As she opened the door to let the cat out for the night the door was taken out of her hand, opening fully to reveal him standing there. He smiled at her as the cat darted past him and, as she backed away from the door, he moved up the stairs and into the house, turning to lock the door behind himself. Her heart was hammering in her breast as she backed into the corner furthest from the door, watching him as he moved inexorably toward her. She opened her mouth, to speak…perhaps to scream and his lips covered hers warm and firm, not yet demanding. He took her hands, pulling them firmly overhead and she realized her back was arching against him, her cunt moistening with the beginning of hunger. She moaned, low in her throat, and felt him smile against her lips. He pulled back momentarily and she saw the fire gleaming deep in his hazel eyes as he laughed softly and said, “Say please, cher’!”
The racket of the alarm clock startled her upright with her mouth still opening to say please. Her nipples were hard as rocks and gooseflesh covered her skin but the tingling, burning, near pain of wanting was centered in her groin. She rubbed herself through her panties, discovering their wetness in the process. She gave some thought to the cobalt blue vibrator in her bedside table, but it was getting late and she had an early class…
Looking in the mirror after her shower she laughed softly to herself. If they only knew, she chuckled. “Old Ms. Redding” who wears calf-length skirts and cardigan sweaters-who lives alone and has cats and wears her hair in a tight little bun on top of her head….if they only knew that under the cardigan, under the skirt, a volcano lurked, constantly on the brink of eruption. And the new science teacher was fuel to her fire.
Entering the Teacher’s Lounge she discovered him making coffee and reminded herself quite sternly, “It was only a dream. Fraternization between staff members is strictly prohibited”. Turning to put her things into her locker she watched him surreptitiously from the corner of her eye. He had a dancer’s innate grace, or perhaps a martial artist’s she thought. His movements as he reached for filters and coffee, setting out cups, creamer and sugar were quick and economical, without wasted motion. His body was strongly built, muscular, and not too lean. Her hands literally itched to touch him. She wanted to stroke the long sloping plane of his back, and gave in to the momentary impulse to visualize him naked, painting in imaginary tan lines…..where? Ahh yes, she thought, just below the belt line. It seemed to her the room was heating up and she could almost see the leonine sway of his balls as he bent to throw something into the trash….
“Alexandra Redding” she scolded herself, “you have GOT to pull yourself together!” Taking a deep breath and steeling herself mentally she walked firmly to the counter, picking up a coffee cup as she passed the stack. Coming to a halt next to him she began to reach for the pot, but he beat her to it and turning to her with a smile said “Coffee, cher’?”
She felt her mouth open and heard herself say “Please?”, before she choked, blushing rose and peach. There was a hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth and again she thought she saw a brief spark of fire deep in his eyes before he turned away.
Later, at lunch, she decided to pick the brains of the most notorious gossip at school. If anyone here knew everything there was to know about the enigmatic stranger, the school secretary Maggie would. Fortunately Maggie spotted her the moment she entered the cafeteria, “Yooo hooo, Lexi! Sit here dear, I saved you a spot!”
As Lexi sat next to her, the garrulous woman launched into one of her favorite new topics, “Have you met the substitute science teacher taking Judi’s place till her Maternity Leave ends?”
At Lexi’s silent head shake she continued, “His name is Cliff Montclair. He’s from somewhere down around New Orleans and the Principal is having a fit because he rides a Harley…can you even imagine?”
Indeed, she could she thought, giving the secretary only half her attention and nodding occasionally while she ate, Lexi had a vivid fantasy of Cliff striding into the empty cafeteria wearing his leathers. As she opened her mouth to speak he shook his head slightly, holding a finger to his lips for silence. He walked across the empty room tossing helmet on one table and jacket on another and as he came up to her he put both hands up to her head, pulling out the clip holding her hair in it’s bun. He grabbed the mass of auburn curls and pulled them down around her face and shoulders, the only trace of his smile of pleasure hidden in his eyes. Turning her around and cupping her breasts from behind he gently thumbed her nipples to hard raspberry points, before bending her forward across the table. He sroked her long thighs through her skirt, reaching down finally and flipping it upward. He showed no surprise at her corselet and garter belt but reached past her with one long tan arm and grabbed a stick of butter. She began to writhe against him, unsure if she was isveçbahis trying to get away or to get closer as he began to rub the butter around the tight pink rosebud of her anus. Reaching around her with buttery fingers he began to stroke the hot, hard pearl of her clit and she realized suddenly that he was stroking her, and pressing into her ass with the butter-coated head of his cock. “Say please, cheri!” he whispered hoarsely. She began to squirm in ernest then as her arousal neared it’s peak when she suddenly became aware of…
“Lexi Redding! What on earth is wrong with you? You act like something just bit you!” the secretary’s scathing whisper brought her back to earth with a start and muttering something about, “bladder infection…”, she grabbed her things to dash from the room, but as she turned to flee she saw him, Cliff, watching her from across the room. And she could swear he subtly tilted his bottle of water in silent toast before turning his attention back to his lunch companions….
