David Crane - Scandal school

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.