Night School for Scandal

by Angela Meadows

Genres: Erotic & Steamy Romance

Synopsis

Bored with evening classes in flower arranging and cake decoration widow Joyce and divorcee Eileen, decide to pep up their sex lives and experience all that the 1970s have to offer mature women. Using the large hall of Joyce's home, The Old School, they open the Ladies' College for Erotic Arts. They welcome three fellow students, Edith, Betty and Susan to join them on their journey of self-discovery. With the help of young bodybuilders, Johnny and Mick, and unemployed midlands car worker, Winston, they explore the joy of sex in all manner of ways.



Each lady discovers pleasures that were beyond their prior knowledge and they stretch their inhibitions to the limit as they embark on a series of adventures that take them from their cosy village to the red light district of the city. There are laughs, tears and orgasms aplenty as they try out every technique in the book.



Night School for Scandal is a light-hearted look at sexual experience for those beyond the first flush of youth.

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 224

Sample

Chapter One
Let’s Start a School

Eileen drew the Ford Escort to a stop outside the Old School. The building looked dark and mysterious without any street lights in the village to illuminate it.

‘Would you like to come in for coffee?’ Joyce said as she opened the passenger door, twisted around and placed her stiletto heels carefully on to the narrow pavement.

‘Don’t mind if I do. Not much else to do this evening,’ Eileen replied. She got out and locked the car door. Joyce was already through the wide gates and approaching the front door of the school house. Inside it was warm and cosy so Eileen flung off her fur jacket and settled on the comfy Dralon sofa.

‘Will Maxwell House do?’ Joyce called from the kitchen, ‘milk and sugar?’

‘That’s fine, milk, no sugar.’ Eileen stretched out her long stockinged legs and looked around the room. There were pictures hanging on the peach-coloured walls. One was a wedding photograph in which she recognised Joyce and her recently deceased husband.

Joyce entered bearing a tray which she placed on the coffee table in front of the sofa.

‘I’ve brought a few biscuits too,’ Joyce said, placing a coffee cup and small plate in front of Eileen.

‘Oh, thank you, Joyce. How exciting!’

Joyce looked surprised at Eileen’s sarcasm.

‘Is something troubling you, Eileen?’ she asked.

‘I’m sorry, Joyce, I didn’t mean to snap, but is this it?’

‘Is this what?’

‘The rest of our lives.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well here we are, in our forties, you widowed and me divorced. It’s the 1970s and everyone’s having fun – well nearly everyone – and what have we got to look forward to – an evening of flower arranging followed by a coffee and a biscuit.’

Joyce sat beside Eileen and nibbled on a chocolate-covered digestive. She brushed off a few crumbs caught on her acrylic-covered bosom.

‘I know what you mean, Eileen. Things can be a little boring.’

‘A little boring! Life has become a sorry succession of shopping trips, coffee mornings, afternoon tea, evening classes and WI.’

‘I suppose you could find a man.’

‘A man! I’ve just got rid of one who went off with his twenty-year-old floozy. I don’t want to get involved with another man, thank you very much. No, what I need is sex.’

‘Eileen!’

‘I’m sorry to be coarse, Joyce, but I mean it. I don’t want to be saddled with a man day and night but I would like to be made love to again. To feel that thrill that ripples through you, down there; to feel my breasts being caressed; to feel his cock throbbing in my hand.’ Eileen noticed that Joyce looked a little flushed. ‘Don’t you feel it, Joyce?’ she added quietly.

Joyce nodded.

‘You’re right, Eileen. Since Bill was killed in the accident I have missed, um, it. Not that we got up to much recently. I think we were past lust.’

‘That’s what I need – a bit of lust. Not soppy love which saddles you with a relationship until you fall out and get divorced all over again. Just quick and cheerful lust.’

‘I don’t know how we could go about getting it.’

‘We?’

‘Yes, I may not be as bold as you, Eileen, but I feel the same. I don’t want to spend the next thirty years becoming a wrinkled, bitter old crone. I want some life too.’

‘We could go to a discotheque.’

‘And mix with all those young people?’

‘You’ve still got a good figure, Joyce, and those legs of yours …’ both looked at Joyce’s crossed legs, the shimmering nylon-covered calves and the red high heels.

‘So have you, but we’d look as out of place as two Maltesers in a box of Black Magic.’

‘Well, where else can you meet men out for a good time?’

‘A pub?’

Eileen snorted.

‘Well, I don’t know what your village pub is like, but the blokes in my local would barely muster a hard-on between them.’

