Journey Into Electric Darkness
WARNING, do not repeat any of the acts I describe here. They were stupid and dangerous and could have resulted in serious injury or death. This is a true personal account of how I got involved with BDSM and electric play as an ignorant person blind to the potential deadliness of my homemade toys. This story is not encouragement to try anything it describes and I discourage anyone from starting down this path.
I am a grown adult now but got into BDSM, electric play, and self bondage on my own early in life with absolutely no influence from anyone else. Until posting this story to the net it has been a complete and dark secret of mine. It is a bad idea to say at what exact age it all started but let’s just say it was the beginning of puberty.
The Experiment:
While playing with an instructional electronics kit there was a mistake involving a relay and an audio transformer that generated a square-wave ac signal. Touching the transformer output by accident produced a shock to the fingers. The feeling immediately captured my interest so I explored further by touching two wires to various parts of my body. Fortunately, safety was a concern and there was a clear knowledge not to not do anything stupid like connect a circuit across the heart. After playing with feet, legs and butt cheeks the next thing was to try sticking one wire up my ass and touching the other one just on the outside. With the contact area of single bare wires being so small the sensation was instant pinpoint burning pain. That was not fun right away but the potential was obvious that there had to be something worth further investigation.
The first step in my exploration was to go from a mistake to a serious electro shock circuit. Using a simple relay interrupter hooked up to pulse into a transformer worked fine. The frequency was too high at first and produced a tickle buzzy kind of feeling. Adding a capacitor across the relay slowed it down some. Playing with different values got the frequency reduced to about 50HZ which caused the most powerful muscle contractions. The overall sensation wasn’t strong enough yet so further modifications were needed to produce more output. More batteries helped and the audio transformer was very small so that was replaced with a larger one from a broken radio. That made it all too strong so it had to have a variable resistor added to adjust the output intensity.
Next, it was time to build and test various electrodes to see what they felt like. Larger surface area contacts produced less burning and more of a deep shock than small contacts. Also, if one electrode was large and the other was small then all of the sensation of shock would come from the smaller side. It was fun to place a large foil contact on each butt cheek and cause powerful contractions. From internal anal experimentation, the greatest sensitivity and muscle response was produced with the electrode placed 1/2 to 1 inch inside. This was determined after positioning electrodes at various depths up to about 10 inches.
Placing an electrode deeper inside thinking it would give more powerful sensations is not correct. It didn’t do much even with full power, it just produced a weird sick nauseous ache inside that made me nearly throw up. That wasn’t very fun and the risk of damaging an internal organ seemed real so the deep stuff was abandoned and play was restricted to the outer regions of the anus. Two circular electrodes running around the probe produced pain but not much in the way of contractions. Side-by-side contacts running front to back along the probe caused a powerful response. Using the large transformer and touching the battery to it manually for just one single shock pulse caused a contraction hard enough to jerk the whole lower body around.
Seeds of Addiction:
It is hard to remember or describe exactly what I first liked about doing this. The sensations were just so addictive. It was unexplainable but I just liked this specific kind of pain from electricity and liked it best in my anus and nowhere else. I wanted more of it and could not be stopped. My ass kept getting used to the shock level and whatever hurt for a while would eventual fade and become uninteresting. This started a never ending desire for a more and more powerful sensation. The way to get it was adding more batteries and an even bigger transformer. The circuit was finally capable of an output level so high I could not work up the raw nerve to willingly turn the resistor all the way down.
Again, that became easy and boring after a while and new dimensions were needed. I wanted to feel out of control and push my limits of pain so an off switch was hooked up to a wind-up mechanical timer to produce a timed shock. I would try to just lay still and take it until the timer ran out but any level of shock tolerable for starting out would eventually become too small after a while. That meant repeatedly reaching over and turning up the shock to get more effect and again it was still limited by will power. That was fixed by hooking up a second timer to the variable resistor so the intensity would start out very small and automatically build up to maximum.
It was exciting because the resistor didn’t always move smoothly and sometimes there would be big sudden jumps in shock level. Now hands were no longer needed to adjust the device once started and it was possible to tie myself up somewhat to pretend being stuck. At first it would always be tested briefly at maximum with the electrode in my ass to know exactly how much it would be and to make sure it was humanly possible to tolerate it full strength. That was still too much predictability and no real surprise. So, an extra battery would be added and the timers started without knowing how strong it was going to be when the resistor reached zero. Again it was not enough excitement because even with all the timers there was still some level of control since it was always possible to just untie the ropes and reach over to turn it off any time. The only possible escalation from here was true total loss of control combined with helpless submission to an unknown amount of pain.
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Fantasies of Pain Come to Life:
This was the point where it became a true twisted obsession even at such a young age. I was addicted to this exact type of anal pain and nothing else would turn me on. The sad thing is that I didn’t even learn how to masturbate prior to playing with electricity and now I was so jaded there was no possibility of pleasuring myself without it. Looking back, there might even have been a danger of creating some kind of split personality with the sadistic inventor on one side developing ever more sophisticated torture devices to punish the insatiable masochist on the other side. This is the kind of self-bondage scene I was into less than one year after starting down this path:
The power source was highly refined now. It had a delayed start, measured shock duration and automatic power level increase timers. Rechargeable batteries were needed because there was no way to explain such a continuous need for expensive disposables. Rechargeables were not cheap either but it was easy to buy just a few at a time and build up to the needed amount. The charger only held four at a time so it took three days to get them all ready. It was hard to wait that long but it was better to be certain there was enough charge available to push the session over the edge and not run out rather than going early and suffering total disappointment. Sometimes I would glance over at it while doing my homework and think about all of that fantastic power storing up to be released back out and delivered straight into my rectum. Extreme care had to be taken since that many batteries short circuiting would easily start a fire leading to either embarrassing discovery or embarrassing death.
When it was all finally ready, I would start by taking out my homemade 1 1/2 inch diameter 6-inch long dual-contact electrode. The contacts had to be well lubricated to work right and this was done with just a bit of masturbation to produce the needed wetness. Sometimes I would pretend to be that other person, the sadist, running the probe up and down against me picking up my lubrication while ever so lightly patting my buttocks with desire and whispering “oh, just you wait and see what we have in store for you tonight”. This was an important beginning for the ritual because having my own body fluids ensure good electrical contact was a way of creating a full circle linking my sexual desire to the pain that was about to be inflicted.