The next few weeks passed in a fog of fevered desire and fantasy for Lexi. Fortunately, classes were nearing Winter Break so everything was “review, pre-test, and finals”, leaving her able to concentrate almost exclusive attention on her lust for the silently watchful Cajun. She noticed the most minute details to add to her fantasies…the faint smell of tobacco that would linger around him occasionally…the small embroidered initials on the cuffs of his shirts…the meticulous cleanliness of his hands, and their square thickness (some women might swear by men’s feet sizes or noses, but she felt you could always REALLY tell from their hands…). She bought a copy of the movie “The Big Easy” and watched the initial bedroom scene between Ellen Barkin and Dennis Quaid over and over, picturing herself with Cliff in their places and the “toys” in her bedside drawer got such a thorough workout that she had to buy more batteries…
And in the last few days before Winter Break officially began she prepared to take her own “winter trip”. Since turning 40 she had decided that she was not going to wait for Prince Charming’s arrival anymore in order to travel or enjoy her time off. At least once a year she would plan to go somewhere “different” – somewhere she had always wanted to go, but also somewhere she could “cut loose” and be herself for a change…no students to control…no parents or school boards to impress with her brains and her teaching abilities. She could not, for instance, go to Hawaii for fear of running into someone she might possibly know on vacation, but one year she studied French and went to the Riviera. She spent several weeks on one of the many topless beaches, coming home tan and fit and with the addition of a full back-piece phoenix tattoo courtesy of the artist with whom she’d had a fairly torrid affair while she was there. There had been the young torero in Seville, an artist in Agricento, Sicily, the German archeologist that she met in Israel…and in Japan, to her surprise and occasional chagrin, it had been the multi-lingual female tour guide who taught her a great deal about her sexuality and ability to function as a multi-orgasmic, totally sexual being…
For this trip though she didn’t have anything quite so exciting planned. She had a room reserved at a small Southern Bed and Breakfast south of Memphis. She had no specific plans other than to relax, and rest. She wanted to get away from the tension she’d been experiencing for the past several weeks, perhaps hear some good country music, and eat some good home-style cooking. She packed blue jeans and boots, and nothing but her simplest white cotton underwear and bras. She was most emphatically NOT going on the prowl or with the intent of finding a lover to relieve her tension. If she couldn’t relieve said tension with Cliff, then she simply wasn’t interested in relieving it anywhere else at present, and on the first day of break she was ready. She tossed her duffle into the back of her rented Rio along with her boots and cowboy hat and headed south on Highway 55, checking in to the little Inn near dark.
She woke the first morning to the sound of someone’s rooster crowing and a faint cackle of hens gossiping. She stretched blissfully, gratefully inhaling the aroma of line-dried cotton sheets and biscuits baking. A dog barked sharply and was answered by a horse’s whicker. It was like going home again, she thought and felt the peace and relaxation seep into her soul. Throwing back the quilts and climbing out of bed she realized how chilly the weather was as her toes curled away from the floor and her nipples pebbled. “Traitors” she thought at them and laughed as she padded off to the bathroom to dress for the day.
After stuffing herself full of biscuits and gravy and coffee with real cream and sugar she headed out to the barn in search of some morning exercise and transport. In response to her question about which horse she could ride the old man forking hay down from the loft, laughed and said, “Well Missy, reckon ye kin ride whichever ‘un ye kin catch!”
