After The Book Club free porn video

“I’m sorry I didn’t show up last time,” Karen said.

“Well,” I shrugged, “it’s strictly voluntary.”

“All the same,” Karen replied. “I don’t want you to think it’s because I’m not interested.”

“Oh, it would be difficult to make that mistake,” I said.

I wasn’t just being polite. This evening had been the twelfth of thirteen book club evenings I had presided over during the autumn months. Karen had attended all but last week’s, often putting me on the spot with questions and insights born of a bright and inquisitive wit.

I say book club, but really the evenings were a kind of combination of talks intermingled with free discussion. Times are hard for conventional book shops, and my friend Ian was trying to increase interest in his own by hosting these evenings every Thursday. He correctly supposed that I’d be willing to accept a nominal fee, for old friendship’s sake, and because I was keen to do my bit to “rescue” at least one book shop. But I got a lot out of the evenings myself, finding the approach of “amateurs” quite refreshing compared to the stifling attitudes of academia that otherwise surrounded me.

Most evenings there’d been a much better turn out than I’d expected, suggesting that Ian was on to something. People would make the effort to come together in the same physical space if they felt suitably inspired to. Most of the people showed up when they had a special interest in a certain author or topic, but Karen had shown up almost every time.

This evening had been advertised as, “Representations of Henry VIII in fiction since 1980,” and in spite of the ponderous title, the old serial husband had drawn a crowd. Karen, however, still seemed anxious to explain about her recent absence.

“Last week,” she said. “The topic was a little too close to home for comfort.”

“You don’t have to explain,” I said.

We were walking. I liked the half hour walk to the book shop to gather my thoughts, and then the half hour walk back home to digest the evening. Right from the start Karen and I had discovered that her bus stop fell along my route home, and we’d begun keeping each other company for the ten minutes it took to reach.

“I’d have been very interested in hearing what you had to say,” Karen said. “But if people started talking about Anaïs’ relationship with her husband, it would have been difficult for me.”

Last week’s discussion, suggestively advertised as “Spying on the House of Venus”, had gone well, but I’d missed having Karen there to provide the kind of input that I somehow felt had gone missing. There seemed no harm in saying it.

“I missed your input.”

“It’s kind of you to say so,” Karen said. “But I don’t think I could have… not in a public setting like that. Not about Anaïs, anyway.”

This was curious. “Oh?” I said, mostly I think to be polite.

Karen didn’t respond. Not at first. We walked in silence for about half a minute before she said, “My husband and I, we’re soul mates, we really are.”

“You’re very lucky,” I said, wondering why she was telling me this. I’d never felt that way about any woman, particularly not just then, when I was in an on-off-on-off-on relationship with Jessica. Just as the relationship seemed to be going somewhere, we took two steps back again.

“Oh I know,” Karen said. “I’m very lucky and very happy. How many people get to meet their soul mate, after all?” She paused, but before I had time to interject something anodyne, she said, “We’re just not physical mates.”

This was the kind of confidence that could easily get awkward. “You don’t have to tell me this,” I said.

But Karen seemed determined. “So, like Anaïs, I take my pleasure where I can find it.”

“And your husband does likewise?” I asked, feeling compelled to say something.

“Not exactly,” Karen said, her voice suddenly pregnant with some meaning I couldn’t quite grasp. “My pleasure is Charles’ pleasure. It’s another reason why we’re so compatible.”

This was all very strange, not the least of it Karen’s open way of confiding in me. “You could still have shown up last week,” I said. “There would have been no need to go into any of this.”

“It’s just… People are so judgmental. It would have been very difficult for me to keep silent if the talk turned to Anaïs personal life. Do you see?”

“Yes,” I said. “I think I do.”

In fact I was still trying to digest things as we walked on, not far from the bus stop now, passing a deconsecrated church to our right. I remembered reading something about what was to happen to it, but had forgotten the details. At the far end a narrow alley ran round the back of the church. There was a sign on the wall with an arrow, pointing to “THE NUNNERY”.

“I’ve always wondered about that sign,” Karen said, pulling up.

“Me too,” I admitted. “As far as I know this church has never been Roman Catholic.”

“Maybe we should investigate,” Karen said.

“What, now?” I said. “It’s dark. Has nobody ever told you about snooping around in dark alleys at this time of night? Anything might happen.”

“Maybe that’s the point,” Karen said.

