The Coo & Her Lover

There are some women who just give you the horn, you know? It doesn’t work the same way for everybody but the first time I saw Miss Truscott I started to get a hard on. A couple of my mates couldn’t see what the attraction was. They said she was too aloof, but that was part of it for me. That and the way she walked, well, strode around the school courtyard. She had amazing tits. They jutted as she walked. I could have watched them all day.

She didn’t notice me though. Why should the new Head Chef for the entire school notice a mere junior groundsman? And she didn’t just cook for the pupils; she prepared the menu’s for all the staff and the governors as well. She was a pukka Cordon Bleu Chef.

It’s a private school and the old codgers liked their food. They could afford the best. So it was some of the tutors and housemasters who monopolised her attention. It was obvious that I wasn’t the only one who thought she was attractive. Trouble was all I did was wander round dressed in a pair of old overalls so I probably stood the least chance of getting a look in.

That is until I volunteered to look after the vegetable garden. The head groundsman, old Charlie, was a bit surprised when I said I’d do it. It wasn’t exactly in character. Up until then I’d been happy to mow and mark out the rugby pitches and to do the maintenance on the athletics track.

Thing is I didn’t exactly have green fingers. I could look after the basic stuff OK. It was when I did a spot of weeding that I really got into trouble. I managed to pull up the entire Herb garden. Some of them were Chinese and quite rare apparently.

Charlie was furious. He told me I’d be lucky to keep my job. He said that the final vote lay with Miss Truscott, who wanted to see me the next morning at nine o’clock, ‘ready to make amends’.

Since she had the Governor’s Annual Ball coming up he didn’t hold out much hope for me. I’d hoped that doing the garden would get me closer to her but now I was not so sure.

Even though the next day was a Sunday, my day off, I was hardly in a position to complain. It was a lovely summer day too. Hot, with a clear blue sky. I spruced myself up a bit. Put some aftershave on, a little gel in my hair. I still had to wear my overalls though. Charlie had made it clear that ‘making amends’ would involve some work.

I was nervous when I knocked on her door and when Miss Truscott opened it the polite speech of contrition that I’d rehearsed all morning got stuck somewhere in my throat. It’s difficult to be contrite when you’re getting an erection.

She was wearing a knee length tweed skirt, dark nylons and her trademark black patent court shoes. She had on a tight white blouse that accentuated the thrust of her breasts. Jewellery was kept to a minimum. Her nails though, were painted red. Her hair was swept behind her ears and she looked at me with cold green eyes.

“Well?” She said.

“Er, Miss Truscott.” I said. “I’ve come about the herb garden. I’m the one who....”

“Yes, I know.” She replied. There was a silence. She was waiting for something.

“I’m sorry.” I said, and, without meaning to, hung my head, looking at her shoes. It was weird. I did feel sorry. I did feel contrite. Mainly though, I was glad my overalls were baggy because otherwise my cock would be tenting the front of them. My boxers weren’t doing much to contain it. It’s difficult to explain. She just has that effect on me.

She handed me a piece of paper. “This is the bill for the replacement herbs that I have had to buy.” She said. I looked at it. It was a lot of money, more than I earned in a week. “How are you going to repay me?” She asked.

“I.. I can’t afford this.” I replied. “I mean, I’m sorry, but...”

“But you could lose your job.” Miss Truscott interrupted.

“If I lost my job I definitely, couldn’t possibly pay you back.” I said quickly, looking up at her. I paused. “I could save up. Pay you back a bit at a time.”

She thought about it. “We’ll see.” She said. “For the moment the new herbs are out at the back. I expect to see them planted by dinner time. I’ll be out every half hour to check up on you. Don’t slack.” Then she closed the door behind her.

What did I do? What do you think. I started planting Herbs. After half an hour she came out to check on progress and made me replant almost everything that I had done. It was funny though; as I heard the sound of her heels clipping away from me on the concrete path I found myself looking forward to her return in half an hour.

By the time she came back I had undone the top half of my overalls and tied them around my waist because of the hot sun. I’d begun to work up a sweat too. Miss Truscott made me put it back on saying I was ‘improperly dressed’. At least this time she didn’t make me replant anything.

Half an hour later she returned with a glass of lemonade in her hand. ‘Things are looking up’ I thought. Then she calmly drank it as she watched me work; telling me as she did so to replant the Chinese herbs. Then her heels clicked away once again.

Miss Truscott returned twice more before I was finished. Each time my heart raced at the sound of her approach and my prick twitched and grew in her presence. Each time she criticised my work. Not once did she call me by name.

