'This just isn't good enough!' Mrs. Cox snapped, waving the flimsy piece of paper in front of her daughter's face. 'Do you know how much your education is costing us?'
She was in despair. Her daughter Laura, at 19, had just failed her first year at college, her grades poor, and her future was in balance. She was an intelligent girl, but the report from her tutors and supervisors was that she was easily distracted. Essays were late, assignments incomplete.
Laura was studying French history, and her parents, both university lecturers themselves, knew that she was capable of undertaking the study involved, but her application was missing.
Laura herself knew that she had failed her parents and was inwardly ashamed: she knew she hadn't done herself proud, and was upset that she had let her parents down. She was an only child, an unexpected baby late in life, and her parents were much older than her friends' parents. As a result, she had had rather a sheltered upbringing, and in her first year at college she had spent more time catching up on music, gigs, clubbing and having fun rather than study.
The only thing she hadn't got to grips with was men: she was the product of a local girl's school, and had had very little experience of boyfriends before she went to college. She was a pretty girl, attractive rather than beautiful but she had inherited her mother's slim build, and her fathers striking auburn hair. She was very wary of men, not used to the juvenile brashness of the college boys, their loudness and their noise, hunting in packs as they did at the Student's Union. She had earned the reputation of being off hand and cool, but this simply made her more desirable in their eyes: who would be the one to win her?
Her mother sighed deeply: what were they to do with their wayward daughter? In the end, Professor Cox had contacted friends of theirs in France. Vivette and Georges were delighted to have Laura as a house guest for a few weeks; her language skills should improve no end if she was living in the country.
Laura was mutinous: she didn't want to go and stay with strangers in France. For all she knew, they lived in the back end of beyond, no life for a young woman like herself, but her parents were adamant; if she wanted to continue at university she would have to go.
Vivette met her at the airport in Lyons, and Laura was taken aback by how young she was: this was no dried up old prune the age of her parents, but a vibrant young woman in her early thirties, tanned and lithe. Maybe Georges had a younger second wife? Laura thought, but her questions were to be unanswered as Vivette went on to explain that Georges was detained in Paris on business, although he intended to be home to meet their young guest as soon as he could.
The drive from the airport to her host's home was long, and Laura's heart sank a little at the thought of the distance she would be from civilization. There would be no escaping, she would have to study. Vivette had chattered charmingly throughout the journey, pointing out landmarks of interest, and telling Laura of the history of the surrounding countryside, and Laura couldn't help but warm to her hostess's obvious friendliness and open spirit.
As they pulled into the drive of the couple's house, Laura drew her breath in in surprise: this wasn't a house; it was a chateau, elegant white towers outlined against the darkening sky of early evening.
Vivette showed her to her room, and left her to unpack and freshen up, adding that dinner would be served at 7.
This set the scene for the next day or two: elegant country living, the like of which she had not experienced before. The house was richly furnished and beautifully decorated, the gardens were extensive, and there was a large pool to bathe in should the weather get too hot. Vivette took her to the local village, and Laura's spoken French improved dramatically as she shopped for fresh vegetables and provisions in the local market.
Laura found herself quickly regarding the older woman as a friend; growing up without sisters, cousins or younger aunts, Laura had had no one close to confide in, but the French woman was so open and approachable that she was drawn to her, and soon opened up, speaking easily about her lack of a boyfriend, and her worries about her parents.
A few days after her arrival, Vivette apologetically announced that she had to leave Laura for the day on her own. She had to go into town on business, but would be back before dinner.
'You should study the paintings in the house,' she suggested to Laura, 'Part of your course is Art History, non?'
When Laura confirmed that it was, Vivette went on; 'There are some particularly fine works of art in the master bedroom suite, ma petite, you should go there and look. Georges won't mind,' and with that, she left, dressed in a sharp business suit and elegant high heels.
Laura did as she was bid, and after lunch, she wandered around the house looking at the fine artworks that decorated their home. She had not seen the master suite, and as she climbed the circular staircase to their turret suite she worried a little; this was their private space, and she was a guest. But Vivette had specifically invited her, so she dutifully made her way there.
The main bedroom was at the top of the tower, perfectly circular and dominated by a huge four-poster bed. At one side there was a comfortable looking sofa and chair grouped around a television set. There were several large paintings on the walls between the windows, and Laura went to study them. S
he found them pretty, but not memorable: rustic scenes, dairymaids and farms. What was so special about them? She turned back to the room, and for the first time realized how out of place the TV was. She really couldn't imagine Vivette settling down to watch TV with a cup of tea in bed, and yet there was an untidy pile of video cassettes next to it. Her curiosity getting the better of her, she slipped a video into the machine, and settled into the chair. The screen was black for a moment, and then became a shot of a bedroom. With a start, Laura realized that it was the room she was in, the grand four poster bed taking centre stage.
As Laura watched in astonishment, Vivette walked onto the screen, catching hold of one of the posts and swinging herself gracefully up on to the bed. Her slim body was entirely naked, and Laura watched, dry-mouthed, as her hostess sat cross-legged on the bed, smiling at the camera, flicking her long blonde hair away from her face. Her breasts were small, but shapely and tipped with pale brown nipples. She was tanned all over, no tan lines breaking up the smooth perfection of her skin. She cupped her breasts with her hands, and pushed forward, as if offering them up for inspection.
The camera came closer, a wobble slightly as the cameraman adjusted his position, and then he panned over Vivette's body, her breasts in close-up, and Laura could just see the shadowed cleft between the older woman's legs. The camera pulled back, and Vivette spread out on the bed, her body as elegant as a cat, her movements graceful.
Her legs parted, and for the first time Laura saw another woman's sex. Vivette was neatly trimmed, the tuft of hair above her cleft pale and delicate. As Laura watched, Vivette's finger slid down her stomach, and the middle finger of her right hand delved between her lips. Laura knew what she was doing; she knew the older woman was feeling for her clit.
There was another fumble from the cameraman as he came forward, obviously wanting to get this in close-up, and she saw a masculine hand stretch forward, his fingers parting the lips of Vivette's pussy, giving them both a view of the coral-pink inner lips, neatly tucked inside, glistening and slick. The image wobbled dramatically for a moment, then went black. Frustrated, Laura fast-forwarded, but there was no more on the tape.
She quickly shoved another cassette into the machine, and sat back, almost in relief, as the now-familiar view of the bed came on screen. Vivette was already lying there, and the camerawork was more professional this time, held steady as the lens lovingly caressed her curves, concentrating on her breasts and pussy. She moved on the bed as though she was directed, exhibiting her body. She suddenly rolled over and got to her hands and knees, looking back impishly over her shoulder, and the camera moved in close to her, focusing on her buttocks and the dark cleft there.
Once again, masculine hands moved into view and parted her buttocks, pulling her cheeks apart, showing the puckered ring of her ass. Laura gasped; she knew that she should find this obscene, but somehow her body was reacting, heat building up in her own pussy, and she knew that if she felt there, she would be wet.
