One Liner; Seduction is a two-way street.

Free time in the pool allows students to practice the skills they had been taught over the past five weeks. Tomorrow their dives in the ocean would make them certified Scuba Divers. First, however, I kept a watchful eye on the group. Despite their acquired skills, this was the stage where overconfidence and bravado could lead to a problem.

My problem student, however, was Bill. He and his wife, Marge, were the two oldest students in a class of mainly twenty-year-olds. Bill was in his mid-fifties and a real asshole. He was convinced of his superiority in all matters—intelligence, wealth, position, etc. He was confident he could teach the course after taking five nights of Scuba. I was ecstatic that they would not be doing the ocean dives with the rest of the class but flying to the Cayman Islands for their final certification.

In contrast, his wife, Marge, was one of the nicest people I had ever met, and she was gorgeous. Mid-forties, blond, green-eyed with a smile that could melt your heart. It baffled me that she could be married to this turd; however, that was not my business.

About ten minutes before the class ended, she undulated towards me underwater, reached into the cleavage of her one-piece bathing suit, and pulled out a piece of plastic. She spread it open, and I saw a heart cut out of a piece of red plastic; on it was written, ‘Would You Be My Valentine.’ Then, she removed her regulator from her mouth, smiled, pursed her lips, and blew me a kiss in the form of a stream of bubbles before undulating her way back to her husband.

I watched, mesmerized, as her cute butt swayed back to him. The class was over, and the students and I assembled in the parking lot as we were all going out to a nearby pizza joint for a bite to eat. I invited Mr. Bigshot and Marge to join us. However, he begged out and promptly bugged out in his Corvette. Although Marge seemed disappointed, she took my hand in hers, hugged me, congratulated me, and thanked me for the course. Just before she turned to join him, she gave me a mischievous wink.

I figured that was the last of them I would see. Then, roughly one year later, one of my employees walked into my office and announced that a lady was in the showroom and had asked if I was available. I stepped out, and Marge stood there looking at a display of masks and snorkels. When she saw me, she broke into a smile and spread out her arms to give me a hug.

“How’s my valentine today?” she giggled.

“Just fine, lovely lady, and how are you?”

“Wonderful! Tell me would you be available to join me for supper on Saturday?”

“It would be a pleasure. What’s the occasion?”

“I’d like to discuss a diving project I have been contemplating. Would 7pm be doable for you?”

“Sure, can I bring something?”

“No, just yourself. Here’s my address,” Marge said, handing me a business card. “Dress is casual, by the way.” With that, she gave me a parting hug. I watched as she walked out of the store while admiring her long legs and the sway of her hips.

I had broken up with my girlfriend about three months before that. On Saturday, I realized that this was February 14th, Valentine’s Day. So before going home to change, I stopped at a florist shop and purchased a bouquet of six red roses for my hostess.

I drove up the circular driveway to the address Marge had given me to what seemed to be a house built entirely of glass. The door opened, and Marge came out and told me to park behind the house, indicating a driveway to the left that sloped down towards a pond and veered to the back of the house. What had seemed to be a single-story house from the street turned out to be two stories built on the side of a hill so that below the entry-level was a second one that was not visible from the front of the house.

Bill’s red Corvette was parked next to an Audi. Somehow I had forgotten about him, and my excitement at seeing Marge was snuffed out like a candle. Then, finally, a door opened, and Marge stood there smiling. I got out, and she welcomed me with a huge hug. “Welcome to my home,” she said with a dazzling smile.

“Thank you. Oops! I forgot something,” and dashed out to return with the bouquet of roses. “For you,” I said, handing her the bouquet.

“Oh, Chris, that’s so sweet. It’s been ages since I received flowers, and on Valentine’s Day, no less. Come on in. I’m putting the finishing touches on supper,” she said, taking me by the hand and leading me to the kitchen. “I hope you like steak? It’s been so long since I cooked for someone that I chose something even I could not ruin with my meager culinary skills.”

“That’s great. Steak comes high on my list of preferred foods.”

“Oh, I’m so glad. I opened a bottle of wine to let it breathe. Why don’t you pour us a glass while I attempt to make these filets edible? How do you like your meat done?

“Medium rare. Please,” I said, handing her a glass of wine. “Will Bill be joining us?”

“No, he won’t,” she answered curtly, and I detected a trace of venom in her voice.

