Hotbeds Ch. 06

CHAPTER 6: TITANESS

Introduction: The next chapter in the supposed adventures of a prep school teacher in the 1950s and 1960s.

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So, the New Year began, it seemed, without potential entanglements. Bianca's replacement was a middle-aged man, and it was not till I took a football team to a near-by school that I came across a possibility. For presiding over the tea that followed the game was a woman whose size was impressive. I'll call her Carmen, because she was Hispanic in appearance.

She was as tall as me, about six feet, and probably weighed more, because she was built on a generous scale. A mass of shining, dark, naturally curly, hair hung down over her broad shoulders, beneath which jutted out, and out, a massive bosom. Beneath that, her waist was surprisingly small. Beneath that, her hips swelled into an enormous bottom.

It was tempting to regard her, wielding the big enamel teapot, entirely in terms of her voluptuous proportions, and to be daunted by her size. But our eyes met as she handed me my tea, and a rapport was sparked, which left me restive, anxious to learn more about her. I have found that sex usually begins with eye-contact. And the opportunity arrived when her school's team took my boys off to the gym to play table-tennis, under the supervision of their PE teacher.

Carmen invited me into the staff-room, empty late on a Saturday afternoon, where there was a roaring fire. Once settled in armchairs we began to talk without hesitation. I gave her my brief history and she outlined her own. She was thirty-four, unmarried, fresh from working in the Far East. I sensed there had been intimate, and sad, events in her life, and I wanted to know her more, and was wondering how I was going to manage this. I had no car and our schools were twelve miles apart.

I was pretty sure she found me interesting, too, probably because she knew that I was attracted to her and undaunted by her size. She asked me if I would like to stay for supper. My boys would be taken back or home by the parents that had brought them, and me, over there. She would drive me back after the meal.

It was a pleasant evening, dining with three colleagues at the top table, and afterwards we adjourned to the staff room fire for coffee. Carmen and I were relaxed and communicative, she narrating stories of her adventures abroad. Then we were in her little car heading back, and then we were sitting still outside my school and I was wondering if it were all right, so soon, to kiss her. But we turned to each other naturally and began to kiss.

We began with a good-night sort of kiss and progressed into something much more passionate, and inspired by this I plunged my hand inside her coat and felt for her breast. The kissing continued and I began to undo the buttons of her coat. The kissing still continued and I was dealing with the next set of buttons, on her dress.

I was not hurried or furtive or fumbling. This was as it should be. She flinched and laughed, breaking the kiss, as my cold hand rested on her stomach as it sought the lower edge of her huge bra.

'From the top,' she suggested, and I sank the questing hand into her deep, deep cleavage and spread my fingers across a breast.

'Sorry my hand's cold,' I said.

'It'll warm up in there,' she replied, 'But it's a bit awkward in here. Could we adjourn to your room?'

Late on a Saturday evening there was no-one about as we entered and made our way upstairs. My room was warm and we needed to continue from where we had left off outside. So we resumed the long, deep kiss, and, with her help, I removed the dress and blouse and there was the bra, with the great cleavage above the cups. They were rather bowls than cups.

And at this point she said, 'If you go on you need to know I don't play at this kind of thing. You, would be starting something. Is that understood?'

'Yes,' I said. 'There is something to start, though, isn't there?'

'That's why I'm here,' she said, and with a smile, 'About to bare my bosom.'

She reached behind, undid the bra and drew it off. Released, her breasts sagged a little, but remained firm. They were, of course, the biggest breasts I had ever seen, in works of art or in real life. The nipples, hardening with the change of temperature, and the areolas, were dark brown. I lifted the left one in my hand. How heavy it was! I licked the nipple.

She put a hand behind my head and drew me closer, and asked, 'Do you like them?'

I detached my lips long enough to say, 'They are so beautiful I can hardly believe them.'

'There's more,' she said, pushing me gently away, 'A lot more.'

I had not begun to undress myself, and realised that I should not do so, but pay attention to her. Keeping her gaze on me she removed her skirt and a black waist-slip and stood before me in her big, clinging black knickers. Then she turned and pushed them down her thighs. Her bottom was magnificent. Not just large but shapely. The way the cheeks tucked under at their lowest, as if hiding her vulva, was delightful. I longed to stroke, slip fingers down that crevasse.

