The American Tourist

Grantchester Gambit

Right. So. I shagged an American student in Grantchester Orchard while my husband filmed. Another afternoon in Cambridge gone deliciously off-script.

I'm Catherine. Forty-five. Lecturer at Cambridge. My husband David teaches at King's. Silver at his temples, but not in a distinguished way, more like he's trying to... I don't know, be someone distinguished? Failing a bit short anyway. We have an arrangement. He's into the whole cuckold thing, usually just watching or having me describe my encounters in detail after the fact. However, this time was different. This time he wanted to film the entire thing... such a big PERV but I love him!

Today wasn't meant to be a hunting (grooming) day. Just a wander through the cobbled streets of Cambridge, enjoying the May sunshine, and sights. But there I was, standing by the Corpus Clock, when this American young chap backed right into me.

'Oh my Gawd, I'm sooo sorry Mam!'

I was about to give him my best withering stare, the one that makes first-years wet themselves during tutorials, when I properly looked at him. Young. Christ. About twenty-one. Gorgeous golden blonde hair. Clean-shaven, thank God! Can't stand these bearded types that look like they've... well, like they've glued furry pubes to their chin. Give me fresh shaven boys anyday of the week... and no shitty tattoos.

'No harm done,' I said, smoothing my blue wrap dress. 'Though take your time young man, the Chronophage isn't going anywhere.'

He'd been gawping at that weird time-eating insect sculpture. The one tourists always stare at while locals pretend they're too sophisticated to notice.

'I know, I just... it's literally eating time. That's incredibly dark for a university clock.'

David chuckled beside me. 'That's Cambridge for you. We rather enjoy reminding students their time here is finite.'

'Dr Catherine Ellison,' I offered my hand. 'And my husband, Professor Ellison.'

'Ethan Cooper.' His handshake was firm. Clean fingernails. Never trust a man with dirty fingernails, they'll disappoint you in more ways than... well, you get the idea. 'Art History.'

'American?' David asked, though it was bloody obvious from that accent. Pure California surfer boy. I half expected him to say 'gnarly' and hi five us.

'Yes, sir. From San Francisco. And can I just apologise for... well, everything. The election and all that.' He gave a sheepish smile. 'We're not all like that.'

I caught David's eye over the boy's shoulder. That subtle arch of his eyebrow. We've been married fifteen years. Can have entire conversations without saying a word. This time, he was signalling: *This one's perfect.* Like he'd spotted an especially juicy gazelle while we were out on... Christ, what's the word? Safari. That's it. Sometimes my reality is juxtaposed with fantasy.

'What brings you to Cambridge, Ethan?' I asked trying to sound interested as I looked him up and down... mmmm delicious.

'Research on the Pre-Raphaelites,' he replied, actually sounding enthusiastic. 'Specifically feminine autonomy within Victorian artistic constraints.'

'Gosh, how rather sophisticated for an undergraduate?' I smiled. My best I want you kind of smile.

He grinned, confident as you like. 'I love to explore and err I contain multitudes, Dr Ellison.'

Hnnm quoting Whitman in boat shoes and a Cambridge University t-shirt. Americans are weird like that. They'll drop literary references while dressed like they're about to star in a catalogue for people who've never... what's the phrase? Never experienced hardship, I suppose.

David's fingers found mine, squeezing subtly. The gesture that always makes my knickers obscenely wet.

'Ethan,' David began, his voice dropping to his dominant tone. The one he uses when he's about to suggest something that'll end with someone's clothes on our bedroom floor. 'We're working on a private art project. It requires an additional willing young male participant. Would you be available this afternoon?'

The boy looked confused. 'An art project?'

'It's quite exclusive,' David continued. 'We have a location in mind. Grantchester Orchard... a few miles from here. Private, less hussle and bussel.'

'You'd need to trust us implicitly,' I added, meeting his gaze. 'And allow David to film certain aspects.'

He glanced between us, bewilderment battling with... what was it? Curiosity, I think. Americans display emotions like billboards anyway. We British keep ours locked up tight, only bringing them out for weddings, football matches and Eurovision.

