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This is the opening chapter of School of Love, introducing the characters and the school.
All students at the School of Love are over 18.
I arrived in Lausanne, eager to take up my new post as a tutor at the exclusive École Château de l’Amour. All my interviews for the job had taken place in London, including a rather extensive medical. I was here and yet I knew next to nothing about the school which had employed me.
I had seen pictures of the splendid fifteenth-century castle on the bank of Lake Léman, just west of Lausanne. The château had been a Swiss finishing school for girls in the nineteenth century, and then it became a women’s private college for high-school leavers and university students in the middle of the twentieth century. I had found that ‘private’ was the operative word: the school was not just privately funded, but it kept a very low profile, almost secretive. I heard rumours of the daughters of rock stars, tycoons, maharajas and Saudi royalty among the student body. The school’s response to any prying was that they wished to maintain the privacy of their students.
I had been collected from Geneva Airport by limousine, and put up in the opulent Beau-Rivage Palace hotel in Lausanne, with views over Lake Léman (as the Lausannois preferred to call their end of Lake Geneva) and the Chablais Alps beyond. This experience was so different from the life I knew, living in a student flat while writing up my doctoral thesis. Rather than being taken straight to the château, I was here first to have dinner in the city with Marie-Luce Foy, the school’s director — or, to use her official title, Madame la Directrice de l’École.
We met in the lobby. Madame Foy was perhaps in her early forties, tall, slim and elegantly dressed in a charcoal skirt suit and black kitten heels. She looked every part the head of of an expensive ladies’ college, with her hair tied in an immaculate chignon, and tortoiseshell-frame glasses. Rather than a business handshake, she offered me three cheek-kisses in the Swiss fashion. Her perfume was understated, with dark wine notes.
We went through to the hotel’s gastronomic restaurant where she ordered us each a kir royal to sip as we perused the menu.
Madame Foy’s English was perfect, with a flawless British Home Counties accent. “Mr Harris, it is good to meet you at last. I have read all of the reports from your London interviews. Miss Bakewell seems very impressed with you”, she began.
I swallowed nervously at the mention of the sexy, young functionary who had conducted my interviews.
She smiled. “I cannot say that I have read all of your doctoral thesis, but I am pleased to welcome you to l’École Château de l’Amour as our new history tutor.” She paused and took a sip of her kir.
I mirrored her, taking a sip from my drink, as the waiter came to take our order.
“Please, everything is on the school tonight.”
This was just as well, given the prices in this two-Michelin-star restaurant. I gestured that she order first, then I gave my order to the waiter in French. The sommelier approached, and Madame Foy ordered a bottle of 2009 vintage Cornalin du Valais that matched our food choices perfectly.
“Madame Foy, I am looking forward to joining you and the staff at the École Château de l’Amour. I must admit that all of this — the rather comprehensive interviews and medical, the first-class flight to Geneva and now this hotel — this is so far removed from my life as a doctoral student, you know.”
“We are an exclusive, specialised institute of education, and we do not like to take chances. I am very protective of the school and my girls. That’s why I prefer to meet new staff in the city and get to know them before bringing them to the château. We’ll get to that tomorrow morning.” As she spoke, I was aware that her British English accent was so flawless that she couldn’t actually be British, but that she could only be the product of an international-school education.
She took another sip of her kir. “How did you find the interview process?”
“Well, the academic interview was even more thorough than my doctoral defence!” I laughed. “And I got quite a shock when I met with the private investigator who had put together a thick file on my background, even including ex-girlfriends and internet history.”
“Yes, there were a few interesting items in that report, Mr Harris.” The directrice raised one eyebrow.
With embarrassment, I took a great gulp of my kir, and almost choked on its bubbles. At that moment, our immaculately presented starters arrived.
When I had composed myself, I continued, “Madame Foy, I must tell you that I feel a bit like a fish out of water because of all of this.”
“Mr Harris… or do you prefer Dr Harris — I know the English prefer their academic titles — whichever, may I call you Ben?”
I nodded, “Yes, of course”.
“My name is Marie-Luce, but actually everyone calls me Emmelle, so please do use that name. En tuzla escort français, tu peux me tutoyer.”
