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

CHAPTER THREE

"She didn't!"

"She sure as hell did!" Skip said.

"I don't believe it!" said Sarah Wimpole. "Miss Bridewell gave you a handjob? Never!"

Skip was sullen. "She did so!" he snapped. Skip had not intended to tell anyone about what had happened with the English teacher, but circumstances had changed his plans. When he had left the History class, Sarah Wimpole had caught him up in the hall. She had been giggling.

"Did you see John Tremont when he had to stand up in class?" she said. "He had a great big boner. Boy, did he look embarrassed. I don't know why he should of been, though." She lowered her eyes demurely. "It looked awful nice and big."

That disturbed Skip. He had had his eye on Sarah for some time, and he didn't like to hear her sound impressed by the cock of anyone else.

"Mine's bigger," he said.

"Maybe," she said, but she didn't sound too sure of that.

With his vanity hurt and jealousy gnawing at him, he had told her about Miss Bridewell. Now he was more annoyed than ever, because she didn't believe him. He sulked. He was a fullback on the football team, and girls were not supposed to doubt his word.

He said, "And she gave me two wanks for homework, and I got to bring the spunk to school in a jar."

"Bullshit," said Sarah, who looked young and innocent but had a foul mouth. She was a slender girl with frizzy red hair and nice big eyes. Her chest was flat as a boy's but her ass was firm, pert and very nubile, and her legs were long and lithe.

Rumor had it that she was not as pure as she ought to be and had, in fact, slept with more than one boy. Skip was intrigued by the girl herself and by her reputation, for the two were seemingly at odds. She looked innocent, except for her foul mouth, and Skip always found it more exciting to imagine an innocent girl doing naughty things than to think of a naughty girl doing the same thing. It was one of the paradoxes of passion.

But as he thought about it, he couldn't blame Sarah for doubting him. His was an unlikely story.

He said, "Will you believe me if I show you the spunk in a jar before I turn it in as homework?"

"Nope. Any old asshole can jerk off in a jar. How would I know Miss Bridewell assigned it?"

Skip was determined to make the girl believe him. He was an honest sort of fellow at heart and truly hated to be thought a liar or a boaster.

He said, "I'll tell you what. Miss Bridewell said that whacking off is good for you and Coach Miller says it's bad for you. I'm gonna go see Coach now and tell him what she said. I won't tell him she jacked me off, of course, but I'll tell him she said I ought to do it. I wouldn't very well lie to Coach about that, would I? I mean, he's sure to task Miss Bridewell."

Sarah nodded.

"So you come along with me and you can hide in the hallway and listen. I'll leave the door open while I tell him. Then you'll have to believe me. Okay?"

She giggled. "Okay."

And then, because she fancied Skip as much as he fancied her, and therefore liked to tease him, she said, "I wonder if she jerks off John Tremont, too? John sure did have a nice big hard-on in History class."

Giggling, she followed Skip to the gym. Normally, Skip would never have opened the door to Red Miller's office without knocking, but there was nothing normal about this situation. Sarah was right behind him, giggling, and if the coach were to open the door instead of simply calling out for Skip to enter, he would see a girl very much off limits in the boy's gym.

That was why be opened the door without knocking.

Which, in turn, was why the saw Coach Miller eating the hell out of Miss Bridewell's cunt.

Miss Bridewell was perched on the edge of the desk – a position she seemed to favor more and more these days, Skip thought – and Coach Miller, stark naked and with a cock like a club, was kneeling between her thighs, sucking and tonguing the cunt juice from her with rare gusto. His square head bobbed up and down and turned from side to side, as if he wanted to get every last crumb from the plate of her crotch. His chin glistened with pussy juice.

Miss Bridewell, her voice husky and dreamy, whispered, "Don't forget the clit, Coach, that's the best part."

Miller began to suck all the nourishing succulence from that rigid, tingling love bud.

At first, it didn't register on Skip. He saw every detail with perfect clarity, but the act was so alien to him that it didn't impress itself on his mind for a good five seconds. It was simply not possible that Coach Miller was eating pussy. It had to be some mistake, some flaw in his vision or some trick of perspective.

Then it clicked, and Skip's eyes bulged out like hard-boiled eggs.

"What is it?" Sarah whispered.

"Naw… you'll never believe me," he said.

"Let me see," she said. She slid past the open door and, with one eye, looked into the room.

"Nope, I don't believe you," she said. Then it occurred to her that Skip had not told her that Coach Miller was eating Miss Bridewell's cunt, but then she had seen it with her very own eyes.

Their eyes opened very wide indeed. Both of them peered into the room, doubting their senses, and watched Red Miller suck streamers and ribbons of thick cunt juice out of Miss Bridewell's hot honeypot.

Coach Miller stepped back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Miss Bridewell hoped he wouldn't belch. She slid off the desk but leaned back on it for support. Her legs felt weak following another wonderful climax and, for the moment, her pussy had received enough attention.

