kikuri hiroi

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.

Next, she eased herself onto the bed again like she did the night before. Though this time she wasn’t fooling around with her daddy’s chest. Like a cat she slowly stalked up and over her dad’s leg, hands and knees either side until she was looking right down at her father’s crotch. It was a difficult position to hold, and she wanted to be comfortable for a good while. Eventually she found that putting her hands either side of his waist was the easiest while letting herself lower down onto her elbows. Just one bonus of her daily volleyball training was keeping limber, though this wasn’t how she envisioned using it.

“Good girl, Brianna! Good girl!” she purred, moving her hand back to my shaft. “And since you asked so nicely...” she laughed and started thrusting again, slowly at first but gradually picking up speed. Whatever she'd given me, whether it was Viagra, or ecstasy, or some cocktail of the two with who-knows-what thrown in on the side, it wasn't long before I started noticing the effect. I could feel the pressure building and building, like a heat at the base of my shaft, growing to a fire, then an inferno, searching for a release.