Ms. Carte's bedroom is as sparse as her living room. This obviously isn't a woman who reads a lot of Martha Stewart Living. There's only the dresser, the bookcase, the closet, the TV, and the bed. White covers, white sheets. And oooh, what's this, a little bit bold on the choice of curtains: powder blue. You admire it -- she lives simply.
Fucking Renee D. Carte comes so naturally to you that you forget it isn't so natural to her anymore. When you try to push her back onto her bed, she falters, and refuses to go down. Instead, she lays her palms flat against your chest. Her voice develops a tremor: "You're -- you're so -- Alabaster..."
You kiss her again, and repeat, "I really want you..."
Trying to reclaim the initiative, she guides you to a sitting position on the comforter. She puts a balled fist to her lips, clears her throat. You gaze expectantly up at her.
"You're involved with my daughter," she says, rather obviously. "Both my daughters."
You nod.
"And on top of that, I'm your teacher."
You nod.
"So, then -- sexual contact would be... wildly inappropriate."
"Whitney and Vivian are both fine with it," you offer.
"I know they are!" She says. "They've been telling me for months now-- how they think we'd make a cute couple! I assumed they were just teasing me, but..."
"Do you think we make a cute couple?" You prod.
"That's beside the point!" She says fiercely. She puts her hands on her waist. "I'm not just your teacher, you know -- I'm also your coach. And my primary concern is making sure you attain peak performance in the championship. PEAK performance."
You fall backwards theatrically, splaying your arms, and sinking into the soft mattress.
"Alabaster!!"
"I'm dead," you tell her. "You rejected my advances... and now I lie here, dead of a broken heart..."
She gets onto the mattress too, on her knees, looming over you just beside your head. You open one eye.
She folds her arms just under her massive tits. "Ally, we need to drill!"
"Ally?" You say.
She clasps a hand over her lips. Her eyes widen. You smirk.
She clears her throat again: "Uh. Whitney's verbal tics have a way of rubbing off." And that's true.
She takes one of your hands in both of hers, and forces you to your butt. You really are exhausted, and you'd just as soon have stayed down for the count. Grumpy, you say: "You dragged me here under false pretenses, Ms. Carte... I thought you wanted to do something a lot more interesting than quiz bowl drilling."
Without warning, she straddles you. If you were sleepy before, you suddenly aren't so sleepy now.
Flinging her hair to one side, she grabs your shoulders, and kisses your cheek. The way she nips your earlobe sends a warm chill down your spine.
She whispers: "Drilling can be interesting, too."
"Make up your mind," you whisper back. "Do you want to do this or not? You're gonna drive me crazy like this."
"This isn't sexual contact," she says. "Let's make that clear. This is just performance training. Understand? Completely appropriate and wholesome. Even prescribed by most authorities on training regimens..."
You'll play along with it. "Okay," you say, "so how do we keep my performance at its peak?"
"Training works best when you're working towards an incentive," she tells you. "So every coach finds the best way to incentivize her team. In your case -- you, Alabaster -- I know what your incentives are, all right."
With your hands behind you propping you up, you lean your head forward, and nibble her neck. She lets you do it, giggling huskily.
After that, then, comes a luxurious makeout session that seems to last forever. She sits on top of you, kissing you and writhing against you, grinding her crotch to yours. It has the effect she wants. She brings you to full hardness, your cock flopping over inside your pants and swelling to attention. Then she keeps going -- until you find yourself very close to cumming in your boxers just from dry-humping. She's as good at teasing you as her daughter is. Better, even.
At last, she relents with the kissing. But just long enough to ask: "Alabaster... can you contain yourself if I ask you to do me a favor?"
"Depends," you say, between nips at her delicate neck and collarbone. You run a hand under her shirt. She doesn't stop you. Not even when you begin to paw at her giant breasts.
"Scoot forward... and take off your pants."
Ms. Carte climbs off of you. She sinks to her knees at the foot of the bed. You do as she asks while she positions herself. You tug your jeans off. Boxers, too. You toss them both in the corner. And thus you sit there, nude from the hips down, on Ms. Carte's bed.
"Oh my God," Ms. Carte says with a tone of wonderment. She puts both her soft hands on either of your knees, lightly applying pressure to signal that she wants you to stay spread. She can't stop staring. "It actually is the size of the Oklahoma panhandle..."
"Huh?"
"Nothing."
