Mrs Macmillan

"Mrs Macmillan?"

Standing in front of me was my High School Home Room teacher, albeit nearly 30 years older than when I had last seen her. She seemed a little shorter, a lot grayer, but undeniably this was Dorothy Macmillan. I'd had enough schoolboy fantasies about her all those years agoo that I couldn't be wrong ... could I?

The older woman turned to look at me, a query in her eyes as if to ask me why I was bothering her. Her gaze took in my wife, standing beside the shopping cart I was pushing, came back up to me and said, simply, "Yes?"

"Hi. I don't know if you remember me - it's Mike Smith. I had you for Home Room in 1981, do you remember"

Immediately that amused twinkle that used to keep schoolboys up at night appeared in her bright blue eyes. "Yes, Michael, I do remember you, quite well. Hello, I'm Dorothy Macmillan" she introduced herself to my wife, Jenny. "Obviously your manners are still a little wanting, eh Michael?"

Slightly embarrased, I introduced Jenny, and asked Mrs Macmillan if she'd like to have a coffee with us in the coffee shop there at the shopping mall, and she agreed. We each took our shopping to our cars, meeting there a few minutes later. Sitting down, the waitress came over, took our orders, and left us alone.

"So, Mike, have you become the big success that I always thought you would?"

Jenny just smiled as I told Mrs Macmillan that I was a moderately successful science fiction writer. A series of books over the previous few years had enabled us to move into this more upmarket suburb.

"Well, you were either going to be successful, or go to jail I guess" she said, laughing.

Jenny looked a little dumbfounded for a second, then joined laughing, asking Mrs Macmillan what she had meant.

"Oh, call me Dorothy dear. I think we're all old enough for first names don't you? All through school Mike here had some harebrained scheme or another happening. He was so busy thinking up some new plan that most of the time he never got his school work done, or skipped class while he was working on something 'more important'. I can't tell you the number of times he got switched for skipping class. Of course, in those days we were allowed to switch naughty boys!"

Throughout this I was going redder and redder, my wife's jar was dropping further and further, and Mrs Macmillan was looking happier and happier. It was obvious that I hadn't told Jenny everything about my past. I was feeling just like a schoolboy again, and not in a good way!

The arrival of the coffees provided a welcome break to the conversation, allowing me to try and change the direction this was going.

"So, Mrs Mac - ah ... Dorothy. Do you live local to here?"

"You always did ask silly questions. Of course I live locally - why would I come all the way out here to do my shopping if I didn't live here?"

"We just moved into Barnard Street," Jenny chimed in, "into an old house near the bottom of the hill."

"With the overgrown garden? That's the old Hamilton place. I used to play in that house as a child. Jane Hamilton was my best friend for many many years."

That opened up a long conversation on the history of the area, the people who had lived there, and the newer residents like ourselves, and lots of other local topics that lasted until long after the coffees were finished.

As we started getting up to leave,I turned to Mrs Macmillan. "perhaps we might see each other around again" I said.

"No doubt about it." she replied, that twinkle back in her eyes. "I live about five doors up from you"

That was the final straw - now I was dumbfounded.

Jenny smoothly interjected "Wonderful! You can come and have coffee more often, and tell me more about my wicked husband!" she laughed. And at that we broke up and headed to our cars. Sure enough, Mrs Macmillan drove into our street, with us behind her, and continued a short distance before turning into a driveway on the same side of the road as our house - we literally lived five doors apart!

That night, amid a house full of packing boxes and half-arranged furniture Jenny wanted to know more about Dorothy and my 'naughty' school years.

"So, was she serious - did she used to whip that butt of yours with a cane? How often?"

"Ah ... yes, she did. Probably two or three times a month. It was only after lots of warnings, but I just didn't get it during school - I never really fit in with what they wanted me to do, no matter how I tried."

"And you liked her, didn't you. " Not a question - a statement. Damn - how do wives figure this shit out!!

"Mrs Macmillan was stunning, and when you're a teenage boy with hormones flowing you'll fantasize about just about anything, including the woman who bends you over her desk and gives you five of the best with her switch."

"I'll bet you wanted more than just that" Jenny murmured just under her breath.

"Yes, I certainly do!". All this talk about Mrs Macmillan, and switching, and remembering bending over had me hard as a rock, as Jenny was about to find out! I picked Jenny up, and carried her through to our bedroom (still just a mattress on the floor) and we had some of the best sex we'd ever had.

And Mrs Macmillan was in my head the whole time.

