Kayla just laid there listening to the two of them and then she heard Ken groan as his sister pulled her dildo out of his ass. Ken just collapsed beside Kayla and Sam looked down at both of them. Then she looked at Kayla and said. "How about you? Can I have your ass?" Kayla just giggled and covered herself with her hands.
As they laid there recovering they tried to figure out the best way to do this. Kayla volunteered to go first. That way Ken could deposit his cum deep within his sister. Sam arranged some pillows on the bed and Kayla laid across them. Sam said she would prepare Kayla's ass. Kayla was expecting to feel a glob of lube, but instead she felt a soft warm tongue. Sam kept licking all over Kayla's backside. Her tongue making small circles around her sphincter. Then she started to probe with her tongue. Kayla felt a light tapping, and then a firming pressure against her back door. Before long she could feel Sam's tongue inside her. Soon Sam was using a finger to make her opening wider. She was circling Kayla's sphincter and each pass she was opening her up wider and wider. Finally Sam pulled back and was happy with what she saw.
Ken got on the bed behind Kayla and Sam made sure to coat his cock with plenty of lube. Then Sam moved out of the way and came up to where Kayla's head was and gave her a soft kiss. Then she lightly massaged Kayla to keep her relaxed and Ken moved forward. Kayla took a deep breath when she felt the head of his penis pressing against her. Sam kept rubbing her back and whispering in her ear to relax. Ken grabbed Kayla's hips and slowly pressed forward. At first nothing happened, but then the head of his cock popped through. Kayla gasped at this. It didn't hurt as much as she felt so stretched. Ken just stayed like that for a few seconds to allow Kayla to get used to it.
Kayla then said "Okay, go ahead, but please go slow."
Ken started to work his cock into Kayla's ass an inch at a time. Kayla was clutching the pillow under her head as Ken worked his cock in and out of her ass. Ken then started to build a rhythm and the pain Kayla felt to begin with was replaced by pleasure. She had never felt so full in her life as she did right now, but it felt good. The Sam removed one of the pillows under Kayla and started to tease her clit with her fingers. Kayla felt like her body was on fire now. She was truly fucking back at Ken now. Her ass was meeting every thrust. Kayla and Ken had completely forgotten about the plan for him to finish inside his sister. Kayla wanted his cum in her ass. She was rocking with every thrust from Ken. Then Sam crawled under Kayla and started sucking on her clit and that sent Kayla over the edge, and a result of her orgasm her sphincter tightened and relaxed around Ken's cock. Ken just let out a loud groan as his cock swelled inside Kayla's ass and he started spurting his hot cum inside her.
Kayla had quit moving as Ken's cock kept spasming inside her ass. Sam had also crawled out from under Kayla to watch them both cum. After his cock was completely spent Ken slowly pulled it out of Kayla. Once it was out Kayla collapsed face first into a pillow. Sam managed to roll her over and gave her a deep kiss as she reached down and ran a finger through Kayla's slit. "That was the hottest fucking thing I have ever seen."
Ken went to the bathroom to wash up and came back and collapsed on the bed beside them. "Sis, I don't know if I can go again. I think I am running on empty."
Sam made a show of pouting, but secretly she didn't know if she could take her brother's cock. They all laid down together and talked for awhile and then Kayla saw it was almost daylight outside. She knew that she had better get home.
"I hate to do this guys, but I think it might be time for me to head home. I had an incredible time with you guys. I would love a chance to return to help you take Sam's ass if you guys don't mind?"
Sam perked up "Are you kidding. I would love for you to come back. Wouldn't we Ken?"
"Absolutely. This has been our fantasy come true, and any chance to repeat it would be great."
Kayla leaned over and gave each of them deep kisses and even gave Ken's spent cock a soft kiss and suck before finding her clothes and getting dressed. They all exchanged more kisses at the door and Kayla walked to her car. The fact that Kayla was walking bowlegged didn't occur to her, but Sam whispered to her brother as they watched her go to her car "I don't know about giving you my ass now."
When Kayla got home she headed straight for bed. She didn't even think about a shower. She just stripped off her dress and only then realized that her panties were back at Sam and Ken's place. Kayla smiled knowing that she would be back there to claim them. Then she crawled into bed naked and drifted off to sleep. Once again her sleep was filled with wild dreams. In one of them Sam and Ken DP'ed her. In another she went back to that adult book store and was taken to the back room and used by several guys at one time. When she finally woke up it was after noon and she was sore all over. She looked down at her pussy and it was still red from the fucking Ken had given her, not to mention her backside still hurt.
Instead of her usual shower Kayla opted for a long hot soak in the tub. She eased herself down into the tub and turned the jets on, making sure that her poor pussy wasn't in the line of fire. Kayla spent a long time in the tub just relaxing. Finally she checked her phone and saw there was a message from Bobby. He asked if she still planned on stopping by the store this weekend? She texted him back that nothing could stop her, and she was looking forward to some help in the dressing room. Then she closed her phone and thought about what tomorrow would bring.
The End.
Extra Attention
My lust-addled brain swiftly reached a conclusion; his jeans needed to come off.
