by Tommy Twist
Mr. Schmidt's tongue digs into my hole, fucking me with his tongue before going back up to my clitoris. “Please stop!” I cry. “I'm too sensitive, oh my god oh my god oh my GOD!”
I scream as my whole body starts to shake. I thrash around, unable to fully control my body, but he doesn't let me go.
I try to push his head away from me, try to claw myself away from him as my pussy pulsates and juices splash over his face, but he holds me tight and lashes my clit with his tongue as I ride wave after wave of orgasm. My face is bright red and my heart is beating so loud I'm sure he can even hear it.
Finally, he pulls himself away from me as I start to calm down and a glow seems to come over me. My juices drip down his face, which he wipes with his palm, licking a bit before wiping it off on his slacks. I can tell how horny he is, because he looks like he's actually in pain from his hard on pressing against his slacks.
I sit up, covering my breasts for a moment. Looking at the carpet, I feel self conscious, but only very briefly. Once Mr. Schmidt grabs my face and kisses me roughly again, all self consciousness fades away into passion and love. “Did you enjoy that, Pet?”
I nod at my professor, looking up into his deep blue eyes. I feel a passion, burning fire-like passion, pulsing from my stomach and throughout my entire body. Mr. Schmidt comes close to me again, and his hand slides in my crevice. One of his fingers slides into my hole, making a squishing sound as it enters me. I squirm beneath him again, enjoying the attention now that I'm no longer so sensitive.
A warm glow seems to surround me as he pushes a second finger within me, only barely fitting into my tight hole. “You're going to hurt a bit when I put my cock in you,” he says, roughly. I blush at the lewd word. My professor's cock, going inside of me.
His fingers pump into me faster, causing me to mewl beneath him like a small kitten. My hair is tangled beneath me from all the movement I've done against the couch's fabric. His thumb presses against my clit while he fingers me, bringing me close to yet another orgasm.
My deep moans are floating around the room, echoing just a bit off the walls. I bite my lower lip, trying not to orgasm too quickly.
He stands up again, and undoes his trousers. He hesitates for a moment, with his thumbs in the belt loops on both hips. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
I look up into his eyes again, and instantly know my answer. I spread my legs wide, giving him a great view of my pussy. “Of course I do, Sir. I want you to fuck me.”
I think my words let loose his ferocious, manly essence. Within seconds he was nude and grabbing my thighs. Pulling me up so only my shoulders and above are touching the couch now, he places his fat cock at my entrance.
His skin is so warm, but the pressure against me scares me. I'm not sure he'll fit at all. A drip of sweat falls down from my eyebrow and into my eye, and I brush it away as I brace myself for penetration.
Mr. Schmidt stands still for a moment, gently increasing the pressure against my hole until finally, POP! He's inside of me, sinking all the way in until his balls lightly slap against my ass cheeks. I wince at the pain, much worse than I thought it might be. As soon as he's balls deep in me, the pain starts to subside.
The teacher drives his cock in and out of me, the sticky sounds of our fucking filling my ears. I can't help but giggle at the sounds. My pussy muscles contract around his intruding prick, massaging him as he fucks me, deeper and deeper still. The tip of his cock gently brushes against my cervix, causing just enough pain to be pleasurable. I grip the couch, thrashing beneath him, almost wanting to get away again. But then it starts to feel good. Really good. I start to pant and moan beneath him.
His strong hands are on my tits now as he fucks me, pulling and pinching my nipples. His grunts and groans turn me on so much. After a few minutes, I become braver.
“Fuck me harder, Sir, please!” I cry. Mr. Schmidt's only response is a deep grunt as he pounds his hips down, fucking me as deep and as hard as he can. We're both sweating in the heat of our passion.
He moves now so that he's on the couch with me, holding my back so that our skin can touch. The intimacy is so sweet that it only heightens the erotic pleasure I'm feeling. His hands spread my ass cheeks as his fatherly cock pumps in and out of me, hitting my G spot over and over again. I think to myself how glad I am that it's his cock that fills me for the first time.
