Adult Education Beware! A Novella

(This contribution has been published in a less edited form and with a different title, under a different moniker and a different account, some years ago. Literotica mysteriously terminated my account and I could not get it reinstated. I only recently re-joined as a nominally 'virgin' contributor. While I assert my right to republish my work, I apologise to long-time readers that may remember the story and think they have found a plagiarist.)

Chapter 1

Although my full-time job at University was in a different field, I had taken on teaching German for the Council of Adult Education at one of Melbourne's other Colleges. It involved one evening class of three hours per week. The pay was poor, but I enjoyed being once more involved in language teaching, especially with self-motivated adults in an open-ended, flexible program. I had done it now for three years.

This year's group was bright and enthusiastic, consisting of young to middle-aged women. Four of them were English speakers with German husbands. All of them were easily motivated to meet the challenge of learning as quickly and as much as possible in one year.

I told them, therefore, that many of them could reach a Pass in what was the University-entrance standard for German. It was an ambitious goal, but if they decided to aim for it, I would do my best to take them there. After a lot of questions and a lively debate, the group decided to go for it.

Our group quickly clicked into a companionship beyond the limits of our weekly meetings. Some women formed close friendships. These were strengthened by exchanging invitations to dinner parties and shared activities that included their partners and children. Without going into detail, I believe that the coursework contributed much to this bonding by providing not only a shared aim but a genuinely shared interest.

It was fortunate that the German Matriculation examination was not content-specific in either its written or oral component. There were no prescribed prose texts or poetry. Therefore, for my mature group, I could choose more challenging texts to study than the schools selected. For prose texts, we read short stories from post-war German writers. For poetry, I avoided the lulling comfort of the Romantics and introduced them to poets like Rilke and Brecht.

Helen was one of the liveliest and most enthusiastic participants in the group. She was in her early forties, intelligent, attractive, English-born, and married to a German. She had given, for some in our group, one of the early dinner parties. Erika, my wife, and I were invited. Since then, we had met socially a few times more.

Whilst Helen was friendly, nothing in her behaviour with me suggested more. She was not a flirt.

One evening after class, the group had already left, and I had to clear away a few things in the Language Laboratory, I met Helen in the corridor. She had forgotten her scarf and had to come back, she said. So, we left together, talking, walking out to the car park. She followed me to my car. I thought that hers happened to be parked near mine. As I searched for my keys, she grabbed my arm and said:

"Ben, I have to talk to you."

Helen looked flustered but determined. Suddenly I knew that we had not met by chance; she had waited for me. My heart was beating fast. I unlocked the passenger side door, opened it to put in my bag, and looked at her. Without a word, Helen slid past me into the seat. When I, slightly bewildered, got into the car and turned to her, she immediately shifted close. With a strangled voice, fronting me, she said:

"I'm in trouble, and it's your fault, Ben. I need to talk to you about something that worries me."

I said nothing. I could not think of anything to say. Somehow, Helen's head came to rest on my shoulder. Her breath played on my neck, giving me goose-bumps as she continued, almost whispering:

"You shouldn't give us women a poem like Rilke's 'Panther'. You should not have talked about it the way you did while you looked at me. How did you know how I felt?"

As she edged even closer, I put my arm around her and felt her shiver. When she turned and moved into what was becoming more than a hug, I suddenly realised what she meant and intended.

I had, of course, not looked at her specifically when I talked to the group about Rilke's caged Panther.

On the surface, the poem is a realistic description of a zoo animal. It is, however, foremost a brilliant metaphor. Through the sensuousness of the poem's rhythm and choice of words, the Panther, in all its vitality and beauty, circling behind the bars becomes a picture of caged desires. I had not been too specific on the libido and its frustration with a teacher's fatherly eye on my, possibly, partly innocent students.

With Helen, what I said had powerfully registered. It gave her an almost plausible justification for cornering me, demanding a solution or amends: she, her libido, identified with the caged Panther.

I was flattered, excited, and disturbed, but, ultimately, immediately willing to follow her lead. I reached across with my free hand to stroke over Helen's hair. I did not need to press to bring her face closer to mine; our lips almost touched when I asked:

"Are you a Panther that wants to break free? If Rilke and I helped, is that so bad?"

