I jumped off the Stagecoach bus outside Hastings College in Archery Road and walked into the campus, feeling thrilled and scared at the same time. I was about to set out on an adventure of self-discovery, but little did I realise at the time just how exciting that adventure was going to be.
I had enrolled in a twice-weekly computer course and on finally tracking down the lecture room found, to my delight, that there were only four other students – all women – who had signed up for the course. I say "delight", but to be brutally honest I'm a 35-year-old divorcee and I far prefer women. Why, well I don't really want to go there, but let's just say men stink.
We had all placed our bags on desks were sitting down when the course lecturer walked in. And, to my delight once again, it was a woman. She was tall, with jet black hair which shone as it fell in beautifully brushed cascades to mid-shoulders.
She was wearing a jet-black leather skirt and jacket outfit which gleamed like her hair and said "This cost hundreds girls". She was wearing what I hoped were stockings, black like her dress, and high-heeled Manolo Blahniks which I just wanted to kneel down and kiss. Naughty me! Her figure was superb, high breasts, lovely bum, great legs. Her age was about the same as mine, I guessed.
Turning to face the class from her desk, she removed her glasses and smiled at us. She was so stunningly attractive, I felt my heart skip a beat.
"Good afternoon, ladies," she said, in a sort of BBC tone of voice – impossible to say where she was from. "My name is Katherine Entwistle, but please call me Katherine. Not 'Kate', thank-you – I hate 'Kate'."
One of our group put up her hand. "Please, Ms Entwistle – sorry, I mean Katherine – but are you any relation to that man who played for The Who?"
Ms Entwistle – sorry, I mean Katherine – gave a broad grin and I felt a wetness gathering at my crotch.
"If I had a pound for every time I've been asked that question, I could buy a record company," she said. "No, as far as I know my husband is not related to some old rocker."
Her husband! My heart fell. But in an instant, it soared again.
Katherine went on: "But when I divorced the old ratbag, I decided to keep his name. You see, my parents were Hepburns and both – mum and dad – had a huge crush on Katherine Hepburn. The times I've been teased about that name are beyond a joke. So about 10 years ago, when I became the former Mrs Entwistle, well I decided to keep the name."
Another hand shot up. "Er, I'm Daphne, Katherine," said a young, acne-ridden blonde. "Can you tell us what you've done in computers?"
Katherine stepped in front of the desk and placed her beautiful bum on it and hitched her skirt up slightly. Her thighs were to die for! I longed to place my face on her nylon-covered flesh and pour out my yearnings to her.
"Well, I was for far too many years," she explained, "a person who wrote computer programmes. I started off small, but then I won a contract to provide a training manual for the Metropolitan Police. The year I did it for them it was voted the best rozzer's training manual in the world.
"That led to a job providing a training manual for cabin crew on British Airways. If you want to know how to pour coffee without spilling it in a customer's lap at 35,000 feet during heavy turbulence call me. The answer, of course, is not to pour it but to go and strap yourself down as well, especially if it's really heavy turbulence."
We all laughed. "But that enabled me to provide a programme for the Boeing company," she said. "They were impressed, apparently, with what I'd done for BA and I did a computer programme on certain aspects of the Boeing 737 ER."
Daphne, the acned little bitch, shot her hand up again. "ER, er what's that mean, Ms – sorry, I mean, Katherine."
Katherine smiled at her and I wanted to scratch Daphne's eyes out. "It stands for Extended Range," she informed the bitch blonde. "And I love that plane because it earned me a helluva lot of money and enabled me to buy a place here in Hastings and go into semi-retirement."
Then she stood up, and said: "Right, starting with you Daphne, tell us a bit about yourself and why you've enrolled in this course."
The vacuous little blonde rattled on for a few minutes, but I hardly heard a word. What was I going to say when it was my turn?
Finally, it came to me. Last, as usual. "And your name is?" said Katherine, smiling her dazzling smile at me.
"Er, er, I'm Emma," I said.
Katherine smiled and I felt like melting. "Right Emma, what is it that brings you to my course – and please, don't say a Stagecoach bus."
There was a titter in the class and Katherine put up her hand. "Sorry, that was uncalled for and a dreadful joke. OK, Emma, tell us."
I breathed in a huge gulp of air and gabbled my lines. "I'm outwardly awfully shy, I mean dreadfully shy, but I like to think that inside I've got this, oh, this inner confidence. And I love computers and want to learn much more about them. I'm 35 and divorced, so I've got the time to find out more about computers now, and they're so useful."
