polar patroller

“Are you stupid?” she hissed at me. “Go to the fitting room. I’ll be there in a minute. And lose the pants.” The light finally went on for me and I raced back to the fitting room. All the doors to the stalls were open, so no one else was there. I quickly stripped out of my pants and underwear and stroked my cock to its full glory. I was admiring my dick in the full length mirror when there was a soft knock at the door.“Sir? I have some other items for you to try. May I open the door?”

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.

The last time he saw her was just before the Night of a Hundred Heads, when he had been brought to the War Room. Her head was shaved back then, but since her fall from grace, it seemed she was letting her hair grow.“Unhand me, you godless bastard!” she hissed, trying to loosen the iron grip on her throat.