Elle’s Adventure Ch. 08

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Brunette

As I was driven back to my lodgings, I felt contented. It was right to leave Elle and her mother to their own devices and desires. There was no abuse, just love; the reversal of the usual power dynamic actually helped me feel okay with it. What a few days! They said Paris was the city of love; it seemed Durham might be the city of lust.

I opened the door. The house was quiet. It was, I reflected, after nine, so I presumed Mrs J, my landlady had retired for the night. Grabbing myself some water, I headed upstairs, quietly so as not to wake her.

There was a light on in her room, so I tiptoed.

I heard sounds. They were not unfamiliar ones. I presumed she did not know I was back. I stopped and could not help but overhear her groans.

“Yes, yes, yes, oh fuck yes!”

I smiled. It was good to know that Mrs J was a sexual being. It would have been a shame had she not been. I’d have put her in her early fifties, bottle blonde with a decent figure, but, alas, neglected by “l’amour.” She had about her that air of dereliction which women who need to be loved and are not, often have. Well, I reflected, self-love was better than no love.

“Oh damn it, damn it! Why?”

Something had clearly gone wrong. It was none of my business – except, being still worked up from my time with Elle and her Mum, I found it impossible not to speculate. Speculating, I found it impossible not to intervene. Fatal? Perhaps, but the last few days I had felt like a gambler riding her luck, so I thought I might as well go for broke.

I opened the door. Mrs J was lying on her bed, her legs apart, holding a vibrator to her pussy. She looked horrified!

“What? Get out, get out!”

“What went wrong?” I asked, ignoring her actual words.

“Get out!” She shouted, red-faced.

“Only if you tell me what went wrong. You didn’t orgasm, did you? When was the last time you did?”

I had either just wrecked things with my landlady, or taken us to a new place. It ought to be a truth universally acknowledged that a horny women who has not cum is ripe for being pleasured – even if she does not quite know it. That was my experience, and I was betting the bank on it.

Instead of repeating her command, she covered herself up and mumbled.

“I don’t know. I don’t know.”

Then she burst into tears.

I went to her and, sitting on the bed next to her, pulled her to me, stroking her hair.

“There, there, Mrs J. I can help.”

“How?” She asked, startled.

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” I told her, “but I do have a girlfriend. Do you like other women?”

“I don’t know,” she sobbed, “I kissed a few girls at uni, but after marrying Albert, I was faithful to him, and since he died in that horrible crash, well, I, I’ve been like this.”

“Do you want to orgasm?”

I might as well be direct, I thought.

“What are you suggesting, dear?”

“That you pull back that cover and let me take you where you need to be.”

“You don’t understand,” she mumbled, “it, it’s more complicated.”

Now that piqued my interest. I did complication. I liked complicated. I was complexity incarnate. My sixth sense tingled.

“It’s as complicated as you doing what I tell you, I think, Mrs J. You do need direction, don’t you?”

If I had put the bank on it when I opened the door, I was putting the winnings from that on the table now. But I knew, don’t ask how, I don’t know how I know these things. I just do.

“D, direction? What do you…?”

“Pull that cover back, I want to see your body!”

There was a frisson, a nanosecond when I wondered, but in that time, she had pulled the cover back. Her breasts were not as large as Elle’s, and as one might expect, there was a sag, but I liked that; I also liked that her nipples were hard and crinkled, and not with the cold.

I reached out and teased both nipples.

“So hard.”

She whimpered.

“So very, very hard.”

“Oh fuck, yes, yes they are.”

“And if I put my hand down here, will I find a wet pussy?”

Even as I said it, my hand was there, and pressing through the hair, yes, I found a wetness. She groaned, looking at me – needy. I pressed further.

“Or” I asked, pushing a finger between her swollen lips, “is it a wet cunt? Isn’t that what you English sluts have? Wet cunts?”

She blushed and moaned.

“That’s such a dirty, horrible word.”

“But suitable for a slut with a wet cunt, no?”

“Yes, yesss” she said, the sibilants continuing into a low whimper.

“Yes what, my slut?”

“Oh gawd, oh gawd, how did you…?”

“Yes, what, slut?”

My voice hardened.

“Yes, Miss, I am a slut, I have a wet cunt.”

I could see her spasm, short, sharp, but it happened. She came. Not one of those big orgasms, that was yet to come, but one of those which she could not resist which let off some steam.

“Did you cum just then, slut?”

I looked sternly at her. Inside I was delighted, but this was about her, not me.”