Immediately.
The top button was undone, his happy trail running from his bellybutton and disappearing down, like an arrow pointing to the Holy Grail. The prize in question was straining against its confines, and the idea that it was I who did this to him made me writhe underneath him.
"Please..." I begged, because that was what he had reduced me to.
My hands were captive above my head by one of his; every inch of his body was strategically plastered to my naked form, pinning me to his desk and creating a delicious friction when he shifted. He turned me into a needy, frustrated mess underneath him with the skill of an artist.
"Please what?" He spat down at me.
The cords in his neck were strained, his blonde hair was damp, his lips were swollen and his eyes were black as pitch. His face would have been frightening if he hadn't spent the last forty minutes kissing, sucking, biting and licking every inch of my naked body. As it was, I knew he was simply trying incredibly hard not to unzip a little bit more and plunge himself into me.
Which was actually perfect, considering that was exactly what I wanted.
"Please...please..." my arguments, which seemed so coherent in my head, came out in garbled whimpers. "I'm ready now..."
He raised himself slightly, making sure my eyes were on his hand as he lowered it to his jeans.
"You're ready now?" He questioned darkly, and I nodded in response, eyes still fixed on his hand. When he started roughly rubbing himself through his jeans I heard myself moan, without any conscious knowledge of making the sound.
"I'm not sure I believe you. I've spent a great deal of time convincing you – rather eloquently, I feel - how much I want you. You remember my arguments? The ones where I used my teeth, and my tongue, and my fingers?" He was hissing at me, barely managing to get the words out as his hand continued to rub up and down his length.
I nodded more emphatically this time, looking up to meet his intense stare with a desperate one of my own. He ignored my frustration and finished, "and all you can say in response is 'I'm ready now'? Try a little harder."
"I want you to fuck me," I rasped shamelessly – because if this was what I needed to say to get to the Holy Grail – then say it I would. And just in case that didn't work, I pulled out the big guns; the words I know would get him every time. "I want you to make me your little slut, to own me."
His eyes, if possible, became darker, but instead of the harsh glare I expected to see, an amused smirk rose
to his face while he shook his head at me.
"Baby," he snarled "I do own you." His tongue ran over my lips in an animalistic gesture of possession.
"But seeing as you don't seem to realize it yet, I think I can spend a couple more hours drilling the message in..."
"Miss Gavin?"
I was abruptly jolted from my day dreaming by the sound of my name being called.
"Sir?" I weakly responded, hoping I hadn't zoned out for too long.
When I looked up, I was met with a harsh, but all too familiar stare. "Personal narratives, first drafts due tomorrow."
I sighed with relief. Oh, just that. "Oh, can we turn them in early? I already have mine done."
As I pulled out the printed copy of my work and held it out for him to accept, Mr. Christiansen looked at me and his expression softened. When he took the assignment, our eyes made contact for a brief moment, causing me to shiver. There's no way he could know that I was just fantasizing about him. Right?
As he continued going over the requirements for the other students, I gathered my composure. I tried not to make a habit of letting thoughts of my English teacher run too wild when I was at school. I knew I wasn't the only one; in fact, some of the other girls would go as far as to hike up their skirts right before walking in to his class. If he noticed, he certainly didn't let on that he did. But of course it's not like he would just openly gawk at them, even if he did notice. I mean, they sort of frowned on that sort of thing; ogling the students.
While everyone wore uniforms at Chilton, it certainly wasn't hard to distinguish the group of girls who spread their legs for any and everything. While I also chose to hem my skirt as high as regulation would allow, I certainly didn't make a habit of going commando underneath, like a few others desperately vying for the attention of our extremely sexy, extremely unattainable teacher. Those girls were naive, though. Like he would risk his entire career, that he's obviously passionate about, for a slut in a skirt.
At 28, he was still relatable while managing to get his point across, so it was no surprise that he was overwhelmingly voted the students' favorite teacher every year. Because I was on an accelerated path, I was placed in AP English for my senior year. It took a paper almost 10 pages long to be accepted to the course, but I knew it would be well worth it. As far as college recommendations go, Mr. Christiansen only wrote them for the most dedicated students; and I planned on being one of them. My priorities always stayed on academics and sports, hoping maybe one of the two would pay off with a scholarship. As the school year drew to a close, I was already in pre-season for field hockey, and expected to be named All-State in the fall, as it would be my senior year.
The next day as we left class, Mr. Christiansen stopped me as I passed his desk.
"Miss Gavin, a moment?"
God, I loved hearing him say that.
"Yes, sir?"
"I'd like to discuss your paper with you if you have the time." He said taking a seat at his desk, bringing my paper to the top of the pile.
"Of course, is something wrong?" I nervously asked, running my hand through my hair. I couldn't really believe that since I double and triple checked that I met all the requirements.
"Not wrong, per se, I just wanted to discuss your topic with you."
I took a seat in the chair in front of his desk, automatically on edge. The personal narrative was supposed to be about something we were passionate about, and I chose field hockey. I'd been playing since grade 7, and dedicated a good amount of time to it year round, so it seemed like a no-brainer to write about.
