by Lily Harlem
When the discordant music of Sharifa’s fall died down, Mrs Zamani took a seat on her rolling chair – more of a padded stool, really. Sitting perfectly straight, she said to Sharifa, ‘I have been veuve for almost thirty years. Can you believe that, my dear?’
Sharifa shuffled through her mental translation guides, but couldn’t find that word anywhere. She shook her head. ‘Madame, I’m not sure what that means, veuve.’
‘Ah.’ Mrs Zamani chuckled, clapping her hands. ‘Ah yes – veuve, widow. I have been a widow since twenty-three years of age.’
The very idea gave Sharifa a shiver. ‘I’m sorry. I can’t imagine.’
‘My husband was a brilliant man – intellectual, a poet – but he got on the wrong side of the Shah.’ Mrs Zamani gazed over Sharifa’s head and out the window. ‘Now he lives only in memory.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Sharifa said once more.
‘Shall I tell you a secret, zibaa?’ Mrs Zamani asked with a keen smile.
‘Zibaa?’ Her teacher seemed to call her this at every lesson, but she couldn’t fathom what it meant.
Mrs Zamani nodded deeply. ‘Farsi,’ she said. ‘It means … beautiful.’
Sharifa’s breath caught in her chest. Her ears were burning with the pleasure of that compliment. ‘A secret?’ she stammered. ‘Yes, please, Madame, tell me your secret.’
Wheeling her little chair close to the piano bench, Mrs Zamani leaned in and whispered, ‘In all these years, in all the countries I’ve passed through, I have always been true to my husband.’
‘You mean you’ve never …’
Mrs Zamani shook her head slowly, side to side.
That couldn’t be true. Mrs Zamani was so beautiful, so vibrant in her own exciting way. She didn’t seem like the type of woman who’d gone almost thirty years without sex.
‘Not with any man but my husband,’ Mrs Zamani went on, slowly placing her hands on Sharifa’s bare thighs. ‘But no matter. In that time, I have developed a taste for la chatte.’
Sharifa could tell by the way her teacher spread her thighs that the woman was keen on pussy. It sort of bothered Sharifa, how Insegnante implied that licking another woman to orgasm wasn’t on a par with fucking a man, but she set her irritation aside. She couldn’t help herself. When she gazed at her piano teacher’s lips, all she wanted was to feel them spread across her mound, that hot tongue dancing through her cleft, pinpointing her clit like an archer striking a bull’s-eye.
Toying with the mechanism on her low little chair, Mrs Zamani descended almost all the way to the floor, stretching her legs out underneath the piano bench, pulling herself in closer. When she leaned down to kiss Sharifa’s smooth thigh, her face appeared ever more striking, ever more beautiful. Her lips sizzled against Sharifa’s skin like a brand, leaving shimmering roses of lipstick down the inside of each dark thigh.
Sharifa leaned back, trying not to let her elbows clang against the keyboard, but the strain in her shoulders was too burdensome. She let go and her body fell upon the keys for the second time that day. Mrs Zamani hardly seemed to notice, just staring at the apex of Sharifa’s thighs, at the black thong that barred the path.
‘Stand up, zibaa.’ Mrs Zamani shifted to allow her room. ‘Keep your skirt above your hips and turn around, my dear.’
Holding her skirt flush to her belly, Sharifa stood on wobbly legs. There was something about Mrs Zamani that made her so aroused and so nervous that her knees threatened to give out at any moment. She turned around swiftly, feeling quite bashful with her bum now shoved in her piano teacher’s face. Leaning down, she set both palms flat against the bench. Her skirt hung down around her belly, blocking her view, so she was quite astonished when she felt her teacher’s blazing lips against her ass.
‘Madame!’ Sharifa cried before she could stifle herself.
Mrs Zamani did not respond, except to kiss her bottom again and again, planting wet pecks on both cheeks, leaving traces of warm saliva to cool upon Sharifa’s skin. When she whimpered with want, her teacher upped the ante, pressing the mounds of her bottom together and licking all over.
‘Yes,’ Sharifa hissed. Grasping the top of her thong, she twisted the black fabric until it brushed harshly against her asshole. Sharifa wrapped the material around her fist, stretching it, but creating a perfect burn against her puckered anus. Her clit benefited too, and not a moment too soon – it was throbbing between her pussy lips, pounding like it had a heart of its own.
