What Am I Doing Here? Ch. 11

Dear reader: As you read, please consider who won, Mrs. Huffman or Harold.

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MARYJANE HUFFMAN turned on the television: Nothing but reruns of Law and Order. She shut off the television set . She got out the vacuum; no, she didn't really want to clean the apartment. She put it back. She slipped her hand past the elastic of her panties and began to diddle there. Better. Much better. Good. Except for Harold.

Him!!!

Harold McCarthy, he called her cell phone an hour ago, how had he found her?. She was busy .She didn't have the time to speak with him. She did not want to see him. Maybe her cunt wanted to see him, but she definitely did not. . She was busy packing and doing all those other things a person needed to do before going on a trip, cancelling the newspaper, stopping the mail. . She needed to shop for new clothes. She needed to check with the airline. She had to make sure that she had packed everything she needed to pack. She wanted to just lay down, close her eyes and dream about how she was going to be a super-sexy slut, how she'd get herself fucked and fucked good over and over during her vacation.

But now Harold McCarthy was here. He said he was coming to her apartment. He was probably here by now. Fucking Harold.

She wanted to be alone, to just lay down and fantasize, diddle herself. Harold was real. The guys in her fantasies always smelled good. Harold? Maybe if he'd once in a while rinse off the dried pussy juice and cum from his privates. No, he wouldn't smell good even then.

The voice mail clicked on. She heard his voice "Hey Mrs. Huffman, come on, pick up will you? I know you're there."

She was not going to pick up! She could feel the moisture beginning to flow deep within the pink folds of her cunt. But she was not going to pick up. Definitely. Not. He was crazy, he was obsessed. He had some crazy idea that he could make her a perfect slut. Okay, she was a slut. He had helped her discover that facet of her personality. He had fucked her. Fucked her plenty. And she had liked it. Fuck, she had loved it. But this perfect slut idea of his was just too fucked up.

####

HAROLD McCARTHY sat in his car parked downstairs from her apartment. . He saw her car, so he knew she was home. But, like always, she was being a bitch, refusing to pick up. Man, he could have been eating out his volleyball player friend from school. Now, there was a great piece of ass! Lovely thighs, big, sweet and smooth, clean shaven, and with a lot of muscle, but with just enough fat for him to be able to grip tight while he sunk his face deep into her sweaty cunt. He loved it down there, especially her musky smell after a hard practice.. He loved how she squeezed his ears against his head with those legs of hers, held the top of his head down with her hands, groaned and groaned and yelled until she came. But he was here and right now she had probably just finished a nice sweaty practice and was back in her dorm room probably getting eaten out by one of her volleyball teammates.

And all he could do was to sit in his car and wait for Mrs. Huffman to pick up her phone.

The only reason he was there was because he felt sorry for Mrs. Huffman, his old teacher. He was sure she was missing him fucking her. Well, he was also there because he was a connoisseur of slut and Mrs. Huffman was a total slut. Connoisseur wasn't a word in Harold's vocabulary. In his words, "if he smelled a slut's cunt, his cock got hard." And the thing was, he knew that he could help her become the perfect slut. It was like she had taught the class about the knights of olden times. They went on quests. That was what he was here for. He was on his quest to make the perfect slut.

Well, he was also there because, let's face it, Mrs. Huffman had the sweetest ass this side of anywhere. And, for sure, he was there because he remembered how every time he slipped his erect penis into her warm, wet cunt, she gripped him tight and her hips would piston up and down in a wild drive that would lead to both of them coming and coming and coming.

He figured she was such a slut because he did such a good job in teaching her the ins and outs of being a slut.

#### The phone clicked on again. His stupid voice came on. She could feel that warm moisture begin to coat the pink insides of her home hole.

How in the hell had Harold managed to get her telephone number anyhow? How in the world had he managed to discover where she lived? She didn't need his cock, not anymore. If he came up into her apartment, he would monopolize her time. She wouldn't be able to get anything done. She was busy. She'd be fucking soon, when she went on vacation. She didn't need him now. He was stupid, nasty, a pain. He was crude. He was disrespectful. Oh, he could fuck. But!

Damn him, damn him, damn him. Shit, shit, shit!