‘What’s that all about?’ I wondered as I watched a frown form on her face. But then, she turned her back to me to start cooking the meat. When she turned back, the smile had returned to her face.

“Come, let’s start. I’m famished, so I hope you are ready to eat?” She took my hand and led me to the dining room, which overlooked a vast extent of rolling lawn leading to a pond about twenty feet below this house level.

The table was set for two, which again aroused my curiosity which I determined to keep in check. Should she wish to talk about what was happening, that was fine, but I would not initiate that conversation.

We sat next to each other at one end of a table that would easily have accommodated ten. I asked if she had enjoyed diving in the Caribbean. She gushed with excitement and raved about all she had done and seen.

I looked at her; she was mouth-watering in her excitement.

Her green eyes sparkled as she related her adventures. I longed to kiss her mouth and run my fingers through her flowing blond tresses. The blue cashmere top accentuated her lush breasts. I felt my libido increase as I watched her talk.

We spoke about the possibility of her leading groups of divers to exotic locations. She proposed a project involving taking exclusive small groups to some of the world’s premier dive sites. The trips would combine diving with ecology and sightseeing to some of the most famous destinations in the world.

Her enthusiasm was infectious and held me spellbound. She would reach out and lay her hand on mine to emphasize something she was saying from time to time. Each time she did, it would bring me back to what a beautiful vibrant woman she was.

Supper over, she invited me to the living room and asked me to light the fire in the enormous stone fireplace while she cleared the table and returned with more wine.

We resumed our conversation till she excused herself to go and slip into something more comfortable.

My mind went into overdrive, imagining her returning in a flimsy negligee or less.

I was saddened to see that my imagination had been overactive. Marge had ditched the jeans and now wore a simple blouse buttoned down the front and a different skirt. As compensation, the two top buttons were undone. I was rewarded with a view of her cleavage and the swell of her breasts.

“That feels better. I did not have time to change before you arrived, and I was sweltering in that sweater.”

She sat across from me, and I asked her what was happening in her life that caused her to contemplate this tour guide project. She didn’t say anything for a few moments, then with tears in her eyes, she said, “I am divorcing Bill.”

“What happened?” I asked.

“The bastard has shacked up with his executive assistant, who is thirty years his junior. I kicked him out when I found out and filed for a divorce. While waiting for that to happen, I am lonely and ... horny. Oh, Chris, I can’t believe I just said that. I did not ask you to come to supper because of that. Well, maybe the lonely part I did.”

“Why are you lonely? You must have dozens of friends, Marge.”

“You don’t understand.”

“What don’t I understand?”

“I’m ashamed. Bill left me. That implies I was not good enough as a wife and lover to hold onto him.”

“Is that what it means? I rather think that he should be ashamed.”

“But why?”

“Look, Marge, I am sitting next to a captivating woman who is sexy, sophisticated, and intelligent. A woman that any healthy man would be delighted to be with. It’s obvious that Bill was thinking with his dick and not his head when he left you. Soon he will tire of his inamorata and come back with egg on his face. He’ll beg you to take him back. If he doesn’t, he’s a bigger fool than I already thought.”

“Oh no, Chris, he is done with me. I will never take him back. I devoted twenty-five years of my life to him. I even left my career behind to be his trophy wife. He’s going to pay and pay through the nose. I have managed our investments and made him wealthy, enabling him to live the lifestyle he wanted.

Standing, Marge held out her hand. “Come with me,” she said.

She led me to a bedroom where boxes were stacked, and a table was submerged with files and documents.

“This, my friend, is the record of every single financial transaction I have made over the years. It clearly shows that all investments were made by ME. These documents will be presented in court at the divorce proceedings. They will also show that when we started, we had no assets. We were both just graduated from university. I took the small inheritance I received from my parents at their death, which resulted in purchasing this house and other real estate and building an investment portfolio I have managed for years. He will be hard-pressed to show that his salary has paid for any of these assets. He will end up with his pension plan and his salary. Even that Corvette outside is in my name. Nothing! He will get NOTHING!” Marge took a deep breath. “Now come, and let’s talk about other things.”

We returned to the living room, where I sat while she went to get a fresh bottle of wine. She came back, sat on the sofa, stretched her legs out, and placed them in my lap as she sat alongside me. I took her barefoot and rubbed her feet. “See, you even have beautiful feet,” I said as I lightly rubbed each delicate pedicured foot.

