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Of course I didn’t refuse, but I had just cum twice, harder than ever in my life, in less than an hour. I was pretty certain there was no way I was going to get hard again. But I squeezed her ass around my cock and used her butt cheeks to stroke my cock. Carol moved her hips to help me slide, reaching between her legs to grab my balls. She finished cleaning the island and turned to face me. I bent down and kissed her, and she plunged her tongue into my mouth. It was a sticky, sweet, salty mixture coating her tongue.

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.

“He—” I croaked, my throat dry and scratchy, a foreign, slightly bitter taste on my tongue. “Help!” My voice was so weak and thready, there was no way anyone would hear me, not through what I was now recognizing as sound-proof padding on the walls. What had happened to me? I couldn't remember. I didn't know where I was, had no idea why I was here.