Shh. Don't say a word. This is us. Just us. Our little secret. Resisting, craving, denying each other. The harder we push against the need, the greater it comes rushing back, like heavy waves against a tamed shore.

So we end up with my back on a wall and your body on me, driving, triumphant. So we end up under the sheets, touching without taking, then taking without thinking. So we end.

A Secret

My name is _________________.

You can find me in Building *, in Room *4*. I'm the girl you have to please before you meet the big boss. I smile without reservation, give directions when someone stumbles into my office by mistake, rarely yell at people, and have no qualms about saying 'yes' to lunch or a get-together after work hours. I like coffee in the mornings but prefer it iced and laced with Hazelnut.
I have tons of paperwork on my desk and in my drawers. I always dress decently when in the office and I always carry a matching bag.

I like to read when I've checked all the tasks on my MS Outlook list. Over time, I've accumulated several books which cluttered one of my many desk drawers. Amongst all the spread sheets and hidden in plain sight in the company of King, Bradley, Greggory, Herbert, Stewart, Joyce and Woolfe is a book with an innocent flower painted on its cardboard cover. It looks like any other paperback literature and, without turning the first page, no one could know that within its pages laid a cheaply tactless, strangely loud, only-in-the-closet-should-you-read-me story.

I have yet to read past the first chapter. All the mention of trembling thighs, shuddering sighs, helpless moans, nylon ropes, panties for gags, wet pussy, hard cock, vigorous-- you get the picture. Each word tells me to look around, to make sure that I am not being watched, to check one last time that no one knows of the filthy things that make me bite my lip and color my cheeks a guilty red. I shouldn't ever be allowed to think these thoughts outside the safety of my bedroom.

And, oh god, it doesn't help that the prologue of my secret literature talks about masturbating to the office's surveillance camera.

Terror

I'm easy to panic, easy to scare. I guess it's expected. Inevitable, even.

Let's face it. Sometimes, my fantasies skim the borders of illegal acts. Rape, coercion.. Fear is part of the aphrodisiac, sure. That admission is easy when all I am really referring to is imagined fear and nothing more tangible than that. In fact, anything more corporeal, touchable, will probably trigger a complete shut down. Panic-stricken, I will most likely cry or run or.. I don't know. Who knows? Maybe even roleplaying will prove to be too much.

I am terrified of the countless moments when my dreams suddenly turn from erotic to nightmarish. Then I condemn my dark desires and resolve to never think of them again. To never write of them or speak of them to anyone, lest I wander into situations I will one day regret.

Tonight, I had one of those nightmares again, and I am scared. Afraid to close my eyes, to fall asleep. Appalled that, this time, I dreamt of someone I care deeply for. I'm ashamed of the dream-memory of that beloved face twisted with sadistic insanity. I feel disturbed. I said his name aloud. The sound woke me. Nothing but a whisper, though in my dream, I was screaming it at the top of my lungs, trying to stop something that, even now, I realize could not have been real.

God dammit, I can't rationalize it enough that it would feel less threatening. It was just a dream. Just a silly dream.

To Make Up for the Lack of Updates

Let me refer you to the work of a genius:

Beyond Limits

The Camera Incident

We talked about it several times in such simple terms; we downplayed the intensity of the act into something trivial; we spoke as if we were planning a picnic or a dinner date. In hushed tones wrapped in tension, apprehension, excitement and utter terror on my side, we allowed the idea to unravel.

“I won’t lie,” he said gravely. “I won’t say I don’t want this of you. I do. I can’t help that. But I would never ask, sweetheart. And I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

“I know,” I answered, repeating the same two words I have already admitted over and over every time we talked about this. No matter how many times the conversation repeated this way though, I was only ever half convinced. I did not really believe our strange lust affair, whose requirement was that there was to be no touching or sex, would last if I did not gather the courage to do this with him. Or maybe my paranoia and self-doubt were just reaching new heights.

Eventually it came to the implementation.

Honestly, I was terrified. My hands trembled as I set the camera up even as we exchanged lighthearted words, again with the same nonchalance that belied the fear clutching my racing heart and the excited arousal evidenced by his.