Her brown eyes darkened isveçbahis giriş to nearly black and one brow arched as she looked up at him, contemplating various forms of bodily harm, but then her eyes narrowed and her chin lifted as she accepted the challenge. Settling her hat more firmly atop her braided hair she grabbed a feedbag off a hook and went in search of “supplies”. She threw a handful each of the corn, oats and dried apples into the feedbag and snagging a bridle went out to see what other surprises the day would hold for her.
She straddled the rail fence for some time, hat brim down, watching the horses until settling on a buttermilk gelding. The gelding had been eyeing her for a while, ears pricked forward in curiosity, his tail swatting flies in a desultory fashion. He was a good looking horse, no obvious faults and he appeared healthy and full of energy…besides, she liked his color.
She could feel the eyes of the old man still on her occasionally as she settled more firmly atop the fence, pulling the hat a little lower over her eyes, making certain not to make eye contact with her chosen animal. She began a tuneless, low noted humming, barely audible more than a few feet away and watched the horse take a cautious step forward. Wrapping the bridle over her arm and nesting the feedbag through the center of it she draped it over her inside leg, still humming and not making direct eye contact with the horse.
Like reeling in a fish, she thought, as the big animal moved closer and closer over the next few minutes, irresistibly drawn by the sound of her voice, until the point when, nostrils quivering, he could recognize the smells in the feedbag, and her capture was all but accomplished. As the gelding shoved his nose into the feedbag, she lifted the bridle into place and heard the old man speak from somewhere behind her, “Ya’ll been ’round horses afore, Missy.” he said, sounding somewhat betrayed. She nodded curtly as he added, “If’n ye’ll hand that bridle ta me, I’ll get Buckeye saddled up fer ya. The Missus, up to the Big House, she’ll fix ya a lunch bag ta take along if’n ye like…” and turning with the horse he headed back to the barn.
Well, she thought, grinning to herself as she jumped off the fence, guess I am going to make a conquest on this trip after all…
She spent the day riding out on the woodland trails and up into foothills, stopping midday near a small brook, falling merrily down a hillside, she ate the prepared ham and cheese biscuits and hardboiled eggs, before she noticed the fully loaded blackberry brambles overhanging the creek (crick she corrected herself…you’re down home again now…have to say things right, not like the proper school mar’m). She stuffed herself with blackberries until her hands, face and shirt were spotted and stained purple. Then, spotting a patch of wild mint she tore off a couple small leaves, crushing and bruising them first and then chewing them briefly before spitting them out-she then leaned out over the water and drank deeply of water that tasted so fresh and cold that it hurt her teeth. She couldn’t remember who first taught her the trick, but it was definitely one worth remembering she thought.
Later that morning she came across a small, deep pool, warm in the sunshine and protected on all sides by a thicket of bushes and brambles. Buckeye walked in nearly belly deep to drink his fill as she looked around the glade speculatively. The quiet was palpable-the water warmer than the calendar would lead one to believe. She clicked her tongue against her teeth and saw the sensitive ears swivel back toward her, “Time for a break, Buckeye?” And laughed as he bobbed his head in apparent understanding. She turned him back to the edge of the pond and tied him securely to a low limb giving him plenty of lead before moving to the other side of the clearing to strip and stack her clothes.
As she entered the water she caught her breath sharply realizing the apparent warmth of the water was misleading, below the surface the water was deliciously cool against her skin, stimulating senses already roused past bearing for weeks. Stifling a sob of frustration she threw herself forward in the water and began lapping the small pool. Back and forth, over and over again she drove her body until at last, in weary frustration she pulled herself up to lay half in and half out of the water. Rolling to her back and spreading her legs she drove the fingers of her left hand into her raging pussy while with her right hand she began to rub her clit furiously. The tears began to flow in earnest as her back arched with her climax, the muscle spasms driving her legs together and rolling her onto her side. She sobbed angrily for several moments, pounding the ground in her frustrated rage. The curious Buckeye nosed her in the back once, then again harder when she didn’t respond. She put a hand up and laid it along his velvety cheek, “It’s okay fella…It’ll all be okay.”
She returned to the barn near dinner time, leg weary and ass sore from riding so long. The old man was waiting for her near the door, isveçbahis yeni giriş whittling on a piece of wood and spitting from a large wad of chewing tobacco tucked back in his cheek. He tipped his hat, not saying a word about her bedraggled condition, “I’ll have Buckeye ready first thing after breakfast tomorrow, Miss.”