####

Harold McCarthy thought to himself that maybe he ought to just leave, go, show her once and for all that she couldn't be so insulting, so mean to him all the time. Ah, but he told himself, he was just too good a guy. He was too nice. He felt sorry for Mrs. Huffman, his former teacher, her, with that perfect ass. He knew she needed what he was there to give her, a good fucking, and another lesson on how to be a perfect slut.

She always resisted him, but, when they did get it on, she always got off. Soon they would be making the beast with two backs. She had taught him about that beast....it was from Shakespeare or somewhere.

#####

Harold McCarthy was the bane of her existence. She hated him! Him, his pimply face, his scrawny body, his greasy hair, his long smelly cock. Why didn't he stop calling her?

Harold was the guy who had turned her out, awakened her to the fact that she was a slut. That had been three years ago, while he had been a student in the English class she taught at Holy Mother of God High School.

She had sucked his cock behind a dumpster, participated in a gang bangs he had set up, fucked his friends at his college dorm. She had jacked off two of his high school mates in the back seat of her car while he watched and critiqued her technique. She had fucked him in the back seat of the same car, in her apartment, on the floor, against the door, in her chair, on the stair. He had sucked her cunt, His had been the only cock, so far, to have fucked her ass. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

. How had he found her? MaryJane Huffman had moved from Dover Falls to here, Beaver Hills, 400 miles away. She was now teaching at Our Lady of Sweet Tidings High, an all girls high school. No testosterone sweating young men staring at her all day, driving her crazy. Here, At Our Lady, the polished wooden chair seats in each classroom were warmed by the sweet and innocent fat bottoms of the plaid skirted girls with shiny clean faces. No problems for Mrs. Huffman there.

At Holy Mother, those boys in their military uniforms were not sweet and innocent. Their testosterone saturated the atmosphere of every classroom. It was a very stressful place for a slut like Mrs. Huffman to be working at. But, apart from a constantly wet cunt, she had her slutness under control, most of the time.

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He almost felt sorry for her when he first saw her in front of his class at Holy Mother. She was wearing a tight grey, checked skirt and a white blouse. The blouse was tight too, just enough so if a guy looked hard, he could see her tits encased in her bra pressing against the blouse. Harry had noticed it right away, how she tried both to show and not to show off her body at the same time. Good luck, that round ass was too perfect not to be obvious. It couldn't be called a bubble ass, though. Her ass was maybe half of an inch under the size that would have made it a bubble ass. She'd walk between the desks as she lectured and it took every ounce of Harold's will power to keep him from running his hands up and down that smooth curve of her lovely ass. He loved to watch as Mrs. Huffman walked to the blackboard, obviously uncomfortable turning her back to the room full of sex starved boys dressed in the school's military uniforms. She tried to stand straight, Harold saw how she pulled in her stomach in an effort to keep her ass from showing too much curve as she wrote on the black board.

Yeah, Harold McCarthy had seen the slut just waiting to break out of Mrs. Huffman, the proper teacher. It would happen, he knew that the very first day he had seen her. He would be patient. It would happen. And, of course, it did. But that was long ago.

And now, he was getting impatient.

"Pick up, Mrs. Huffman, come on. Please." She always did it. He always complained to her, but she did it still, made him wait, made him beg.

Harold had appointed himself her slut-instructor. Before he had begun fucking her, she didn't know squat about being a slut. If not for Harold, she'd still be walking around her classroom in those clothes, just a tiny bit too tight on her and sweating her smelly cunt juice all over the room while the students were busy, each in his own way, trying to hide his erection. But Harold had shown her how to own up to being a slut, how to get fucked, how to fuck back, and how to enjoy every second of her debauchery.

Today, he was going to help her again, give her another lesson on becoming a perfect slut.

He reached down to feel between his legs. His prick was hard, good and hard.

#####

She pushed wildly at the buttons on the phone, but couldn't get the voice mail shut; Instead, she must have pushed the speak button accidentally; she heard his raspy breathing. "Goddamn it, Harold, why are you calling? What do you want? How did you find out where I lived?" .

"See, I knew you were there. It's about time you picked up," his whiney voice, now on the speakerphone.

"How did you find out where I lived?" she asked him.

