Librarian Finds Long Overdue Love Ch. 18

January 30, 1988

Single, middle-aged and bespectacled Angelina Lione may look the part of the prim, proper and sexually repressed, buttoned-up bibliothec, but she's most definitely NOT your father's librarian - at least not while in a lover's company. Blessed with a ravenous and unquenchable sexual appetite, Angelina's orgasms are so intense that she oftentimes faints during the throes of passion.

While never mistaken for a perfect 10 with her large brown eyes, tucked behind oversized, Diana Prince-style eyeglass lenses, Angelina still cuts quite the desirable figure, with a fetching face always perfectly and tastefully made up, and a sleek and shapely body. Her short, black hair, speckled with gray, was cut in a chic, wedge/pixie-style, puffed and piled on the top and curled forward around the ears. Angelina's attractive physical traits, however, always paled in comparison to her overwhelming sex appeal. Using her vast store of feminine wiles, Angelina negotiates about her lovers' hearts, minds and bodies as deftly as she navigates the Dewey Decimal System, manipulating infatuated men for her monetary and personal gain.

High maintenance and even higher fashion, Angelina always models the latest designer threads - oftentimes accentuated by any one of her dozen pairs of high-heeled dress boots. Her sophisticated look even extends to smoking accessories. The haughty diva wouldn't dream of smoking a cigarette if it wasn't filtered through her long, black holder. More of a cigarette holder sucker and stroker than a smoker, Angelina seductively works the black shaft with her mouth, tongue and fingers as if it was a penis proxy; the effect that playing with the long, stiff holder has on would-be lovers is like snake charming. Under the sexy siren's magic spell, they're entirely at her mercy; powerless to resist the temptation to pleasure her - as if they really would.

Angelina spent her 20s and 30s as a fully-committed member of the sexual revolution of the 1960s and '70s - bedding dozens upon dozens of men. Only when she reached age 40 did her love life settle down - for her anyway - when the lusty librarian entered into a long term, nearly exclusive, torrid affair with the principal at her school. After the forbidden relationship unceremoniously ended six years later, Angelina found herself alone at a time when her peers had long since settled down into blissful domestic life. A prolonged romantic dry spell followed, until a former student unexpectedly burst into her life.

Twenty-two year old Tom Bailey had been in lust with Angelina since he was a 13-year-old student of hers, drawn in classic fetish fashion to the sexy librarian's stylish, high-heeled boots, seductive smoking and even her pretentious and snobbish personality. Over the past nine years his feelings - like his fetishes - for the femme fatale only grew stronger, until he could no longer keep them to himself. The pair had just launched an intense, physical relationship when Harry Seymour, Angelina's old boss and lover, re-entered her life. Unable to decide between the two romantic suitors, Angelina proposed a date-off - or "fuck-off" - as Tom bitterly described the arrangement.

Now, with her love life once again in full bloom, the amorous woman was in sex heaven - reliving her youth, when men practically lined up around the block to date her. Preying on the men's sexual addiction to her, Angelina gleefully bounced between their beds for nearly a month, until Tom finally prevailed.

The love triangle finally broken, Angelina and Tom were finally free to embark on a committed, loving relationship. But the couple's path to romantic bliss was lined with a phalanx of challenges - not the least of which was familial. During their first fortnight together, Tom met Angelina's family - and had been unnerved by her brutish and overprotective brother-in-law.

It was a couple months into their relationship before Tom worked up the nerve to introduce Angelina to his folks. The encounter set off a tremor that was bound to trigger aftershocks along the fault line of their courtship. The meeting with what turned out to be an old work adversary so unnerved Tom's mother, in fact, that she subsequently resumed a long dormant smoking habit.

That introduction went poorly enough, but how would Tom's college friends react to seeing him with a much older woman? What would be their impression of her? What would he see in her? Sure Angelina was attractive enough - but she was an attractive older woman. Why would young Tom be interested in a 50 year old, when there were plenty of lovely ladies his own age available? And when they got a whiff of her pompous and bitchy personality, they'd really question what was in this relationship for Tom and the age difference would be even more pronounced. The very real possibility existed that they'd disapprove of this affair, judging Tom a weirdo and mere boy toy to Angelina's dirty old woman.