Something in her voice suddenly brought things into sharp relief for me, but before I had time to digest them, Karen was already setting off down the narrow alley, hemmed in on both sides by brick. In daylight you could see that they were different shades, but now it was pitch black as I followed her. There was litter and an unpleasant acrid smell. Images were sliding through my mind; the way Karen tended to look at me while I was holding forth, the way she sometimes fiddled with her hair when I looked in her direction, the way she crossed her legs when she had something to say and let her finger scratch her leg as she said it.

I hadn’t paid attention to any of this before, mainly because I knew she was married and because I was in whatever kind of relationship it was I was in with Jessica. But now… No, I was being fanciful, and yet there had been, there was, something.

The alley turned at 45 degrees. More litter, an even worse smell. With Karen still taking the lead, we passed a heap of cardboard to one side before an oak door marked the end of the passage. Karen pulled on the handle, as if in the hope that there was something more interesting to be discovered than rubbish, but the door refused to yield.

“So we’re none the wiser,” I observed.

Karen turned so that she was facing me, though it was so dark at this end of the passage I could scarcely make out her face. “Maybe one of us should investigate,” Karen said. “Find out what this nunnery business is all about once and for all.”

There was still something in her voice, as if there were layers of meaning underlying the simplest phrase. I tried to rid myself of the sight of her in the book shop, red nail scratching black nylon. “Maybe I will,” I said, once the last of the book evenings is out of the way.

“Oh yes,” Karen said, sounding amused all of a sudden. ‘Lady Chatterley and Class War’, isn’t it?”

“I thought the season might as well go out with a bang.”

This made Karen laugh. I wasn’t sure exactly why we were still standing here, but Karen seemed in no hurry to go anywhere. “So people are keen to come back in the new year?”

“That’s the general idea.”

“Hmmm,” Karen said. It was a very playful ‘hmmm’. “You might need to make the talk more salacious than the title promises.”

I wished I could see her face properly. My head was still full of images, but I couldn’t make out if her words held the kind of meaning I was half imagining or not. “You have to be careful about these things,” I said. “You never know how people might react. It doesn’t pay to be too explicit.”

“It might be rather fun," Karen contradicted, adding, "Isn’t it funny how difficult it is for adults to be grown-up about explicit material?”

I shrugged into the dark. “Maybe it’s because we’re English,” I suggested. “We’re a nation that has traditionally rendered in French the passages we don’t deem it fit for wives and servants to read.”

This made Karen laugh. “It’s lucky I’m fluent in French then,” she said.

“Really?” I said.

Karen didn’t answer at once. In the dark, I fancied the tip of her tongue was teasing her lips, but I couldn’t be sure. “Like Anne Boleyn.”

I should have noticed the change in her voice, but I was being slow on the uptake. “Anne Boleyn?”

“Yes, Anne Boleyn,” Karen said. “You’ll recall the suggestion that she was in the habit of pleasing the king in the French manner.”

There could be no mistaking how suggestive her voice was now, not least because of where her hands were heading. I had my coat buttoned against the cold damp of autumn, but it wasn’t hard for Karen to undo the buttons that interested her.

She was direct. Her hand knew what it wanted and landed on the front of my trousers before I had time to summon up a will of my own. The proximity to this gorgeous woman, her perfume somehow pushing aside the stench of the alley, had already had an automatic effect on me. As her hand slid across my crotch, I became fully aware of the swelling, the blood rushing from my head to inflate my desire.

As her fingers pulled down on the zip, I tried to consider the ramifications. If what she’d said was true, her husband was not an issue, but I was supposed to be in some kind of a relationship. I thought of Jessica, who at that moment was probably trawling Facebook for videos of cats falling off of chairs, and found myself aiding and abetting Karen by undoing the rest of the buttons in my coat and opening it wide as Karen extracted what she was so obviously intent on getting her hands on.

The autumn climate was not really conducive to this at all, but there was at least no wind this far down the alley and there was real warmth in Karen’s hand as it closed round my shaft and began moving. I wished I could see her face properly. Was the seductive look in her eyes real, or just me imagining things?

“You know,” she said, “I had a huge crush on my French teacher at school.” Her body was sinking as she spoke. I just stood there, head swimming, wishing I had something to lean back against. “As a matter of fact I had a huge crush on most of my male teachers.”

Her hand moved away, but only for her tongue to slither against my throbbing organ. “Not that anything improper happened. I was a good girl back then.”