Goddamn him. She hated him. He nagged and nagged. He was ugly, stupid, a pain in the neck. But the worst thing was, he always did it to her, got her nipples hard against the fabric of her t-shirt, got her clit to swell, her cunt to grow wet with pussy juice. It was her memories of the times when his cock slid in and out of her pussy, his groin pounded against hers, that did this to her. He was dirty, once her student, and sex with him was dirty. She recalled the feel of his long, thin cock in her cunt where it always managed to keep her g spot eager and excited.

"What do you want?"

"Hey, I don't want nothing. I just wanna talk with you. We ain't talked in a long time."

"Well, I don't want to speak with you," Mrs. Huffman replied, "I don't have the time. I am busy." She didn't know why she was resisting him. She knew that he would eventually wear her down. She was aware that she would end up inviting him up to her apartment. She knew for sure that she would finally end up in bed with him, her legs spread, his cock slamming into her and she coming and coming and coming.

######

"I really am busy. I mean it, no lie."

"Look, I'm right here. I'm in my car. Let me come up. I only want to talk with you for a little while."

"Just talk?" Mrs. Huffman felt her cunt lips, moist now, begin to open.

"C'mon, Mrs. Huffman, you know you was my favorite teacher."

MaryJane knew that if she didn't shut this conversation off RIGHT NOW, she would soon be fucked, literally as well as metaphorically. "Were," she said.

"What......come on, let me in."

"Were, not you was. Tell me how you found out where I lived."

"I'll tell you, first let me in."

"First tell me."

"You know, you want to be seeing me. You know!"

Godddamn that son of a bitch. She did not want to see him. She did not want to talk with him. What she wanted was to be fucked by his cock! Was there a way that she could be fucked by him without his being here in her apartment with her? She wished..

"I told you, I don't have the time. I'm going away tomorrow." It was really the day after tomorrow, but, if she told him tomorrow, maybe he'd go away. At least, she would be able to rush him out of the apartment after she did let him in.

"Where you goin'?"

"That's none of your business. Now tell me, how did you find out where I lived?"

"I'll tell you. Let me in, and I'll tell you as soon as I walk in the door."

"No way Jose! Tell me." He could fuck her to orgasm after orgasm alright, but she was not going to give in to him. He had no right to just show up and demand to be let in. She was not his fuck-slut.

"When you was my teacher, I always thought you was the hottest woman I ever seen. Those tight skirts. Those tight blouses. Your long legs. Your beautiful ass."

"Tell me." She wasn't going to let him to change the subject.

"I remember the first time I knew I'd be fucking you."

"What?"

"The second day you taught our class. You dropped the chalk you were holding and bent over to pick it up. I could see the curve of your ass. I could see the shape of your legs pressed against your skirt Those tight buns in that tight skirt. I used to live for when you turned around to write on the board."

"Stop, stop, go away. I do not wish to speak with you, Harold."

"Don't cha want to know how I got your address?"

She had forgotten all about asking him how he had learned of her address. . How could she remember when all she could think about was her itching clit, her wet cunt?

"Tell me," Mrs. Huffman said finally. He was always doing this, showing up and getting her to let him fuck her.

"Let me up. I'll tell you." He said again.

"Why do you want to come up here? I don't have the time, I'm very busy. Just go. Go away. Please." He was disgusting. He picked his nose and just flicked the boogers away. He had once just wiped the booger off his finger onto the underside of her pillow. He didn't even care that she had seen it.

His cock wasn't even that big.. It was long. Its head was a bright purplish color. It wasn't very thick, but It was big enough. It stayed hard for a long time. It was pliable even when it was hard. His ball sac was soft and round. His scrotum was hairy.------But she didn't want to think about his cock!

"What are you afraid of? I'm your friend, ain't I? I just want to see you. I just want to talk a little. I'll tell you how I got your address."

Talk to her, Oh yes. He would just come up, enter her apartment, tell her how he had found out where she lived and then he would leave. Yes. That would happen and the pope would come in with him to bless their fucking. She could feel her pussy getting wet and he wasn't even in the room yet. "If I buzz you in, will you promise to leave right after you tell me what how you found my address?"

What was wrong with her, she thought just as soon as the words were out of her mouth. Her damn wet pussy, that was what was wrong with her. He was at the speakerphone downstairs. He had his cock with him.