Eventually, curiosity won. 'Okay sir,' he murmured, his neck flushing pink. Pinkish! Like he was a Victorian maiden being asked to show her ankles.

We walked to our Volvo. Not a Tesla or anything flash, academics' salaries aren't what they used to be, thanks to the bloody Tories!

David slid into the driver's seat whilst I guided Ethan to sit beside me in the back seat. The leather interior still had that lingering new car smell mixed with David's aftershave and something fresher, younger from Ethan. Like those body sprays (Linx Africa?) teenagers douse themselves in, but actually mildly pleasant for once.

I shifted, turning slightly toward Ethan, my blue wrap dress sliding up my thighs as I moved. The hemline revealed the tops of my nude stockings where they met bare skin. His eyes flickered down, then quickly back up to my face. Subtle as a... well, he wasn't subtle at all, was he?

'Excited?' I whispered, the word barely audible over the purr of the engine. I let my knee rest against his, a deliberate touch that could be explained away as the car's limited space. 'Or nervous? Poor Benjamin.'

His brow furrowed. 'Benjamin?'

I smiled, my voice dropping to a husky whisper. 'The Graduate? Mrs Robinson?' I trailed a finger along his arm. 'Don't tell me you've never seen it. Young college boy seduced by an older woman?'

Recognition dawned on his face, followed by a deep flush. 'Oh! Right. Yeah, I think I've seen it.'

'And?' I leaned closer, my breath warming his ear. 'Did you ever have teacher fantasies, Ethan? Wonder what it might be like to be with someone... well more experienced?'

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. 'I... um...'

I leaned in closer, my lips hovering just inches from his. 'Would you like me to teach you a few things? I've been told I'm an excellent teacher and mentor.'

Before he could answer, I closed the distance between us. My lips brushed against his, feather-light at first, teasing. He tasted of coffee and mint, something expensive, not the rubbish students usually chew. He remained frozen for a moment, then responded eagerly, pressing forward like he was trying to win a gold medal in Freestyle Snogging. I pulled back slightly, maintaining control.

'Slowly,' I murmured against his mouth. 'Good things come to those who wait...'

I drew his bottom lip between my teeth, giving it a gentle nip that made him gasp. My tongue traced the seam of his lips until they parted for me, then slid inside to meet his. He made a sound in the back of his throat, half-groan, half-whimper. Gosh, I love that sound. Like they're dying and you're the only... well, you know.

'Christ,' he breathed when I pulled back slightly.

I kissed him again, more deeply this time. His inexperience was evident in his enthusiasm, all passion, no finesse. Like a puppy that hasn't learned not to jump on the furniture. I guided him with gentle pressure, my hand on his jaw, showing him how to deepen the kiss without rushing.

'There,' I whispered against his lips. 'Feel the difference?'

He nodded, pupils blown wide. 'Yes, Professor.'

'Quick study,' I smiled, rewarding him with another slow, deliberate kiss that had him shifting in his seat.

David's eyes kept darting to the rearview mirror, watching us instead of the road. I caught his gaze in the mirror and winked.

Fifteen years of marriage and he still gets that hungry look. Should probably be concerned about the safety implications of a distracted driver, but I was a bit busy giving the American an education in... what did the French call it? French kissing. Not very creative, really but the that's the French for you.

I slid my hand across the small space between Ethan and me, letting my fingers rest lightly on his thigh. I felt the muscle jump beneath my touch. Responsive little thing.

'Your jeans are tight,' I observed, my voice low. I traced small circles with my fingertips, working my way higher with each rotation. The denim was warm beneath my hand. 'Are you uncomfortable?'

He made a strangled sound as my fingers brushed against the growing hardness beneath his fly. 'I... um...'

'Cat got your tongue?' I teased. 'I thought I had it a moment ago.'

His face flushed, but he laughed, relaxing slightly. 'This is... not what I expected when I came to study in Cambridge.'

'Consider it part of your cultural education,' I murmured, squeezing him gently through his jeans. 'The bits they don't put in the brochure.'

'Best. Education. Ever,' he managed between shallow breaths.

'Shh,' I whispered, leaning closer to kiss him again. This time I let my teeth graze his bottom lip, drawing a soft gasp from him. 'David's watching.'

