Middle-aged and bespectacled Angelina Lione may look the part of the prim, proper and sexually repressed, buttoned-up bibliotheca, 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 frequently 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, Harry Seymour, an older man who fed her fetish for cigar-smoking lovers. After the forbidden relationship unceremoniously ended six years later, Angelina found herself alone at a time when many of 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 for years, drawn in classic fetish fashion to the sexy librarian's stylish, high-heeled boots, seductive smoking and even her pretentious and snobbish personality. Over time, 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 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 long-term romantic harmony 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 bitchy 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 he and this MILF-before-the-term-was-coined made love it brought him to heights of pleasure he never dreamed possible.
Finally after a year of "dating," the two became engaged. Six months later the improbably couple married. Still, their future seemed as romantically dysfunctional and clouded as their present. In part due to questions surrounding whether or not Angelina was capable of curbing her sexual enthusiasm.
For even while dating her confessed greatest lover, Harry, Angelina engaged in several dalliances with other men. Would the mere presence of a wedding ring on her finger be enough to stop a lifetime of promiscuity. It certainly didn't deter her at her bachelorette party. Certainly if she were to sustain a long and healthy marriage, such party-girl misbehavior would not be permissible. At long last, can this cougar finally change her stripes and commit to a monogamous relationship with someone, ideally, her young husband, Tom?
In the meantime, with Tom free to indulge in his lifelong fixation for women who smoked and wore high-heeled fashion boots, and Angelina able to satisfy her lust for sexual partners who smoked cigars, the May-December couple enjoyed a marriage made in fetish heaven.
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April 30, 1989
"Phhuuwwweeeeet-Phheew!" wolf whistled Tom Bailey from the couch in his living room, as he spotted his wife descending the second-floor staircase of their modest home. "It's a good thing we're married, or I don't know that I'd let you leave the house dressed in that outfit. Actually, I'm not so crazy about this anyway."
Angelina Lione-Bailey flashed a toothy smile at her husband before pausing in front of the foyer's mirror to apply a fresh coat of red lipstick to her plump pouty mouth.
"Hey, isn't that the same dress you wore to the bar that night you came to see my band perform for the first time (see chapter 15)?" he asked.
"Close," Angelina said, down-screwing the cosmetic until the crimson shade disappeared into its tube. "That was Lisa's. I borrowed it from her for that occasion. But I liked it so much, I bought my own."
Angelina looked back into the mirror to re-check her stunning face, while Tom checked out her shapely body, adorned by a spaghetti strap, low-cut, tan tank top, hip-hugging blouse with frilly tassels that extended to just past a hemline that already rode exceedingly high up her waist. Further south, a pair of black leather knee-high, high-heeled boots covered her nylon-encased bare legs as if they were painted on.
"Hey, I noticed one of your favorite movies, 'Auntie Mame,' is on TV tonight," Tom said. "Why don't we stay in and watch it."
"No, thanks," Angelina said, nonchalantly, now brushing a translucent shade of powder on her cheeks.
"But I've never seen it and you're always trying to get me interested in classic flicks. This will be the perfect time."
"Not tonight, darrhhling."
"But..."
"No, darrhhling. I see what you're trying to do and it's not going to work. Besides, it's too late. Lisa will be here any minute to pick me up. Also, you have that new song to learn with your band tonight. C'mon, you didn't expect me to go out on girls' night like I'm dressed for Sunday services, did you?"
"No, but, I was just hoping you'd be a little more... you know, understated an conservative, that's all."
"You want me to feel beautiful and sexy, don't you?"
"Yeah, but I don't want you to advertise it to other guys. Could you at least wear your wedding and engagement rings?"
"I would, darrhhling, but I'm cleaning them tonight. Now, relax. I'm not going out to fool around. I'm going out to have fun. There's a difference."
"Well, at least promise me you won't talk to any strange men."
"We're going to a nightclub, darrhhlling. I can't make that promise. But who's to say any gentlemen would even want to approach me."
Fat chance of that, Tom thought, as he watched from behind as the MILF bent over at the waist to retrieve her handbag from the floor, the movement forcing the back of her already-short skirt halfway up her tight ass to expose her toned butt cheeks.
Angelina was being falsely modest to the point of absurdity. She knew very well that her outfit was designed to attract male attention. Even at 53, Angelina still turned heads. And in that dress and those boots, male heads may rotate a full 360 degrees.
"Tell you what, darrhhling," the sexpot said, lovingly wrapping her arms around her husband's neck and gazing with her smoky brown eyes into his sad-puppy face. "Tonight, after I come home, I'll give you the best fellatio ever. How's that sound?"
"Really?" Tom said, his mood perking like a dog who was expecting a treat.