The thing about Harold, thought MaryJane Huffman, was that he was a great fuck, but he was a terrible companion. Oh, she longed for the sex partner who was not only a great fucker, but who also looked good, spoke well, acted with courtesy, smelled good, and, yes, didn't flick his boogers around. Not Harold.

#####

Harold could hear it in her voice. She was gonna let him in. They would soon be fucking. Her lovely cunt would be sopping wet and he'd be fucking away like there was no tomorrow. He'd give her the full fucking she needed.

Harold would give her her next lesson on being a slut. He had made a deal with himself when she had still been his teacher in high school and told the class about the Knights of the round table and their quests. He would teach her 'How to become a total slut.' It gave him an extra buzz. She had been his English teacher. Now he was her teacher in Slutness. And she was learning a whole lot more Slut behavior than he had English.

Today he would teach her how to be a talker. Mrs. Huffman already fucked pretty good. Her little old cunt muscles gripped his cock nice and tight . Her hips were like a crazy playground seesaw, up and down, up and down, up, up, and down, down, slamming down with a clack, swinging up hard and then down with another clack, hard, on and on..But she was too quiet when they fucked, just grunting and moaning.

He felt his cock harden. A rod of steel.

He wished she'd hurry and buzz him in.

#####

Mrs. Huffman had to admit it. She was a slut. What was a slut? She had considered the matter carefully. A slut was a woman who when a man was in the room with her and he had a hard-on, her pussy got wet.

Harold wasn't even in the room with her now, though she was pretty sure he had a hard-on--- he always had one. And true to her being a slut, her pussy was wet. It was very wet. But she wasn't going to just let him up to the apartment. This time, she would be in control. She'd make him wait for a while before she let him come up.

When she was in high school, she had learned logical thinking. The school had been run by the Jesuits. It was a straight syllogism: She was a slut. A slut needed fucking. Harold was downstairs ready to fuck her. Therefore: Get him up here, get his cock out of his pants, and get to fucking.

The only thing was, was that she would be in control. "Okay," she told him, speaking into the monitor, "You can come up. But you'll have to wait twenty minutes out there while I do some things here first." She didn't have anything to do, but she did want to show him who was in control. #####

What had she said, 20 minutes? She looked at the clock on the wall. It had been only five minutes, but her wet cunt was telling her that was long enough. "I'm buzzing you in," she said.

#####

She heard the elevator door open on her floor. She heard Harold's feet scuffling down the hallway towards her door. She didn't have to open it. She could talk to him through the door and tell him she had changed her mind, that something had come up, that he would have to go. She heard him stop in front of her door.

She opened it. Shit, she didn't open it, her cunt did.

"Hey. Mrs. H," he said as he strutted into her apartment. That smirking grin Mrs. Huffman hated was on his face. He ran his eyes up and down her body.

"You said you would tell me and then leave."

"Yeah, sure," he said. He stood not more than a foot away from her. "It was Mrs. Holly at Holy Mother, I told her I wanted to send a Christmas card. She told me where you were living." So the mystery was solved. But MaryJane didn't care. Big deal.

And now he was reaching out to her and his hands were on her hips. "You really want me to leave?"

Fuck....fuck....fuck. Her cunt juice wasn't flowing. It was gushing. Her clit wasn't throbbing, it was convulsing.

It was too late. He was sliding the side zipper of the skirt she was wearing down. Her skirt loosened enough so that Harold was able to push it down past her hips. The top of the skirt was down at mid thigh level. She was so hot, she could barely breathe. Suddenly, MaryJane Huffman remembered that she was going to be in control this time.

"Stop," she said.

#####

Harold heard Mrs. Huffman say 'stop' and he stopped. He didn't move. He watched her carefully. This was when it was going to happen. He wanted to memorize this. Harold could smell her cunt juice. She had that 'I need cock' look on her face. The top of her skirt was now hanging just above her knees. Her exposed thighs, their white skin, soft flesh beckoned. She was wearing a t shirt that reached just midway over her hips, just above her groin, just below her belly button. She was HOT! He'd wait. It would happen, he could afford to let her control things. He had a sense for this He knew that if he was quiet, let her do the talking, then she would become a talker..

He waited. His prick, still in his pants, poked against her panties, just grazing against her cunt lips. He waited for her to speak.