Making a Fresh Start

Miss Sumner was not quite sure how she had ended up like that, again, but there she was, in her classroom, just before five in the afternoon, leaning over her desk, resting on her elbows, skirt up, blouse open, boobs exposed. Mind you, she was too busy fighting to hold off the immense orgasm that was poised to overwhelm her to give the how and why of her situation much consideration. She set her jaw in concentration, mewing softly, gritting her teeth – thrusting her hips back against the pounding of Mr. Thacker's rigid cock, that filled and stretched her pussy.

Random thoughts crossed her mind, like leaves in the wind: "I hope I locked the door."

"I hope the janitor doesn't let himself in."

"I hope I can hold off cumming until Mr. Thacker gets there."

"I hope my IUD works."

As her arousal built – steadily, inexorably – she gave voice to her growing excitement with whimpers and gasps: "Oh! Oh! OH! Ooooh!" His hands firmly gripping her hips, her partner hammered his way toward ecstasy, slowing down from time to time – reaching around to pinch her nipple, or swirl a finger around her clit – until his cadence began to pick up one last time, accelerating toward climax. Abruptly, he pulled her tight, pumping his seed deep into her welcoming womb.

She couldn't stand it! She absolutely loved it – an intensity she had never before experienced. Although, she realized, it really had very little to do with love; lust yes – craziness, maybe – but not love."

Brett Thacker was a financier – a handsome and successful, thirty-something investment broker. He had come in to Miss Sumner's classroom to get some last-minute advice for his, for lack of a better term, step-daughter's changing circumstances – consequences of the fact Brett had just recently gotten engaged to her mother. Brett and his fiancé, Coral – Coraline formally, Cori affectionately – his girlfriend of several years, were, as part of the acceptance of his proposal, relocating – moving across the country at the end of the week, to make a fresh start. And Megan – Coral's eighteen-year-old daughter – was staying behind to finish her senior year. However, at that moment, in the throes of passion, any advice was long forgotten.

Brett had always been kind of aware of his attractiveness to the women he met – his devilish good looks and disarmingly friendly disposition – but he didn't realize how much he exuded sexuality. Although he seemed to possess an innate ability to charm the pants off – both literally and figuratively – pretty much any female, he never actually gave it a lot of thought. Nonetheless, his sexual attraction of the attention of the fairer sex was, at times, preternatural. He virtually radiated a rakish charm; truth was, inexplicably and unbeknownst to him, he secreted a potent pheromone – emitting a sort of aphrodisiac 'scent'. It had no noticeable odor but was subconsciously detectable – below olfactory perception – with a devastatingly powerful effect.

Indeed, all of his adult life, since adolescence, it had always been, to some degree, a problem – if one could call it that. While up until this week it had generally been sporadic, his uncanny attractiveness was becoming increasingly noticeable. Perhaps it was the relief of having accepted a transfer and promotion, the first step toward the new chapter in his life, that had resulted in an increasingly strong and steady release of his personal pheromone. In any case, its aphrodisiac effect had become unprecedented. In the past, the effect on women had been so varied – from imbuing them with a slight feeling of horniness to inciting a blind lust – that he never knew what to expect. Hence, the situation – some horny woman throwing herself at him – was perhaps novel, but not really unusual. He'd learned, however unconsciously, if he expected nothing and anticipated anything, he'd always be mildly, pleasantly surprised. So, he didn't even question the fact that there he was banging away at this pretty young teacher.

Furthermore, it was the second time in as many weeks, and Miss Sumner still didn't understand why she was doing it. Somehow, she just felt charmed – or mesmerized. Both times in her classroom, after school, risking goodness knew what! Nonetheless, at that particular moment, she was far too busy focusing on the impending climax to give it much thought.

Brett could feel it, too. His perception narrowed to a churning glow as his rhythm steadily accelerated; while an intense ball of sparkling energy materialized at the bottom of Miss Sumner's spine, precipitating arcing discharges through her chest out through her engorged nipples. "Oh! Oh! Oh!" Their gasps came in unison, as they surrendered themselves to the blinding rush of sensation that inundated them.