“Ready?” he asked, impatience lacing his voice despite his greatest efforts to subdue it, knowing that it might drive my resolve away.

“Just a moment,” I said, feigning yet another mishap with the angle or the lighting. Any excuse to fiddle with the camera once more, anything to prolong the delicious tension that sent butterflies fluttering in my stomach.

“Okay,” he said, settling on his seat.

I chose to stand against a plain wall. He willed all the specifics to me. This was my thing. My show. My choosing. My only condition was that he was to give me the instructions once we’ve gotten started. He readily agreed, though I knew he would much rather I did this without his urging.

Knowing it would please him and knowing how the attire complimented my figure, I wore a zip-up vest that left my midriff bare and a skirt so tiny that the slightest wrong positioning showed the curve off my ass. I hadn’t worn a bra but I did decide to slip a pair of panties on. It was yellow, with lipstick kisses splashed all over the meshed-strings material.

Since this would be the first time for me to expose myself fully to his scrutiny and pleasure, we set the limits. Or rather, I did. He readily acquiesced. I was to keep my skirt on at all times. I was never to expose my breasts or my pussy. My ass was negotiable. Yes, I did feel like a virgin about to get her first taste. I was shy and I was nervous. I was scared of rejection, of not being seen as the same woman he found so irresistible in the comfort of her sexy wardrobe.

The point was he understood my hesitations. He felt the least bit patient but executed patience with admirable finesse. I loved him for it.

“Now?” he asked again.

“Yes,” I whispered softly.

He turned the camera on.

“Mm, there you are.” I smiled despite myself. That was what I was doing it for: his uncontrolled reactions which so very rarely manifested.

“Here I am,” I replied sassily and, before I knew it, decided to cut to the chase. “Now what was it you wanted?” I just wanted it over and done with. My hands felt heavy, unsure. They wanted – needed – something to do other than span my stomach and brush through my hair again and again.

“Open the shirt up.” I have no idea how those women on TV could look so erotic while undressing slowly. As I lowered the zip of my vest, I had to admit I felt both shy and ridiculous. Halfway down the tiny garment though, he told me to stop, startling me from my very ineffective imitation of a woman thoroughly comfortable with what she was doing. “That’s enough, baby. Turn around now.” I was so grateful for the interlude that I did as he asked immediately. Instinctively, I arched my back slightly, putting my palms up against the wall. “Perfect position,” I heard him huff. “Lift your skirt.” I ignored my body’s resistance and did as I was told, only to be rewarded by the arrogantly amused sound that drifted from him.

“Do you like it?” I asked playfully, giggling a little.

“See through. I love it. It would’ve given me a glimpse of that pussy you don’t want me to see.” He was definitely smiling. I could hear it in his voice. “Now pull it down.” I tried to use my hands but it was impossible to move the damned thing without wiggling. Clever bastard. “There we go. Yeah, all the way down. God, I love your ass. I wanna rub my cock on it so bad.” By the sound of it, he was stroking his cock the way I watched him do a few nights ago. The mental image sobered my slight amusement back to nervousness and something else entirely. “Spread your legs a little—yeah, there we go. Think you could finger yourself for me in this position, baby?” He didn’t even need to ask twice.

For some reason, I did not think doing this would arouse me the same way that conventional sex would. In my head, I was doing this for him, to get him off, because.. Well.. because getting him off was what got me off, really. But when my fingers finally drifted to my pussy, I found it so wet that some of my juices had already lubricated my thighs. I was surprised both by how sensitive my lips felt and by the fact that I had not noticed my arousal before now.

With a muffled whimper, I slipped a finger into my waiting folds. The angle was a little awkward but I was guessing that at that point, it was hardly the angle that was going to give me the orgasm that I knew would soon overcome my senses. “Can you slip two in?” he asked, curiosity and effort both evident in his tone. I closed my eyes and imagined how he must look, seated there with his cock in his fist, staring at the screen, watching his shy, secretly perverse girlfriend, the picture made more indecent by the fact that he was watching her fine ass through the technological gadget as she fingered herself like he was some cross between a peeping tom and a creepy stalker.

