sif god of war

The house was nicely, if modestly furnished. Everything was clean and uncluttered, which fit with Ms. B’s personality. She gave me a tour of the house, including all of the bedrooms. In the master bath, she grabbed a towel from a linen closet and tossed it at me.

“I love that part so much!” I purred. “The way his knot pulls against my entrance as he's thrusting! Holding him inside so he can't pull away!” I shuddered with arousal, imagining just how I knew it felt as I watched it happening to my own mother instead. “You should play with your clitty, Mom,” I told her. “Brucie's way faster to cum than Daddy is—you probably won't be able to get off on the fucking alone, not unless you help yourself out. In fact...” I thought about it, then moved to act, resting my palm on her mound and using the tips of my fingers to tickle her clit. “Actually, never mind; I'll do it for you this time. You just concentrate on how good it all feels, and try to let yourself cum!”

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.