jenna morgan arthur

I had the worst crush on Mrs. B. It was in her class that I learned that I have a fatal weakness for redheads. I loved to watch her move through the room. She wore skirts and dresses that were too short for female students, but no one complained. It’s just who she was. She had lovely legs, no reason not to let the world see them. When she wore pants (they were just recently allowed), they were skintight, revealing a cute tight little ass. Tops were also tight, often with some cleavage showing between her pretty B-cup breasts.

“Good girl, Brianna! Good girl!” she purred, moving her hand back to my shaft. “And since you asked so nicely...” she laughed and started thrusting again, slowly at first but gradually picking up speed. Whatever she'd given me, whether it was Viagra, or ecstasy, or some cocktail of the two with who-knows-what thrown in on the side, it wasn't long before I started noticing the effect. I could feel the pressure building and building, like a heat at the base of my shaft, growing to a fire, then an inferno, searching for a release.

Now fully powered up, he flew up high above the city where no one could see him, then turned and rocketed straight down, using his wings to augment the speed of his descent. As with his fight against the wolf fiend during the Red Revelry, he adjusted his trajectory at the last moment, curving his descent. His enemy raised his shield, putting everything he had into his defense, but Roc’s power was too great. He kicked the man’s shield with all the magical and kinetic force he could muster, striking like a meteorite. His enemy resisted valiantly, but his footing gave way, and Roc smashed him into the ground, carving a trench through the earth before slamming him against the wall of the arena. Brick and mortar cracked like so many bones, and the man went limp with blood dripping from his mouth.