'Is that okay?' he whispered against my mouth.

'More than okay,' I replied. 'It's rather the point.'

In the mirror, David's eyes were hungry. I held his gaze as I deliberately moved my hand to Ethan's belt buckle. The metal was cool against my fingers as I worked it open, then the button of his jeans. The zipper made a soft, obscene sound as I pulled it down. Like unwrapping a particularly naughty Christmas present.

Ethan's breathing quickened. His hips shifted slightly, helping me as I slipped my hand inside. I pushed the fabric aside and wrapped my fingers around him. He was hot, silky, and throbbing against my palm.

I stroked Ethan slowly, my grip firm but gentle. My other hand curled around the back of his neck, pulling him into another deep kiss. His head fell back slightly against my hand, eyes half-closed as my tongue explored his mouth. I kept up a steady rhythm with my hand, squeezing gently on the upstroke, swallowing his soft moans as my lips moved against his. A small bead of moisture appeared at his tip. I spread it with my thumb, making small circles around the sensitive head whilst my tongue mimicked the motion inside his mouth.

'Do you like older women, Ethan?' I asked against his lips, my voice a teasing purr. My hand never stopped its motion, working him with practiced skill. 'Women who know exactly what they want? Who can teach you things they don't cover in your art history classes?'

'God, yes Professor,' he breathed, his hips shifting restlessly under my touch. Subtle as a... well, nothing subtle about it really.

I pushed my tongue back into his mouth, kissing him deeply whilst my hand worked faster. I could feel him getting close, his cock swelling slightly in my grip. I tightened my fingers, increasing the pressure just enough to drive him wild without pushing him over the edge. When I finally pulled back, his lips were swollen, his eyes unfocused, his hips pushing up into my hand.

'I think you're going to be an excellent student,' I whispered, squeezing him gently. 'Very... eager to learn.'

The Volvo glided through Cambridge traffic, a sleek bubble of sin amid the punting tourists and cycling students. The thrill of being so exposed yet hidden made my own pulse quicken. Like being back in sixth form, snogging behind the bike sheds but a thousand times naughtier.

At Grantchester Orchard, David parked the car discreetly behind a row of trees. Ethan hastily tucked himself away, his face flushed. David retrieved a blanket from the boot whilst I slipped my heels off, dangling them from my fingers. The grass felt heavenly against my stockinged feet after being cramped in those shoes all morning. Christ, it's like... what's that feeling when you take your bra off after a long day? That, but for feet.

As we made our way along the gravel path toward the more secluded area of the orchard, a familiar voice called out.

'Catherine! David! What a lovely surprise!'

I felt Ethan stiffen beside me, his posture suddenly rigid with panic. We turned to face Professor Malcolm Jenkins from the English department, clutching what looked like a first edition of Wordsworth and a takeaway cup of tea. Malcolm's tweed jacket seemed excessive for the warm day, but Cambridge academics are allergic to weather-appropriate clothing.

His eyes drifted down to my stockinged feet, one eyebrow raised in mild surprise.

'Lovely day for it, Malcolm,' I smiled, wiggling my toes slightly. 'Couldn't resist the chance to get these heels off. These paths are murder on leather.'

'Quite, quite,' Malcolm nodded. 'And who might this young man be?'

The delicious tension coursed through me. The boy I'd been wanking off in the car mere minutes ago now stood beside us, the memory of my hand on his young hard cock still fresh.

'This is Ethan Cooper,' I said, my voice impressively steady. 'A visiting student from the US of A. Art History. Pre-Raphaelite focus.'

'How fascinating!' Malcolm's eyes lit up. 'You must speak with my wife. She's just published a monograph on Rossetti.'

'Perhaps another time,' David interjected politely. 'We're just showing Ethan the orchard before heading over to the Fitzwilliam museum. Time constraints, you understand.'

As Malcolm tottered off, Ethan let out a breath he'd been holding. And we continued walking, now following a narrower path toward the ancient apple trees, I felt a laugh bubbling up inside me. The thrill of the near-discovery, the secret knowledge that this 'visiting student' would soon be naked beneath me while my husband filmed, sent a sharp pulse of excitement through my body.

