Librarian Finds Long Overdue Love Ch. 29

April 16, 1989

Chapter 29

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 frequently 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, Harry Seymour, an older man who fed her fetish for cigar-smoking lovers. After the forbidden relationship unceremoniously ended six years later, Angelina found herself alone at a time when many of 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 for years, drawn in classic fetish fashion to the sexy librarian's stylish, high-heeled boots, seductive smoking and even her pretentious and snobbish personality. Over time, 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 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 long-term romantic harmony 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 bitchy 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 he and this MILF-before-the-term-was-coined made love it brought him to heights of pleasure he never dreamed possible.

Finally after a year of "dating," the two became engaged. Six months later the improbably couple married. Still, their future seemed as romantically dysfunctional and clouded as their present. In part due to questions surrounding whether or not Angelina was capable of curbing her sexual enthusiasm.

For even while dating her confessed greatest lover, Harry, Angelina engaged in several dalliances with other men. Would the mere presence of a wedding ring on her finger be enough to stop a lifetime of promiscuity. It certainly didn't deter her at her bachelorette party. Certainly if she were to sustain a long and healthy marriage, such party-girl misbehavior would not be permissible. At long last, can this cougar finally change her stripes and commit to a monogamous relationship with someone, ideally, her young husband, Tom?

In the meantime, with Tom free to indulge in his lifelong fixation for women who smoked and wore high-healed fashion boots, and Angelina able to satisfy her lust for sexual partners who smoked cigars, the May-December couple enjoyed a marriage made in fetish heaven.

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"I just love weekends," Tom Bailey said contentedly, lying naked on his back on the heartshaped bed he shared with his bride of two weeks, Angelina Lione. "No work. No alarm clock. No one to see if you don't want to. We can make love all day."

"Not ALL day, darrhhlling," Angelina called out to her husband from the bathroom off of their bedroom, as she brushed makeup on to the high cheekbones of her beautiful face. "We're hosting my family for dinner tonight, remember?"

"What?!"

"Of course, darrhhling. It's Sunday. You know we have a family dinner every Sunday. We just haven't had a chance to get together for a few weeks because of the wedding and then the honeymoon. Tonight's my -- or shall I say, our -- turn to host. Our first family Sunday dinner as husband and wife."

"Awww, man. But I was looking forward to having a nice relaxing breakfast, then having sex again."

Already dressed for the day, Angelina emerged from the bathroom and sat on the edge of the bed to resume their conversation.

"I know, darrhhling, I know," she said in an almost motherly tone to the lover who was almost 30 years her junior, delicately placing her right hand on Tom's muscular, bare chest. "Believe me, I'd love to do the same. But we haven't got time. I've got to get the manicotti made, the antipasto ready and..."

"But we've practically lived on love since we got married. In two weeks, I don't think we've been together for more than a couple hours without having sex. My body's going to go into withdrawal, seeing you and not being able to take you. Do you have to wear that, too?"

"Wear what, darrhhling?" the woman asked, looking over her outfit. "This is just a black leotard-like top. I'm dressed casually, not sexily."

"You know what I mean," Tom said, pointing to Angelina's footwear. "You know I can't resist you in those."

"The boots?"

"Yeah, what else?"

Angelina ran her left hand down the knee-high, high-heeled black boot that was zipped over her dark-colored trousers.

"Oh, darrhhling," she said with a chuckle. "You and your boyish boot fetish. It's so charming. And to think, I was the inspiration for it way back when. But you're just going to have to learn to control yourself around me when we're with other people... like I do with you."

"But you're teasing me by wearing them outside your leg. Could you at least tuck them into your pants, so they're not so obvious?"

"But doing so doesn't show off my dancer's legs. Plus, I love this look. Why hide these beautiful boots?"

Angelina raised her slim but toned right leg into the air and straightened it so as to better admire the sexy footwear.

"Now, get up and get ready," she commanded. "We've got a lot of work to do. I want you to help me with dinner. Plus, my Uncle Frank is coming tonight, so I want this meal to be extra-special terrific."

"Uncle Frank's coming?!" Tom exclaimed, head falling back onto his pillow. "Ughhh. This is gonna be awkward. The last time I saw him was at our wedding night, when Brian was passing around those photos of me eating you out. I thought he was going to kill me right there."

"Well, that was your fault, darrhhling. Again, if you could've controlled yourself until later when we got to the privacy of our honeymoon suite, this wouldn't have been an issue."