His skin is hot against mine as our sweaty bodies writhe against each other while he fucks me. I move my hips in time with him as I wrap my arms around his neck, kissing him deeply and moaning into his hot mouth.
“Yes, yes, yes! Don't stop, Sir!” I am screaming now. “I'm so close! Please keep going!”
He grunts again, thrusting into me harder and faster. I can tell he's close to cumming, even though I have no experience with this. And I want it all in me. “Cum in me! Please, Sir, cum in my pussy!” I beg, scratching my nails down his back.
We kiss deeply, passionately, as his cock spasms and my womb is coated for the first time with my teacher's seed. I moan and orgasm around him, my juices spilling onto his thighs as he keeps fucking me. His hot seed seems to fill me almost completely, and a heavenly sense of peace and love surrounds me.
He falls on top of me and we fall asleep together on the couch, with his cock still buried deep within me. I wake up before he does, around 8 PM. My stomach is growling so loud that it brings him out of his sleep as well.
We both sit on the couch, his flaccid cock resting against his thigh, still sticky from our mingling juices.
“Do you regret doing that, Amanda?”
I look up at him with shock, my blue eyes wide. “Hell no! Sir, that was the best thing to ever happen to me!”
He pulls me close then, sighing happily. “I'm glad. You're no longer a little girl, Amanda, you're a grown woman now. Your pussy's been filled with my seed, and you've been deflowered.”
I nod as we hug. And then he lets go of me, standing up and putting his pants back on. “How would you like me to make you some dinner?”
I smile brightly up at my big, sexy professor. “Sounds great to me!” I know my classes with him will be so much hotter from now.
Teasing His MILF
Cougar Erotica
Dalia Daudelin
I had hoped, in spite of myself, to rest through summer break. I had been away at school, first time from home -- you know how it is with college.
My first year down the drain, my big hope was that they would let me just sleep in, play some video games, listen to some music... Naturally, the first words out of my parents' mouths were that the trash needed to be taken out, within seconds of walking through the door and laying my suitcase on the floor. I hadn't even opened the door to my room.
So I suppose it didn't come as much of a surprise that morning, when I woke up to a phone call from my mother, with that tone all Italian mothers use, a mixture of worry and condescension, to tell me that she needed me to do her a big favor, a new friend she'd met through her weekly Mahjong.
She said I'd definitely know her from when I was young, that her husband had been my baseball coach. I didn't bother to remind her that I only played a single year of little league when I was six, and that was almost fifteen years ago.
'Something with her computer,' my mom said. It wasn't much to go on, and once again it was looking like she'd found a 'little job' that was going to take me all day. I sighed, pulled my pants off the floor, and padded my way to the bathroom for a shower.
I had thought, maybe, once I got on campus that my drought with women would come to an end, but it didn't. A thousand girls, absolutely gorgeous girls, and none of them quite felt right.
Hell, none of them seemed to think I felt right, either. My virginity was beginning to be an awkward issue that I was going to have to deal with before someone laughed me out of the marriage bed. After all, for all that my mother thought she was helping, I didn't want to have her get me a girlfriend, either.
So I looked up the address,
printed off some directions, and hopped in the car. Maybe, I thought: Maybe I will get out of here, fifteen minutes, turn it off and turn it back on, boom. Done for the day. Then I saw her, and I got rid of that thought.
First, the look on her face said it wasn't something minor. She looked like she was about to break into tears at any moment, frantic to say the least. I suspected that she wouldn't be so upset over something I could fix in five minutes.
But at the same time, I thought it might not be such a problem. She was gorgeous. Her hair was thick and dark, not especially styled. I got the impression that she had meant to do something with it, before the problem, whatever it was, came up. Her shirt was tight enough to show off the size of her ample bosom, leaving everything to the imagination.
I don't know if it was obvious to her, but I felt like my jaw was hitting the floor. I rolled my tongue back into my mouth, picked my chin up off the floor, and reminded myself that this was someone's wife, and old enough to be my mother.