Mrs Zamani dug her long fingers into Sharifa’s flesh and bit her bottom indelicately. Those sharp teeth seized her skin, pressed incisively into her like a vampire, bringing a shriek up through her throat. She stifled it, biting her lower lip, squealing and squirming, but not so much as to make her teacher stop. She didn’t want this torture to end – not now, not ever.
‘Please, Madame,’ Sharifa whimpered. ‘Touch my pussy. Will you touch it? Please?’
The striking Insegnante traced a hot tongue all around Sharifa’s ass, nudging one hand between her shuddering thighs.
‘Yes,’ Sharifa encouraged. ‘Please, please, touch me!’
‘Touch you?’ Mrs Zamani whispered, her breath hot on Sharifa’s skin. Pulling the black thong to one side of Sharifa’s pussy lips, Insegnante moved lightly, dabbing her fingers into that throbbing swell, finding juice there and slathering it across Sharifa’s clit.
‘Oh, God!’ Sharifa snapped her legs together, but Mrs Zamani spared no time opening them wide. ‘Oh, God …’
‘Khosh, my dear.’ Her teacher rubbed her clit while she clung to the piano bench, moaning with pleasure. ‘Very good.’
‘That feels incredible,’ she said, trying not to move, trying only to feel. And then Mrs Zamani’s tongue met her asshole, licking it through the sleek black fabric of her thong, and her legs trembled so hard she thought she’d tumble down against the piano. The very idea of her teacher licking her ass was so embarrassing her cheeks blazed like the sun, but all she could say was, ‘Oh, Madame, please …’
‘Turn, zibaa.’ Mrs Zamani slapped her on the ass, and she whirled around, stumbled, landed with a thud on the edge of the bench. ‘Khosh, very good.’
Before Sharifa’s mind could stop spinning, her teacher’s face was planted between her thighs, lapping wildly at her pussy lips, licking her pulsing little clit. Again, Sharifa fell back against the keyboard, sending a jolting discord through the room, but her teacher only snarled and ate her harder.
‘Please!’ Sharifa grasped at the piano, swimming in the keys. ‘Yes, please don’t stop! Please make me come!’
Growling like an animal, Mrs Zamani hugged Sharifa’s hips and sucked her engorged clit into that hot, practised mouth. Sharifa couldn’t help rocking against her piano teacher’s face. Her pussy splayed wetly over Insegnante’s mouth, coating those luscious lips with juice. That blazing mouth ignited her passion like fireworks, and once the flame was lit there was no putting it out.
Sharifa forced her clit against her teacher’s mouth, rubbing it all over, getting herself off on a face that no longer scowled. In fact, Mrs Zamani seemed to enjoy being used this way. Was that a smile?
When Mrs Zamani pounced, trapping Sharifa’s all too sensitive bud between her lips, there was no more putting off the inevitable. A blast of heat exploded between Sharifa’s thighs, riding her muscles and blood to her heart, to her breasts. Even though she was seated, her legs trembled. She shrieked and hollered, banging her palms against the keyboard, which blasted ominous non-chords through the studio. She knew she was shouting, but what were the words? ‘Yes, please, yes! Lick me, Madame. Eat my pussy hard.’
The shivers of lust blasting through her veins brought her to pulpy, panting glory twice over before she begged Mrs Zamani to pull away. ‘It’s too much,’ she said, covering her pussy with both hands. ‘Oh, I can’t take it anymore!’
Her teacher laughed good-naturedly, though with a hint of something more sinister. Sharifa wished she could lie down, but there wasn’t a couch
in the studio – only a bench, and it was far too small. She was sitting in a slick coat of pussy juice, and the sensation embarrassed her a bit. Would Mrs Zamani make her clean up the mess? She couldn’t picture her teacher cleaning anything, although before today she couldn’t have pictured Insegnante licking her pussy, either.
‘A challenge for the recital,’ Mrs Zamani suggested as she rose from her low little chair. She fished more sheet music from her filing cabinet and handed the piece to Sharifa. ‘Now that I know how much you can accomplish in one week, I don’t mind putting your abilities to the test.’