"I couldn't control myself? What are you talking about? You were the one who dragged me away during the reception to have oral sex."

"I think you're misremembering, darrhhling."

"I'm misremembering?! But...but...you..."

"Never mind that now. C'mon, let's get moving. Our guests will be here before you know it."

Tom shook his head at his wife's faulty account of their wedding reception extracurricular activities, slowly rose from the bed and dragged himself to the bathroom; his Sunday sex plans with his bride now shot.

***

By 4:45 that afternoon meal prep was complete. Two giant pans of manicotti were baking in the oven, the spaghetti sauce for the pasta side was simmering on the stove and the antipasto platter was chilling in the fridge. Angelina had no sooner taken a load off her 4.5" high-heeled boots and flopped down on the sofa to relax when the doorbell rang.

"They're here already?!" Tom asked from the dining room, where he was setting the table for nine.

The exhausted Angelina rose from the couch, shed her apron and hid it under a couch cushion, checked her face and hair in the foyer mirror, then answered the door to find her entire family standing on the front porch.

"Sorry we're so early, dear," her sister Elaine apologized with sincere resignation. "But Rocco smelled the manicotti and couldn't wait another 15 minutes."

"Do come in, darrhhlings," Angelina said.

One by one, Angelina's relatives filed in: Elaine and her husband Rocco; Sophia, her mother; Uncle Frank, niece Lisa and her husband Richie, and finally nephew Tony.

Tom came in from the dining room to greet their guests.

"So good to finally get together," Elaine said. "We haven't seen much of you since the wedding."

"Yeah, glad yous two left the bedroom long enough to make supper," Rocco said with a laugh, and a not-so-subtle dig at the honeymooners.

"Rocco! How rude."

Tom's face immediately turned beet red.

Tom's embarrassment turned to abject fear a moment later when Uncle Frank gave him a steely glare and shook his hand so hard that he feared it would pinch off at the wrist. Apparently, the mobster (or so Tom suspected) had not yet forgiven him for seeing incriminating photos of how the young man had sullied the niece he placed on a pedestal and considered to be a virgin princess.

"Tell us all about the honeymoon, Aunt Ang," Lisa asked, sitting on the couch, while the rest of the family found their own seats around the living room.

"Oh, it was simply marvelous," Angelina said with your usual pretentious way of speaking, taking her husband's hand and pulling him down to join her on the love seat. "The weather was perfect. The beach pristine and the cuisine magnifique. The resort even had a disco; we partied every night!"

"Can we at least eat something, while we hear about da honeymoon?" Rocco asked. "I'm starving here."

"Of course. Thomas, darrhling," Angelina continued, rising from the loveseat. "Will you help me serve the hors d'oeuvres please?"

Tom quickly obeyed, following his wife into the kitchen. Moments later, they returned bearing clean plates and a tray of antipasto.

"She's got you pretty whipped already, doesn't she, kid?" Rocco asked, piling his plate high and deep with mozzarella balls, prosciutto, pepperoni and olives. "Two weeks married and she's already got you doing women's work. By da way, I thought womens' libbers didn't want men's help."

"For your information," an offended Angelina said, "Thomas is a modern, enlightened man. Not a male chauvinist. He can perform all sorts of domestic duties very well, I might add. And while I'm perfectly capable of doing things myself, this marriage is an equal partnership. We share the workload."

Having made her point, the proud feminist reached down to the coffee table in front of her and screwed a Misty 120 from her cigarette box into her long black cigarette holder. Meanwhile, Tom readied his lighter.

Not knowing when to take a loss, a flustered Rocco persisted.

"Get Gloria Steinem, over here," he said with a harrumph. "Won't go from 'Ms.' to 'Mrs.' now dat she's married 'cause it won't agree wit her feminist philosophy, yet she can't even light her own cigarette."

Angelina accepted the light from her husband and withdrew the holder from her mouth. Turning her head toward her brother-in-law, she directed her exhale in his direction. Eyes fixed on her longtime nemesis, she pondered an appropriate retort, smoke oozing from her nostrils.

"Not every feminist is married to a charming gentleman, like I am," she said, raising the holder to her lips again in victory.

"Ahhh...where's da remote?" a disgusted Rocco said, throwing in the towel by changing the subject. "I think the Yankee game is still on."

"C'mon," Elaine said to the Lione women, now that the heated discussion between her husband and sister was now over. "Lets leave them be and go in the kitchen and hear about the rest of the honeymoon. You coming, mama?"