“Too tight in this angle,” I ground out, embarrassed but highly aroused that I had to admit such a thing to him.

“Move your hips. Ride that finger like it’s my cock.” Shamelessly, I pushed my pussy to my hand, then pulled my finger out to rub my clit, alternating between fingering my wet hole and rubbing the sensitized nub the way I liked to do when I was alone.

“Fuck.” My orgasm was quickly drawing near and I knew it. “God, baby, no. Don’t make me come, please. I don’t think I can hold myself up.” It was weird how something so un-sexy rolled out of my mouth without dampening our urgency.

“Okay, slut. Okay.” There was no effort to curb his breathlessness now. “Pull your finger out. Turn around and clean it up for me.” Leaning my back against the wall, I tilted my head back, catching my breath while languidly licking the moisture that coated my middle finger. “Good girl. Such a good little camera whore.” I kept my eyes closed and simply listened, loving the abandoned freedom with which he moaned his pleasure.

[TBC.]

A Script: Club Ingrata

The club was not what you'd call decent or reputable. Many whispers of what goes on within its more secret sections circulated around its common patrons which consisted of varying specimens of modern tribe culture, from the lowlife posers to the real creatures born and bred to breathe the darker facets of humanity.

It was with one of these strangers that she found herself engaging in an actual conversation at the bar of the conspicuous establishment. If one can call their talk a conversation, that is. He was very friendly at first, coaxing her into a proper introduction as if he was trying to erase the obvious bitterness that made her down vodka shots as if they were her sole lifeline. He looked quite normal, really. A bored regular who wanted something to pass the time with while waiting for his friends. There was an air of dominance that filtered through his casual words once in a while but it could easily be missed.

The exchange of jovial sarcasm continued on for quite some time. He was an incredible social specimen, excellent for having philosophical debates and very intelligent flirtations with. It was when she began to show signs of wanting to collect on the sexual undertones that he suddenly sobered up. "You're tempting the wrong guy, little girl," he said teasingly.

"Yeah, like I'm in a bar talking to some stranger in a business suit because I wanna find the right one." She rolled her eyes away, eliciting laughter from her companion.

"Touche`, but I'm not exactly the kind of man you'd want to be picked up by."

"Says who?" She knew his part in Ingrata's elaborate fantasy world. He displayed all the behavioral markings of a professional Dominant, despite the simplicity of his appearance. Anyone who had enough intelligence could see straight through the normal facade and read him for what he was. Yet, she, for all her wit and intuition, was baiting him with all the courage lent by alcohol.

His expression changed. He was quiet for a while, openly staring at her as if he was studying every aspect of what he was being presented with. "Says your entire personality," he finally answered.

"Ah, now you're a psychologist, huh? So tell me, mister. What does my personality say?"

Readily and with a grin threatening to break through, he replied, "You're very strong-minded. You haven't let me have the last word yet. You've probably not let anyone take control of any aspect of your life since.. Well.. Since you were a child. You're not an alcoholic but you're quite dependent on the few glasses of wine that you sneak into your system each day. Despite your self-declared flaws, everyone sees you as perfect and loves you as such. Y--"

"Alright, alright," she chuckled, raising her glass up in a salute. "You win."

"Thank you," he smiled, lightly tapping his own glass with hers.

"But you missed the part where I'm having the worst day of my life and am seeing things from an entirely different perspective." She downed the shot, staring right at him as soon as the haze from the alcohol had cleared enough to allow proper eye contact. "Just for tonight, I wanna forget my wine and my last words and my control. I don't wanna be loved. I don't wanna be me, tonight. I wanna be faceless and meaningless. Debased. I--" She stopped, common sense and embarrassment preventing any further confessions. When she would have turned away to refill her emptied glass, he placed an empty hand on her upper arm and steadied her on the stool.

"You what?" he questioned, urging her to continue with the silent authority laced all over his two-word inquiry. She couldn't say more but her eyes bore into his with the boldness of a raging feline. She did not remove her gaze even when he began completing the sentence she had left unfinished. "You wanna be used." Perhaps his gaze, so fierce and knowing, had been willing her not to look away. "You wanna know what it really feels like to be removed of all that responsibility and control. You wanna lose all choices after you have made this last one."