Just after midday I finished work and knocked on her door once more. As I did so it swung open and, without thinking, I stepped in. I took two or three paces before calling out but there was no reply. I was thirsty. And I could see her kitchen. Without thinking I found her fridge and helped myself to Miss Truscott’s lemonade.

Just for once, just when I needed to, I didn’t hear her footsteps. “What are you doing in here?” She hissed, making me jump and consequently I spilled drink down the front of my overalls.

She moved quickly, grabbing me by the ear lobe, forcing me to my knees.

“You really are a bad person, aren’t you?” She said. “You wreck my garden, sneak into my house, steal my drink and then make even more mess.!”

My eyes were at her thigh level. While a part of me was hearing her words another part was admiring the contours of her skirt, thigh and calf. Despite being deluged in cold lemonade and despite, or maybe even because of, the tight grip she was exerting on my ear, my cock began to swell and stir once more.

“Please...” I said, knowing that this time my wet overalls were stuck firmly to my skin. She would see my dick if it got any bigger and I would be in even more trouble.

“How are you going to pay for the damage?” She said. “How do you wish to make amends?”

“I’ll do anything..” I said. “I’m sorry.”

She paused. I could feel her looking at me. I could feel my cock still growing. It seemed to like the wet clinging material. I knew it liked her.

“Sorry?” She said, with a faint smile. “You will be.” She pulled me to my feet and made me stand facing the kitchen wall. “Take off your overalls.” Said Miss Truscott.

Any other time I would have leaped at the chance but now I wasn’t so sure. “Just to be clear, I’m going to punish you.” She said. “That’s what bad people like you deserve. Now, do as I say. Take off your overalls. They’re wet through anyway.”

It was this last piece of undeniable logic that made it all seem OK. She was going to be firm but fair. I began to shrug my way out of my clothing. Soon the overalls, tucked into my work boots, fell in a pile around my ankles. She wouldn’t let me step out of them tough, wouldn’t let me move. This was probably a good thing. My cock was at full erection now, poking through my boxer shorts at the wall. Miss Truscott was behind me so I didn’t think she’d seen it. Yet.

She told me to lean against the wall with my arms resting above my head. This stretched my back and showed all the muscles on it. I’m quite proud of my back; because of the work I do it’s quite well developed.

She seemed to think so as well. She ran her hand across and down my spine. “Nice.” She said. “But don’t let it go to your head.”

I don’t know if she intended the pun but my cock grew with pride even if nothing else did, which made it very difficult when she tried to pull my boxers down to the floor. The waistband caught on my steeply angled hard-on. Embarrassed, I had to lift my shorts over my prick to help her.

Miss Truscott didn’t say anything. She just laughed. Then she began to spank me.

Which, of course, is what I’d always wanted her to do. Like I said, Women like Miss Truscott aren’t everyone’s cup of tea but as soon as I’d seen her, that very first time, I knew that she was the one. The one to give me my first taste of what I’d only been able to dream about. No wonder my cock was stiff. I’d wanked about this often enough.

“This is my hand.” She said. Then she cracked it across my arse six times, three times across each cheek. It hurt. It was sharp, intense and my skin began to glow. To avoid her hand I pushed my hips forward and found myself rubbing my cock against the cool wall. I was hot and it was cold. It was lovely.

She paused and ran sharp finger nails over my sensitised skin. I thought that maybe six with her hand would be it. Then she pulled my hips back taking my cock away from the wall.

“Keep them there.” She said.

Then she reached over to one of the working surfaces and picked something up. “This is a chopping board.”

It was hard, flat and wooden. She could get both my buttocks at once. The pain was much more intense. She gave me six with that too. I tried to keep my hips still. I tried not to call out. I tried not to let my eyes water. I tried really hard not to rub my cock against the wall, against anything. I failed.

Miss Truscott moved my hips back once more. “If you come over my wallpaper it’ll be the worse for you. Dirty Boy.” But I could hear the heat of lust in her voice.

She crossed to the other side of the kitchen and back again. “This is something I use for tenderising meat. Most appropriate.”

I didn’t see what it was. The pain was sharper, more localised; but my arse was already tender. I could feel the heat of it, hotter than the midday sun.

She gave me another six. Somehow I kept my hips still. I was gasping at the end of it though. She stepped to my side and encircled my engorged cock with her cool dry hand. She squeezed. “You like it don’t you.” She laughed. It wasn’t a question but I nodded anyway.

