"Scandal school" - читать интересную книгу автора (Crane David)

CHAPTER TWO

Despite his awkward posture – stooped and clutching his books in front of his belly – John Tremont was greatly relieved that he had escaped from Miss Bridewell's class with his hard-on unsighted. Little did John know the rewards of discovery, for which he would have been more than willing to undergo any embarrassment. He hurried down the hall, looking like the hunchback of Notre Dame with his stooped posture. He went into the lavatory where, in the confines of a cubicle, he only had to pump his dick twice before he shot a great cloud of jism against the stainless steel partition. He felt instantly relieved. He tucked his cock away and went to his History class.

Skip was late.

Poor old Skip, thought John, never for a moment dreaming that Skip was, at that moment, getting a handjob from the English teacher. Miss Bridewell must be giving him hell for being insolent. Gee, maybe she noticed that he had a hard-on! Boy, oh boy! Was Skip ever in trouble! Maybe she would hit it with a ruler. John cringed at that thought, but it caused his prick to jerk a little bit.

The History teacher – a gaunt, tallish fellow given to wearing tweedy suits and hairy neckties – stood before the class, hands clasped behind his back. His name was Carlswell, and he liked to imagine himself a professor at Oxford. This did not make him a bad teacher, however. In fact, it enlivened his class, for he liked to spice History with more learned topics, weaving mythology and philosophy in with dry threads of facts, names and dates. Now, he cleared his throat, and was about to begin speaking.

Skip hurried in, flushed and sweating but, strangely enough, beaming joyfully.

Carlswell frowned, blat said nothing. Skip was a football player and, as such, had a certain leeway declared by the school board. Carlswell did not agree with his favoritism, but then he despised football. He did claim to adore cricket, however – a game of which he had heard, but never seen played. He waited until Skip was seated before he began.

Skip's desk was next to John's. John raised his eyebrows, and Skip winked at him.

"What happened?" John mouthed.

"You'd never believe me," said Skip, smug and secretive.

Carlswell fumed. It was bad enough that the loutish lad was late for class, now he was disrupting it by talking.

Carlswell said, "Mister Cartwright!"

Skip sat to attention. But he said, "Yeah?" It was a minor gesture of… defiance?

Cheeky young pup, thought the tweedy teacher. He would never be tolerated in an English public school. Carlswell had never been to England, but he was pretty sure of that.

He said, "I trust you did your assigned reading?"

"Oh, sure. Most of it."

"Then what can you tell the class about Helen of Troy?"

"Errr… she was some old Greek girl…"

Having come to the limit of his knowledge on the subject, Skip faltered. Carlswell smirked, pleased that the youth had shown his ignorance.

And John Tremont, who was much brighter than Skip and who had done his homework, found his mind flowing along an altered stream of consciousness. His balls and cock had not been satiated by his fast and furtive handjob in the lavatory – it generally took John at least three successive wanks before he could get his mind off sex – and now he thought: Helen of Troy… sexy… ran off with Paris… must have been a terrible slut, cuckolding her husband like that… Probably put out for all those old Greeks.

A Puritan streak vied with prurience in his thoughts, the two struggling for a moment as each sought to direct his opinions. Prurience won out.

Probably having it away with Achilles, even… must have had a huge cunt if she could let him pack his old Hero's dick up it. Only his heel wasn't vulnerable… I'll bet that's bullshit… I'll bet his mother held him by the cock when she dipped I him in the River Styx… maybe not, though… And what about Hercules? Was he around at that time? Half-god, he was… boy! Think of the whopper he must have had, being half-god! Golly! They say he strangled a serpent in his cradle, I'll bet that's bullshit… I'll bet they found him choking his old trouser snake!

John giggled at the thought.

"What's so funny, MISTER Tremont?" Carlswell demanded.

"N-nothing, sir!" John said.

Thinking about Helen of Troy had done the job. John had a great big hard-on again.

"Stand up, MISTER Tremont!" snapped Carlswell.

And John stood, his erection revealed in writhing three dimensions for all to see.

