any home invasion by anyone. The biker group would get the message when the house was empty and in darkness.
Roger sipped his tea, looking pleased. “Excellent, you just come over any time after seven and we’ll place our order.” He leaned forward, put a hand on my knee and squeezed. “It won’t be like the old days—it’ll be better,” he said smiling.
Yes—he smiled as he gazed at my somewhat exposed bosoms—of course, Roger too, always was a tit man. His hand felt hot through my tights; was I imagining it or was he squeezing my knee? I couldn’t be sure. After all, it was Roger, my headmaster, whom I’d known forever.
I had my cup of tea in one hand and was eating a biscuit with the other when he set his cup down and swivelled a little towards me. The thrust of his knee against mine replaced the pressure of his hand. The movement caused my knees to separate a little and I watched in amazement as he placed his left hand palm-up between my legs, under the hem of my skirt, and started to brush dropped crumbs onto his hand. I could feel the heat of his fingers against my inner thighs. The last morsel of biscuit filling my mouth, I could neither speak nor move. I was frozen. It was like watching a documentary on television as he then proceeded to stroke near-invisible crumbs from my sweater top, even making some inane comment, as he picked some invisible ones from my cleavage, using his index finger and thumb.
Patting my sweater, or rather my breasts, clean to his satisfaction, he joked, “You always were a messy eater, Lizzie—and you haven’t even had a drink yet.”
How surreal is this? I thought, as I smiled inanely back at him. Have I just been groped? I urged myself to calm down. Remember, I told myself, I once found him attractive, and vice-versa. He obviously still does. As I relaxed I began to feel flattered. Yes, no matter what a disaster my marriage has been, I’ve still got it. Simon was right. I’m still a MILF. Still fuckable.
“You’re right, Roger,” I laughed. “Maybe I should come nude this evening, then I could just be hosed down afterwards?”
“Sounds good to me!” he said He leaned forward and pulled my top down to expose my bra line, my breasts surging towards him. “I’ll just have a little practise at licking off the bits I missed a moment ago.”
Pushing my breasts up, he separated them, burying his nose and mouth between them. He began licking. In moments he had them free of all restraints and was sucking on my nipples. I felt an electric current surging between my vaginal lips.
My skirt now up around my waist, for the second time inside forty-eight hours I felt the gusset of my tights rip. Without speaking, he pulled me upright, turned me around and bent me over the desk. As I looked down I could see his hands tearing at my naked breasts, now bursting from the sweater neckline, while I felt his cock, that I’d never even seen, enter me.
He didn’t last long. A few pumps and I felt him coming inside me as he clung on to my breasts.
“Fucking wonderful, Lizzie!” he whispered to me. “I’ve been wanting to do that for years. And during all that time your cunt of a husband was nailing my wife . . . you did know that, didn’t you?”
I shook my head. “No,” was all I could croak in reply.
His phone rang, allowing me to disengage and scoot into his bathroom to make myself presentable. He was still on the phone when I emerged. I waved goodbye, as he covered the mouthpiece and called, “See you tonight!” I nodded and left for home.
I seethed all day thinking of what Roger had blurted out when he was in the throes of lust intoxication. Jill had been fucking my husband—and vice-versa. It shouldn’t really have surprised me, he was partial to big breasts. How many times had he offered to pay for me to upgrade from my firm and good-sized Cs to double-D implants? It wouldn’t have made any difference, he’d have left me anyway for that other tart—the one he’s no longer with.
No, the thing that got me was that she was always so sweet to my face, complimenting me on my legs and my figure, while at the same time fucking my husband. How did Roger know? Had he found out by accident; had she felt guilty and confessed; or had Roger encouraged her the way Robin had tried to encourage me? Maybe Roger had hoped that we could have paired off while they were at it? That’s probably it, otherwise he wouldn’t have put up with it. I hadn’t seen her in maybe ten years—it will make for an interesting evening.
But where the fuck was Simon? Not a peep from him and to tell the truth he didn’t welcome any unplanned telephone calls—yes, you’ve guessed it: he’s married. That’s why we’re keeping it quiet for the moment and why we don’t go out formally together.
Sure, we have gone to bars, but always discreetly, with me going ahead and then him coming in and chatting me up as if we were strangers. There was always a strange thrill to this sort of thing, especially when other men tried to chat me up while I waited for him to arrive. Sometimes Simon would even wait and create a make-believe story, before approaching me. Which was how he manoeuvred me beyond the mere fantasy boundary.
It happened just a couple of months ago, before his erotic scenarios had become exclusively school-related. He sent me alone into a hotel lounge where, just after I sat down at the bar, an older man pulled up a stool beside me. Who knows, maybe he thought I was a working girl, since, as usual in this sort of situation, Simon always insisted I dressed rather whorishly.