Just the thought of it gave me chills. The cold probe was then inserted slowly into my anus leaving about an inch sticking out. Hot-melt glue was squirted around the exposed end and my cheeks were pressed firmly together to make it stick good so it wouldn’t fall out when the thrashing began. The burning of the melted glue against my skin was just a small tease for all the glorious pain about to come. It would not stick to the inside smooth skin of my rectum but it stuck strongly to the outside. There was no hair in that region yet but if there had been it would have certainly been pulled off by all the glue. There was also a harness of metal cable threaded through a hole in the end of the probe and wrapped around my waist and secured with a lock.
One by one, batteries were taken from a pile on the floor and placed into their holders. It was a marvel that they looked so innocent and yet so much potential pain lived inside of them if you only knew how to set it free. The electronics went into a plastic box and sat 6 feet away from the bed locked into a desk drawer. The heavy power cable was taken from a thick outdoor extension cord and ran out and over to the bed and around a bed post several times to prevent any pulling from removing it from the shock source. From there it ran up onto the bed and into the probe in my ass. It was tied to the metal cable harness very well to prevent being pulled out of the probe. My feet were tied spread eagle to the bed posts with just about a foot of slack.
There was another restraint tied to my wrist using a combination lock and connected to a rope pulling my arm tight over my head to just about a foot short of the headboard stretching my body out tight in the center of the bed. The other hand was left free to masturbate but there was no way using all possible strength it could ever remove the electrode or undo any restraints. The room was pitch dark but there was a light on a regular wall timer set to turn on just after the session was completed. Once that combination lock on my hand was closed there was absolutely no return because it was too dark to see the dial on the lock. Sometimes there was a second or two of hesitation but I never failed to click that lock shut and seal my fate for the next hour.
It was an unbelievable feeling just waiting there in the dark anticipating what was about to happen. Adrenaline pumping in my veins and my heart beating fast. Counting out the seconds and listening to the muffled sound of timers ticking away in the drawer wondering when it would start. Questions dancing in my mind like how long until the power level built up to causing serious pain and exactly how much pain was going to result this time when the resistor reached zero and let the full unrestricted shock flood into my soon-to-be-tortured anus? Did the timers get set right and what if the off switch didn’t work this time? Did all of the wires get connected properly or was I going to just sit there like a complete fool while absolutely nothing happened for an hour? When the shock started it was always just a small tickle at first but the sexual excitement was undeniable.
After about 6 minutes it went from tickle to slight pain and it was time to masturbate. The charge slowly increased and the feeling was pure pleasure so strong there was a ringing in my ears. It was a precisely timed sort of masturbation. If the orgasm came too fast then the full effect of the shock would be wasted but if it took too long then the pain level would get so high it would stop the pleasure seeking dead in its tracks. After the orgasm hit me and started to fade, the shock-induced pleasure that was my friend would turn against me and become all pain without pleasure. Still, the timer on the resistor ticked down, slowly but monotonously turning up the voltage bit by bit with the occasional small jump as the resistor stuck a bit as it rotated. Just a few minutes more and it hurt so bad my body twisted around in bed straining at the restraints in vain. It was no fun now, why did I do this to myself? … and it was too late to ask.
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My mind raced over escape plans but there was nothing possible. Sometimes I would claw at the electrode and try to pull it loose. It was no use, the restraints were just too strong but that was the whole idea. Struggling wasn’t meant to gain freedom, it was just a way of fully acting out the part of a helpless torture victim. There wouldn’t be much need for play acting in a few minutes because it was all about to get very real. There was no way to stop this inevitable process of pain.
My whole ass was on fire now, muscles clenching, agony ripping through my rectum. A homemade gag made out of a t-shirt and locked into my mouth with a metal cable prevented screaming out loud. It was possible to breath through the gag a bit but it was not enough. I would end up panting through my nostrils as fast as possible because of the pain. Still, the level of shock increased and now the pain seemed to extend out from my rectum into my whole pelvis. Maybe it took my breath away so much it would not have been possible to scream even without the gag because I was truly gasping for air as quickly as possible just to survive.
This could not be attempted with any sinus congestion or I would suffocate. There wasn’t even a stray thought to any further masturbation at this point. It was just about the pain and survival now. In the heat of the moment there was always a sick fear that this was the one time I had finally pushed it all too far and the current was surely permanently searing through my rectum leaving a charred mess of tissue burned onto the probe. That’s what it felt like every time and even if it was true it couldn’t be stopped. There was intentionally no clock visible from my position on the bed to enhance the feeling of uncertainty and it wasn’t possible to keep mental track of time while crazed senseless with so much pain.
As a result, there was no way of knowing how much time was left or if the power was even all the way up yet. It felt like the shock was always getting stronger the whole time without limit even though that wasn’t possible. The goal was to place myself into a universe made up entirely of pain. Time, space, desire and even fear eventually disappeared. It just went on and on like that for about 40 more minutes while I cried continuous silent tears, arching my back, rolling my eyes into my head and sometimes convulsing helplessly all the while knowing there was absolutely no escape.
That was the exact mental feeling I grew addicted to, being helpless in pain from my own actions. My fiendish inventiveness had perfected a way of achieving it all by myself at any time. When the shock timer finally finished ticking down it would turn off the shock and my straining muscles gave up instantly and let my body collapse like a rag doll. Maybe a minute or two later the light timer activated and lit the room. I was not able to move right away. The weakness was so deep it was only possible to just lay there shivering for a short while trying to slow down my breathing and heart rate. The mental screaming of pain faded a bit and reality crept back in.
It was hard to open the lock with my fingers shaking and making mistakes while trying to dial the combination. Looking down, my whole body was dripping with sweat so much it had soaked an outline of itself into the sheet. It was important to keep water handy and not get dehydrated before starting the next round of pain. A long electro session was kind of like running a marathon; you have to eat well to have enough calories to get through it but not too heavy and not too soon before starting.
The gag scared me, it was obvious that throwing up while bound and gagged would have likely been fatal. In a weird way I was proud of being able to do this awful thing to my body like it was some achievement worthy of praise but also so embarrassing it was impossible to share with any other person. That fear of having damaged myself internally was always there but it was too much work to bother with removing the probe between sessions and checking the skin for blisters. If wiggling the end of the probe back and forth didn’t cause too much pain inside then it was good to go for the next round.