Joyce nodded and giggled, ‘Ooh, Eileen, you are naughty.’

Eileen sipped at her coffee, thinking for a moment.

‘You know, Joyce,’ she said eventually, ‘We have all these evening classes – flower arranging, cake decoration, dress-making. It’s a pity they don’t have one for sexual intercourse. You know, the college provides the experts and the materials, you pay your fee and get what you want from the course.’

Joyce laughed.

‘Now there’s an idea. Evening classes for sexually deprived middle-aged ladies. I’d sign up for that one.’

Next morning Joyce was still chuckling over Eileen’s outrageous idea. They’d carried on discussing what such a course might include and who they’d have to lead it. As she’d settled down to sleep Joyce had been gripped by desire and her dreams were filled with writhing bodies and huge cocks spurting milky juice. She awoke hot and sticky between her legs, her mind still filled with the images of sexual organs. She made herself a cup of tea, wondering at the effect that the discussion had had. On her way back to her bed she stopped off in what had been Bill’s study. From a drawer in the desk she took out a pile of magazines. She carried them and her mug back to her bedroom and dropped them on the bed. She lay on top of the bedspread looking at the garish covers. The publications were Bill’s porn collection. Joyce had discovered them when she’d had to start clearing Bill’s things after the funeral. She hadn’t known that he bought such stuff. Why had he needed it? Was it because he was bored with her, or did he just need some extra stimulation as he was approaching fifty? At first she was going to get rid of them but wasn’t sure how. It would be embarrassing if the dustbin men found them when they emptied her bin. So she’d just put them back in the drawer.

Now she leafed through the magazines. She looked at the breasts, buttocks and displayed vaginas. She had to admit the girls were attractive. She glanced at herself in the mirrored wardrobe facing the bed. Eileen was right, although there was a touch of grey in her brown hair, she did still have a figure. A thought passed through her mind, she hesitated, then pulled her nightie over her head. She reclined on the bed facing the mirror, resting on one arm while cupping her breasts with the other hand. They were still firm, not perhaps quite as perky as some of the girls in the pictures but not as droopy as some of those with enormous tits. She slid a hand down to her waist, which was still narrow thanks to all the walking she did around the village. Joyce glanced again at some of the poses in the magazines. She knelt on the bed, thrust her bottom in the air and pushed her arms out in front of her. She twisted her neck to try to see herself in the mirror. She liked what she saw. There was hardly any saggy flesh hanging down and her buttocks were round and taut. She swung round on to her back and pulled her legs up to her chest. Joyce looked through her thighs at the mirror. Her lips were red and full, shiny with the fluid that was seeping from her vagina. She realised that the one difference between her and the girls pictured was the mass of curly brown hair, tinged with grey, that covered her mound. Her left hand moved to cover her sex and her forefinger slipped between her lips finding her little button. She rubbed it and felt the almost forgotten thrill that it produced. The person in the mirror was pleasuring herself, her thighs wide apart, one hand massaging a nipple, the other burrowing into her sex; one, two fingers pushing deep into her vagina. She almost forgot that the person in the mirror was her; it was another’s hands but her breasts, her cunt.

The orgasm came suddenly, ripping through her and bringing a groan from her throat. Joyce flung her arms and legs across the bed as the convulsions continued. Gradually they subsided and she took deep breaths, feeling the sweat cooling on her face and body. She rested for a few minutes then began to casually flick through the magazines. Now it wasn’t the pictures that attracted her but the letters and stories – obviously fantasies – and the adverts for sex toys and contacts.

After a light lunch Joyce picked up the telephone and dialled Eileen’s number.

‘Hello, Eileen, it’s Joyce. Are you doing anything this afternoon? Well, what about after your gardening lesson? You’re free. Good, well come for tea. I’ve got an idea.’ Joyce put the phone down and returned to the lounge and another of Bill’s glamour magazines. She’d spent the morning going through them methodically, comparing articles and readers’ accounts and making a note of addresses and telephone numbers. Later she decided that it really was time that she dressed. It wouldn’t do for Eileen to arrive with her still in her dressing gown with nothing on beneath it.

She stood naked again in front of her mirror. She looked at the shrub of brown hair between her legs. Presumably men liked the girls in the magazines because they had little or no pubic hair. They must like seeing a woman’s hole without the surrounding foliage. Joyce had heard of women having it shaved or waxed off and now she resolved to do the same. She went to the bathroom and found the razor she used on her underarms. She wetted her pubes and carefully began to shave off the hair. The thought of cutting herself scared her so she went about her task very slowly. At last she was sure that she had removed every last pubic hair. She washed the hairs away, dabbed herself dry and applied copious amounts of talc. She returned to the bedroom.