She pulled up the knickers, turned round and looked questioningly into my face. I was speechless with awe and wonder. She said, 'Men tend to regard me as some sort of alpine adventure, a challenge to their manhood. Or else they are scared of failing to satisfy me.' She reached for and put on the bra, remarking, 'I have to have these specially made.' On went the slip and skirt, then the blouse. 'You need to decide what your attitude is,' she said. 'I'm not going to play games.'

I recovered my voice. 'I want to be with you.'

'Get yourself over next Saturday afternoon,' she bade me. 'The old gatehouse is my cottage. Come to tea and I'll make supper, and we'll see.'

I escorted her down the stairs and out to her car, where she turned to me and held out a hand. I took her, drew her to me and kissed her. She kissed back, then got in a drove away.

Of course, I was going to get there. I had thought endlessly about her, realising that I wanted very much to be with her, even if I never saw anything of that stupendous body again.

The caretaker lent me his bicycle, understanding I might not return it till the Sunday, or Monday. And after morning school and lunch I was off. Being young and fit it took me less than an hour, and it was fortunately fine.

The cottage was cosy. She had a fire going in the tiny sitting-room, with a kettle lodged on it and the tea things ready. There were even crumpets to be toasted and buttered. What did we talk about?

I don't remember, but we were at ease, becoming closer with each cup, each crumpet, each topic. I don't remember the supper, but I do recall that by then it was certain we would be going to bed together, because she understood that I was neither daunted by her size nor regarding her as some sort of assault course.

She also had a fire going in her little bedroom, mostly occupied by a double-bed. She wanted to undress me first, perhaps because I had seen her naked and she had not yet seen me. Then she wanted me to undress her, and I wanted that very much, as if only now was I going to discover her for the first time.

We lay side by side, embracing and kissing without urgency for a long time. I caressed her, running a hand over that amazing bottom.

'I like that,' she said.

I began to suck her breasts, drawing in the huge, almost black areolas and the jutting nipples. Her excitement built to the moment she opened her legs and I slid a hand down her stomach, through the great curling mass which began close beneath her navel.

I moved to lick her vulva, but she said, 'Use your fingers,' and as I slid them between the folds of the inner labia she took my cock in her hand. 'You can go inside later. But first in my hand and me in yours.'

I drew my fingers up and down her warm, welcoming quim, as she held my cock. We both began to rock back and forth, so that her clitoris moved under my fingers and my cock slid within her grasp.

We were in harmony, confident of coming both at once, but without hurrying. And after a while she said, 'I'm ready. I can feel you're ready. Together! Into my hand,' and as I ejaculated into her fingers, 'Here it is! Oh, sweet.' She gripped my hand between her thighs as the orgasm shook her. I felt as if I were pumping my very soul into her palm.

After a time, she brought her sticky hand to her face. 'Thank you. I love to make it happen like that, especially the first time.'

There was, indeed, something even more intimate in ejaculating into her hand than into her vagina. 'Yes,' I said, 'And I loved taking you to it.' Then we lay gently kissing and cuddling for a while, talking a little.

She had run a little school in India, and had a few lovers. She had been tempted to marry the last one, but he had wanted her to stop work, be domestic and create a dynasty. But teaching was her vocation and she had no wish for children. So she had broken off and come home, and had been depressed for a good while, but was now determined on a career, taking an external degree to better qualify herself. My admiration increased minute by minute.

At the right moment she said, 'I'm not a teaser. I want you inside. But we need some precautions first.'

She reached into the drawer of her bedside cabinet and brought out in her fingers what looked like some kind of confectionary. 'Soluble pessary,' she said. 'Makes it a bit greasy but I've never used anything else.'

My reading in matters sexual had included contraception and I knew these things were spermicidal.

She said, 'Put it in, Push as far as you can,' and as I edged the rounded side of it into her and began to push the flat surface gently in, she said, 'Oh, I love that, your fingers going in. You can stop now. It's well in.'