I marvelled at the way she managed to speak at the same time as her tongue and now her lips attended to my shaft. “Now I’m a grown woman of 54, and I still have the hots for teacher. Only I’m not so good anymore.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” I remarked as her tongue teased the little slit where a sample of pre-cum formed the inevitable response to her work. “You were in line for straight A’s in any case. You’d certainly ace any oral exam.”

Karen’s tongue slid all around my bulb as she said, “I always was a model student. Little did my teachers realise what I really wanted to do.”

Her lips slid down over my glans. The sensation was immense. Head spinning, one of my hands went to her head, clasping at strands of hair as dark as the night. As cold as it was, her mouth was like a furnace, engulfing my cock. In the deep silence of the alley, the sound of saliva bubbling in her mouth seemed to echo between the walls.

I twisted long strands of hair round my hand as Karen worked her way deeper, her breathing becoming a soft purr. My head felt like it was about to explode. Nothing like this had ever happened to me before. Of course I’d had the odd fantasy about this and that, but having a gorgeous woman like this take the initiative in the way she had, and with evident relish feast on my shaft, was more than I ever imagined possible.

“Mmmmmm!” Karen sighed, her lips coming up against my trousers. Slowly she slid her lips back, inch by inch, now wriggling her tongue and making me moan out loud too. Then it was just her tongue, teasing the head of my cock as she spoke. “A hot tip. Make your Lady Chatterley evening as saucy as you can. I’m sure I’m not the only one who has a huge crush on teacher.”

Her lips pushed down, but no further than half glans, her sensual tongue flicking deftly, as she sucked lightly.

“What?” I said. It was pretty much the only thing I was capable of saying.

Karen removed her lips, just lashing at the helmet. Then her tongue was all over me as she said, “I’m sure I’m not the only one who gets her panties all wet watching and listening to you.”

My head was close to bursting. Was she serious, or was she just saying that? Before I had time to get words out, Karen’s lips were back down over me, and all I could do was emit a strangled grunt of pleasure.

“Mmmm,” Karen purred, the sound accompanied by the rustle of litter. Moist heat surrounded me as she worked her lips as far as she could, then pulled them back up. I slid my hand through her hair as she gripped my cock, squeezing it as she worked her tongue underneath the bulb. “I’m sure a lot of teacher’s eager admirers would be happy to please him in the French manner,” Karen teased.

This called for a response, but I couldn’t bring myself to say anything, just groan out loud again as Karen’s lips went over my swollen glans and held steady. Her hand moved, jerking me as my fingers toyed with her hair.”Aaaaah!” I gasped.

“Mmmm,” Karen purred. Her lips moved back, her wet tongue against my head as she said, “Just let it all out, Teach. It’s what I want.”

There was no point in belief or disbelief, just intense enjoyment as her lips moved back to just beneath the head. Her hand was still, her tongue resting underneath me. Her lips were still too, and yet suddenly there was tremendous suction. I didn’t know how she was doing it, and I didn’t care. All I knew was that nobody I’d ever been with had possessed that kind of skill. I was clutching at her hair as I felt myself tighten, spunk boiling and frothing in my balls.

I twitched. “Mmmmm!” Karen purred, still providing that enormous suction I couldn’t begin to fathom. “Mmmm!” I was spurting uncontrollably straight into her mouth. Spasm after spasm followed, as Karen purred and purred. Finally she slid her lips off me. “Best get you cleaned off,” she said, before working her tongue all round my exhausted cock.

In something of a daze, I replaced my equipment and buttoned my coat. Karen rose to full height and gave me a peck on the cheek. “Charles will be thrilled when I tell him about this,” she said.

All of this was so new to me, I hardly knew what to think. “What, you mean you’re going to tell him…”

“Mmmm. I tell him everything.”

The way she said it told me in no uncertain terms that this was not an unusual occurrence for her. There were a million things I wanted to know, but I couldn’t formulate any of them as a coherent question as Karen moved past me. “Shall we go?”

I followed, my attention suddenly grabbed by the sight of a figure, a silhouette, a head, poking up from the pile of cardboard in the alley. Features were impossible to make out, but the person seemed to nod at me in passing.

“Were we watched all along?” I asked, once we were back out on the street, walking side by side.

“Added spice,” Karen said, “as if what I was swallowing wasn’t spicy enough.”

It was still difficult for me to think what to say or to ask. Karen’s bus came almost at once, once we’d reached the stop. “See you next week, Teach,” Karen said. “Make it saucy.”

