Warren Baker's Valentine

My voice sounded creaky in my own ears when I replied, "Can I try a vodka and lemonade please?"

Charlotte regarded me with a curious expression for a long moment. "Of course, darling," she replied eventually. "Do come in though, you can't stand by the door all night."

I walked wooden-legged further into the room.

"What's going on, Mrs Spenser?" I asked as I sat on the edge of the bed.

"This is the beginning of your enlightenment, Warren," Charlotte replied as she walked towards me, her gown sighing as she moved. "But don't sit on the bed like an angler on the bank of a river, darling. Take off your jacket and relax in one of those chairs." She stood close to me and sipped her own vodka. "When you entertain a lady in future, Warren," Charlotte added. "You'll be expected to ask her if she would like a drink. You need to take charge. The lady is likely to be nervous, so remember what that feels like. Try to make her at ease, be nice to her ... attentive."

It seemed like a hell of a lot of work to me, too much to remember, but I nodded and tested my first vodka and lemonade.

Charlotte walked away and settled into one of the two chairs, both of which were the same whorled, elaborate design and colour as the dressing table.

"It will all make sense soon enough, Warren," Charlotte continued as she drew on her cigarette. "Don't try to take it all in at once. After all," she cried, her voice rising dramatically, "this is a very special night for you." With the cigarette smouldering between her fingers, the glass in her other hand, Charlotte deliberately opened her thighs so the patterned kimono she wore slipped away to reveal her legs. "A night for love, darling," she added in a husky voice that made my cock twitch.

My eyes went to the dark stockings and the shadow at the junction of Charlotte's thighs. I gasped at the contrast between the dark material and creamy flesh. Charlotte smoked and eyed me in silence, her eyes feline.

"You're beautiful," I murmured without realising.

Charlotte chuckled. "Thank you, darling," she replied. "Would you like to see me out of this robe?"

"Yes please!" I exclaimed, suddenly eager as my penis thickened.

She stood up and placed the glass on a delicate table, her cigarette she placed in the grooved recess at the edge of an ashtray. Charlotte watched my face as she loosened the belt on the robe and it fell open. Then, while I stared at the first naked woman I'd ever seen, she let the gown slip from her shoulders.

"What do you think?" Charlotte asked after retrieving her cigarette.

She looked incredible, and even now, years and God knows how many other women later, the recollection of Charlotte's near nudity -- after all she wore stockings and garter belt and heels for the full erotic effect -- still provokes a reaction in my penis.

"You're beautiful," I repeated, agog at the truth of my statement before my eyes.

Charlotte smiled in a way that told me I'd pleased her. "I'm glad you approve," she breathed. "Would you like to touch me?"

I think I may have emitted a tiny whine at that point. Did I want to touch her? Jesus, yes!

Charlotte extinguished her cigarette, bending at the waist so her sizeable breasts swung before coming to where I still sat on the bed. She posed in front of me, hands on her hips.

"You'll crease your suit," she murmured. But instead of allowing me to stand and remove my jacket and trousers, and shirt and tie, Charlotte took the glass from my hand and placed it on the table next to hers. Then she returned to me and took both my hands. She lifted my them and placed my palms over the firm yet softly yielding flesh of her breasts. "Feel me," Warren," she sighed. "Touch me, all of me, run your hands over my body."

I squeezed her gently before I ran my hands down her torso, one travelling over the unfamiliar contours of her waist and hip while the other traced a line over the softness of Charlotte's stomach. I reached around and kneaded one buttock while the other hand remained motionless on her hip. While I did that, Charlotte pushed her fingers through my recently shorn hair.

"Take your time, darling." The woman muttered. Savour me." She leaned in and kissed the top of my head, which caused me to look up at her face. "Do you want to kiss?"

"I ... I don't know how," I replied, my hands still on her body. "Not properly."

