phineas and ferb isabella garcia shapiro

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.

“Ah fuck yeah! Fuck yeah!” I slammed my cock harder into her ass, lubricated by a hefty load of sperm. “Carol…my God.” My cock began to retreat from Carol’s stretched asshole as the last of my cum spewed into her ass. I released her and stepped back as gobs of cum oozed from her asshole and spattered onto the carpeted floor. Holding her skirt out of the way, she retrieved the shirt off the bench, stuck it in her ass crack and sat down. She looked at me sternly.

“Uh, isn’t your family—husband, kids—aren’t they there? Could be awkward.”“I took the kids to my mother’s house for the weekend. Husband…he’s off on “business”” Mrs. B took her hands off the wheel to make air quotes, “…if you call banging your co-worker business. He and I are pretty much done, just so you know.”“Oh. I’m sorry. Must be rough.”