And there we saw, through the trees - Mary Archer, occupying a prime table overlooking the river, sharing a scone with some equally immaculate companion.

The mere possibility she might glimpse what we planned sent a jolt of wicked adrenaline through me. Like doing a line of coke off the Dean's backside.

'You alright?' I asked Ethan, who still looked slightly shellshocked. 'We can stop if you'd prefer.'

For a moment, I thought he might actually say yes. Then something shifted in his expression, a flash of that same curiosity that had made him say yes in the first place. 'No way,' he said, his voice steadier. 'That was... kind of hot, actually. The risk of it.'

David found a spot nestled among ancient apple trees. Still within earshot of afternoon tea-goers, but hidden enough. His phone now recording.

'Remember, Cath,' he murmured. 'Give me something worth filming for my collection. Don't want another five minutes of you adjusting your stockings and discussing the weather.'

I walked to the blanket and settled onto it with deliberate grace, arranging my dress around me. The fabric pooled on the blanket, blue against the faded red tartan. I crossed my legs slowly, then uncrossed them, letting my knees fall slightly apart. The silk whispered against my stockings.

'Sit,' I instructed Ethan, patting the space across from me. He folded his long legs, sinking down onto the blanket. The bulge in his half-zipped jeans was still obvious. Like he was... I don't know, smuggling something cylindrical.

I stretched my legs out, pointing my toes like a dancer. The red polish gleamed through the sheer nylon. 'Has anyone ever touched you with their feet?'

He shook his head, eyes fixed on my stockinged feet. 'No, I... that's not something I've experienced.'

'Then you're in for a treat,' I smiled. I lifted my right foot, letting it hover an inch from his knee. The anticipation made him hold his breath. I lowered my foot slowly, letting him feel the featherlight pressure of my toes against his knee.

'You know,' I said conversationally, as if we were discussing the weather rather than what was about to happen, 'Mrs Robinson never did this in the film. Though I always wondered if she might have, off-screen.' I met his eyes. 'Did you ever think about your professors this way, Ethan? Wonder what we might do behind closed doors when we're not boring you with lecture slides?'

'I...' he swallowed hard, watching as I traced my foot higher up his thigh. 'Maybe sometimes.'

'Just sometimes?' I raised an eyebrow, my toes now tracing circles on his inner thigh. 'Not during boring lectures? When your mind wanders? When I'm droning on about dull theory, are you picturing me with my knickers off?'

A guilty flush spread across his face. 'More than sometimes.'

'Mmm, I thought as much.' The nylon caught slightly on the denim as I traced a line higher up his thigh. His breathing quickened with each inch. When my foot reached his inner thigh, I could feel the heat of him through his jeans. His legs parted instinctively, making space for me. 'Young men always have such active imaginations. Tell me, in these fantasies of yours, what does your professor do to you?'

'She...' he hesitated, embarrassed.

'Don't be shy now,' I encouraged, my foot inching higher. 'We're well past that point, wouldn't you say? My husband's filming us, for God's sake.'

'She takes control,' he admitted, his voice dropping to a whisper. 'Shows me what to do.'

'Well then. Consider this your first lesson.' I glanced at his belt, which was still unfastened from our activities in the car. 'Take that off,' I instructed. 'And unfasten your jeans properly. They're in my way.'

His fingers trembled as he pulled the belt free from the loops, then pulled the zipper the rest of the way down, a soft zipping sound.

Ethan lifted his hips, pushing his jeans down to his thighs. His cock strained against his boxers, the outline clearly visible through the thin cotton. A damp spot had formed at the tip... evidence of his enthusiasm, let's say.

'Those too,' I said, nodding at his boxers. 'I want to see you. All of you.'

He pushed them down. His cock sprang free, bobbing slightly with his pulse. I flexed my toes, letting him see the muscles working beneath the sheer nylon.

'Now give me your hands,' I commanded, holding out my palm.

He looked confused but complied, extending his wrists toward me. I took his belt and wrapped it around his wrists, securing them together with a firm knot. Tight, to keep him from using his hands.

'That's part of the fantasy too, isn't it?' I asked, giving the belt a hard tug to test the restraint. 'Being at someone else's mercy?'