The very first time performing a session like this was all so new and scary and filled with unknown risk and adventure. Just like every thrill before it though, enough repetition and it became old and easy. Sleep never mattered to me when the craving kicked in so adding a second round was inevitable and so was the third. Each session required a fresh set of charged batteries. My insides started out more raw with each successive treatment since they never had time to fully recover from the last round.
That made the physical response increase each time even though it was the exact same level of stimulation. The last round was always the hardest in terms of mental motivation due to a buildup of both pain and exhaustion. This was the very limit of my body’s physical resources. Everything would be setup again and my shaky hand touching the combination lock while conflicting thoughts battled each other in my head. “Don’t do it, you’ve proved your point twice and had enough”, “No, there is no such thing as enough, just do it”, “Please, no more, I can’t take it again”, “Ha, you know it has to be done” and click went the lock as I trembled in fear.
The first two times were done laying on my back to allow easier movement for self pleasuring but that was not on the agenda for the last round. That would be done on the stomach offering myself up as sacrifice to the probe; just laying there letting it have its wicked way with me injecting a continuous stream of undiluted evil directly into my bowels for another hour. The world of pain came quickly this time and my mind traveled to some pretty strange places. It must have been the endorphins rushing through my veins. Right up until then you could call it all some extreme form of pleasure/pain play. That final scene, on the other hand, had no pretense at reward of any kind. It was a search for a new level of self abuse in its most raw form. It truly scared me what lurked inside that could possibly want such a thing. The limits of my desire may not have been found but the edge of my physical abilities and willingness to take risk was.
It is a good thing I never got around to buying a fourth set of batteries because three took its toll plenty. Once I had my fill there was a temptation to just fall asleep right there still tied up with the probe in my ass. That could never happen because risking discovery by my parents was more frightening than a million volts. All of the restraints had to be undone and the electrode carefully removed. The glue stuck to the probe more firmly than my butt so it would sometimes tear off a bit of skin and form a wrinkly ring around the base of the probe. I was afraid to look but it was always a big sigh of relief to see that my rectum was intact and not blistered with oozing burns.
Despite my unquenchable appetite, there never was any real permanent damage done beyond minor first degree burns. The internal part of the probe was always hot to the touch and shining with my sweat and other fluids. Having penetrated my most personal intimate space and taken full control of my body for hours on end it emerged victoriously smelling of musk, ozone and electrical tape. God, I loved that damned evil thing and what it did to me. Even after a full night of agony and bone-deep exhaustion just the mere sight of that electrode, my chosen master, still turned me on and set my blood racing with desires my tired body couldn’t deliver. One last step, everything had to be wiped off, disconnected, disassembled and hidden in various places around the room to prevent my parents from discovering my implements of pain. That was it before drifting off to sleep with strangely tranquil dreams.
Epilogue:
Despite the unbelievable extent of my exploration into the dark world of self-torture I remained haunted by an unreachable fantasy of inducing so much pain it would cause loss of consciousness. It was arousing just picturing myself from above, bound and naked body laying unconscious on the bed in a cold sweat but still jerking around from the shocks. I never did find a way to reach that point on my own. A fourth round with those old batteries or a continuous 4 hour round with today’s longer-lasting batteries would have done it but that would have been cheating since it would have been caused by exhaustion and not the pain itself.
Passing out from sheer instantaneous pain would have likely required doubling the amount of electricity and that would have clearly done severe permanent damage. All these years later you can read about that in fantasy torture stories on the web. People suddenly screaming one big scream from an electric shock (funny too, it is usually in the rectum) and then passing out. Let me tell you it is a whole lot more difficult to cause loss of consciousness from rectal pain in real life and you probably cant do it using electricity without causing third degree burns or worse so just leave that scenario for the fiction.
I spent four more years heading down this path. Maybe I will write more about those years but this first year was the big one for me where the pattern was set and the kink was formed. Eventually, I realized that this insane quest for ever increasing pain and risk was leading to something permanent and bad. My will to survive was stronger than my desire so I simply quit cold-turkey and pushed it all deep into the back of my mind. Jumping to the modern age of the Internet it became possible to safely share this story and find people with similar interests. There are some experiences to tell there as well.
The End
Judging Georgina
Georgina answered the phone. “Hello?”
She was drunk, because her words on the telephone billowed out, as though alcohol was pushing them unwillingly into the world. The “Hello” came out loud (a lot louder than Georgina permitted herself when sober). Also, the “Hello” was sort of slurred. Altogether, it was pretty obvious that she’d drunk her Southern Comfort and was flying high.
“It’s me,” I said.
Well, of course it was. The judge was out of town, wasn’t he? It was almost inevitable that I would call, right?
I could sense her lushy smile creeping crookedly onto her face. “Oh, hi sweetie pie.” She sighed and gave a little giggle. “I’ve been thinking about you.”
Yes, she was thinking about me. Her husband goes off with his buddies on a golfing trip, and she’s left alone. When she’s left alone, she knows I’m very likely to call. She wants me to call. In fact, the minute His Honor leaves, she starts thinking about me, wanting me to call. When she thinks about me, her fingers start itching for her crotch. Her sex juice starts flowing. (I’m not kidding about this. She tells me it’s true, and I’m sure that it is. Georgina can unleash a mighty flood of sex juice when she really puts her mind to it.).
But when the sex juice starts dripping, the guilt does, too. One leads inevitably to the other. Georgina is a God-fearing woman of old-fashioned upbringing, with guilt-trips aplenty. She hates her husband, but she can’t bear the thought of divorce: the impact on her children (all over twenty, but still), the loss of status in the community, and what will the women at the First Methodist Church say, yada yada yada. She tortures herself. Her crotch aches. The Judge leaves, the sex thoughts start up, and she needs to calm herself, so the secret bottle of Southern Comfort that she’s stashed beneath her pink and yellow sweaters in the closet comes out, she takes three quick drinks, gloop, gloop, gloop, and then she’s loaded. The guilt is still there, but it’s bearable, and her befuddled mind can ease its way onto the path of sexiness without regret or further delay.
As she drinks those drinks, her fingers find her wet pussy, and her fingers make her even wetter. Yes, she told me that, once. That time, she was really very, very drunk, and she told me about the entire ritual with the Southern Comfort, the bubble bath, the fingers in the pussy, her own yelps of pleasure. She prepares herself, works herself up, knowing that I will be around to see her eventually, and she needs to get herself completely ready for What She Needs.