Red Miller was forty years old and bulging with muscle. He had a deep chest, wide shoulders and slim hips. His thighs were like pillars of rock, and his arms like sledgehammers. He had a bit of a beer gut, but that didn't worry him because drinking beer was manly. He shaved at least twice a week because he knew that, although a stubble was masculine, a beard was indicative of either an egghead or a fruit, both of which he despised.

There was no gym class at the moment, and Red was working on a diagram of a football play he had devised.

He was in his small office, which was located off the corridor that connected the locker room to the gym. He sat at his green metal desk, chuckling as he marked in the X's and O's, and the dotted lines showing the path of the ball. It was not a play designed to make yardage. In fact, it might never make a single yard. But Red was not worried about that, for the play was designed to shake the opposing defense up by running right at them. If the running back broke free, he was expect to circle back and make contact, anyway. Red planned to use it as the opening play from scrimmage, so that the opponents would think: Lordy, these kids are manly! They would hear footsteps after this one, all right. Red's teeth showed in a grin not unlike a grimace. He could hear the brutal crunch and the gasps of pain.

He loved it. He was not, however, a sadist.

He was just manly.

Red's office was a stark room with pale green walls, and had a metal desk and filing cabinet and footlocker. He liked it stark, and shunned luxury and comfort. He did have quite a few centerfold from Playboy magazine taped, on the walls, as befitted a man, though, and he liked to look at all that soft, naked flesh while he exercised his hard, brawny body. He liked the contrast between women and men, the soft curves and the lean planes that fit together so well during that carnal jigsaw puzzle that was sex.

Red got very excited when he looked at the photos, and thought about fucking.

But he was not the sort of ungenuine, phony man who would do something he didn't allow others to do and, all ethical points aside, he firmly and honestly believed that masturbation sapped a man's vitality.

Red did not jerk off.

Red exercised, instead.

He was a bit worked-up at the moment.

He'd gotten excited about the new, brutal line plunge, and it had brought his thoughts, by some devious path, around to thoughts of sex, and his eyes directly to the centerfolds on the walls. Red did not think that fucking sapped vitality the way that jacking off did, although he wasn't sure why that should be, since the effort of ejaculating was very similar. That was simply the way things were, was all. It was the nature of life. Thus, when Red happened to have a woman available, he fucked with all the vigor and endurance and stamina of his well-trained and carefully maintained body. When he had no woman, he exercised.

Red felt the need of some exercise right now, as he gazed at Miss September, his tongue lolling out like a panting hound.

He got up from his desk and stripped for action. He pulled his sweatshirt over his head, and pushed his gym shorts down. He always exercised naked, not wanting any garments to hinder the smooth flow of his muscles. He still had his jock strap on as he did his limbering-up maneuvers. His huge cock bulged out inside the pouch, a great thick link of pork coiled like a python in his athletic supporter.

His arms flew about. He bent to touch his toes, arching backwards until his torso was horizontal with the floor. He swung from side to side at the hips. He did deep knee bends and deep breathing exercises. He shadow boxed, snorting. Muscles popped out all over him. Even his beer belly was muscular, even his ears were muscular. His head came out of his shoulders with no discernable neck, and his shoulders sloped away, heavily laden with power. His stomach was like a washboard, rippled with flat oblong muscles that were as demarcated as farmland seen from an airplane. His thighs were massive slabs of iron.

His head and face were well suited to this body. His head was square, and his haircut was square, a World War Two brushcut that showed his pink scalp through his ginger-colored bristles. The short, spiky hair stood up on top and lay flat at the sides so that his head looked like a toilet brush. He had a square jaw and a pug nose, bushy red eyebrows and small, piggish eyes. He needed eyeglasses, but refused to admit this, squinting instead. He thought that it was manly to squint. It gave him the far-sighted look of a frontiersman gazing across wide-open prairies.

He finished his limbering up exercises, then got the barbell and weights out and easily ran through his routine of presses, cleans, jerks and curls.

Then it was time to do the very special exercise that he had devised for himself.

Red patted the swollen pouch of his athletic supporter. His cock strained against the elastic. He tugged the jock strap down.