His pupils dilating. 'Yes,' he admitted, voice barely audible.

David circled around us, camera steady in his hand. 'Tell her what you're thinking, Ethan,' he instructed, his tone conversational but leaving no room for refusal. 'Catherine appreciates... verbal feedback.'

Ethan's eyes darted between us, clearly uncertain. 'I... what should I say?'

'Whatever comes to mind,' David encouraged. 'How does it feel, being bound like that? Having her control you? Being exposed outdoors where anyone might see?'

'It's...' Ethan swallowed hard, his flush deepening. 'Exciting. Terrifying. I can't believe I'm doing this.'

'And?' David pressed.

'And I've never been so turned on in my life,' he confessed, the words tumbling out now. 'Having you both watch me like this... it's like I'm just a... an object for your pleasure.'

'And do you like that?' I asked, tracing my toes up his inner thigh again.

'God, yes,' he breathed. 'I love it.'

'Very nice,' I appraised him like I might a particularly promising essay. 'You've exceeded expectations already. If only my students were this eager to please.'

I extended my foot again, this time letting my arch hover just above him. Slowly, I lowered my foot until my arch barely touched the underside of his cock. He sucked in a sharp breath.

'Oh my God,' he whispered, his head falling back. 'Someone could see...'

'Only if they're looking very carefully,' I replied. I rotated my ankle, letting my toes trace the length of him. The red polish made a striking contrast against his skin. 'And most people are too busy with their cream teas. Besides, Cambridge dons have mastered the art of not seeing what they don't want to see. How else would half the faculty get away with shagging their PhD students?'

I lifted my other foot, positioning both on either side of his cock. The sheer nylon created a... sort of Channel. That's it. I pressed my feet together, sandwiching him between my arches. The silk-on-skin contact made him shudder.

'Look at the camera,' David instructed, his voice tight. 'I want to capture your expression.'

Ethan raised his eyes to the lens as I began to move my feet up and down. The friction of the nylon against his sensitive skin made him twitch. I curled my toes slightly, creating more pressure. The movement was hypnotic, up and down, a rhythm like... like waves, I suppose.

His breathing became ragged. Small beads of sweat formed on his forehead. His hips began to move, thrusting up to meet the downward pressure of my feet. The head of his cock appeared and disappeared between my arches with each stroke. Like a magic trick, now you see it, now you don't.

I could feel him swelling, growing harder between my feet. His eyes fixed on the camera lens. His hands gripped the blanket on either side of his hips, knuckles white with tension.

'That's it,' I encouraged, increasing my pace. 'Let go. Show us what California boys are made of.' What are they made of anyway? Avocado toast and privilege, probably.

His body tensed. A strangled sound escaped his throat. Hot spurts of delicious spunk landed on my stockinged feet, stark against the nude nylon. Some caught the red of my toenails, pooling in the small indentations.

'Oh gawd, ma'am, I'm sorry,' he gasped, sounding like a surfer who'd just wiped out.

'"Oh gawd, ma'am"?' I repeated, unable to help myself. 'Are you auditioning for a brat pack 90s teen movie? What's next, "That was totally rad, dude"?'

He blushed even deeper, which I hadn't thought possible. Like someone had slapped him with a beetroot.

'Magnificent,' David murmured, zooming in on the mess decorating my feet. 'That's exactly what I wanted to capture.' He lowered his phone, circling us slowly like a wildlife photographer who'd spotted a rare mating ritual. 'Now it's your turn, Cath.'

I stretched languidly, letting the post-orgasm flush from Ethan's face fade before moving on. The way he looked at me now, equal parts gratitude and hunger, sent a delicious shiver down my spine. There's something uniquely satisfying about being the object of such naked desire. Power, I suppose. The same rush I get when a student finally grasps a complex economic theory after weeks of confusion.

'Ready for the next lesson?' I asked, my voice deliberately casual as I shifted positions.

Ethan nodded eagerly, his eyes following my every movement.

I moved to sit with my back against the broad trunk of an apple tree. The rough bark pressed into my shoulder blades through the thin fabric of my dress. I spread my legs slightly, the silk dress falling between them.

