shaman king kanna

“I’ve thought about sucking your dick and fucking you every day. We don’t have much time.” She dropped to her knees and swallowed my dick, sucking furiously. I grabbed her hair and held her head, thrusting my cock into the back of her throat. “Gaa! Gaa! Gaa!” she tried to be quiet but she gagged each time my dick hit her throat. She pulled off. “Don’t muss my hair too much. My boss will know I fucked you back here.” She put her head on my cock and resumed sucking, slower and more deliberate this time. Saliva dripped from her mouth onto my balls. My cock was turning red as her lipstick rubbed off onto my shaft. Fucking hot. She stopped again. She lifted my cock and sucked one of my balls into her mouth. That was new. And pushed me over the edge.

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.

That previous single thought of her own indecency was wiped out by the tidal wave of her curiosity. About the only thing that she was still aware of was her father’s steady breathing and making sure not to wake him. Taking care not to cause too much disturbance on the mattress, she gently shifted further down the bed. Her dad was still unfolded like starfish, so her legs had to slide out alongside them as she brought her face down to the level of his pelvis.