Red's cock was a joy to behold. It was a foot long and as thick as a woman's forearm, a dynamic slab of sinew seamed with delineated veins. His balls were as big as a strong man's biceps. His knob was like a wedge of iron in a purple velvet sheath, and his cock was like a crowbar when it was erect.

He did not have a hard-on at the moment, not quite.

His gigantic pecker was quivering, preparing to flex. It coiled out in a great loop from his loins. If he had ears on his hips, he would have looked much like an elephant.

His cock was… muscular.

It bulged with power, and it rippled and flexed. As he worked his cock muscles, the massive rod pumped itself up like a bodybuilder preparing to exhibit.

Red gazed lovingly down at his dick, looking along the hard plane of his chest and the slight protuberance of his beer belly. He glowed with pride as he admired his pecker. It was quite the finest prick he had ever seen, no doubt of that – and he had seen pricks a-plenty through the years as class after class moved on through the locker room and showers. Red was vain about his cock, but there was certainly good reason for his pride. It was a masterpiece of a meaty member. If ever he should be unfortunate enough to have it shot by an irate husband, he just knew that the husband would have it mounted as a trophy. It would not, he figured, look at all out of place alongside a stuffed marlin or a heavy-horned water buffalo.

Red had even written to the Metropolitan Museum, inquiring whether they would care to have his cock after his demise, and had received a polite, if ambiguous, reply.

Red had worked long and hard to get his pecker to its present state of splendor. On the principle of use-or-lose, he worked out every day to keep his dick fit and shapely. He knew that a huge muscle like that would sag terribly, were it allowed to atrophy.

He got his pecker exerciser out. It was a clever device, with a five-pound weight suspended from a leather strap. The strap had an adjustable loop at the top so that it could be secured around his cock, just behind the ledge of the head, so that the vast knob held it firmly on the shaft and prevented it from slipping off.

Red wrapped a big, blunt hand around his pecker and pumped it up and down. It surged up, stiff as a flagpole and damned near as thick.

It felt so nice to pump his cock up that Red was sorely tempted to carry on with it, but he knew the honors of masturbation, and he was a man of willpower.

He stopped jacking his cock and fitted the leather loop around the shaft. He put his hands on his hips and leaned slightly backwards from the waist, pushing his hips forward. Then he began to tense his cock muscles.

His cock rode up like a lever, lifting the dangling weight from the floor.

Red worked for power; first, holding the heavy weight up as long as he could.

Then he worked for stamina and definition, lifting the weight up and down in quick repetitions.

His mighty pecker rose like a derrick, hauling the heavy iron weight upwards. It dipped down and rose again. The weight swung at his shins, and his cock strained and throbbed.

His balls began to tingle.

Red knew that, presently, a great creamy spurt of spunk would explode from the head of his prick. It always happened when he exercised, but he didn't mind.

That wasn't the same as masturbating, and it was more manly, to boot.

Amanda Bridewell could feel her pussy squish between her sleek thighs as she walked. She could hear it, as well. It made a soft, moist, squishing sound at every stride.

She was not wearing panties. Her black bikinis had been soaked by Skip's ejaculation, and because she was neat and fastidious, she had removed them. It was better to be pantyless than to wear them with congealed cum on the crotch, she thought.

She had licked the crotchband a little, savoring the flavor of dried spunk. That made her hot. She rather regretted not having drank Skip's creamy wad. She'd certainly slipped up there. If she had been thinking right, she could have easily made some excuse why it was necessary for him to come in her mouth. He had no handkerchief, for instance… all she would have had to do was volunteer her mouth on the logical grounds that it would keep her desk, thighs and panties from getting soiled. No one would quibble with that. She could have been able to swallow all that lovely spunk while still retaining her dignity, if only she had thought of it in time. Yes, she had certainly slipped up there, the school mistress conceded.

Walking with purposeful strides and a determined, dignified bearing that belied the squishing of her crotch, she walked to the gym and went in. The big room was empty. It looked as forlorn as a desert. She sniffed and smelled the sweat of a thousand healthy young male bodies, and her pussy almost creamed an the spot. She had to struggle to cast off the image of hundreds of naked young men cavorting in that room, soaping their hard young bodies in the showers. It made her dizzy.