'Come here,' I crooked my finger at Ethan. 'I want to feel that eager tongue of yours.'

He crawled toward me on his hands and knees, still half-naked, his jeans tangled around his thighs. Despite having just climaxed, his cock was already showing renewed interest, half-hard and bobbing with his movement.

I reached down, untying the wrap of my dress. The silk parted, revealing my lace knickers beneath. A hundred and twenty quid for something the size of a paper napkin, but the look on his face made it worth every penny. Bloody daylight robbery, but at least someone appreciated them.

I realeased him from the belt to free his hands...'Take these off,' I instructed, lifting my hips slightly.

He hooked his fingers under the delicate lace at my hip bones. The fabric slid down my legs as he pulled, catching momentarily on my stockings before coming free. He held them in his hand for a moment, the black lace stark against his palm.

'Put them aside,' I said. 'Carefully.'

He folded them neatly, bless him, and placed them on the edge of the blanket. David circled us, filming from different angles, capturing the sunlight dappling through the leaves onto my exposed skin. Like some pretentious art film, all lens flare and literary references.

I caught Ethan's eye, holding his gaze as I slowly opened my legs wider. 'Tell me, in your professor fantasies, does this happen?' I ran a finger along the inside of my thigh, stopping just short of where I knew he wanted to touch. 'Do you imagine being on your knees, paying proper attention to your lecturer?'

His eyes darkened, pupils dilating. 'Yes.'

'Then consider this an oral examination,' I said with a wicked smile. 'And I expect you to be very thorough.

'I'll do my best, Professor,' he replied, playing along now, gaining confidence.

'I should hope so,' I said in my best lecturer voice. 'I'd hate to have to give you a failing grade.'

I reached out to touch his face, tracing his lower lip with my thumb. His skin was so smooth, unmarked by time. I leaned forward and kissed him deeply, my tongue sliding against his with deliberate slowness. His hands came up to cup my face, but I caught his wrists.

'No touching yet,' I murmured against his mouth. 'That's lesson two. We'll get to that after you prove you can follow basic instructions.'

I pulled back, pressing my back against the tree again. 'Now,' I said, my voice lower. 'I want you between my legs.'

Ethan positioned himself, lying on his stomach between my thighs. His shoulders pushed my legs further apart. I could feel his breath, warm against my inner thigh.

'Taste me,' I commanded, reaching down to tangle my fingers in his golden hair.

His first tentative lick sent electricity up my spine. I tightened my grip on his hair, guiding him where I needed him.

'That's it,' I murmured. 'Right there. Firmer.'

He hummed against me, sending vibrations through my core. His tongue explored with increasing confidence, circling, flicking, probing. Each stroke sent a jolt through me. I shifted my hips, pressing myself more firmly against his mouth.

'Is this... am I doing it right?' he asked, looking up at me with wide, eager eyes, his face framed by my thighs. His lips glistened in the dappled sunlight. God, he looked beautiful like that.

'You're doing wonderfully,' I replied, pressing down harder, shifting my hips to give him better access. 'Just more pressure... yes, right there. God, they must teach this at American universities. Required course, is it?'

He laughed against me, the vibration making me gasp. 'Independent study,' he murmured, before diving back in with renewed enthusiasm.

'Cheeky,' I managed, just before his tongue found exactly the right spot. 'Oh, fuck, there. Right there.'

The forbidden thrill of it all heightened every sensation, the rough bark against my back, the soft blanket beneath me, the warm May air on my exposed skin, and this beautiful young man between my legs, devouring me like it was his life's purpose.

'Don't stop,' I gasped, my hips moving in small circles against his mouth. I caught David's eye as he filmed. The hunger in his gaze nearly pushed me over the edge. 'Right there. God, right there.'

The tension built, a coiling spring deep in my belly. I pressed my lips together to stay quiet as the wave broke. My thighs trembled, clamping around his ears like vice grips. My back arched away from the tree trunk. Stars exploded behind my closed eyelids as I came against his tongue.

'Fuck,' I breathed, as the aftershocks rippled through me.

I relaxed my grip on his hair, letting my legs fall open. He looked up at me, his expression both proud and hungry for more.