Helen's arm locked around my neck. She pressed her forehead against mine to hoarsely whisper her answer:

"Tonight, the Panther has escaped, and you alone are to blame. And she has hunted you down! Are you frightened, Ben? Shocked?"

We did not move into a tentative first kiss. Hellen's opening lips took possession of mine, with our tongues immediately joined in a copulating dance. Hers was not introductory, questioning kissing: Helen left nothing to doubt. Without interrupting our talking-in-tongues, Helen unbuttoned her coat. She blindly found my hand and put it on her breast. Not satisfied, while moaning in frustration, she pushed my searching fingers under her top and bra onto her heaving breasts.

When, eventually, we broke out of our kiss, Helen burst into laughter:

"Wow, that is a good start straight out of the cage. You see now what your poetry lesson has done! And you, a married man? Are you caged too?"

I decided to show her how free she made me by testing her mettle. I drew her closer, withdrew my hand from her breast and gripped the inside of her thigh as far up as her tight skirt allowed. Helen responded with an enthusiastic gasp "Yes". Her lips opened, and her tongue lasciviously pushed deep into my mouth as her bottom lifted off the seat to allow her skirt to slide up. Her thighs spread, inviting me to do as I pleased and dared. When my hand closed over the temptingly hot, fleshy mound of her pussy, her groin arched and pressed its response.

It was time to demand from Helen a shamelessly direct answer to a shamelessly confronting question:

"Are you going to do more with your freedom than way-lay me for a grope and kiss in the car? Like teenagers? You make me very curious, Helen. Do you fuck as hotly as you kiss? Do you? Do you want me to find out?"

Helen pushed and ground her pussy against my cupping hand and met my questions with a half-swallowed, excited cry:

"Yes, Ben! Yes!, It's what I want with you!"

She followed up with a flurry of feverish little kisses all over my face, with her hand gripping my constricted cock.

Pressing her lips on my neck, Helen murmured:

"God, I wish you could fuck me now! We will, won't we? I'll ring you, arrange it. Now, touch me! Touch me, Ben! You'll feel how hot and ready my pussy is for you; how ready I am to be taken out of my cage, to go wild! And you want me, Ben, don't you?"

Helen's pelvis had lifted, and her crotch writhed and pressed and searched for my fingers. The panty's cloth covering her sex was soaked. Pushed aside, first one then two of my fingers slid deep into the slippery heat of her cunt. Helen's eyes were closed as she gasped, "Yes, Ben, yes!" in unbridled lust.

Helen's mind had found a foreplay all its own and it rushed her into an unstoppable climax. Hiding nothing, she screamed her ecstasy in my face as she came.

As her convulsions subsided, laughter overcame her. Then she confessed:

"Ben, God, you make me come! I knew you would. But now I want more, much more and again and again from you. Does it scare you? Do I shock you?"

And her lips closed over mine, and her tongue rolled with mine in a sensual dance. It told me how much more Helen wanted and all she was burning to give.

Before we went our separate ways, Helen asked me for my phone number at work. I have always wondered how quickly women recover their usual selves after sex, even after tempestuously climaxing. Helen had unhurriedly ordered her disarrayed clothing, and now, all lady-like kissed me farewell on the cheek.

Her car was parked near mine. I accompanied her. Sitting behind the steering wheel, Helen turned to me. Looking up through the opened window, she told me that Jurgen, her husband, was next week for five days in Bangkok.

Helen made it sound as if this had only now occurred to her. But she grinned, knowing she was naughty: both by planning her seduction at such a convenient time, and by letting me know she had done so. And I would have to wait for the message of when and where we would meet.

The above happened on Thursday night. On Friday, I barely left my office, fearing I would miss her call. Then the weekend. Helen neither could nor would ring me at home.

I had to wait until Tuesday noon before she rang. Her voice sounded unfamiliar as if she was fighting for breath. It was sexy, charged with expectations left unsaid:

"Jurgen left for Bangkok this morning. When can you come, come to my house?"

"Can it be Thursday? I have no classes on Thursday until our group at night."

Helen fell silent and made me wait. I could hear her breathing:

"Can you come in the morning? We can have all day to get to know each other."

When I said "Yes", Helen suppressed a giggle. With a relieved, "See you then, Ben, I'll be waiting." she hung up.