It was a different woman in the mirror now, a wanton, sexy woman whose naked sex demanded to be filled by a long hard cock. Joyce shivered as she was overcome by a tiny orgasm. Dear me, she thought, I’m becoming so turned on I don’t even have to touch myself. The bedside clock showed that time was moving on; Eileen would arrive soon. She had to dress but rejected her usual clothes. She found, in her undies drawer, a pair of briefs, suspender belt and a push up bra that Bill had bought years ago and which she had never worn. She put them on and pulled sheer nylon stockings up her legs and, looking in the mirror as she fastened the suspenders, realised that she resembled some of the pictures in the magazines, before the girls were stripped naked. There was a miniskirt in the wardrobe which she hadn’t worn for a few years and a ribbed acrylic jumper which she had thought too tight when she bought it but now she revelled in the way that it clung to her breasts and waist. She just had time to do her make-up before the front doorbell rang.

Joyce skipped to the front door and opened it wide.

‘Eileen!’

‘Joyce. You look, uh, different.’ Joyce hurried Eileen through the hallway and took her woollen coat.

‘What is it, Joyce? There’s something about you that’s changed.’ Joyce guided Eileen into the lounge recalling at that moment that she had left the pornographic magazines lying scattered on the sofa, coffee table and floor.

‘Ooh, what are these?’ Eileen squealed, picking up the nearest publication and flicking through the pages, ‘Where did you get them?’

‘They’re Bill’s. I found them in his drawer when I was clearing his stuff.’

‘Naughty Bill. Didn’t you know?’

‘Of course not. I’ve never seen such stuff before.’

‘But you have now. You’ve had a good look, haven’t you. That’s why you look different. You’ve been feeling yourself.’

Joyce felt her cheeks turning red.

‘Yes,’ she said, ‘it was what we talked about last night that set me off. The pictures are exciting but I’m not attracted to the girls.’

‘No, of course not.’

‘It’s just their poses made me think about, you know …’

‘Having sex.’

‘Yes.’

‘And did you enjoy it?’

‘What?’

‘Making yourself come.’

‘Yes.’

‘So you did.’

‘What?’

‘Come.’

‘Yes. Of course.’

‘What do you mean, “of course”,’ Eileen sighed, ‘I try time after time but I rarely bring myself off.’

‘Oh?’

‘As I said last night; I need a man.’

‘Ah well that’s what I wanted to speak to you about. I’ll just go and get the tea.’ Joyce hurried into the kitchen leaving Eileen to flick through the pages. When she returned Eileen was lying on the sofa with her skirt around her waist and a hand inside her white nylon knickers. Joyce placed the tray on the coffee table.

‘Just trying,’ Eileen sighed, ‘can’t say I got much of a response.’ She tugged her skirt down over her thighs.

‘I’m sorry,’ Joyce replied wondering how they had become so relaxed about sex.

‘You know all these young girls have shaved fannies.’

‘So have I.’

‘What?’

‘Yes, I shaved it all off an hour ago.’

‘Really! let’s have a look.’

‘Eileen!’

‘What’s wrong? No one else is going to see.’

‘Well, all right then.’ Joyce tugged at the zip on her skirt, pushed it down over her hips and stepped out of it. She felt very self-conscious standing in her stockings and knickers in front of Eileen, but there was a new feeling of confidence and pride in her which she hadn’t felt until today. She pulled her panties down over her bottom and let them drop to her ankles. She felt Eileen’s eyes focus on her bare pubis.

‘Well! You certainly have got rid of it all. Sit down. Let me see between your legs.’

Joyce sank on to the sheepskin rug in front of the fireplace, kicked the knickers off her ankles and spread her legs, supporting herself on her arms.

‘Remarkable,’ Eileen said, ‘is it sore?’

‘A little bit, but I put plenty of talc on.’

‘I’m sure if you’re not used to shaving it will be. Let me get closer.’ Eileen uncurled herself from the sofa and crawled to kneel between Joyce’s legs.

‘It certainly makes your pussy stand out more,’ Eileen said, ‘There’s more contrast between your red lips and white skin than with the brown pubes. Does it make you more sensitive?’

‘I don’t …’ Joyce’s reply was cut short by Eileen’s finger touching her clitoris which was peeping between her lips. Joyce shook. Eileen allowed her finger to slide down and in. Joyce gasped. Eileen held her breath as she concentrated on moving her finger. Joyce’s elbows gave way and she sank back on to the rug. Her thighs trembled. Eileen slid another finger between the swollen lips. They slipped easily in the slick channel. Joyce groaned and clenched her thighs together, trapping Eileen’s hand. Eileen waited till the muscle contraction had passed and gently withdrew her hand.