Then I stopped, feeling gauche and silly, afraid I'd rambled on, whereas I'd only been speaking for less than a minute.
"Excellent," said Katherine, still smiling at me as if I was the only person in the class. "But you know the four most dreaded words in the English language, don't you, Emma?"
I shook my head. "N-n-no, K-K-K-Katherine," I stammered.
Katherine laughed. "The computer is down."
Then the entire class laughed.
"Computers are, of course, a wonderful tool," said Katherine, "but they're not the be-all and end-all of information. Say you want to know about, oh I don't know, let's say Napoleon Bonaparte. You want to know where and when he died.
"Punch it into your search engine and you might get the answer 'Elba, 1821'.
"But if the person who wrote the computer programme put, by mistake 1840 – the year his body was exhumed, by the way – then you get an example of what? Anyone know?"
The dreadful Daphne's hand shot up again. "Bullshit in, bullshit out, Katherine?" she asked, smugly. I wanted to throttle her.
"Correct," said our lecturer, who then walked around the class distributing sheets of paper to everyone. "On this I want you to fill in your details, why you're interested in my course and your phone number – mobile if you've got one – in case I need to contact you with a query out of class time."
We all set to work and Katherine walked to the window giving a view out onto the large campus overlooking St Leonard's-on-Sea and gazed out. I looked at her superb arse and wanted to kneel behind her and worship her, but then she began to walk around the class, so I bent to my other work – filling in her form.
As she passed me, I felt Katherine's hand gently press against my shoulder. It was, now I look back on it, a cool hand, but it tingled on my flesh like a stab of electricity. And I felt that stab flow down, arcing out into each nipple and then flooding down to my by now extremely moist panties.
I'm sure that as she walked on, Katherine sneaked a glance down my cleavage – the summer dress I'd chosen was quite low cut and revealed a bit of breast, a department I'm quite large in.
And then she gave me a small, hardly detectable smile. I looked at her and just managed to prevent myself gaping. It was a smile which said "I'm going to teach you about more than computers, my girl" and then she turned her face away and walked back to her desk.
At the end of class, Katherine stood and announced: "Thank-you, ladies, I think we've made good progress. See you all same time tomorrow. Oh, Emma, please stay behind a moment, there's something on your sheet I've got a query with."
My heart was going pitter-patter, pitter-patter, as I crammed my stuff into my shoulder bag and when the other four had left I walked nervously and painfully shyly to her desk.
"Sorry, is something wrong, Katherine?" I asked in a tiny, girlish voice.
She beamed up at me. "Nothing wrong at all, Emma," she grinned, "I just wanted the rest of them out of the way. Now, would you like a cup of coffee? Or better still, a drink at my place?"
I felt like fainting, I was so excited. "I'm, er, well, I'm not much of a coffee fan," I said. "A drink, perhaps?"
Katherine grabbed her smart, brown leather attache case. "Thank goodness for that," she said. "I drank almost all the reserves of Brazil coffee while I was in Seattle on that Boeing contract. I've got a car, we'll go to my place and have a big gin, I need one. This, believe it or not, was my very first class."
Outside, in the staff car park, Katherine pointed out a low-slung, dark green E-type Jaguar. "That's my old set of wheels," she said. "Made in 1973 and no, they don't make 'em like that any more. I paid too much for her, but I just love Emma. Emma after E-type, not after you my dear, although it's hugely appropriate, don't you think?"
I sank into the leather seat, which looked as if it had been polished every day of its life and admired the racy little gear lever and the wood trim on the steering wheel. It was so low! Well, low to someone accustomed to Stageoach buses.
Katherine fired the throaty engine into life and we roared through the streets at what seemed a breakneck speed to her home, some two or three miles out of Hastings in a little village called Fairlight.
There, high up on a cliff overlooking a long beach and the busy English Channel was a two-storey building, with massive panoramic windows. The E-type scrunched on the gravel as Katherine braked it to a stop.
"Welcome to my humble home," she said. "It's rather nice, actually, but it set me back almost a couple of million quid. I call it 'The House that Boeing Built'. Let's get that drink."
Inside in a magnificently modern kitchen that was almost as big as my entire bedsit, Katherine built two gins in long, tall glasses, added what looked to me to be suspiciously little tonic, then a couple of slivers of green limes and passed one to me.
