Finally, after making my pussy so wet it stained the front of his pants, Mr. Levine backed away and tried with trembling fingers to unzip his fly. "It's stuck," he choked. "The fucking cocksucker's stuck and I can't get my… my…"
"Let me." I came off the desk, turned. Swiftly I unzipped his fly. He shivered as I groped inside for his cock. It was a big one. Not nearly as big as Daddy's magnificent tool, but much, much longer and fatter, much more pleasing than the one I'd felt earlier in Vic's pants. I watched his knees buckle when I took it out and jerked.
A sudden change came over timid Mr. Levine. Taking hold of my shoulders, he pushed me against the desk. I fell, thighs apart, legs on either side of his. Frantic, eyes closed tight, hands gripping my hips, he tried to ram his stiff shaft up my pussy. The glans flattened against my mound, missing the mark. He trembled and strained, rutted and missed, and tried again and again, to no avail.
"Let me. Let meee!" I pleaded, unable to keep the excitement out of my voice. It was happening at last. The trampoline was about to be tested, pounced upon and shredded by the tip of Mr. Levine's anxious cock. I made him back away, giving me room, and shimmied my ass farther back on the desktop. Papers rustled. The desk calendar fell to the floor. I lay back, opened and brought my knees up to my breasts. My pussy gaped wide. I reached for his pole.
Mr. Levine's breath caught when my small fingers closed tight around him. He stared down at my pussy. His trembling hand covered the hairy mound, rubbed. His middle finger went easily into the wet lips of my cunt. "Oh Sorrowful Saviour," he wailed, working my clit with his thumb. "Mother-fucking Merciful Mary," he cried, fingers lubricating my channel, stepping close, allowing me to guide him.
My arm went around his neck. I pulled his face down, lips to lips, and steered the hot head of his dick to my pussy. I was wide open, dripping wet. The glans, the nozzle tip of his shaft, disappeared as if there were a Hoover sucking him into my belly. He kneaded my breasts, moved his hands to my waist, to my hips, to the softness and quivering whiteness of my ass. He thrust-fingers again on my mound, cock blazing a trail in the pocket of my thighs. The head glided past the short outer foyer, raking my clit, pushing, pushing, retreating and grinding its way to the tight upper gate.
I thrashed about on the desktop. My back ached. My legs were leaden. But my cunt was experiencing incredible electric sensations… drawing his meat to the barrier… closer and closer… snapping with feathery teeth. I moaned. I screamed into his mouth. I lifted my hips, churned my ass, twisted and cried and pleaded for the stroke that would rend.
With his throbbing dick buried almost to the roots in my sheath, Mr. Levine tore his mouth from mine. He caught me in the crook of the knees, lifting the weight off my arched back. Wheezing, nipping the smooth shaft with my inner cunt muscles, I stared down at the log protruding from my triangle of hair. It was impossible! Utterly devastating! There were at least six inches of man-meat in my belly… another thick inch to go. And yet my fucking stupid cherry was still intact.
"Fuck it!" I yelped. "Fuck it all the way. into me!"
Whining deep in his throat, holding my legs in the crook of his arms, Mr. Hotsy Levine moved his hands along the soft underside of my thighs. He retreated and plowed, obviously enjoying the sight of my cunt lips engorged, stretched to the width and thickness of his bloated meat. He pulled back until only the glans remained wedged in my tightness and drove the last hard inch up my slippery channel.
"Fuck it more!" I cried. I was drunk with the delicious feeling of hot meat in my hole. I could feel the glans at the barrier, butting the membrane. "Fuck it! Fuck it!" I demanded, wanting to feel the nozzle tip burst through. "Bust me open. Hard! Harder! Oh, yes. O WWWWWWWWW!"
I was coming. I was pissing juices despite the stubborn obstruction that refused to give. I thrashed about wildly on the desktop, working my hips, my vagina. I had popped off many times in the few short weeks since Daddy's dick first entered my mouth, had felt cocks in my hand, mouth and asshole, had experienced finger-fuck comes, lapping comes, self-induced and outside assisted orgasms. But never before a body sensation like this one. Never before so totally good. The top of my head flew off, spun in midair, and screwed itself back with a thud. My belly turned over. My heart did a cha-cha and stopped, started, stopped. The lips of my tight little love hole puckered in and then puffed themselves out, and the cute curly hairs on the mound of my pussy twanged.
