tracey de santa

There it was again. Laying sleepily on its side on a bed of hair while his balls hung loose between his thighs. It was almost as if they were sleeping too. She was almost sorry that she was about to wake them up.

After my boner mishap, either she was getting more daring, or my imagination was running wilder. One day Mrs. B. was wearing one of her short short skirts, no stockings, just muscular shapely legs. She couldn’t help but notice me watching her move around the room. She stopped at the desk of the student in front of me and bent at the waist to look at her paper. When she slid her hands between her thighs and bent a little farther, her skirt raised exposing her panties. They were red. And lacey. I thought she gave me a sidewards glance to see if I noticed. Maybe not. It really didn’t matter, though. As soon as I glimpsed those skimpy panties, I came in my pants. Right then. In class. I’m not proud, but I was only 15, I could cum at a good card trick. I had it bad.

As like all the other times she spent a minute at least inhaling the scent of his crotch, but holding off on the usual tongue bath, she instead continued her climb. Her slim stomach and breasts slid along her father’s muscular and hairy chest until she was lying almost directly over him. He puffed away noisily under the tubes of his CPAP machine none the wiser, a frustrating device that prevented her from exploring his mouth as well.