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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.

She moaned a bit in retaliation, but after a bit more prodding, she got to her feet and wobbled up the stairs to her room. Flicking the TV off and washing his bowl, David followed shortly after.

“No?” She asked, clearly surprised. “Okay sweetie, I won't, if that's what you want. But do you mind if I ask why? We could not tell him about you and Brucie, if you're afraid how he would react... though I'm sure he'd get over it quickly, once he saw how hot you are, doing it! But you have to know he wouldn't have a problem with you and Daddy, not after everything he's been doing to me all these years! Even if you don't want to do anything with him yourself, I know how much he would love getting to watch, if you'd let him.”