J Long - Three horny teachers

She had never seen anything so perverted in her life!

And Yvonne looked… God! She looked like she wanted to finger the man's dirty asshole while his filthy prick was in her mouth!

Then the man's hips were moving back and forth in continuous, unbroken thrusts. His prick appeared foamy with spit every time Yvonne's cock-sucking lips released his cock. Then all the foam was pushed back against the pubic hairs as the man thrust his prick into Yvonne's hot mouth.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

God! Animals! Unhousebroken!

The walnut bile rose in Hazel's throat once again. Jarvis was talking to her in her lust-shredded mind. His head was buried in a thick book called Sexual Behavior in the Human Male and he was reading from the chapter entitled: Ejaculation.

"If the penis has been stimulated to the degree that erection is at its peak, the testicles will produce sperm. The sperm will travel up a series of tubes situated in the prostate gland, moved upwards in continuous streams until it reaches the glands. From hence, the sperm will spew out, and fertilize the nearest ova."

Hazel opened her eyes. Very wide. No… that man wasn't going to do that in her mouth – was he? Was that possible? But there wasn't any ova around. The sperm was meant to fertilize an ova, not a girl's mouth!

There weren't any ova in a girl's mouth!

No! Ejaculation into a girl's mouth was against the laws of Nature and of God. Were they that ignorant? Were kids, like Yvonne and whoever that ten-inch erection belonged to, that ignorant that they didn't know where a man's sperm was supposed to go?

God! That's why there were libraries and books and pages and pages of knowledge about life and what to do with it.

"Mmmmgcggffff! Mmmmggggffff!"

Foamy spit no longer backed up to the pubic hair. Something white and sticky was backing up to the hairs that surrounded the base of the man's erection.

It was white, so Hazel knew it had to be sperm. She had never seen sperm before in her life, but from books like Moby Dick she knew that sperm oil was white. Like ambergris.

And because it was sticky, it pasted to Yvonne's grinning mouth as she licked the tip of that evil erection, cleansing it of all the sticky mess.

Hazel's walnut bile was betwixt her throat and her tongue.

The sperm on Yvonne's tongue was on her way to her belly.

Hazel slapped a hand over her mouth, like all the kids did when she shushed them with an indignant finger to her pursed lips.

But it was hard to shush Hazel because she was expelling the walnut bile, vomiting the hamburger with lettuce, cheese and tomato on a sesame seed bun that she had had for lunch.

They were all looking forward to their Las Vegas weekend.

For different reasons.

Frieda Higgins was looking forward to going to Las Vegas because she wanted to get away from her husband… forever, if that's how she felt after thinking about her marriage while she played Bingo and the slots.

Bernice Hudson was going to Vegas because of Frieda.

Bernice had always wanted to eat out Frieda's pussy because Frieda was a Goddamn good looking woman. Besides, she had found out who that prick was that had given Yvonne a year's supply of birth-control pills. Which, coincidentally, would also be a good excuse for eating out Frieda's cunt – because Frieda would be like fucking a wife who was married to a coach who ate out high-school pussies like Yvonne Mandell. Especially if Bernice told her about her husband's extracurricular activities.

Hazel Turnbow was going because she wanted to find out about life outside of a textbook. Oh, that disgusting scene in the library, the one where Yvonne Mandell had sucked Coach Higgins' cock, was truly disgusting. But it had also done something to Hazel. Something that was not disgusting.

After Hazel had discharged that McDonald's hamburger, she had gone home that day and discovered a discharge that had came from the other end of her body.

Hazel's panties were not a very pretty sight when she had gotten home that day. They were halfway into the hamper when she had noticed why her panties had felt like mosquito netting for the rest of that afternoon. Because there was something pasty-yellow an the crotch of her white cotton panties.

At first, Hazel was scared. Cancer? Ben? Jaundice?

Then she had realized what that yellowish discharge was. Her vagina had prepared itself for the entrance of a man's… God! She didn't want to think about it!

No, it wasn't right! Hags and spinsters don't have hot cunts! That's why they were ineligible for the game of fucking. Because women like Hazel had not been brought up like the Yvonne of the world.

That was the reason why Hazel was on her way to Vegas. For a spree. For a lark. For one weekend where the smell of sin would be deep in her nostrils, where the odor of crushed walnuts would make her dizzy with passion.

In simple words, Hazel Turnbow was determined to get fucked. To see if that had been the cause of that yellow discharge that had soiled her soul and her white cotton panties.

So now they were still four hours away from Sin City. And the bus seemed to be crawling as it sputtered through the desert.

Hazel glanced at her reflection in the window. She saw bleakness and grayness and a tainted soul.

"Hey, you want something to read, Miss Turnbow?"

Hazel turned to the woman next to her. Hazel was surprised that Mrs. Coogan, the wife of the janitor of Thomas Dewey High School, was an ardent reader.

God, life seemed so full of surprises today; like when she had first boarded the bus with Frieda Higgins, and they were going to sit next to each other because they could convene about books and literature and life in general. But an Amazon wedge had separated her from Frieda. The wedge's name, of course, was Bernice Hudson.

"Hazel," Bernice had said. "Why don't you keep Mrs. Coogan company? She looks like the type that cries on long bus trips."

Hazel had kindly obliged, and she had settled her spindly frame next to Mrs. Coogan's bulky body. Thus, their Mutt and Jeff bodies were in the first bench seat of the bus, right in front of Bernice and Frieda.

Hazel smiled at Mrs. Coogan. Watching her reach into a laundry basket that the fat woman called a purse. Watched Mrs. Coogan search through four bags of Fritos, three cans of Metrecal, until her fat hands extracted a skinny paperback book.

The pudgy hands offered the book to Hazel.

Hazel said: "Thank you."

Then Hazel said: "Oh, God!"

Mrs. Coogan turned in her seat slowly and looked at Hazel. "Somethin' the matter, Miss Turnbow?"

"Where did you get this filth! Mrs. Coogan! This book…"

Mrs. Coogan smiled toothily. "That book belongs to Emory. You know Emory, don't you? Fine man. Does real well on the wages he makes workin' longside teachers like you, Miss Turnbow."

Hazel blushed… again. "Well, Mrs. Coogan, I'm not a teacher. I'm a librarian. And as a librarian…"

"I know you're a book lady, Miss Turnbow. That's why I brought them books along. So you can read them to while away the hours."

Hazel was about ready to issue forth another complaint. Oh, God! Why try? Everyone was doing it, so the kids said. Nothing wrong with letting it all hang out. Different folks with different strokes.

Hazel decided to join the rat race of human life. She glanced at the title of the paperback: The Librarian's Hot Fanny.

Hot Fanny!

No! Hazel wanted to see! How could a librarian own a fanny? It had to be a typo, an inadvertent error on the editor's part, or the proofer's or the writer's.

But then Hazel read the foreword as forward. She shook her head in defeat. The forward read like backward English.

The Librarian's Hot Fanny is about a librarian whose fetish is hidden behind the stacks of normalcy. She is a woman driven to a magnificent obsession, she needs men! And not just anywhere… but on a special place in her body!