Chapter 2

On Thursday morning, having left home for Uni as usual, I rang Helen's doorbell shortly after nine. Helen came quickly to the door, opening it wide. She smiled at me shyly and offered no Hello. She just stepped aside and, with a wave of her hand, invited me to enter. Then she quickly closed the door; leaning against it made the latch click shut.

She stood there, head lifted, eyes lowered, her back and open hands pressed against the door. When she eventually looked at me, Helen took a deep breath. With a tremor in her voice, she said: -

"Oh, Ben! I'm glad the wait is over. I've been scared about meeting you again for the whole week after what I did and said last Thursday. I was out of control in telling you what I wanted. I am so glad you have come."

I stood there, lost for words. Helen pushed herself off the door, took my hand and led me into the living room. We moved towards the sofa, but then she stopped. Releasing my hand, Helen turned towards the adjoining kitchen. Over her shoulder, she said, "Ben, I think I need coffee. A strong one. How about you?"

My eyes took all of her in, in a new way, as she walked away. I had known Helen now for about five months. She was an attractive woman: Tall, nicely proportioned, well-groomed, in her early forties. She was English and had a well-modulated voice free of any class indicators I could recognise. She was a good mixer and had bonded well with other women in the group. While Helen was, as she had so surprisingly shown in approaching me, neither shy nor reserved, she was not loud or bubbly or one that sought the centre stage in class.

Today she wore a golden-brown pant-suit. Its cut and the softness of the cloth spoke of her means and taste, as well as of her sensual awareness. She knew it would display her figure to perfection. Young Helen would have been, I was sure, a willowy beauty. Now she had turned into a beautifully proportioned woman with more generously rounded hips and bottom and fuller breasts.

I followed her into the kitchen. She busied herself with the coffee-making and pretended not to notice that I stepped behind her. As I embraced her and our bodies pressed together, there was neither surprise nor hesitancy in hers. I kissed her on the neck, and my hands moved up from her midriff to cup her breasts. They discovered under the softness of the cloth no bra as Helen leaned back with a sigh. It made me grip her harder than I had intended. With my lips almost on her ear, I told her how tempting she was in her suit. She liked and agreed with my assessment, testing my sincerity by rubbing her ass teasingly against my growing hardness.

Reaching for the coffee things she said:

"I still need my coffee before I get seduced and out of control again. It will concentrate my imagination on after." She chuckled, "How is your imagination, Ben? Has it been like mine since last Thursday? I can feel it has."

She guffawed and butted my erection with her bum. I bit her ear in revenge and told her that I loved women with imagination, especially when others called it a dirty mind.

Helen gathered all the coffee things together and took them to the living room. We were now at ease with each other and with what we knew would follow. There was neither the need to nor did we have the urge to rush. I was sure that Helen would erect no last-minute, hindering barriers. Although I knew nothing about her past and her sexual experience and expectations, I was confident that we would be perfect partners in sin.

Sitting thigh against thigh, we drank our coffee and talked. On sitting down, we had given each other a lengthy, companionable kiss to make up for our strained first meeting at the door. Now we were sure we were lovers. I told Helen how much I admired her suit.

She smiled, then admitted she had it bought for our meeting today. At first, she said, she was not certain: "When I tried it on in the shop over my underwear, it seemed not quite what I wanted. But this morning, slipping into it naked, I knew it was perfect."

Helen giggled. She had also blushed but continued:

"I looked in the mirror and imagined you looking at me. It made me tingle all over!"

I drew her close and told her that it does that for me and that I am almost sorry that eventually, she would have to take it off. She drew me close and gave me a quick kiss. Then she took my hand to guide it under her enticing garment's top. As I cupped a shapely tit, Helen's lips found mine.

We sunk into a long, lingering kiss, not wild and hungry but sensuously tasting. We knew it was the appetiser for the feast to come. And Helen's nipple had begun to stiffen against the palm of my hand.

Then Helen momentarily turned away to say:

"As my suit is turning you on, enjoy it a bit longer. I'd love to help you undress first."

Helen made it easy. She got up to move the uncleared coffee table to the centre of the room. Returning to the couch, Helen knelt. I tried to kiss her, but she pulled back:

"Are you shy, Ben? Don't you like women undressing you, being naked with them, showing them your manhood?"