'Quick study,' I managed, my chest still heaving with each breath. 'Finally, a student who actually listens to feedback.'

He crawled up my body, pressing a kiss to my inner thigh, my hip, my stomach through the silk of my dress. When he reached my face, I pulled him into a deep kiss, tasting myself on his tongue.

'I aim to please, Professor,' he murmured against my lips.

'You've earned yourself top marks so far,' I told him, nipping at his lower lip. 'But the practical exam isn't over yet.'

The sound of distant laughter from tea-goers drifted through the trees, reminding me of our semi-public location. The thrill of potential discovery heightened every sensation, my skin still tingling from orgasm, the taste of myself on his lips.

There was something primal about all of it. Taking this beautiful young man in broad daylight whilst my husband documented every moment. A thousand miles from the buttoned-up academic image I presented in lecture halls. The real me, the one who craves, takes, consumes.

'Beautiful,' David murmured, filming us from a few feet away. He adjusted his position, moving to capture us from another angle. 'But I believe we need the final scene for our little film.'

I slid down until I was lying flat on the blanket. 'Come here,' I said to Ethan, holding out my arms. 'I want you inside me now.'

He scrambled to kick off his jeans completely, then moved to position himself above me. I placed a hand on his chest, stopping him.

'No,' I said. 'I'll be on top.'

His eyes darkened with desire. 'Yes, ma'am.'

I pushed him gently until he rolled onto his back. His cock stood straight up, fully hard again. When you're that age, a stiff breeze is enough to get you going again. I moved to straddle him, my knees on either side of his hips. My dress pooled around us, creating a blue tent over our lower bodies.

I leaned down to kiss him again, slowly, deeply. My hair fell forward, creating a curtain around our faces.

'This is how Mrs. Robinson would have done it,' I murmured against his lips. 'Taking exactly what she wanted.'

'Mrs. Robinson had nothing on you,' he whispered back, his hands sliding up my thighs to my waist.

I laughed softly. 'Flattery will get you everywhere.' I nipped at his ear. 'And I do mean everywhere.'

His hands came up to my waist, fingers digging into the silk of my dress. I noticed his eyes kept darting to the camera David held, a mixture of nervousness and excitement flickering across his face.

'Not quite what you expected from your Cambridge visit?' I asked, arching an eyebrow.

He laughed, a bit breathless. 'Definitely not in the guidebook.'

'The best parts never are,' I teased, rolling my hips against his hardness. 'Consider this the insider tour.'

'Tell me, Ethan,' I whispered, my lips brushing his ear. 'Have you learned anything from your impromptu Cambridge experience today?'

'God, yes,' he breathed, his hips shifting restlessly beneath me.

'And what's the most important lesson?' I asked, sitting up straight, rolling my hips against him without letting him inside yet.

He swallowed hard, his hands tightening on my waist. 'That... that you're in charge.'

'Very good,' I smiled, rewarding him with another slow roll of my hips. 'You get an A for comprehension. Might be the only A you'll ever get from me.'

His laugh turned to a gasp as I reached between us.

'As you wish,' David murmured, moving to capture my face from another angle as I positioned myself above the American. I reached between us, guiding him to my entrance. The blunt head of his cock pressed against me, hot and insistent.

'Watch me,' I instructed Ethan, holding his gaze as I sank down slowly. The stretch was delicious, different from David, new and exciting. I took him inch by inch until he was fully seated inside me. Like getting a new sofa after years with the same one, still comfortable, but the novelty makes it better.

I placed my hands on his chest for balance, feeling his heart racing beneath my palms. His skin was hot to the touch, flushed with arousal.

'Stay still,' I commanded when he tried to thrust upward. 'Let me set the pace. You Americans are always rushing. Learn to savour things.'

I began to move, rising up until he almost slipped out, then sinking back down. The rhythm was slow at first, deliberate. My thighs flexed with each movement. The stockings whispered against his skin.

'Look at the camera,' David directed, moving to capture Ethan's face. 'I want to see your expression while my wife fucks you.'

The crude language from my usually proper husband sent another wave of heat through me. Ethan's eyes locked onto the camera lens, his expression a mixture of pleasure and disbelief.

