Florence giggled, realizing that she was still half dressed. She hastily removed her underclothes as she was doing so Penelope found her eyes roving down Florence's taught legs gazing at her perky little boobs with their rosebud colored areolas. She had a gorgeous womanhood with its sparse blonde hair. Penelope didn't consider herself an expert on vaginas but, as far as vaginas go, she thought that Lady Florence's vagina was the snake's eyebrows. It looked well-trimmed so that there was never a hair out of place. The women resumed their kissing and Florence eased Penelope down upon her desk, and then climbed on top. She positioned herself above Penelope so her love nest was right above Penelope's face, while her own was above Penny's. Florence felt Penny's tongue work upon her groove and her fingers explore her innermost recesses. It was delightful; and Florence did the same, matching her stroke for stroke. Soon they were exploding in a sea of orgasms as the desk tottered and shook beneath them.
Penelope gasped and found herself back at the library with a pile of books before her. She saw "Jeeves in the Morning" on the top of the pile. She smiled, remembering reading all Wodehouse's books when she was in high school. Psmith, Bingo Little, Bertie Wooster; all those men were twits, but the women, those husband hunting dragons, were marvelous. They didn't need a husband at all; what they needed was one vivid orgasm. On that subject, Penelope thought, a trip to the ladies room was in order. She kept a personal massager at her desk for just such an occasion. Lesbian fantasies, she smiled to herself, how naughty. She almost never had those. Sometimes she'd imagine Sappho seducing her by singing praises of her beauty. How delightful it must have been to be loved by a poet, Penelope thought. One must feel intoxicatingly sexy all the time.
The day dragged after that. Her shift ended at four. She went out into the late day crowd and took the bus home surrounded by strangers who never looked at her. It was raining by the time she got off the bus. She got off and ran to her apartment.
Her apartment always had the slight scent of a lemon blossom; Penny had been fond of the scent since she was a little girl and placed a generous touch of lemon peel in the potpourri. She enjoyed it most because the fragrance was an immediate shock in the cold northern clime, as if now one was entering a sunny southern port. In the darkest days of winter Penny would stare out the windows and dream of a soft southern clime. She had the walls painted in bright tones to make the place seem cheerful, and even radiant. Upon entering she saw that her radiant love, Marcel, was waiting for her standing in his banker grey coat and top hat. Despite the apartment's warmth, but Marcel hadn't removed any layers, he even still held his ebony walking stick tucked under his arm. He hastily shut his pocket watch and tucked it into his vest coat when the door opened. His face had the distant look, his blue-grey eyes looked like a distant storm, one drawing closer; soon it would break into a scowl. Penelope knew that there would be a scene and that she would be required to play her part; Marcel would be satisfied with nothing less. She gave him her prettiest smile and asked him if he had been waiting long.
"Long?" that seemed to be the moment of explosion when the crisis would best the both of them, but he suddenly regained his composure in a second of reflection. "Well yes," he continued offhandedly, "Where have you been? Spending my money I imagine."
So that was the issue at hand, a tiny trace of a smile played upon Penelope's lips. She should have guessed that infidelity, jealousy and suspicion wouldn't prey on Marcel's mind; not like the Francs would. Marcel had wanted a love nest on the fashionable part of the city; expected her to dress well so that men would stare at him in jealousy when they were out and certainly made no objection to the garters, teddies and stocking when she paraded in those before him; but when the bill arrived he would become an ogre.
"Stop," she said and put a gloved finger upon his lips and slowly drew it down before him.
"But these bills..." he objected, with a determination to chastise her.
"Stop," she repeated in a more commanding tone of voice. "Don't be angry, Marcel, I want to look good for you and that costs. Don't you like the way I look?"
"Well, yes, but..." he sounded a little more flustered.
"I appreciate you've been good to me. Shall I show you my gratitude?" Penny said and gave a devilish smile then she got down upon her knees and deftly unbuttoned his trousers. Even in all his rage Marcel was already growing hard, much to Penny's delight, for his storms did nothing to dampen his lusts. In its hardened glory Marcel's penis was a delight, thick and veined; she eagerly took it into her mouth and gleefully began to suck on him.