[Unfinished]

School Drama

Crap. Crap, crap, crap!

The word continued to ricochet across the confines of her skull long after she first said it out loud. Practically running through the near empty hallway, she came to a stop in front of the inconspicuous door that served as entrance to the dreaded detention room. The girl checked the time before yet another profanity slipped past her lips. Detention was bad enough but actually being late for it? That couldn’t be good.

Without further ado, she stepped into the room, only to realize it was empty, save for the monitor who also happened to be the reason she needed to be here in the first place: power-tripping Mister Jacobsen, English teacher with a stick permanently lodged up his ass, who felt it appropriate to continue casually grading his papers while greeting her with an unenthusiastic, “You were expected here twenty minutes ago, Ms. Archer. That adds another half an hour to your detention time.”

She was tempted to throw her handbag at him but, instead, sullenly made her way to one of the deserted seats. The notebook she was carrying broke the silence as it slammed loudly against the desk, and she was about to drop to the chair like a chastised brat when, from behind his wooden table, Mister Jacobsen called out. Well, not so much called out. He spoke in the same way he had done earlier, without even looking up from his work to acknowledge her presence, “Did I say you can sit down, Ms. Archer?” She looked up at him with a glare and would have given voice to her indignation when he continued. “Go over to the back of the room and stand against the wall.”

“What?!”

Finally, his eyes flicked towards her. She was taken aback by the brown irises which burned with so much steady authority that she almost cowered instantaneously. The glasses only added to the intensity that made her want to cringe from his sight. “Go over there and face the wall.” He spoke slowly, and, in doing so, managed to impress more weight into each articulated syllable. “Leave your things on the desk. And make sure you turn that cell phone off or I’ll confiscate it.”

For a moment, all she could do was stare with mouth agape at his chestnut hair as he returned to his papers. What the fuck? Who the hell did he think he was? She refrained from arguing though, and simply did as she was told. Bastard. He’ll pay for this. Did he think he was in some ghetto public school where he was allowed to bully the students into enduring his primitive disciplinary tactics? Hell, she practically paid his god damned salary!

Ten minutes.

Fuck, she couldn’t stand another two hours of this! She did not want to fidget but could not help herself. She kept adjusting and readjusting her uniform; she had removed her tie, redone her braid.. Hell, she’s even started counting the creases on her blouse.

“Are you getting bored, Miss Archer?”

Her back straightened and it took her a few seconds to come up with an answer, “Yes, sir.” Yeah, she could have lied, but it was pretty damned obvious.

“There’s an interesting piece of literature on the desk beside you. Why don’t you read it for us both?” She frowned. He’ll make her read? What the hell is wrong with this guy?

Turning her head a little, she spotted the table, and her eyes widened when she saw the ‘piece of literature’ he was referring to. Her fingers trembled a little as she reached out. Holy fuck, it can’t be. He wouldn’t dare!

She itched to turn around and see whether he was watching her reaction, but feared that she wouldn’t be able to keep from telling him exactly what she thought of his particular version of punishment. Stupid, ridiculous, useless.. Oh, she could go on forever.

“Go on, Miss Archer. Or have you neglected learning how to read as much as you have neglected your other lessons?” Asshole.

The sheet of paper, nothing more than a page ripped out of a spiral notebook, looked like it had been fished out of a trash can. It had the tell-tale signs of having been crumpled and uncrumpled several times, and the writings on it were hardly samples of perfect penmanship.

“Read,” he said, and she could hear that authoritative tone again.

“No!” she turned around but before she could say anything else, he cut in again, his eyes boring into hers as they had done only a few minutes ago.

“Read or your parents will hear precisely why you’re here. Would you rather I read that piece of trash to them?” She could feel the heat on her face, and her eyes stung for some stupid reason. She could give him no response. “Now turn around and start reading.” Their gazes clashed for a little longer but she knew she had lost this one. Slowly, she turned and stared at the piece of paper again. From behind her, she heard a suspicious click, but it was soon swallowed by yet another directive from the teacher. “Tell us what you’re reading first, Miss Archer.”

