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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.

“Good girl, sissy! I knew you had it in you! And now, you're about to really have it in you!” She laughed at her own joke, and started to push. True to her word, at least she went slow. I gasped and moaned, feeling the huge, hot weight of her gradually stretching me open, relentlessly forcing her way inside. She grabbed hold of me, one arm wrapping tightly around my leg, her other reaching around to grasp my dick. She wasn't stroking me anymore, not intentionally, but as she began slowly thrusting in and out of my ass, working her way deeper, the effect was the same. It took her maybe five minutes or so to finish getting all the way in, pressing hard against my ass, grinding to make sure I was feeling every last inch she had to give.

“Not needed,” said Curcio. “These specimens bond automatically, but for that convenience and power, the recipient will suffer greater vulnerability to sunlight. However, that means that whoever receives them will be as close to a genuine Profane as possible, minus the ability to reproduce,”“So, you’re abandoning the microscopic parasite concept, then?” Scyler asked.