“Je parle pas bien le français”, I responded with a little hesitation, knowing that my French wasn’t that good. I could read historical documents and academic papers in French, order a coffee and some food, but I always got a little flustered with conversational French. I switched back to my mother tongue and gave her a name check, “But thank you… Emmelle… for putting me at my ease”.
“Your French is a little accented, but passable. In school, we speak English in general, but you’ll need French in Lausanne. At school, in front of the students, I should always be referred to as ‘Madame la Directrice’ or simply ‘Madame’. The girls should address you as ‘Master’ at all times — even when speaking French, our tradition is to use the English title, as the French translation does not quite cut it — and you should place any girl who fails to address you properly on report. En français, elles doivent nous vouvoyer.”
“It is a little more strict than I am used to, I’m afraid.”
“Don’t worry. We are all one happy family at the school. It’s a small institute of learning, and so we have to strike the right balance between discipline and intimacy.”
Our starters were cleared. Emmelle told me that she had been a ‘royale’ at the school, a term they use for those students who study there for the maximum of four years — two years after leaving high school, then she took three years in Cambridge, followed by a further two years back at the school after graduating university. She had worked for a master’s degree in social anthropology at Lausanne University during her postgraduate time at the school, and had now been its directrice for eight years.
As we spoke together, she made sure to keep our wine topped up, so that we had managed to drain the whole bottle by the time our mains were cleared. We ordered some dessert, and she ordered us each a double measure of organic Peyrat XO cognac.
“So Ben, tell me, how did you find Lucy Bakewell in London?” she asked.
I was a little intoxicated, but I knew I had to play it cool with my new boss. “Mmm… I would say she is a very intelligent, professional young woman…”
“Erm… yes, I would say so”, I replied while my mind was shouting ‘smoking-hot body’ at me.
“You know that she is also a former student of the school?”
“Ah, yes, I think she did mention it in passing.”
“Don’t worry, fellow diplômées of the school tell each other everything.”
“Uh-huh”, I responded gormlessly, not sure where this was going.
“She told me that she slept with you after the interview”, Emmelle said, boring into me with her piercing grey eyes.
I coughed in shock. When I had composed myself, I said, “I am very sorry, Madame Foy. I hope that this will not be problem”.
She smiled warmly at me, “Au contraire, Lucy strongly commended you to me. She evidently enjoyed your — how shall we say — ministrations”.
The alcohol and embarrassment combined to make me flush red. I took a sip of the expensive cognac, before realising that more alcohol wasn’t helping.
“And, Ben, please do call me Emmelle”.
I nodded, “Sorry, Emmelle, but I was a bit taken aback that you knew I had made that indiscretion with Lucy”.
“But not at all! You see, I must say that I am a little drunk, and I think you are too.” She leant across the table a little and lightly stroked the back of my hand with her fingertips. “It is good for me to get away from the school for an evening. I think we shall get along well. Shall we let our hair down a little, and be honest with each other? I think Lucy has a very beautiful body. How was she in bed?”
“I must say that I find your question quite forward”, I spluttered, moving my hand away from her touch.
“I am sorry to embarrass you, Ben. You see Lucy and I have known each other for years. She told me what you were like in bed — which was a suitably impressive report, I must say. I would like to hear your side of the story.”
“Well… it seems strange to talk about it with you, my new boss.”
“Think of me as your friend, Ben. So, how was her blowjob?”
My mouth opened, but no sound came out. I really didn’t know what to say. In the end, I came up with a weak, “It was good, very nice… err… technique”.
“Hmm… which techniques did she use?”
My mouth opened and the sordid details began to flow, “Uh well, she took my… err… penis… all the way, and used lots of different techniques”.
“I’m glad she gave you deep throat.”
“Umm… yes, I suppose she did.” As I said it, I felt my cock twitch into life, reminiscing about it rolling joyfully over Lucy’s tongue.
“Lucy also told me that your cunnilingus technique was good. What did you do to her?”
“Erm… nothing really spectacular. I just licked and sucked and fingered her. Unlike many men, I’m happy to say I can find a clitoris.”
“I’m so tuzla escort bayan glad to hear that.” Emmelle’s hand was back to stroking mine. “In which position did you fuck Lucy?”
I inhaled sharply, and then let the details tumble out, “Her on top for a bit, then doggy style, ending in missionary position with her legs wrapped around my waist”. My cock was now fully hard, as I thought about how I had pumped Lucy hard in each position.
