Lingualistics

Sometimes, semi-retired, I contribute to short, intensive, language courses in Eastern Europe, where there is great demand, and little funding, for teaching English. My speciality is devising short plays through the acting of which participants learn and practice particular vocabularies and structures. With such events there may be opportunities for extra-mural activities.

One such course recently brought me, despite my advanced years, an especially intense, and unusual, encounter. A hotel in a tourist destination had made the accommodation available at cost, so long as its staff could take part. It was significant that this was a Slavonic language speaking country, because those languages do not use the articles, 'the,' 'a,' 'an,' and even the most advanced learners find mastering these very difficult.

The most striking student was a woman in her forties, fluent in several Slavonic languages, and progressing rapidly in English. But it was not her linguistic talent that was impressive: it was her physique. She was not especially tall, being about six feet or an inch more, but she was otherwise massive. Her shoulders and hips were broad, her upper arms as thick as most women's thighs and her thighs double the dimensions of most women's thighs. And this was not fat, for the flesh was firm, smooth, muscular. As for her bosom and bottom - they were spectacular, the more so because the intervening waist was contrastingly slim. Her measurements in inches were, I estimate, 48-36-48. It was rumoured among the instructors that she had been a wrestler or weight-lifter. Her close-cropped hair, in tight, almost white, curls, suggested some profession in which strength and fitness had been predominant, but she was now turning herself into an English teacher. I will call her Lidia.

She was certainly enthusiastic, unflagging after a twelve-hour day, including instruction, videos, exercises, acting, reading and writing, and sometimes continuing after the eight o'clock dinner, in impromptu tutorials. So, I was not surprised when there was a knock at my bedroom door on the third night. I suspected it was a colleague coming to discuss the next day or someone wanting help with a particular problem.

I had showered and was dressing again to prepare for possible visitors, so put on my robe before opening the door. I was confronted by Lidia, holding two glasses and a bottle of effervescent Bulgarian wine called Iskra, which, appropriately, means 'spark' in Slavonic. She was wearing her usual tight tee-shirt and short skirt, both stretched tight, and a little grin on her broad, light pink lips. She looked down into my eyes and her widely-spaced clear blue eyes closed and opened again in a kind of double wink. She said, 'You are free for the lesson?'

'Yes,' I said, 'I'm free for

a

lesson.'

'Yes,

a

lesson. But maybe

the

lesson, too.'

'Please come in. I'll just go in the bathroom and finish dressing,' I said.

'No need of putting on the clothes. That would be the waste of a time.'

'Just,

a waste of time

,' I corrected automatically.

'Maybe a waste of

the

time. You like the glass of a champagne?'

'A glass of champagne,' I said. 'Thank you. Do sit down.'

She sat on the bed, put the glasses on the bedside table, pulled the cork and poured. 'A good health,' she said, passing me a glass.

'Good health,' I said, sitting in the only chair and sipping.

She looked at me over the rim of her glass and again closed and opened her eyes. At the same time, I began to register a slight aroma. I thought for a moment it was the wine. Then I realised it was coming from her. A teasing, slightly aromatic, tingling sort of scent, salty and unmistakably female.

She drank off the Iskra, poured another. sank it in one gulp and stood up. 'Let us not make a waste of the time,' she said, and abruptly dragged off her tee-shirt, levering it over her huge breasts which shook with the movement within a capacious white bra.

Before I could speak, and I hadn't worked out what to say, she stepped forward, drew me to my feet and undid the cord round my robe. This was about the speediest sexual overture I had ever experienced and I was a little disconcerted, but at the same time excited. 'How did you know?' I asked as she lifted the garment off my shoulders and dropped it.

'You keep looking my boobies,' she said.

'Well, I might just have been noticing their size,' I said.

'No. You want to see them nudely, touch them. Have more champagne.'

'I don't need more drink,' I said. 'Of course, I do want to see your breasts.'

'I want to see your breasts also. They are pretty, I think,' and she took me by the shoulders, spun me round, undid my bra, dropped it, and spun me to face her. 'Yes, they are pretty,' she said, taking them in her huge hands gently and flicking her thumbs across the already erect nipples.

'Not as pretty as they were thirty years ago,' I said, 'But I'm glad you like them.'

She said, turning round, 'Now you take the bra.'

This was easier said than done. The item was probably hand-made and cleverly engineered. The shoulder-hawsers were not only wide but double, fixed not just to the apex of the garment above each breast but to two points, and there was not just one strap round the torso, fastening at the back, but three, broad, separate straps, so powerfully elasticated as to make unhooking hard work, especially as I was having to reach upwards. But I managed and she turned round again.