The heavy, masculine taste of Marcel's penis made Penelope think of the first cock she had sucked. It seemed so many years ago when her Latin professor, Monsieur Vendon had made love to her. All the girls in her finishing school were in love with him; with his piercing black eyes and his broad chest everyone paid rapt attention to his lectures. How bitterly jealous they became when he started to give Penelope attention. She heard their whispers in the halls and her few friends told her the most vicious rumors; all of them amounted to the same that she was a slut who had seduced her Monsieur Vendon and any number of other teachers. The rumors hurt her very much at the time, but not so much that Penny would ever reject one of his advances, he was simply too handsome and too confident. She, for her part, was one in a long line of his special students; some who later became erring wives, but most who became fils-de-joie. He had a knack for finding girls who were unsuited for either the convent or for a domestic life, but were more than willing to please a man. He would take Penny walking in the fields after church with her parent's full blessing, for a teacher was a proper guardian. How they would have turned violet with rage and with shame if they had seen the way they had kissed once they were out of her parent's sight. They found a secluded spot in the park where Monsieur Vendon began fondling Penny's heaving breasts. Penny felt that she should have objected, that anyone could have stumbled into their hedgerow and seen them at their most voluptuous game, but Monsieur Vendon silenced all of Penny's objections with a kiss before she had a chance to even express them to herself. He had stripped her down to her pantalets; Penelope again became nervous; fearful of removing that last remnant of her modesty. Monsieur Vendon seemed to sense her fears and asked her to pleasure him with her mouth. It was an obscene request, or so she had been taught, but snuggled against his muscular chest, she felt completely under his spell. She got on her knees, unfastened his breeches and gasped with delight upon seeing the male organ up close for the first time. How the other girls had whispered and giggled about it; and how livid they would have been if they knew she had seen a real penis, and Monsieur Vendon's penis at that. He taught Penny how to kiss it, how to play with his balls, how to suck and most importantly to so swallow all his seed. While she had forgotten most of her coursework in time; those lessons proved to be among the most important of her education as Marcel was clearly enjoying them.
"Oh dear," Marcel breathed in rapture as he reached his climax.
"You see how silly you were," Penelope said, as she stood up and kissed Marcel. "Oral sex makes everything worthwhile."
"No doubt you would want some yourself."
"No doubt," Penny replied to no one but the cats. Her husband wouldn't be home for a few hours. She had nothing to do but get started on dinner. She was making a Moroccan dish called pastille. There were spices, figs, lemons and all sorts of exotic ingredients in the dish. Her husband came home and she served him wine and food. Then, while he ate, she began to tell him a story as was her custom.
"Hercules was the mightiest warrior in the world. His fame had spread to Tespae, where a terrible lion had plagued the country for years. King Thespius dispatched a messenger to ask Hercules to kill the beast. Hercules came to the land and hunted. This lion was wily. Hercules spent 50 days hunting him down. When he had cornered the lion Hercules picked up a club and battered the beast's brain in. It was a mighty battle but Hercules prevailed.
The king held a feast in his honor. King Thespius had a large court with many lords; but what he was most known for were his fifty daughters. The king had many wives but, as was the will of the gods, had no sons. His daughters were comely, with raven hair and olive complexions.
"Such a marvelous battle," said the king. He stood up and announced to the court, "For a reward you may sleep with my daughters, as a man sleeps with his wife." All his daughters looked down and blushed with maidenly modesty for none of them had ever known a man, but there was a secret smile that played upon their lips.
"All of them?" said Hercules. He was astounded. "Shall I stay for 50 days?"
"Oh no, you must have relations with them all tonight."
"But that would be an impossible task," he said.
"The poets say you have done many impossible tasks. Surely one involving just woman would be of no challenge to one who has faced Cerberus.
"There are more dangers in one woman than in all of hades; much more so 50 women."
"You must not disappoint them; as you can see my daughters all squirming with anticipation." The girls blushed deeper, mortified that their father had noted their excitement.
Such is the fate of a god. Hercules took Antippe as a man takes a woman. Antippe got up to fetch Antiope to perform the same task. Upon her completion Antiope fetched Argele who fetches Asopis who fetched Calmatis and so on through the night. Each sister would enter, a little nervous, and leave with a sly smile to fetch her next sister for this most pleasurable of tasks. As dawn was nearing the last sister, Xanthia, came in. She was a beauty, with ebony hair, smoky eyes and voluptuous curves. Even so after forty nine women Hercules was spent. His poor manhood looked in terrible shape. Demigod though he was and one faced with a most delectable beauty, he still could not rise. Xanthis realized his problem. "Do not worry, my lord, for my mother has told me the secret of making a man grow to his full length. It is one that many a Greek boy has used," she said. She put her mouth over his manhood tasting his masculinity mixed with the womanly essence of her sisters. It felt so wonderful that Hercules grew hard much to his own astonishment. Xanthia, delighted in her triumph. She mounted him and impaled herself on Hercules's glorious manhood. She eased herself down and felt his manhood stretch out her insides. It was difficult at first, but soon she found her task enjoyable. Having a demigod beneath her, pinned by her thighs was indescribably erotic. She joyously ran her hands through her hair and twisted her hips as she rammed herself down on that fierce member. Soon she was shrieking out her ecstasy as her womanly climax ran through her.
