dahlia angry birds

Mrs. B. was a great teacher for 10th grade English. Funny, engaging, personable—and a bit flirty. She was in her late-20s, just a couple years out of The University of Michigan, cute, nice body and flaming red hair that cascaded over her shoulders and down her back. She knew the boys all lusted after her and she did nothing to discourage our interest. Students even gave her a nickname, “Bubbles.” The administration was not pleased, but Mrs. B. didn’t seem to mind. She liked the attention. Oh, and I think that we actually learned a lot of English Lit between the horsing around.

With that checked of her Todo list, Sarah moved down past his penis to the low hanging fruit of his testicles. Hanging there so delicately, his balls were hard to ignore. She leaned in and gave them a smell too. The smell had the same level of intensity, but with a tang of salt, just as amazing but slightly different in its own way. She stayed here a good few minutes, sniffing in hard and breathing out a sigh of delight. Though that wasn’t all that she had planned.

I was on my knees when I slid two fingers into Carol’s pussy. I watched her face as I found that spot and rubbed gently. Carol moved her hips slightly and ground against my fingers. I slipped my thumb between her labia and started rubbing her clit. I wanted to watch her face when she came, the way she watches my face when she makes me spew my load down her throat. She wasn’t having it. She reached between her legs, pushed my thumb away and spread her pussy lips.