riven of a thousand voices

A black and white photo accompanied the eerie description and was just as unnerving. She wasn't a wax reconstruction or even a corpse like most in the ViCAP database. Sat straight up, staring ahead at absolutely nothing at all, a living missing person was on display.

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.

“Good girl, sissy! I knew you had it in you! And now, you're about to really have it in you!” She laughed at her own joke, and started to push. True to her word, at least she went slow. I gasped and moaned, feeling the huge, hot weight of her gradually stretching me open, relentlessly forcing her way inside. She grabbed hold of me, one arm wrapping tightly around my leg, her other reaching around to grasp my dick. She wasn't stroking me anymore, not intentionally, but as she began slowly thrusting in and out of my ass, working her way deeper, the effect was the same. It took her maybe five minutes or so to finish getting all the way in, pressing hard against my ass, grinding to make sure I was feeling every last inch she had to give.