Detaching the cups, basins wold be better, was interesting, because the contents were so tightly packed within that careful tugging and easing were needed. This prolonged the anticipation of bringing those great bosoms into view, and when the bra finally peeled away they were even more astonishing than I had expected. Despite their obvious weight they hardly sagged. They jutted out like ship's prows, their long, carmine nipples like bowsprits. This was the benefit of super-fit pectoral muscles, I assumed.

The discrepancy in our heights meant that they were pointing right at me and without thinking I stepped forward and thrust my face between those firm, slightly trembling breasts. I had to feel them round my cheeks, breathe in that special slightly cheesy, mammary smell.

She laughed a deep throaty laugh, stepped back and said, 'You suck the nipple.'

'Which one?' I said, the blood singing in my head as if I had drunk all the Iskra.

'Oh yes,' she laughed. 'You suck

a

nipple.'

Obediently I closed my lips round the left one, drawing in the areola as far as I could, relishing the feel of the nipple poking at the roof of my mouth.

Immediately she gave a long, vibrating humming, as if about to sing, and threw her arms round me, pressing the breast against my mouth and shaking violently, so that I had to throw my arms round her as best as I could to maintain my position. She turned the humming into speech, so vocalised as to be singing or chanting. 'Now, now I am having the orgasm, orgasm. All of a time I am having so much the orgasm.'

I understood that she had started cumming and would probably continue cumming, continuously or in separated spasms. We stayed locked together for some minutes, while she shook, hummed, sang, 'The orgasm comes and comes, like this it comes all a time, a time, a time, keeps coming all a time, so fine, so strong, so much.'

Until she detached me and murmured, 'Now you take the ponties.'

'Whose ponties?' I asked.

'My ponties, 'she decreed.

I knelt and contemplated her panties, which defied the diminutive. They were all-enveloping, tight, shiny, silky, glazed at the crotch with oozing cum-juice. And as I reached up to peel them down I realised that her feral, female aroma, emanating from her whole body, but especially from her so-far-concealed pussy, constituted a kind of miasma which had permeated my whole being, bringing my clitoris and nipples to an almost painful degree of engorgement.

The panties slipped down her flanks and she opened her thighs so that I could pull them away from her vulva. Then they were down her legs and she was stepping out of them. And there was a mass of closely-cropped, almost white, tight curls, exactly matching her hair. This was so comic I laughed, before thrusting my nose into that damp mass, seeking with my tongue for the uipper end of the vulval cleft.

Her clitoris was as hard as mine and much bigger, though I hadn't yet seen it. The first touch of my tongue was enough to spark another, or continue the first, climax. Pushing my face against her she sang, 'Here is the orgasm, yes, oh yes, the orgasm,' and she shuddered so violently I threw my arms round her hips, and thus my hands grasped her great bum-cheeks. They were locked tight, smooth hillocks of shapely flesh, across which I ran my hands, marvelling at their sheer femaleness.

She came in waves, the sensation building and then abating, without my doing more than hold my face in place. Indeed, I think my stroking her bottom was as stimulating as my tongue on her clitoris. Then she pushed me gently back on my heels, drew me to my feet and said, 'Now is your turn to have the orgasm. First, I take the ponties,' and she whipped them off with a swift downward sweep, 'And then I make a lift.'

She then confirmed that she had been a wrestler, because she picked me up in a manner I had never experienced. She pushed her right hand through my legs, so that she was holding my bottom, then put her left hand round my upper back and lifted, taking the weight effortlessly. And the pressure of her forearm against my clit and her fingers holding my cheeks was enough to make me cum. Which she recognised at once. She said, 'I lift you into the orgasm. That is good.' She held me suspended, and went into her sing-song, 'Oh, an orgasm makes the orgasm also for me, also for me, for me,' and she shuddered for a minute or more, before lowering me onto the bed.

Apart from having cum from her lifting me like that, the sense of being in her power, mastered by her strength and the force of her orgasms, laid me open to anything she chose to do, to succumbing to as many climaxes as she cared to subject me to. And she went right ahead by separating my legs and saying, 'That is the sweet pussy, which I will give the kissing,' and she knelt beside the bed and applied her mouth to my vulva, aligning her lips with its lips and slipping her tongue inside them. That tongue was as powerful as the rest of her, for it rampaged up and down the slit, jabbing at and slurping across my bursting lust-button to sweep me into a second torrential climax. This at once brought on, or back, her orgasm, prompting her to withdraw her mouth and offer her left nipple for near-swallowing down my throat. Such was her capacity for chain-cumming that she ascended almost without pause into yet another peak.