“Yes, just a little jerky one, Miss. Sorry Miss, I couldn’t help it.”

“Well, in future, slut, london escorts you will help it, and you will ask me first. You no longer control your own orgasms. You used to have to ask Albert, didn’t you?”

“Yes, yes Miss, how did you know?”

It was hardly an inspired guess. She had been faithful to her husband, she found it hard to cum just by masturbation, and she had immediately responded to my attempt to dominate her. She was a classic submissive. She was already entering the realm of subspace, where submissives go when they surrender, I knew from experience that it could be a dangerous place, but with the right woman, it could also be a Nirvana. I would be that right woman.

“I can’t carry on calling you Mrs J, what, apart from slut, should I call you?”

“Penny, Miss, please call your slut Penny.”

From the way she had formulated that I could tell she was at the phase of subspace where she was disassociating herself from her vanilla persona. Very well, slut Penny it would be.

“Well, slut, I think your nipples need some assistance. Dip your finger into that cunt cream and smear it on them.”

Penny looked shocked, and then her eyes glazed as her fingers scooped some of her juices (which caused her to shiver with pleasure) and applied them to her nipples; I knew that as it dried, it would make her nipple tingle.

“Now I think some as lip gloss, I want you to be able to smell your cunt, and taste it.”

Lost, deep now in subspace, Penny obliged.

“How do you feel?”

“Like a slut Miss, a dirty, filthy slut!”

Well, in the right context, I reflected, that was no bad thing; this was that context.

I made her play with her breasts, but insisted she call them “tits,” which aroused her as much as using the vulgar word for her vagina.

All the while, I just watched and instructed. This was about her. I knew what she needed and she was going to get it.

“Now, I think three fingers in that cunt, don’t you?”

“Yes, yes Miss, I can do more if you want!”

“As long as you have a thumb free to rub your needy clit, my slut!”

I watched as her fingers squelched into her wetness and she began to finger fuck herself. She was gone, deep now in subspace.

Her hand moved furiously.

“You need to ask!” I reminded her.

Her eyes were clouded by desire and need.

“Please, please, can this slut cum, please Miss!”

As she had failed earlier in her solo attempt, and already had partial release, I thought what the heck, there would be times for denial, but this was a time of fulfilment.

“Now, now slut and you can!”

That did it.

She moaned loudly, her legs shaking and her whole body quivering as her orgasm hot her like a meteorite. She came and she came.

I went to her. I kissed her as she sobbed. I stroked her hair. I held her. I hugged her until all passions were spent. It was the recovery phase which mattered now.

If you took on the responsibility of dominating another woman, you assumed a position where she was vulnerable to you. In the sexual phase, that was what was needed, but you had the job of leading her back from subspace, which meant love, affection attention. I had seen it go wrong once, and it was not a pretty sight. In fact I had come to suspect it had been deliberate, as the domme had, I discovered, a record of abusing her women. It was easy enough to do – if you were an evil bitch.

So, I sat with Penny as she came back. I stroked her hair.

“Fabienne, that, well that was so good. I am sorry!”

And there it was, that autonomic reflex: she was not worth it; she had been a burden; she was a problem; she was embarrassed. She would shut down if I was not very careful.

“Penny, darling, nothing to be sorry for. I am a lesbian, you are an attractive woman, we enjoyed ourselves. How’s that a thing to say sorry for?”

She hugged me back. Good, good I thought, she was not withdrawing.

I pulled away slightly and lifted her face to mine, kissing her lips with tenderness and stroking her hair softly. Tactile. Feeling was the key, body needed adding to mind. Penny responded.

“I was just, well, embarrassed you found me doing that.”

“Oh course you were,” I whispered, “any of us would be, but look what came of it.”

I loved that she hugged me tight.

“Thank you, Fabienne, but, well, where does this go now?”

Her grey-blue eyes looked into mine. I could see the fear, the longing – and something else.

“Where you want Penny.”

“But, Miss,” she giggled, “you are in charge.”

I smiled.

“I am, but that does not mean you have no will – just no guilt!”

My eyes locked with hers. I saw it, suddenly, I recognised it.

“How far did my colour get you off? Submitting to a woman of colour, and you, a white woman used to being in charge?”

Jackpot! The look which suffused her face, along with the blush, bore its own witness.

“Oh gawd, so much, so fucking much, Miss.”

“And my size?”

The blush became crimson.

“You must think I am a pervert!”

There london escort was a tone of fear there. That was inevitable as we approached the dark places of her fantasy.