She’s never told me why she drinks like that, and ours isn’t the sort of relationship which normally permits me to delve deeply into her motivation or foibles. What I know about Georgina is mostly surmise, although there have been the few occasions when she’s told me things, and I can put two and two together.
I do know that I am there for one reason and one reason only.
I have a prick.
Georgina may be old-fashioned, God-fearing and Church-going, but she was really made for one thing only, and that is for having sex, and enjoying it. What irony: her upbringing, most cherished views, and husband all conspire to create such conflict in her life. So, she has sex, and the way things have turned out, she has it with me, and she feels terribly, horribly guilty about it even as she screams at the top of her lungs in her big house when her husband is away and I have my prick pounding her.
One thing is certain, the judge isn’t pounding her pussy. He’s got too many other things on his mind. (Just as we don’t really discuss Georgina’s drinking, she and I don’t really discuss the judge’s sexuality. However, reading between the lines, I strongly suspect that he’s got erectile dysfunction or something. Maybe he won’t admit it. But despite all of Georgina’s faults, she’s not the sort of woman you’d grow easily tired of fucking, so I assume there’s a reason why the judge isn’t doing his duty and forces her to find other outlets for her passion.)
“Are you coming over soon, Jimmy?” she asks.
“I’m thinking about it.”
“Well, don’t take too long,” she says. And giggles again. Man, she really does sound drunk.
“I’ll be over soon,” I say. And then I hang up.
Okay, I know you’re going to ask. Why do I want to go to the Judge’s house and fuck Georgina, when she’s drunk?
Well, here’s part of the reason, which I alluded to earlier. Georgina is one crazy, wonderful fuck. Really.
The Judge is about fifty-eight, and he’s jowly and has an ass on him that would sink a battleship. I’m sure that wasn’t the case when he married Georgina, which was when she was twenty and he was thirty-five. And, obviously, at one point his cock worked okay, because they had three kids, now all in college or otherwise away from the house. But I know he’s not doing her today, this week, this month, or maybe even this year. To my knowledge, only one guy gives her the jollies.
Me.
Georgina is forty three. She’s about five-eight, with ridiculously lush curly hair. She washes that hair twice a week with fragrant shampoo, and her hair turns all sparkly and sweet smelling.
I’m not sure what she eats. I’m sort of thinking that she doesn’t eat much. Of course, I wouldn’t know, because our relationship doesn’t take us out to restaurants or anything. She’s fed me the occasional bottle of beer, and once or twice a sandwich, but I’ve rarely ever seen her eat anything she’s prepared. Her refrigerator isn’t loaded with anything. Most of the time when we eat, I do the cooking.
So, the Judge may be Mr. Lard, but Georgina is lean. She works out. I can tell. She has one of these big old indoor treadmills, not to mention some hand weights. I’m sure she uses them every day. The woman has muscle tone like spandex and a set of abs to make any bodybuilder proud. I should also mention that she has long, luscious legs and a set of hooters that sort of float above her chest. I kid you not.
So what do I care if she’s drunk when I have her? I’d be crazy not to take what she’s offering.
I mention another good reason for fucking Georgina. It isn’t that I like her, not really. I mean, I’m sure if she were sober, I probably couldn’t stand her. After all, she’s a God-fearing, evangelical Republican who thinks George Bush walks on water. All she really cares about in life is showing off that she’s Mrs. Judge, that she’s got the big bucks, that her daughters are in the Cotillion, her son’s fixed up with J.P. Millionaire’s daughter, yada yada yada.
I appreciate none of this. I appreciate her big tits and sweet pussy, and that’s about it. Frankly, it’s fortunate that she’s such a hypocrite that her pussy juice won’t flow until she’s drunk.
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About the best I can say about Georgina is that I sort of feel sorry for her. I mean, here she is, the Great Lady, and she needs a regular pounding by a guy who’s done jail time. She doesn’t know that, but it’s the truth.
Right. I did three years. And who do you think sentenced me?
Aha! Now you understand.
You’re probably wondering how we met. She’s Mrs. Uppity, and I’m Mr. Jailtime. Believe me, it took some doing.
I wouldn’t have even thought about it, except about two months after I got out, one of my first jobs was bussing dishes at hoo hah banquets. For this I got minimum, but it was welcome at the time. I got to wear a white bus jacket, a black tie, and be inconspicuous as I shoveled dishes off the tables.
It just so happened that the Judge and Georgina were there.
I knew the Judge right off. I doubt he remembered me. Why would he? He must sentence lots of guys every month, and he gave me mine three years before, for a small-time heist that I wish I could forget. Worst mistake of my life, believe me. (Unless you count banging Georgina. I suppose that really could turn out badly, too, but thus far, it hasn’t, so I continue).
Judge Faraday sat at the table, laughing with one of his buddies. Next to him was this knockout woman with sparkling hair, floating breasts, and a sappy, drunken smile that showed she was in the bag and probably didn’t care.
I probably wouldn’t have thought about it, except fate stepped in.
I was bussing a table not far from the Judge and Georgina. There was no one at that table, but there were two women at the next one. Gossiping women.
I reached for the dirty dishes and glassware, and one of them said, “Georgina Faraday, she’s sure drunk.”
Giggle, giggle, goes the other one. “Not really sober as a judge’s lady, is she?”
The other one sputters at the stupid joke. I clink the glassware, but a lot slower. This I want to hear.
“She was sloshing down the Comfort before dinner.”
“Why she do that?”
“We were in high school together, and she was the same.” Chuckle, chuckle. “Only time she’d let herself make it with a boy was when she was loaded. Then she was red hot.”
“She’s married now.”
“Unhappily married.”
“She should have an affair.”
Chuckle, chuckle. “She couldn’t get up the nerve unless she were drunk. And what kind of affair would that be?”
What kind of affair would that be? I decided to find out.
So I waited. No problem knowing when the Judge would be out of town, because they published his schedule down at the courthouse. He had a circuit that took him up to Holman, once a month for three days. It’s a hundred miles north, and he doesn’t come home at night.
I should know. He tried and sentenced me in Holman.
So on the second night of the Judge’s next trip to Holman, I decided to try my luck. First, I telephoned the Judge’s house.
“Hello?”
It was the Hello I soon came to know. The one powered by Comfort.
I pitched my voice a bit higher than usual. “Mrs. Faraday, please.”
She didn’t hiccup, but she gave a slightest giggle. “This is she.”
“This is Bloomsday Flowers, Mrs. Faraday. Would this be a good time for us to make a delivery? A dozen roses.”