With her cunt quieted, Miss Bridewell's thoughts turned to other things. She remembered how tasty his dick had been when she was giving it a bit of oral foreplay. Now, with her pussy already satiated, her hunger returned. She saw, to her delight, that Miller's prick had grown hard and huge again, inspired to a brand new erection while he tongued and sucked her pussy… a hard-on that had been nourished on the rich sauce of her twat. It seemed only fair that, since she had inspired it, she should get to eat it.

"That was very nice," she told Miller.

"Yeah, it wasn't too bad," he agreed. He was wondering how many vitamins and calories he had slurped from her nutritious snatch. He seldom, ate junk food or snacked between meals, and he liked to keep accurate track of his food, intake. He saw that he would have to do some reading on the subject to ascertain just what benefits he was deriving from the delicious food supplements that Miss Bridewell had provided.

It wasn't all that easy for Coach Miller to think. He could never think about two things at once, and it wasn't until he saw where Miss Bridewell was looking that he realized his pecker was rampant again.

She said, "It's my turn, Coach."

"You wanna drink some spunk, huh?"

"Ummm… a drink on a stick," she purred.

Well, that certainly sounded like junk food to him. But on the other hand, his pecker looked like proper, hearty protein, a fat link of sausage or a bloated shish kebob. He knew it was stuffed with mineral-fortified white sauce because he could feel that creamy condiment building up in his balls.

It was funny how he'd always had the mistaken idea that only perverts and Communists sucked dick, he thought. He was certainly glad to be rid of that false concept, for it sure had felt good when her mouth had been milking away on his peckerhead.

He wrapped a big, blunt fist around his towering pole and gave it a slow push-pull.

"Come and get it," he rasped.

In the narrow hallway, redolent of sweating bodies and pungent liniment and dirty socks, Skip and Sarah exchanged a shocked and disbelieving glance. The door was only open a crack and they were both peering into the office, from opposite sides of the door jamb, cheek to cheek. They turned to gape at each other but then turned right back, not wanting to miss the activities within. Skip was thinking: there may be more to this jerking off bit than meets the eyes. Maybe Miss Bridewell wasn't concerned about my health and ability to learn at all… maybe she just wants me to bring her a jar of cam so she can drink it! But the lad did not feel used or deceived, even if that were so.

He felt very horny, however. He knew he would be very impatient to get home after school and start to fill the jar with spunk. If he could wait that long…

If – dare he hope it? – if sexy Sarah Wimpole did not have a better idea, a warmer and more attractive alternative vessel than a glass jar.

And Sarah seemed as excited as Skip. Perhaps she was even more excited… and with good reasons.

For one thing, whereas Skip had just shot wad of cum on Miss Bridewell's crotch, Sarah had not had an orgasm since the night before. She had awakened a bit late that morning and, having to rush to get ready for school, she had to forego her usual morning cunt rub. She had been mildly randy all day and anxious for school to let out so she could hurry home and rub her pussy to a froth. That was why she had caught Skip up in the hallway and started talking about John Tremont's hard-on-because she was randy, she felt like talking about naughty things.

And for another thing, there was an element of danger involved in her presence in the passage to the boys' locker room. Skip, if he were to be discovered there, would make any number of excuses for his presence, but the girl would definitely be in for it. The little tingling thrill of danger enhanced the warm lust in her nubile loins.

Peering through the crack, she slipped her hand into Skip's damp palm. Holding hands, they watched. What they saw was this: Coach Miller, big and brawny and red blooded, was standing with his legs widespread and his hips thrusting in and out in a fucking motion. His hand was folded around his huge shaft, pumping it slowly up and down in tempo with his hip thrusts.

The head of his pecker was a sight to behold. It was like some meaty wedge-shaped tool, suitable for prying open iron vaults more than soft, willing cunts; a crowbar that, levering across the rolling fulcrum of his balls, could – given a place to stand – move the world in its orbit; a tower that could quite nicely stand in as a substitute for the Washington Monument, or take its place unnoticed at the gunwales of a ship of the line. The knob was tapered, broad at the ledge and pointed at the cleft tip. It might well have stood over the tomb of a Pharaoh, guarding the treasures below, or launched itself as the nose cone of a starship soaring into the incalculable reaches of space.

It was, in short, a very big prick, and Amanda Bridewell's mouth was watering for it.

She had dropped to hands and knees and was crawling towards Coach Miller, licking her lips like a cat sneaking up on a bowl of cream. She still had her dress on, but the hem was pulled up to her waist so that, from the door, Skip and Sarah could see her wet, parted snatch and her tight asshole. A solitary trickle of cunt juice ran slowly down the inside of her nylon-sheathed thigh, and her clit was a glowing nugget.

She was at his feet. He looked down, his big jaw out and his head tilted slightly back, his shoulders back too, as if to balance the burden of his heavy cock.