With a soft smile, her eyes gleaming in the low, diffused light from a standard lamp like a sentinel in the corner of the room, Charlotte murmured, "I'll teach you, I'll teach you everything." She stepped back a pace and held out her hands. I took hold of her hands and she helped me to my feet. "Kiss me slowly at first, Warren. Don't go at me when the desire takes hold of you ... and it will, darling, trust me. Control yourself, don't succumb to the urge to throw me on the bed and just fuck me." Charlotte grinned. "There will be a time for that. Some other time, but not tonight, tonight is about romance and a special, unforgettable experience for you.

"You're a lucky man, Warren. You've got me for your first time. A lot of lads only manage a few fumbled minutes of decidedly average, even downright disappointing sex in some dark alley. Look at you, you've got an experienced -- a very, very experienced -- woman to teach you how to make love properly. Tonight we make love, Warren, tomorrow morning you can ride the fucking arse off me and send me home bow-legged ... I'd enjoy that." Charlotte paused and grinned again. "You'll see, I'll help you to recognise when a lady wants to be fucked as though you're a sailor on shore leave after a year at sea, and when she just wants to be held." She gave a little laugh and looked at my face. "And now I'll shut up and give you your first kiss.

Charlotte moved close and tilted her face up to mine. Despite her shoes and their lethal heels, I still had the height to look down at Charlotte's beautiful, upturned face. I saw her lips slightly parted in anticipation of my mouth on hers, and I ducked my head slowly, my eyes never leaving the green of Charlotte's eyes until our lips met. Her arms came up to lace gently around my neck as her mouth opened up to me, her tongue sliding over my own.

Charlotte sighed and moved her body against mine, gently pressing against me while my cock hardened inside my trousers and I tasted the blend of cigarettes and alcohol -- the essence of which has aroused me ever since I experienced it for the first time in that slow, lingering, and intimate first kiss.

My hands moved along Charlotte's slim back, down along the curve of her until both palms rested on her buttocks. That's when it almost overwhelmed me, the wave of lust that I'd experienced the previous evening just before I'd made my ill-advised lunge at my landlady.

"I can feel your cock," Charlotte murmured during a brief lull in the kissing. "I want to see it soon, darling. "I want to hold it and stroke it while I watch your face." We kissed again, me fighting the desire to throw Charlotte onto the bed and bayonet her cunt with my dick. "I'm going to suck you," she sighed. "I'm going to suck you and sit on your cock and make slow, toe-curling love to you. I'll take you to the brink and then let you simmer. You can lick my pussy, Warren. I'll show you how to please me with your mouth and tongue as well as your big dick."

"Mrs Spenser," I groaned, my fingers clasping at her flesh. "I just want to put it in."

She broke away from me and walked away. Collecting her drink, Charlotte sipped at it and eyed me over the rim of the glass.

"Take your clothes off," Charlotte ordered, as curt a headmistress. I blinked but began to strip. "Fold them neatly," she instructed. "Don't fling them on the bloody floor like an adolescent. "Be graceful and elegant, darling. Be neat."

Chastened but still yearning for the place between Charlotte's thighs, that mystery covered by her sparse, blonde thatch of pubic hair, I took of my clothes and carefully folded each item as I disrobed. My suit I placed on a hanger that Charlotte directed me to in a wardrobe before, finally, I stood in front of her, naked with my cock arcing semi-tumescent, thick and heavy in front of me.

"Bloody hell but that's an impressive fucking thing you've got there, Warren. I've seen some big cocks before and yours is up there with the big boys. Some of the black men are massive, but yours is just the same in white!" Charlotte gave a small shrug of her shoulders, adding, "But there's no use in just having a big dick. If you go lumbering in with that towards some poor, frightened girl you'll never get it in. You need finesse and style and fingers and a tongue. You learn from me, Warren, and you'll never be short of female company or a few quid in your pocket."

I went to her when she beckoned. Charlotte curled her fingers around my girth and tested the weight of me in her palm. Of course my cock grew in her hand as I gasped and groaned and stared down at the sight of my dick in Charlotte's hand, the length of me laying along her forearm.

"I can't believe this is happening," I breathed.

Believe it," Charlotte replied, her hand moving over my length. She took hold of me with both hands and massaged me from balls to tip. "Kiss me again, Warren," Charlotte murmured as she worked at my length. "Are you getting excited?" the woman asked when the kiss broke.