Nevertheless, the man seemed quite nice; well-groomed, polite and respectable, and insisted I join him in a drink. Since I knew this would titillate Simon, I did. The man was staying in the hotel, and in a strange way I found him attractive even though he was old enough to be my father.
Simon arrived five minutes later but he didn’t join us. Instead, he stood close by at the bar, drinking, and no doubt eavesdropping for a while, before pretending to recognise me as a friend of his wife’s. I just played along, though the old guy looked disappointed, probably thinking that all his efforts had been for nothing.
But when the man went to the bathroom Simon encouraged me to play along with anything he said. Mind you, he gave me no details of his plans at the time, just instructed me to go to the bathroom when the man came back, and make sure I wasn’t wearing any panties when I returned. I collaborated with his fantasy, and did as I was told.
He told me later that he confided to the man that his wife—my supposed friend—had told him that I was a divorcee who had always fantasized about being picked up in a bar and having a threesome, suggesting to him that that was possibly the very reason I was there. He also nudged him, saying that he wouldn’t mind making up the third person, as he’d always fancied screwing me himself.
Of course, the old boy became excited by this and renewed flirting with me when I returned. After a couple of drinks more, I was feeling adventurous and flirtatious enough to agree to go up to his room and share a bottle of wine with him and Simon. Simon however excused himself for the moment, saying that he had to call his wife to say he’d been delayed, but that he would join us shortly. For appearance’s sake, I even reinforced his fiction by putting my arm around him and begging him not to tell his wife that he’d run into me. The man and I went ahead up to his room.
While walking along the upstairs corridor, my new friend was the epitome of a gentleman, ushering me politely in front of him as he opened the bedroom door. Once inside, he changed, losing no time in pinning me against the wall and slobbering all over me, while slipping his hand up my skirt. When he evinced no surprised that I was pantie-less, I suspected that Simon might have urged him to check me out.
Even so, I was still confident that I was engaged in little more than a bit of erotic prick-teasing and that Simon would arrive at any moment. So I continued to play along—I was randy too, and imagined that Simon and I were heading for a bit of exhibitionist fucking in front of the old guy when he got here (another of his earlier pre-coital fantasies).
However, the man, who must’ve been seventy, was stronger, fitter and more determined than I expected. He virtually tore my clothes from me and forced me down on my knees, between his legs, insisting that I suck him erect. I wasn’t happy about it, but felt a bit guilty at leading him on so much. He wasn’t entirely flaccid, so I started to handle and lick his organ to increasing tumescence. By the time I heard the expected knock on the door he was fully erect.
When Simon entered, I was still on my knees and, after opening the door, the man rushed back into position seated on the edge of the bed with me in front of him. As he watched Simon lift my hips into the doggie position and enter me roughly from behind, I felt the man’s cock jerk into renewed stiffness in my hand. The vision was definitely empowering the older man. He grabbed the back of my head and forced his now erect cock deep into my throat, making me gag. While Simon fucked me, whacking my ass with his belt as he rode, I sucked and wanked the stranger, expecting him to explode into my mouth at any moment.
But he didn’t. I was still sucking him when Simon came to the edge of orgasm, and with a croaking yell, pulled out and shot his load over my shoulders and hair, before rolling sideways onto the carpet.
This interrupted my rhythm and I turned to check that Simon was okay.
“Come on, Lizzie,” the man said, pulling me up onto the bed and lying me on my back. “It’s not a real threesome until you get two cocks up your cunt, either at the same time or in close succession—and that’s what you came here hoping for, wasn’t it, you dirty girl?”
As I didn’t know what Simon had told him while I was at the loo, I just stared at him, open-mouthed. He had a demented-looking grin on his flushed face, and I could see he was expecting an answer.
“Admit it, Lizzie!” he shouted, almost menacingly.
I nodded. “Yes,” I whispered, as I watched his previously droopy member, now rigid, quivering majestically up towards his belly-button. I glanced at Simon, who watched wide-eyed as the old man thrust my thighs apart and promptly speared my cunt, still soaking from Simon’s fucking.
He was kneeling on the bed, his torso upright with my ass cheeks resting on his thighs as he steadily fucked me while alternating between groping and pulling my breasts and nipples and vibrating my clitoris into orgasm after orgasm with his fingers. He was outstanding, but he still hadn’t reached orgasm. Then suddenly, as he was evidently building to a crescendo of excitement, he pulled his enormous, pulsating crimson member from my cunt, and not missing a beat, wanked the brute to ejaculation, all over my face.
As he collapsed, partially on top of me, his hand smeared his semen over my cheeks. “It’s good for the complexion, you know, Lizzie,” he chuckled.
That was the first time I heard that sentiment—indeed, that was the night I learned what bukkake meant.
Mind you, I’m complaining. I was a naïve innocent back then. In the short nine months that Simon and I have been together he has tutored and sophisticated me in so many varied fields, especially sexual, and has expanded my horizons beyond my wildest imagination.
But has he just abandoned me now?
