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Hotbeds Ch. 12

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Introduction: The sexual adventures of a prep school teacher in the 1950s and 1960s. Chapter 11 found him back at his school after an intense month of sex, reported in Chapters 9 and 10. Chapter 12 and last covers his last year in private education.

I had intended that year with Matron to be my last in private education, to be followed by teacher training and entry into the state secondary system. I was now in my thirties, and time’s winged chariot was certainly accelerating. But I had failed to give notice, and decided to stay one more year: a combination of commitment to that sweet-bottomed Polish lady, wanting to save more money, and hesitancy about leaving the cosy confines, and beautiful surroundings.

A celibate summer was followed by an autumn term which began quietly enough, but then took a rather strange twist and brought me multiple sexual episodes within one family.

There is a frequent male fantasy of having sex with mother and daughter, but what about mother and two daughters? Such was my good fortune, though it had to begin with something closer to therapy than intercourse.

Well, it really began with one of my pupils sidling up to me when I was on duty, patrolling the grounds on an October day. ‘My sister’s coming to get me at the half, sir,’ he told me, referring to the imminent long weekend.

‘Is she?’ I said, knowing there was more to come.

‘You’ll like her, sir,’ he went on, ‘She’s called Melanie.’

‘Well, I don’t think I’ve met anyone called Melanie.’

‘She’s very pretty, you know. You’ll like her,’ he assured me.

There was nothing to be said in reply, so I tried, ‘Is she much older than you?’

‘Oh yes.’ And proudly, She’s going to drive.’

Which meant she was at least eight years older.

‘I look forward to meeting here, then,’ I told him.

‘She wants to meet you, sir,’ he said, ‘I’ve told her all about you.’

What exactly had he told her? I decided not to ask.

Staff had to be available for consultations in the dining-hall on the Friday afternoon when the boys were collected. So I was on hand when the sister with the driving licence, my last appointment, was presented to me by her proud brother.

She didn’t look old enough to drive anything other than a pedal-car, being small and slight in build. Under a tousled pile of mousy hair her face was pale. Her eyes were light brown and her nose tiny. She was wearing a Fair Isle sweater and a kilt, complete with large pin.

Her hand was lost in mine as we shook, but she was far from shy, giving me a grin with a large, puffy-lipped, scarlet mouth. I bade her How-do-you? And called her ‘Miss…’

‘Call me Melanie,’ she said, ‘Everyone does, and we needn’t be all formal, especially as you’re going to tell me how ghastly my little brother is.’

‘But he isn’t,’ I told her. ‘His stories are great fun, and well written.’

‘That’s good. He certainly thinks well of you. He’s sure I’m going to like you.’

‘And sure I’m going to like you,’ I said, already, in fact, liking her.

‘Is there somewhere we can talk?’ she asked.

‘If you don’t mind it getting dark we could take a walk outside,’ I suggested.

‘Good idea. I want to ask you something.’

We made our way out and headed for the lake, and, startling me a little, she slipped her hand into mine. Not that I had any objections.

We strolled along for a while in silence. Then she said, ‘You have a bit of a reputation, you know.’

‘I do?’ I said, ‘For what?’

‘For being good with women,’ she said.

‘What does that mean?’ I asked.

‘Women like being with you,’ she said, ‘Very close to you.’

‘What makes you think that?’ I wondered how such gossip had reached her.

‘People talk,’ she said, ‘Especially women. Remember that many of the families of these boys know each other and one lady may drop hints to another through the grapevine.’

‘Well,’ I said, a little anxious that my liaisons might be common knowledge, ‘I don’t quite know what to say.’

‘No need to say anything,’ she said. ‘I only mention it to explain why I want to ask what I want to ask.’

There was further silent strolling. Then I said, ‘What is it you want to ask, Melanie?’

She was waiting for this, as she replied at once, ‘Would you help me with a special problem?’

‘Tell me the problem,’ I said.

‘The problem is that I can’t quite get there.’

‘Can you be a little clearer?’

She gripped my hand tightly, drew a deep breath, and said, ‘Whatever my boyfriend does I don’t get to the top.’

Now it seemed clearer. ‘You don’t have an orgasm?’

‘Yes. I mean no I don’t.’

‘And you think I could help with that?’

‘You might,’ she said, ‘Because you’re older and have experience. You can give women orgasms, can’t you?’

‘I wouldn’t think of it like that,’ I said. ‘It’s more mutual than that. When you have sex, you do it together, you give to each other.’

She still had tight hold of my hand. ‘But it happens, doesn’t it?’