"Aaarrrghhh," Brett howled, unsuccessfully trying to stifle his shout, as he pulled her hips tight against his pubis, jetting torrents of semen deep into Miss Sumner's vagina. At the first splash of hot cum against her cervix, the young teacher exploded in orgasm, writhing and squealing, her body jolting her chest heaving, her eyes swimming, as wave after wave of blinding ecstasy swept away her awareness, eventually leaving her in a stunned trance.

As Brett recovered he muttered inconsequentials such as: "Good to meet with you again," and "I'll get in touch if I need anything else." Doing up, and tucking himself in, he slipped out, leaving her panting in a disheveled sprawl. In consideration of her current state, he locked the door behind himself.

Whistling under his breath, as he left the school, Brett no longer even thought about the wonder of his sexual proclivity – of his apparently endless stamina. He knew he could cum two, three – four times in an hour; could – and sometimes did – cum six or seven times a day, easy. Still, he marveled at his predicament; one might say good luck. His Monday was turning out to be quite the day. Miss Sumner was, in fact, his third spontaneous fuck – third before dinner!

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Brett idly reviewed the other two incidents in his head. The first was mid-morning. As he had left the CEO's office, whom, having just reviewed his transfer, had accepted it, with regrets, one of the VPs called to him through her office doorway. "Brett! Brett," rising from her desk, she beckoned him in. "Could I just have a word with you?" she asked as she stepped around to close the door behind him. "I understand you're leaving us," she stated, her voice taking on a bit of a dreamy quality, "and I wanted to give you something before you go." Looking up, her gaze rivetted him, a sort of enchanted glaze sweeping over her eyes as she loosened his tie. Then, ever so slowly, she began to lower herself into a crouch. Letting go of his tie, and dropping her gaze, she began fiddling with the fly front of Brett's slacks. Looking down on the top of her head as she fished out his thickening tool, Brett just stood and watched, understanding that there was no point in saying anything.

After eying his growing erection, assessing it for a moment, the VP – Ms W, Bett called her; though not to her face – leaned in and gently but authoritatively took him into her mouth. Stifling a moan, Brett felt his hips thrust spasmodically as she pushed herself onto and along his stiffening rod, slowly consuming his growing length, until her lips and nose lay cushioned in his pubes. Hesitating just long enough to swirl her tongue around the base of his cock, she slowly withdrew, then, drawing back to the flange of his cockhead, she began to bob back onto him, taking up a truly energetic felatio.

My, but that woman could suck dick! Unexpectedly from someone so... well... mature; someone who was otherwise seemed rather tight-assed. Brett could feel his juices rising, and it wasn't long before he hissed, "I'm gonna..." Before he could even complete the thought, Ms W fairly jammed herself against his pubis, holding his spitting tool deep in her throat. He was almost embarrassed at how fast he had cum, but, as soon as he finished spurting, she took up her oral caresses once more.

Embarrassment turned to pride at how very firm he stayed, especially after coming as hard as he did. Smiling to himself, Brett gently took her by the arms and raised his VP to her feet. Gracefully, he spun her around so that she was perched, sitting on the front edge of her desk, and, acting out what had, at one time or another, been an idle daydream-fantasy, he fucked her – fucked her hard!

Opening her jacket, he pinched and twisted her nipples through her blouse, leaning in, occasionally, to bite one the other – leaving wet spots on the crisp white material. Ms W responded enthusiastically, fighting to keep the noise down, until she could hold back no more. She came in whimpers and squeaks, pulling him along with her. Leaning back onto her arms propped up on her desk-top, the VP watched Brett, with an enigmatic look in her eye. Brett, returned her gaze for a moment, then, ever so slowly, he pulled out, not wishing to disturb the quiet afterglow.

"Good luck, Brett," she said, rather matter-of-factly, as she straightened her clothing, and recomposed herself.

"Thank you, Ms Worthington," Brett replied, zipping up and heading for the door. Stopping, he turned. "Is there anything else?"

She graced him with a satisfied smile and shook her head slightly. "No. I suppose not. That'll be all." Brett left as she walked back around to her desk chair – humming softly.

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The second incident of spontaneous sex had occurred around noon, with a completely anonymous stranger. He'd left work early, having not much other than clean-up left to do, and needing to run a few errands in the afternoon.

As usual, he remained only vaguely aware of the strong sexuality he emanated. It was, indeed, completely involuntary and unwitting. Notwithstanding, riding the train back to his home neighbourhood, he found himself standing next to the seat of an attractive, well-dressed business woman. She seemed just a little out of place, as if she were more used to luxury and class and expense. Still, sitting in the seat across from the door of the train, she comported herself with an air of elegance.