I heard Charlotte's voice catch an octave higher than usual before I replied with a croak of my own. "Yes, Mrs Spenser."

"You calling me Mrs Spenser is turning me on," Charlotte revealed. "It's so very formal, like you're a butler or a waiter I've seduced." She gave a low, dark chuckle, adding, "Or you could be my best friend's son. I'm getting excited too," she continued. "Feel me, feel how fucking hot I am."

I found Charlotte's diction when she used profanity paradoxical, a complete contradiction to her style and deportment and the image she created during everyday life. At the same time, the way she pronounced those filthy words sent a shiver of desire through me.

Posh birds, I found out with experience, were dirtier than all the rest when they let go.

I gasped when Charlotte guided my fingers between her legs and I felt the slick confusing folds of her sex for the first time. My fingers came away glistening with her.

"Mrs Spenser ..." I breathed. "What ...?"

"It's your big cock, Warren. My cunt knows I'm going to get fucked by that brute of a penis so it's getting wet and slippery to take you all in."

I groaned. "I want to put it in now, Mrs Spenser. I don't want romance or to make love. I just want to fuck you."

Charlotte's eyes gleamed while she held my fingers tight against her vulva and squirmed against the digits.

"I suppose we could always make love later," she said, her chest rising and falling quickly as she began to breathe heavily. "If you really want to just fuck me ... I suppose I could let you." She leaned in and kissed my mouth hard, and I yelped when I felt the sharp nip of Charlotte's teeth on my bottom lip. "This is one of those times that a woman doesn't need finesse, Warren." Her hands, both of them, cranked up and down the length of me. "This could be one of those occasions when I just need to get fucked hard and fast by a huge fucking cock." She glared a challenge at me with her eyes. "Are you man enough to put that inside me?" Charlotte's jaw clenched and she hissed at me through gritted teeth. "Well, are you? Do you think you could keep from coming long enough for me to climax? I think you'll squirt jizm all over my tummy before you're even in."

The truth was she had a point. I'd abstained from masturbation the previous night, and the long day of anticipation only served to exacerbate the explosive potential in my genitalia.

But I was in that place where the craziness lives. I didn't care. All I felt was an overwhelming need, an intense urgency, primal, instinctive -- I had to be inside this woman, totally. I wanted to posses her with my mouth, to kiss her and lick her tongue while I fucked into her. Did I care about her needs, her sensitivities? Did I buggery, all I cared about was plunging my dick into her. Undiluted, natural lust had taken control of me and I could only function on a primal level. I had no capacity to think, my mind only concentrating on my primitive need.

Charlotte told me later that I growled at her, bared my teeth and moaned before I picked her up bodily and, with a yelp from her, tossed her onto the bed. She said I pushed her legs apart and stared at her while I jacked my cock.

She held herself open to me. "I splayed my labia and showed you my bubbling cunt," is how she described her actions. And I can see her doing it too, I can hear her.

Charlotte folded her legs at the knees and offered her sex to me.

"Come on," she panted, her own desire breaking in her voice. "Put it in. Come on," she goaded, "give me all you've got."

I managed ten to a dozen deep, urgent thrusts before the inevitable and irreversible surge began.

"Fuck," I blurted. "Oh ... Oh ..." I even called her Mrs Spenser before I pulled out of her, the first splash spraying over Charlotte's stomach.

Without knowing what I was doing I cranked at my cock and let the jizm flick everywhere. The stuff squirted out of me and spattered across Charlotte's body so that she was soon covered in dollops of the hot stuff like a plasterer's radio on a building site.

I dimly recall hearing Charlotte cry out, apparently disappointed, but what she'd forgotten was the ardour of youth and, heedless of my own spunk splashed all over Charlotte's stomach and breasts, with a pool of the stuff glistening in the hollow in her throat, I held my dick in my fist and plunged into her again.

"You fucked at me like a machine," Charlotte told me the next day, her eyes rolling as she recalled my "Damn fine performance", as she put it. "I thought it was a piston boring my cunny, not a cock."

