Author's introduction: Once again I have returned to a favourite theme of mine: that of putting a totally vanilla acquaintance into a fictitious scenario whereby she is portrayed as a pain-loving, submissive slut. I have changed her name, and all the other supporting characters (Richard and myself not withstanding) are figments of my imagination. As usual, I include the rider that all sex described takes place between consenting adults of at least eighteen years of age. I hope you enjoy my fantasy. Please consider using the scoring system when you've read this story, and don't forget to leave a comment.
"Mrs. Simpson! Fancy seeing you here! I don't think we've met since you taught Dewi all those years ago."
My heart sank. Mrs. Gaynor Harris hadn't changed much at all. She still looked as if she'd been dragged through a hedge backwards. Her hair was a riot of frizzy, knotted curls and her blouse and skirt were dishevelled and full of creases. She put a heavy shopping bag down by the table at which I was sitting.
"I'm just going to get myself a coffee," she continued in that breathless manner that had so irritated me when I was indeed her son's teacher. "Would you like another?"
She nodded at my almost empty cup. "I'm having a latte. What can I get you?"
Given the reason why I was sat in the sunshine outside the coffee shop, I had to think quickly.
"I'm fine, thank you, Mrs. Harris," I said, draining my cup. "I was just about to leave. I'm meeting an old friend, so if you'll excuse me..."
I started to get up from the table when I heard a familiar voice.
"Mam? What on earth are you doing here?"
Once again, I got that heart sinking feeling. I might not have bumped into Gaynor Harris for years, but for the past six months or so, her son, Dewi, my past pupil, had been fucking me almost every weekend and sometimes midweek too.
I looked at Dewi and shook my head briefly. He winked at me and accepted his mother's embrace.
"Look who I bumped into, love," she said, still clinging to her tall, well built son. "It's Mrs. Simpson. You remember her, don't you? She taught you all those years ago."
"Of course I remember her," Dewi said. "How are you, Olwen?"
"Dewi! Manners!" scolded Gaynor. "It's Mrs. Simpson to you. She might not be your teacher any more, and you might be a very successful barrister, but good manners cost nothing. I think you should apologise to Mrs. Simpson."
Dewi looked at me with a grin.
"Are you going to tell her or am I?" he said.
I was flabbergasted.
"Um... what exactly do you mean by that?" I asked.
Dewi ignored my question.
"What do you want, Mam?" he asked. "Your usual? Olwen? A flat white? Sit down, the pair of you. I'll get us all a coffee. Mam, by the time I come back, you'll have told Olwen everything. Then, you'll shut up, and listen to what Olwen and I have to say."
He strolled into the coffee shop and Gaynor and I looked at one another.
"What the hell was that all about?" I asked, and Gaynor blushed a deep red. It made her round, pretty face rather attractive, I thought. She opened her mouth to speak.