"Here's to friendship," she said, clinking her glass against mine.
"Friendship," I murmured, still in a turmoil of excitement. Then, finding my voice, I asked: "Why Hastings, Katherine? Why not somewhere exotic and famous?"
"Hastings not famous?" she laughed. "Battle of Hastings? 1066 and all that?"
I felt silly. "Oh, historically famous, I agree," I said, "but not where I'd expect a wonderful woman like you to end up."
Katherine sipped on her gin, I sipped on mine and yes, it was as powerful as I'd feared.
"I hate big cities," she said. "Worked in too many of 'em. Small towns – what's Hastings? Something like 85,000 isn't it? This'll do me fine."
I took another sip of my gin, which merely went to confirm my first fears. It was, as my appalling ex-husband was fond of putting it "a whoringly serious fucking drink".
Then Katherine put her glass down on a massive kitchen table, made of what looked like oak and was almost large enough to play a game of tennis on and stepped behind me.
I felt her breath on my cheek as she murmured in a much softer voice than her classroom lecturing: "And speaking of doing me fine, so will you, Emma, so will you. You like me, don't you?"
I blushed beetroot red. "Was it that obvious?" I asked in a trembling voice.
I felt her fingers unzipping the top of my dress and sliding the zip down to my panty-line. "No, of course not, but it was obvious to me that you like the look of me."
Then she kissed me lightly on the cheek and whispered: "Black lingerie, you divine little devil. I simply adore black lingerie."
And with a final flick, bringing the zip to the end of its descent, she grabbed my dress at the shoulders and pulled it off my body. I hooked it into one shoe-clad foot and kicked it away and then stood still. I was breathing heavily, still sipping occasionally at my monstrous gin and tonic, but under no illusions. I was being seduced and I was loving it.
Katherine traced a hand across my black-pantied bum cheeks. "These are so adorable," she whispered. "They must bounce beautifully when they're spanked. Do they? Bounce beautifully?"
I gulped back a sob. She was teasing me. "I don't know, Katherine, I can't remember when I was last spanked. Are you going to spank me?"
She kissed me gently on the cheek. "Yup, I sure am, and you're going to love it," she told me.
Then she peeked around my front. "Ohmigawd," she said, in that BBC accent, "those are so lovely. What are they darling? D-cup, 36, 37, 38?"
"D-cup 36," I whispered, feeling a sort of burning in my breasts, knowing her eyes were figuratively glued to the gleaming black satin bra I had chosen with such care this morning. Now I was getting ogled!
Then I felt her other hand – not her arse-stroking hand - move around to my front, and down across my satin panties, until her fingers were against my sopping quim. I felt mortified. My sexual lusting would be revealed to her glorious touch.
"Oh crikey, Emma," she said, "you're so wet. And so smooth. Tell me, do you shave down there?"
"Yes," my voice almost squeaked as I answered, I was just glorying in her lovely, satin-smooth stroke of my pussy.
"Good," she said, kissing my cheek lightly again. "I hate it when I get pubic hair in my mouth."
Then she placed her gin and tonic in my free hand, kissed me again gently and walked to the door. I remained glued to where I stood. Katherine unzipped her leather jacket and threw it casually on the floor. Her skirt followed and she kicked it away. She was wearing a little black bra, sheer and see-through, her nipples looked large and erect, her breasts smallish but beautifully rounded.
On her hips was a narrow black suspender belt, her pussy was covered by a black pair of sheer panties. She looked gorgeous and it was my turn to ogle her.
Then she shook her lovely long dark hair, pulled off her glasses and said: "Coming?" And with that she turned her cute, oh-so-adorable arse on me and I heard her high heels clip-clop away from the kitchen. "Don't forget to bring those gins, darling," she called and I shook myself from my stupor and followed her.
As I walked upstairs I could see her divine buttocks jouncing in the sheer black prison, the light shimmering on her shiny, seamed stockings. We entered her large bedroom with its wonderful view out across the channel. Katherine walked to the window, but I held back.
"Come on, silly, it's quite safe," she said, "we can see out, but no one down there can see in."
I stepped beside her and once more her hand started to graze over my buttocks. "Now, let's get that spanking out of the way, shall we?" she whispered and I placed the glasses on the window ledge.
"Don't hurt me, darling," I said, turning to face her. "I'm new to this."