As the ecstasy ebbed, she prised her breast from my mouth and crooned, 'I love so much orgasms, so many I make, so much I want the woman to make the orgasms with me. Now we will curdle and make loves the other ways.'

'Cuddle,' I said, ever the teacher. 'What other ways?'

She pushed me gently across the bed and climbed on to take me in her arms. 'Put the hand in the vagin and make wet,' she instructed, 'Then put into me. I must have the lady cream in my vagin.'

I liked that idea and gathered my slime as told and slid my fingers into her. I had only to wriggle them a few times before came again, almost crushing me in her arms and intoning, 'I feel your creaming into my body, it is going in my belly, making orgasm like the baby. My vagin licks your fingers, making orgasm more. Kissing me!' She spread her open mouth over mine and sucked my lips and tongue into her maw. I felt her thrust her fingers into her vagina and then they were forced into mine. She was returning the favour, creaming my vagina with her juices, our juices, and I came again with the joyful intimacy, the sharing, and she held me.

Abruptly she released me, sat up beside me, then climbed across me, so that her thighs were either side of one of mine. She began to slide up and down my thigh, and the feel of her open vulva, gliding on her ooze, was intoxicating, especially as with each stroke she gripped with her bottom as it cruised up to my groin.

'Again, again orgasm,' she crooned, 'It is in the vulve and the bottoom, it fills the bottoom all through and through. Can you feel it, feel it in the bottoom, darling?'

'Yes,' I said, 'Your bottom is palpitating, beating like a heart.'

After a little while she said, 'Palpitating, palpitating, that is the good word. I make your bottoom palpitating.' She got off the bed, stood by it and lifted me, as before, with one hand between my thighs, holding my bum and the other under my shoulders. But when she had me level with her waist she skilfully flipped me over so that I was face down, held by one hand under my thighs and the other holding my chest, so that she could lower me onto the bed. She positioned me so that while my breasts were on the bed my knees were angled to cock my bottom up in the air. She then prised open my cheeks and slid her tongue up and down my crack from its beginning in my lower back, over my anus and along my crevice to my clitoris. This was another novel experience and its delicious intimacy was devastating. Seven transits and I cried out, 'Cumming, Lidia, cumming!' And she slid her tongue inside me as I came.

'The bottoom made palpitating?' she asked.

'Everything palpitated,' I said. 'Hold me again, Lidia. Hold me to those wonderful breasts. Let me feel that magnificent bottoom, bottom.'

'First, we have the drink,' she said, 'We must put back in the champagne which has come out of the vagin.' So, we drank more Iskra before lying hugged up tight.

'When I was the wrestler all the time I had the orgasms,' she remarked, 'And the other woman also often had the orgasms, because of how we were close and touching, and they said my body made the perfumy which made them have hard nipple and łechtaczka.'

'Clitoris,' I said. 'Your perfume certainly made my nipple and łechtaczka go hard. They still are. So are yours. Let me see.' And I detached myself, sat up and turned to inspect that pale, curly mons, which I parted to find that big clit. Its glans hardly showed, but its shaft within the hood was long and rounded, like a shallow-buried pipe in a trench. I could not resist running a finger up and down it, and almost at once she began again to chant, 'It make me cumming, cumming is what you say, cumming and cumming now, now, cumming.'

I lay down again and we resumed cuddling, stroking each other and kissing tenderly a long time, till we embarked on another phase of cummage, and then another. But I will finish with an account of one other activity, yet another new experience for me, when she said, 'You like the strength when I lift, I know. Many women like that. So, I will make another one.'

She knelt on the floor and bent her elbows to bring her cupped hands up in front of her shoulders. 'Sit,' she commanded, and I sat onto her palms, each cupping a buttock. Then she stood and slowly lifted, till I was above her head, bracing my own hands against the ceiling for stability. She said, 'Oh, I like this sight. I am looking up in your bottoom and vagin, and now I do this,' and, still easily supporting me, she pushed both thumbs up my vagina and flexed them vigorously. I came at once, borne aloft in fact and feeling.

As the orgasm abated my arms weakened and I would have fallen had she not cleverly caught me, as I knew she would, and held me across her stomach, her breasts resting on mine, my bottom against her bicep. A sixty-four-year-old woman held like a baby.