It was a 20 minute walk from the bus stop to home. There was no way of making sense of anything. I recalled what Karen had suggested, that plenty of other women at the book evenings, and it was mostly women who attended, got wet panties listening to me and looking at me. That I found it very hard to believe. I’ve never imagined for a second that I’m God’s gift to women. She was saying that to tease me, I was sure.

In the end I decided that this had been a very bizarre, albeit gratifying one-off. Over the weekend, I tried to get things back on track with Jessica. There being “only” 36 shopping days left before Christmas, this involved a seemingly endless trek through shop after shop. Jessica believed in getting started early.

The tedium involved, not to mention the extravagant waste of money on items strictly for the “it’s the thought that counts” category, made me tetchy. We didn’t argue, but by the end of the weekend our relationship was strained to the point where I think we both knew it was destined to peter out. The lukewarm sex merely seemed to confirm that.

Come Thursday, I arrived at the book shop an hour before my “Lady Chatterley and Class War” evening was scheduled to start. Ian busied himself out in the shop while I prepared the specially arranged meeting room.

Most people arrived shortly before the talk commenced, but this evening one person was way ahead of time. Karen. She put her bag on the table, and without pausing to remove her coat walked straight up to me. “I know there’s no formal exam,” she murmured, “but if you want to examine me thoroughly later, back at my place, you’re very welcome.” Then her tongue came out, soft and moist, just teasing my ear lobe.

It would be fatuous to say that my heart leaped, though I felt my pulse quicken. Karen was married after all, to her soul mate, and she was 20 years older than me. With my faltering relationship with Jessica still on my mind, Karen’s forthright invitation even made me a little sad, more aware than ever of how I never seemed to meet anyone who combined the things I wanted from a woman in the same mind and body.

Then Karen took off her coat and sat down. She was wearing a flowing dress in about eight shades of blue that came down well past her knees, but with the two of us alone in the room, she pulled it slowly upwards until she’d made it clear to me that she was wearing black stockings and suspenders. Neither of us spoke. She just sat there, one finger teasing where stocking top gave way to naked flesh, her tongue occasionally emerging to circle her lips.

I tried to concentrate on my notes, but found it all too easy to recall her talk about having the hots for teacher, of an unspecified number of pairs of wet panties as I spoke to the assembly. Were her panties wet now? I desperately wanted to find out, but not here, other attendees might arrive at any moment. Back at her place? Was her husband out? I imagined so, though what little I’d learned about their relationship made me unsure of virtually everything.

The sound of other participants made Karen return her appearance to decency. The evening went well, although this time I was all too well aware of the kind of look Karen was giving me when she offered one prescient thought or other.

Afterwards, I chatted with the few people who had something additional to ask, then gathered my things, Karen lingering so that we could walk to the bus stop together.

“Was it salacious enough for you?” I asked, knowing very well that I’d been careful not to be too explicit.

“I was expecting you to make a point about Mellors buggering the upper classes,” Karen said.

This took me aback. “I have to watch my language,” I said.

“Yes,” Karen said, “I suppose you do, but we’re not in class now, Teach, and this girl isn’t afraid of a little dirty talk.”

I gave her a sideways glance. Her coat revealed nothing of her curves, but I could sense them anyway. She hadn’t asked if I was inclined to take her up on her offer of coming home with her, but perhaps she just knew, the way I knew. “It was hard this evening,” I said.

“Do you mean it was hard or that you were hard?”

She was some woman and no mistake. There seemed little point in trying to be subtle about things. “Trying to focus on what I was saying, and simultaneously wondering exactly how wet your panties were.”

“It wasn’t exactly easy for me,” Karen said. “I was trying to concentrate on what you were saying, and simultaneously remembering how delicious you tasted.”

Was it just a coincidence that we’d reached the alley with the sign marked 'THE NUNNERY'? If I hadn’t been so convinced that something special was coming up, I might have suggested a new tour into the dark.

“I’ve solved the mystery of the sign,” Karen said.

“Oh yes?”

“Apparently a TV series was shot here years ago. The sign was put up during the shoot and never removed.”

“Just goes to show,” I said. “Not everything is as it seems.”

“I find that most things aren’t what they seem,” Karen said. It sounded as if there were several layers of ulterior meanings.