“As long as you acknowledge that I am an adult, and not a child, there is no perversion there – just a kink or two.”

Penny leant into me and kissed me.

“What’s the difference, Miss.”

“Simple answer? One is illegal and wrong; the other is legal and kinky. Longer answer, what is illegal is illegal and I do not go there. But where there is a kink in the psychology, well that is where I go. My being dark-skinned in a world where white rules, reverses old stereotypes. My being petite and looking younger than my years turns you on for similar reasons. It would not be as kinky if you were in charge.”

“I’ll buy that.”

“You will,” I said, pulling her to me as I lay down on the bed with her, kissing her.

Just the lying there, with me clothed and her naked was, in itself, an erotic thrill, and after a while, I sensed that she was back – out of subspace.

“You feeling okay, Penny?”

“Yes, yes, this is delicious. I can’t believe what I just did.”

There was a note of uncertainty.

“What I made you do,” I butted in.

“Yes, you did, you made me be a bad girl.”

“I brought it out in you, darling.”

Then I kissed her some more.

We lay in each other’s arms the longest time.

“Was this a one-off?” She eventually asked.

“Only if you want it to be.”

“Fuck no! I’ll miss you when you have to go.”

“You won’t,” I said, reassuringly, “because I shall provide you with those who will be here when I am gone.”

“But, well, will they, who, what?”

The poor thing was confused.

“You are mine, Penny, so I will take care of all that. That’s all you need to know.”

She hugged me.

“Thank you, Miss. Can, erm, I please you?”

“You do. Have you ever been with a woman, Penny?”

“Not in that way, Miss.”

“Well, tell you what, you look at some videos tonight. Tomorrow is a new day.”

I kissed her.

I was so sleepy that I just about staggered back to my room and managed to undress, before crawling under the duvet and sleeping.

I woke early, as usual. Memories of the day before, and indeed the weekend, crashed in on me. Shower, dress, breakfast, Penny – in that order, I thought.

Penny was still asleep when I got downstairs, so I made her some tea and toast and brought it up to her.

“Hi, sleepy, breakfast in bed?”

She was just waking. Her hair spread across the pillow like a sleepy golden storm, her eyes soft with sleep.

“Gawd, it wasn’t a dream?”

“No, Penny, it wasn’t. I shall be off soon. but let’s chat before I go.”

Walking to school I was satisfied with the results of our talk. She seemed, indeed was, happy, and embraced my proposal with eagerness.

There was so much to adjust to at school.

Mrs Gordon was welcoming, and introduced me to the staff in the Common Room. They seemed a nice enough bunch. I had no teaching until ten, which gave her the chance to show me round the school. I had texted Elle, from whom I had received a text, and was glad that she seemed calm. I suspected things had gone well with her and her Mum. I wondered if I would see her at school.

My first class went well. Mrs Johnson, the French teacher, introduced me to the year eleven class, and, after some initial hesitations, we managed to get into a discussion about French food. All of which made me ready for my mid-morning coffee.

I was just sitting down to drink it when I say Elle. She looked happy; that made me happy. She came over with her own coffee.

“So good to see you darling,” she said.

“You too,” I replied, “but we may want to be sparing about who hears us call each other darling. How was Mum?”

Her smile told its own story. She thanked me for letting them spend time together. Smiling back, I said:

“I had a feeling it would. I am just glad you two are okay.”

She told me they had fallen asleep together – after more orgasms.

“Like Mum, like daughter, insatiable the two of you!”

She giggled and then, sweetly, said the only thing that worried her was that I had not had an orgasm.

“Honest, don’t worry,” I told her. “It was more important that we got you and Mum to a good place. We’ll have time for me. Don’t look now but two girls are headed this way.”

They were obviously friends of Elle’s. The taller of the two was a striking redhead with cheekbones which looked as though they could have cut paper. She had those haunting green eyes and pale white skin which so often comes with that colouring. She was beautiful. That, Elle told me, was Emma.

Strangely, or perhaps not, it was the other friend, Amy, who caught my attention. That was partly because she made exactly the same mistake as Elle had made:

“Hiya, Elle, who’s your cute friend?” She asked.

I looked at Elle, who just answered:

“Why Amy, do you fancy her?”

Emma giggled, and added:

“Maybe she does, so is kind london escort agency of cute. Hi, I’m Emma, and this galumph here is Amy, and her mouth does occasionally shut!”

Yes, I had noticed that she seemed a little interested.

“Well sit down you two, this is Fabienne,” Elle told them.

They both said hi, and then, for a moment, there was silence.