Mr. Levine's body grew suddenly rigid. He dug his fingernails into the tender flesh of my buttocks. He drove harder-pistoning short strokes into my vulva. Then he planted his cock to the roots, opened his mouth and screamed a silent proclamation, and ground off a hot liquid blast of sticky semen.
His cum flooded my cunt. It rolled and wiggled its spermy tail all the way to my throat. It seeped out and oozed down my buttocks as he thrusted several times more, emptying his sacs. He looked skyward, loudly proclaiming, "Oh Lord, that's some good fucking pussy. Sweet mother fucking cunt of Mary-that's great young stuff!"
When it was over, after Mr. Horny Levine unsheathed his limp cock, I sat on the desktop and demanded my panties. He fetched them from the floor. I used the soft nylon to wipe the spunk from my twat. Boy! I thought, still feeling the tingles inside, that was some fucking tough trampoline! I suspected the added elasticity was Daddy's fault. The day before, while teasing me, poking the membrane with his gargantuan tool, he'd no doubt stretched it so thoroughly, made it so pliant, it now would require the flagpole on the library across from the school to uncherry me.
I had a horrible vision. I saw myself, eighty years old, picketing Daddy's athletic club… with a sign that read CHERRY!!
We had completed our desktop escapade none too soon. For as I sat at my desk and hid the soggy panties in my purse, as Mr. Levine zipped his fly, the hall door flew open. In walked Vic. He grinned at me.
"Er-ah. Excuse me, please." Mr. Levine, using a sheaf of papers to hide the cum stains all over the front of his pants, hurried past Vic out of the classroom and down the hall to the men's room.
Vic eyed me. He walked casually around the desks, weaving in and out, tracing a design with his forefinger here, opening an inkwell there, until he stood over me. "I… ah… came back early," he announced. "I couldn't get you out of my head. What you… ah… said."
I stared at his pants. Today was some hotsy day, I thought. there I was, cunt still sopping wet from fucking, soft behind flattened on the wooden seat-a wreck, I supposed, hair mussed, dress wrinkled, sweaty-and another dick was popping its cork near my face. Did all fourteen-year-olds get as many opportunities to suck and screw and asshole fuck, I wondered. Even the ugly, flat-chested ones, and those like Debbie, who, only the week before, had sprouted the first curly black hair on her twat?
"I was thinking… ah." Vic cast a furtive glance at the cloakroom.
I felt like teasing. I ran one finger up the inside of his pants leg. My thumbnail grazed his hot crotch. His peg jumped. I turned sideways in the seat. The hemline of the micro barely reached the top of my thighs. Slowly I parted my knees and watched his eyes grow large. "I've got an itch there," I told him.
Vic gulped. "Manage! Jesu Cristo! Madonna Dio!"
I took hold of his ping-pong paddle hand and guided it up the inside of my thigh, to my pussy, while he continued to rattle off in singsong Italian. I had no idea what he was talking about, but it sounded very reverent. I had noticed that about men. The mere sniff of a cunt, a glimpse of an ass, a tittie, made them sort of religious. I was gathering notes in my head… for the book, I mean.
"We better… ah… go in the cloakroom." Vic's hand cupped my pussy. Squeezed.
Of course, I stood, excited and curious about the little thing in his pants, and let him lead me by the hand, around desks, to the back of the classroom. Was he circumcised, I wondered. Uncircumcised? Veiny? Smooth? I had been fucking around with man-meat, mature cock, and, although I'd felt a peg or two at the pool, and me and Debbie had peeked in the locker room, where the boys changed, I had never examined a young prick close up. Now I stepped into the dark cloakroom, Vic's hand exploring my ass, anticipating the taste, the feel, the smell, the exquisite sensation of pubic hair in my face.