J Long: Neighborhood wives

And now the professor's prick was no longer perpendicular to his loins. Four inches below the bulging cockhead, his shaft was bending, following the course of her throat tube down to her stomach.

Betty Ann tried to scream!

"Mmmgggfffsssmmm!"

Professor Wellington moaned. "Oooooh, Betty Ann! Dooo that. Again!"

"Mmmmgggggghhhhhhfffssssssssmm!"

"Ooooooh! More, betty ann! More! That feels so good on my cock! More!"

"Mmmmmggggggffffssssmmm!"

It was too bad that Professor Wellington had his head bent back as he thrust his hips forward, consequently pushing more prick into Betty Ann's cock-clogged throat, because he didn't see Betty Ann's horrible expression.

She was obviously in pain – anybody in that much agony naturally has eyes as big as coffee cup saucers. And anguish was very apparent because salty tears were running down her rouged cheeks, joining the sweat and jizz and spit that dripped off her chin. And horror was very evident because she was beginning to fear for her life – which is natural when something as big as a Genoa salami was being shoved down a person's throat.

But Professor Wellington didn't see Betty Ann's agonized facial features because his eyes were closed and his face was a mask of ecstasy. God, her throat was just gulp-gulp-gulping around the head of his cock. And her tongue seemed to be like a limp windshield wiper as it swiped all over his bloated prick. And her lips felt so deliciously wet and tight against his groin. And her teeth felt so painful as she bit down on the base of his cock in order to get his attention.

"Aaaaaaaiiiiieeee! My cock! You fucked-up cocksucker, you bit my cock! You'll pay for this. Aaaaiiieee!"

Betty Ann gasped many times. Huge gulps of beautiful air filled her oxygen-starved lungs, which in turn made her tits loom outwards with each heaving breath, which did amazing things to the Waco State sweatshirt that she was wearing. Yes, even when she was in agonizing pain, she was still a sensuous creature – as most Texas girls are who have bitten off more than they can chew.

Professor Wellington looked at his cock, saw the little teething marks on his prick, saw the little trickles of blood that dripped off his pubic hair, saw where the Goddamned Waco State vampire had managed to sink her Colgate teeth.

"You'll pay for this, Betty Ann! I was thinking about changing your grade to an A for your 'Ode to Waco' poem, but now, you little cannibal, you're going to fail, flunk, get a big fat F… like in fucking. Yeah, that's what I'm going to do. I'm going to fuck you then flunk you."

Betty Ann was shocked. Repulsed. Disoriented. And petrified – just as petrified as that huge cock that swayed menacing near her face.

How could her professor talk to her like that? He was a romantic at heart, a classicist in mind; yet, he sure was a realist when it came to putting cocks to coeds.

It was hard for Betty Ann to speak because her vocal cords seemed to have been in her stomach, pushed there by a fourteen-inch prick.

And it was hard to see because of the tears that filmed over her contact lenses – naturally, she wore mini-specs because glasses would make her look too intelligent, and most Texans prefer their whores and wives to look like skits and harlots, not some Goddamn career girl who scoffed at crotchiess panties and cupless bras.

And it was hard to hear because Betty Ann's head was buried in several throw pillows that had been thrown by the professor when he had become pissed off at her for chomping on his cock.

And it was hard to feel anything virtuous now because the image of a poetic professor had been ruined by this man who was putting on top of her and grabbing handfuls of tit, then handfuls of aunt as he reached under her skirt.

And it was getting harder to feel anything but the harder-feeling thing that was snaking up between her splayed thighs and entering the very recent tear in her pink cotton panties.

Oh, no! Betty Ann shook her head. No! Not that big cock! Not that monstrous, obscene, oversized piece of meat that most men would call a real humdinger and mast whores would call a real money maker – that's if they charged men by the inch, of course.

But, oh, yes! That humdinger of a prick was just entering her cunt. And, oh, yes, Betty Ann was just going to get the Texas daylights fucked out of her pussy – or rather, her cunt would be so fucking huge after being pronged by that fourteen-inch cock, that there would be plenty of daylight seen between the gaping lips of her pussy.

And now the daylight was entering her pussy. And a dusky darkness was settling over her consciousness.

"Aaaaiiiieeee! It's too big! It's too big! Take it out! I can't take it! Please! Don't fuck me with that huge thing!"

Ha, ha, ha, thought Professor Wellington. Same old words that every coed screamed. Same old tone of voice, too, come to think of it. In fact, they all sounded so real whenever he started wedging his fourteen-inch cock into their tight cunts.

Sob, sob, sob, thought Betty Ann – like in S.O.B.. He was killing her! He was wrecking her for all those future Texas lovers who had normal sized cocks and who would want to fuck her, and once they fucked her, they would walk away thinking that they had just fucked a cowboy's boot instead of a woman's cunt.

"Aaaiiieee! Stop! No more! Please! It's too big! Take it out! No more! Please!"

Professor Wellington paused, gave due consideration to what she said. Was she serious? Nah, shit, he had only gotten in the first inch of his cock – hell, he was just starting to really get into the groove of fucking. She had to be kidding – yeah, typical Goddamn Texas girl always telling their fuckers to stop when they meant go, always saying no more when they hadn't had enough. Pigs, that's what Texas women were. Lying pip.

Betty Ann felt like a pig – a stuck pig, a porker that had just been skewered right up the middle by a pitchfork – not the end with the tines, but the handle. And she felt like a lying pig – lying flat on her back and squealing for her life, her liberty and her future pursuit of happiness with all those soon-to-come Texas lovers with their normal-sized cocks.

But Professor Wellington knew when he had a choice piece of meat under his belly. Shit, she was just like a sow in heat, a bitch with the hots, a mare for mating.

Typical animal woman from Texas.

He shoved.

She screamed.

He reshoved, because the first shove had managed to push his cock in three inches, and there was a good ten more inches of cockmeat to go.

She screamed again… and again… and again. Like this: "Aaaiiieee! Aaajiieee! Aaaiiieee!"

In a series of hinges and jerks and sweat-heavy pushes, the professor got all his fourteen inches of cock rammed home in the deliciously tight meat of Betty Ann's ravaged pussy.

Betty Ann wanted to gag – which is natural for most American girls who are getting fucked by a fourteen-inch cock, because the prick feels like it's somewhere up near their throat instead of near their womb.

Professor Wellington wanted to fuck – which is natural for most American professors who are surrounded daily by the choicest, most available pussies in all of America: the cock-hungry coed.

Betty Ann did gag. Like this: "Aggggghhhh!"

Professor Wellington did fuck. Like this: withdraw twelve inches of cock, then re-enter from where he had withdrawn. Listen to the sound of her cunt sticking to all sides of his cock on the withdrawal; listen to the moist noises as he shoves a foot of prick back into her pussy. See the goo glisten from his cock as he withdraws; see the goo drop all over the new rug as he squishes back into her pussy.

Fucking tends to have a rhythm all its own, depending on the conductor and the musical score, of course.