itemlabel peepy

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.

“I can’t speak on Lord Noah’s behalf or pretend to understand what he thinks or feels. I can only tell you what I believe: trust him. Trust his reasoning. Maybe it’s because you were close that he didn’t want to endanger you.”

“Oh, take it you little whore!” she squealed, her hips jerking powerfully against my ass, the hot, molten flood of her seed making me gasp as I felt it shooting deeply up my ass! “Take it! Take my fucking cum!” Wave after wave she gave it to me, her huge, amazing cock pulsing and throbbing in time with the unbelievable pounding of her hips. Then suddenly she stopped, almost as if somebody had thrown her switch, buried to the hilt but completely immobile. She stayed there for a long, slow moment, eyes closed in rapture, barely even twitching but utterly lost to the ecstasy of her release. She pulled out slowly, leaving me strangely empty and wanting, supporting herself with her hand on my stomach as she tottered unsteadily around to my side in her heels. She bent low over top of me, her huge, amazing tits pressing warm and heavy against my chest.