neath it. "Hey, take it easy, baby," I cautioned her, afraid she might go out of her skull completely and rip my prick off. She took hold of the cock about midway down and jerked on it, getting the sperm dribbling down so it would be nice and wet when I came to stick it into her. It would have been pure sadism to make her wait any longer, so I shimmied up against the open gash. She kept her hold on my cock even then, and with her other hand encircled my bare, clenching buttocks. She pushed several fingers into the cleft between my cheeks, scratching through the tangled hairs and touching my asshole. "Fuck me, fuck me," she mumbled feverishly. She bent my organ downward, down to the hairy lips and in through the sweating, pulsing portals. The cunt squeezed in on me immediately, and it sent a thrill like an electric shock stinging through my body. I held it there where she caught me, three or four inches inside, and I began to move it around in small circles, around and around a half dozen times or so, loosening her up, building up my strength. And then I lunged up, really giving it to her, driving my entire length into her. She gasped and her head shook about raggedly as she screamed, "Yes, yes, that's -"the way!" I arched back, letting my cock slide out again as far as the head. And then I jammed it all back in on another powerful, violent drive. She tossed about below me, nearly out of her mind from the pleasure of it. Again I arched back, and I could feel her cunt draining its fluid, the sticky juice flowing over her thighs, sticking in the hairs on my testicles,her cunt emptying out as I took my cock out. And then I stabbed the whole throbbing yard back through her boiling, bubbling center. Back and forth, in and out, increasing speed as I gathered my strength, sucked in a deep breath. The long, hard shaft of my cock flowed back and forth through her sexual plumbing like a piston, in and out, again, again. I felt my tides rising, my balls tightening, ready to explode inside that deep channel. I had been through a lot in the past twenty-four hours, and I was not in shape for any sheer endurance tests. But that was all right: Miss Honeywell had gotten more than her share of pleasure out of our relationship, and I couldn't be faulted for my performance, no matter how physically exhausted it left me. My pumping still went faster and faster, moving for the finish line. Miss Honeywell widened her thighs as far as she could, leaving her cunt open so far I could sink inside her practically to the hips. I pounded her, again, again, drilling that lovely scientist's orgasmic pussy, feeling her erupt around me, heated, flooded. Now she lifted her ass up off the ground and smacked her groin against mine. It was like two trains crashing together, the force of it rattling through us from head to toe. Her cunt sheathed my stabbing sword right up to the hilt. In and out, fucking, pumping, back and forth. She clawed at my bare back, but I couldn't feel anything but pleasure, flowing up from my crotch, filling my head. On and on it went, there in the woods, by the stream, with nothing but all of nature watching us. All good things must come to an end, and in this case it ended with me coming. Sperm poured out of me, and I pumped up hard against her. Another discharge followed close, even more of the hot liquid this time. It took my breath away. I thought I was going to pass out. Miss Honeywell, needless to say, screamed wildly, her nails gripping my clenching buttocks, holding me tight against her cunt as she caught each burst of sperm. And I still pumped, back and forth, my come ripping through her, turning her insides into a river, flooded with my boiling, steaming essence. At last it subsided. I collapsed in her arms and she held me tightly against her. "Great, just great," I panted inanely at her. "Y-yes," she agreed. I sneezed convulsively, right in her face, sad to say. Then I rolled off of her and sat up. It was really much too chilly on that mountain for lying around in the nude, even though these particular circumstances were worth a certain risk. And I didn't want to catch something that could infect the whole school, and all those fragile teenyboppers. "We better get dressed," I said, and informed her of my fears. "We don’t want to catch pneumonia, Miss Honeywell. I don’t think Mr. Hoag would appreciate that.” "No," she smiled shyly. "I don't suppose he would understand, if we both happened to catch it at the same time. It might make him a little suspicious about the circumstances of this nature hike we've taken." "Is Mr. Hoag the suspicious type?" "In a way." "What way?" "Oh, he changes. Moody, you might say. Sometimes he is very charming and friendly, the perfect employer or host, like last night, for instance. But he does have a temper. Sometimes, if he