Puzzled silence. “Are you sure you have the right person?”
I rattled off her address. “You are Georgina Faraday, correct?”
“Well, yessss . . . "
“Thank you. Our truck will be there in about fifteen minutes. Enjoy the flowers, ma’am.”
And I hung up before her stewed mind could start thinking of questions. Like – who would be sending me a dozen roses at 8 o’clock on a Thursday night in March?
Fifteen minutes later, I was there, roses, clipboard, and all. Dressed in a clean jumpsuit, with a neat plastic tag that read “Bloomsday Flowers,” and “Jimmy Gorman” below it. Not my real name, of course, but there’s nothing like identification to give confidence.
The door opened. I smiled my Bloomsday smile.
Georgina was incredible.
Yes, she was drunk. Naturally. And she was wearing a low-cut blouse that made her tits bloom out at you like balloons. A silly smile was plastered on her face.
“This is so nice of you,” she said. She squinted at my tag. “Jimmy.”
“No problem,” I said. “Bloomsday Flowers is happy to please. Could I bring them in for you?”
Now, of course this was odd – what flower deliveryman brings the flowers into the house? But I smiled a winning smile and held those roses nearly up to my face.
And she was drunk.
“Well – " she said, and took a step back.
I moved past her, then turned around. And as luck would have it, there was a large, empty vase on a table right there.
“That vase would be perfect for these,” I said. Without waiting for her reply, I took the roses, thrust them into the vase, and picked it up. “The kitchen’s this way, right?”
I took off in the likely direction of the kitchen, leaving her behind.
By the time she arrived, I was running the water and had the package unwrapped.
“This is our special service,” I said.
There was a glass half full of a drink on the kitchen table. There was a half-empty bottle next to it, and even another glass. She looked at me. She looked at the drink.
Then she licked her lips and sidled towards the half-full glass.
I started filling the vase. Georgina slowly sat down. Her fingers wrapped around her glass.
“It certainly appears special.”
I laughed heartily, took the flowers, and fluffed them into the vase.
I turned. The glass was at her lips.
“Your roses, ma’am,” I said, with a flourish. “A beautiful woman deserves roses like this.”
She blushed. Then she took a big swig of her drink. Yes,” she said. “I am a beautiful woman, aren’t I?”
Well, duh!
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But not too “duh.” Because I don’t think Georgina allowed herself to ponder over her own beauty very much – how it was going to waste on the Judge who didn’t care and who couldn’t get it up.
I didn’t waste much time. I marched over to the table and put the flowers down before her. I picked up the bottle, poured more into her glass, some into the empty one, sat down, picked up my own drink, and said, “Here’s to flowers in your future, ma’am.”
I had my drink in right hand and my left hand on the table. She held up her glass. “Thank you so much.” Then her left hand found mine and her eyes (slightly glazed) looked deeply at me. (Or the look was drunken and unfocussed – hard to tell).
Not too many moment later, I was leaning across the table and kissing her. Then her hands were on my face.
You know how that goes after that.
I had arrived at 8:15. At 8:35 (by her bedroom clock) her knees and elbows were on the bed, ass was up in the air, my hands were fondling those big knockers, and I was taking her doggy style.
It was lovely. And knowing that I was fucking Mrs. Judge made it all the sweeter.
I held back really well. After pounding her from the back, I rolled her over and slobbered all over her cunt, which tasted – hmm – fishy, I guess is the word. I’ve tasted a lot better in my time, but I dove in, while she moaned and squirmed.
Finally, I stopped. My chin was dripping. She reached for me, kissing me through her sex juice. She grabbed my cock, which was puffy and red.
“Hmm . . . yeah,” I said. “Want to play with me?”
She looked at me almost cross-eyed. “Yuh!”
Then her head was down. Her mouth swallowed me, nine inches and all, and her fingers were on my balls and in my ass simultaneously.
I was in heaven. “YAAAHH!” I shouted, and I spurted like a madman.
When I was done, she lay back, a silly smile on her face, her lips slathered with cum.
Then she passed out and started to snore.
This gave me time to think. Should I stay or should I go? After awhile, I figured I’d stay. She kept snoring. I covered her up and took the other side of the bed.
Round two started at around two in the morning. Actually, I set the alarm on my watch for then. It woke me and not her. I looked over at her. The cum was still on her face, along with a beatific little smile. Maybe she was dreaming.
I crept out of bed, went into the kitchen, got the Comfort off the table along with the glasses and some ice, and came back. Still sleep. I went into the bathroom and got a big towel and a washcloth with warm water.
I took the warm cloth and pressed it to her face, cleaning up the cum gently. She stayed asleep, but made happy murmurings.
When her face was clean, I turned my attention to her pussy. It was a pretty cunt, hair well trimmed, lips a pleasing pink. The cloth was still hot and moist, so I starting rubbing, going for the clit with the warm cloth and driving three fingers in and out of her hole.
In, out, rub, rub, in, out, rub, rub.
“Oooooh!” she said, eyes still closed but arching her back.
This went on for several minutes.
Then I stopped.
Her eyes opened. “Jesus!” she said. “Sweet Jesus! Don’t stop!”
I moved my face close to hers.
“Was it good?” I asked.
“It was fantastic!” Then she focussed on me. “Who are you?”
“Roses?”
Her eyes unfocussed. “Oh, yeah . . .”
“Want me to lick your cunt?”
She threw her hands high. “YEESSS!”
So I did.
It turned out that she didn’t need more alcohol. Her pussy was drooling, and she couldn’t stop. Our second session lasted nearly an hour, and then we both snored off.
In the morning, I made breakfast. I mean, she wasn’t in any condition still, and I can turn some mean eggs and coffee when I put my mind to it. I didn’t have pyjamas, so I made sure the blinds were closed and cooked naked. It was fun.
“Want some coffee?” I asked finally, standing over the bed. I had a steaming cup in my hand.
She stirred and sat up slowly. Her boobs were still alive, though.
She reached for the coffee. Her eyes finally found me.
“Roses,” she said. “I remember.” She took a trembling sip of the coffee. “God, do I have a hangover!”
“There’s breakfast in the kitchen,” I said, heading back that way.
“Wait!” She cried. “What time is it?”
“About six,” I said.
“You gotta be outa here by seven thirty! The maid’s coming today!”
I looked back. “Don’t think she’ll be coming as much as you did last night, sugar.”
