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“How is for a bit later,” I giggled, leaning in to kiss her cheek, playfully licking up a bit of my mess. “When is now. And when is Saturday, when you were still at Grandpa's. Apparently getting it like I just got it from Daddy, you naughty little girl!”“You told her?” she gasped as she turned to look at Daddy.

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.

I blushed. Missy Yeager was this cute cheerleader that everyone wanted to fuck, but she was just a tease. She would get you all hot, rubbing your cock through your pants and talking shit, then send you home. All the guys complained about her. I learned years later that she spent high school blowing the wrestling coach almost daily. Anyway…“No! I want to fuck you again. I just can’t believe you mean it.”