“What’s this?” She said and then spanked me with her free hand. I didn’t know what she meant. She spanked me again. “Hurry up before I have to give you another clue.”

“Your hand?” I said through clenched teeth. Not difficult really; both her hands were still touching me. How could her skin be so cool when mine was so hot? She reached across for something and spanked me again.

She didn’t ask the question but somehow I knew that she wanted an answer. “Tenderiser. The meat tenderiser.”

Again Miss Truscott was silent. I thought for the first that I could detect a catch in her breath. Maybe I was getting to her. She spanked me again and then twice more. “Hand.” I said.

“Ah! Chopping Board. AAH! Chopping Board.”

Her voice was softer. Her finger nails traced down my back, softly at first then scraping sharply across my tenderised cheeks. My cock was jerking, awaiting her touch.

“I’m glad to see that you can learn a lesson.”

Her hands fell to her sides. She stepped back. “You can go now.”

I was devastated. How could she leave me like this? Like any real man in this position, I did the only thing that I could. I began to plead and beg. I waved a hand at my engorged genitals. “Please?...”

Miss Truscott laughed. “Very impressive.” Then she slapped me. Without a further word she stepped forward grasped the root of my cock and dragged me firmly into the centre of the kitchen.

I hobbled along behind, with my overalls flapping around my ankles I could only take pigeon steps, helpless in her hand. She made me lie on the tiled kitchen floor. Quarry tiles feel cold, hard and uncomfortable when you’ve got a freshly reddened arse.

She stood above me. “Let’s get this straight. This is about my pleasure, not yours. You will not come unless I say you can. If you do, I will make you leave straight away. Is that understood?”

I nodded, looking up at her, my body riven with dark passion. I watched her squat down over me, hopes, and cock, rising. It was my face she squatted over though. She raised her skirt hem slightly and then pinned my arms above my head at the wrist. As her hips bore down I got the biggest surprise of the day.

I’d fantasised that Miss Truscott might be wearing grip top stockings; I couldn’t possibly have imagined that she wasn’t wearing any knickers. Hairy pussy filled my mouth. “Eat me.” She said. “And make it good.”

Her pussy lips kissed mine and my tongue sought and found her clit. It quickly became obvious that she was wet. Not just moist but slippery with her own juices.

She was enjoying all this as much as I was. My cock soared into the air at my discovery. She rode my willing tongue.

I discovered that the best policy was to keep it hard and still and to let her own rhythm dictate her pleasure. She ground herself into my face, sometimes letting my tongue circle her clitoris, at others driving hard onto my mouth, pasting me with her hip movements.

It became a private world - My head buried underneath her tweed skirt. A world of musky, dark pleasures, the driving imperative being grinding desire.

She was getting there, I could tell. Then Miss Truscott lifted herself off me, slid her wetness down my torso until she found my cock. Slowly. Oh, so very slowly, she fed my hard meat into her willing cunt.

She slapped me again; I had been groaning with desire. “Don’t you dare come!” She hissed. “Don’t even move!”

She began to ride me, pushing my heated cheeks into the cool floor. Miss Truscott tossed her head and gasped her pleasure. Her hands came up and undid her white blouse revealing olive skinned breasts tipped by stiff nipples. Both had been pierced.

My hands reached up to touch them. They were magnificent, everything I had imagined.

She slapped them away, slapped my face even harder. “You can look,” She whispered, “but you can’t touch.”

Instead her own hands teased and pulled her nipples as she bore down, and up, and down onto my rigid cock. I couldn’t help thrusting; really, I couldn’t, but she slapped me anyway.

Then her fingernails scraped at my chest and found another nipple to torment. Then she began to rub at her own fanny as she rode me, driving my sore buttocks into the unforgiving floor. She forced her thumb into my mouth, like a prick substitute and willingly I mouthed it.

“Now!” She cried. “Fuck me now!”. I thrust at her, at last sliding my whole length into her warm sheath. I thrust again and again.

She hung her head and her hair caressed my chest and then she came; Her internal muscles gripped my cock, pumping it, milking it. “Now.” Hissed Miss Truscott. “Come. Now.”

And I did, pumping as much of myself into her as I could, each shot of come triggering more spasms in her body.

********

It was dark when I headed home. I had learned much more during the afternoon; things which I cannot even begin to describe here.

Suffice it to say that I kept my job, at a price; but then giving my Sundays up to the service of Miss Truscott was a price that I considered well worth paying.

I don’t expect you to approve. Just bear in mind that I like my strokes different from other folks, and so does she.