“That feels so sensuous,” she gushed as I endeavored to make her relax. “Do you really find me attractive?”

“Marge, you are more than attractive. You are gorgeous.” My hand slid higher, starting to massage her calf.

Looking at me, she blushed and gave me a wistful smile. “It’s been ages since I had a massage and even longer since I was told I was beautiful. Let me get some massage oil before you begin.”

She returned with a bottle of lavender-scented massage oil. “I’ve had this for years. I hope it’s still good.”

I poured some in my hand, and the fragrance was still strong and delightfully oily.

“Come and lie down in front of the fireplace,” I said, standing and placing some brightly colored pillows on the ground in front of the hearth.

She obliged and stretched out on her stomach on the pillows as I knelt at her side and started running my hand along the back of her legs. Her skin was silky soft, and I reveled in the feel of that softness. Obviously, this act of intimacy made her feel good from the moans of appreciation she was making.

I grew more adventurous and parted her legs to massage her inner thighs. After initial resistance, she spread her legs, revealing that she was wearing a white thong to my lustful eyes. I could make out curly blond hair peeking out from the sides of the thong.

My hands slid along her inner thigh, delighting in the feel of her toned flesh, and slowly rose higher as I approached her crotch area. I felt her get tenser and resolved not to hurry things along and wait for her to indicate it was acceptable to go further.

I moved to her head and kneaded her scalp, neck, and shoulders. Soon had her purring under my touch. Then, as I started on her back, she rolled over, sat up, unbuttoned the blouse, and shrugged it off her shoulders before lying back down on her stomach. “That will make it easier to do my back,” she said.

I started working on her back, attempting to relax her completely, but my hands kept catching in the strap of her brassiere. Taking my courage in both hands, I unclasped it and moved the straps to the side. Now I could let my hands glide the length of her back. She purred like a cat as she enjoyed the feel of my hands.

As I massaged her sides, I could feel the side of her voluptuous tits that oozed out of her brassiere. I could feel my manhood straining against my jeans. I was turned on by the feel of all the flesh being placed at my disposal. Finally, I lowered the back zipper on her skirt and started to pull it off her hips. She obliged by raising her body to allow herself to be stripped down to her thong.

My eyes were rewarded by the curves of her ass bisected by a thin strip of lacy material snuggled between her ass cheeks. To my delight, she did not protest as I mauled those succulent globes. On the contrary, the more I manipulated them, the more she moaned. The oil made them glisten, and they were so delectable as they shimmered that I was tempted to kiss them.

Her whole body was quivering with delight, and she turned her head and said, “I never realized how many erogenous spots there were on my ass, Chris. That feels so good.”

I kept at it, and as I continued my manipulations, I could see a wet spot form at the crotch of her thong.

“Turn over, Marge. Time to do the front.”

She rolled over, her bra came off as she did, and her massive breasts were revealed in all their splendor. I could not help but salivate. I am not a big tit fan as I have always felt that more than a mouthful was wasted. However, in her case, they were more than a mouthful. They could have fed multiple men. They were firm globes surmounted by two firm cherry-sized nipples. Yet, surprisingly they stood upright and did not sag.

“Wow! Those all yours,” I ventured.

“Yes. 100% all-natural,” Marge said, blushing once more.

“May I touch them, or are they off-limits?”

“Chris, I’m so sorry I can see that you are being affected,” she said, glancing at my crotch, which was straining from my erection, “and I am behaving like a slut. I guess I wanted to see if I could still seduce a younger man.”

Looking into my eyes, she whispered, “I would love you to touch me; however, I think we should stop while we still can. My attorney wants me to be as pure as the driven snow until after the divorce proceedings. I don’t think I’ll be able to resist sullying the snow if we go much further.”

“I understand, Marge. Here’s your blouse. Remove the temptation from my eyes before I can no longer control myself.”

She got dressed, and we sat back on the sofa. She shared the rest of the wine between us and came to snuggle against me. We sat silently, contemplating the fire as I wrapped an arm around her.

“Chris, I’m so sorry,” she said after a while. “Do you think there’s any hope for an old broad like me? Do you really find me attractive?”

“Are you sorry for me, or are you sorry for yourself?”