smg34

She moved to the base of the table, between my thighs, taking off her top. God... even knowing what was about to happen, I couldn't help but stare! Her tits were phenomenal... obviously fake, of course, but I couldn't even see her scars! She grabbed a bottle of lube from below my line of sight, quickly slathering her cock, roughly shoving two fingers up my ass, making me grunt at the sudden pain as she moved them around a bit to get me ready, then pulling them out and notching herself into place.

“We’re going to need some of this,” she said, unscrewing the cap. “Lubrication,” she said with a smile, seeing the confused look on my face. She poured a generous handful of oil and slathered it onto my shaft and my balls. She spied the label as she set the bottle down. “Hmm…extra virgin. That’s the only thing in this house tonight that is virgin anything.” I laughed nervously. I remember now my clueless mom never figured out why her bottle of olive oil kept appearing in my bathroom.

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.