Kinky Schoolteacher Pt. 04

Kinky Miss V. lubed him up with olive oil, rubbing the dark green substance into his cock from tip to root, one hand after the other, all the way to the cock ring now beginning to strangle his hardening dick.

Dylan let himself gargle a bit with the pleasure of it. Blood surged into his penis, elongating it to its full eleven inches. It narrowed at the base, squeezed in by the cock ring.

Miss V. went about the handjob with adamancy and skill, using the hand she held the base with also to scratch and stimulate his balls, and pumping across his lubed upper dick, focusing on the dark head and neck. When his dick contracted, he felt the ring's constriction acutely.

Miss V. blew him a little, smiling at and around his dick, which was taking on a purple tint.

Dylan wondered if he would be able to blow his load, or if it would be trapped inside him. She spat an oily gob back onto the hood of his wiener, rubbed it in, squeezed a little tighter and gave it a thorough whisking before stopping all of a sudden.

"One more thing," she said, backing away. As she walked across the room, she unclipped her bra with her left hand and shrugged it off onto the carpet. For a split second, his gaze was transfixed by the fallen object, sitting there so impromptu like a symbol of something so pleasurable it could kill you if you held it too tightly.

This cock ring was holding him quite tightly, though. He tugged at it and adjusted it, hoping for relief.

Miss V. came back holding up a container of tooth floss, unspooling a foot and a half of it with her right hand.

"You're gonna have to trust me, my young champion. This is for your own good."

He watched in disbelief and consternation as she tightly wrapped the tooth floss around the top of his cock, right below the hood. It squeezed really tightly, generating heat on the surface of his erection.

She poured another pool of olive oil into her palm, adding more mess to the poor living room carpeting. Dylan, in a tight squeeze right now, took refuge in staring off at her breasts. They were delectable, the deeply tan skin of them, the quarter-sized areolas dominated almost entirely by nipping buds. They jiggled and joggled with the movement of her jerking hand.

His gaze sunk down into her lap, while the strangled pleasure of his body threatened to overcome him like sleep. The concealment of her pussy, behind the white fabric of her thong, made it all the more enticing. He tried to picture the vagina from memory, held her pink iris in mind while his eyes devoured the sight of the bulge it made there in that perfect spot, between her voluminous thighs, the center of her hourglass figure.

The clock was ticking, and soon enough his O was going to arrive, whatever that might look like in this cock ring and loop of dental floss.

He closed his eyes. She stroke stroke stroked. It was fast, furious, dangerous, fun. Her eyes burned with a dark Latin light. She bared her teeth and purred. She started fully two-fisting him, working both hands together mostly but also syncopating the rhythms sometimes too.

"You're good at this," he said, and she was impressed by his ability to compliment her.

Sure to reward his good behavior, she stood up on her knees and with one hand still jerking him, she pulled down her thong so that half of it was stretched halfway down her thigh. Her pussy lips popped out. They were gleaming with sexual perspiration. "I want to be the only one who knows how to work this beautiful, epic cock."

"You make me look like an amateur, the way you do it."

"Kudos to you for seeing that," Miss V. said. Her eyes widened for a moment. "You're close. I can feel it."

The first shot always carried the longest flight, in Dylan's experience. But when the convulsion that signalled the beginning of his orgasm came, nothing shot out of his dick at all.

Miss V. felt the arrival of his mighty O, and she went straight away to get the cock ring off in time. It took all the strength in her fingers to dig down into the turf of his shaft and get enough of a grip on the cock ring from both sides to drag it off him. Tossing the ring aside, she gave him a handful more of oily strokes. He felt his orgasm going on, a cold shivering feeling rising up from the ground of his being, filling him with a joyously relaxed lightness.

She found the loose end of the tooth floss wrap at the same time his held-back load progressed up into the tube of his shaft. She unraveled it as fast as she could, flicked it off her finger, grabbed his cock again, and finished him off the way she had started.

Dylan felt himself emptying new jizz behind the withheld load. His dick both drooled heavily and shot wildly, no end to his expelling. The ejaculate sprayed first across her cheek, then up over her right eye, then straight in her gaping mouth, then onto her chin. The rest sobbed straight down, some of it streaking whitely across his scrotum.

