What Am I Doing Here? Ch. 16

It is not necessary to read the earlier chapters, though it might be interesting.

What Am I Doing Here? Ch.16

Because of dirty towels on the bathroom floor???

Awake But where is Harold

Her eyes were closed. She didn't want to open them. MaryJane Huffman did not want to get up.

Why didn't she want to get up?

Fucking Harold was there. That is why. Here in her apartment.

He wasn't in the bed with her, thank God for small favors. She was stretched out and alone in the bed. No loud nasal breathing from Harold; no arms outstretched pulling the blankets off of her; no big ass taking up room on her half of the bed. All good. No big cock snug in her hot cunt, not that good.

Someday, maybe someday soon, she would have to end this with Harold. But she didn't want to think about that right now.

It was warm under the blanket, so nice.

That pungent, acidy odor of good, hard sex recently finished off was comforting in the dark space between mattress and cover—She loved it because, let's face it, the sex did it for her. A good night of fucking got rid of that distracting itch that hit her every so often. MaryJane, as Harold was so fond of reminding her, was a slut, and she needed her fucking. Harold had spent the night, and if there was anything she was positive of after last night, after any night with Harold really, it was that she was an es el yu tee, a slut with a capital S.

Be that as it was, at the moment she was waking up a tired, satisfied---after a night of fucking, sucking, fucking and sucking, grunting, grunting and screaming, cumming and cumming ---slut. What else could you call her after she had her fill of dirty, hard driving sex with uncharming Harold, eight years her junior, her former student.

But slut or not, a steaming cup of coffee was what she needed if she wanted to get her eyes opened, her mind working.,

Mary Jane Huffman tumbled herself out of bed. Quickly, she slipped on the extra-large green-on-white Notre Dame T shirt that had been lying on the floor next to the bed. A quick sniff confirmed the grand odor of sweat and sex still oozing from the shirt.

The sound of water running in the shower informed her as to where Harold McCarthy was in her apartment. "Shit," she thought to herself. She pulled down the hem of her t-shirt as far as it would go. No bare flesh, well none from maybe an inch above her knees! She didn't need to get Harold started. She didn't need to get herself started. And that was what would happen if Harold started. They would end up back in bed. Or on the couch. Or maybe on the floor. Somewhere.

But right now, she needed coffee.

She walked into the kitchen. Fuck ,Fuck, FUCK, FUUCCKKK!

He hadn't started the coffee. She had shown him how, set everything up last night, water, grounds, seep time.

He only needed to push the red button that was marked "START" and the Grind and Brew would do everything else. Her directions must have confused his little mind.

Worthless fuckass. She started the coffee herself, muttering blasphemous reflections on his upbringing, reliability, existence. She needed her coffee.

She wanted to strangle him as she looked at the empty coffee pot now filling, but oh too slowly.

It was at that exact moment that Harold McCarthy made his grand entrance. Jaunty, jolly, he came out of the bathroom, entering into the kitchen, all smiles, bopping. Harold's voice, nasal, off rhythm but loud, suddenly filled the until-then quiet space. He was quoting 50 Cents without Cent's rhythm, sans the rapper's lilt, "...We could toast the good life girl, we could have it all ..." Harold had come in last night reciting words from the rap about a pimp tempting a girl. He was still reciting the words, the sound of his voice even worse than the smirk on his face Yes, MaryJane Huffman would have to end this situation with Harold.

"Would you please not repeat those stupid lyrics, please so early in the day?"

He gave no sign that he heard what she had said.

He continued drying himself, humming as he pulled the twisted up towel over his back. It was one of her thick, fluffy towels, one of her favorites. His cock, his big fat almost seven inch cock, swung freely between his legs in counter-rhythm to the towel's movement.

Fucking ass hole.

He turned around. His back was to her as he pranced around the room still mumbling words from the rap. She stared at his ass jiggling with each step. Fat ass, thighs hairy and ugly, legs too thin to offer anything but meager support for his unimpressive body.

For the millionth and one time MaryJane wondered how that so unprepossessing body of his could coax so much earth shattering cumm, so many cataclysmic orgasms from her.