“That’s very nice. Where did you come?”
“In her mouth. We didn’t have a condom, so she asked me to pull out of her and come in her mouth.”
Emmelle licked her lips, “I do like the taste of cum in my mouth”.
I became hypnotized by Emmelle’s mouth, as her moistened lips hovered in front of me in soft focus through the cognac fumes. I couldn’t believe that I was now fantasising about pumping my cum into my new boss’s mouth.
Emmelle called the waiter over and signed for the meal, before saying rather teacherly to me, “I think it’s time for bed. You have a big day tomorrow”. She stood up, her slim frame sculpted in tailored grey wool.
I also got to my feet, feeling a bit light-headed from the alcohol and my state of arousal.
We thanked the waiter, and went out into the lobby. Emmelle moved to the elevator, where an attendant pressed the call button for her. I had imagined that she might have been driven back to the château tonight by her chauffeur, but she obviously was staying in the hotel. The elevator arrived and she tipped the attendant very generously with a green fifty-franc note. We got in. The attendant pressed the buttons for my floor and for the door to close, and retreated back into the lobby as the doors closed, rather than joining us.
I held the rail on the wall of the elevator, to hold myself steady, not wanting to sway around in front of my new boss.
“I hope that’s not a stain”, Emmelle exclaimed, as she bent to have a closer look at a possible food stain on the front of my suit trousers. Her manicured hand smoothed down the fabric of the right-hand pleat of my trousers. Faster than I could do it myself, she had pulled the zip of my trousers open, reached in and pulled out my erect cock. She was already bent over to look for some non-existence stain, and so swiftly brought the wetness of her lips over the head of my cock. The cognac lingering on her lips made my glans tingle electrically.
By the time I was aware enough to realise what was happening, she was on her knees in the elevator, engaging my cock in a whirlpool of a blowjob. I grasped the rail, threw my head back, and mouthed “Fuck!” silently into the ceiling. I looked back down at Emmelle’s prissy chignon bobbing off the end of my cock. Then she looked up at me through her tortoiseshell glasses. She looked the image of the immaculate schoolmarm, except for my cock resting on her tongue.
“Bienvenue à l’École Château de l’Amour”, she breathed around my cock.
Her words, her sexy voice, and the visuals were almost enough to make me come there and then. I imagined pumping my cum into her mouth and all over her glasses.
I was saved by the bell, the elevator bell. We reached my floor and the doors parted. Luckily there was no one standing wait in the corridor. She stood up in front of me, slowly pumping my cock in her hand.
“I thought I told you, Ben, that it’s time for bed”, she instructed me.
She then proceeded to lead me out of the elevator and down the corridor, guiding me to follow with her hand on my exposed cock. When we reached my room, she pulled a key card from her jacket pocket and opened the door.
“You have the key to my room?” I inquired in confusion.
Emmelle didn’t reply. She yanked me inside, and pushed me to sit down on the canapé at the foot of the bed. Standing with legs spread as wide apart as her pencil skirt would allow, she bent towards me, and teasingly licked around the head of my cock, which was still on display through my open fly.
Then she stood up and unbuttoned her jacket, slipping it from her shoulders and tossing it onto the seat beside me. Her high, firm breasts shimmered under her fitted ivory-silk blouse. She unbuttoned the side of her grey-wool skirt, and it slithered down her legs. She stepped out of it, and slung it on top of her jacket beside me. She was wearing black stockings with suspenders.
“Take off your jacket”, she demanded of me.
I pulled it off, letting it fall on the seat behind me. Looking up, I saw Emmelle was unbuttoning her blouse. When it was undone, she swept it open, placing her hands on her hips, revealing her exquisite black lace underwear, complete with garter belt.
“Tie and shirt”, she commanded.
I tugged off my tie and unbuttoned my shirt. Once I was bare chested, she came to me, slipping off her blouse. She ran one hand down my chest, folding the other around the nape of my neck. She leant over me, and kissed the crown of my head, pushing her lips hard against my scalp. Her firm breasts suspended escort tuzla before my eyes. Without thinking, I took them in my hands, assaying them from below, caressing them through the fine lace of her bra.