There's no doubt that it's pretty big, even compared to a taller woman like her. Your member is a thick, veiny fucker longer than her face, and about half as wide. Sitting underneath it, she seems kind of daunted. Second thoughts? Probably she's wondering what it would do to her insides if you put it in her. But there's no going back from this point. She would never admit defeat in such a humiliating fashion. She'll forge ahead.
As if trying to capture a butterfly that would flutter away if she's too sudden, Ms. Carte eases her hands off your knees, and slowly clasps your cock. With your fuckmeat in hand, she tents her fingers over the top of it. The tender sensation of her palms makes a trickle of pre-ejaculate ooze from the cocktip.
"I'm... sorry about this," Ms. Carte says breathily. "This next thing isn't part of the training. But -- I really need to --"
She leans forward and parts her fingers just wide enough to make room for her cute button nose. It looks as if she were holding a tissue to her face. With her nose directly against the tip of your prick, she shakes her head from side to side, smearing your sticky precum all around under he nostrils. A dreamy smile spreads on her face as she inundates herself with your scent. It's a lewd, ticklish feeling. Her efforts are tormenting your prick's most sensitive spots while she gets selfishly high on your smell. Her eyes roll back and her mouth starts to drift open, wetly, the saliva pooling on her tongue... she's like a junkie for you...
When you pet her, she snaps out of it. She leans back again, and once more fully encompasses your dick between her tented fingers. She rubs you the way a cook might roll out strings of dough, but so much more slowly, and gently. She twists the balls of her palms in opposing directions, dragging your foreskin across the slimy head, over, and over, and over again. You moan.
"Did you know, Alabaster..." she says, grinning, "I have very little gag reflex."
"Oh fuck, Ms. Carte..."
"Call me Renee."
You try to jut your hips forward, but she lets go of your dick and firmly presses your thighs down. This isn't for you to play Mr. Quickshot on, is the message she conveys loud and clear. This is for you to teeter on the edge as long as possible while she tests your skills.
"You've got this big, horny thing between your legs," she says. "But what would you do for a little relief, huh?"
"Anything," you plead.
"Here's the game," she says. She holds the edge of the bed between your legs, and rises upwards on her knees a little so that your prick's underside rests across her face. "I'll start sucking you. I'll suck you for a little bit... then I'll ask you a question... if you give the right answer, then I'll suck you just a little deeper... and if you get it all the way inside me... you can have sex with my throat. Sound good?"
"Yes," you heave. "Anything... anything..."
Features half obscured by your dick as you leak precum into her hair, she asks you: "what is the capital of North Dakota?"
"Bismarck," you say. You've never been happier to have memorized all 50 state capitals.
"Good." She lets her jaw drift open, and gets your tip inside her mouth. Her tongue wags back and forth, scraping the frenulum.
As with when she was inhaling your dick scent, her eyes roll back at the unadulterated pleasure of sucking Alabaster Soliloquy's penis. She lets out a long, hot exhalation through her nostrils that tickles your nuts. You're about to blow your load in her, but then she pulls off.
"Who killed McKinley?"
"Czolgosz. Suck me... fuck! Just suck me!"
Her mouth sinks back down on your dick. You scruff her hair. But when you try to press her lower, she punishes you by pulling dislodging you entirely. You hiss in sexual agony.
"Don't stop," you beg.
A little strand of her drool mixed with your precum slides down her chin. "Ship Darwin took his famous voyage in?"
"The Beagle."
This time when Ms. Carte swallows your dick, she's got about a quarter of it inside the lovely, slick and hot interior of her mouth.
She bobs up and down -- gauging the proper depth by the spot around your shaft where she has her thumb, fore- and middle fingers curled. The slllck, sllllck noise of her blowjob is like music.
For the next half hour, whenever you answer a question correctly, those fingers slide a notch further down; and more of your cock disappears down her maw. She isn't fussy about the mess she makes -- she likes to give nice, wet, sloppy blowjobs. Her saliva runs in fat dollops down your manhood, and over your balls.
Her tongue isn't shy, either. The almost snakelike way she flutters it against you is enough to drive you insane all on its own. Whenever you try to break the rules and start humping against her bobbing tongue, she cruelly punishes you by moving that depth gauge back a notch -- leaving just a small fraction of your cock out in the cold. You so desperately want to grab her face and hump yourself stupid, but you can't.