He was a boor. He was rude. He was without a sense of humor. For sure, he was not good looking. He could fuck, though. He fucked, MaryJane thought, like a master violinist playing Tchiakovsky's violin concerto. :Oh, he played her clit like it was a violin alright: His cock did it all. It attacked. It made slow love. It stroked into her cunt hard. It established a cadence and suddenly changed it. And, yes, it coaxed bass notes from low and screaming soprano tones of orgasm from up high. And he did it over and over again as they fucked..

But she needed, in spite of that, to end these liaisons. MaryJane Huffman shook her head. She did not like Harold McCarthy, not at all. She was adamant about not liking him although, somehow, he managed every month or maybe three or four months or so to telephone or e-mail or skype, or somehow convince her in that wheedling tone of voice of his that she needed to permit him a visit, allow that cock into her cunt. Fact was, it was as if he had timed her. He seemed to call just those days when she was real horny, when she was in need, when her body shouted to be fucked. Slut she was.

Cunt dripping, clit thrilling, skin shuddering slut she was. Slut she was, as he had helped her learn about herself. Maybe she owed him a thank you for that, but it didn't mean she had to like him.

He was one of five of her military uniformed parochial high school seniors who had begun fucking her after getting her drunk, after blackmailing (?) her when she was their teacher at Holy Mother of God High. That was over seven years ago and he was the only one of the five still slipping his cock through the hairy bush around her slit and deep inside her wet warmth until she screamed in pleasure and her clit exploded. .

Good old reliable Harold ---- still after all those years, still pounding that rigid piece of steel into the warmth of her cunt and making her cum and cum. She lived in another town now, was teaching at another school now ( Our Lady of Sweet Tidings, an all girl's catholic school--- a lot less temptation there). He was the only one of the original five who had kept in touch, still called, still rang the buzzer of her apartment and got to tingle the bell of her clit..

"Hey teach, good, you started the coffee. Pour me a cup, would ya,"

"Pour your own coffee," she growled.

"You know, you're always pissed off. Never a nice word. Not even a 'good morning.'" He poured coffee from the pot into a cup he pulled down from its shelf. "No reason for you to be so bitchy." He sipped from the cup. "This coffee's too strong," he said.

Beside his cock, Harold had absolutely no redeeming feature.

He was searching for something, his head swerving up, down and around on his neck

"Your pants are on the soft chair next to my bed," she said. His not-too-terribly clean underpants lay on the floor underneath the chair. Those, she hadn't picked up. "Twenty-five years old and you still don't know how to wipe your ass?"

A morning Fuck for the road.

He ignored her comment. He smirked and moved to the bed, but. Instead of putting his pants on, he sat down and spread his legs. He began to fool with his cock. He smiled his stupid smile. With a motion from his bent forefinger, he beckoned her to come to him. "You need some good, hot lovin,'" he said.

To answer his summons, would be a mistake, she thought. She needed a shower much more than she needed to be fucked again. But, stupid slut that she was, dumb cunt, she stepped towards him and stood knee to knee in front of him. Did any part of her except for her clit really want this? No, but her clit did, it did.

He reached out around her and put his hands on the back of her thighs. Harold met her gaze and smiled dirty. His hands slid up and cupped the firm pillows of her ass. .

She was feeling that familiar tingle on the outside of her thighs where his fingers lingered. She felt growing wetness in her vagina. Her labia lips begin to droop open.

She should stop this right now. She had enjoyed all the sex that she needed to enjoy last night. Did she really need more? No. No, no, no. But her fucking clit, her stupid cunt kept right on saying yes, yes, please.

Harold had a smirky half smile on his face as his eyes met hers. "I knew you were a slut the first time I saw you in our classroom at Holy Mother." His hands squeezed through the thin layer of fat to touch the gym-hard glutes beneath.

She felt her cunt getting wet.

"You had on a tight blouse. Your skirt hugged your ass. I could see your panty line. You tried to act cool as you walked around the room, But, ya know what, I could smell those pheromones you were sending out." He ran his hands slowly up and down high along the back of her thighs.

She felt her breathing quicken.

He had told her this story before. Many times. Tried to taunt her with it. She listened. Worst thing, he was accurate. She remembered. Maybe it wasn't that exact day, but it was one of those days or a bunch of those days mixed together. It was those days, crowded in a small, hot classroom with leering 18-year-old military clad boys, that had lead to her undoing, hormones prevailing over her good sense.