I increased my pace, the sound of skin on skin joining the distant chatter of tea-goers and the rustle of leaves overhead. My dress had fallen off one shoulder, exposing more skin to the warm air. Ethan's hands moved from my hips to my breasts, cupping them through the silk.

'How does it feel, Mrs. Robinson?' he whispered, a hint of newfound confidence in his voice.

I slowed my movements deliberately, fixing him with my best deadpan stare. 'Quite adequate for an American,' I replied dryly. 'Though I'd reserve judgment until after tea time. We English never rush to conclusions before a proper cuppa.'

His startled laugh quickly transformed into a moan as I clenched around him and resumed my pace.

'Harder,' I urged, grinding down against him. I could feel another climax building, surprising for me at my age. 'Touch me.'

One of his hands slid between us, his finger finding my clit. The dual sensation of him inside me and him circling that sensitive bundle of nerves pushed me closer to the edge.

'She's close,' David observed, his voice rough. 'You can feel it, can't you?'

'Yes,' Ethan gasped, his pace becoming erratic beneath me. 'I can't... I'm going to...'

'Not yet,' David instructed. 'Catherine first.'

Ethan gritted his teeth, visibly struggling for control. His thumb moved faster against my clit, his other hand gripping my hip to hold me in place. The extra pressure was exactly what I needed. I came with a shudder, my inner muscles clenching around him like a vice. I could feel him pulsing, filling me with each throb as I continued to rock against him, drawing out every last sensation.

The sensation proved too much for his limited experience. With a strangled sound, he followed me into release, his hips jerking upward as he emptied himself inside me.

'Oh gawd, ma'am, that was... that was...' he panted, that California accent thicker than ever.

I couldn't help laughing as I lifted myself off him, feeling him slip out of me. 'Did you just call me "ma'am" while still inside me? Very polite. Must be that West Coast upbringing.

After we wrapped up our little outdoor adventure, I collected my expensive lace knickers from where Ethan had carefully placed them, tucking them into David's pocket rather than putting them back on. The feeling of being bare beneath my dress, with Ethan's release slowly trickling down my inner thigh, was too deliciously wicked to give up. Like a naughty secret I'd carry around for the rest of the day. Might leave a stain on the car seat, but that's what leather conditioner is for.

When we dropped Ethan off near King's College, David reached back to shake his hand. 'Thank you for your participation.'

Ethan looked slightly dazed. Like someone who'd been hit by a bus but in the most pleasant way possible. 'That was... incredible,' he managed.

'Yes, quite,' I agreed. 'Safe travels, Ethan. Enjoy the rest of your time in Cambridge. Do send my regards to your art history professor. Tell her you've been getting some... extracurricular tutoring.'

As he walked away, David turned to me. 'The footage is extraordinary.'

'He was quite the willing canvas,' I replied, watching Ethan's retreating figure. Just another pawn in our game. Bit harsh, maybe, but true. He'd go back to America with a story no one would believe, and we'd have another addition to our private collection.

'Home?' David asked, his hand finding mine.

'Yes,' I agreed, feeling the pleasant ache between my legs. 'I heard there's a visiting professor from Helsinki arriving next week. Apparently, he's quite photogenic. And clean-shaven too. Can't be dealing with these bearded types. Like snogging a Brillo pad.'

David smiled, that dangerous smile that still makes my stomach flip even after fifteen years. 'My brilliant, wicked wife. Always thinking ahead.'

'Someone has to,' I replied. 'Now drive, darling. I'm rather keen to see how our little American art film turned out. Just think, he'll be walking back to his college with my cummy stockings imprinted on his memory. A souvenir of Cambridge more intimate than anything they sell in the tourist shops. Better than a tea towel with King's College Chapel on it, wouldn't you say?'

David laughed, starting the engine. 'You're terrible.'

'That's why you love me,' I replied, leaning back in my seat with a satisfied smile. 'And why that memory card in your camera is almost full.'

As we drove home, I couldn't help but wonder if this American would join the neighbour's son in our little collection of conquests. Different boys, same thrill. Though this one probably wouldn't be around for a repeat performance. Perhaps that's for the best - variety is the spice of life, after all.