Librarian Finds Long Overdue Love Ch. 30

April 22, 1989

Chapter 30

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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Tom Bailey sat slumped on the loveseat in his living room, checked his wristwatch then anxiously drummed the fingers of his right hand on the armrest's blue polyester fabric.

"Honey!" he yelled to his new bride, who was upstairs in their bedroom, supposedly getting dressed for their dinner date at the home of her friend and assistant Nancy Allums and her husband. "Are you almost ready? C'mon. It's 6:45, we're gonna be late!"

Ms. Angelina Lione-Bailey, preoccupied with choosing the appropriate evening wear for the occasion, held a dress up to her body as she studied her reflection in the full-length mirror, the mouthpiece of her long red cigarette holder drooping from her full, red lips.

"Angelina?!" Tom bellowed, when about 10 seconds had elapsed and there was still no response from the second floor.

The couple had been married for exactly two weeks, and from the night of the wedding ceremony their relationship had been a veritable fuck fest. The honeymoon that started on the scorching sandy beaches of Turks and Caicos was still sizzling when they returned home a week later to the decidedly un-tropical shores of northern New Jersey. The newlyweds screwed all over the house -- whenever and wherever the mood struck.

An accomplished chef, Angelina rarely turned on the oven during this honeymoon phase, opting instead to do most of her cooking in the bedroom, or whatever room where romance suddenly bloomed between the amorous woman and her equally passionate young husband. Tom lost seven pounds and had to get most of his nutrition outside the house. But he could care less. Sex was far and away his top priority -- as it always was for his wife, the chronically lustful librarian.

Only work obligations could separate them and disrupt their fornication routine. Otherwise, they engaged in some form of sexual intercourse -- be it oral, anal or vaginal -- from practically the time they awoke to the moment when Tom's powerful yet sensitive pelvic thrusts inevitably sent the fully-pleasured Angelina off to blissful and orgasmic unconsciousness for the night. Even the horniest rabbits couldn't keep up with the lovemaking pace that Tom and Angelina set for themselves.

That Saturday evening's dinner invitation from Nancy Allums and her husband offered the first real opportunity for the self-imposed shut-ins to step out socially. But that now seemed in jeopardy, as Angelina had yet to emerge from her bedroom.

"ANGELINA!" Tom called out for a third time.

"Still getting ready, darrhhling," she finally responded. "I can't seem to find anything to wear."

"Can't find anything to wear?!" her increasingly-impatient husband said to softly to himself. "She's got a bigger wardrobe than Cher and Diana Ross combined!"

After 10 minutes later and no Angelina, Tom decided to check on his wife's progress.

"Angelina, you're not even close to being ready," he said with resignation from the doorway to their bedroom, seeing her dressed in only a flaming red bra, matching-colored lace thong, and black knee high, high-heeled boots zipped up over neon nylons.

Normally, catching an eyeful of his hot wife in this particular state of undress would induce an instant hard-on, but Tom was so concerned about being late for their dinner date that he barely noticed how she looked.

"No, darrhhling, I'm almost there," she objected, after taking her still unlit cigarette holder out of her mouth. "I've already made up my face. I just need to find the right outfit for the occasion. Spring can be such a challenge. I don't know whether to go with this flowing dress or maybe a black turtleneck sweater, with these matching-colored boots worn over a pair of charming tan pants. Honestly, darrhhling, my spring collection is terribly wanting."

"Well, how much longer is THAT going to take? It's almost 7:00. They're expecting us any minute."

"I don't know, darrhhling. Perfection cannot be rushed."

"It's not like we're going to a society ball; it's just dinner at your co-worker's house."

"You know I shan't be seen in public without looking my absolute best. Now, go back downstairs, make yourself a drink and relax. And please don't yell for me again. I'll come down only when I'm good and ready, and NOT a moment before!"

"But..."

"But nothing. Now, off with you, darrhhling, and leave me to my preparation."

"Yes, dear."

Given his marching orders by his clothes horse diva wife, Tom slunk out of the bedroom with his tail between his legs.

Over the next half hour he had time to down two Manhattans while he waited in vain for the snobbish prima donna to join him. Finally, through the growing buzz of his whiskey and vermouth cocktails he concocted a plan. From a desk drawer in the study, Tom took out a cigar, lit it and crept up the stairs. He took a puff on the cigar and blew out a thick cloud of smoke toward his and Angelina's open bedroom door. Tom took another, and another, directing the fumes now with waves of his hand, the smoke slowly cascading toward his intended target. Now, with a Grinch-like smile, the young man hustled back down stairs and took a seat on the sofa.

The plan worked like a charm -- albeit a little too well. Tom had hoped to get Angelina -- whose kryptonite was men who smoked cigars -- moving, by literally smoking her out of the bedroom. Instead, Angelina promptly appeared at the top of the stairs still in the same state of undress he'd just left her in.

With a trance-like expression on her beautiful face, she descended the staircase and sauntered toward him. Tom let out a sigh, knowing his plan had backfired and only delayed the couple from leaving the house.

"Angelina, we've really got to get going," Tom said, as his wife nestled next to him on the sofa.

"Light me," she said seductively, her one-track mind ignoring her husband's plea.

Tom let out another sigh and reached down to the coffee table for Angelina's lighter.

"Not that," she said, delicately touching her husband's hand that was holding his cigar and slowly moving it into his mouth.