I was eating my eggs and drinking my coffee when she stumbled in, the cup in her hand. She had on a pink negligee, but she might as well have been nude.
“Your eggs are getting cold,” I said.
She made her way to the table and collapsed in the chair.
She looked at the eggs. She looked at me. She sighed. “Do you think you could get dressed?”
“My negligee is at the cleaners.”
She picked up her fork and started working on the eggs. The first bite was slow, but then she started tearing into them.
I sipped coffee and waited. She finished.
“Thanks,” she said finally. “It was good.”
“For sure.”
Suddenly, she put her hands over her face. “What was I thinking of?”
“Sex, maybe?”
She brought her hands down. “How many times did we do it?”
“Two or three.” I finished my coffee. “You seemed to like it.”
Continue next page ……
She closed her eyes, then opened them. “I’ve got to stop denying it. I do like it. I love it! I want it!” I don’t think she was talking to me.
“So,” I said. “This means we’ll do it again, huh?” I smiled my little knowing smile.
She got up. She almost look angry as she brushed her hair back, nearly snarling. She reached out, and she grabbed my prick. “Nice cock,” she said, looking at it. She drank some hot coffee. “My husband goes out of town for three days every month.”
“Good,” I replied.
“We’ll do it next month, then, right?” She looked my square in the eye, even as her head got lower and lower.
“Sure.”
“We’ll make sure you don’t forget.”
Her mouth opened, and my prick disappeared as she rubbed my balls.
I closed my eyes. “This is better than breakfast.”
The Holman routine came around regularly in April, May, June, through the summer, and on into September. For Georgina, the routine was for one thing, and one only – to cool the hot ravages of her flaming pussy.
For me, on the other hand, it started out as a lark, with the added pleasure of a good fuck and the chance (secretly) to Get The Judge. But, as things went on, they took a darker hue. I have to admit it.
For instance, in May, Georgina tied her Comfort on so tight, she was barely coherent when I arrived the first night. Frankly, she sort of disgusted me. Moreover, I had had a run-in with my parole officer, who was something of a hard ass, and I was feeling particularly peeved at the Judge and the entire legal system. And there was Georgina, tits, ass and all, lying in a stupor.
So I took advantage of her. I’d brought a big tube of slither cream. I rubbed it on my cock, shoved some into her ass, and fucked her asshole but good.
I felt like a rapist. Well, I guess I was a rapist that night, because she wasn’t there to say yes or no. Did I feel guilty? Yes, in fact I did. I tried to make it up to her. When she woke up finally, I licked her pussy until her moans ran out.
Over breakfast (I cooked as usual), she said, “My ass feels strange.”
“How strange? Strange good or strange bad?”
“Strange like maybe you fucked me in the ass, damn it!”
“Has anyone else?” I asked.
“My husband did. Once. Just once! I was drunk and he took advantage of me.”
“I did, too.”
She looked at me. “Was it good for you?”
“Fabulous.”
“Next time, please ask permission. Okay?”
In June, she was a little less drunk. She sucked my dick, I licked her crazily, and like that. Eventually, she passed out.
By this time, though, I was getting to the point where revenge was surpassing the lure of her tits and cunt and – yes – even her ass. I admit it. So, while she was in a stupor, I brought out some rope and a few S & M toys. I tied her into an embarrassing position and eventually woke her up.
“Wha –?” she asked.
I was dressed in a mask and had a whip in my hand. “I am your master,” I announced.
“I don’t think I like this, Jimmy.”
“Bear with me.”
We did the soft porn version of S & M. By the end of night, her ass was a little red, but her pussy was drooling profusion, and I was finding it all great.
I don’t know where all of this would have gone to. We graduated up the scale of kinkiness (golden showers in July; shitting on each other in August; you name it in September). Finally, we reached October.
Then all hell broke loose.
The evening started out as usual. I arrived, bringing (as usual) a dozen roses. It was one of those things I have learned: if a woman connects you with something wonderful, keep remind her. It pays dividends. Roses were the trick for me.
I reached for the doorbell. There was a sign. “Door’s open. Come in.”
So I did.
The house was dark. Not because it was that late, but because every drape and blind in the place was drawn. The only light were small tea candles which led the way across the living room towards the bedroom.
There were sounds – strange sounds – coming from the bedroom.
I tip toed across the living room, laying the roses on the couch as I went. I reached the bedroom door and peeked around the corner.
Georgina had brought a large table into the bedroom. She was kneeling on a pillow, and both her feet and her hands were shackled, so that she couldn’t move. Her eyes were blind folded, there was a hangman’s mask over her head, and her mouth was taped shut.
She was the model of the Obedient Servant, waiting for the onslaught of the Master.
Only – there was a Master already servicing her. At least, he was trying to.
The Judge was back. His trousers were on the ground, and his hands were on his cock. A big tube of slither cream was sitting there, and his hands and cock were shiny.
And he was rubbing. “Come on, damn you! Come on!” He was coaxing his prick, except his prick wasn’t cooperating.
He wasn’t getting any help from Georgina, but there was nothing she could do. And he wasn’t looking at the door.
I went back to the kitchen got a bottle and wrapped a towel around it. I went back, worked my way around him without much effort and whacked the Judge over the head with the bottle. I went down easily.
I went over to Georgina and pulled off the tape around her mouth.
“Ouch!” she said. “What’s going on?”
“Did you do this or did he?”
“I did! It took some doing, but I managed it. What was my husband doing?”
“Trying to fuck you, looks like.”
“What did you do to him?”
I told her. I also told her what I was planning to do with him. And her. And why. And then I did it. With her permission.
I stripped all his clothes off. I took his hands and tied them with rope. I propped him up on the bed, so that he was seated with him legs apart, being held up. I moved Georgina and her shackles, so that she was on the bed, too – shackled so she couldn’t move, move an inch from his prick, ass in the air.
I dressed myself in costume – executioner’s mask, whip, boots, and otherwise naked.
Then I took a bucket of water to the Judge’s face.
He woke, blubbing and blowing.
“What? What are you doing? Who the fuck are you?”
“Shut up,” I said, solemnly. “I’m here to fuck your wife. But first, I’m going to watch her suck your dick, since you can’t get it up any other way.”
“I don’t want to suck his dick,” Georgina objected.
“Do it, bitch!” I snapped the whip over her.
“Ow! Ow!” she yelled, although I hadn’t touched her. “Yes, Master!”
