J Long: Three horny teachers

"Hey! By the way, where is the old jock?"

"He's at the game."

"What game?"

"The football game."

"Frieda, there isn't any football game tonight. We're in the middle of April. Baseball season… you know?"

"What?!"

"Oh-oh, I guess I shouldn't have said anything. Uh, well, I'll give you a call tomorrow about the Vegas trip. Bye, Frieda."

Click.

What? No football game? Baseball season? Where the hell was the old jock?

The door slammed. The old jock was home. From God knows where.

Frieda heard him put his coaching jacket away in the closet. Heard him fart once, then come ambling down the hallway, leaving a litter of cleats, sweat socks, jock, and jersey behind him.

By the time he reached the bedroom door, he was naked and he was shocked.

Frieda was naked!

And her cunt looked so juicy – at least from what he could see in the mirror. And trough the V of her legs, he could see her face. She was scowling.

"Where have you been, Arnie!"

"What are you doing, Frieda!"

"Never mind what I'm doing! Where have you been!"

"Never mind where I've been! Why are you naked!"

"What's wrong with being naked? You're naked, too!"

"But I'm a man!"

"Huh?"

"I said I'm a man!" he repeated gruffly.

"Arnie," Frieda said, staring daggers at her husband's turned back. "You know we've been mated for five years, and for five years I still don't understand you. I think we have a communication gap."

"That's 'cause you're a woman."

"What?!"

"Which means you oughta put something on when I'm not home because you'll invite rapists into the house!"

"Oh, hell! Arnie, girls don't invite rapists into their homes. That wouldn't be rape then. That would be…"

"Hey! What's this?" Arnie picked up what should have been beneath forty pairs of neatly pressed Fruit of the Looms. "Goddamn, Frieda! Where the hell did you find this!"

"Uh… in… in your drawer. I-I was just curious… and…"

"You pervert! Don't you know women shouldn't read stuff like this!"

"Now, wait a minute, Arnie, I…"

"So that's why you're naked! You fucking perverted wife! Did you get real turned on, huh? I bet you did, you and that filthy mind of yours!"

Frieda shook her head. What was it that made her feel like she was talking to the monkey instead of the organ grinder? She tried bridging the communication gap again.

"Arnie! I'm not perverted just because I read your silly, little…"

"Then why is your pussy wet! Huh?!"

"Because the book sort of turned me on, but…"

"It turned you on! It looks like you gave birth to a piss-pot! Look at those sheets! Oh, Jesus! Look at that cunt-juice!"

Frieda flushed. What could she say? Tell him yes that she had given birth to a piss-pot? Jesus, he wasn't making any sense; yet, she felt perverted. It was just like that Goddamn book – irrational as hell but it still made sense.

"Arnie, please! You're embarrassing me!"

"You embarrassed! Hah! How can a perverted bitch like you feel embarrassed? Shit, what you need is this! 'Cause it's the only kind of language you really understand!"

Frieda was aghast. Her husband was giving her the finger, the bird, the old middle finger held sky-high! God! That was the last straw!

Frieda started to get up angrily.

Arnie pushed her back down, then rammed his sky-high middle finger into her cunt.

"I knew it, you bitch! You're no better than those, fucking cheerleaders at school. Always prancing around hoping they'll get their cunts eaten. Well, I'm not going to eat your box right now, you pervert!"

Frieda shook her head. God, his middle finger was so Goddamn deep in her cunt! And now he was wiggling it, tickling her cunt and cunt-lips, getting her pussy all hot and juicy.

Frieda couldn't help it. She didn't want her pussy to get hot and juicy, but nature's most powerful instinct, the urge to fuck, was instilling passionate sensations in her writhing body. She tried to be coherent, logical, and cool.

"I-I, aaaaahhhh, God! I-I don't want you to… aaaaiiiieeee… eat my cunt!"

"Why?"

Why? God, Frieda couldn't understand what he was saying! Arnie just didn't make any sense!

"How the hell… aaaaiiiieeee… should I know why?!"

Arnie finger-fucked Frieda's cunt, his middle finger disappearing all the way up her cunt, along with his pointing finger and the one he picked his princess with.

"I'll tell you why you really want me to eat your cunt! Because you just read The Coach Eats Out, and you just found out about eating pussy! And now you want me to eat your cunt!"

Frieda shook her head, tossing her long blonde hair back and forth on the wet sheets. His finger was driving all logic out of her mind. She couldn't think. The pleasure of having her pussy fingered like that was just too much to overcome.

"Aaaiiieee! Oh God! Harder!"

"See! You fucking bitch! You read one book about pussy-eating and your dirty mind's filled with a tongue in your cunt! So okay, bitch! You want my tongue in your hole? Huh? Well, show me how bad you want it!"

Frieda squirmed. God, so much juice was coming out of her pussy. Christ! How was she supposed to show him that she was in heat, that she wanted to have his cock in her cunt instead of his tongue.

She tried shaking her head, but would he understand that what she was trying to say was No! No! No!

"Yeah, you hot-cunt bitch! Look at the way your head's shaking! Look at the sweat on your face! I know how much you want my tongue right hoe!"

Anile jabbed at Frieda's cunt, roused the little bugger to rigid erection. Her gash was so juicy that his nose-picking finger slipped a couple of times and landed too low in her fuck-hole.

"Please! Oh God! Please, Arnie!"

Arnie laughed. The bitch! She was begging for his tongue! Pleading far the coach to eat her, out!

Well, he was ready. His tongue was ready. His lips were ready.

He ate her out.

"Oooohhhh Goooddddd! Arnie! Oh God! Oh no! Stop! Please… aaaaiiiieeeee!"

Arnie's cheeks, the ones on his face, wallowed between Frieda's thighs, his tongue licking and swiping and swirling all around her hairy pussy.

Arnie usually didn't eat out his wife; but lately he had been getting some practice with Yvonne Mandell, the head song leader at Thomas Dewey, and she had proclaimed often enough that he was the best cunt-eater in the whole school.

To Frieda, Arnie was the best cunt-eater in the whole world! It had been so long since a tongue was fucking around with her pussy. God! She couldn't stand it!

Arnie had a big mouth. God had blessed him with a big mouth so he could eat the shit out of cunts like Yvonne Mandell, and Cherry Whittaker, the head cheerleader. He also had to have a big mouth for his coaching duties – yelling at zit masked boys to get their fucking asses in gear, or screaming for them to turn in their gear because he had caught them in the shower fucking each other's uses.

And used his big mouth well.

Frieda died a thousand deaths as her friend ate her cunt with his well-like mouth.

"Aaaauiieeeee! Arnie! Oh God! Tongue my cunt!"

Arnie tongued her clit.

He loved tonguing cunts.

Oh, Frieda's cunt wasn't really long enough to give a real wash job. Not like Suzanne, the head majorette. Now, she had a real doozy of a cunt. The kind that Arnie could chew off and there'd still be enough cunt left for her future husband to munch on.

"Aaaaiieeee! My cunt! Oh, Arnie! Lick my cunt! Please!"

Arnie moved lower.

His tongue scraped over the meaty lips of her cunt.

Frieda didn't have a bad tasting cunt. It probably wasn't bad-tasting because she washed it so Goddamn much until there was nothing left of the walnut shell. Not at all like Vivianne's cunt.