‘Well, yes, usually it does, especially if the woman can tell or show me what she likes.’

‘That’s bursa escort what my sister says. She talks about the cloritis a lot.’

‘The clitoris,’ I corrected.

‘That’s right. She showed me hers and helped me find mine. Hers is bigger, but she says the size isn’t the point. But I’ve tried rubbing mine a lot, and it just gets sore before anything much happens.’

‘Are you feeling sexy at the time?’ I asked.

‘Sometimes a bit.’

‘And when you make love with your boyfriend? Do you feel sexy?’

She thought about this. ‘At first I do. I want him to make me feel sexy, and he goes on for such a long time, but the feeling just goes away.’

‘Have you had sex with other boyfriends? You don’t look old enough to have had much experience,’ I said.

‘I’m twenty-one,’ she said indignantly, ‘And I’ve done it with three other boys.’

‘But you didn’t come, didn’t climax?’

‘No. I quite liked the kissing and cuddling but when they got inside, nothing much happened, and they usually got fed up and just pleased themselves.’

‘And you think I may have the magic touch?’

‘It’s worth a try, and you don’t have to worry about my getting preggy because I’m on the contraceptive pill. Mother got us both on it, Miranda and me.’

‘It’s not like starting a car, you know, Melanie. Press the button and off you go. There does need to be mutual attraction, some shared desire.’

She suddenly stopped, turned into me, stood on tiptoe and clamped her mouth to mine. Her lips were soft and she withed them about, darting her tongue between mine. I was quite happy to go along with this, as we were out of view from the house.

She stopped as suddenly as she had started and said, breathlessly, ‘I do find you attractive. So it’s whether or not you fancy me, isn’t it?’

A little devilment crept into me. I said, ‘Well, Melanie, I’m a bottoms man, so I need to see your bottom.’

‘Is that all?’ And she turned round and lifted the kilt.

The display was certainly ‘cute,’ was the word which occurred to me, encased, or half encased, in the new kind which came only half-way up the cheeks. The upper swell and visible cleft were charming.

‘Charming,’ I said.

‘Wait a sec,’ she said, and thrust the briefs down her thighs.

The pale buttocks gleamed in the twilight, inviting and so neat, and so small, but well-rounded and womanly.

‘What do you think?’ She asked, continuing to hold up the kilt. ‘Is it too small? You should see Miranda’s, it’s twice as big, if you like big ones, and mummy’s is even bigger.’

‘It’s delightful, Melanie,’ I said. ‘Small, yes, but delectable. I could gaze at it all night, or till it got fully dark, anyway. But we’re keeping someone waiting.’

‘Oh, yes.’ She pulled up the pants and smoothed down the skirt.

We began to make our way back to the buildings. She said, ‘Could you come over next weekend? There’d just be Miranda and mummy and me. It’s only twenty miles. I could come and fetch you.’

‘There’s Saturday school and afternoon games. But then I’m free till Monday morning.’

She took my hand again and it felt as if she wanted to skip along beside me. ‘I’ll come for you Saturday, then, but we’d better not let little bro and his pals see us or we’d never hear the end of it. Be outside the gates and along the road a bit.’

She turned into me again and we kissed for a long time. I lifted the kilt myself and slid my hand down the cleavage and into the little knickers. Her bottom was warm, smooth and tight with the firmness of youth. What did she have in mind for my visit to her home? Did she really expect me to bring her to orgasm, and were her mother and sister privy to this? Well, we would see.

She duly collected me and my haversack of overnight gear. This time she was wearing a woollen dress and stockings. She drove swiftly but competently. Nothing was said about the nature of my visit. Instead we exchanged potted autobiographies. The key element in hers was the departure of her father, a stockbroker who simply ceased returning home at the weekend soon after the birth of his only, and lately conceived, son.

Melanie commented, ‘I think my little bro was a failed attempt to save the marriage. After that he just moved in with his mistress and that was that.’

He was, however, clearly continuing to support the household, I observed, on arrival at a six-bedroom, Queen Anne mansion with extensive, if rather neglected, gardens.

Miranda and her mother welcomed me cordially. Miranda was certainly built on a larger scale than her sister, and their mamma was bigger still. In contrast to Melanie, they were brunettes with dark eyes and substantial figures. The younger woman was wearing a polo-necked, ribbed, dark-blue sweater and tartan skirt. Joanna, was I was to call her, was in a dark green cashmere twin-set and brown tweed skirt.

As for whether or not they were aware of why Melanie had invited me, this was immediately made clear when Melanie was out of the sitting-room for a moment. Joanna said, ‘I do hope you will be able to help my dear girl. You are certainly an attractive young man, and we have bursa escort bayan the idea you’re kind and patient.’

