cyclonus and tailgate

“Don’t you lecture me. You’re just fighting so that people will like you. You’re so desperate for their approval, yet have the nerve to call me spiteful. My path as a warrior doesn’t lead to acknowledgment or people carrying me on their shoulders. I don’t fight in life because I want to be idolized. I fight to understand myself, to know my limits, to know what I’m capable of, and to go even farther. The challenges I’ve overcome, the setbacks I’ve endured, the boundaries I’ve surpassed! Those are what define me as a man, as a warrior! I walk this path because life is most valuable when you have to fight for it!”

She lay there perfectly still for a long while, feeling her racing heartbeat against her fathers which steadily slowed with each passing breath. After what seemed like an hour, a muffled snore erupted from her father’s mouth and Sarah breathed a sigh of relief. She was dripping with sweat from the stress, but her pussy was even more wet. The entire time she had lain there, her father’s cock was filling her entirely, throbbing slowly, teasing her to the edge despite the fear. She barely dared to move as she knew that if she slid off his cock now, she would surely orgasm and collapse on top of him. And if that happened, he wasn’t going to sleep through that.

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.