She swallowed the Judge’s prick, which wasn’t much of a trick, since it was flaccid and wouldn’t get more than five inches, no matter what she did
“No, Georgina! No!” he yelled.
“Whatsa matter?” I asked. “She sucks me, and I love it. She loves dick!”
She spit out his cock. “I love dick! Fuck me, Master!”
She grabbed his prick in her mouth again and started to work him over, moaning as she did so.
“I’m going to fuck your wife, now,” I said. My prick was way out there, so it wasn’t too hard to do it. Plus her pussy was sopping. I slid right in there and starting working away.
I grabbed her tits, and pulled her off his cock.
“Fuck me!” she said. “Fuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmeeeeee!”
“Glad to,” I replied.
I have no idea what the Judge was thinking. Here was his wife in crazy get up, getting fucked wildly by a guy in crazy get up, all going on about five inches from his face. His wife was moaning and carrying on, and the guy was doing just about anything he wanted with her.
I don’t really know what Georgina wanted out of this. I think she wanted her own revenge on the Judge, which was why she was playing along with what I was doing.. But I had my own goals.
I knew what I wanted to do. So I did it.
I could feel a giant, tremendous cum mounting in my groin. And just before I brimmed over, I yanked my dick from Georgina’s pussy and aimed it straight at the Judge.
I spurted. And spurted. And spurted.
“Jesus,” Georgina said.
The Judge passed out.
I took off my mask.
“What was that all about?” Georgina asked.
“Nothing personal,” I said. “I mean, between you and me. Personal as between him and me.”
“Where’s the key to this thing?” she demanded.
“I’ll get it,” I said.
I went out, got my clothes, and got dressed. When I got back, she was really mad.
“You’ve just been fucking me,” she said.
“I thought that was the whole idea.”
As usual she was drunk. What else can I say?
“Yeah, but – " she said.
“But what?”
“What’s going to happen now?” she asked, her shackles clanking.
“I’ll leave you the key,” I said. “You’ll find out.”
The End
Pam and the Gym Teacher
Pam was thrilled. She finally managed to get out of math class. Now she could sneak out with her friends a whole hour before lunch.
She turned down the hallway and spotted Mr. DeLoy, the principal, headed in her direction. She stopped in her tracks. His face was set in an evil grimace and he was glancing side to side as he stormed down the hall. He appeared to be looking for trouble, and Pam didn’t want it to be her.
She took a shortcut through the gym to avoid him and not risk detention for skipping class. Just before he looked in her direction she ducked through the gym door and stood with her back pressed against the wall and watched through the small windows set in the doors as he walked past.
She was holding her breath and let it out in one big sigh of relief. She started to walk across the gym to the doors at the other end when she heard a voice shout, “Pam!” and froze.
But when she turned, it wasn’t DeLoy, but Jim Litton, the gym teacher.
“Are you planning to come to class today?” he asked, as he strode toward her with his arms swinging at his sides.
“I was thinking about it,” Pam said.
“You sure you’re not thinking about other things?”
“Like what?”
“Like boys.”
Pam put her hands on her hips, turning her big, innocent eyes up to him.
“Mr. Litton, do you think all I care about is boys?”
“Yes. I see you watching all the boys. I know.”
Pam grinned. “What else do you know?”
“Oh, I know a thing or two.”
Pam stepped closer to him. “Oh, yeah? I know a thing or two about you, too.”
He lowered his voice. “Like what?”
“Like how much you like to look at girls. Especially me.”
His eyebrows went up, but he remained cool. Most of the boys she knew broke into a nervous sweat when she confronted them with the possibility of sex. Litton’s unexpected reaction intrigued her.
“I know how much you like to look at my legs when I wear shorts in class.”
He chuckled and looked around.
“You don’t miss much, do you?”
“Not much.”
“I do like your legs. I like it so much more when you bend over.”
Pam was shocked by something so bold from a teacher. She struggled to look as cool as he was, even though on the inside she was so turned on her wet pussy was soaking her panties.
“What do you see when I bend over?”
She glanced down at his crotch and saw the outline of his hard penis.
“I see an ass that begs to be touched,” he said, grabbing his crotch.
His cock swelled in his pants, like a long banana stuffed in his pocket.
Pam squirmed in her tight jeans. She licked her lips. Anything was better than being busted by DeLoy. She put her hand on his crotch and rubbed it. He stiffened. His hands dropped from his hips, clenching and unclenching.
“Do you want to do it with me?” she whispered, and stroked her hand up the inside of his thigh and over the rigid bulge.
Her fingers started to work down the zipper of his pants.
“Not here,” he whispered, stopping her. “Come on.”
He took her hand and led her out the gym and across the hall to his office, with the words Athletic Director printed on the door, which he unlocked and opened. Pam was about to reach for the front of his pants again, but noticed a group of people sitting along the wall in the adjacent corridor, eating their lunches. One guy caught her eye just as she turned away and followed Litton into the office.
“I wanna see your cock,” Pam gasped, pinning Litton against the door as soon as he locked it.
Immediately her hands were pulling off his shirt and ripping open his pants.
“Why don’t you give me a blow job?”
“I will, as soon as I get your pants off.”
For some reason, she was having difficulty with the zipper on the front of his pants. She couldn’t remember ever having so much trouble getting at a cock, but his damn pants were frustrating the hell out of her.
“Goddamn it, what the hell’s wrong with your pants? I can’t get them open,” she said.
“Let me get it, you just take your clothes off.”
Pam stepped back and he yanked his zipper down and his pants hit the floor. Her face lit up when his dick jumped out. She fell to her knees in front of him, taking it deep into her mouth.
“Oh, Pam,” Litton moaned, putting his hand on top of her head. “You make me feel more like a man than any other woman I’ve ever met.”
Pam ignored his inane jabber and sucked. She didn’t care what he felt, she just wanted his cock in her mouth. She put a hand around each of his legs to help her bob her head and keep her mouth around his pole. Each time she went down, his balls slapped against her chin and the head of his cock touched the back of her throat. It wasn’t nearly as long as Ethan’s, but at the moment it was just fine.
Moaning with joy and mumbling something about being in paradise, Litton closed his hands around the sides of Pam’s head, pressing in on her ears and holding her firmly. She let him hold her head and moaned. She didn’t want him to cum in her mouth right away and go soft on her.
She pulled his cock out of her mouth and licked her way up his body, stopping at his bellybutton and his nipples. Her tongue weaved like a pink snake through the dark hair on his chest.
