January 8-10, 1988
Single, middle-aged and bespectacled Angelina Lione may look the part of the prim, proper and sexually repressed, buttoned-up bibliothec, but she's most definitely NOT your father's librarian - at least not while in a lover's company. Blessed with a ravenous and unquenchable sexual appetite, Angelina's orgasms are so intense that she oftentimes faints during the throes of passion.
While never mistaken for a perfect 10 with her large brown eyes, tucked behind oversized, Diana Prince-style eyeglass lenses, Angelina still cuts quite the desirable figure, with a fetching face always perfectly and tastefully made up, and a sleek and shapely body. Her short, black hair, speckled with gray, was cut in a chic, wedge/pixie-style, puffed and piled on the top and curled forward around the ears. Angelina's attractive physical traits, however, always paled in comparison to her overwhelming sex appeal. Using her vast store of feminine wiles, Angelina negotiates about her lovers' hearts, minds and bodies as deftly as she navigates the Dewey Decimal System, manipulating infatuated men for her monetary and personal gain.
High maintenance and even higher fashion, Angelina always models the latest designer threads - oftentimes accentuated by any one of her dozen pairs of high-heeled dress boots. Her sophisticated look even extends to smoking accessories. The haughty diva wouldn't dream of smoking a cigarette if it wasn't filtered through her long, black holder. More of a cigarette holder sucker and stroker than a smoker, Angelina seductively works the black shaft with her mouth, tongue and fingers as if it was a penis proxy; the effect that playing with the long, stiff holder has on would-be lovers is like snake charming. Under the sexy siren's magic spell, they're entirely at her mercy; powerless to resist the temptation to pleasure her - as if they really would.
Angelina spent her 20s and 30s as a fully-committed member of the sexual revolution of the 1960s and '70s - bedding dozens upon dozens of men. Only when she reached age 40 did her love life settle down - for her anyway - when the lusty librarian entered into a long term, nearly exclusive, torrid affair with the principal at her school. After the forbidden relationship unceremoniously ended six years later, Angelina found herself alone at a time when her peers had long since settled down into blissful domestic life. A prolonged romantic dry spell followed, until a former student unexpectedly burst into her life.
Twenty-two year old Tom Bailey had been in lust with Angelina since he was a 13-year-old student of hers, drawn in classic fetish fashion to the sexy librarian's stylish, high-heeled boots, seductive smoking and even her pretentious and snobbish personality. Over the past nine years his feelings - like his fetishes - for the femme fatale only grew stronger, until he could no longer keep them to himself. The pair had just launched an intense, physical relationship when Harry Seymour, Angelina's old boss and lover, re-entered her life. Unable to decide between the two romantic suitors, Angelina proposed a date-off - or "fuck-off" - as Tom bitterly described the arrangement.
Now, with her love life once again in full bloom, the amorous woman was in sex heaven - reliving her youth, when men practically lined up around the block to date her. Preying on the men's sexual addiction to her, Angelina gleefully bounced between their beds for nearly a month, until Tom finally prevailed.
The love triangle finally broken, Angelina and Tom were finally free to embark on a committed, loving relationship. But the couple's path to romantic bliss was lined with a phalanx of challenges - not the least of which was familial. During their first fortnight together, Tom met Angelina's family - and had been unnerved by her brutish and overprotective brother-in-law.
It was a couple months into their relationship before Tom worked up the nerve to introduce Angelina to his folks. The encounter set off a tremor that was bound to trigger aftershocks along the fault line of their courtship. The meeting with what turned out to be an old work adversary so unnerved Tom's mother, in fact, that she subsequently resumed a long dormant smoking habit.
That introduction went poorly enough, but how would Tom's college friends react to seeing him with a much older woman? What would be their impression of her? What would he see in her? Sure Angelina was attractive enough - but she was an attractive older woman. Why would young Tom be interested in a 50 year old, when there were plenty of lovely ladies his own age available? And when they got a whiff of her pompous and bitchy personality, they'd really question what was in this relationship for Tom and the age difference would be even more pronounced. The very real possibility existed that they'd disapprove of this affair, judging Tom a weirdo and mere boy toy to Angelina's dirty old woman.