Private by nature - and especially embarrassed to confide in anyone about his smoking and boot fetishes - how could Tom possibly explain to them that Angelina embodied all that he found physically alluring in a woman? How every time he saw the haughty diva smoking from a cigarette holder or strutting about in a pair of delicious, high-heeled, knee-high leather boots it made his dick dance and pulsate with delight. Or that when every time he and this MILF-before-the-term-was-coined made love it brought him to heights of pleasure he never dreamed possible.

To temporarily escape from and forget their family pressures, the May-December couple took a romantic Caribbean cruise over Christmas break, 1987. The getaway was just what the doctor ordered - if the physician in question was noted sex therapist Dr. Ruth Westheimer, anyway. Tom and Angelina engaged in a month's worth of uninhibited and lusty sex in just one week. It was like their weekends back home - only uninterrupted by family and work obligations - when they oftentimes enjoyed thrice-daily, intense and passionate lovemaking. In these heady, early days of their dating life, Tom felt like he was attending a sex fantasy camp with his boyhood crush, while to Angelina, she was thoroughly caught up in the joy of what could be her last shot at romance and passion.

Still, for as much fun as they were having, Tom began to have grave doubts about how their relationship, such as it was, was evolving. To him, it seemed like all they did was make love. They didn't really talk or act like a textbook dating couple, and this concerned him. While Tom wasn't complaining about having the best sex of his life whenever, and practically wherever, he wanted it, the young man couldn't shake the nagging feeling that maybe he was only keeping Angelina's bed warm until the next in a long and varied succession of lovers came along. Perhaps one who was closer to her age and who had a career that allowed him to spoil the materialistic woman more consistently than Tom, with his entry-level publishing salary, could afford to.

Tom took heart in the prospects for their long-term relationship that Angelina went mad with jealousy when his ex came to town for a recent visit. But even someone as young and romantically inexperienced as he knows that jealousy doesn't necessarily equate to love. He needed more evidence that Angelina considered him more than a mere fling. Unfortunately, the promise of what he assumed was a couple's bonding shopping excursion was nothing more than Angelina's elaborate ruse to have bold and dangerous sex in public.

Some birthday milestones hold obvious significance. Like becoming a teenager at 13, passing out of one's youth at 30, or crossing midlife at 50. Tom Bailey's seemingly inconsequential 23rd birthday, though, marked a landmark occasion in his life. For the young man who was obsessed with the Grand Canyon-like age gap between him and his new 51-year-old girlfriend, Angelina Lione, January 30, 1988 was indeed a momentous cause for relief, if not necessarily celebration. Being able to slice just one year into their May-December relationship was a big deal to him and their romantic future together.

"Sure you don't have time to go out tonight for a beer or two for your birthday?" Paul Gordon asked, as he and his roommate, Tom, walked into the lobby of their apartment building in downtown Hoboken on that sunny but briskly cold Saturday afternoon.

"Can't," Tom answered, pressing the up-arrow elevator button. "Angelina said she has a 'big surprise' planned for the whole night."

"Maybe she booked a room in a fancy hotel in the city?"

"I doubt it. She blew a lot on boots, dresses and nightgowns last weekend. Not sure how much more her credit cards can hold."

"Well, she'll have to get creative then or go someplace cheap like some cheap chain restaurant."

The elevator landed in the lobby and its doors opened.

"Ha," Tom said with a slight laugh, as he stepped inside the empty cab. "You don't know Angelina. "'Cheap,' isn't in her immense vocabulary. From clothes to restaurants, she has nothing but expensive tastes. No way she'd dare set one fashion-booted foot in a chain restaurant. They're beneath her. She'd rather eat domestic cheese or smoke a cigarette that wasn't in her holder."

Nevertheless, Tom wouldn't have cared if his librarian girlfriend's idea of a big surprise was inviting him to attend a lecture on the Dewey Decimal System. He was just happy that after months of not knowing from one day to the next how seriously Angelina regarded their courtship that she thought enough of him to acknowledge his birthday.

"What are you waiting for, an invitation?" an impatient Tom asked his roommate, who was still standing outside the elevator.

"Just realized we don't have any beer in the fridge," Paul said, grabbing the now-closing elevator door so he could continue speaking to Tom. "Since you'd rather hang with your girlfriend than me tonight, I need to go out and get some."

