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One day she definitely knew the effect she had on me, even if she hadn’t before. I was writing an essay on The Grapes of Wrath and asked Mrs. B when she came by if a word was spelled correctly. She leaned over, her silky red hair brushing against my cheek and her breast lay against my left shoulder. My cock stiffened instantly—and uncomfortably. Without thinking, I reflexively reached down and maneuvered my throbbing dick into a more comfortable position. It did create a sizable tent pole in my pants that I tried to push down and hide, which only drew attention to my crotch. Mrs. B blushed noticeably, stood up while stifling a laugh and muttered an apology.

Instead, she lowered herself down, her naked body embracing his as her breasts pressed into his pecs and her legs squeezed against his thighs. Her crotch grinded against his bush and she enjoyed the rough feeling of it scratching along her shaved pussy but stopped when she felt a prod against her cheek. Slowly and steadily her father was also becoming aroused, as much as clockwork now as Sarah’s visits. His firm head pressed harder against Sarah’s cheek, so she shifted to the side without thinking to give it room. With a spring like motion, it bounced up against his belly and back out, the head of his cock grazing her pussy lips hanging above.

“Indeed. It’s been a long time since I experienced a loss in a swordfight. Well done.”“I can see you’ve regained most of your strength. But what about magic? Have you tried casting any since you reached Colbrand?”