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“I didn't always look like this,” she continued, caressing her hand slowly down my thigh, making me shudder, and then gasp as she reached between my legs, taking my too-hard dick in her hand and gently starting to stroke. “Would it help if I gave you some context? I want you to remember me, Brian, that's the whole point! Would it help if I told you how many times I sucked this dick?” She suddenly squeezed my shaft in her hand, making me gasp. “How many times I swallowed your cum? At least twice a week for an entire year, Brian! Would you remember me then?”

She walked up to the mirror and opened her phones camera and hit record. In the bathroom mirror she looked like quite a mess, no make up on her face but a shiny layer of cum and drool covered her mouth and chin. She turned her face left and right getting a good look and seeing that she had truly plastered her lower jaw. Next, she opened mouth and angled her chin down. Sitting in her open mouth was a pool of thick white cum. Her father’s cum. The thought made her squeeze her legs in ecstasy.

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.