“So,” she said, “what is this then, the ‘fancy Fabienne club’?”

Emma, who was never backward in coming forward said:

“Oh don’t tell me, she got in first, didn’t she?” She said, looking at me. “She was always quick off the mark. Damn!”

Would Elle tell them?

“Emma, Fabienne is the new French Assistante!”

They looked taken aback.

“Oh fuck! Fuck! Sorry Miss,” she said at once. Amy was blushing furiously. Emma seemed amused by the whole thing.

Amy was blushing; Emma was not.

Emma had the confidence of those like herself and Elle, figures of beauty whose experience was that others came to flutter around them like moths to a flame. Amy was different, which was the other reason she interested me.

I had often noted how beautiful girls tended to have one or two friends who were not beautiful. Amy was on the chubby side, indeed Elle called her a “chubster.” Her sweater was baggy, and her leggings looked stretched across her ample thighs. She wore her hair scraped back in a ponytail. There was about her an air of resignation. She had two gorgeous friends; the was the “plain” one.

Elle impressed on them the importance of keeping quiet about the relationship which she confessed we had. I was pleased that she got it. Yes, what Elle and I were doing was good for us both, and it was clear that both Emma and Amy were intrigued. What was happening with Elle and her Mum was another matter.

“So,” Emma asked, “you’ve already been with our sexy blonde leader?”

“I have,” I answered, “but unless Elle objects, I have no problem with redheads, or,” I said, looking at Amy, “big girls, who I find sexy.”

I almost laughed at the look on Amy’s face. It was like she did not know whether to be cross at being called a “big girl,” or happy at being found “sexy.”

“Thank you, Miss. Do you object, Elle?” She asked, turning to her.

“We shall see,” she giggled.

And so we did.

I had to go to teach, and then catch up with Mrs Gordon about the inevitable paperwork. She kindly took me to lunch, and over on the other side if the Ref I saw Elle and her friends. I smiled.

The afternoon went well, and it seemed as though the girls responded well to my more informal style.

Just before finishing, I got a text from Elle, but I could not answer it as I was busy answering questions. I did text her as soon as I could, and got a reply telling me to go to a numbered Carrel in the library.

I found the right place and a moment after knocking, Elle opened the door – and I saw she had Amy with her.

Amy stared.

“Quick, lock it,” I told Elle. She did so.

“Do you know how to please another woman, Amy?” Elle asked.

She blushed, and admitted that she had no idea.

“That’s why I asked Teach here to show you. Are you happy to show her, Teach?”

So, that was what it was about. I had wondered.

“But of course, as you desire.”

Amy seemed almost paralysed. I was gentle with her. Positioning her on the edge of the table, I knelt and pulled her leggings down. Her thighs were, indeed, ample. I noticed a stain on her blue knickers.

“Now, Amy,” I told her, “I want you to sit on the desk, legs open, but first, let us remove the obstacle.”

As I had expected, her knickers stuck to her pussy lips as I pulled them down. I looked at Elle, who was turned on.

“Now then, remember what I do,” Amy, I told her, “and when you are asked, do it. Okay?”

“Yes, Miss,” said Amy, answering as though she was still in class.

I watched, parted her thighs and then, gently peeled her lips apart. Amy was already moaning. She was wet.

“Just hold on to me, dear,” I told her.

My tongue flicked in and out, and I licked slowly up the crease of Amy’s pussy, before stopping short of her clit. As my tongue took her, she moaned.

“Oh fuck, fuck!”

I looked at Elle.

“Knickers, mouth, now!”

Giggling, she grabbed the knickers and stuffed them in.

That allowed me to work on her without the fear that we would alert the whole of the Library.

Sucking on Amy’s clit, I gripped her tight, pushing my face against her wetness. She was not able to resist for long, and she came hard.

“Are you all this horny?” I asked Elle, turning toward her.

She pulled the knickers out of Amy’s mouth.

“Fuck, fuck, that was so good, thank you Miss!”

“Well,” I said, “now you know what to do.”

As Amy dressed, Elle intimated that she wanted to cum. I persuaded her to wait.

Once Amy had gone, we walked back to mine. I texted Penny. This was falling into place.

I could see that Elle was impatient. Well, I knew it would be worth her while.

Five minutes out I texted:

“There in 5 x.”

I opened the door, inviting Elle in.

And there, kneeling in the hallway, a dog’s collar with a lead round her neck, her tits out and her legs parted, was Penny.

“Good girl, Mrs J,” I said. “Elle, this is my landlady.”

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