‘Well. That certainly proves something,’ Eileen said. She moved back to the sofa and picked up her tea cup.

‘What’s that?’ Joyce asked, sitting up and searching for her knickers.

‘You need fucking.’

‘And you?’

‘Oh, yes. Seeing and feeling your cunt was fun, but I need a cock.’

Joyce stood up pulled her knickers up and put her mini-skirt back on. She sat next to Eileen, knees primly together and sipped her tea.

‘Well that’s why I asked you to tea, Eileen.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes. Our chat last night got me thinking and looking through Bill’s magazines made me think some more.’

‘That’s a lot of thinking for one day.’

Joyce giggled.

‘Well it wasn’t all thinking, I must admit.’

‘So what’s the big idea?’

‘Why don’t we open our own school for deprived women?’

‘Sexually deprived?’

‘Of course.’

‘Who?’

‘All those women we meet at coffee mornings and evenings classes and WI meetings. It can’t be just the two of us who are feeling left out of the sexual revolution. We’ll invite women discreetly to join our classes.’

‘Classes on what?’

‘All sorts of things. You only have to look through those magazines to see all the different ways people get enjoyment out of sex, and there are contacts in the mags to get um, guests, to come to our lessons.’

Eileen looked unsure.

‘But where could we do it?’

‘Here.’ Joyce replied. Eileen looked around the small cosy lounge. ‘No, not in here,’ Joyce went on, ‘come with me.’ She stood up, found a pair of slippers alongside the sofa and took Eileen’s hand. Joyce guided Eileen along the hallway and out of a door into a dark empty space. Joyce’s hand found a light switch and at once the old school hall was lit up.

‘In here!’ Joyce said triumphantly, ‘When Bill and I bought the old school we were going to convert this into a lovely large living area but we only got round to doing up the old school house before he was killed.’

Eileen looked around the space which had once been packed with up to fifty children and their teachers.

‘Obviously, it will need some work – curtains, thick carpets or rugs, more intimate lighting, and suitable furniture. But what do you think, Eileen?’

Eileen turned to face Joyce.

‘You really mean this, don’t you?’

‘Yes. Let’s have some fun before we end up as wizened old prunes. So, will it do?’

Eileen looked around the hall again.

‘I think it’s ideal. There’s plenty of parking and because you’re right on the edge of the village it’s well out of the way of whispering neighbours.’

‘So, we’ll do it?’

‘Yes. I’ll help with getting this sorted out while we’re planning the course and sending out invitations. It won’t take long.’

‘What about booking the, um, guests?’ Joyce chewed her lip.

‘I was the secretary for a theatrical agent, once upon a time. I think I know how to deal with the people we need. Anyway, we’ll be paying them for their services so they’ll come.’

There were one or two moments in the next month when Joyce regretted embarking on their venture, but only when she was exhausted from a day’s scrubbing or painting. Soon the hall had lost its school appearance. Thick red curtains hung from the windows, the ceiling was painted black and the walls covered by mirrors and prints of classical gods and goddesses frolicking in the nude. On the polished wooden floor were large rugs with thick piles and sheepskins together with a plentiful supply of floor cushions and bean bags. In the centre of the room was a king-sized brass bedstead with a thick feather mattress covered in orange sheets and bedspreads. There was also a chaise longue and three sofas arranged in a semicircle. The old pendant lights had been replaced with a variety of standard lamps that cast light on to the bed and chaise longue and left other parts of the hall in seductive darkness. Joyce and Eileen had not omitted other necessities such as a film projector and screen, a powerful stereo record player and a bar stocked with a variety of drinks.

Joyce and Eileen stood in the hall admiring their handiwork.

‘There’s something else we’ll need,’ Eileen said.

‘What’s that?’ Joyce asked.

‘I’ll show you.’ Eileen left, while Joyce wondered. A minute or so later Eileen returned holding a large Wedgwood style biscuit barrel.

‘Biscuits?’ Joyce said.

Eileen removed the lid. ‘Condoms.’

Joyce laughed and dug into the jar pulling out a handful of packets.

‘I’ll put it on the bar, shall I?’ Eileen replaced the lid.

‘Yes,’ Joyce said, ‘So that’s it, we’re ready. All we need now is some, what shall we call them? Clients, pupils?’

‘Students.’

‘That’s it – students of sex.’