She moved her hands behind her back and released the fastener, then slid the straps over her delicate shoulders. She stood up slowly, letting her straps slide down her arms, showing me her glorious breasts, and letting her bra fall into my cupped hands.
She stood before me with her hands on her hips. “Can I trust you, Ben? I need to know that I can trust you”, she asked.
I nodded, laying her bra across my lap.
“Tell me that I can trust you.”
“You can trust me, Emmelle”, I told her, with the alcohol rapping on my brain.
She hooked her fingers into the waistband of her knickers and pulled them down to her ankles, stepping out of them. As she straightened up, she pulled the pin out of her chignon, releasing her hair in cascades over her shoulders. My gaze shifted up her long, stockinged legs, to her smooth shaved pussy, her high, firm breasts and her waves of nut-brown hair. She was suddenly transformed from the image of a prim teacher to that of a high-class escort.
“In return for your trust, I shall give you a gift.”
She stepped purposefully towards me, thrusting one foot up on the edge of the seat beside me, opening her pussy for me to observe its pink flowering. The elastic of her garter strap slackened on her raised thigh. She clasped her fingers behind my head, and slowly pulled my face into her awaiting crotch. I saw her pussy was already dewed with expectancy, and I planted a tender kiss at its centre.
Emmelle curled her fingers through my hair, and held me to her open sex. I lapped obediently at her lips, delighting in her sweet taste. With her, as with the equally sweet Lucy — the last women to whom I had ministered in this fashion — eating her pussy was going to be a feast. I eagerly opened her outer fold with the apex of my tongue, and was rewarded with more of her flavour. I drew my tongue up the full height of her lips, and I felt her quiver against my mouth. I repeated the action a few more times, each time pushing my tongue a little deeper into her. The fifth time, I thrust my tongue with greater force into her, edging through her inner lips and inside her. Her hands grasped my hair as her body shook gently with the pleasure of intrusion.
“That’s it, Ben: show me you can be my new master!” she breathed huskily over me.
Encouraged by her words, I pulled my tongue hard up through her, and traced wet circles around the hood of her clit.
“Yes, that’s it”, she sighed.
I drove my tongue back into her, then pulled up and swirled it around her clit, repeating the action a few times. Then I closed my lips around the hood and gently sucked, exposing her to my tongue. I lightly licked her nub, and she agreed with a deep moan. I must have continued for almost ten minutes, getting gradually more intense.
“Ben, stand up, and let a lady take the seat.”
I complied, and she sat primly on the canapé as if she was sitting in front of a class, apart from the fact she was naked and in a heightened state of arousal.
She reached for me, tugged my belt undone, and I was soon stepping out of my clothes, naked. She took my cock in her hand, and placed her other hand on my ass, pulling me into her. She began diddling her erect pink nipples with the tip of my cock, first one breast and then the other.
She looked up at me, and said, “You know, Ben, it’s not really the done thing to have sex with your new boss before your start work”.
I wasn’t sure what to say to that, and was far more intent in watching her slathering her taut nipples with my precum. “You’re right: this isn’t the normal way to do things, Emmelle.”
“It’s good for me to get away from the school every now and again. After Lucy told me how well you had fucked her, I was looking forward to meeting you… to fucking you!”
She bent her head down and swallowed my cock. She swirled her tongue around the head of my cock making me sigh out in pleasure.
She disengaged, sat back in the canapé and removed her glasses.
“Emmelle, can you please keep your glasses on”, I blurted out.
She replaced her glasses on her face, looked up at me and responded, “Do I detect a little fetish for my glasses, Ben?”
She gave me no time to answer, as her bespectacled face slid back over my cock. She cupped my balls with one hand and jerked me off in her mouth with the other, while swirling her tongue around the head of my cock.
She pulled back but continued pumping me with her hand.
“Would you like to come all over my glasses, Ben?”
I looked down at her elegant features surmounted with designer tortoiseshell-frame glasses, and I felt a strong urge to cover her face with my spunk. “I’d love to do that, Emmelle.”
“Will you fuck me first?”
She released my cock, and stood up. She kissed me, took my hand, and stood up on the seat of the canapé. She climbed over the back of the seat to stand on the king-size bed, and led me up over the canapé to join her. We kissed, standing on the bed.
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