It didn't stop me from noticing her fragrant perfume when I stepped onto the porch, though. Hints of jasmine, perhaps a bit of cinnamon. I didn't indulge in the scent but it was intoxicating. Instead, I reached my hand out for a handshake.
"Mrs. Stewart? It's James Trapper." She took my hand. "My mother said you had some trouble with your computer I might be able to help you with?"
"My, you've grown!" The line was said like a throw-away comment; small-talk was practically a necessity in these neighborhoods, even if you wanted to get down to business. I smiled, playing the polite young man, but I didn't say anything. Maybe if she didn't realize I wanted to bend her over the arm of the couch I could see in her living room, it didn't count.
"What seems to be the problem?" I tried not to make it sound like I was in a hurry, though she seemed a little hurt by the rushing. I didn't hear the sound of children, and there wasn't a car in the drive. I suppose she was lonely, but I needed to figure out the extent of the damage.
"Well, I got a call this morning, from some men who claimed to be tech support for my laptop's manufacturer..." I didn't need to hear more, but I didn't cut her off. When she talked, her eyes sort of... focused, in a way that I can't quite explain. It was sexy as hell, though. "So they said it would all be easier if I would just let them have access to my computer."
"Mm hmm, that's how they get you," I said. It was a common scam, and not one that was very easy to see through, either. I knew more than one person in my classes who had seen it, and more than one who had gotten caught. "Then all of a sudden it's 'pay us to get the virus off your computer,' right?"
I couldn't see her face, but Mrs. Stewart nodded. Her shoulders slumped; I didn't ask her what was wrong.
"I'm so stupid. I should've known better."
"Nah, you're fine." I wasn't reassuring at all, I knew. Still, I couldn't think of a way that I could explain to her that she hadn't made any sort of earth-shattering mistakes. I was always just going to be a kid trying to reassure her with empty words.
"You don't have to lie to make me feel better, James. I'm a grown woman."
"What did you do after that? Did you pay them?"
"I hung up the phone. Then I texted your mother, and she said you'd be able to help, so I've just been waiting for you to come by."
"Not waiting too long, I hope?"
"Don't worry about it," she said. Not 'no,' but just 'don't worry about it.' I worried about it.
I pulled my laptop out of my bag.
"This is going to be a while. If you want to go get a cup of coffee, or something, I don't need any help or anything."
Mrs. Stewart sat down next to me, close enough that the intoxicating perfume smell was nearly all I could think of.
"I'm okay, James. I'll wait here. Or... did you want any coffee, or soda, or anything like that?"
I tried not to seem churlish in my refusal, shaking my head slightly.
"Do you have an antivirus installed?"
"I have uhh... Norton?"
I ran a diagnostic; it said it was going to take 2 hours. I couldn't just get up, though. That was the frustrating part. I'd have to wait, and if something popped up, I would have to press one stupid key. It was the definition of sitting around doing nothing, next to this gorgeous woman with a figure that you see in magazines, after two kids to boot.
I didn't know what to do, so I didn't do anything. Stared at the screen, watching filenames scroll by faster than anyone could read. There were a few problems; there always are. But nothing that looked like it was going to ruin her computer. I installed another antivirus to be certain, ran another scan. That one took longer, still. I was seriously regretting not eating breakfast, but I wasn't going to say anything.
Finally that finished, as well. I packed up my stuff, telling Mrs Stewart that she was okay. She seemed relieved, a tired sort of happiness.
Not unlike taking exams, I thought. The stress grinds you down, but it holds you up, too. You can't feel tired, because you have to fix your problems first. I was about to walk out the door, about to grab some food and a nap, when she spoke up behind me.
"Wait." I waited. She'd grabbed her purse, rifling through it. "What should I give you for, you know? Thanks."
"Don't worry about it," I said, trying to put on a convincing smile. I adjusted my bag on my shoulder, tried to get one last sense of her breasts in that sweater without looking at them directly. And then I left.