"I'd rather watch the ball game," Sophia, the family matriarch, said.

The other women exited the room, where the libidinous librarian proceeded to hold court with the sordid details of her honeymoon.

"Wow!" Elaine said, after some 10 minutes of listening to erotic stories about Angelina and Tom's love life. "Give me that, will you?"

Elaine extracted the cigarette holder from her sister's fingers and took a deep drag, before blowing out a relaxing exhale.

"Save some for me," Lisa said, taking the holder from her mother and following with a hit of her own. "Your honeymoon makes mine and Richie's sound like we ate milk and cookies."

"Surprised?" Angelina asked smugly, retrieving the shaft and holding it regally in an upturned palm between the index and middle fingers of her right hand.

"Only the frequency," Lisa replied. "You've told me you and Tom have always been really into each other -- so to speak. But I guess I never figured it was possible to make love that much. Five times a day, you said?!"

"Five times a day. We made love whenever and wherever we could. In the cabana, on the beach at night. All we did was make love, dance, eat, drink and sleep. It was pure primal. I knew he was virile, but didn't know how virile, until we started living together. The honeymoon didn't stop after we left Turks and Caicos. We're making love almost as much now, as then -- and that's factoring in we're not even together for eight or nine hours a day because of work. He's just been insatiable."

"Rocco and I haven't made love five times this year, let alone five times a day," a jealous and glum-looking Elaine added.

Angelina popped the holder into the corner of her mouth to free her hands, as she lifted the first pan of manicotti out of the oven.

"My poor baby must be suffering terribly not being able to have me right now," Angelina said, as puffs of smoke burst from her mouth with nearly every syllable. "He's so cute, I hope he has enough willpower not to have an accident."

After removing the second tray and resting it on the stove next to the first, she removed the drooping holder from her mouth.

"Well, I'd better go in and call everyone to the table," Angelina said, before emitting a gentle exhale.

Exiting the swinging door that separated the kitchen from the dining room, the raven-haired beauty stopped dead in her tracks. Up ahead in the living room, her husband sat with a cigar in his mouth, ready to accept a light from Rocco. The sight made Angelina -- who had a long-established thing for lovers who smoked cigars -- teeter on her high-heeled boots. Light-headed, she maintained her footing and consciousness, somehow managing to walk the 20 or so steps into the room. There, the librarian with the pronounced cigar-smoking-fetish plopped on the love seat next to Tom, a lovestruck and glazed expression on her face.

"Hi," Tom said, as clouds of smoke curled around his head. "Dinner ready?"

"What?" Angelina asked, unable to comprehend the simple question as she stared longingly at her lover.

"I said, 'is dinner ready?'"

"Dinner!" Elaine called out to the family, as she and Lisa carried the two pans of the cheese-filled pasta dish into the dining room.

"Good...I'm starved," Rocco said, bolting from his chair.

"No...no," Angelina said, quickly regaining her senses. "It still needs to cool. It's too hot."

"Oh, c'mon," an annoyed Rocco said.

"Thomas, darrhhling, may I have a word with you in private, please?" Angelina asked, taking her husband by the hand and practically dragging him into the kitchen.

"What's wrong?" a confused Tom asked. "Did we run out of something?"

"We've got about three minutes to fuck," Angelina said, breathlessly, as her fingers hurriedly began unbuckling Tom's belt buckle.

"What?" the dumbfounded man asked.

Tom defensively brushed Angelina's hands away from his belt, but his wife persisted, pressing her body close to his while she massaged his genitals through his pants to get him hard.

"Stop it, Angelina!" he said, not enjoying his wife's furious foreplay. "Are you nuts? We've got a room full of relatives in the next room -- one of which, probably still doesn't approve of me sleeping with his 'virgin' niece. What's gotten into you all of a sudden?"

"I want you to get into me," said the passionate woman, while she kissed Tom's neck. "You know seeing you smoke a cigar turns me into an animal. Now, no more talk. We're wasting time. Fuck me right here, right now!"

"No! Get a hold of yourself, will you!"

"I'd rather get a hold of you. Stop fighting it."

"And you were the one who was telling me I had to control myself."

"Shut up and kiss me."

The oversexed woman engulfed her husband's mouth with hers, kissing him ferociously.

"Angelina? You need a hand?" Elaine called out to her sister from behind the kitchen door.