becomes angered by a student or a teacher he can become almost violent. Sometimes, very violent." "Like when?" "Well, once he thrashed a girl, actually struck her several times. She had done something wrong, some minor infringement of the rules, and he was scolding her in his office. She became surly, or so he claims, and he slapped her. She then used some vile language on him and he began to beat her, slapping her in the face and punching her in the chest." "What did the girl do?" "Nothing, as far as I know. She wasn't very big, no, a very petite girl, as I recall, and I suppose she was so shocked by what was happening that she couldn't think to do anything except try and protect herself. Well, really," Miss Honeywell sighed, "it was quite an extraordinary thing to have happen, unprecedented you might say." "Who broke up this weird brawl?" "His secretary and the receptionist heard the commotion and looked in. Mr. Hoag fell back away from the girl, and he was all pink-I mean, pinker than he usually is. He was shaken, and the receptionist thought he was having a stroke." "And what about the girl?" "Yes, the girl… when they came in, she was curled up under a chair. The odd thing was, so Linda told me, that the girl had her dress pushed up above her waist, and her panties were halfway down her bottom. They assumed that she had gotten that way during the struggle, and didn't think anything of it. Mr. Hoag, when they get him into his chair, started shouting that the child was a witch and had cursed him and thrown things at him. He told them to take her out and have her expelled at once, sent home. The two women didn't want him any more upset than he was, so they ushered her out, but just as she was leaving, the girl screamed that Mr. Hoag was… a dirty rapist!" "Aha! So the old goat was trying to sow some senile oats on the poor nymphet, but she wouldn't have it. That's very interesting. Puts the old bastard in a whole new light. What did you say the girl's name was?" "Her name? It was Vicki… yes, Vicki Gray." "Vicki Gray," I repeated, storing the name away as I always did interesting information like that; one never knows when it might come in handy. "We didn't believe the girl," Miss Honeywell said, reaching out for some of her articles of clothing. "Linda said she was probably just trying to get even with Hoag for hitting her and expelling her. She never repeated the charge anywhere, so we assumed she was lying. You don't… you don't really think it could be the truth, do you?" "No… no, I doubt it. Why would an old coot like that want one of the young ones? He's got an attractive wife already. She's probably more than enough for him." "I don't think Mrs. Hoag is very happy," she said. "Why not?" I said innocently, knowing quite well one reason why Mrs. Hoag wasn't happy. It took a strapping fellow like myself to bring a little happiness into her lovelorn life. And I think she would have enjoyed a lot more of the same. "I don't think they have a very good marriage. He loves her, I suppose, in his way, but he resents her youth and vitality and his growing infirmity." "Then he should have married somebody, older than he is, then he could always feel young by comparison." Miss Honeywell chuckled. "But men don't usually do that, do they? No, an attractive woman like Mrs. Hoag seemed… well, more attractive to him as a prospective wife." "And why would an attractive woman marry him?" "Oh, I don't like to gossip, Mr. Eastman. But I suppose the fact that Mr. Hoag is a very wealthy man increases his appeal. She is sure to outlive him and at that time she will inherit his fortune. Unless something happens in the meantime to make him turn against her." "What could happen?" I asked guiltily. "I don't know," she shrugged. "Anything. She is a young woman. Women do have certain… cravings. As I have begun to understand more fully, since meeting you." I laughed and gave her a loving kiss on the lips. Then we both stood up and got dressed. And what a relief it was to have clothes on my back again. The chill was beginning to reach my bones. We traced a new path back down the mountain, and again Miss Honeywell pointed out all the local flora and fauna, as if I gave a damn whether we passed a Venus flytrap or plastic flowers. She was an odd one. But one thing was certain, she was indeed every bit as horny as the rest of them at Mountainview. And I had only met the tip of the iceberg. We came down out of the woods onto the road, just fifty yards up from the school. We parted there, as Miss Honeywell said she had to go to the library for some research. She looked around to see if anybody was coming or watching us, then she stole a quick kiss. "Goodbye, Mr. Eastman. It has been… interesting." "So long, Miss Honeywell. Interesting is the word for it." And I turned and walked to my house.