As Tom took a puff on his Montecristo, Angelina guided the open end of the Misty 100 that was tucked into her red cigarette holder toward the glowing ash on the cigar. She let the ends meet and with fire blazing from her large brown eyes, held the connection several seconds longer than was necessary to light her cigarette holder. Finally, Angelina let the link go. Leaning back, she closed her eyes, opened her mouth wide and held the pose, content to enjoy the moment. After a few seconds, she blew out a most satisfying exhale, her pussy beginning to cum from the experience of being one with the phallic cigar.

Tom knew instinctively that it'd be a miracle if he and his sex-crazed bride would make it out the front door for dinner. Still, he tried one more time to motivate Angelina to finish dressing for the evening.

"Ya know, the faster we get out, the faster we can get home and make love," Tom reasoned.

The argument fell on deaf ears. Angelina advanced toward Tom and curled her booted left leg over his thigh, all but trapping him under her. Eyes glued to her prey, the cougar coolly executed a no-look twitch of her left hand and an ash fell from her long cigarette into an ashtray on the table. Smiling impishly, Angelina placed her bare hand onto Tom's chest, forced the retreating man down on the couch, and moved in to initiate a soft yet passionate kiss on his mouth. Tom succumbed to the seduction, as always, for dinner at Nancy Allum's house couldn't hold a candle -- or in this case, a cigarette holder -- to the possibility of "eating in."

As the loving couple made out, Angelina used her free hand to stroke Tom's cock through his pants. Again, without looking at what she was doing -- because if there's one thing the hypersexual Angelina knew was her way into a man's trousers -- she undid the zipper and extracted her lover's penis.

Fully erect now, it was Tom's turn to go to work. His wife -- who was now lying spread eagle on the sofa -- had gotten him so hot and bothered, though, that he didn't have the patience to remove her thong. Instead, the worked-up stud began thrusting his dick against the thin garment that was covering her pubic region.

Moments after Tom began plugging away, the telephone rang. Without thinking that now may be the best time to let the answering machine pick up, the aroused woman instinctively reached behind her and picked up the receiver from the end table.

"Angelina?" came the female voice from the other end of the line. "It's me, Nancy. Are you and Tom still coming to dinner? You're over a half hour late."

"Uhhh...oh...hi, Nancy," Angelina breathlessly responded, now realizing she'd been caught with her pants down -- so to speak -- for an excuse, as her undeterred husband continued to pound away furiously against her thong. "Ummm...yeah...I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know? We made plans, remember? Are you okay? You don't sound like yourself."

Her assistant's last question gave Angelina the excuse she'd been looking for.

"No...no...I...uhhh...pulled a muscle in my back gardening today," she lied.

"Oh, I'm sorry. So, that's why you're moaning," Nancy said, remarking on what was, in fact, the her boss's pleasured wails. We'll do it another night. You just get your rest."

"Thank you for...understanding...darrhhling. Ohhhh.....!"

At that moment, the speed and force of Tom's aggressive lovemaking finally poked through Angelina's flimsy undergarment; his long and plump dick penetrating her pussy at just the right angle that it struck her g-spot. The unexpected action caused Angelina to climax and she lost her grip on the phone, dropping it onto the coffee table. The loud clattering of hard plastic bouncing on the one-inch thick tempered glass forced Tom to stop before ejaculating, whereupon he noticed that Angelina was passed out cold -- a normal reaction to when she became overstimulated during sex.

"Hello? Are you there? Angelina?" Nancy asked.

Tom, his penis still wedged in his wife's pussy, picked up the phone and brought the receiver to his mouth.

"Hi, Mrs. Allums," he said. "This is Tom."

"Tom? Is everything okay?" the concerned woman asked. "I was just talking to Angelina and then all of a sudden we weren't."

"Yeah...uhh...Angelina can't really speak right now."

"The poor dear. She must be in so much pain. Well, I won't keep you. I told her not to worry about tonight. We'll have you over for dinner when she's feeling better. Is there anything we can do? Can we run some tuna casserole over to you?"

"No, thanks. That won't be necessary."

"Are you sure? It's no problem."

"Oh, yeah. I'm sure."

"Okay. Well... take good care of her, will you please?"

"Oh, I will."

"Get her right to bed."

"That's exactly what I was thinking, Mrs. Allums. Good night now."

Tom hung up the phone and carefully surveyed his fainted wife: the fresh coat of dark eyeshadow on the closed lids that hid behind her oversized, square tortoiseshell glasses; the open mouth with the crimson lipstick; the bra-covered slender-shaped breasts rising and falling with every breath; the sexy garter belt; the high-heeled black boots straddling his waist; and the burning cigarette holder hanging limply from the graceful and slender index and middle fingers of her manicured and red-nail-polished left hand.

Feeling cum trying to bubble to the surface, Tom slid his cock out of Angelina's pussy before he prematurely ejaculated, and rose from the sofa. Now on his feet, he bent over and picked up his unconscious wife, her neck muscles slowly opening until her face faced the ceiling. So much for going out, he said to himself. But that's okay. I'd rather eat Angelina's sweet cherry pie than tuna casserole any day. Tom leaned in and gave his wife a delicate kiss on her open mouth. Then, carrying her flaccid frame before him, he leisurely scaled the staircase to their bedroom.