criticalvolume

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.

“Ahhh…oooph…” My blood was all in my dick so I just started talking. I yanked Carol’s hair hard, leaned over and started whispering in her ear. “Whore. Slut. Feel my dick in your ass? That’s what a whore feels like. Taking cock in your ass. You love it, don’t you slut? Don’t you?” I yanked her hair hard. “You love it!”

Noah’s next target then stepped out, Abner. He was another young man with that same glint of determination in his eyes and a sword on his belt. He had won the hearts of many spectators with his willpower, getting knocked down countless times, but always standing back up. There was a lot of money riding on him. His enemy also stepped out, a larger, older man sporting long hair woven into braids.