She set her jaw in determination and went down the corridor to Red Miller's office.

"Ugh!" Red grunted as his cock came up like a crowbar, levering the weight from the floor. "Ahhh," he sighed as it lowered.

Amanda rapped softly on the door.

Red, straining as his dick hefted the weight, did not hear her knock. But he grunted loudly with effort and, hearing his grunt, Amanda mistook it for a rough, gruff acknowledgement.

She opened the door.

She gasped. She had caught Red Miller in a bizarre situation, but that was not why she gasped.

She gasped because she hid just gotten her first look at Red's venerable, formidable pecker.

My God! thought the young, school teacher. That's not a cock… it's a chimney!

She half-expected to see smoke pouring from the top… black smoke shot through with fiery flashes of red and orange as it poured from the blast furnace of his balls.

"Er… excuse me, Coach…" she said timidly.

She had come here with the firm intention of giving Miller hell for teaching that anti-jack-off crap to his students. But now, confronted by his tremendously pre-potent pecker, she felt subdued and shy. Her anger laded away. She stood in awe of his cock.

Her cunt flooded.

Red turned a piggish eye towards her. Although caught in unusual circumstances, Red was not taken aback. He was not jerking off, he was merely doing some normal body building, and he knew that only a prude would disapprove. He jolted his dick and the weight came up, swinging. His cock bent slightly under the strain, and the knob flexed and flared.

"Come on in," he grunted. "Just working out between classes, as you can see. I hope you don't mind."

Amanda went in and pushed the door firmly shut in her wake.

"Certainly not," she said. "I have always believed that the human body is a masterpiece and have never held with those who are abashed by nudity. In fact, I am an exponent of sex education on all levels, and…

"Horse shit!" Red snapped. Sex education sapped the strength, he figured. He knew it was a Communist plot to defile the youth of America, to wash away patriotism on a sea of semen.

Miss Bridewell had moved closer and was gaping in open awe at his flexed dick. "I hope you don't shower with the bays," she said. "I'm sure they would all suffer terrible feelings of inferiority if they ever saw your cock, Coach."

"Damn right, little bastards," he said. "All they think about is pulling their pork. They get a look at this whopper, it would give 'em something to think about."

"Er… that's why I came here, Coach. Skip Cartwright tells me you have warned against masturbation."

"Yeah." His dick rose and dipped. "Saps the vitality."

"Surely you can't believe that?"

"Yep," he said simply.

"Well, I don't. In fact, I've given Skip a couple of jerk-offs as homework."

"Aw, shit… he's my fullback! What you trying to do, Miss Bridewell? How can he hit the line when his knees are all watery from whacking off?"

"Well…" Her outrage had ebbed. She said, "Don't you ever jerk off, Coach?" She smiled. "I imagine, with a dick like yours, it would be rather like wrestling an anaconda."

"Naw, I never pull the pudding," be said. "It's bad for you. Not only vitality, either. Patriotism, too. You jerk all the red-blooded American patriotism right out with the cum."

Amanda, who would much rather come than wave the flag, figured he might have something there. He had, if nothing else, one hell of a pecker.

She said, "Well… maybe… sounding dubious." Then she said, "I can see that you avoid jacking off by exercising. I wonder… is there any sort of exercise a girl can do to keep her pussy satisfied without rubbing herself off?"

Red was pleased to have her seek his advice, but he was doubtful.

He said, "Well… you can't very well lift weights with your pussy, I guess. Maybe some dynamic tension… isometrics…"

"Some long, hard, barbell-type thing that I could put right up my cunt so that the insides would be exercised…" Miss Bridewell was saying.

"Calisthenics… something that my cunt could really cling to and work on and wring out…"

"Jumping rope… jogging… like your cock, say?"

"Oh," said Red Miller. His cock heaved the weight up so hard that it banged him in the knee. Miss Bridewell advanced on Red Miller, smiling hungrily. Red had been breathing heavily with the exertion of exercise. Now he began to pant. His broad chest heaved, and his pecker flared mightily. All the tendons and sinews in his athletic body seemed to be dragging towards his crotch, as if that were the focal point of his life forces. His prick was angled upwards, supporting the hanging weight. The weight swung like a pendulum before his shins, as if registering the heartbeats of passion as they speeded up. His balls were like fat cogwheels, and his cock throbbed as regular as clockwork.