Chopin’s ‘Minute Waltz’. Sharifa gazed down at the labyrinth of notes on the page, and then up at her teacher in disbelief. There was absolutely no way she could learn this piece in a week – maybe not even in a year. It was way too hard for a beginner.
Still, she read Mrs Zamani’s eager smirk and imagined all the spankings she’d incur when she didn’t get it right.
With a colluding grin, Sharifa said, ‘I’ll try my best, Madame.’
Money, Honey
Tenille Brown
If you called her a cougar or whatever hot-to-trot name the kids had come up with these days, Marie was liable to curse you out. She was anything but anybody’s cradle robber. Marie was simply Marie, an older woman who happened to be married to a younger man, and who happened to still have the goods to keep his eyes right square on her.
Marie wasn’t like other women her age. Not like the ones who had settled into the grandmotherly role, and not like the ones who acted too much like their own children.
She was one hell of a fuck and there was no denying that. They could go for hours, non-stop, and he’d be worn out long before her.
And she had settled down, as much as a woman like Marie was able to. At forty-three, she wore her shorts mid-thigh instead of barely covering her ass-cheeks. The wildness was in her naturally, always had been.
It was one of the main things that had attracted Gavin to Marie in the first place, that and her goddess-like body, of course.
She had grown up fast. She was out and on her own, working in bikini bars at nineteen. Marie had told Gavin the stories in one of these very clubs when she was thirty-two and he was a twenty-year-old college student, right around the time they started flirting and fooling around. She didn’t give a damn about heeding anyone’s warning, not her friends, not even her manager.
Soon after, they were an item, and, not much longer after that, they were inseparable.
Marie was good with her money, too. She didn’t toss it around recklessly like the other girls. But she and Gavin didn’t have that in common. Gavin was terrible with money. It slipped through his fingers like water. It was something he had never quite gotten the hang of, college-educated or no.
She had taught him the simple things, like keeping house and home remedies. She’d even taught him to fish! That was something his friends and family teased him about, especially his brothers.
Gavin grinned, for he wondered how much they would tease if they knew how often he eased her skirt above her knees and crawled between her trembling thighs. He wondered how many jokes they would have to tell about the way she massaged his cock until it was red, solid and throbbing, then took him hungrily inside her cheeks.
They wouldn’t tease at all, Gavin was sure.
Yes, the passion he and Marie shared made them a perfect match in his eyes, but people on the outside looking in didn’t understand that. People like his mother and his sister couldn’t even appreciate it. They could only appreciate that once, many years ago, Marie had discarded her clothes for money.
But Gavin had married her anyway. He’d done it against his mother’s and his sister’s wishes because, well, he was in love with the woman and, though he hadn’t had many relationships, he knew he wouldn’t find the kind of love he had with Marie with anyone else, his age or otherwise. They had the kind of love you couldn’t measure in time, age or money, so he didn’t bother trying.
Didn’t she have any real goals or aspirations about herself? His mother wanted to know, but Gavin didn’t care if she did or if she didn’t.
He loved Marie the way she was, working her shift at the restaurant and waiting for him until he got home.
He loved that, when he got there, she was usually naked, or wearing next to nothing while cooking dinner or dusting shelves.
* * *
These days, though, strange things were happening in their home, and even he could tell. Marie was spending money just as fast as both he and she could make it, and that wasn’t like her. And she was hiding it. The thing was, Marie wasn’t very good at hiding it.
She thought she was, though. When Marie thought she was being slick, her eyes got really big like they did when he was fucking her (he loved when they did that) and she’d stretch her arms far behind her back and pucker her lips up for the wettest of kisses and Gavin would give her just that before squeezing her ass tightly. He could never bring himself to ask her about it – mostly because he didn’t want to embarrass her, but partly because she had been there for him when he had no job at all.
Yeah, his Marie, she was something all right.
Gavin rubbed the hardness that was forming in his trousers. He poured a cup of coffee from the pot she had left behind for him.
He wondered what she had up her sleeve, but under no circumstances would he enquire before she was ready to tell. He just knew that, whatever it was, it was going to be good.
* * *
Marie was already dressed and staring directly into Gavin’s eyes when he awakened.