The classroom was crowded and hot. It was filled with all those males. She felt surrounded by testosterone loaded young men, the classroom packed closely with males, all wearing tight uniforms, epaulets on their shoulders. It was hot in the classroom. It was quiet. Heavy breathing, their erections and her pussy cream were impossible to ignore.

She could still recall the smell of wooden desks and student sweat. Her memory of those days included that she was sweating too. It was so hot in that room. Someone, she wondered who, turned up the thermostat. She remembered accumulating sweat in her arm pit. She recalled wondering if the sweat would cause an ugly stain. Yes, she remembered those days so clearly, the sweat and the smell and the chills that swept up and down her body each time she touched something, anything, or someone, however inadvertently. The students were so close. Her cunt was so wet.

Her cunt was wet now. He squeezed the globes of her ass. He extended his thumb to press both sides of her pubes.. She had better stop this. Right now. .

"You were one hot teacher. Your face was flushed. I saw beads of sweat running down the back of your neck. I was sure your pussy was soaked. I could smell you. I had a hardon and I knew you saw the tent it made in my pants. I saw you keep on sneaking looks at it. I knew I'd be fucking you before the year was over." He moved his face so that his mouth was only a tongue's length from her pussy. He lifted her t shirt above her hips, holding it there by laying it on his forearms.

"You didn't know anything. You just wished." She clenched her quads. She had runner's hard legs that, moved forward, held his head secure, his mouth inches from her pussy, his tongue close enough to push pleasure against her clit.

"You don't think I could smell your hot pussy?" His voice was annoying, but the pressure of his face against her sex was working its magic. As he spoke and breathed over her clit, she felt her cunt wetting itself, her juice heavy and slick. She pushed her groin forward, closer to his lips.

He flicked out his tongue and tasted the sweetness from her inner labia. "Mmmmm," he murmured.

The bush around her cunt was still encrusted with the residue of last night's sex, his and hers, but he didn't seem to mind that at all. His tongue licked her cunt lips. His nose pressed against her mound just enough to stretch her clit nearly out of its sheath. She put both hands at the back of his skull to steady him against her cunt. She breathed slowly.

She looked down. His cock was there in all its glory. It was pointing straight up, hard. Hard!

Her vantage point, away, atop him, allowed her to distance herself just enough from the stimulation her sex was receiving. She wondered what in the hell she was doing. She should have been preparing a lesson plan for tomorrow's class. She needed to go shopping. She had to clean the apartment, prepare a meal. She had a library book she needed to return.

But then, his eyes met hers once again. Damn, she thought and lifted her t shirt over her head.

He fell backwards onto the bed, pulling her down with him, her bush still tight against his face. He quickly rolled her over. He was on top now, again, his eyes looking up at hers.

"Let's fuck," he said.

She began to sweat, her tits swell, her nipples harden. She tightened her thighs around his head. What else, she thought, why else was he here, she here, in her bed?

She knew how his tongue inside her would make her feel, and her clit; her clit was wild, tingling, Harold put his tongue to work. Yeah, my slut teacher, he thought, He had plans for her.

"Mmm, yes, yessss. Like that," she whispered.

MaryJean sighed and closed her eyes. He was a jerk and a slob. He was ugly, --well, closer to ugly than to handsome. He had a one track mind, no conversational skills at all. But....he knew what he was doing when it came to fucking or in this case, licking. She knew that when he got her as hot as she was right at that moment, he could get her to do almost anything.

He thrust his tongue deeper into her cunt, his thumb circled slowly around her clit. Oh, oh, she thought. She was lost, oh so lost.

She threw her arms out and above her head. She pushed her chest up. She loosened her thighs' grip on his head, opening her body for whatever, wherever he was going to do. She was such a slut.

She felt his hands move upwards to the sides of her breasts. Then they slid onto her tits and touched her nipples, brushing them to an even greater hardness. She felt them tingling. She was so close to what she knew would be an earth shattering orgasm. MaryJane knew. She knew that soon hot sparks of electricity would explode from her cunt and sweep through her body, curling her toes, tightening her tits, bring a ringing to her ears. Soon. Oh shit. Oh, goddamn shit.

He released his tongue from her cunt and slithered his body up. His stomach pressed against hers. His cock forced itself against her slit. "You are one hot slut," he said, "one hot slut." She could smell the odor of her sex as it oozed from his mouth.

"Please, please don't call me that name," she whispered as she breathed heavily and held him close, "please." She didn't know if the second please was for him to stop with the name or if it was for something else. Just. "Please."