Amanda began to lick his feet, then moved upwards, tonguing her way up the powerful columns of his legs towards the succulent treat above her. She was in no hurry. She wanted a long, leisurely full course dinner, with his balls for an appetizer and his rich cream for dessert. She used long strokes of her tongue on the rigid muscles of his inner thighs and, reaching the junction, spent several happy moments licking the crease where his leg joined his torso. Her head switched back and forth as she tongued him on both sides. Her chin brushed his swollen balls but she did not lick them yet. Bypassing her eventual goal, she moved up and licked his belly.

His cock was jerking and throbbing like a one horned bull, mad to gore her.

Amanda lowered her face. She began to lick his huge nuts, holding the heavy sac cupped in her hand as she ran her nimble tongue all around his balls.

She lapped up to his fat stalk, slurping juicily, then parted her lips and fed his great cock head into her ravenous mouth. Her checks bulged. Her eyes widened, as if his pecker head was so huge that it had nudged her brain out of position and forced her eyes to expand.

His dick was so big that it was hard to suck. She tried her best, whimpering. Her head bobbed up and down as if she were ducking for apples, but she could not slide her eager mouth up and down his shaft, as his cock head filled her mouth all the way back toward her throat. He was trying to help her, trying to fuck into her mouth, but instead of sliding his rod in and out, he was merely moving her head about on the end of it.

He grasped her by the head, blunt fingers twisting in her hair, trying to hold her head steady so that lie could fuck her mouth, but it was impossible. Never before had he regretted the dimensions of his dork, and never before had sex, mad Amanda Bridewell wished that her mouthful of hot dick was a bit smaller. She was mouthing his cock like a hot potato, burning her tongue, but it was too tasty to reject.

She saw that it simply was not possible to give him a blow job in the normal fashion.

Undaunted, the cock-starved schoolmarm wrapped her delicate hand around his stalk. Her fingers could barely span that great breadth. She began to pump him up and down with her hand while her mouth sucked frantically on his knob.

If it occurred to the anti-masturbation coach that he was being given a hand job, he ignored that wasn't the same when the head of a dick being jacked was fitted in a mouth, not the same thing at all. In fact, he took her by the wrist and guided her into the proper rhythm, then withdrew his hand and let her get on with the job.

She was proud of herself. She knew there was no job too big, no task too hot to handle. She set to work in earnest now, ready and eager for his orgasm. She was pumping him slowly and steadily with one hand. Her other hand cupped his balls, caressing the hairy sac. She was using her tongue and cheeks and lips all at the same time, in wonderful conjunction. Her tongue glided back and forth against the underside of his knob. Her cheeks pulled at the fat slab of meat. Her lips sucked adoringly at the whole great wad of pecker head.

She was so skilled and Miller was so hot that it could not last long. His big body began to shiver, then tremble, then vibrate. His hard frame hummed like a tuning fork to the pitch of her oral note. Muscles leaped and jumped out all over him and his phallic muscle was jumping in her mouth, his balls as inflated as a balloon.

"I'm… gonna… blow…" he said, warning her to be prepared to have her tonsils whitewashed, or promising her that she was about to be fed.

She said, "Unghhh," which was all she could manage to say with her mouth brimful of bulging pecker.

She sucked with devotion. She seemed to be worshipping the phallic idol, paying oral homage to this symbol of potency.

Miller gave a strangled cry. His balls erupted and the thick sap poured up his fat tube and blasted into her throat, with such force that the schoolmarm's head was buffeted backwards. Gamely, she forced her face down, pushing down against the great jet of his semen like a salmon fighting its way upstream to spawn. Her throat worked as she frantically gulped his jism down in order to make room for more, for the jet was still pouring from his cock head in a steady spring. There was no time to savor the delicate flavor of his cum. She had to swallow it down desperately as it continued to spurt forth in a ceaseless torrent.

As he had in her cunt, Miller blew the whole load in one gigantic geyser. He sagged. His heavy shoulders seemed to cave in as his legs trembled. He felt as if he had shot more than cum into her eager throat – as if his blood, his brains, his organs, his very skeleton had melted and been blasted from his dick, leaving him no more than an empty bag of skin.

Miller as finished, but Amanda was not. The terminal dregs of his spunk were still drooling from his cock, and she was milking him to the last drop. Now that the force of his ejaculation had been spent, she had time to savor the spunk on her tastebuds and let it wash around in her mouth before she let it slip down her throat.

She continued to suck even after his prick had softened, her sweet lips pulling on the deflated knob and sucking on the bending rod. She milked him bone-dry before she drew her creamy lips away from his carnal creamer.

She smiled at him, contented as a well-fed cat. Miller and Amanda were, for the enjoyment, both satisfied.

But Skip and Sarah, in the hallway, were just starting to ignite with passion.