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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.

Without thinking her mouth opened and her tongue flicked out over her knuckles, lapping at her daddy’s precum. Again, without thinking she pushed her knuckles into her mouth and sucked it all off. Her brain was once again running on pure instinct and only felt a pang of disappointment when there was nothing left. Turning her attention down again she spied another drop of precum leaking from his tip. With nothing holding her back now, Sarah leant down gracefully until her nose was right above his cock head, breathed deeply, and licked.

“Oh, I'm getting so close now, Brianna! Fucking your tight, sissy faggot ass is getting me so close! Let me hear you beg for it, little girl! Let me hear you beg!”