queen evans

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.

Remembering the pornos she had seen, Sarah tried to go deeper on his cock, her wet lips easily sliding down his stiff rod. His heat filled her mouth, and his head softly knocked against the back of her throat. Her tongue rubbed the underside of his shaft as she moved back up again. She brought the head of his cock almost back out of her mouth, but her lips pressed firmly against the head, squeezing another large dollop of precum into her mouth. Sarah descended again, a bit more quickly this time doing the same thing.

Mrs. B laughed. “Your ass is perfect, Jim. I ought to know.”“Uh, thanks. So is yours?” I tried to give a compliment. “Anyway, I gotta go shower and change or I’ll miss the activity bus.”