She is a teacher in an ordinary school, fifteen-year-old co-eds, in an ordinary town, in suburban England.
Her mantra, when her pupils were overwhelmed by the size of a task that she set them, was always the same.
“Break it down into chunks, and then you will understand it better,” she expounded to her pupils, throughout her long and happy teaching career. In school, she was an encourager with a positive mental attitude.
Outside of school, things were different. After a lifetime of putting up with her husband’s lack of sexual interest in her, she decided that enough was enough. She would have her revenge and She applied her own mantra, to work out what to do with her husband.
But as she lobbed the dripping bags onto the bonfire, she realised it hadn’t helped her understand her husband at all.
A review of her options, raised the question of, Why waste good money on all those prostitutes? Now it was true it was his money and she knew that he needed his sexual release. But had he ever asked, she would have gladly serviced every kink he had and shown him more. She had a whole array of toys and equipment to make a humble streetwalker blush. But every Tuesday, he came back two hundred quid lighter and scratch marks on his thighs.
But of late, he was in on a Tuesday evening, yet he has a happy countenance. She needed to monitor what he was up to.
After a week or two, she suddenly realised where he was getting his joy. It was Daisy, Daisy from next door. It mattered not that she was younger, that her tits didn’t yet sag with the gravity that comes with age, or that her ass was firm and ripe, or that her pussy leaked honey to take your breath away.
What hurt most?
Daisy was hers!