And, hanging on to the ceiling strap there, Brett couldn't help bumping her shoulder lightly with his hip due to the jostling motion of the train. When they approached her stop, she stood and excused herself, inadvertently rubbing shoulders with Brett as she squeezed by. Then, as the doors opened, she took Brett by the elbow and whispered in his ear, "Come with me." Curious as to her intentions, and in no rush, Brett allowed himself to be led off the train and down the corridor of the station – docile, like a lamb to slaughter, he thought at the recollection. It was almost as if he were the one under a spell; although, by this time he was pretty sure of what was about to transpire.

"Here. Quick," she hissed as she towed him complacently into the first washroom they encountered – the men's can. She hustled him, unseen, into a cubical, almost as if she had done it before.

"This is," he thought, "so-o-o random!" Shrugging to himself, he sighed, "What's a guy to do?" So, he simply went with it.

Feverishly necking as the door banged closed, the elegant stranger palmed his growing hard-on urgently. Now, Brett lived under no illusions, or delusions. He knew was not huge but was confident that neither was he small. He figured he was probably pretty normal – a sturdy eight or nine inches at his best. He accepted her attention with an almost naïve innocence, as she fumbled with his trouser-front, reaching in to assist before she disengaged her smoking hot kissing. Her warm hand on his stiffening cock was absolutely delicious, and he felt his blood flow quickly bringing him to full erection.

Suddenly she moved her hand and bent over, hands on toilet seat, ripping off her panties from beneath her dress, while Brett fought to free his rampant weapon. He thrusted roughly into her, and began, immediately, pounding manically. It was an urgent, noisy fuck. Grunting and gasping, on and on, frantically, frenetically, without regard for the gathering onlookers. And they kept at it with no let up, until, the stranger's orgasm detonated, violently, and her spasming, grasping quim, pulled Brett over the edge. With a howl and a groan, he desperately pumped his issue deep into her hot twitching cunt.

They slowly coasted to a stop, then, as if coming to, quickly and wordlessly finished up, refastening their open garments. "That was different," she muttered to no one in particular, as she flung open the stall door, and left quickly, pushing through the gathered crowd, obviously embarrassed, and disappeared into the station throng.

Brett finally zipped up and stepped out of the cubicle. Whether due to awe, envy, or disgust, the crowd parted for him, and he left the restroom, dazed but grinning smugly, wondering what the hell had just happened, though really knowing – exactly. Veering off back to the platform, he passed a security officer striding determinedly back the way he'd come.

Perhaps it was the fact that he was going to be moving, very soon, or maybe the prospect of starting over again, but for whatever reason, Brett felt giddy; and the sexual energy he was radiating was almost palpable. It was as if he was exuding a sort of contagious arousal.

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When he thought about it, Brett often despaired that he hadn't got sufficient moral fibre to resist when a pretty female came onto him – which was very often. The upshot was that he fucked around a lot. Still, he did have at least some standards, and he was proud that he had shown at least enough restraint to resist the frequent flirting of Megan, his fiancé's daughter. Fortunately, Megan, was going to finish up the year staying with her friend, Chloe, and her mother, Freda – both of whom, incidentally, Brett had fucked fairly recently.

Well, with Chloe, the daughter, it was just – "Just!?!" he reprimanded himself as he recalled the event – it was, in any case, a blowjob; surreptitiously, several of weeks earlier, while she was waiting for Megan to get dressed for an evening out. She had come on to him strong – pressing herself against him, while fumbling with his fly. Actually, she had him released and in her hand like an expert – in no time at all. It had been wonderful, though they had to really rush to avoid being caught by Megan.

Following that, he had immediately vowed, "Never again!" Though he, at least partially, rationalized that she certainly was no virgin. In fact, she was apparently rather experienced, or so it seemed. Still and all, she was his step-daughter's high-school friend, and he felt somewhat ashamed.

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He had had Chloe's mom, Freda, just a couple of weeks before, when first arranging for Megan's billeting.

In a flurry of shedded clothing, they stumbled and tumbled, all arms and legs, and kisses, amidst a whispered desperation – on her part anyway – Brett just accepted and enjoyed. Flopping and writhing, they tested the bed – the one Megan would be using, no less.