We reached the bus stop. There was still no spoken agreement that I was going to take Karen up on her earlier offer. I just got on the bus behind her and sat down next to her. Proximity was hell, her perfume like an aphrodisiac. My hand trembled. It would have been the easiest thing in the world to reach out and touch her, but somehow I couldn’t, as if a need for clandestinity must be our companion for the duration of the journey, and the short walk from the bus stop to her house.

The street held houses that had once been identical, but with the property boom had all been individualized. Karen’s had a neatly trimmed front garden, no more than a few square yards in size. There were lights on in the house, upstairs and down. I realized with a sharp jolt that I’d cast aside all thoughts of Karen’s husband. Was he at home? Had Karen expected him to be out? I didn’t know, and I didn’t have time to ask before Karen unlocked the front door, leading the way into a spartan hallway. “Wait here a moment,” she said. “I’ll just let Charles know I’m home and make sure he stays upstairs.”

She disappeared before I had time to react, leaving me to wonder and get nowhere. Well, she had obliquely let me know they had a very unconventional relationship. I just hadn’t realized that included him being OK with her bringing men over while he was in the house. “I find that most things aren’t what they seem.” Well, who knew what went on in very ordinary streets like these? For all I knew I might have arrived in Wife Swap Central.

I took off my coat and waited. “A moment” wasn’t an exact description; I waited for more like five minutes. But then I heard her voice. “You can come in now, Teach. I’m ready for my exam!”

The room I entered was completely different to the hallway, very tastefully decorated, with corner lamps providing all the light I needed to see what I really wanted to see, and it practically took my breath away. Karen was standing directly in front of me in a classic, matching ensemble of black, snugly fitting silk bra and panties, with black stockings and suspenders, bottomed off with a pair of high heeled shoes. “Take a seat,” she said, looking like she’d just stepped out of a magazine for gentlemen with very expensive tastes.

All thoughts of her husband being upstairs faded as I felt my manhood grow. After all, Karen had made it painfully obvious that they had some kind of arrangement. I still didn’t understand it, but the woman was cloaked in an aura of seductive sensuality, and I was very susceptible. I chose the middle of a three-seater. Normally I would have tried to conceal my erogenous growth, but given the circumstances there seemed little point. Karen chose an armchair diagonally to my right, crossing her long legs and teasing the hem of her stockings tantalisingly. “So Teach, exam time. Hit me with a question.”

I swallowed hard. This was a game, of that I had no doubt, but Karen hadn’t bothered to explain the rules to me. I racked my fevered brain for a question that harked back to the thirteen different book evenings. “What’s the title of the sequel to I, Claudius?”

“Claudius the God,” Karen smiled. “1-0 to me, I think. Take your jumper off.”

“What’s this?” I said, trying for levity. “A strip quiz?”

“Oh no,” Karen said. “I’m wearing far too little for that.” Her leg moved, as if she was about to uncross, but then came to rest in the same position as before. “Ask me something I can’t answer, and you get to choose how things progress.”

So that was the game. I pulled my jumper off, trying to think of a new question. One that I knew Karen could answer correctly, just to see where she wanted to go. “In which county is Lady Chatterley’s Lover set?”

Karen smiled. “Derbyshire. Now lose your shirt.”

I unbuttoned slowly, searching for the next question. One she could answer, or one she couldn’t? That was the question for me.

“You’re cheating!” Karen said suddenly. “You’re wearing a t-shirt under your shirt.”

“I like to keep warm,” I said.

“If I tell you that Lawrence used Eckington village and Renishaw Hall as inspiration, will you take it off?”

“Now you’re cheating.” I said, but I removed the t-shirt anyway. If Karen wanted to see my naked torso, that was fine by me. Not that I consider my body irresistible by any means, but the game being what it was, it seemed absurd to complain.

I was gratified to see that Karen looked me over with eyes full of desire. “Next question.”

One she could answer, or one she couldn’t? In the end I asked the first thing that came into my head. “What was the name of Defoe’s fortunate mistress?”

“Moll Flanders?” Karen replied hopefully. Had she really got her wires crossed, or had she purposely given a wrong answer? Her face was giving nothing away.

“The answer is Roxana,” I said, sounding sterner than I intended.

Karen raised an eyebrow, then fixed me with eyes like gilt-edged invitations. “So what do you want, Teach?” she asked seductively.

I looked at the full swell of her breasts beneath her bra, the way her smile suggested that she was up for anything. Then I looked at her legs. I’ve always been a sucker for black nylon, and her stockings were irresistible.

