Hotbeds

CHAPTER 3: THE PASSIVE MUMMY

Introduction: The chapters of Hotbeds are supposedly written by an elderly man recalling his sexual adventures as a prep school teacher in the 1950s and 1960.

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I settled into the new place and enjoyed it, because it was a country mansion in extensive grounds, and the staff accommodation was good. There was even central heating in our rooms. The drawback was that the female staff, though friendly and co-operative, was not sexually available. The school secretary was initially approachable and a good deal of foreplay went on, but there were strict limits.

The bra could come off, but the knickers stayed on, even though rummaging around in them was encouraged. I was reminded of Madam, in that orgasms were expected. Masturbation was offered, but it was mechanically performed and joyless. After some weeks it also became clear that sex was a preliminary to marriage, and no intercourse would be possible until an engagement ring was in place.

There was, however, one sexual partner, available at half-terms, when parents collected their boys for a long weekend. For one boy's mother came alone, and from a distance which required her to arrive the day before and stay over in the local hotel.

Or was there an ulterior motive to the stop-over? Because she (I'll call her Irene) arrived at the school the day before the first half-term, asked for me at the office and was directed to the staff room, where I was drinking tea with two colleagues after afternoon school. I didn't know the lady, but I asked her in. My colleagues, divining that she wanted a consultation about her son, politely left us alone together.

She was in every respect 'a lady.' Even I could tell that her perfectly fitting tweed skirt and toning jumper, probably cashmere, were of the highest quality. She was exquisitely made up, and her poise and movement were elegant. Her appearance suggested that she took good care of herself, with the aid of massage, exercise and diet.

Our strong tea in old earthenware mugs was clearly not to her taste, but, after declining the worn armchairs, and quickly checking the seat, she sat down in one of the kitchen chairs in which we sat at the table. I sat opposite, and she told me she was concerned about her son's progress, but his brief letters home were full of my praises, so perhaps I would could help him?

The boy was actually getting on well, and not exhibiting any anxiety. His mother was, however, gazing into my eyes with a slight smile on her perfectly lipsticked mouth. She told me that her son had indicated that I was a young master, so perhaps I was more sympathetic than older staff who were set in their ways and further from the youth of their pupils.

The intensity of her gaze was slightly disconcerting, but exciting, as there was obviously more to the conversation than her lad's welfare.

And we reached the point when she said in what I recognised as a prepared speech, 'Perhaps we could discuss this less formally away from the school. I'm staying at the - Arms and I'd be glad if you could dine with me tonight. If you're free, of course.'

Naturally, I was free, and would have released myself from anything to be so. Because this was an attractive brunette, with a shapely bosom, fine dark eyes and an inviting mouth. And, better still, when I showed her to her car in the driveway, walking behind her, I noted that she had a disproportionately large bottom, which appeared to be constrained by some foundation garment, as such were then called. Further, when I opened the car door and she got in she allowed, or contrived that, the skirt rode up her stockinged thighs to suspender-belt level and even permitted a peep of silk knicker.

Once inside she wound down the window, looked up at me, smiling knowingly, and said, 'Probably better not to tell anyone about this evening. We don't want people to get a wrong idea. I look forward to seeing you. Good-bye for now.' She put her hand out and shook mine with a quick, emphatic grip and release.

I did not have to answer any questions about this meeting, because my colleagues had departed for the break, and no-one was surprised when I excused myself from the supper. I made use of the hot water for a thorough cleansing, and then dressed in my only suit.

Irene was waiting for me in the hotel foyer, almost hidden in the depths of a huge leather armchair. Without getting up she offered me a hand and wanted me to pull her to her feet, holding onto my hand for a minute. She was dressed now in a beautiful ivory-coloured dress with a neckline which allowed an inch little cleavage. Her dark hair was gathered into an elaborate coronet on her head. As she led towards the dining-room I noted there was something different about her rear view. She had released her bottom from restraint and it moved freely under the shiny, silky gown.

It was a leisurely meal. We both knew what was to follow and were not in a hurry. The talk was of books, films and other leisure activities. She was a keen horse-rider and asked if I rode. Her son was not mentioned. Then, over the coffee, she told me her room number, and, soon after, got up and left.

The waitress had gone to serve in the bar and there was no-one at reception, so I could ascend the stairs without being seen. I knocked gently on her door. There was no response, so I assumed she was already in bed and reluctant to call out. I opened the door, and found her standing just inside, motionless, fully dressed, eyes closed.

Tentatively I took her hand. It lay inert in mine. I drew her close and began to kiss those carefully painted lips. Her mouth opened when I thrust in my tongue, but her tongue didn't move. She did begin to breathe a little faster, but I realised that I was to make all the running. She would be merely acquiescent, preserving the illusion she was not really involved.