They were both aware of what this was, but she knew she would have to say it aloud for him to be satisfied. “It’s a talk I had with Je—with a friend of mine. We were passing this note around in class earlier, but..” she stopped, thinking she didn’t have to continue.

“But what, Miss Archer?” he prompted.

“But you caught us, sir.”

“That’s right, I did. You can start reading now.” God, she hated that casual tone almost as much as she hated his commanding one. “Oh, and just read the ones in blue ink, please.” Yeah, figures. He only wanted to hear her side of the conversation. The meager thought of narrating aloud what she had written so boldly made her want to hide her face in embarrassment. What the hell was she thinking!

“W-we went to the movies, then drove back to John’s place. You know the usual routine.” She took a deep breath, one that she should have taken before starting, and forced herself to continue. There was no introduction here. No breaking the conversation in. Jennifer was her bestfriend, someone who knew almost everything about her, especially when it came to the events they were discussing in this note. “I am so glad Brian isn’t in town for the next two weeks.”

“Tell us who Brian is,” he cut in. “And please speak a little louder.” He was still using that infuriatingly casual voice, as if she was telling him to read Anna Karenina or something equally.. Well.. Academic-related.

“Brian is my boyfriend.”

“Louder.”

“He’s my boyfriend!”

“Better.”

She was thoroughly irritated by now. Nothing but the resolve to keep her calm kept her going. Oh, she would show him what casual was! Did he think he can rattle her just by making her read about sex? Heck, she did it and wrote about it! Reading it to a twenty-something-year old, English professor freak was nothing! “I was worried his parents would come home, when John said that they were.” She read each line with as little enthusiasm as one would read a science lesson. “Oh my fucking god, I nearly bolted right out of there. But then, he said th—“ Despite her determination to demonstrate unfazed weariness, she faltered. Dammit! “John said they were passed out in the master’s and we could still use his room.” She stopped. Oh god, here it is. The beginning.

“At first, I didn’t really wanna stay there. I mean, jeez, his parents know mine! But then he started kissing me. Just small kisses, at first. You know, the soft, feathery ones that he knew I liked so much. Th--then his tongue was in my mouth, and we were practically dueling.” She ran through the lines as quickly as she could. The heat on her face was so intense that she was half tempted to bolt right out of there. But, instead, she forced herself to go on, sensing that that bastard Jacobsen would make good on his earlier threat if she did not continue. “One of his hands went under my shirt almost immediately, and we’ve already gotten rid of my bra at the car, so he had free access. He played with my nipples, one after the other. God, he knew exactly how to get me going!”

Another pause. Her lips were dry, and she had to pass her tongue over them a couple of times before she could gather the courage to continue, which she did as swiftly as one would pull a bandaid off. “I ended up sucking him off right there, in his parent’s freaking living room. Then we fucked three more times in the bedroom.” Short interlude as she quickly skipped across Jen’s scribbling. “Doggy style, missionary, and in the shower.” More of Jen’s notes. “I think probably once, when he went down on me.” When did she start telling Jennifer how many times she came, anyway? There was no denying the blush that colored her cheeks crimson. Her chest was heaving, and she was unsure whether she wanted to throw a hissy fit or cry. Thank god he made her face the wall!

“You’re not finished.” She jumped and turned. How the hell did he get right behind her without her noticing? Looking down at her, he said, “Turn around, and finish your reading.”

“It’s finished,” she said adamantly, hoping beyond all hope that he would leave it at that.

“No, it isn’t. Do as you’re told, Miss Archer, or neither of us are leaving this school without your parents picking you up.”

She was sure hatred was pouring out of her eyes, and.. Was that a grin? The bastard was enjoying this! Gingerly, she turned again and, while facing the wall, hurried through the last four words that she was able to write before Jacobsen caught their misdemeanor almost five hours ago. “I’m such a slut.”