He laughed a single chuckle, glanced over at her, then she laughed a fit, and he started to guffaw after. The joys of fucking were a whole world, and after having a bunch of tame, local experiences with girls his own age, he was finally discovering something breathtaking, the exotic terrain of Kinky Miss Villaneuve's physicality, imagination, and home.

"Can we cuddle for a while, before I have to leave?"

"Of course we can, baby boy," Miss V. said, surprised by his burgeoning affection for her. Maybe her decision to be a sexual mentor for this 18-year-old pervert student of hers was there right one, after all. She pulled him up to her breast, and he lay his head there, listening to her heart-beat as it slowed into its resting state.

"Thank you for doing that for me today," she said. "You were brave to let me strangle you like that. I'm going to make it up to you next time."

"Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow." She ran her fingernails through his hair, scratching his scalp. He played with her nipple, getting it to harden up. She kissed his forehead. There was nothing more to be done, in the best way possible.

He felt tender on many levels and wasn't even tempted to masturbate for the rest of the day. He justified his lack of desire as not anything to do with his feelings for Miss V., but as a result of the beating his meat had taken, the hard squeeze. He needed to recover.

He didn't want to have dinner with his parents, didn't want to see them in a worse way than usual, but when his dad came a-knocking, Dylan knew he wasn't getting out of anything.

"What did you do when you went out earlier?"

"Played basketball at the park, ate out at Kwik Trip."

"You're not doing drugs are you?" his dad continued.

"Would you believe me if I said I'm not?"

"I would like to hope I could."

"I'm not doing drugs, dad. I'm just a horny teenager who doesn't know what to do with himself."

"Oh honey," his mom chimed in. "We can find professional help for that. Your dad and I are willing to pay for a therapist."

"No way. I'm not spilling my guts on my sex life to some dirty old shrink who probably hasn't seen his own dick for the past thirty years."

"What if we found you a lady therapist, someone you can trust, who will listen to you and not judge you. You know she can't tell anyone whatever you say, patient confidentiality."

He thought about that for a second, fantasized an emerging sex scene between himself and a forty-some year-old woman with a decent body for her age and good looks in her experienced way. The whole fantasy, following the trend of pornography everywhere, from talking to sucking to fucking to the cumshot at the end, lasted about three seconds in real time, but its teeth had obviously sunk into him, because he responded, "Sure. I'll do it if it's a young woman. Well as long as she's not fifty yet."

"Dylan, I'm so proud of you right now," his mother beamed. "It takes real courage to admit when you're wrong and seek help. I love you for it."

"I love you too, Mom. I think we both love each other a little too much, in our own ways."

Dylan's dad couldn't let that comment sit, said, "It's decided then. We'll make some phone calls tomorrow."

Dylan couldn't wait for tomorrow, and not because he was getting a, potentially hot and horny, therapist, but because Miss V., ready and waiting, had something special in store for him.

He checked his phone last thing before sleep. She had left him a message, with three photos: one of her vagina, its wrinkled lips frozen in time, one of her ass in the white thong, thrust out toward the camera, and one of her pretty face, sharing a warm, engaging smile with him.

He lay awake, too full of anticipation, and thought about things. He wondered, eventually, about his classmates May and June, what they were each doing right now. The answer was probably sleeping, but he imagined them kept awake by the thoughts of his dick, which had went off in their proximity, if not in direct view, many times by now.

He had already thought every thought he could about his Kinky Miss V., and now he was on to May and June, who he knew to have had a sex party with four of the other guys on the basketball team. Why had those sluts rejected him? By jacking off right next to them, he was obviously crying for help, sending out a sexual S.O.S. How was he unworthy of the gratification they could offer him? They could've had a threesome: he had enough stamina for two.

He hoped they saw his empty desk while he was on suspension and felt a tinge of regret or remorse. Instead of turning him over to the mercy of Miss Villaneuve, blessing though that may have been, they could've done so much to help him. It was a cold, cold world. Those bitches, he thought, don't deserve better than me.

Finally, he fell asleep, and it was Friday.

TO BE CONTINUED