Amada advanced slowly, and his eyes timed her approach while his pecker quivered like the hand of a watch, eager to sweep on through the minutes and hours of passion.

"My cock, you say," Miller rasped. His dick flared, alerted at hearing it mentioned.

"Quite so," said the oversexed schoolmarm. "Like a… horizontal bar, say?" She nodded happily. She was standing quite close to him now. Although his piece of fleshy athletic equipment was all set to go, it was in Amanda's nature that she tease him a bit.

Amanda had been a cockteaser in her childhood, and after she became a cocksucker, instead, she did not lose the taste for teasing and enjoyed making her partners wait for it… for, two or, three minutes, at least.

She stood with her legs apart and very slowly lifted the hem of her dress above the waist, her supple hips squirming as the dress passed over them.

Red Miller, seeing that she wore no panties, figured that she liked to exercise in the nude.

They had a great deal in common, he thought.

He gazed appreciatively at her dark, curly-haired cunt. He could just see the top of her pink, juicy slit where the gash began to divide the bush. Like a dog on a choke chain, his prick gave a great lurch, strangling its neck on the leather loop. She turned a graceful, full circle, letting him admire the firm buns of her ass, then came around and moved closer.

Amanda dropped her dress. Then Amanda dropped so her knees.

Reaching out, she dexterously unfastened the leather collar and freed his cock from the weight. His cock, unburdened, swung right up and slapped against his belly. The bloated tip was higher than his belly button, towering almost to his lower ribs.

"Oh my!" she said. "Your cock must have had a tremendous workout! It's heaving with exertion and sweating madly…" She took the massive slab in both hands. It was so big that she held it like a baseball bat.

"After a workout, there's nothing like a good rub down," she said as her hands started to move up and down. Amanda had often wished that she had taken employment in a massage parlor, instead of as a teacher.

But Red looked concerned. He said, "Don't you dare to jerk me off! It's okay to give it a bit of a massage, that's good for it, but don't try to sap my vitality."

Amanda smiled dreamily. That was all right with her, for she had no intention of wasting his stored up spunk on her hands.

She was amused to see that Miller was quite serious in his aversion to masturbation, even when other hands did the manipulating. She wondered if his strict code of vitality preservation extended to blow jobs?

Still smiling, she leaned forward. His dick was so long that, kneeling, she had to arch her neck like a giraffe eating the leaves from the top of a tree in order to get her mouth to his cock head. Her tongue pushed out as she gently lapped at the tip of his bloated knob.

The saline flavor tingled on her taste buds. It thrilled the cock-crazed lass. She ran her moist tongue all around his knob and along the ledge behind, then began to lap up and down the underside of his shaft. Criss-crossing her tongue back and forth, she worked down to his balls. She lapped at those bloated mounds, loving the way the hard nuts jiggled within the hairy, wrinkled sac. Then she rose up again, using long, upward tongue strokes this time, running her nimble tongue from the very root of his cock to the knob with each long, slow, delicious slurp.

At the top once more, she craned her neck and slipped her lips over his knob.

The head of his pecker was so huge that when she got it into her mouth, her cheeks bulged out, full of hot cock meat on both sides. She sucked adoringly for a few minutes, her tongue squirming against the underside of the knob at the electric point where the thick, pulsing vein merged with the bi-valved crown. It tasted so wonderful, and it was so comforting to have a mouthful of hot cock that Amanda had half a mind to give him a full blow job and drink his cum.

She loved it when a man came in her mouth. She loved the feel and the sensation, the taste and the texture, the thrill of knowing that she had milked him that way. The more spunk they spent, the better. Her appetite for jism was voracious, but she didn't know how potent Red Miller was. Despite his regular exercise routine, he might not be able to tonic more than once, and Amanda's pussy was screaming for attention. As lovely as it would have been to suck him off, she didn't want to do it without some assurance that he would be able to fuck her right, afterwards. It would have been frustrating, to say the least, to give him his jollies in the oral fashion and then find that his dick had gone limp just when her cunt cried for it.

