David Crane - Scandal school

"In fact, not to put too fine a point on it, I want to know the caloric and nutrient value of… errr, juice."

Irma batted her eyes and Coach Miller blushed. But he continued, dogged and determined: "And cum, too. It's a reciprocal arrangement, you see."

Irma knew all about such things. Not at all taken aback by the weird request, she thought for a moment.

She said, "The latest research into the subject finds that there are approximately seventeen calories to the average gentleman's orgasm. But that will vary, of course, from man to man. And according to the time period between coming. That is, the longer you wait, the more spunk you blow and, it follows, the more calories in the load. As far as vitamins and minerals, I'd have to look that up, I'm afraid I've always concerned myself more with volume and texture and heat than with content. But cunt juice… I'm not sure any research at all had been done in that field. Surprising, to say the least, in this day and age when everyone is concerned about keeping fit and losing weight while, at the same time, all and sundry suck pussy."

Miller was gaping at the librarian. Her worry had gone right to his balls, and his dick was uncoiling like a spring in his pants. This did not go unnoticed.

Irma said, "What I would suggest is that we gather together a few grams of each and take them to the laboratory for analysis. We might even combine on writing a paper on our findings."

Coach Miller had always secretly aspired to scholastic recognition. He said, "What a good idea."

"If you'll supply the cum, I'll be more than pleased to provide the cunt juice," Irma said. She smiled meaningfully. "Of course, you will have to fetch it from the supplier."

Millet grinned crookedly. "I'm good at that," he said.

Irma was thrilled, but she knew that she mustn't let her new research interfere with her cock catalogue.

"The first step, I think, is to measure your dick," she told him. "Their we can use that as a yardstick to measure the cubic capacity of my cunt."

She whipped out her tape measure. Coach Miller, undaunted, whipped out his dick.

Irma, in her lifetime, had looked fondly upon six thousand cocks, giving or take a few that had shown up before she started to catalogue them. She estimated that about forty-two thousand inches of pecker had been in and out of her body, more than half a mile of track laid in her various holes. Irma thought she had seen it all.

Irma took one look at Red Miller's bludgeon and fainted dead away.

Although John Tremont had rejected the idea of a cold shower as a hard-on exorcist, he felt the need of a warm shower, with plenty of soap, at the moment. Fucking the librarian's asshole had been most pleasant indeed, but it had left his pecker in a terrible state. John hated to walk around with a soiled pecker because you never knew when you might strike it lucky and have occasion to show it to a randy young coed. That had never happened to him yet, but you could never tell… you could hope? John leaned against the wall, gasping like a fish as he thought about his recent encounter of the anal kind. Then, summoning his strength, he headed for the gym.

Such was the vitality of John's pubescence and the power of his memory of recent events that, before he had turned the corner, his dick was hard again.

"We better sneak out of here now," Skip said.

Sarah seemed in no hurry to leave the boys' shower room, "Better wait until Coach Miller leaves the gym," she said.

"Well… okay."

Now that he had got his rocks off, Skip was no longer flirting with the unique thrill of dangerous living. But now that she'd got her rocks off once, naughty little Sarah wanted to get them off all over again. She snuggled up to Skip. He was ignoring her, nervously watching the entrance, but his prick began a series of ominous lurches and jerks.

"Oh, dear… you can't walk out of here like that!" Sarah said, concerned. "It would be bad for my reputation if anyone saw us together and you had a bone on…"

"It'd be worse if I didn't," he said. "Everyone knows how horny I am. If my dick is soft they'll figure that you must of softened it."

"That's a point," she said.

And his prick was coming to a point too. Despite his reluctance, it stood out parallel with the floor, beads of water bouncing off the shaft and knob. Sarah regarded it affectionately. She was remembering how pleasant it looked when Miss Bridewell was giving head to the coach and tantalizing her fleeting taste of Skip's dick had been. She had never sucked a prick before, although the urge had often arisen, because she figured it would be bad for her reputation. There was an excuse for screwing – you simply got too hot to resist it, you needed it. But cocksucking was different, and all the cocksuckers she knew had simply terrible reputations. But now she had already had Skip's dick in her mouth and she figured what the hell, she might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb.

She said, "While we here, we might as well wash."

Skip stared at her, thinking that was an absolute ridiculous idea. Sarah got a bar of soap from the tray and began to soap his cock and balls.

Skip got the point, then.

Her slippery hands rubbed and lathered, and his pecker came right up like a ramrod. She dropped to her knees, and his knob was throbbing in front of her face as she washed him with great concentration and deft thoroughness. Then, not wanting to get soap in her mouth – she giggled at the idea of foaming at the mouth while sucking a cock, knowing it would look as if she were rabid for dick – she leaned back and let the spray from the shower rinse the soapsuds from his succulent rod.

"Now…" she said, preparing to give him a first class gobble.

Then, John Tremont walked in. John had left his clothes in the locker room, and so he came in cock first.

His pecker cleaved the steam in front of him like the prow of an icebreaker cutting through frozen seas. He didn't notice Skip and Sarah as they cowered in the corner. His thoughts were on other things. He stood under the nearest spray and began to pull his dick up and down with fast, efficient strokes, more concerned with getting his wad out than enjoying it.

Sarah giggled at the sight.

Skip cautioned her.

John had heard the giggle, however.

Horrified, he turned to see who had discovered him in his pulling performance. He saw two figures but he couldn't make out who they were through the slut sat spray.

Hiding his dick behind his hunt, he advanced. "Oh, boy!" Skip groaned. "He'll see you!"

"He'll think I'm a boy," Sarah said.

"Not when he gets a look at my hard-on, he won't."

"Well, hide it."

"Hide it? Where?"

Sarah thought about that for approximately one fifth of a second. She was still kneeling in front of him, and there was only one logical place where his dick could be secreted.

She slid his cock into her mouth.

Skip hissed with the sensation, just as if his loins were a boiler and his dick a release valve.

Sarah pushed her face right down so that his knob was nestled in her throat and her face was fiat against his belly. She figured that John might not recognize her that way. Skip's cock was completely hidden, and she hoped for the best. She began to suck adoringly on the meaty mouthful, figuring she might as well kill two birds with one stone.

"Who's that?" John said.

"Hi. It's me," Skip said, trying to look natural.

"Oh, hi, Skip. Gee, I'm glad it's you wouldn't want anyone with a big mouth to catch me jacking off in the showers. And… errr speaking about big mouths… who is that…"

Skip looked sheepish. "You noticed her, huh?" he said.

"What's a girl doing in here?"

"Sucking my dick."

"That's what I thought," said John, no longer ashamed at having been seen whacking his pole. He bent down and looked between Sarah's legs.