'I don't want to take them out,' I said. 'I love them in there.'

'I'm going to put you in properly,' she said.

We drew close again and resumed long, eager kissing, till she sat up, threw a leg over my hips and poised herself above me. 'Bring it to me,' she said, and I brought my tool-tip between those deep labia.

She took hold of my cock at the shoulders, shifted a little to position me, and said, 'I'm going to have you now.' And gently she lowered her great bottom and I slid smoothly in and up. It felt as if she were engulfing the lower half of my body and I let out a huge sigh of satisfaction and joy.

'Good?' she asked. 'I'm going to take you and make you, make you and take you,' and she began to move up and down, never quite releasing me and giving a little forward thrust with her bottom when I was fully in, so that my penis moved laterally a little inside.

She leaned forward, took hold of her breasts and moved them across my chest, then brought them up to my face and stroked my cheeks with them, slipping the nipples into my mouth. 'Suck,' she commanded, changing them over. 'Ah, I can feel it happening now inside.'

She pushed down hard, her bum squeezing my upper thighs. 'Take hold,' she said, and I clasped those huge, firm buttocks as the warm tingling began in my legs and bum.

'I'm drawing it out of you,' she said, speeding the up and down. 'I'll try and grip.' She clenched and released her anal sphincter. I felt the slight pressure around her entry. 'Here it comes!' she called out. 'I've got you!' And I spurted four, five, six times, letting out a huge, gasping exhalation. My sperm, my longing, my need, my whole being flowed into her.

She continued tiny movements of her bottom, so that her vagina seemed to caress me. She lay onto me, cushioned by her breasts, licked my lips, stroked my face. 'Now I've had you,' she said, 'Properly had you.' And in that position we fell asleep.

We were woken in the early hours by the cold, for the fire had burned low. But as we woke we clamped our mouths together and greeted each other with inarticulate murmurs. Though limp I was somehow still inside her, trapped by the angle and the half-dried walls.

'Stay put,' she commanded, and in a few minutes she had stoked the fire and been to make tea, which we drank under the covers while the room warmed up. Then I said as we lay down again, 'Now I'm going to take you and make you, make you and take you.'

I parted her thighs and brought my lips to her pussy lips. They smelled and tasted strongly, deliciously, of vagina, sperm, cocoa-butter from the pessary. I sought out her clitoris with my tongue and it erected delightfully, showing its little tip. Then I reached another pessary from the drawer and slipped it slowly into her sticky vagina. My ambition was to be in her and to be able to finger her clitoris, so I urged her onto her side, with one leg straight and the other crooked at the knee. Straddling the straight leg, I was able to slide up it, and, lifting the upper buttock a little, I pushed my way slowly into her.

This position compressed her vagina so that it gripped harder. It also enabled me to caress her clitoris and to run my hand across the buttocks, sliding my fingers down the crack.

'This is new,' she said, 'But, yes, I love having my bottom stroked.'

After a while she began to rock back and forth, and to breathe in sharply. 'It's on the way,' she reported. 'Can you go, too? I can feel you so well.'

I assured her that if it would be good for her I would go, too, and almost at once I felt her vagina spasm, which brought me to the boil and my ejaculations chimed with her pulsations. 'Together, yes, together!' she shouted.

Waves of emotion I didn't know were in me swept through me. Tears flooded my eyes and I laid my head on her uppermost breast. She said, 'Oh, my dear, what is it?' And all I could say was, 'It's you, it's you!'

I won't describe the rest of that Sunday, the meals, the afternoon walk, the further love-making overnight, for love was, indeed, what we were making. I certainly was. I was sure of that by the time I had to mount the bike in the early morning and peddle wearily back, sore in the cock but happy in the heart.

Yes, I was in love again. And again it was with an older woman, who was, I was pretty sure, beyond my reach. As proved to be the case, for though we contrived to be together a few more times, when we were both free of duty at the weekend, before the summer term closed she had accepted a senior position at a school in Scotland. I offered to resign my post and seek work there, but she gently rejected the notion. And she even rejected the proposal of a valedictory coition before she left, on the grounds that would change nothing and be doubly painful. Painful for me, indeed, was implicit.