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Some weeks passed, and I occassionally saw Dorothy out on the street, or doing some gardening. She'd maintained her figure quite well considering her age. She was around 5'6", nicely padded in all the right areas, though not fat. The curly blonde ringlets of my youth were now straighter grey swirls, typically done up into a loose bun at the back of her head. Loads of laugh lines across her face framed those never-to-be-forgotten bright blue eyes.

She and Jenny seemed to get on like a house on fire. Jenny would often drop some tidbit of information that Dorothy had given her about my youth, which I would take in relatively good humour. But over time it started getting a bit 'old', and I was getting tired of hearing about things I'd done, and an alarming number of things that I actually hadn't!

One day I came in from clearing some of the overgrown backyard, and there were Jenny and Dorothy sitting in the kitchen, drinking coffee. As soon as I walked in they looked at me, burst out laughing, and then quickly quieted themselves down, starting to talk about something that obviously wasn't the subject I had walked in on.

Hot, sweaty, tired, I stumped through the kitchen and into the living area. As soon as I was out of the kitchen more laughter erupted, and i could hear the conversation continuing in shushed tones, intermingled with more laughter and an occassional "No! Really?!" from Jenny. I just got angrier.

I headed back ito the kitchen to get a drink before going back to the yard work, and naturally they changed subject again. I must have been a bit forceful with the fridge, because when I closed the door I heard something inside fall over.

"What's up Mike?" Jenny asked. Looking at her I could see the tears still streaming down her face, the flush of her face describing how hard she'd been laughing.

"Nothing!", and I headed for the back door.

"Now there's no need to be rude, Michael." Mrs Macmillan only ever called me Michael when things were going bad. I froze, and turned around.

"ME Rude!?" I exclaimed. "What about you two changing subject everytime I walk into the room. No doubt you're telling her about another of my punishments!"

"Why yes, I was. It seems you haven't been totally honest with Jenny, and I'm setting that to rights.

"Frankly Dorothy, that's none of your business"

"YOU can call me Mrs Macmillan right now, young Michael. Come Here!"

To this day I can't tell you why, but I went over to the table they were sitting at, standing between Jenny and Mrs Macmillan.

"Your manners haven't improved a great deal young man. Bend Over!".

Suddenly I was back in school, not in my own kitchen, and the same Mrs Macmillan who had launched a thousand hormonal hard-ons was there. I started to bend over like I used to, then realised where I was and started back up.

"Oh no you don't" sais Mrs Macmillan and Jenny, almost in unison. And then, the biggest surprise of all, was my wife helping my old teacher to push me down over the table.

"I don't have a switch handy boy, or we'd do this properly", which was followed quickly by her 70+ year old hand landing solidly on my butt.

I jumped like I'd been hit with a cattle prod, but Jenny on my back kept me over the table, as the blows rained down on my backside.

"This won't do at all", muttered Mrs Macmillan, and the next thing I knew the sweatpants I'd been wearing were pulled down to my ankles, followed quickly by my underwear. "That's better" she said, and then the spanking started in earnest.

Blows landed all over my butt, and down my thighs. I was howling like a teenager before it finished, tears flowing freely. All this time Jenny had remained holding me over the table, and as it became apparent that MRs Macmillan had stopped she started stroking my hair and making cooing, soothing, sounds.

Mrs Macmillan reached under the table in front of me and let me know that I had a huge hard-on. "I'll let you take care of this" she told Jenny, guiding Jennies hand down to my throbbing boner. Jenny looked at me in wonderment as Mrs Macmillan left through the back door.

I remained over the table, sore, embarrased, turned on, humiliated. I heard rustling, then Jenny guided me on to my back on the table, and stepped up on a chair then onto the table above me. I looked down to see she'd stripped from the waist down, and she wasted no time impaling herself on me. I was amazed to realised that she'd been turned on by my spanking, obvious by how wet she was. Normally Jenny takes a little while to get going, but there she was, eyes closed, pounding herself up and down on my prick, bottoming out on every stroke.

It didn't take her long to cum, with a long low moaning coming from the depths of her soul that rose into the mindless expression of a truly immense orgasm, and I could feel her body trying to milk me, but somehow I was staying hard as a rock.

She climbed off, stood next to the table, and looking me in the eye simply said "Take me." So I got off the tabel, put her in the position that had so humiliated me, and holding her arse cheeks apart slipped into her tight wetness from behind. She was incredibly tight, incredibly hot, and I knew that it wouldn't take me long now.