"Course I won't, pet," she said, "I love you, I'm not going to hurt you. Now, step over to the bed and place your hands, palms down on the mattress."
Although she had said no one could see in, I felt more comfortable moving away from the long, wide window but when I placed my hands on the bed, it made me bend so my backside was sort of presented to her. I felt vulnerable – excited, yes, but vulnerable.
Katherine stepped to my left and with her left hand she cupped my left breast and fondled it. "Shit, it's heavy," she said, in a truly awed tone. "I'm going to spend a lot of time sucking on these beauties."
Then her right hand stroked my right buttock, just a gentle caress before she lifted her arm and cracked her hand down across my buttock cheek.
"Oh fuck," she almost screamed, "it wobbled, it bounced, just like I knew it would. It's great." Then she struck me again. Each blow made a slapping sound on my buttock, but I was only feeling warmish down there. It was exciting, but I still felt vulnerable.
Now Katherine worked into a steady tempo, raining blows down on the same buttock cheek, about 10 spanks to the minute. Then, after about 20 cracks, she transferred her attentions to my left buttock, all the while rubbing her left hand against my breasts, stroking and massaging me there.
Finally, she stopped and kissed me on the cheek. "Now, darling," she whispered, "sans panties!"
I still hadn't kissed her, so I turned my face and did something I knew was unlike me, but I needed it so. "Please, Katherine, please kiss me," I said, not pleading, but not far from it.
Her lightly-lipsticked mouth brushed against my mouth, a brief butterfly kiss, then she pressed against me slightly harder, then her tongue was forcing its way into my mouth and she gave me a long, smoochy snog.
"Wow, down girl," she smiled, after breaking away. "Time to warm that wonderful bum of yours a bit more."
And placing one hand on each hip, she dragged my panties from my middle, then drew them up to her face and inhaled deeply.
"Shit, they're sopping, absolutely sopping, you darling girl," she said, throwing the juicy, sex-stained panties onto the bed.
Then her left hand went from my breasts to my pussy. "Oh fuck, Emma, you're leaking like a tap, you lovely little lady," she announced, and then her hand was raining down more blows on my poor bum.
Only this time, she altered her technique. After each slapping stroke, her right forefinger glided from my anus down to my vagina, where she inserted it into the slippery wetness. Then she drew it out, pressed it against my anus again, before lifting her arm and whomping down to give me another stroke. It was heavenly!
As her strike rate increased, Katherine started to stroke my engorged clitoris with her left hand, flicking it, teasing it, toying with it. Her spanking hand moved down from my anus until her forefinger invaded my cunt after each spanking stroke, then, as the warmth in my buttocks rose and rose with each strike, I felt her attentions at my clit reap its reward.
I moved from a point of great excitement almost directly into a feeling of white heat. My buttocks were burning, but not a hurtful burn, a lovely, warm glow burn, and then I was thrusting and grinding against Katherine's left hand, where her fingers played and pulsated on my clit.
Finally, I could take no more and with a scream of "Yaaaargh, I'm coming!" I fell onto the bed, her hand still firmly planted on my pussy, her fingers working wonderfully on my clit bud, and as I pumped up and down on her hand on the lovely soft duvet I roared out the signal that my climax had lifted off into orbit.
"Fuuuuck, I've come, oh fuck, I've come you wonderful woman," I panted, as Katherine halted her spanking of my punished but also pleasured buttocks.
Slowly, gently, my new love removed her sex-stained hand from my quim and smiled at my prone figure.
"What a noisy little love, you are Emma," she said, as she removed her bra and shucked off her panties, to reveal a dark splotch of pubic hair the size of a couple of postage stamps on her mons.
I looked up, still panting from my fantastic orgasm and looked at her large-nippled but small breasts. She saw me staring at them and covered them with her hands.
"Please, darling, I know I'm nowhere near as well endowed as you," she said, "but it's the best I can do. I simply refuse to have implants."
I sat up on the bed, wincing slightly as my warmed backside came into contact with the coolness of the duvet and placed my hands on hers, then dragged them down to her sides.
Reaching up with my mouth I took her left nipple into my mouth and sucked on its firmness, then roamed around her areola, dark and succulent, then progressed to the rest of her lovely little globe.
"They're gorgeous," I said, still sucking and nibbling at her left boob. "Don't worry, they're a lovely mouthful – what are they, 32?"
Katherine shook her head. "No, 33s, but they may as well be 32s," she smiled.