Date of the Trinity test? 7/16/45. Discoverer of oxygen? Lavoisier. Deepest lake on Earth? Baikal. You don't miss a single question, because missing means you get your orgasm delayed... and you really, really need to fucking cum.
As she gets closer to having you fully seated inside her mouth, your cockhead brushes past her uvula... and from then, every subsequent bit of progress she allows seems to be less than the previous. You want to go balls deep in Ms. Carte's skillful gullet. Because she knows it's what you want, she intends to stretch it out... to torment you... and man, are you being tormented.
She was right, too: she has very little gag reflex. The only distress that forcing your humongous dick into her tight esophagus causes is a deep blush in her cheeks. It makes her saliva flow even more freely, also. And her voice is a little hoarse after a while, whenever she gives you another question.
Using her mouth is just like fucking a pussy. Except you don't get to fuck. You just have to sit there, being sucked on, and answer questions for a tiny bit more of that pleasure.
Finally, even Ms. Carte's teasing can't hold off the inevitable. After a question on the author of Portnoy's Complaint -- Roth, naturally -- those fingers she was using to measure the depth leave your shaft entirely. "Good game," she says. "Here's your reward." She sinks the rest of the way down on you. Then she lets you stay inside her -- not moving a muscle at all, except to lovingly knead your testicles. That alone is a sight worth a billion dollars... Ms. Carte with your cock completely embedded in her mouth, playing with your nuts to coax the semen out. With your cock buried down her throat and your pubes mashed up against her nose, it's an obscene view you never want to lose.
After a few moments of this, you lock eyes. The glint in hers indicates: "Well?"
Well, here's what: you take her ears for handles, and start to fuck. You're as gentle as you can be, but that's not very gentle at all. Your butt leaves the mattress on every stroke. Fuck, yes, you're cumming... you're going to cum in your teacher's mouth.
She stops sucking you.
"No--" you groan in despair, when she pulls her mouth from your dick and slinks away from between your legs.
But you should have known better than to think she just wanted to tease you again. Getting your prick in her mouth has left her in need, too. She doesn't just want your sperm in her tummy. She wants it somewhere better.
She gets on her back in the bed. "Fuck me," she pleads. Her voice is tiny, but filled with need.
You rip her clothes from her body like an impatient kid on Christmas morning. Labcoat, pants, panties -- all go sailing over your shoulder as you strip her.
Ms. Carte's fleshy form is as wonderful as you remember. She has a ring of tiny red bite marks left from the elastic of her too-small panties, and her smooth inner thighs are all wet. Her cowlike udders jiggle a little just from her rapid breathing.
"Is this sexual contact?" You ask, as you slide your hand between your bodies and start to finger her. Sticky, moist, and hot -- just perfect weather there.
She shivers. "Yes, yes it is..."
"Is it wildly inappropriate?"
"Yes... yes!"
"What if someone out there heard us... or walked in, and saw? What if Whitney saw?"
She shakes her head emphatically. "I don't care about that!" She screams, as if purposely trying to invite it. "I just want you to fuck me!"
You won't keep her waiting. You line your prick up with her hole, and thrust yourself home.
Her whine of delight could pierce your eardrum. She arches her spine and grips her sheets.
"This is what I needed..." she gulps, as she shudders from the electric thrill of getting nailed.
"To get fucked?" You grunt.
"You," she counters. "I needed you." She holds her arms wide. "Do your thing... do whatever you want... and finish -- inside me..."
You hug her close, and fuck her. It's your reward for perfect performance. Hers, too. Teacher and student, or coach and player -- you both reap your reward for a long, hard night's work. It's a simplistic reward, but such a sweet one. The reward of a careless orgasm inside a raw cunt. There are no more questions to answer. No dithering over how unsafe it is, no hand-wringing about how inappropriate it is. You're both beyond caring, who knows or whether they approve of it. You're fucking -- and that takes precedence. The only thing that matters anymore is getting off together.
You lock lips, and swirl your tongue around with hers as you blow your creamy cock-load. Ms. Carte's mauve pussy gets a gooey explosion deep inside. One of the best internal cumshots you've ever deposited, in your opinion. It didn't take anything more than a bit of teasing and a lot of pent-up need, to give you a climax so powerful that it literally knocks you both out. You actually pass out -- you and Ms. Carte alike -- even as you cum all over each other. You pass out with each other, nuzzling and necking and nutting. Her dopey smirk as you unload is all the thanks you need.
"We do make a cute couple..." she says, just before she passes into the world of dreams.