Fornicating with my English Teacher
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I'm Hot For Teacher, Part II free porn video
The sound of my stiletto patented leather high heel shoes echoed in the foyer of the five story building. Dressed to kill in a black corset with a black pencil skirt, (the one I wore on Monday, with a long slit in the back,) I was walking faster than the speed of light since I was running five minutes late for my office appointment with Mr. Diaz.
Mr Diaz... reminiscing of Monday, where the class was watching a film and he was finger fucking me. It was phenomenally intoxicating, enticing, thinking during the week I finally won't vicariously dream of what can never be.
Ha! My actions of not turning in an assignment had led to such a moment of triumph and epiphany . When I attempted to knock on the door, the teacher uttered, "Come in." Then: "Lyric, you are five minutes late. You have failed once again to turn in your assignment this Monday; you are not a punctual person either?" His voice was so serene, so caring, yet stern. I was only five minutes late since my other class was 15 minutes away from his office.
His t-shirt of the day was a face of "Che Guevara," wearing his sandals, his starched khakis embraced his skin, bronze skin, beautiful with a slight bulge being enveloped in the groin area.
"Forgive me, I was walking in these shoes to get here as soon as possible, Mr. Diaz."
While attempting to explain why I was merely five minutes late, he slowly placed his finger on my lip. HMMMMMMMMMMM... the smell of clove cigar so faint, the wanton touch of his hands caressing my left shoulder.
"You know, I do not like late assignments and now punctuality seems to be an issue, Lyric? How can I get through to you, Lyric? What will suffice to make you my obedient pupil? You lack the courage of convictions into turning assignments, minimal class participation, now being late? What am I going to do with you, Lyric?"
My heart palpitated with each syllable engaged and expressed slithering from his jaw. I was getting a rush. He slowly locked his office door, for it was after hours, and slowly dimmed his lights. He advised me to sit on his chair.
My palms down to my lap, Eyes closed.
"Lyric, you will count to 1 to 10 backwards, slowly. I advise you when you are counting, please refrain from thinking of the outside world, the only thing which matters is you and I. Your world means nothing if I am not involved during our time. Your safe word is 'lecture.' Start to count, Lyric."
'...10-9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1." While counting I was advised to open my eyes, remain seated until advised otherwise.
Mr. Diaz stepped out of the office for two hours. I was still awaiting his arrival. I am tired, weak. Abruptly, I hear the door open. Crazy thoughts foaming, racing through my mind, I am thinking this teacher has really pissed me off. He has left me seated in this office, what if it was the janitorial staff or security. When the thought of me attempting to get up from my chair, the teacher opened the door.
"Good. You are being the star pupil you ought to be. My little island of paradise, mi secreto... (also known as my secret in Spanish) my Lyric. I had to start your training. I wanted to touch you and explore every follicle, every fiber and mark of your skin, trace those tattoos, know your limits. You have left me no choice. I have to punish you now."
I was flabbergasted. I thought I WAS BEING PUNISHED. However, I was instructed to take off my clothes, slowly. I was to remain only in my shoes. I was instructed thereafter to take off his clothes. I had to place his shirt on a hanger. His creased pants on the desk to avoid being wrinkled. I slowly took off each shoe, placed them in a simple fashion next to his desk.
HIS BODY! Oh such an exquisite body. His color of his skin glistened, his nipples where a chocolate brown. His chest with hair,prominentsurfaced masculinity. His tattoos on his chest stated, 'La Vida Loca' translated in English, 'The Crazy Life,' was at least 7 or 8 years old. He was molded from clay and every crevice, birthmark and scar of this man. My Hispanic Adonis. I worshiped this man.
"You do not deserve to touch me. You were five minutes late. Bend over, Lyric. Hands and arms behind your back. Remain this way until you are instructed otherwise."
I heard noises, my mind attempting to be alert. I heard the draw open, felt rope around my wrists. I was not to move. I could not move. I was in knots! Suddenly, I smelled the faint scent of leather. From the corner of my eye, I saw a nine-tails flogger. I was feeling a rush of endorphines when I felt the tails slither on my back.
"Count each time my flogger caresses your skin, and thank me afterwards. Thank your Daddy, thank him for such attentiveness. His cunning style of flogging you. My Lyric, beautiful music, my baby girl. Daddy loves his Lyric. Daddy loves his song. Thank your Master, yield to me, dear Lyric. Love me, be my girl. That's my pet."
After 22 floggings, I was shivering, skin red, stinging. I loved everyone of them. I was untied, and he picked me up to the sofa. I was laying down. He grabbed a tube of Eucerin ointment rubbing the ointment on my punished back. He was concerned because I never used the safe word. I was in tears. I sobbed. He caressed my face, my lips, and he kissed me. I was a bit disturbed. I was puzzled. I didn't know how to react.