Miranda forestalled any reply I might have made. ‘We have heard a little about you, if you are wondering. Gossip, we know. But you have come here, which suggests you’re willing to try.’

Actually, I was wondering precisely why I had come. Did I really want to act as a sex therapist, or whatever was the right terminology? Following a week’s reflection on this, I concluded that after Polish Matron, and after more than a decade of episodes with women, I was rather sad and jaded, in need of some new challenge. Something not necessarily bringing me sexual satisfaction, but some other outcome.

There was a pleasant dinner in a warm dining-room, followed by coffee by the fire in the sitting-room, accompanied by relaxed conversation, and then it was bed-time. Joanna and Miranda kissed Melanie, shook my hand, and left us alone.

‘We’ll let them get out of the way,’ Melanie said. ‘Then we can go up.’

She rose from her chair and came and sat on my lap, locking her lips against mine and taking my hand to place on her breast. She began to breathe hard and to wriggle her bottom.

I broke the kiss to say, ‘Slow down, girl. You’re forcing yourself, aren’t you?’

She said in a small voice, ‘I thought you might want me to be sexy.’

‘To be sexy, yes. To act sexy, no,’ I told her. ‘You must be straight with me all the time, telling and showing what you really want and feel, otherwise we’ll get nowhere.’

‘All right,’ she said. ‘But I do want you to kiss me.’

We kissed for a long time after that, quite gently and without any other activity. I enjoyed this and intended it to relax her and stop her striving after sexual excitation. Eventually we stopped and she suggested we go to her room. I asked her to bring some oil.

‘I don’t need that,’ she said, ‘You can go in quite easily.’

‘It’s not for that,’ I said, ‘And I may well not be “going in” at all.’

She looked puzzled, but went to the kitchen and found some olive oil.

It was quiet upstairs and we used the bathroom and met again in her dimly lit, room, which was, I was relieved to find, pleasantly warm with the central heating.

She moved close to me, put her arms round me and asked, ‘What shall I do?’

‘Undress, turn back the bed and lie on your front,’ I instructed her.

She again looked puzzled, but complied. Off came the jumper, skirt, shirt, bra, stockings, suspender-belt and a pair of those skimpy knickers. She was not the least shy and was soon prone on the sheet.

I undressed, too, then poured some oil onto her shoulders and began slowly, steadily massaging her back, neck and arms. ‘I want you to let go and relax completely,’ I said. ‘We must get rid of all tension, anxiety, expectation. Are you enjoying the stroking?’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’ve never had this before. It makes me feel sleepy.’

‘Good,’ I said. ‘I’m going to work downwards now. You really do have such a pretty bottom. It’s a pleasure to squeeze and stroke it like this.’

‘That feels nice,’ she said. ‘Especially when you run your fingers down the gap.’

Without hurry I moved down her legs, lifted them from the knees to work on her feet and ankles, then progressed upwards again, attending to that charming bum a while and so up to the back, shoulders and arms. By which time she was relaxed, even somnolent.

‘Now, as easily as you can, turn over,’ I said.

She rolled over and I adjusted her limbs, legs slightly apart. I spilled some oil on her chest and began massaging, avoiding her breasts, which were small mounds, scarcely meriting a bra. I slid my hands down her sides and onto her stomach, taking in her mons but avoiding her labia. Her straight, brown, rather sparse, pubic hair lay flat, outwards as if her vulval cleft were a parting. The slot was closed, the inner lips only just showing beyond the outer.

I proceeded to her thighs and gave them a lot of attention, sliding then over her knees and on down her shins. Then I progressed steadily upwards again, skirting the pudenda and arriving at her chest again. This time I moved slowly onto her breasts and kneaded them gently, rolling the little nipples between my fingers. They did erect. I bent to lick and suck them a little, continuing to manipulate them. There were small signs of enjoyment, little sighs and hums.

It was time to glide my way down her belly and into her groin, running my fingers along the outside of the labia, then moving away a while, then returning. Eventually I ran a finger-tip lightly along and just within the cleft, finishing just short of her clitoris. Again and again I left the area, concentrated on thighs, breasts or arms and returned eventually to the vulva.

She remained passive, accepting, but began to raise her hips as my finger traced its path along her slit, which was the signal to move away again. I was hoping to tease her into wanting me to stay within the labia and touch her clit.

At last she moved her legs apart and said, ‘You can touch me there, if you like.’

‘Would you like?’ I asked.

‘Yes, escort bursa I think it might be nice.’

