Sunday, May 30, 2010

Student/Teacher Ratio--Part Two

Sunday May 30, 2010



...I stood up, wedging my legs between his. I could feel the scratchiness of the black tulle petticoat against my thighs. At first Mr. Martin didn't seem to be breathing at all. But he didn't pull his chair away.

So I started on the second button of my blouse. Clumsily. I felt a little dizzy myself.That's when Mr. Martin decided to lend a hand. Before I knew it, the buttons on my blouse were completely undone. “See,” I said, but my voice sounded strange to me, deeper and sort of honeyed, “it matches.”

Mr. Martin's hands fell to his sides. I looked down and noticed the crotch of his trousers had taken on a life of its own.


I tore my eyes from Mr. Martin's bulge. His grin was lopsided. I watched as his chest expanded with each subsequent intake of breath.


But,” Mr. Martin said, very quietly, “you said, 'they match'.”


He was right of course. And I suppose I was bound to prove that too. Mr. Martin always says doing things halfway is “a sign of intellectual laziness”, something he abhors.


I placed one hand beneath the waistband on either side of my skirt. I wouldn't tell any of the other girls this, but I got it in the children's section. That's how tiny my waist is.

Mr. Martin looked in my eyes. His are green, like the new growth on a fir tree.


I couldn't stop thinking about his cock. How eager it seemed.


As I pulled the skirt down past my panties, I could feel moisture, falling down from somewhere inside of me, coming to rest at the center of my pussy.


I reached behind my back, unhooking my bra. I shrugged my shoulders. The bra fell onto Mr. Martin's lap.


He placed his hands on my forearms, pulling me to him. As he began to nuzzle my right breast, I felt a weakness in my thighs.

I knelt before him, as he undid the button and descended the zipper on his trousers. On his briefs was a picture of a vanilla ice cream cone, just beginning to melt.

I freed Mr. Martin's cock from his briefs. It seemed even happier now. Then I turedn my head sideways, so I could watch his face as I licked and sucked at his cock.

It was my first time. But I already knew a blow job didn't mean you blow. My girlfriend has a lot of experience. And she told me all about cocks and what they like.

I could feel Mr. Martin, so hot and growing inside my mouth. And even though I'd seen pictures of cocks. Nothing prepared me for the beauty of his cock. So smooth, I think he must have shaved it. And the sack that held his balls, felt so soft and wrinkly in my hands. I tasted that too.

Mr. Martin was making noises, quietly. The whole building was quiet. As if everyone else had left. And we were the only ones in the school—maybe in the whole world.

That's when I stopped blowing him. His cock was still reaching for my mouth when I stood up. I almost felt sorry for him. “Mr. Martin,” I said, and he saw I was taking off my panties, “I want you to be my first.”

He shook his head. And started to try to get up. But I sat myself firmly on his lap.

He moaned and said, “We can't.”

Maybe you can't,”I said, “but Mr. Happy's saying he really wants to.” And I spread my pussy lips as wide as they could go, lowering myself onto the head of Mr. Martin's hot cock.

I'd be lying if I said it didn't hurt at all. It hurt. But the pleasure that crawled up from my pussy and wrapped itself around my tits. The tingling that fell from my belly to my toes. They were more than worth a little soreness.

Once his cock was deep inside me, I began to move. Any way I chose. If Mr. Martin had other ideas, he wasn't voicing them. He held me from behind, as if he was afraid I might fall off.

He leaned forward and kissed me, my nipples brushing his chest. I couldn't breath and I didn't care. I felt so weak and so strong, at the same time.

When he came, he cried out. I held him tight. “Okay, Jamie,” I said, “next time, I get to be teacher.”


Best,

Diane

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