"I cannot do this. I am a student. You are a teacher. Such an educational clause, we have surpassed it with such a mockery of your actions. I cannot fathom such a debacle. LECTURE! LECTURE! was the safe word I criedTo continue reading this story you must be a member. Join for FREE here.
Mr Diaz... reminiscing of Monday, where the class was watching a film and he was finger fucking me. It was phenomenally intoxicating, enticing, thinking during the week I finally won't vicariously dream of what can never be.
Ha! My actions of not turning in an assignment had led to such a moment of triumph and epiphany . When I attempted to knock on the door, the teacher uttered, "Come in." Then: "Lyric, you are five minutes late. You have failed once again to turn in your assignment this Monday; you are not a punctual person either?" His voice was so serene, so caring, yet stern. I was only five minutes late since my other class was 15 minutes away from his office.
His t-shirt of the day was a face of "Che Guevara," wearing his sandals, his starched khakis embraced his skin, bronze skin, beautiful with a slight bulge being enveloped in the groin area.
"Forgive me, I was walking in these shoes to get here as soon as possible, Mr. Diaz."
While attempting to explain why I was merely five minutes late, he slowly placed his finger on my lip. HMMMMMMMMMMM... the smell of clove cigar so faint, the wanton touch of his hands caressing my left shoulder.
"You know, I do not like late assignments and now punctuality seems to be an issue, Lyric? How can I get through to you, Lyric? What will suffice to make you my obedient pupil? You lack the courage of convictions into turning assignments, minimal class participation, now being late? What am I going to do with you, Lyric?"
My heart palpitated with each syllable engaged and expressed slithering from his jaw. I was getting a rush. He slowly locked his office door, for it was after hours, and slowly dimmed his lights. He advised me to sit on his chair.
My palms down to my lap, Eyes closed.
"Lyric, you will count to 1 to 10 backwards, slowly. I advise you when you are counting, please refrain from thinking of the outside world, the only thing which matters is you and I. Your world means nothing if I am not involved during our time. Your safe word is 'lecture.' Start to count, Lyric."
'...10-9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1." While counting I was advised to open my eyes, remain seated until advised otherwise.
Mr. Diaz stepped out of the office for two hours. I was still awaiting his arrival. I am tired, weak. Abruptly, I hear the door open. Crazy thoughts foaming, racing through my mind, I am thinking this teacher has really pissed me off. He has left me seated in this office, what if it was the janitorial staff or security. When the thought of me attempting to get up from my chair, the teacher opened the door.
"Good. You are being the star pupil you ought to be. My little island of paradise, mi secreto... (also known as my secret in Spanish) my Lyric. I had to start your training. I wanted to touch you and explore every follicle, every fiber and mark of your skin, trace those tattoos, know your limits. You have left me no choice. I have to punish you now."
I was flabbergasted. I thought I WAS BEING PUNISHED. However, I was instructed to take off my clothes, slowly. I was to remain only in my shoes. I was instructed thereafter to take off his clothes. I had to place his shirt on a hanger. His creased pants on the desk to avoid being wrinkled. I slowly took off each shoe, placed them in a simple fashion next to his desk.
HIS BODY! Oh such an exquisite body. His color of his skin glistened, his nipples where a chocolate brown. His chest with hair,prominentsurfaced masculinity. His tattoos on his chest stated, 'La Vida Loca' translated in English, 'The Crazy Life,' was at least 7 or 8 years old. He was molded from clay and every crevice, birthmark and scar of this man. My Hispanic Adonis. I worshiped this man.
"You do not deserve to touch me. You were five minutes late. Bend over, Lyric. Hands and arms behind your back. Remain this way until you are instructed otherwise."
I heard noises, my mind attempting to be alert. I heard the draw open, felt rope around my wrists. I was not to move. I could not move. I was in knots! Suddenly, I smelled the faint scent of leather. From the corner of my eye, I saw a nine-tails flogger. I was feeling a rush of endorphines when I felt the tails slither on my back.
"Count each time my flogger caresses your skin, and thank me afterwards. Thank your Daddy, thank him for such attentiveness. His cunning style of flogging you. My Lyric, beautiful music, my baby girl. Daddy loves his Lyric. Daddy loves his song. Thank your Master, yield to me, dear Lyric. Love me, be my girl. That's my pet."
After 22 floggings, I was shivering, skin red, stinging. I loved everyone of them. I was untied, and he picked me up to the sofa. I was laying down. He grabbed a tube of Eucerin ointment rubbing the ointment on my punished back. He was concerned because I never used the safe word. I was in tears. I sobbed. He caressed my face, my lips, and he kissed me. I was a bit disturbed. I was puzzled. I didn't know how to react.
"I cannot do this. I am a student. You are a teacher. Such an educational clause, we have surpassed it with such a mockery of your actions. I cannot fathom such a debacle. LECTURE! LECTURE! was the safe word I criedTo continue reading this story you must be a member. Join for FREE here.
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