“If DeLoy found out what we were doing right now, he’d fire me and kick you out of school,” he said.
Pam pumped his dick in her hand.
“So don’t tell him. Let him get his own girl. I bet he’s got his hands on more girls in this school than all the guys on the football team.”
She rubbed her crotch against his thigh and he squeezed her tits. He put his hand on her ass and pulled her tight against his body.
Litton raised her shirt and was in the middle of getting her bra open when she turned away and strutted the few feet to his desk. She leaned over it, facing away from him, and arched her back while she pushed her jeans down, exposing her ass. The waist band of her jeans slid down over the round curve of her hips, revealing the tight, French cut pink bikini panties beneath. She looked back over her shoulder to see how good her ass looked, and noticed how her hair fell down her bare back almost to the edge of her panties.
With her jeans down to her knees, she hooked a finger under the edge of her panties and tugged. The elastic waistband stretched down and the rest of her panties followed, revealing her bare, white ass.
“Oh good God,” Litton mumbled.
Pam turned her eyes up to his, still looking back over her shoulder, with a pout on her lips. She bent forward a little more to let him see just a hint of her pink pussy lips hiding between her thighs. She was warm and as wet. She looked at his cock. It looked hard enough to drill through a concrete wall.
“Would you mind?” Pam whispered in a breathy, sexy, little girl’s voice. “I have a little itch down there and I just can’t reach it.”
“I’d be glad to help you out, young lady,” he said, sauntering towards her as if being led by his dick.
Pam giggled. Litton positioned himself right up to her ass and held her hips with one hand while he used the other to put the tip of his cock into her cunt.
“Little girls like you shouldn’t talk to big strangers like me. It might get you in a lot of trouble.”
Pam spread her legs a bit wider and moaned as he pushed his dick into her pussy. She leaned on her elbows on the desk and let her hair fall over her face.
“I like this kind of trouble,” she moaned, twisting her hips.
“I bet you do.”
His cock plunged into her tunnel. He held her slim waist and pressed his groin firmly against her ass. Pam pressed back.
She listened to his heavy breathing and happy grunts and watched their reflection in the glass bookcase door behind the desk. She smiled, amused by the cute expression on his face. His forehead was dotted with tiny beads of sweat, like he had just come out of a shower. His eyes were squeezed shut, which wrinkled his forehead like an old dirt road, and his lips made funny little puckering motions, all twisted and screwed up. He had a funny way of breathing in small, controlled, regulated puffs, as if he was running a marathon and needed to conserve his energy. He pumped very steadily, very regularly, and it felt very good, good enough to make her want to keep this up for a long time.
She liked the way he screwed and was glad she had taken this opportunity to make it with a man she had wanted like this for almost three years. If she had known when she was just a freshman how easy it would be to get inside his pants, she could have done this much sooner.
She thought back to the first day of gym class her freshman year, when she met Jim Litton for the first time. She remembered the way he caught her attention when he walked in by lifting and moving the band podium, something everyone else in school considered to be immovable because of its size and weight and he put it out of the way on his own without breaking a sweat. The powerful, bulging muscles in his legs and arms made her insides quiver that day, and since then she’d always wanted to put her hands on those muscles.
His hands were squeezing her hips. He quickened his pace, pumping her harder like he was close to cumming. She was panting and moaning, tightening and releasing her grip on the edge of the desk. His hard thrusts rocked her back and forth on the balls of her feet like she was a tall pole in a strong wind. Her short moans grew quicker than his thrusts, and then she began to squeal. At the same time, his steady, regular pumping became long, hard strokes, until she felt streams of warm, thick cum gushing from the end of his cock. His hips slapped her ass and she gritted her teeth, grunting each time.
He finished and breathed a long sigh of relief. Pam was breathing hard, but he was hardly worked up. He continued to poke his dick around inside her and she continued to crank her hips. His sperm churned deep inside her, making her feel warm and relaxed all over.
“Oh, yeah,” he sighed.
Pam rested her chin in her palms with a satisfied grin, while he rubbed her ass and slowly stroked her cunt with his cock. He reached under and squeezed her tits.
“You better get back to class now,” he whispered in her ear.
“I am in class. I’m in sex-ed.”
She pushed her ass up a little higher and thought she felt his cock growing hard again.
“You’re a horny fucking little girl.”
He began to fuck her faster.
“I’m not a little girl. Oh!” she gasped.
He was hard again and he was going to make her cum.
“Oh, my. Oh, yes, Mr. Litton,” she moaned, biting her lip and clawing at the desk.
She squeezed her eyes shut and groaned long and loud, absently wondering if the people out in the hall could hear them.
“Oh, yeah,” he moaned again, squirting more cum into her pussy.
They froze together in position, neither of them moaning, just breathing hard and both of them had their eyes closed.
“One more time?” Pam asked, trying to catch her breath.
“More? You got enough cum in you now to impregnate half the girls in this school. I hope you’re on the pill.”
“With that much sperm I could have twins, couldn’t I?”
She looked back over her shoulder with a smile.
“Don’t say shit like that. The last thing I need is to get a student pregnant.”
He pulled his wet cock out with a loud slurp and stuffed it back into his pants.
“I guess we’ll find out in a couple of months, won’t we?”
Pam remained leaning over the desk with her ass in the air. The cool air against her warm cunt felt nice.
“How old are you?”
Pam laughed and stood up. “Eighteen.”
“Jesus, I’m fucked.”
“So am I,” Pam said nonchalantly, checking the flow of sperm from her cunt. “You did give me a lot,” she said, with her hand between her thighs. “This is gonna feel good all day.”
She slowly pulled her panties up while he stood by the door and watched. She pulled the pink fabric snug against her crotch and his sperm quickly soaked through, making a large, dark stain. She pulled her tight jeans up over her hips, swaying her hips from side to side to slide them on. She rehooked her bra, adjusting it over her tits and pulled her shirt back down. In only moments there was a small wet stain in the crotch of her jeans.
“Anytime you want some more of that sperm, you just stop by and tell me. My dick’s always hard for you,” he said.
Pam smiled and reached between his legs.
“Goddamn, it is hard. You’re like a fountain of sperm, aren’t you?”
She was just about to get down and suck his cock again, but he opened the door and the people sitting out in the hallway looked up at them. She quickly took a serious attitude to hide what they were really doing.
“Thank you, Mr. Litton,” she said and walked away just as the lunch bell rang and all the students jumped up to go to their next class.