Paul let go of the door and Tom rode the lift alone up to the third floor. Exiting, he turned left and walked three doors down and across the corridor where he fit his key into the lock of room 306, the apartment he shared with Paul and two other college roommates from Fairfield University, who were out that afternoon.

After hanging up his jacket on the coatrack by the door and picking up a letter that had been left for him on the kitchen counter, Tom walked down the hallway. Entering his bedroom, Tom's peripheral vision caught a glimpse of a dark form on his bed, before turning back to the mail in his hand. Tom quickly did a doubletake and focused his attention back to the bed. Sitting cross-legged at the foot of his queen-sized made bed was Angelina, dressed head to toe in black leather, from the knee-high boots tucked into skin-tight pants, to the corset that covered her midsection and the cap perched over her short black locks. A long, red cigarette holder with an unlit Virginia Slim drooped lazily from the right corner of her mouth, held up by two luscious and full maroon-colored, lipstick-bathed lips.

"Hello, slave," Angelina said with a no-nonsense, steely-eyed gaze, after removing the holder from her mouth and clutching it authoritatively with the fingers of her black-leather gloves. "It's not nice to keep your mistress waiting. I may have to punish you with my sex whip."

Dumbstruck by the unexpected sight of his girlfriend in his bedroom - much less decked out in a sexually provocative cat woman outfit - Tom could only stammer out a boyish-sounding greeting.

"Angelina, ha...ha...how did you get into my apartment?" he asked excitedly, in a high, cracking voice not uttered since puberty. "And why are you dressed like that?"

"First of all, I'm Mistress Angelina," she said haughtily, before looking away from him in mock disgust. "You will address me as such at all times, or else our sexual role playing will immediately cease. Secondly, how I gained entry is inconsequential. And thirdly, I am the dominant partner and YOU are the submissive. That means I, and I alone, control what happens here. If you do not obey my commands, we are done. Do you understand?"

Tom had a vague understanding of the BDSM subculture, but men being physically and emotionally abused by a domineering woman in the name of eroticism, wasn't his idea of kinky fun. Still, he also knew from experience with Angelina that it was best to play along when she got into character for the sexual role-playing games she invented.

"Yes, Mistress," said the hulking young man timidly.

"Yes, Mistress Angelina!" his girlfriend said, her voice rising in agitation. "Say it!"

"Yes, Mistress Angelina."

"That's better. Now, take off all your clothes."

Tom did as instructed. A minute later, he stood naked and a bit self-consciously before his girlfriend.

"Very nice," Angelina leered at his muscular, bare body, before running her cigarette holder suggestively over her tongue. "Verrryyy nice, indeed. Now, give me a light."

Angelina handed Tom her gold cigarette lighter, then reinserted the mouthpiece end of the telescopic holder in her mouth.

Lighting his lover's cigarette holder was a chore Tom never had to be told to do. He'd been doing it on his own ever since the pair started dating a few months ago. He thought it gentlemanly, chivalrous and even sexy, and the old-school Angelina, who craved men's attention, ate it up. Oftentimes, lighting Angelina's cigarette holder was their foreplay for the most intense and enjoyable sex the pair shared.

Tom opened the lighter's lid. A flame sparked and he held it out to Angelina.

"Ah...ah..." she said, biting the holder while speaking. "Kneel first."

The 6'3" man took a knee before her and once again offered the light.

Satisfied that her boyfriend was now just below her eye level, Angelina nodded in approval and placed the red cigaretted holder back on her tongue, before closing her lips around it. The woman guided the holder toward the flame. A second later, the two met and the cigarette paper began to burn. Angelina drew in slightly (in the quarter century since she took up her occasional habit, Angelina rarely cared to inhale) then released the holder from her lips and blew out the light before her with the smoke from her mouth.

"Marvelous," she said, as the last remnants of smoke spat out with every syllable of the word. "You'll do. You'll do very well."

Angelina twirled the holder about slowly in her leather-gloved right hand.

"I hear you have smoking and boot fetishes," she said. "Is that true?"

"Yes, Mistress Angelina," Tom answered, as his dick couldn't help but form a stout erection with the power of suggestion.

"I can see. Well, I'm going to use your weaknesses to torture you, my sexy young pet. Now, get down on all fours."

Tom felt humiliated, but did as he was told.

Okay, lick and kiss my boot," she demanded, extending her right leg toward her boyfriend. "But control yourself. If I see just one bead of pre-cum hit the floor, I'll lasso your balls with this whip. Then you'll really have a blue ball problem."

