Anthea's French Lesson

But it was her figure and the way she carried herself that was most alluring about her. Her breasts were ginormous – mine are 36 and they're babies in comparison to hers. They must have been 40 inches of pure unadulterated sex appeal. And she had a luscious bum.

Being so well-built, she also wore clothes that showed her figure off, shiny tight blouses, tight-fitting skirts, often minis. But then, I often wore the same sort of outfits and I often noticed that she noticed, if you get my meaning. Often I'd catch her peeking at my boobs. Every now and again she'd walk around the class, making a point about something to do with pronunciation, and she would nearly always linger just behind my desk. I justknowshe was peering down my blouse. And I've got cleavage to die for!

Anyway, it was a Thursday afternoon, and when the bell went the other nine pupils, the rowdy sods, all marched out whooping and hollering, as usual, when Ms Allcourt stepped in front of me as I was making my way out of class.

"Oh, Anthea," she said, "I just wonder if you'd mind staying behind for a minute or two, only there's something I've been meaning to ask you."

"Sure," I said, and I pulled up a chair by her desk, dragged my mini down as far as I could over my thighs – my thighs are mouth-watering, trust me, it's true.

So anyway, Ms Allcourt went to the classroom door, peered out into the corridor, then shut the door. Then she pulled her chair away from her desk and arranged it so she was in full view of me as she sat down. She was also wearing a mini this day, and her skirt rode up over her left thigh and she made absolutely no attempt to pull it down. Her thigh looked firm, bigger than my beauties, but still very attractive. I like nice, firm thighs.

"Anthea, my dear," she smiled reassuringly at me, "I've been meaning to say how well you are coming along in speaking colloquial French. I'm hugely impressed."

"Thank-you, Ms Allcourt," I replied, feeling really chuffed.

"Please, my dear," she said, leaning across and placing a cool hand on my thigh, "when there are no other students around call me Jeanette, no need for formality now."

Then she went on: "As I was saying, your colloquial French is brilliant." And then she dropped this fucking A-grade bombshell: "Tell me, Anthea, have you heard the expression 'gamahuche'?" And she looked me straight in the eye.

I squirmed. I'm no dummy when it comes to French. I knew that the term "gamahuche" was an old-fashioned term for cunnilingus, muff-diving, Frenching, call it what you will.

"Er, yes, Ms – oops, sorry, Jeanette," I said, stalling for time. "I believe it derives from the French 'hucher', meaning to purse ones lips. I think the more popular term these days is cunnilingus."

Ms Allcourt looked somewhat disdainfully at me. "Cunnilingus – what a revolting word, I far prefer 'gamahuche', but if that's not the word used, then I love the term 'Frenching'," the lovely brunette said.

"Anyway," she added, "I was just wondering if, when you have some spare time, perhaps I could broaden your French education further, if you see where I'm coming from?"

I could see exactly where she was coming from – and to be quite frank, I was intrigued. I was attracted to her – as old as she was – and the thought of being "Frenched" by her, or the other way around, was appealing. Not that I'd ever done that sort of thing, you understand.

"This, er this broadening of my education, Jeanette," I said, feeling more comfortable using her first name now, "it could hardly be in the classroom, could it?"

She smiled. "Hardly, my dear, that would be a somewhat unorthodox, not to say screamingly radical approach to French education. No, what I had in mind was some private tuition in my flat – it's a lovely little place above a lingerie shop in Eton High Street."

The way she stressed the "lingheray" pronunciation was almost pornographic and she must have noticed my reaction. "Lingerie," she repeated, "it's such a sexy word for such sexy garments, don't you think?"

I nodded. "Yes, the French certainly have a way with words," I said. And so do some French teachers, I thought.

"Well," she said, all businesslike, "when would you like to visit for your private tuition. Friday after college?"

I shook my head. "Sorry, Jeanette, I've got a date with my boy friend, who will spend most of the evening trying to get into my bra, or my knickers – or both!"

She laughed. "Of course, you youngsters get up to such randy pursuits. Don't let him exhaust you."
"Fat chance," I assured her. "I sometimes let him cup my bra, but his hands haven't got anywhere else – and nor will they."

Ms Allcourt almost let out a sight of relief. "How about Saturday, then?" she asked.

"I've got hockey in the morning," I said, "shall we say 2 o'clock Saturday afternoon?"

Ms Allcourt scribbled her address and phone number on a sheet of exercise paper and leaned over to hand it to me, allowing her free hand the opportunity of stroking along my thigh up to the hem of my mini. "Please be careful, my darling Anthea," she whispered, "I'd hate to think our little bit of private tuition was going to be cancelled due to an accident on the hockey field."

I stood up, nervously, I must admit, stuffed her address in my shoulder bag and scurried out of the door. I was scared, I was apprehensive, but I knew from the sopping state of my panties that I was aroused!

Friday at work crawled by. French seemed so mundane in view of what I was looking forward to. Friday night also crawled because my awful boyfriend was all hands again. When he tried to grope me after a "Goodnight" kiss I told him it was all over. "Sorry," I said, "I've got other fish to fry!"

