April 10, 1989
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 business. 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 all the time 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, all the time 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 all the time 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 withstand 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 college, Harry Seymour. 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 school 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 feasible.
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?
Hot off the sweltering noonday sand, Angelina Lione-Bailey swept into her beachfront bungalow, a long, black cigarette holder with a freshly lit Misty 120 fit neatly between the slender index and middle fingers of her left hand and a trashy romance novel tucked like a football inside her right arm.
Walking right by the heartshaped bed where her husband Tom was lying naked and half awake, the newlywed stopped and put her book on the bureau. Angelina placed the mouthpiece end of the cigarette holder in the middle of her parted red lips and began thumbing through the stack of paperbacks she’d brought along on her weeklong honeymoon to Turks and Caicos.
Tom lifted his head from the pillow. Through watery eyes, slowly coming into focus he admired his bride from behind. Dressed in a beige bikini and covered in a matching see-through, lace kaftan that extended to the high-heeled open-toed sandals strapped to her ankles, the sexy Angelina promptly provoked an erection from his 24-year-old penis.
Rising from the bed, Tom made his way to his bride. Gently, he reached around and placed his hand over the front of her skimpy triangle-shaped bikini bottom that was barely doing the job it was designed for: covering her shaved privates.
“Good morning,” he said. “Hitting the beach already?”
Angelina slowly withdrew the holder, as all the while her protruding lips seemed to tug it back in, seemingly reluctant to let go of the pleasurable feel of the long shaft in her mouth.
“Already?!” she said, through wisps of smoke as she felt Tom’s hard-on press against her bikini-bottomed ass. “It’s nearly lunch time, darrhhling.”
“It is? I musta dozed off after we made love this morning. So, who lit your cigarette?”
“A charming young cabana boy named Raoul. He’s giving me a lot of personal attention.”
“He’s supposed to be attentive. That’s how they make money.”
“Perhaps. But he seems to come up with new excuses every few minutes to check on me. First, it was to light my cigarette, then it was to ask if I needed suntan lotion, then it was to ask if I wanted a drink. I wonder if he has a crush on me.”
“A woman call tell these things, darrhhling. “I know when every man has had a crush on me — including you, when you came into my library 18 months ago. I knew in minutes you had a crush on me.”
“Well, maybe I should be jealous then.”
“When aren’t you jealous of another man lighting my cigarette?”
Angelina caressed her husband’s hand that was on the front of her bikini bottom with the one clutching her holder.
“Never,” Tom said, his lips working their way up the right side of her neck. “But I’m especially jealous now that we’re married. Lighting your cigarettes is my job. It’s the gentlemanly thing to do.”
“Mmmm…I love when you take care of me,” Angelina purred with delight. “I practically never have to lift a finger.”
“I guess I’m old-fashioned that way. I believe a husband should spoil his wife.”
“A young handsome man with old-fashioned ideals…what more could I ask for in a husband?”
“I tell ya…if that cabana boy does have a crush on you, he’s sure got good taste. That bikini is something else.”
“You like it?”
“Hmmm..hmmm. It’s so skimpy. That bottom is like a thong. It’s driving me wild. Lets make love.”
“Not now, darrhhling. I have a drink waiting for me.”
“But we’re on our honeymoon. Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do? Make love as much as feasible? Besides, would you rather have a cocktail or a cock?”
Tom didn’t wait for an answer. Slowly, he plunged both of his hands down the front of Angelina’s bathing suit bottom and began massaging her pussy.
“Ohhhh!” moaned the 53-year-old school librarian, instantly forgetting about her tropical drink. “That’s wonderful, darrhhling.”
Angelina closed her eyes and extended her right arm up and behind her to stroke her husband’s wavy hair.
“We’ve… made love… three times… in the last 18 hours…darrhhling,” she said between heavy panting. “Are you… sure… you have anything… left?”
“You tell me,” Tom said, his hard-on digging into the fabric of her ass.