So she sucked for a few minutes and then, with regret, drew her lips away.

The great head of his cock popped from her mouth like a cork from a bottle. The knob was sparkling with a coating of saliva, and the big vein, almost as thick as Amanda's forefinger, writhed like a black serpent up the cock shaft.

Miller heaved a sigh of relief. When she had started lapping and sucking on his prick, he knew that she must be a liberal. He hated liberals, but it felt so good that he granted her tolerance. If she had sucked him off, however, he would have known that she must be at least a Communist, and he would have been deeply and bitterly ashamed of himself for haying nourished the appetite of a dirty. Red.

Now he saw that she was just a dutiful woman preparing his cock for normal, conservative screwing.

Supporting herself on his cock as if it were a chinning bar, Amanda pulled herself to her feet. She looked wistful, for she was sorry that she had had to stop sucking before he came – she much preferred teaching French to English, truth be known. She adored the way that the French language flowed from the tongue and lips, just as a cock flowed onto them in the related practice. But the demands of her cunt took precedence.

She slid onto the edge of his metal desk. Miller stood between her legs, his feet braced and his hips thrusting in and out as if he were threatening her with his great spike. He hesitated. He had known a few women who were frightened by his dimensions and protested that their tiny cunts would not accommodate a cock of such magnitude. But now he saw that Miss Bridewell had no such modest pretensions concerning the pliability of her pussy. He gazed at her cunt. Her lips were unfolding and rippling, laying bare the darker, inner lips. Her slot was flooded with cream. He could see that she must exercise her cunt muscles with great regularity.

"Put it to me, Coach," she whimpered. "Give me that big slab of meat before I melt!"

Red wrapped his hand around the hilt of his weapon and fitted the huge cockhead to her gaping crack. Her cunt lips slurped at it, trying to drag him in, so eager was her hole to be stuffed. He gave a hip thrust and his knob slid up her gash. Her lips clamped snug behind the head, caressing him.

"All of it!" she cried.

Amanda squirmed and writhed around on his prick as it slowly slid into her cunt to the hilt. Their pubic hairs tangled together and his bloated balls squeezed tight to her ass as she perched on the very edge of the desk. Many fine plays had been designed on that metal surface but, Miller thought, this was a contact sport that well matched any of them.

He held the full penetration for a few moments, savoring the pleasure of having his big dick buried in warm, juicy flesh. Amanda thrilled to the sensation of being stuffed chock-a-block full of steaming prick.

Then they began to move at the same time, as if their minds and needs were linked as closely together as their loins.

Amanda ground her hips from side to side, and humped her belly and ass up and down, working her cunt around his cock with friction and torque. Miller shoveled the prick to her with long, rippling, under slung strokes. He could feel her wonderful cunt muscles as they worked on him inside her body. A series of concentric rings tightened in sequence, running from his root to his knob as if she were jerking him off with her pussy.

He worked his cock muscles in tempo with her, causing the huge rod to swell up inside her, expanding her pussy as if she were being inflated. Looking down at her belly, Amanda half-expected to see a big furrow plowed up, like the path of a gopher across a garden, so full was her cunt.

His great penetrating prick dragged her cunt lips right up inside her as he shoved it in, then seemed to turn her inside out like a glove as he drew back, peeling her cunt wide open with his passage. But her cunt had accommodated itself to his incredible bulk. Her pussy was fitted to every millimeter of his shaft and knob, giving moist clinging contact and delineating every contour of his cock. As he pulled back, until only the head of his dick remained sheathed in her quim, cunt juice gushed from her and ran in a heavy stream down into the crack of her ass.

She threw her legs up and clamped her thighs around his bucking flanks. Her heels drummed on his ass, then locked behind the small of his back. Her ass heaved up. She was riding him as if he were a jungle gym, and she an acrobat weaving intricate patterns of calisthenics on the bar.