I moved across, kneeling before her. With one hand delighting in the feel of her thigh and the smooth, sleek material that covered a part of it, I placed my lips on her knee, kissing my way slowly up the black nylon. The luxurious sensuality of it made my pulse race as I worked my way up her stocking, only stopping before my lips met naked flesh.

I pulled my lips and my hand away, fumbling for a new question, choosing another that I was sure she’d know the answer to, just to see what she’d do. “Which pure woman was faithfully presented?”

A faint smile played in her glittering eyes. “Pass,” she said. She was definitely toying with me. Of course she knew the real answer. But I played along, leaning in and pushing my lips against the smooth flesh on her thigh, just above stocking tops, bringing my tongue into play too. Karen’s breathing was like the contented purr of a freshly groomed feline.

My hand returned, stroking the nylon as I kissed the naked skin on the inside of her thigh, and she exhaled loudly, a sigh of pure bliss, before she sighed, “Next question, Teach.”

I lingered before pulling away, savouring the mingled scent of perfume and female arousal, choosing a ridiculously easy question this time. “Who wrote The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie?”

“Muriel Spark,” Karen smiled. “Shoes, socks, trousers off. Then go and sit back down.” As if she was the teacher.

“Three items of clothing,” I said. “Isn’t that cheating?”

“Maybe. But is Teach really prepared to make a thing of it?”

She said it teasingly, seductively, and I wasn’t prepared to make a thing of it. I removed the items swiftly, now down to my boxers, only too well aware of the way Karen was eyeing the swell inside as I sat back down.

“For which two novels was Hilary Mantel awarded the Booker Prize in 2009 and 2012 respectively?” I said, purposely choosing a question I knew very well she knew the answer to.

“Wolf Hall and Bring Up the Bodies,” Karen said, looking amused. She kept an eye on the bulge in my boxers as she slowly uncrossed her legs, parting them to give me a good view of the way her silky underwear revealed the shape of her vulva. “In answer to your earlier inquiry,” she said softly, “I was very wet this evening. I so wanted to do this.”

She shifted position slightly, bringing a hand into play, sliding her fingers across the crotch of her panties, watching me intently as I watched her, the sexual tension thick enough to form a fog. I had to know what she was prepared to do next.

“What was the pen name of Mary Ann Evans?” I asked, once she’d removed her hand.

“George Eliot,” Karen said. “Now you’re just toying with me.” She smiled. “You might as well lose the last item of clothing.”

Well, if that was how she wanted to play it, who was I to complain? Her tongue teased her lips as she looked straight at my crotch, watching me reveal my throbbing member. “So now I get to see it properly and not just taste it,” she murmured as I sat back down. “Now ask me something I don’t know.”

I was well aware that she was calling the shots more than I was, but I didn’t care. I fumbled for something I figured there was but a remote chance of her knowing. “Who wrote the recent prize-winning erotic short story, ‘For Your Viewing Pleasure’?”

So that was how Karen looked when she became genuinely perplexed. “I have no idea,” she said.

“Poppet,” I said, rising and moving across to her again.

“Poppet!” Karen exclaimed. “What kind of name is that? You made it up, just to win this round!”

“Not a bit of it,” I said. “Poppet’s one of the finest erotic writers I know. I’ll give you the URL later.”

Karen smiled. “Make sure you do,” she said. “So I know you’re not cheating.”

I was in front of her again, placing one hand on smooth stocking, the other on smooth flesh. Then I leaned in, right the way in, lips coming into contact with the damp that had seeped into her panties over the past however many hours. Karen heaved a sigh of delicious arousal. Perfume and the odour of pure lust filled my nostrils, driving me half way to distraction, putting some spell on me that wouldn’t be lifted until this strange game was over – or perhaps never.

I pulled away. “The fictitious memoirs of which woman of pleasure caused a charge of corrupting the King’s subjects in 1749?” I asked, not sure if Karen could answer or not.

“Fanny Hill,” Karen said. Then, “Stroke that cock for me, Teach, so I can see how much you want me.”

Things were getting very interesting. Karen slid her fingers back across the crotch of her panties as I grasped my impatient staff. There we were, right in front of each other, stimulating ourselves.

Without either of us stopping, I said, “What was Jane Austen’s first published novel?”

Karen eyed me with playful eyes. “Are you ready to fuck me yet, Teach?” There was something fundamentally filthy about the way this classy woman uttered those words.