And I kept at her. Apparently when I came the second time I sprayed a watered down version of spunk directly onto her pussy before she clambered away across the bed.

"Sweet Jesus," Charlotte sighed when I lay there on my back and held my cock upright. "Is there no end?" Nevertheless, regardless of her apparent reluctance in her words, Charlotte came back to me and straddled my thighs. Holding my waggling dick perpendicular she rubbed the tip, still oozing ejaculate, between the gooey folds of her vulva.

Then, as she rubbed at her clit, Charlotte rode me until she climaxed in a vehement and vocal paroxysm of thrashing limbs, her squeals and groans turning into one long, drawn out moan as she fell from me.

I watched her as she lay there in an ungainly heap of limbs, chest heaving while she recovered slowly from her intense climax.

"Can I fuck you from behind?" I asked bravely, my confidence boosted by the fact I seemed to be holding up rather well.

Charlotte looked at my size as I cranked my fist up and down the length of my cock. She wiped a hand across her brow. "Just let me take these bloody shoes off," she panted.

Divested of her shoes, garter belt and stockings, my new lover knelt on the bed with her arse in the air. I looked at the rounded cheeks and the oyster of her puffy labia peeping at me before I rubbed the blunt knob-end of my cock between the sticky flaps and nudged her opening.

"Oh, fuck," Charlotte groaned when I slid into her. "That's so fucking lovely."

Charlotte's fingernails, long and scarlet and lethal, scraped at the keel of my dick as I fucked into her. She rubbed at her clit and came again, and this time, even as she groaned and squirmed, I pushed at her arse so she collapsed forward onto the pillows.

Then, after hauling Charlotte Spenser by the hips until I'd arranged her limbs to suit me, I eased into her while she lay on her back and she stared up at me with full moons for eyes.

"I love you," I sighed, holding myself over her on straight arms while I gazed into that green stare.

"Oh, bloody hell," she replied as her hips began to move. "Oh bloody fucking hell."

And then I made love to her. I loved Charlotte until I sobbed and called out her name and poured all I had left into her.

Epilogue

Charlotte taught me well. She took the rough hewn youth and smoothed away the parochial edges to leave me as urbane and sophisticated as anyone of her own, original social class. I worked for her and with her over the next sixteen years that came along, and I always loved her, ever since that first night -- Valentine's night, 1972.

Her father died in 1984, but didn't leave the estate to Charlotte, not all of it, although she did get a tidy chunk worth a mid-sized lottery win which, with her acute sense for business, she invested wisely.

The money didn't change things much, Charlotte still worked, running the business and occasionally accompanying me if there was a requirement. It was odd, but although I loved Charlotte Spenser I was never cursed with jealousy if I saw her entertaining another man. Somehow I could compartmentalise the Charlotte I held in my heart from the woman who I'd seen offering her pussy to someone else's dick.

Charlotte suffered a heart attack in 1992; she survived but was struck again in '98.

Mrs Bradshaw retired on a generous pension that Charlotte Spenser arranged when she inherited the money.

The law caught up with me, not for anything sinister, just simple tax evasion. I'd put away a goodly fortune over the years and of course the nosey buggers of Her Majesty's Revenue and Customs sniffed me out.

So, there I was, just out of nick, the doors behind as I stood beneath that high sky on the anniversary of when it all began for me. A car pulled up, a big car, a Bentley, and a uniformed chauffeur promptly jumped out and opened the rear door for me.

"Good to see you, Mr Baker," the man said.

"Thanks, Marcus," I replied before bending to enter the plush vehicle.

"Hello, darling," my wife said in greeting, her green eyes shining as she smiled gently and passed me an envelope containing a card -- just as she had done every year since we first made love. "Happy Valentine's, Warren, shall we direct Marcus to the nearest decent public house? I could just use a Vodka and lemonade."

My wife had given up the cigarettes after her second heart attack, but she still took a tipple on special occasions.

"Sounds excellent, Charlotte," I replied as Marcus closed the door.