Well, apparently, at that point she thought she had me on the hook. It seemed like every week it was something new. A new printer, the internet's not working, 'I can't get Netflix to run.' Every time, that same smell, that delicious smell that kept me up at night jerking off.
I almost wondered if she knew that I was interested in her, if she noticed the little glances. I didn't think that I was as sneaky as that, but at the same time, I thought she definitely looked at me like a little kid. It was just playful, not serious, to her. Maybe she did notice, but since I was so much younger, she thought it was just in fun.
Well, I didn't say anything to her about it, either way. It wouldn't have been right; after all, she was married. It took me almost a month to notice, though: she wasn't wearing a wedding band. I couldn't tell what had happened to Mr. Stewart, whether he was at work during the day, or if he was out of the picture, and I wasn't going to ask.
I had just cleaned up Mrs. Stewart's desk, hooked up her speakers (they'd somehow gotten completely disconnected; I was flattering myself to think that she was doing it on purpose, but at the same time I couldn't shake the idea either. Her sheepish look of absolute bewilderment made it easier to believe her, though.
Why would she be creating problems? I had a few ideas, but it was all a bunch of self-congratulatory fantasy. It had fueled more than one jerk-off session, though. The fantasy wasn't set in stone by any means, but neither was it impossibly generic.
I'd finish up with my morning of looking at her out of the corner of my eye when she'd ask me, just like she always did, what I thought was fair for my services. It varied, whether I was bold enough to make my move, or whether she'd insist. We'd have our bodies pressed together before long, looking into each other's eyes.
She would whisper that it was okay, that she wanted me to do it. Then I'd wake up. It never went any further than that. In my waking hours, of course, I'd imagine it, but it wasn't as vivid. I would take her top off -- she'd be bashful about her breasts. After two kids, she'd say, they're not as good as they were when she was my age. But to me, they'd be incredible. They were incredible, just imagining them.
Then I'd take a nipple into my mouth while she rubbed me through my jeans. Then she'd jerk me off, sucking her like a baby. Of course the next step was off-limits, but I imagined begging, almost pathetically for her to let me have her, and she'd relent.
'Just this once,' I imagined her saying. Then she'd lay back, spreading her legs and letting me inside. I couldn't imagine what it felt like, except that it would be incredible. Just remembering it, I coul
d feel myself hardening.
Suddenly I came back to reality. I was in someone else's house, fantasizing about fucking his wife. I was getting hard just thinking about it.
She was bound to notice, and suddenly I'm not a little kid who grew up a little, who shows a little interest now and then. I knew that I couldn't get caught with this erection, that I'd get thrown out on my ass if she noticed me.
I guess in a certain sense, it didn't matter that much that I'd be thrown out. It would be easier for me to get through my day, by a lot. I wouldn't have to do all this menial work. But somehow, I guess I felt like it gave me a certain sense of purpose to be doing it.
I felt like I was helping. More and moer, I felt like Mrs. Stewart was treating me like, I suppose, a friend. She smiled when I pulled up into the driveway... I don't know if she did it because she knew I was coming, but she wore her hair up. She dressed pretty well, like I was a guest.
Maybe that doesn't make sense. I guess it's kind-of an old fashioned way to approach the idea. I know that most of the people I knew in school, they didn't tidy up when I was coming to their dorm. It wasn't really that I was offended, but I noticed the difference when Mrs. Stewart started doing it.
So I guess I wanted to seem like I deserved the treatment she was giving me, and that was why I went over to the restroom. Mrs. Stewart -- she'd asked me to call her Jennifer, but it was still foreign -- had gone into the other room, grabbing a drink for herself. She was never far, always watching me do whatever it was she'd called me over for, but at the same time she was finally letting me out of her sight.
I looked in the mirror at myself. I had to get myself under control, now, but I wasn't going down. I had hoped that out of that cloud of scent, I'd be okay, my imagination would get over its moment, but I was rock hard.
I debated what to do, in my head. I want that to be understood, with what I did next. I didn't just think it would be fine, okay? I thought it was an acceptable risk.