dreamhawk

One day she definitely knew the effect she had on me, even if she hadn’t before. I was writing an essay on The Grapes of Wrath and asked Mrs. B when she came by if a word was spelled correctly. She leaned over, her silky red hair brushing against my cheek and her breast lay against my left shoulder. My cock stiffened instantly—and uncomfortably. Without thinking, I reflexively reached down and maneuvered my throbbing dick into a more comfortable position. It did create a sizable tent pole in my pants that I tried to push down and hide, which only drew attention to my crotch. Mrs. B blushed noticeably, stood up while stifling a laugh and muttered an apology.

When her vibration had subsided, I started licking up the copious amount of pussy juice wetting her labia and running down the inside of her muscular thighs. I spread her lips and ran my tongue back and forth the length of her slit, eliciting some soft moans of appreciation. I put my tongue on her taint and let the motion of her hips run my tongue from the edge of her pussy almost to her asshole. Looking back I really can’t believe I did this my first time out, but all thought, such as it was, was coming from my dick. On the next stroke, I spread her ass and ran my tongue across her asshole and the length of her crack. Mrs. B. froze but didn’t say anything. I ran my tongue slowly down her crack stopping to gently rim her butt hole. I remember being surprised that I liked the taste, and there began my lifetime of eating ass.

Mrs. B laughed. “Your ass is perfect, Jim. I ought to know.”“Uh, thanks. So is yours?” I tried to give a compliment. “Anyway, I gotta go shower and change or I’ll miss the activity bus.”