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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.

She squeezed the base of his cock even harder and redoubled her efforts, until a second later she felt his pulse raise to a crescendo, his cock pulsating in her hand. For a moment she thought nothing was else would happen, until the next pulse brought a hot shot of cum into the back of her throat. She pulled back a bit, until only the head of his cock was still in the vacuum seal of her lips. It spasmed again and even more hot sperm fired into her mouth, this time basting her tongue and her cheek. It jerked another time and then another and even more filled her mouth. It pulsated again a few more time, but with her tongue she could feel only a bit more dribble out the end of his cock.

“Jim, can I shave your cock and balls? Such a pretty dick should have more exposure. And it will make your cock look bigger—not that it isn’t a perfect size right now.”