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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.

Noah took a sip of tea. “I can understand why you would come to me for this, why you sought my judgment, but I am the wrong person to go to for ethical counseling. I have no moral code, no righteous instinct. I have done truly wicked things in the past, and the only regret I feel is the effort I wasted on amoral endeavors that failed to bear fruit. I’m in no place to judge you for what happened.

But that was only the beginning, of course—Daddy was just getting started! He began really giving it to me after that, pounding in hard, punishing my insides in the best possible way, just how he knew I loved it most! I could tell Mom could hardly believe what she was seeing, gasping and whimpering in sympathy with the absolute beating I was taking, whether I was enjoying it or not. I made sure to turn my head after every orgasm, ensuring that both Mommy's titties were equally marked up from my teeth. She wasn't going to be wearing any cleavage-revealing tops for the next couple of days, that was for sure!