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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.

“Show me what you’ve learned then!” With that, she ground her wet pussy into my face. I tongue-fucked her warm soft hole while massaging her clit with my thumb and finger. My nose was practically poking her asshole. It made me think of another section of Dad’s book, but I knew that would be too far. I was plunging her pussy with my tongue, and Mrs. B. was thrusting her hips, pushing herself back onto my tongue. Suddenly her head flew back and her back arched as she came hard in my mouth. Her long red hair tickled my forehead. “Yeeeessss! Fuck…Fuck…Jim…Fuck…” I could feel the goosebumps rise on her skin under my hands as her body trembled with delight.

“Good girl, Brianna!” she laughed wickedly as I involuntarily painted myself with my mess. “Cum for Mommy! Cum on Mommy's cock like the obedient little sissy bitch you are! Now what do we say, Brianna? What do we say?” From her tone of voice, I knew just what she expected.