Still, Brett had always insisted that he loved his fiancé; that she was the only one he'd ever made love to. All the rest were just fucking.

That being said, during the last week before their move, things seemed to accelerate. His inter-gender interactions became electric. The potential for sex crackled about him like a cloud – a thunderhead! Possibilities started to feel more like probabilities. And the week had only just begun.

So far, on this Monday, he had had a boss at the firm, a perfect stranger in the Metro station, and a pretty, young school-teacher on her desk.

After leaving the school, leaving Miss Sumner in a state of confusion, satisfaction and disarray, Brett stopped, as usual, by the gym; ostensibly, to keep in shape, but, perhaps more to clear out his head, and to process the sudden intensity of his fomenting luck. It was, he considered, still debatable whether it was good luck or bad.

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One of the personal trainers he knew greeted him, but as he passed her, as his imperceptible scent wafted across her like a bow-wave, she seemed to perk up. Striding to catch-up, she attempted to engage him in conversation, so that, as she came abreast of her office door, she stopped and said, "Hey, Brett, could I show you something for a sec?" Brett paused, raising his eyebrows in query, as she took him by the elbow and directed him into her office. Closing the door behind her, she pulled him violently into a crushing lip-lock. Although he should have known better, the mesmerized glaze in her eyes confused him. But her trance lasted only moments, giving way to an almost frightening passion. As she began to pull off his clothing, she flashed him a look that virtually dared him to object. Once he'd got his bearings, he, of course, simply went with it.

Without another word she dropped to a crouch and fished out his turgid tool. It was already growing in anticipation. Rocking on her heels, she proceeded to engulf his stiffening dick, still damp with eau-de-Ms-Sumner, and, applying full-length strokes, she blew him up until he was trembling, standing out long and hard and proud. Brett silently shook his head. He was such a sucker for blowjobs. Taking full control, Keri, the trainer, stood abruptly and, stripping his trousers down to his ankles, pushed him back onto an exercise ball. Pulling off her own active-wear, in an unintentionally erotic strip-tease, she efficiently straddled Brett's hips, and dropped her hard-body decisively onto his lap, taking his penetration fully and firmly. She really rode him – 'cowgirl', as it were – for only moments before her orgasm crashed over her, unleashing a torrential ejaculation as Brett's climax followed on the heels of hers. Although, perhaps not what he'd expected, he did, in the final analysis, get a pretty good workout.

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Once Brett finally got home and had dinner, after a bit of down-time and chat, once Megan had retreated to the sanctuary of her bedroom, he and Cori made love as they did every evening. They began by softly and gently cuddling and caressing, undressing themselves and each other, until they were entwined, naked on the bed. Then, Brett slid down over Cori's chest and tummy, trailing kisses, moving slowly, as if he didn't want to frighten anything, until he reached her well-trimmed bush. Using slow strokes of his tongue, he played her, carrying her to the very edge of orgasm, then teasingly holding her there. With moans and sighs of pleasure, Cori extricated herself, and shuffled down on him, to return the favour.

Brett, himself, was purring and whimpering in short order as Cori held him on the fine edge of climax. There was no rush, no urgency to start. Arousal built, slow and steady. But, breathing eventually got ragged, control tentative. With difficulty, Brett pulled out of her mouth and rolled with her until he could enter her missionary-style, sliding silky-smooth into her welcoming pussy. Still, playing, after only a few long, luxurious strokes, Cori rolled them – the whole beast – to put herself on top. There smiling down on Brett she began to rock and hump in earnest. Release flooded between them; their orgasms precisely simultaneous – powerful and enduring.

They cuddled and cooed and kissed through their sparkling afterglow, falling asleep in one another's arms. Giving her a final squeeze, 'good night', Brett's last thoughts of the day were, "God, I love her! She is the only one I love; the rest is just sex."

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Brett arrived back at the office Tuesday morning, to finish up a few details, straighten up a few things. Shortly after he'd settled at his desk, the CEO's secretary, waltzed up to him with a summons of sorts. "The big boss wants to see you again, sweetie," she purred. When he gave her a questioning look, she simply shrugged and beckoned him to follow. At the big cheese's door, she stepped aside to usher him in. "Go right in." She followed him through as he entered the large office, looking about, puzzled.