Gently I prised open the labia, leaned down and introduced my tongue-tip, licking along towards the clitoris again and again, without actually quite reaching it.

She began to lift her pelvis in rhythm with my probing, until I passed my tongue over her clit a time or two and she began to breathe deeply. I withdrew again, resumed the slidings down her groin, the kneading of her breasts.

At last I applied my tongue to her vulva again and gently, gently, lapped at her clit. And now she did begin to respond, to lift her hips, to clench her hands and point her toes. The feeling began to intensify, and she lifted her knees and parted her legs further to open herself the more to my questing.

Suddenly she spoke, ‘Aren’t you going into me?’

I lifted my head and found she was looking at me. ‘No,’ I said, ‘This is for you.’

‘But don’t you have to be in there to make it happen?’

‘No,’ I said, ‘That would stop it. This is the way. Just relax and see what happens.’

She let her head drop back onto the pillow and closed her eyes as I resumed my attentions to her vulva, leaving her clit for a little while, slipping my tongue into her vagina and then tracing the path between the crinkly, pale pink minorae, gradually moving back onto the clit, which was, indeed, small but responsive.

Once more her sensations began to intensify, signalled by her breathing and the lifting of her hips, which enabled me to slip a hand beneath her bottom. The other hand caressed a breast, circling the nipple.

‘That’s so nice,’ she said, ‘Do you think it might happen?’

‘Don’t chase after it,’ I told her, having briefly to speak. ‘If you come, that’s good, but just enjoy the feeling. That’s the point really, to enjoy anything that happens.’

As I slurped at her little nub I reflected that it was no wonder she had not gone to orgasm if her lovers had given her the idea that penetration was necessary. She was clearly, not at present, maybe not ever, a vaginally orgasmic woman. The important thing was to see if she could come clitorally.

And I began to believe she could. Because she began to gasp, to clench her bottom, to push her pussy at me and make little cries of surprise and delight. This phase lasted several minutes, as if the orgasm needed to open its pathway through her nerves into her tissues. Then her whole body tensed, and with a gurgling exhalation the climax took possession.

I stopped licking and laid my face against her mount as the sensation left her and she relaxed, and eventually spoke. ‘Was that it? Was it the come?’

‘What do you think?’ I asked.

‘Oh, I think it was. It was lovely. I just didn’t understand how it could all happen in my cloritis, like Miranda said.’

‘Yes, that’s the way of it for many, perhaps most, women.’

‘Not in the vangina?’

‘I like your “cloritis,” and many women do like a man inside the “vangina,” as that can add to the pleasure and the closeness.’

‘Do you want to come into my vangina?’

‘Yes, of course I do, but I want more to see if you can come again later.’

I moved up the bed, pulling the covers over us, took her in my arms and kissed her. I said, ‘Let’s put out the light and have some sleep. We’re both tired now, I think.’

We woke at first light and visited the bathroom. I had told her to wash her pussy and when we were back in bed again we kissed and caressed each other, and eventually I was again tonguing her ‘cloritis,’ and she was coming again.

After another short sleep, she asked, ‘How often can I come, do you think?’

‘Well now,’ I said, ‘You now have all the fun of finding out.’

‘I need breakfast first,’ she said.

‘So do I,’ I agreed.

She went through the bathroom first and went down while I shaved.

When I arrived in the dining-room, Joanna and Miranda threw their arms round me and showered kisses on my face. Evidently Melanie had reported on the night.

We did not return to bed, which was good, because there was a risk the newly orgasmic Melanie would strive after repetition and disappoint herself or simply become too sensitised.

Instead there was a delightful day of hearty meals and country walks in autumn sunlight, until, after dinner, the two other women sent us back to bed, where she came again, twice with a half-hour interlude, and rather more quickly, as if her system had learned how to accept and foster the orgasm.

After the second time and a rest she said, ‘Wouldn’t you like to come, too? I wouldn’t mind a bit if you did it inside me.’

‘Melanie,’ I said, ‘I would love to come inside you. Would you let me do that from the back, so I can enjoy your pretty bottom?’

‘I’ve never done it that way,’ she said, ‘Show me how.’

I soon had her kneeling with her head and shoulders on the pillow and moved into position, but found that her cunt was both tight and too dry. Fortunately, the olive oil was on her bedside table and I enjoyed pouring some onto her right cheek and stroking it into and down the cleavage and into her opening. I probed and prodded gently with my fingers for a while and she opened a little. An oil application on my expectant cock enabled me to lodge the first inch or so in the entrance, and an enjoyable few minutes ensued as I slid my way inside.

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