The Glorious Cockteaser By Charles E.J. Moulton

To be honest, I’d had the hots for Sally ever since she was a senior in high school. Back then, I had just completed my doctorate in literature as the youngest of my age group. I only taught English for a year at Seaside Coast igh School, but I walked away battling a massive hard-on more often than I could tell you. Sally always dressed like a dirty old man’s dream cum true. I was only 30 at the time, but Sassy Sally made me feel like that uncle that asked her home to show her his stamp collection. I mean, that girl came in her blonde pigtails with pink ribbons, short cheerleader skirt, open shirt with cleavage, popping her Yankee Doodle Bubble Gum every fucking day. She sat there in the front row arching her back, begging for me to look at her swelling nipples. I went in to the teacher’s rest room to masturbate so often I think my colleagues thought I had a health problem. Every time I taught English for the seniors, I went in to jerk off beforehand because I knew I would be having issues with Sally’s cum-ons.

Anyway, I got a position as college professor at the end of that year. I was happy that I had not been caught humping a high school girl, as Sally had been only 17 at the time. I spent the next three years teaching college, fucking lots of bimbos, receiving quite a few blowjobs, but pretty much forgetting Sally. Okay, not really.

Four years after I left Seaside Coast High School, I fell in love with Amy, a teaching C-Cupped black haired chick from my neighborhood. We literally devoured each other. She would let me squirt my sperm into her mouth at breakfast, fuck her ass during lunch hour, titfuck her at dusk, she would lick my balls as I ate supper, suck my cock while I made business calls, surprise me with surprise blowjobs as I corrected tests and papers. Then she would let me fuck her from behind again as she fried my bacon by the stove, naked except for the apron.

One thing alone drove her nuts:  the fear of having to share me with someone else.

New students arrived at our State College that year and I prepared for them like I always did: diligently.

When I saw Sally again, though, I was back at Seaside Coast High School again, jerking off in the teacher’s loo. She had come of age, her boobs had grown and her ass was the sexiest and peachiest piece of female flesh I had seen in a long time. She was a real cockraiser.

Needless to say, I had my problems concentrating on my work.
After class, we spoke and she told me I was the reason she had chosen to study English Literature after studying Sports Instruction for three years. She had never forgotten me, she told me as she arched her back.

Now I wished I had fucked her pussy in her senior year. Amy and I were serious about our engagement. Fucking Sally now? Maybe not so good. So I kept the conversation going for a bit and then said good bye. Little did I know what was about to happen.

Amy knew I had to stay and organize the college computer files that night after work. It was long overdue, so she had arranged a girl’s night out, telling me she would let me work and spread her legs for me over the weekend.

I had been working for only one hour  when Sally came in, stripping ever so slowly, confessing as she undressed that she had wanted to fuck me forever.

I pleaded with her to stop. I had a girlfriend. We were going to get engaged. Sally, however, was adamant. She told me that all she wanted was to suck and fuck my cock. No worries, she said. She just wanted me to fuck her.

Oh, man. So there I was, my seven inch penis pumping Sally’s pussy from behind, her buttcheeks wobbling like marshmellows, and Amy called me on her mobile. I answered as I fucked Sally and Amy told me her girlfriend had cancelled. Was I okay? Yes, I answered, humping Sally, I was. Overworked, but fine. She should go home. I would be there shortly.

I hung up, switching holes, Sally’s butthole, Sally’s pussy, Sally’s butthole, Sally’s pussy and so on. Until I heard Amy’s voice in the hallway outside. Gee wiz, she was here.

Sally and I clothed real quick. Sally ended up under my desk, giving me a fantastic blowjob, as Amy walked in, telling me she had to come here just to relieve my tension. She needed a college fuck, she claimed.

I had never felt so afraid and so horny at the same time. Sally really worked my dickie, deepthroating it. I tried my best to pretend to work. Amy asked me why I was not standing up to greet her. I told her that my legs were tired. When she heard Sally’s sloppy blowjobbing noises under my desk, Sally moaning and raving about what a great penis I had, Amy’s face dropped an inch. Sally literally pushed me out of my seat and into a standing position. There I was, Sally sucking my cock and Amy watching it. Total confusion. I enjoyed the fellatio, but feared the worst, closing my eyes. Gosh, Sally sucked so well. Amy sucked well, too. Who would I choose?

I feared losing Amy, until I opened my eyes after feeling two female tongues circling my shaft.

“What the…” I spat.

“Shut up and let us fuck you,” they said in unison. “We planned this all along.”

I laughed, happy to now have to cocksuckers at my feet, not just one.

We now all live together, but that is a totally different story.

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Chain Of Causation By Michael F.

I sat in the student lounge with the blonde, admiring her pierced navel, when I noticed she was packing heat and carrying a copy of Venus in Furs.  Right then I knew that love had struck like lightning.