Private by nature - and especially embarrassed to confide in anyone about his smoking and boot fetishes - how could Tom possibly explain to them that Angelina embodied all that he found physically alluring in a woman? How every time he saw the haughty diva smoking from a cigarette holder or strutting about in a pair of delicious, high-heeled, knee-high leather boots it made his dick dance and pulsate with delight. Or that when every time he and this MILF-before-the-term-was-coined made love it brought him to heights of pleasure he never dreamed possible.
To temporarily escape from and forget their family pressures, the May-December couple took a romantic Caribbean cruise over Christmas break, 1987. The getaway was just what the doctor ordered - if the physician in question was noted sex therapist Dr. Ruth Westheimer, anyway. Tom and Angelina engaged in a month's worth of uninhibited and lusty sex in just one week. It was like their weekends back home - only uninterrupted by family and work obligations - when they oftentimes enjoyed thrice-daily, intense and passionate lovemaking. In these heady, early days of their dating life, Tom felt like he was attending a sex fantasy camp with his boyhood crush, while to Angelina, she was thoroughly caught up in the joy of what could be her last shot at romance and passion.
Still, for as much fun as they were having, Tom began to have grave doubts about how their relationship, such as it was, was evolving. To him, it seemed like all they did was make love. They didn't really talk or act like a textbook dating couple, and this concerned him. While Tom wasn't complaining about having the best sex of his life whenever, and practically wherever, he wanted it, the young man couldn't shake the nagging feeling that maybe he was only keeping Angelina's bed warm until the next - in a long succession - of lovers came along. Perhaps one who was closer to her age and who had a career that allowed him to spoil the materialistic woman more regularly than Tom, with his entry-level publishing salary could afford to do.
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January 8, 1988
Tom Bailey pressed his horizontal body tightly against his girlfriend and with one last pelvic push - aided by her hands pulling his butt cheeks even closer to her - drove his erect cock so deep into her vagina that his balls practically followed it in. As the 51-year-old Angelina Lione closed her brown eyes behind her slightly tinted eyeglasses and moaned in orgasm, Tom capped off 35 minutes of all-out love making with an ejaculation explosion that coated every square inch of her pussy.
"I'm parched," Angelina announced a minute later when the two exhausted lovers had finally recovered enough to unfold their sexul body parts from the other.
"Okay, I'll get you some water," her doting 22-year-old boyfriend said, now sitting on the edge of her heart-shaped bed.
"That's not what I'm thirsty for, darling."
Before Tom could stand up, Angelina gently grabbed his semi-flaccid penis with her left hand, moved her head over his groin, then went down on his dick, taking it zestily into her mouth. Submitting all the way, her lover fell back onto the bed to relax and enjoy the experience.
"Mmm...your semen is good to the last drop," sighed the contented Angelina, paraphrasing a line from a popular coffee commercial, a few minutes later after her deep-throated act sucked her lover's penis dry. "I could live on cum."
"And I could live on your blowjobs," said the equally contented Tom, still lying on the bed.
"Fellatio, darling, fellatio. That other term is so gauche and lower class."
Tom rose from the bed, smiled affectionately at Angelina, gave his old middle school librarian a kiss on the lips then turned away to gather up his clothes that he'd quickly shed and tossed on the floor when the couple began their frantic foreplay.
"Are you sure you can't stay the night, darling?" Angelina asked, sitting up in bed on her elbows, silver necklace dangling over the hand she was using to modestly hold the silken bed sheets over her pert, age-defying bare breasts. "I'll make it worth your while. This time I'll smoke from one of the other marvelous cigarette holders you picked out for me with your brother's money. Due thank him for me, won't you, by the way? Maybe the all-white one... or the delicious-looking red one. By the way, my love, your taste in holders is exquisite. They're so classy, elegant and beautiful. I've never had three holders at one time, much less in three different colors and styles. Now, I can vary them and have one for any occasion - be it in public...or private."
"I'd hope you never had three lovers at one time."
"I said 'holders,' you scamp. 'Holders.' Not 'lovers.' While I've certainly had my share of them, I've never had the pleasure of three of them at once."
"And I'm here to see that you don't."
Angelina picked up the ten inch red holder from her nightstand, slowly stroked the shaft with her index finger and thumb with the blood red nail polish, then slipped her right leg out from underneath the covers, extended it and flirtily rubbed the calf of her knee high, high heeled, black leather boots up and down her boyfriend's right shoulder.