Saturday morning went by in a blur. At hockey, I stayed out on my wing most of the game, trying to concentrate on what was happening around me, but secretly my thoughts kept straying to what I was going to get up in a flat above a lingerie shop in Eton High Street that afternoon! Still, I managed to score a goal from a penalty corner with five minutes left which won us the game 4-3.

I didn't even shower with the team. All I wanted to do was get home, shower and then shave my pussy so the heart-shaped design of my fair-haired pubic bush was sharply delineated for Ms Allcourt!

I caught a bus from Slough to Eton High Street and heard the college clock peal 2 as I rang the door bell to the side of the lingerie shop.

It was opened very quickly, and I stepped into the little foyer at the bottom of a long, narrow flight of stairs. Ms Allcourt greeted me wearing a pair of high heels, a black satin slip and a big smile. She kissed me warmly on the mouth and then turned and walked up the stairs with a sexy "Follow me, you lush young thing!"

As she went ahead of me, I could clearly see up the bottom of her slip, her shaven pussy lips pink and glistening, her anal orifice a deep, dark brown. As if reading my thoughts, she turned and smiled: "I'm sorry to be so naughty, my dear Anthea, but in view of what we're going to be getting up to I thought panties would be surplus to requirements."

Up in her comfortable little flat, she took my Yves St Laurent shoulder bag and placed it on a chair. "Now, let's get you more comfy," she said, placing her hands on my shoulders and giving me another warm kiss on my mouth.

I stood mute as she pulled my sweater off, threw it on an easy chair, then knelt to unzip my jeans and drag them down. I stood before her, wearing a black satin uplift bra and a match black thong.

"Come, my dear," she said, leading me by the hand to a long leather couch, "and let's get to know each other."

I sat in the middle of the couch, my knees primly stuck together. Ms Allcourt sat beside me, the warmth of her thigh rubbing against mine. Then she reached behind my back and in a flash the clip was undone and she had my bra off.

I've always been proud of my breasts, I mean at 36 they're not exactly soft-boiled eggs. Ms Allcourt looked at them, remarked "What a lovely little pair of breasts" and lowered her mouth to begin her oral adoration. My nipples were erect from the excitement and as she started to fondle, suck and caress my boobs, I felt my sex juices starting to make the gusset of my thong sodden.

I felt I should reciprocate, so as she was sucking my titties, I reached my hand beneath the hem, of her slip and pulled it up until the garment was hooked onto her shoulders. She pulled back from my breasts and I looked at her set. What a sight!

Her breasts were full and heavy – I knew they would be – but her nipples and areolae were the largest I'd ever seen on a woman. The nipples pointed at me like twin bullets, the areolae surrounding them were almost the size of small saucers. She cupped them in her hands, hefting them up slightly.

"Suck them!" she said. The words weren't a request, they were an order. I bent over the beautiful mounds and took the right one in my mouth, filling it with nipple and breast flesh. She tasted sensational, like a person who's just stepped from a heavenly-scented bath.

After some minutes worshipping Ms Allcourt's beautiful big mammaries, she pushed me away, peeled the slip off entirely, then pushed me to my feet, placed her hands on the sides of my little thong and pulled it down.

As I stepped from the garment and flicked it away with a kick, she noticed my little heart-shaped haircut on my mons. "Oh, a heart shape," she said, lowering her mouth to my mons and planting a long, slow kiss on it, "how sweet, my pet."

Then she pulled me onto the couch, made me sit in the middle of it, knelt on the floor in front of me, pulled my thighs wide and snapped: "Drape them across my shoulders!"

I did as she said, and then heard her murmur: "Such a sweet-looking little snatch. Are you ready, child?"

I remember how husky my voice was as I answered: "Yes, Ms Allcourt, yes."

And she laughed. "No pet, Jeanette, remember?"

And then her tongue was on me. I felt it start at my anus, flickering, then licking, then kissing my back passage rosebud. The feel of her tongue on my anus was incredible, it made my pussy even wetter!

Her next port of call was my vagina, by now seeping juice more copiously than it had ever in my life. She sucked me, then I felt her pointed tongue insinuating itself at the lips, then driving an inch or two up me.

The labia lips, puffed, engorged, aroused to beat the band, were next, her mouth sucking and working softly, gently, then harder, then quicker, then slower, as she played me the way a guitarist strums a flamenco.

And then, after complimenting me on "the tastiest fucking pussy I've ever gone down on", her mouth and tongue went to work on my clitoris.

If the previous stops had been paradise, then this was heaven. I felt a throbbing thrill run through me from my throat down to my cunt, then back up to my mouth again as I gulped and swallowed, fighting for breath from all the oral excitement I was receiving.

Soon I felt a sort of throbbing in my ears, like someone was pounding a drum in my head, then it became faster and faster as Jeanette Allcourt worked her marvellous magic on my juice-seeping pussy.

A minute of this – maybe less, who was clock-watching? – I could hold out no longer and with a keening yelp I whimpered "Yes, mistress, yes, yes, yes" and as I gabbled on and on, the wonderful French mistress's mouth was bringing me soaring to the glorious heights of the best orgasm I had ever experienced.