‘You’re up early,’ he said, and leaned in for a kiss.
She nodded. ‘I want you to walk with me to work.’
‘Then it’s not because I’m getting morning sex,’ Gavin said, but only half-jokingly.
Marie’s answer was a smile. She leaned in and kissed him on the forehead, leaving traces of her lip gloss on his light skin.
Gavin furrowed his brow. ‘That won’t take any extra time.’
He dressed quickly. Khaki shorts and a polo shirt would do. He ran a comb through his soft blond hair before hooking his arm through the crook of Marie’s and walking outside with her.
‘When will your car be ready?’ he asked her.
He pretended not to notice the bulge in Marie’s eyes that revealed her nervousness straightaway.
‘I don’t know,’ Marie said. ‘Today. Tomorrow, maybe.’
But Gavin knew that it would be neither, not until he mailed the payment for her.
He soon began to notice her tugging him along an unusual path. ‘New route to work?’ he asked.
Marie tossed her head, her brown curls bouncing. ‘Something like that,’ she responded. Her short pale-blue uniform swayed against her legs.
He tugged at her hand, making her pause so that he could bend down and kiss her on her full head of soft, springy curls.
Gavin was anxious to see what Marie had in store, and he knew it had to be something. So he began to walk quickly, getting ahead of her and pulling her by her hand so that her walk became a sexy little trot and she had to tug on him to get him to slow down.
‘Sorry,’ he mumbled, smiling shyly.
‘Don’t be so anxious,’ she said. ‘It doesn’t look good on you.’
After several blocks they cut across the street and Marie led him into a wooded area. She stopped walking just long enough to stand in front of him and kiss him on the lips, her naturally full set covering his thin pair, her luscious tongue sliding inside his mouth, slowly taunting him with its morning sweetness.
Then, a few minutes later, they arrived at their destination.
They were in the middle of the woods, standing beneath the biggest oak tree Gavin had ever seen, with branches that spread out a mile wide, it seemed. From the largest limb hung a swing with heavy chain links and a black leather seat. It looked out of place – it clearly belonged in a dungeon, not in the middle of the woods.
‘How did you fin
d something like this?’ Gavin asked. ‘Or did you find it?’
That was it. Marie had bought it and paid to have it installed.
Marie shushed him. ‘You ask too many damn questions, Gavin. Let’s just say … I happened upon it one day … OK?’
Gavin nodded and said, ‘OK,’ as foolish as he knew they both sounded.
‘Have a swing with me?’ She winked at him and walked ahead, peeking back at him over her shoulder flirtatiously.
So, maybe the car was gone. Maybe she had spent the money on some outrageous thing. Maybe he’d one day know what it was and maybe he wouldn’t. But for now, Gavin thought, fuck the car, and fuck the walk. Gavin was going to fuck his wife in this old-fashioned swing that hung from this big oak tree in the middle of nowhere.
It took Marie only moments to get out of her uniform, to strip down to the sheer lavender bra and panties she wore beneath. She reached behind her back and unhooked the large cups that held her full breasts, smiling and keeping her eyes on Gavin as she did so.
Next, she helped him out of his clothes, unbuttoning his polo shirt first and pulling it over his head. She threw it onto the dew-moistened grass. Then she unbuckled his belt and slipped it swiftly through the loops. She loosened the button on his shorts, unzipped them and let them fall easily down his legs.
Gavin stepped out of them and kicked them aside. Right now nothing was as important to him as fucking his wife in this hardcore swing that was going back and forth, forth and back. He wouldn’t have been able to describe the sensation if anyone had asked him to, but it started somewhere in the pit of his stomach and tickled him lightly in the groin.
Gavin had been a sucker for outdoor sex since Marie had introduced him to it years ago, and now he was mounting this swing, grunting and growling like an animal, hoping someone would hear them, wishing someone would see them. He was a sucker for having his wife straddle his waist, wrap her long legs around him and lean back, the momentum thrusting them forth, swinging them as if they both were young, but mostly as if she were much younger than she was.
Marie rolled and rotated her hips as she rode Gavin, as they both rode the swing. She knew just when to kiss him. She knew when to silence him as he was coming. He was sure to wake the small town they lived in, because, when he got off, he was loud.