With his dick as stiff as Angelina's outstretched leg, he took the black leather boot in his hand and caressed it. Tom had always loved the way his lover's boots so sexily conformed to her curvaceous calves. Many's the time, in fact, where he'd taken the opportunity when Angelina had passed out during the course of love making to run his dick up and down her booted leg - increasing the pleasure sensation before inserting it back into her cunt and blowing his load. The memories were enough to make his penis throb, yet he dare not think too much about them, less risk an extremely unpleasurable sensation in his groin, courtesy of his suddenly sadistic girlfriend. Instead, Tom took the the better of the two pains, as he stroked, gently squeezed and kissed the boot whose inhabitant he so much wanted to fuck.

"Very good, my slave," Angelina complimented Tom, after some 10 minutes of fondling her spiked-healed boot. "Now, drop my boot and turn your head toward me."

Again, Tom did as instructed. Looking up to Angelina, he was unexpectedly greeted with a puff of smoke to his face, compliments of her cigarette holder exhale. Tom coughed and his eyes grew red and watery.

"Awww...my poor slave loves his mistresses' cigarette holder, yet doesn't like her smoke?" she mockingly asked, breaking into a toothy grin. "Like my boots, lets get you better acquainted with my holder, shall we? Tell me, what's so erotic about seeing me smoke from my holder?"

"It just looks so feminine and elegant," Tom said in dry-throated response, his dick now pointed at magnetic north - just like the red holder Angelina held so delicately and seductively between the black-leather gloved index and middle fingers of her upturned palm.

"Anything else?"

"No, Mistress Angelina."

Angelina eyed Tom suspiciously, while taking a soft pull from the moist mouthpiece end of her cigarette holder.

"You're holding out on me," she said with growing impatience, blowing the smoke into his face again.

"*cough...cough,*" Tom responded, as he struggled to catch his breath.

"Okay...okay...it's because it looks like you're holding and then sucking on an erect penis," he finally confessed. "It makes me so horny for you. Every time."

What Tom couldn't articulate in the moment, was how it made him feel when he saw Angelina with a cigarette holder. How with her at the controls, the simple, "innocent" act of smoking a cigarette through a holder took on epically erotic proportions to him.

"Well, well, well. That's quite the fetish imagination," Angelina said, tapping her red holder with the index finger of the hand that held it to allow an ash to hit the bedroom floor. "I wonder what I could do to feed your fantasy."

With a devilish glean in her eye, Angelina promptly held the holder horizontally between her left thumb and index and middle fingers, then began stroking it slowly and gently with the index and middle fingers of her right hand. Naturally, the kinky librarian's handjob simulation had its desired effect on Tom's libido. So entranced by his lover's actions that he momentarily forgot how humiliating and uncomfortable it felt to be on his hands and and knees on the cold, hardwood floor.

Knowing full well she had her young lover in the palm of her leather-gloved hand, Angelina next moved the holder up to her mouth, first gliding it across her glowing red, lipstick-bathed lips, then opening her mouth, so her tongue could do likewise. Next, she took the moist shaft and, with the mouthpiece, deftly scooped a drop of pre-cum that had bubbled up hot and plentiful from his bulging penis before popping the holder into her mouth.

Enjoying the taste with uncommon zest, Angelina proceeded to suck the mouthpiece, sliding it in, out, then deeper into her mouth - ten, maybe a dozen times, until the flavor of Tom's semen had settled on her tongue. Angelina wasn't physically performing oral sex on Tom, but so heartily was her sucking on the business end of the long and hard, erection-type holder, that to him, she may as well have been. Using her holder to ingest his cum made it personal, intimate and incredibly arousing.

The psychological tease had an intense physiological effect on Tom. Swept up in the moment, Tom leaned his face in toward Angelina's.

"What are you doing?" Angelina asked, recoiling from her passionate boyfriend in horror.

"Trying to...kiss you," he responded timidly, with uncertainty, his penis throbbing in ecstacy.

"You're forgetting yourself, slave. Slaves don't touch - let alone, kiss - their dominant, unless expressly told to do so. Did I tell you to kiss me?"

"Umm...no, Mistress Angelina."

"I should punish you for that."

Angelina raised the whip menacingly at Tom.