Meanwhile, his fingers continued to dance joyfully about his wife’s vagina — tapping, gliding and pivoting about the fast-lubricating surface. Tom made up the movements and the tempo as he went along, alternating between going fast, then taking it down to a crawl, before building the speed again. On and on went the cycle. Angelina never knew how fast her husband’s dancing digits would go, when they would slow, tip toe about and accelerate again; just that the unpredictable pace had pirouette’d her into a state of uncontrollable ecstasy. The hyper-arroused newlywed’s secretions were so voluminous that after a few minutes of rigorous wrist action, Tom’s fingers were practically swimming in the warm stickey of his lover’s pool.
Angelina was out cold on her feet for a good five seconds before collapsing back into Tom’s chest. Fully expecting that his wife would eventually pass out from the foreplay, the unperturbed young man calmly lifted Angelina and placed her on her back on the bed less than a foot to his left. Tom followed his fainted wife onto the bed. But before he unfolded Angelina’s bikini bottom, he took a moment to admire the view; Angelina’s immacutely made-up face, toned and shapely body, and the long cigarette holder tucked between her fingers fed his raging smoking fetish. The only thing missing was her trademark knee-high, high-healed fashion boots. But, fortunately for Tom, at least one pair made the honeymoon trip: a set of sleek black suede ones Angelina packed for the cool and breezy Turks and Caicos nights. Boots that she wore the previous evening on their first night on the island when the couple made love on the beach after dancing at a club.
As he slid his dick into Angelina’s warm, wet sponge of a pussy, Tom considered, as he’d done countless times before, the gift that kept on giving — the carte blanche Angelina so generously offered him at the beginning of their relationship to make love to her if she passed out during foreplay. Many a time he thought what would happen if she hadn’t permitted him to continue. How sexually frustrating it would have been to wait 10, 20 minutes — or maybe until the next morning if they were making love late at night and her faint had transitioned into sleep — for Angelina to regain consciousness before he could finish fucking her.
Thankfully, it never came to that before Tom could cum in her twat. He could carry on as if she was awake, enjoying her and the pleasure of making love to her for as long as it took him to finish. Today, was no different. Their bodies joined by his erection, Tom started intently into Angelina’s gorgeous unconscious face from inches away, arched his back and began thrusting his hips, slowly pumping her pussy. To Tom, sex with Angelina — whether she was awake or passed out — was an experience to be savored, never rushed through. And if that meant slowing the pace of his pelvic thrusts to the point where he could hardly stand it any more, then so be it. The delay was almost as sexually gratifying as the eventual ejaculation.
Even when awake, Angelina could rarely hold out as long as Tom could, usually orgasming long before he climaxed. It was what Angelina loved most about making love to her young companion: his uncommon discipline and stamina. How he took his sweet time to ensure she was pleasured first, before ejaculating. And how he took her to the highest heights until she couldn’t handle the altitude any more, became lightheaded and had to pass out because the climax was way too much for her to handle.
With Angelina already unconscious, Tom knew he could move a little faster. She had already reached her orgasm and was resting comfortably; now, it was his turn. Gradually, he picked up the pace of his penis plunges into her pussy. Deep dives that left even him gulping air. Down and up his dick went, the sensitivity from scrapping the sides of her vaginal walls as he submerged then came to the surface bringing him closer and closer to discharge. Frantically Tom pumped, working harder and harder. Yet the movements failed to revive Angelina, who laid on the bed as unconscious as she was minutes earlier when Tom’s fingers had performed all the sexual stimulation.
The sexual attraction for his bride seemingly never more intense, Tom’s dick finally hit just the right spot against her pussy, triggering an ejaculation that sent wave after wave of cum into the flooded canal. Tom rode it out till every drop of semen had drained from his dick. Then, completely spent, he too blacked out, collapsing atop his bride. When he regained consciousness a minute later, Tom’s penis was still firmly emplanted in his still-passed out wife’s vagina. Planting a tender but passionate full-mouth kiss on Angelina’s pouty lips, he held the fainted woman close and wondered how he could possibly be more turned on by a woman. Any woman. Even one nearly 30 years his senior. Beholding the contented smile on her sleeping face, Tom had to assume Angelina felt the same about him.