Can't Say No Ch. 07

In front of him, Jessie let out an involuntary yelp, and his dick pulsed in response. The thrust left his dick completely enveloped inside her, and the tightness clamped down on him was irresistible.

Another warning pulsed in his groin, and he tensed himself to hang on. Buried all the way inside her, he couldn't afford any sudden movements. Holding his breath, he waited, balls to butt, until the threat of orgasm receded.

He exhaled in relief, commending his own restraint. Normally he wouldn't have thought twice about finishing quickly, but this time he was determined to savor the thrill of anal sex.

Through his ordeal, Jessie had held mercifully still. A sudden move from her might've ended things. Fortunately, she'd stood stock still. Now that he was safe from a hasty ending, he let himself admire her again.

She was perfect. Bent over, open and inviting, elbows planted on his desk, knees knocked ever so slightly inward. Her skin was tan and smooth, probably from a summer spent outdoors. The roundness of her butt indicated a level of fitness few people achieved, especially not Mr. Stephenson.

She likes to act so obedient, he thought, but the indifference in her stance struck him as defiance. Sometimes there were girls like that, who tried to remain aloof, even while you fucked them. No, she did not get to ignore him, instead she would experience the full brunt of his passion. He gritted his teeth, determined to redouble his efforts. When he was done, she wouldn't be able to stand. At the very least, she was going to leave very, very sore.

I gritted my teeth while my body rocked to a steady rhythm. Before, I'd considered Mr. Stephenson passive to the point of laziness, but I was slowly being forced to revise my opinion. Cursing, I lamented whatever had given him such an unusual burst of energy.

"Ooh," I groaned through my mouth. My butt had not adjusted to the sensation of repeated intrusion, and to say I was uncomfortable was an understatement.

The tug on my hair wasn't enough to distract me as Mr. Stephenson thrust again, sending sparks of discomfort through my insides. A dull ache had formed on my scalp, and still, Mr. Stephenson hadn't taken his hand off my ponytail, he continued to pull my head up uncomfortably. It would've been easier if he let me lay my head on the desk. Then I could close my eyes and pretend I was somewhere else. Despite the pain, I continued to stand as instructed, elbows on his desk.

I wasn't sure how more I could take, but I knew it wasn't much. Unfortunately, leaving wasn't an option, no more than nicely asking for Mr. Stepheson to stop was. The longer I stayed bent over his desk, the more I realized he wasn't going to let up. I was stuck here.

A dismaying thought occurred to me. What if the bell to end 3^rd hour rang and I was still bent over this desk? I couldn't let that happen.

Losing sucked. I hated it. In my whole high school career, I'd only lost a couple of soccer games, and I could still remember both of them. Then there were other games, games I'd come close to losing but had won instead. They were a lot like this, I was sore and tired, and I wanted to go home. Of course, going home wasn't an option, I was stuck here. So, I could either lose, or I could put in the effort. As always, the choice was easy.

Exerting myself, I pushed my hips back and met Mr. Stephenson's thrust. There was a loud smack as our flesh slapped together. I ignored the increased jolt of discomfort.

Somewhere behind me, Mr. Stephenson inhaled in surprise, but he had already built up a steady pace and was pulling back again. He would push forward again at any moment.

Forcing myself, I let out the type of moan that would have thrilled my perverted neighbor Mr. Lunder. Again, I threw my hips back to meet Mr. Stephenson's push. Our bodies clapped with momentum.

This time something changed. He bucked chaotically as he pushed forward. Sensing my opportunity, I pushed harder, moaning all the while. You like that, you arrogant prick?

The hand on my ponytail squeezed shut like a vice, locking my head in place, "I'm going to cum--I'm going to cum." The pitch of his voice wobbled erratically as his breath washed over my ear. Instinctively I clenched my muscles as he slammed forward. I felt, rather than saw as he collapsed on top of me.

Inside me, his dick thrashed as my surprised muscles clamped down on him, and warmth flooded my rectum. The groans of Mr. Stephenson's orgasm sounded in my ears as he filled me up. It must have been a good one, because he was loud. Louder than I'd ever heard him. I hated how much he enjoyed it.

My pussy throbbed, untouched. He was undoubtedly leaving a mess inside me, but from my position I couldn't see anything.

Even under normal circumstances, it wouldn't have been easy to stand with Mr. Stephenson's weight on me. As it was, insides stretched out completely, muscles sore, my legs started to shake. I'd been bent over for a long time. I cried out in a high-pitched wail--a sound I'd never heard myself make--it sounded pitiful to my ears. With horror, I realized my quaking legs were about to give out. Too embarrassed, I didn't say anything.

My knees buckled, and I collapsed face first over Mr. Stephenson's desk. Blood rushing to my head.

Mr. Stephenson lingered where he was, dick still wet inside of me. Hand grasping my ponytail, he pulled my face to the side, forcing my head sideways so I was looking over at the other wall.

Through the corner of my eye, I saw him look at me. He dropped his head so it touched mine and our cheeks pressed together. He rubbed his face on mine causing stubble to poke me uncomfortably. I whimpered mildly. Too exhausted to fend him off.

His weight pinned me to the desk. As I lay there, I came to a decision. I wasn't going to let this scrawny prick impregnate me. I was going to find a way out, today.