“The correct answer is Sense and Sensibility,” I admonished. Then I rose, moving round the armchair so that I could clasp her breasts from behind. As I squeezed, hard, silk-covered nipples pushed against the palms of my hands. I leaned forward, my lips grazing her ear. “Teach wants to fuck you so bad,” I whispered. “But you also look so fucking fantastic in that outfit I could sit and just look at you all night.”

“Teach has a very dirty mouth,” Karen said. “I like that.”

I straightened up. Still squeezing her breasts, I said, “In 1859, Dickens published a tale of which cities?”

“Paris and London,” Karen said. Then she slid her hand over her stomach. I stood, still fondling her breasts as the hand disappeared inside her knickers. I watched the fabric move as the woman gave a drawn out sigh of pure lust. “Has your naughty student passed her exam yet?”

By now it was more or less torture not to do what I wanted to do more than anything else, but another part of me wanted to draw things out as long as possible. “Who wrote the 50 Shades triology?” I asked.

Karen kept her hand moving as she said, “Barbara Cartland.”

“From now on I’m not allowing deliberately wrong answers,” I said, but I still slid my hands inside her bra cups, pinching and squeezing tense nipples as the woman’s hand kept moving inside her knickers.

I’d never heard a woman express such uninhibited lust in a single sigh. “If I give a correct answer, will Teach fuck me?”

She was exaggerating the cultured aspect of her voice, knowing full well how filthy it made her words sound. I answered with a new question. “For which novel was Iris Murdoch awarded the Whitbread in 1974?”

“Please fuck me, Teach,” Karen breathed. “I’m such a naughty girl.”

“Giving the wrong answer won’t get you what you want.” But I had to do something. As her hand continued to work inside her knickers, I hauled her breasts out of bra, leaning over to clasp one between both hands and close my lips round a nipple seeming trembling for attention. What little blood hadn’t flowed to my cock now went straight to my head.

I straightened up, placing my hands on her shoulders. Karen gave another of those exquisite, seductive sighs. “Winston and Julia,” I said. “Which novel?”

The response was instantaneous. “Nineteen Eighty-four. Now, go and sit down, Teach.”

I left her to resume my place on the settee, by which time she’d already pulled her knickers off and was standing up. I just stared as she walked across to me without a word, staring at the bold swagger of her breasts and the outcome of immaculate epilation. Had she done that fully expecting the evening’s outcome?

There was no time to ask. Not until she climbed up and was straddling me, at any rate, by which time I didn’t care. She reached back, grasping my cock and holding it in position. Then she was lowering herself, so slowly it was heavenly torture. “Do you like that, Teach?” she purred, knowing full well how any man would react to being engulfed by her moist heat. “Do you like fucking your very attentive student?”

She was so classy and utterly filthy, both at the same time. She was 54, twenty years older than me, yet from the way she spoke those words, she may as well have been a teenager who had slipped out of a very expensive boarding school for the night.

Before I had time to reply, she was leaning forwards, her breasts coming up against my face. Soft moans of contentment vibrated in my ears as I sought out an erect nipple, sweeping my tongue across hardened areola. Karen moved on me, softly and slowly, slippery and moist, coating my shaft. Her almost languid movements caused me intense pleasure, and yet it was unbearable too. I felt a yearning to grab her, to force her down on me, but restrained myself, enjoying the way her breathing became more strained as my tongue and lips caressed whatever part of her full breasts they came in contact with.

Finally, I reached round, placing my hands on her buttocks, following her rhythm rather than pushing down. Her body shifted, and her cheek pushed against mine. Then her lips were caressing my ear lobe, her mouth close enough for every detail of her sensuous breaths to put me further under her spell. Still she moved softly and slowly, but the intensity of her arousal manifested as thick liquid. Where it had oozed out of her I could feel a slow trickle reach my balls.

I reached down to scoop the stuff back up until I reached our conjoined genitals, sweeping my finger through the flow of juices as Karen kept up the slow, grinding rhythm and treated my ear to soft, seductive moans. “Name Alina Reyes’ first novel,” I murmured.

There came a long, drawn out moan, before Karen replied, “Ooooooh, I don’t know and I don’t care!”

I eased my gooey finger further up, teasing the rim of her anus, Karen’s breathing as hot and steamy as her moans and her slow, sensuous movements. As my finger slowly probed her, she let out a long, unrestrained moan of intense pleasure. I inched my finger further and further inside, working it as slowly in that tightest of holes as she was working up and down on my shaft. “Oh Teach!” she breathed. Nothing more, but the way she uttered the words was captivating, intoxicating. I’d tried this on a number of occasions with Jessica, but she always snapped at me, “What’s the point of that?”