"Your paper is well structured and well written, and it's of tamer subject matter, which I thoroughly appreciate; trust me," he joked, which led me to assume those pantyless sluts decided to write exactly what they were 'passionate' about. "But the assignment was to write about something that you are passionate about, and I didn't see a lot of passion in your paper."
"Is there something I can do to fix it?" I immediately ask, hoping I hadn't completely botched the assignment.
"No need to panic, Miss Gavin. You're an excellent student, and a very talented writer, but your paper lacks the conviction that needs to be present when writing about something you're passionate about. So, that said, I'd like you to choose a different topic," he explained calmly.
I think my face visibly fell. Start all over?
Fuck my life.
"I'm just not sure what else to write about," I admitted, biting my lip in frustration.
Start from scratch? Really?
"Is there an organization that you feel strongly about? Are you pro-life? Pro-healthcare?"
I shake my head and shrug in response. "I'm not very big on politics, and I'm not a member of PETA," I joke softly.
"What else do you like to do besides sports? Dig deeper," he probes with an encouraging stare.
I felt put on the spot. Did Mr. Christiansen really care if I was passionate about anything? I was passionate about fantasizing about him on a daily basis, but of course I couldn't write about that. Or ever admit that aloud.
"I like to dance."
He smiled and motioned for me to continue. "Tell me about that."
"I've been taking ballet classes since I was four years old, and I still do three days a week. I also spent half my summer in dance intensives." I shrug. This probably bored him to death.
"That's a lot of time to dedicate to one thing, why do you like it so much?"
I chewed my lip looking for the right words. I could feel his electric blue eyes imploring me for an answer.
"It's not fun, exactly, and it's never easy, but nothing makes me happier."
His eyebrows raised with intrigue, "interesting, why is that?"
"It's hard to explain, really. It's all about discipline and precision. The rules of classical ballet are very cut and dry; there's something comforting about the structure while always striving for perfection. But you have to feel it and enjoy it, because if it's forced it will read that way in your movement. It's 50% of holding everything in, from your posture and center and controlling every move your body makes, but then it's 50% of just letting go, of feeling the music and using your whole body to convey emotion. But it's like, that sense of control that helps me let go and just feel it. It's euphoric."
I was completely sure that none of it came out coherently; there was no way he could understand any of that. I hesitantly looked up, knowing he was about to steer me in a different direction. His expression was completely was unreadable, and I already felt stupid enough for that overly descriptive explanation.
"I'm sorry, is that stupid?" I frowned.
Of course it was stupid, how could that make sense to anyone?
"Not at all," he assured, "it's very mature to be so aware of all those emotions. This is definitely what you should write about."
It was comforting for him to validate the way I felt, fulfilling even. I smiled in appreciation at his kind words and slowly lifted my gaze to his, feeling more comfortable in his usually nerve wrecking presence.
"Thank you for the feedback, sir. I really appreciate you taking the time to help me, especially if I can improve."
"You're a dedicated student, Ashton. I'm always happy to help; it's what I'm here for, you know." His lips turned up into a smirk, and I practically melted in front of him. His smile was about the sexiest thing ever.
"Well, I better go. I have rehearsal for Cotillion and they stone you on the spot if you're late." I joked hesitantly, not wanting this time to end.
"Cotillion?" he inquired.
"Yeah, you know, white dresses, large staircases, demure curtseys while the president of the Daughters of the American Revolution declares we are officially open for business."
Mr. Christiansen gave a hearty chuckle at my sarcasm.
"My sister's daughter is taking part in that, I think. It's at the end of the month, yes?"
"Yeah, right after finals are over with." I nodded.
"Well then good luck on walking down a
staircase." He grinned as I stood up to leave the classroom.
-:-
The school year came to a close much too quickly. I continued working closely with Mr. Christiansen on my personal narrative and the hard work paid off with an excellent grade. I spent an obscene amount of time in my bed at night fantasizing about how those sessions could have gone, imagining him doing all sorts of dirty, violent things to my body. There were a few time during our meetings when his gaze held mine longer than usual, but of course I had to brush it off, because it was probably just all in my head.
I figured out which girl was his niece, turns out her name is Jessica and she goes to another prep school not far from mine. None of my real close friends were participating in the ball, (most of them didn't have the society type parents) so I struck up conversation with her and eventually found a decent friend in Jessica. We were both in the same boat, just trying to please our parents since we didn't care too much about this stuff. It was nice to have someone to commiserate with during the long, sometimes painful, mandatory etiquette and waltz classes. I had impeccable table manners and could do the waltz since age 7, so I felt it all rather unnecessary.
Jessica and I arrived at the venue together, hair and makeup done, so all we needed to do was put on our dresses. When we walked in to the suite with the other debutantes, it was chaotic. Girls rushing around to take curlers out of their hair, crying over which lipstick would be the right color, freaking out over miniscule zits that mysteriously popped up overnight. Jess and I just found ourselves a corner to relax and share a bottle of wine while we passed the time until we needed to get dressed.
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