I lay back against the leather couch, panting and sobbing, and Jeanette – she was now Jeanette, pure and simple – stood up and smiled down at me, before fetching me a glass of white wine from her refrigerator.

She took me in my arms, cuddled me, kissed me on my mouth with her pussy-stained lips, and whispered: "Sup that down, then you can try some Frenching on me!"

I gulped the wine back in one swallow – I was thirsty, but it a thirst for her pussy, not her wine.

Jeanette arranged herself on the couch so that I could kneel before her. She draped her thighs across my shoulders and I gazed at her shaved sex trench. The labia lips were thick and glistening. The cunt was pink, wet and oh-so-lickable.

But following her cue, I began to work on her anus. She moaned the moment I touched her, then placed her hands on my head to guide me throughout my twat-licking task. For a minute or so I worshipped her anus, then moved up to her sopping sex orifice. It was tasty, very tasty, very tangy.

I was allowed a minute or two to perform there, then with a whispered "Higher, pet, higher" she allowed me to run my tongue and lips over her lush labia, the tastiest spot in her snatch of all.

Finally, I arrived at her engorged clitoris and soon she was thrusting hard against my mouth, graunching and grinding against my face as she pressed my head onto her calling out sharply: "Flat tongue, Anthea, flat tongue!"

Then, as if she had prepared it all along, as her climax neared and came closer and closer she started to chant "Gamahuche me, gamahuche me, gamahuche, gamahuche!" She must have repeated the word five times before she abbreviated it to "huche, huche, huche" (only it sounded like "hoosh, hoosh, hoosh") as her climax crashed through her crotch.

I stayed between her full, firm thighs, waiting for her pants to die down, then she allowed me up onto the couch.

We kissed and I awaited her verdict. It was not long in coming.

"Well, my dear," she said, in a far more composed voice now, "it's report time. As I expected, you were a keen, rather than accomplished – oh, what's the word? Gamahuchist? Will that do?"

I giggled: "You're the French teacher, Jeanette."

She smiled. "Right, then it's 'gamahuchist', my darling. Now, as I was saying, keen, rather than accomplished. For a student of your ability, I would have expected full marks. So, what can you expect?"

I pondered. "A spanking, mistress?" an appellation I felt was more suitable than "Jeanette" at this stage.

"No, silly," she laughed, "not a spanking – a whipping! Now, be a good girl and go to the drawer on the desk by the window. Inside you'll find a nice black leather tawse."

I did as she ordered and brought a black leather tawse back to her, with a short golf-club-type handle grip, and a punishment section of some 12 inches. From the tip, the tawse was split into two evil-looking thongs, both about four inches long.

She then made me bend over till my palms were touching the couch, my feet a yard apart, my poor bottom totally exposed to her wicked implement.

From my left side she gave me six stinging, shocking strokes. On completion her fingers stroked against my pussy. The treasonous little bitch was soaking! Next, Jeanette swatted my poor arse six time from the right side, and followed the punishment with another fingery feel-up.

"Well, it seems that a taste of the tawse agrees with you," she smiled, letting my stand and kissing me full on the mouth.

"Now, my pet that's almost enough excitement for one afternoon, but finally I have a little present for you," said my French tutor. "Come with me."

She led the way into a small but beautifully set-up little bathroom. In the wash basin she showed me a pair of black satin panties. They were soaking in a dark-yellow liquid. The aroma which wafted up from the basin left me in no doubt as to what it was.

"These have been soaking in my piss for most of the morning, my pet," she said, stroking my burning buttocks. Then she pulled on the chain, unplugging the basin and the urine drained away.

Taking the panties in her hand she wrung them out, lightly, then popped them in a clear plastic bag sitting on the bench.

"Now, Anthea," she said, "when you get home put them in an airing cupboard to let them dry a bit. When you go to bed, put them on your face – you may need to place a towel on the pillow if they're still slightly damp.

"The aroma will, I trust, remind you of your dear French mistress and her first private Frenching tuition session. Have a little play with yourself, my dear, before you drop off to sleep.

"Then, when you wake up tomorrow morning, the panties on your face will remind you of me again. I think you'll find your fingers straying downstairs again!"

Jeanette then washed her hands, while I dressed. She led me to the head of the stairs, kissed me on the mouth and whispered: "I think you can find your own way out!"

I went down the stairs happier than I've ever been in my life. As I got to the door, I turned and looked up at her, standing at the head of the stairs. She was still clad in her high heels, her calves and thighs gleamed brown in the light. Her pussy lips were pink and still hugely inviting. Her breasts were heavy and kissable.

She grinned down at me and winked, then blew me a kiss.

I stepped out into the bustle of Eton High Street and skipped happily along to the stop where I could catch my bus to Slough.

As I waited for the bus to arrive, I ran my tongue across my lips and tasted the wonderful scent of her pussy. I checked in my YSL bag. Her panties were gleaming wetly in their plastic container.

I knew I would be back.