I was not going to stress that magnificent dress, so I found its zip at the back. To get it off I realised I had to lower it. She would probably not raise her arms, as that would be too co-operative. Once the garment was round her ankles I put my arms round her and lifted her out of it. Now she was in a full length slip, which, again, had to be taken down. I lifted her again, and put the two garments on a chair. She was standing, head lowered, in matching silk bra and French knickers.

Should I carry her to the bed now? No, I undid the bra and drew the shoulder straps down her arms. The cups came free and her breasts dropped into sight.

They were not large but they were lovely, the kind with a generous curve below, bringing the nipples high up. Not that I had many examples to compare with at the time.

When I caressed, sucked, licked the nipples they hardened sure enough, but the only response was a slight intake of breath.

As a bottom-lover I was eager to view those sizeable cheeks and slid my hands down the back of the knickers. That bum was indeed firm and full. All that pounding on the saddle. But when I began to draw down the drawers she clamped her hands against her hips and prevented further progress. They were not to be removed.

They were, however, loose-legged, French, ones, which allowed pussy-access and I slipped a hand up the right leg and felt for the vulva. My fingers tangled into a veritable jungle. I was going to need care and patience to find my way through this little forest. It would be helpful to lay her down, so I gathered her up and carried her to the bed, where she lay on her back, still motionless.

I lifted her legs apart and drew aside the gusset. The long, straight hair needed careful parting and smoothing aside to reveal a tightly closed vulva, the inner labia sealed shut within deep outer lips. I managed to get my mouth onto that tight crevice and began to suck and lick, probing for the clitoris. Slowly the slit opened, the labia engorging, and the tiny nub erected. She drew a deep breath but otherwise lay still, eyes closed.

Hastily I undressed, wondering if I should actually go on. Did she expect me to penetrate, or was I supposed to bring her off by touch and tongue? It seemed best to continue and see if she would object. At the same time, I wondered if I would actually be able to get into a completely passive woman.

So there she was, semi-knickered but apparently ready, and there I was half-erect and doubtful. I was spurred on by the recollection that she had surely got me there for full intercourse. The sight of that deep, dark pink, slot, nestling and nested in that luxuriant bush was also inviting, especially when I pushed the pantie-crotch further aside to discover that the foliage was not the usual triangle across the mons, but a diamond, tapering up the stomach almost to the navel.

The lack of response was still daunting, though, and I decided that what was needed was the sight of that voluptuous bottom. I therefore pulled her towards me and flipped here over so that her knees were on the floor, her body face-down on the bed. The view of those curvaceous cheeks, escaping the loose silk was magnificent, and if the knickers were not to be removed there was yet something that could be done, and I did it. I tore the gusset off. And now I could push the remainder up the gorgeous buttock-slope.

Kneeling on the floor behind her I brought my now hard cock-head between the labia and tucked it into the opening. There was a flinch, which I read as invitation, and I launched myself inwards. The vagina was just glutinous enough to let me buck home, but there was a teasing slight resistance.

Then, as I slowly eased out and in, in and out, the juice began to flow and the full benefit of that hot, slippery perfection was mine. Clearly I was fulfilling my mission. I added to the enjoyment by stroking those glorious globes, squeezing them together and pulling them apart. And as they parted and that deep romantic chasm was fully revealed I saw that the puss hair continued back behind the vestibule, behind the anus and up the crack. This was interesting, and exciting, and I had to rein back a little to prevent myself coming.

Instinct guided me to keep diving to the depths, to the cervix, and surfacing till almost out, maintaining a steady rhythm. It became almost hypnotic, poised a few strokes from ejaculation. I lost track of time.

Eventually, I sensed a development. The buttocks began to clench and unclench. Meantime the vagina loosened inside and gripped tighter at the mouth. At the same time, she began to breathe, deeply, in time with the in-strokes and I knew the orgasm was available. How was it to be brought on? I increased the pace and vigour, slamming into the cervix and testing the angle till I found the optimum speed and direction.

How was the climax to be signalled? It was indicated in a suppressed series of little shrieks and the bottom clenching till it was rock-like. Relieved that the assignment was completed, I let loose a flood of sperm at the furthest point, beside the cervix.

We remained in position till I began to slip out, and I reached for the slip from the chair and wrapped round her loins to catch the outflow as I withdrew. Then I moved round the bed, turned her over and picked her up under knees and shoulders.

I stood with her in my arms, eyes still shut. I laid her on one side of the bed and opened the covers on the other side, so that I could roll her over onto the sheet and draw the covers over her.

She was drained and drowsy, her eyes closed now in sleep. I bent and kissed her lips, dressed without haste and made an unobserved exit from the hotel.

Next day, I made sure to be on hand when she collected her son. We shook hands briskly and I assured her the boy was making good progress. Then she drove off.

For the rest of his career at the school, at every half-term, his mother and I repeated the assignation. The only differences in the procedure was that the evening dress was never the same twice, and, to mark what we knew would be the last occasion, she was at dinner, and, of course, later, bra-less and knickerless under the gown. How I relished that oscillating bottom, as we walked to the dining-room, and, later, as I stroked us to climax.