Reaching around her, he took the piece of paper from her trembling fingers. “Very good.” His jacket’s sleeve brushed across her arm and she resisted the urge to cringe away. “If you studied as well as you read, your grades wouldn’t be in such horrible shape.” God, she hated him. Her grades were fine! “Now put your hands up on the wall.” That just made her turn around again, ready to mouth a protest but he nonchalantly continued. “Alright, that’s it. One more show of insubordination, Miss Archer, and you get an F in this class and your parents get to find out what your extra-curricular activities consist of. Is that understood?”

She was tempted to slap him right across the cheek. He was actually getting off on this, that much was pretty obvious by now. She could get him fired! Get him sent to jail, in fact! But his gaze only superimposed the fact that getting him fired would probably bring up the reason why she was in here to begin with. And that, in turn, would bring the note up. Fuck.

“Answer me, Miss Archer.”

Two more seconds of silence ticked by before she finally gave up. “Understood, sir.” Defeated as she was, she did not lower her head. Instead she moved her eyes to a spot over his shoulder, determined not to give him the satisfaction of eliciting a reaction of any sort, negative or otherwise.

She knew what he was about to do but, somehow, she still backed up when his fingers reached out to her blouse. “There’s something you have to learn here, Miss Archer.” He easily slipped one button off and, so help her, she could not stop the single tear that escaped her right eye, tracing a line down her cheek before disappearing into her uniform. “You act like trash – you write and speak trash – and you get treated precisely like trash.” Three buttons. “And, as I’m sure you know from your—“ He paused, passed his gaze up and down her form like he was surveying merchandise for sale, then continued. “..experience, this has yet to begin.” Her hands clenched on her sides, partly because he had completely unbuttoned the shirt, and also because she knew what he would find once he began taking notice of what the undressing revealed.

“Mmm, look at those nipples. Already nice and hard, and I haven’t even touched them yet. You’re such a bad girl for wearing an almost see-through bra. Might as well have worn nothing.” In tune with his words, he unclipped the front clasp, releasing her breasts from the confines of the garment which was white and thin but far from transparent. She gasped as the cold air further caused her nipples to tighten, and could not help from noticing the look of pleasure the sound or the sight had brought to his features.

Without a moment’s warning, he leaned down and licked each nipple once in quick succession, wetting them with his tongue and drawing a tortured whimper from her. She was trembling now. That much, she couldn’t help. The air-conditioning had not been turned off and it worked so well to his advantage.

“I see now why Mister Delson liked your breasts so much.” John. It took her a while to remember who he was referring to. Save for the quick taste of her nipples, he did not touch her again. He let her stand there, blouse and bra open and slipped off her shoulders, pinning her arms to her side and causing her to give the visual impression that she was offering her plump, young breasts to her perverted English teacher. “Are you ready to turn around yet?”

She did not protest this time. Following his instruction, she turned and stepped closer to the wall, with just enough space for her nipples to barely graze the cold concrete. God, so sensitive. With her face no longer exposed to his lewd viewing, she was free to bite her lower lip and screw her eyes shut as she felt his nails begin to caress the horizontal borderline formed by her stockings and her thighs. Just above the back of the knee, where the white material ended and skin began. He took his sweet time tracing that line, slowly moving upwards in what seemed like an eternal journey under her skirt.

When his hand finally found her ass, she heard a soft chuckle. Shit, she chose a fine day to wear a g-string. “You really are a little slut, aren’t you, Miss Archer?” She couldn’t even give an answer because one of his fingers had hooked her underwear and was pulling it down. She was so sensitized that the sensation of having the flimsy lace string pulled from between her sex made her moan aloud. “Such a sex-hungry fucktoy.” It was so crude, so dirty, and it got her even more wet than she already was.

The thong fell to her ankles, and his arm went around her waist, hand cupping her pussy almost habitually as he taunted her again. “Nice and wet for her teacher, tsk.” His fingers went back and forth, back and forth, stroking her sleek lips steadily without regard to the tension it was creating in her. “Lift your skirt up, Miss Archer. And don’t drop it until I tell you so.” Trembling, she did as she was told, awkwardly holding the pleated fabric up with her arms still bound by her blouse and bra. “Learning fast, aren’t we?” Back and forth his fingers went, until her hips began moving of their own accord, trying to feel more pressure, press her clit onto his palm.

