sara mushoku

“You don’t want to fuck me again?”“Well, yeah, but…”“You’d rather go back to trying to finger Missy Yeager? And getting shot down all the time?”

Still, she made me nuts. When the class would be working on an in-class assignment, she would float around the room, answering questions and offering advice. She always paused at my desk, squeezed my shoulder or rubbing it a little and ask if I needed help. I thought she kept touching me longer than she did with the other kids, massaging my shoulder or sliding her hand down to the middle of my hunched over back. I would break out in a sweat whenever she touched me, and my cock, which was in the teenage stage of always being semi hard, would become rigid and strain against the fabric of my underwear and pants.

“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.