She was spread out on a leather sofa, her skirt up to her hips but her knees bent like to hide any undue vaginal exposure, her blouse creeping up as well to reveal a flat and super-toned abdomen and the requisite ruby stapled inside her belly button.  The creeping blouse also revealed the base of a leather holster with the butt of a pistol glinting out.  The book lay by her side, well-thumbed from what I could tell, even a stain on the jacket although from gun oil or body lotion I couldn’t assess.

This was law school after all, after hours.  We had tired of torts and contracts and were aiming to unwind harmlessly in the student lounge when I made to kiss her and she wiggled out of my grip to slide back on the leather sofa.  She did not resist my kisses there but held on with such a fervor that I swore she would have shred my skin was it not encased in shirt and pants.

We were equal height at five-eleven, only she was a good decade older than me, smelling faintly of clove cigarettes she smoked outside between seminars.  I sported muscular limbs from lifting weights and walking everywhere but I had an impending paunch that shattered the illusion of total fitness.  Plus I bore a receding hairline that spooked younger women into thinking I might be their daddy.

This one ached for daddy.  She put her finger in my mouth and I sucked it clean and moist.  When she replaced finger with pistol, removing it with luxurious gestures from the shoulder holster and in the process revealing a coral colored bra, I nearly swooned although from desire or sheer shitting terror I couldn’t have told you.  I sucked the gun nice as a nipple, steely taste of oil in my mouth.  She made to pull the trigger back but that did not stop my ministrations to the weapon.  Finally she let the trigger ease back into place and removed the barrel from my mouth.

“You’re a good boy,” she said, “but even good boys still can profit from discipline.”

To that end she sat up and smacked my face hard.  And again.  I clenched my teeth because I didn’t know how to respond, again that split between turn-on and torture, as if such a gesture could so deeply contain both elements.

“You want to hurt me, don’t you?” she asked.

I nodded.

“No such doing,” she said, “I am in control or we don’t play. Understand me?”

I understood and nodded once again.

Next I knew we were walking over to her flat, her heels clicking out a heartbeat on the pavement, hint of danger from crossing into the seedy side of town, waiting in this atmosphere of random violence for someone to emerge and join us in our game.  No one did.  Instead she keyed us in.

We immediately headed for the bed, a four poster number with lace canopy situated in the smack center of the room.  There we both undressed and she proceeded to mount me.  She had a star tattooed in the center of her chest which clearly covered up a surgical scar.  Perhaps her heart had been wholly removed, I could not say.

While she rode me she continued to slap my face until it burned and stung and must have been unholy red to witness.  She leaned backward a moment and I thought it was a contortion of ecstasy at the love we were making but instead she re-emerged with the pistol and lodged it in my throat.

“I will call you Severin my servant, yes?”  She asked.

I nodded, not missing a beat of lunging my hips toward her while she writhed atop me.

“You will obey my every command, yes?”

“Yes,” I said, “anything.”

She flipped the butt of the gun toward me, still holding onto the barrel.  “Kill me,” she said.

This wilted my erection like butter underneath a sun lamp.

“What?” I said, continuing to thrust my now mushy genitals in her direction.

“Kill me, I said.”

She slapped my face again, this time without restraint, so that I bit my tongue and thought my teeth might actually break out.

“I can’t do that,” I said, ceasing my humps.

She remained atop me.  I had not taken the pistol so she flipped it back to barrel pointing at me.  “Then I will have to kill you, yes?”

“I think we’ve taken this game as far as it should go.”

“Never use the word should,” she said.  “And besides, who told you this was a game?”

It was odd just how muscular she was, not ripped but just powerful.  The gun wedged into my neck again.  I could no longer look at her but licked my lips in anticipation of the sudden removal of my head once she pulled the trigger.

She smacked my face again to get me to look back at her.  This time I returned the favor, smacking her back as well, nearly knocking her clean off me as she was unprepared for the blow.  She cocked the gun.  I smacked her again, risking that the weapon would go off with the action but no longer caring.  With this she lowered it.

“Do that again,” she said.

I smacked her as hard as I could and this time it did remove her from me.  She lay beside the bed, holding her cheek which was fiery red, weeping and laughing.

“I didn’t think you had it in you,” she said.

“Put the gun down,” I said from my perch above her.  She placed the gun neatly on her copy of Venus in Furs.

“Get on top of me,” she said.  The logician in me eyed the distance to the door, how quickly I could scramble out of it before she had time to seize, aim and fire the gun at my retreating back.  But there was a tortious element to all of this, a certain chain of causation that I could not cease to honor.  I climbed on top of her and we growled together, rolling across the floor, both of us shuddering in climax and yet hanging on for more.