There was none of that with Karen. Instead her moans suggested that I couldn’t have found a better way to please her if I’d tried. Everything about her betrayed a slow increase in pleasure the longer my finger moved in her back passage in time to her own movements. A new dribble of fluid eased its way down to my balls. I couldn’t remember any woman being this wet. Then I felt her tongue, the tip as soft and seductive as her breathing, teasing as if she was trying to insert it into my ear. “Ask me another,” she whispered.

This was the last thing I expected, but I found the wherewithal to say, “Whose memoir of her sexual exploits caused a stir in 2001?”

Karen shifted her body, her tongue coming away from my ear so that she could thrust her bosom back up against my face. “Aaaaaaah!” she moaned as I brought my tongue out, salivating over her luscious delights. “Catherine M,” she breathed.

I angled my head to feast on her tight nipples, but she was backing up. I let my finger slide out of her as she slid off me, watching as she climbed down, breasts swinging before she turned and sank to the floor. Without looking back she positioned herself on all fours, giving the kind of wiggle you normally only see in music videos. “Come on, Teach!” she breathed. “Fuck me! Fuck your slutty student harder than you’ve ever fucked anyone in your life!”

Filthy words from the classiest lady I’d ever been involved with. I rose quickly, eyes on the juicy folds staring at me from between her thighs. She was so creamy from her own arousal it looked like I’d already ejaculated.

Then I was behind her, taking aim with my slippery cock. “Aaaaaaaah!” Karen exclaimed as I penetrated her. “Give it to me hard! I need it really, really hard!”

I could hardly believe it after the slow and sensual way she’d behaved up to this point, but spellbound as I was, I could do nothing but obey her command. My hands clutched at her, grabbing, squeezing, holding as I rammed my hard cock into her. She moaned out loud as every drop of liquid conspired to make the lewdest sound I’d ever heard. Driving my cock into her forced yet more liquid back out of her. Walls dripping with secretion closed on me as I drove my cock into her with all the force at my disposal.

“Harder! Harder!” Karen cried. I didn’t think that was possible; I was already pounding her so very, very hard. Then she let out a delicious moan, and it spurred me to ram my cock into her like I was trying to punish her. “Yes! Yes!” Karen cried. “Fuck me, Teach! Fuck me!”

Everything was a blur in my head. She was so very classy, yet here she was on all fours, acting out some fantasy in her own head with complete abandonment of any sense of propriety. I was panting heavily, dimly aware that Karen was growing tighter in direct proportion to the intensity of her moans and the force of my thrusts. As wet and soft and warm as she was, there was something vicelike about the way she was squeezing me ever tighter.

And then she was cumming. She didn’t announce it, but it was there, in her staccato moans, the way her body stiffened then shook. Later I would think how extraordinary it was that she could cum like that, without any other stimulation, not at all like Jessica. But at that moment, all I was aware of was a tightening in my skull, the way her vagina was squeezing my cock. My balls contracted, my cock swelled, fighting the pressure from her fluid walls.

I heard myself, the roar, like some beast of the field. I was releasing everything while I continued fucking her orgasmic body with more intensity than I knew I had in me. Karen’s body shook again. “Yes! Yes!” she squealed. “Give it to me, Teach! Give me it all!”

With the last spurt, exhaustion came over me. I pulled back, lowering myself to the floor rather than trying to stand on shaky legs.

But Karen did the opposite. As soon as I pulled out, she rose to her feet, standing with legs apart, hands between her thighs, pulling her labia apart. From my position behind her I could easily see how my recently delivered ejaculate slid out of her, dripping onto the carpet in big blobs.

I didn’t understand, not until I noticed that Karen was staring upwards, towards the top of the stairs. I’d been so preoccupied with her that I’d been completely oblivious of the figure I now saw. He was very handsome and very naked. He was also handcuffed to the bannister and, to my shock, I could see that his cock was held captive in some sort of cage. This, I assumed, was Charles; Karen’s husband and soul mate.

“Oh dear!” Karen exclaimed. “It looks like I’ve made a mess on the carpet again. If I liberate you, will you be a good boy and come down and lick it clean?”

“Yes dear,” the man said. “I’d like that very much.”