All normal, rational thought evaporated as I attacked her body like an animal. She was holding on to the table for dear life while I hammered intoher from behind, instinct alone driving me towards the inevitable climax. In a distant part of my mind I could feel her juices trickling down my thighs, hear her keening wail as she approached another orgasm, smell the closeness of our bodies as my own climax grew nearer, then suddenly it was there, and I gave a few full-length thrusts before burying myself into her as I unloaded everything my body had left.

Panting, sweaty, with my softening cock slowly melting out of my wifes raw snatch, logical thought started returning, and I looked around the room only to catch Mrs Macmillan watching through the kitchen door, smiling. She turned and left then, before Jenny saw her, but that self-satisfied smile had spoken volumes.

Jenny got up then, hair dishevelled, with a slightly sleepy satisfied look on her face. She smiled at me, then went past me towards the bedroom where she had a shower. I wasn't sure what to do next - I was standing in my kitchen with my pants around my ankles, my soft cock covered in cum and pussy juice, and a slowly dawning realisation that my arse was hot, probably red, and very sore.

I went through to the bathroom, where Jenny was just climbing into the shower. She stood under the stream, looking out at me with a kind of amused look on her face. "Well, I never expected to see something like that".

I just looked at the floor, embarrassed.

"We need to talk about it, you know. You've had a thing for her for years, that's obvious. And that was some of the best sex we've ever had. I'll have to look at spanking you more often!!"

"I don't think so!" I exclaimed. "I'm a middle aged man - I'm too old to be spanked!"

"Oh, I don't know," said Jenny. "You were harder than I've seen you in ages, and watching you take a spanking from your old teacher turned me on like you wouldn't believe. Mmmmmm," as she slosed her eyes, running her hand down to her crotch, "it makes me wet again just thinking about it". And she played with herself right there in the shower in front of me, rapidly getting herself to a small orgasm. Now Jenny isn't a prde, but she has never liked to masturbate in front of me, yet here was my wife standing in the shower wantonly fingering herself right in front of me. Today was bringing TOO many changes for me to handle!

I handed her a towel when she got out, stepping into the shower and trying to come to grips with everything that had happened. A quick glance at the clock above the vanity made me realise that everything ahd changed, my whole world turned upside down, within the last 30 minutes.

When I left the bathroom and walked into the bedroom to get dressed, Jenny was lying back on the bed, her knees wide apart and drawn up, spreading her lips with her fingers. Her glistening sex made it obvious that she was still very much aroused, and the sight of her posed like that brought life back to my prick pretty quickly.

"Eat me." It wasn't a request. It wasn't a suggestion. It was a directive, and I felt strangely comfortable with it. Crawling up from the bottom of the bed, I started long slow flat licks with my tongue, starting down near her arsehole and drawing slowly up over her clit. The effect was instantaneous - my normally quiet and slightly reserved wife grabbed my head, pulling me closer into her and forcing me to eat her harder. After a few minutes I once again heard the low moan coming from deep in her throat, building slowly until my mouth was flooded with her juices as she came like I've never seen before. Don't get me wrong, Jenny has had some intense orgasms in the past, but this was like nothing I'd ever seen.

Once again she got forceful, pushing me onto my back and impaling herself on my cock. Her climax peaked pretty quickly, and she climbed off, not giving me the change to cum again. I must have looked a sight, lying there with my cock point up at me, face and crotch covered in her juices, wondering what was coming next. "If you want to cum again, you do it."

Once again feeling humiliated and embarrassed, I just lay there, not sure what to do. I'd never jerked off in front of anyone, let alone my wife, and I was still somewhat in shock by the turn of events that afternoon.

"Go on, do it? Pull yourself and show me what it looks like when you cum".

Once again, the tone of voice was not how Jenny normally sounded when we were in bed. This was different, more authoritative, more commanding. I closed my eyes, and started to fist my prick, faster& faster. My orgasm was elusive, getting close then pulling away at the last minute. My frustrations must have started showing, because Jenny got up and sat firmly on my face again, facing down my body towards my cock. She started rocking forwards & backwards, so my nose & tongue were alternately rubbing over her pussy then her little button arsehole. The humiliation of jerking off in front of someone, the intoxication of Jenny's cunt clamped over my face, the dawning reality of the afternoons events all came together and I came again. Not as big as previously, but still impressive for the second time in less than an hour. Seconds later I felt the telltale signs of Jenny having a nice little climax as she rode my face, all the while smearing my cum across my stomach with her hands.

Finished, she got off my face, and suggled in next to me on the bed, like we normally do after we make love.

"I love you", was all she said, gently drifting off to sleep.

And minutes later I had joined her.