bittercup fallout shelter

“Good man.” Noah turned to leave, but before doing so, he grabbed Viktor by the hair and pulled him up. “For someone who cares only about strength, you are so fucking weak.”

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.

“Look what you’re making me do? I was supposed to stop this and now…Oh fuck!! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Yeah, right there…right there...just like that…just like that…just like…oh my fucking God!!” I felt every muscle in her body tense and then release in a rush of pleasure. “Ooooh…ooooh…oh! Yeah!” I pulled her closer until her body stopped trembling. I withdrew my finger from her pussy and licked her juices from it. Mrs. B. was smiling now as she pulled harder on my rigid dick. She started to pull my pants down over my hips and going down to her knees, but I stopped her. She looked up at me, surprised.