For once, he showed a bit of kindness and relented, pushing an index finger about an inch into her. He finger-fucked her entrance, teasing the nerve endings concentrated in her wet slit. “Do you wanna get fucked, slut?”

Her answer did not need to be coaxed out. “Yes. Oh god, yes, please.”

Again, that chuckle. “Are you gonna be a good girl and tell me why?”

“B-because I’m a slut, sir.” “Louder.” “I’m a slut who needs your cock in her pussy to make her cum. I’m a dirty girl who needs to get off bad. Please!”

What the hell was happening to her? She hated dirty talk—couldn’t stand being spoken to in such a way, or even hearing it in the few porn movies Brian had convinced her to watch. Yet she kept on begging, asking in the most lewd vocabulary she wouldn’t have thought she was capable of uttering.

She heard him unzip amidst her pleas. He pulled his finger out and she nearly went insane, her pussy involuntarily following his hand. “Push your ass out, you filthy-mouthed girl. Offer me that cunt of yours. Tempt me to fuck it like I bet everyone else has.”

She didn’t care that he was being so mean and degrading to her. She deserved every word of it, for all she knew! She just wanted to get him to fuck her so she could come already. Oh, how she needed it. So badly that she did as she was told.

Still raising her skirt, she arched her back, pressing her breasts to the wall and offering him what she knew he wanted. “Oh, take it, sir. Please take it.” She felt the tip of his cock at her entrance. He was sliding it up and down while she begged him, caressing her clit with his tip every once in a while, before going back to the incessant teasing of her sopping lips. “Mm, please. Please, my cunt needs it so bad. Please fuck me. God, please, sir.” She was aware that she was grinding her hips, trying to search his cock out, wanting it.

Then, all of a sudden, he pushed in. One thrust. Mm god, so big. So full. “Is this what you wanted, baby? You like getting fucked by your teacher like the little whore that you are?” He kept on with the taunting while his hands held her steady and his cock pounded her pussy. In and out. Ah, so good, so good. Yes, yes..

He was riding her hard, unrelentingly asking her questions to which all she could answer were. “God, yes. Oh, yes, sir. Yes.”

“Are you a slut?”

“Yes, oh.”

“Fucktoy?”

“Mm, god..Yes.”

“Cock-hungry whore?”

“Yes, sir.. Yes.”

“Are you gonna come for me like the good little slut you are?”

“I don’t—Oh, fuck. Oh!” His middle finger found her clit and was rolling it in fast, hard circles while he continued to pound into her.

“Yes, there we go. That’s a good girl.” So wrong, so fucking good. “Time you learned how to come while getting fucked. You’re gonna come all over my cock, aren’t you?” In tune to his crude, mocking question, her body obeyed. Exploded. Trembled, quaked around an angry, pounding cock for the very first time. White flashes rained behind her closed eyes, wringing the breath and the moaning wails of confirmation, affirmation, from her struggling lungs.

“Fuck, sir. Coming, oh, god, I’m—“ Just then, his free hand left her hip, encircling her form with an arm as his palm clamped down on her mouth, stifling the sounds he himself had conjured, awakened. Bastard.

“Good girl. Ah, such a good little slut,” he groaned out, his movements slightly stilled, rocking his hips against hers as if he was cherishing the successive clamping down of her inner muscles around his swollen, close-to-bursting cock. “Yes, keep coming, baby.” He used her quivering pussy to tease himself, urging her with his fingers, his movements and his voice to keep coming, to keep milking his steadily pumping cock, to make him come inside her. “You want that, don’t you? You want me to blow my load inside this tight cunt of yours?” He was gaining speed, driving his length along all the firing nerves around her sensitized hole while his finger continued to work her clit, making her want to die from the hypersensitivity and the ceaseless orgasms. He kept going, pounding, “One more time. Come again.” And, fuck, she did. Again for him, drawing a sort of triumphant laugh that turned into a groan as, with one last penetrating thrust, her English teacher emptied himself inside her already dripping pussy.