"Why? Ain't that what you are?" His cock was just inside the open lips of her labia. "Fuck you, Miss Huffman, Fuck you, you cunt, you slut, you're dying for a good fucking, you slut. Piece of shit cunt whore." Every once in a while he started with his name calling. He thought it made her hotter.

She was gushing cunt juice and she didn't care any more. His dirty talk had done its duty, inflaming the red hot need that was already there. Jeesus! Fuck!

She opened her legs as wide as she could. She lifted her knees and held them tit high with her hands. "Fuck me," she demanded, pleaded .

Whatever MaryJane Huffman was, she definitely was not a virgin, but Harold McCarthy--- yes, H. McCarthy who was at this moment hovering his cock just above her needy cunt hole--- was the only guy with a cock who could always get her off properly, hot and heavy, completely, and with a pheromone exchange of total lust. She didn't.know if it was the shape of his cock. Maybe it was how hard it was Harold wasn't the best smelling guy in the world, maybe it was that odd odor. It could be that his cock was the only, the one and only thing about him that had any attraction for MaryJane (well. Maybe his long, slithery tongue too), but whatever, right now, she could feel it from her tits down to her toes, she was on the verge of a mind-shattering, body exploding string of Orgasms. She was less than a second away from another cumming that would keep her feeling good for weeks—more. .

"Slut," he said.

"Shut up! Just keep on fucking.". It was going to be another Big Bang, she thought, a world creating release of pent up energy.

"You are a fucking whore slut," he said.

Couldn't she get him to shut up? She used her kegle-muscled vagina walls to squeeze his cock. "Shut up and fuck me," she hissed.

"You are a real cunt."

MaryJane concentrated on pushing her pelvis upwards, keeping his cock tight, putting pressure on her pulsing clit.

"You are the worst cunt I ever saw."

This was too much. She wanted to cum. She didn't need his talk. If he didn't stop his blabbering, she'd, she'd what? She'd hit him over the head and kick him out of her bedroom for once and for all. Fucking teasing son of a bitch. But just then....

...she felt the top of his shaft accelerate its forward motion and once again concentrate her mind on the storm nearing to climax from everywhere in the vicinity of her cunt

"Fuck me. Fuck me," she begged. "I am a whore slut." Oh, if the nuns at school, if her innocent students clad in plaid skirts above white socks, could hear her. If anyone who knew hard working, serious, award winning teacher MaryJane Huffman say that, what would they think? But it was worth saying what he wanted just this moment. It was always like this: He would be driving his cock into her hot cunt. She would close her eyes and throw out her hands. She would make little sounds. She would be helpless, heellllllppless.

She let the long relief of an "ahhhhhhhhhh" escape her mouth as his hard cock slid slowly into her grasping cunt.

"You are my slut. Your cunt is mine," he said as he began to pound his groin against hers.

"Just fuck me," she replied, She really was not interested, not at all interested in what he was saying. "Oh..ah..ah, ah, eeeahhhhh" was all that she knew.

She was in another place another world. She was craaaaazy! Stars were exploding in her mind! God, God, Gaaawwd.

"We going out after I get you off."

He made his demands while she was in the throes of a building to orgasm. She would agree to a gangbang, an outing without underwear, a blowjob while they stopped at a red light. He would nag, and she would agree. She hated his demands and that he would make them as these sort of times. "Shut up and just fuck me, goddamn it."

He anchored his feet to the end of her mattress. He sped his rhythm up. He dug his cock deeper into her wet flesh box. He pressed his groin harder against hers. His stomach joined hers. His chest pushed against hers. His face was buried in her hair.

His cock never ceased its relentless pounding, that relentless pounding.

And.

Finally. Finally.

MaryJane came.

She came.

An electric pulse of energy started from her clit and spread upwards and downwards, from her stomach to her breasts, her toes to her neck, Her eyes fluttered. She shuddered. She purred. "Eiiiieeeeeeowwwweeohohohhhhh."

She waited... then, finally, she felt Harold finish too, ejaculate into her cunt.

Disputation. Discussion

She lay under him, her breasts still heaving, breathing deeply as she waited for her body to ease into its post –orgasmic mode. This was what it all was for, this being either the orgasm itself or the post orgasmic unclogging of both her body and her mind---and. of course, of her cunt.