“Thank you, Mr.?” she paused.
“Willie, Miss, ye doesn’t have ta call me Mr.”
“All right then, but you have to call me Lexi.”
“Yes, Miss Lexi” he grinned at her, revealing toothless upper gums and lowers that hadn’t seen brushing in….well, a long time, she thought.
Shaking a finger at him like she would an errant student, and grinning in spite of herself, she turned and headed back to “the Big House”. The remainder of the week followed in similar fashion. Days she spent trying to forget the luscious Cliff, at the same time realizing that the action and motion of horse-back riding was simply further fanning the flames of her passion and fantasies. By the third day she and Buckeye seemed to have established a route in their riding which would bring them by the small, quiet pool, late every afternoon. She found little relief though in fantasies and masturbatory efforts in the open air. At night, after dinner, she would retire to her room and languish in a tub of hot water, ostensibly to ease the aches of riding all day, but in truth to indulge in an hour or more of sexual fantasy and masturbation.
Frequently she would start by turning the water on slow, but steady and warm. Thrusting her open cunt under the tap she fantasized about Cliff’s hot mouth on her, his tongue warmly pulsing against her until she needed to smother her cries with the washcloth so as not to alert “the Missus” as to her activities. But lately, it seemed as though nothing would, or could satisfy her raging lust. Later, in bed, the old wrought-iron bedstead would rattle and chime as she came, and came again, using her own saliva as lubricant for her fingers and whatever she could find in lieu of the toys she had left behind, the round handle of her hairbrush, the tube of hand lotion, or anything she could put up her ass or her cunt or both at once.
By Friday she was not sleeping well and was beginning to think this trip had been a mistake. She might just as well have stayed at home where, at least she might have run into him occasionally while out shopping. Here, she had another week of miserable loneliness to look forward to. If not for the fact that she couldn’t expect a refund in the off season she would just leave now and go home. As she dropped Buckeye off at the barn though on Friday evening, Willie, stopped her, “Miss Lexie, reckon ye look like a drink might settle ye. They’s a place down ta town name a’ Murphee’s. They got a open-mike night ever Fridee n’ ye cain’t tell who might be showin’ up. They’s been all kinda folks from up Nashville n’ Memphis come down here ta try out they new songs. Reckon ye should go.”
Lexie smiled warmly at the old man. It was the longest speech she’d heard him give anyone in a week’s time. “Thank you, Willie, reckon maybe I will.” At least, she thought, it would give her something different to do, maybe something to look forward to, and if she got drunk enough maybe she could sleep through one night without the dreams….
Driving into town later she realized she still smelled strongly of horse and thought perhaps she should have bathed and changed clothes, then she laughed to herself, “Sure,” she thought, “Like Cliff is going to show up here somehow and sweep you off your feet!.”
She was still giggling to herself as she reached the center of town. There were a number of cars and trucks parked around the square and the compelling rhythms of Mary Chapin Carpenter’s “Down at the Twist and Shout” were pounding through the air. Couples, old and young, were dancing in the square, on the sidewalk, and even inside, on the dance floor at “Murphy’s”.
Weaving through the crowd as she made her way to the bar she realized that, with so many people dancing there were plenty of open tables and booths available. She drank one whiskey sour standing at the bar as she waited for her second, scanning the crowd, the tables, and listening to the music. There was an open booth between a booth full of men smoking cigars and playing poker, and a booth full of laughing women that looked like someone’s bridal party. An errant breeze wafted a hint of the cigar smoke in her direction, reminding her strongly of that smell of tobacco that would sometimes linger around Cliff, providing the final impetus to her decision of booth over table.
She slid fully into the high-backed booth, back against the wall and stretched her legs out on the bench seat, setting her hat on the table and waving her drink at the bartender, seeing his quick nod of understanding. She had a good view of the dance floor, and the stage and settled back to daydream about what it might have been like to be here with Cliff. With his natural grace and apparent rhythm of movement she wondered if he would have preferred to be one of the couples two-stepping clockwise around the floor, or in that group line dancing… No she thought, they’d be dancing as a couple, maybe like that young couple over there, so lost in each other they were barely swaying to the music…