‘Shall we try out the bed?’ Eileen walked to the middle of the room, kicked off her shoes and sat on the bed. Joyce went to a bank of switches. Most of the lamps went out leaving the periphery of the hall in darkness. The bed sat in a circle of light provided by two overhead spotlights. Joyce joined Eileen in the light.

‘It’s a bit bright, don’t you think,’ Joyce said.

‘Yes, but it needs to be bright here so that everyone can see what is going on.’

‘What is going on?’ Joyce asked as Eileen tugged at her skirt.

‘I’m getting in the mood,’ Eileen replied, ‘Is your fanny still bare or have you let it grow back?’

‘It got very itchy so I’ve had it waxed off.’

‘Waxed? What did the girl in the salon say when you said you wanted it all off?’

‘Not a lot. Everyone is having bikini waxes now and apparently quite a few girls have most of their hair removed.’

‘Let me see.’

Joyce helped Eileen remove her skirt and then pulled her blouse over her head. She wriggled out of her new tiny knickers and lay back amongst the soft pillows and blankets.

Eileen caressed her smooth mound.

‘It feels really soft,’ Eileen said.

‘That’s nice,’ Joyce murmured, ‘Don’t you want to undress?’

‘Well, yes, I think I do.’ Eileen paused and pulled off her own top and skirt. Underneath she wore a matching set of lacy black bra, suspender belt and knickers and sheer black stockings. She removed her knickers and knelt between Joyce’s outstretched legs.

‘There, what do you think? Do you think a man would like to get his hands on my body?’

Joyce looked at Eileen’s slim waist and flat stomach. Her pubic hair was as black as the hair on her head.

‘Oh, I think so,’ she said.

Eileen lay down beside Joyce and their hands moved gently across each other’s stomachs until their fingers found each other’s cracks, the one bounded by thick black hair and the other naked. They moaned in unison as they moved together, fingers slipping in and out of wet vaginas until Joyce came with the now familiar groan.

‘Are you sure you want a man?’ Eileen asked raising herself up on an elbow and looking into Joyce’s flushed face.

‘I think so. You’ve given me a lot of pleasure but I’m looking forward to being able to do things with a man.’

‘Yeah, me too. There’s nothing quite like having a thick hard cock pushing between your legs is there. Well, we will have to see how our course works out. What are we going to call our class anyway?’

Joyce lay still, shielding her eyes from the bright spotlights.

‘I suppose it has to be clear what it is but sound respectable.’

‘Hmm, yes.’

‘How about, the Ladies’ School for Sex.’

‘A bit too direct,’ Eileen pondered, ‘What about the Ladies’ College for Intercourse.’

‘Not quite, especially as it may not all be about intercourse, as such.’

‘That’s right. I know, the Ladies’ College for Erotic Arts,’ Eileen said triumphantly.

‘I like that. A bit mysterious and all embracing.’ They hugged each other giggling gleefully.

‘You know,’ Eileen whispered in Joyce’s ear, ‘we’re really going to have to be bold and put aside all Protestant ideas of chastity and decency. You’re going to be doing things you’ve never thought of doing before and probably doing them with other people around watching. Is that what you want?’

‘Yes. It sounds exciting. Do you?’

‘Oh, yes.’

‘Good. Now,’ Joyce announced, ‘do you want to see if I can get you to come?’

Eileen looked into Joyce’s eyes.

‘Do you really want to?’

‘Yes, I’m quite determined that it doesn’t have to be a man that can get you to orgasm.’

‘Well, it’s up to you. It may take some time.’ Eileen lay on her back and opened her legs.

‘Don’t worry, I’ve got the energy,’ Joyce said straddling her. She lowered her head until it was between Eileen’s thighs. She stretched out her tongue until it touched the lips of Eileen’s sex. Eileen moaned.

Chapter Two
The Students

Joyce relaxed on a sofa in the old school hall now decorated as a plush, warm venue for sexy exploits.

‘Well, it’s ready. What do we do now?’

Eileen turned from the full length mirror where she had been examining herself.

‘We need some students and a programme. Did you get those cards printed?’

‘Yes, they arrived this morning. I’ve got them here.’ Joyce rummaged in her capacious handbag and pulled out a polythene bag filled with business cards.

‘Ooh, let me see.’ Eileen ran to Joyce and took the card proffered to her. It was black and red with ornate writing saying, “The Ladies’ College for Erotic Arts” with a telephone number – Joyce’s. ‘Yes, they look just right,’ Eileen said.

‘So, what do we do with them?’

‘K. . .