I slipped out of my coat. Helen undid my tie and, with steady and determined fingers, unbuttoned my shirt. She pulled it off and threw it on my jacket. I wondered whether her nerve would fail her. She hesitated before she clasped me to press a kiss on my naked belly. And then, with great deliberation and swiftly, she unbuckled my belt and unzipped my pants. I lifted, and she stripped me of my trousers. Then, leaning back, with a mischievous grin, she reached for my underpants and pulled them down.

I was naked! She leaned back and looked. Then she bent forward and embraced my thighs. Resting her head close to my cock, Helen whispered:

"I love you naked. I somehow knew you would have a beautiful cock."

After suspense-charged seconds, Helen stood up. Raising her arms, she stretched, pressing her pubes, boobs and nipples against the silky cloth. Knowing what she did, she grinned down at me and asked:

"Can we make love on the floor? I'll remember us fucking the first time, whenever I sit here watching television with Juergen. I've been naughty; looking down I've thought of it for a week now: us, naked, making love on the carpet. Do you think I'm crazy?"

Helen did not wait for an answer. She pulled the suit's jacket over her head and threw it on top of my clothes. Facing me, she undid the clasp on her pants and let them slide to the floor. For a long moment, Helen stood still, inviting me to look at the firm globes of her breasts, the stiff nipples above the softness of her belly, and the lure of her auburn bush.

Helen's beauty had a sensual glow that rendered me breathless. Then she stepped out of the pants around her ankles, bent down and threw them on the clothes pile. She knelt and reached out beckoning me to join her on the carpet.

Sliding to the floor I wanted to draw Helen into a loving embrace but she threw herself at me. Perhaps she remembered the pledge she offered last Thursday that she would fuck as hungrily and wildly as she had kissed. It may have played on her imagination for a week.

I possibly disappointed Helen by being too gentle. I wanted our first love-making to be a drawn-out discovery of each other and not as rushed and tempest-tossed as Helen's first kisses. After all, we had a whole day.

Helen did indeed twist and squirm against me, and when our lips met, her mouth was as rapacious as it was in the car. I turned away from her greedy, already all-demanding mouth and began to kiss her neck, her throat, and her eyes, briefly brushing over her lips and, finally, her ear. I whispered into it my wishes, telling her how beautiful she was, how much I wanted her, how long the week's wait has been and how much and how long and how lovingly she was going to be fucked.

I shifted my body between her invitingly spread legs. My cock came to temporary rest on Helen's pressing-up pubes. I took Helen's hand and guided it on my cock, demanding:

"Take my cock, Helen! Make it kiss and slide through your pussy until it is hot-wet and you can't wait any longer. I want to hear you demanding 'Fuck me', again and again."

My words made Helen laugh out loud as she stretched out in pleasure. I knew now that Helen, like I, loved sexy, dirty talk while making love. She eagerly followed my lust-charged wishes.

Her hand had gripped my rock-hard cock. Before long, she played its tip knowingly up and down over the slit and inner lips of her pussy, truly kissing it open. And then she made the head linger and circle over her clit. We were kissing, and she moaned and laughed and burred, sexily hoarse, half-spoken words into my mouth while her pelvis lifted and her hand tried to urge my cock to enter her cunt. I held back, not allowing my cock to slide in for more than a tongue-like kiss before withdrawing again.

It forced Helen's hand to continue guiding the cock's teasing caress back on her clit. It drove her already close to the brink. She cried out, almost sang in relief when I, eventually, slowly, pushed my cock into her hot, quivering cunt.

Helen's cunt was, while slippery, young-girl tight. In to the hilt, I stopped. Her vital muscles were making love to and milking my cock. I kissed her. Cradling her face and hoarse with mounting excitement, I murmured:

"God, Helen, I love fucking your hot, tight pussy. It wants - you want my cock, don't you? Tell me how much you want us to fuck, to make love!"

Helen's shiny, beginning-to-be kiss-swollen lips parted. Her eyes, wide open, shone as she sang out:

"Yes! Yes! Ben, yes! I want you, Ben! Make love to me! Show me how much you want me! Yes! Fuck me! Fuck me, Ben! As hard as you want! I need it, Ben! I need to be loved like this."