Red Miller was delighted with her supple, athletic talent. She was much more nimble then he, but not as strong. Falling back on his strong point, he began to work his cock muscles as he did when he used that rod to lift weights. His pecker rose up in her cunt, lifting her slim hips right off the desk, then slammed down so that she bounced on the surface. He bucked her up and down, and she clung to him with her thighs as her firm ass slapped the desk, rose up, then slapped down again.

Miller was nearing the peak. His vitality was boiling, ready to blow.

Amanda was already coming. She had been jolting through a series of orgasms right from the start. Long waves of feeling coursed laterally through her loins, reaching a peak and ebbing for a moment, then soaring right back up to another peak. Her multiple orgasms came closer together, the wavelength shortening even as the waves increased in intensity. She bit her lower lip, her head rolled from side to side, and she whimpered with bliss. She was struggling to save her, terminal, greatest climax for the moment when she felt his spunk squirt into her, and she knew that moment was coming fast.

Abandoning his up and down heaving, Miller put the cock to her straight in fast and furious, burying his great prick to the hilt in her slimy scabbard of a cunt.

He howled like a crazed wolf, and his cook went off like a cannon.

Amanda gasped as she felt the tidal wave of his cum blast into her womb, splashing into her cunt with such force that it almost drove her right across the desk. Miller had to brace his great thighs against the mighty recoil. He didn't shoot two or three separate bursts, but spent every drop of his pent-up spunk in that single gigantic geyser. It poured out under pressure in a single jet that went on and on, so that he was still spilling spunk into her when the first heavy ribbons came flooding out of her gash and soaked her crotch and thighs.

Amanda melted on his cock. She collapsed on the desk, gasping.

Miller staggered back. His dick was stuck in her. He weaved, weak-kneed, on the end of his prick as if it were a leash.

"That," Amanda breathed, "was wonderful!"

"Yeah, that was a good workout," he said. "We ought to work out together more often."

"Every day, maybe?" she said.

"Except Sundays. You got to let the body rest and recover one day a week."

"I can wear that," she smiled.

His cock had finally detached itself from her. She glanced down and was pleased to note that, although it had softened and diminished somewhat, it was still semi-erect. It looped out in a great fat parabola from his loins. The head was dripping with shards of cum and streams of cunt juice. Her crotch was soaking wet, and the crack of her ass felt as if it had been oiled or buttered. She wriggled, enjoying the luxurious sensation of being coated with cum and cunt juice.

"We ought to take a shower now," he said.

"I could clean you with my tongue, if you like."

Miller looked uncomfortable at that suggestion. Now that he had got his rocks off, he was not so tolerant of the varieties of sexual function.

He changed the subject, saying, "Do you jog?" But Amanda changed it back: "No, but I suck a mean dick."

Miller's pecker twitched. Maybe there was something to be said for the commies, at that.

She wasn't a Russian, and the French were allies, and Amanda knew her man.

Striking just the right note, she said, "Did you know that cum is one of the best health foods you can eat? It's full of vitamins and protein, and it makes your hair glossy and your complexion clear and your eyes keen."

"Is that a fact?" he said. "I never knew that."

"Oh yes. It was in Reader's Digest."

"Well, it must be true, then."

"Cunt juice, too."

"Well I'll be damned."

"It's why I drink so much cum," she said. "It's like eating yogurt. You might not like it, but you have to eat it for the sake of your health."

Red Miller understood that and nodded. He saw that he had been neglecting himself through ignorance for years, and he hoped it was not too late to rectify the mistake. It would be a terrible shame if he aged prematurely due to not eating enough pussy.

"It tastes pretty good, too," she added.

He was, wondering if he might sprinkle some wheat germ on her pussy, or maybe slice a banana up in it?

He said, "I never ate a cunt, but that was through pure blind ignorance, I'm sorry to admit. I don't suppose you would let me nourish myself from your pussy sometime?"

"Sometime?" she said, arching her brows.

"At your convenience…"

"Anytime is more like it," said the sexy school teacher who often wished she had trained to be a dietician.

Miller licked his lips. He did feel a bit under nourished.

Amanda arched her back and spread her thighs. "Come and get it, baby," she purred. She petted her sodden crotch. "This pussy is one-a-day brand."