The Bulge

There you are again, teaching religion in front of the class. It was lucky that you gave us the liberty to choose our seats, because I really like being there. There's just something that keeps my mouth hanging open.

I chose to position myself at the end of the first row. Contrary to what most students prefer, I like sitting in the front seat. I get to hear and see lectures better; I get to impress my professors easier. But yours is a special case. I strategically seated myself on that spot so that I can see that bulge coming out of your pants.

The view from my place is simply perfect. From there, I can see how that bulge comes down from the below of your belt buckle to the end of the flap of fabric covering your zipper. It's just...enticing. It makes me want to grab your crotch, pull down your zipper with my teeth, and give you the best suck that will make you forget that you just got married to a very beautiful wife.

This is just so exciting on so many aspects. First, I get to sleep with a hot proffy. Second, you're an ex-seminarian (HOT!) Lastly, I'd get to see what's hidden inside your briefs, and with a bulge like that, I'm quite sure I won't be disappointed.

Wanna fuck, sir?

Oh fuck oh fuck, this one's gonna be messed up

Shit. He just gave me a phone call. I was afraid that's going to happen, and it did. Let's just be friends, okay? Assume nothing, please. Because I'm not up for anything serious.

You made me hard last night

Fuck that dance floor. We were dancing, you would grind your ass onto my crotch, and hell, you'd make me hard. And because I'm an evil horny bitch, I would do grinding of my own. Lots of it, onto your ass, onto your crotch.

Damn it. I knew that I was sending the wrong signals. Yet, I'm touchy, I'm horny, and I like touching and making other guys horny. But I hated it in the end because you were still so touchy-feely on our ride home. Dude, I like you on the dance floor---but only on the dance floor.

Mine, yours, neither

It feels so natural to be together that it hits me hard to have to remind myself that you are not mine. You were never.

Dream half-fulfilled

The rain poured, I pressed my umbrella, you stopped me---and we bathed in the rain, walked under it, laughed under it, played under it. Then we asked the others to tag along. It was bliss.

I told you once that it's my dream to bathe under the rain with the person I love. I have, twice---but only, that person doesn't know that that seemingly simple gesture of friendship means that it was a dream come true. Almost.

You didn't know.

Change of heart?

I stumbled upon this video on the web and I was surprised by the sensation that I felt after. It was hot, creeping from my crotch and spreading all over my body; my hands were cold because of arousal; and next thing I know, I was spitting on my left palm and started stroking while my eyes were glued onto my laptop screen.

Perhaps it's the guy's finger going in and out of that puffy pussy. Perhaps it's seeing his finger wet after doing lots of rubbing and finger fucking. Damn, you don't get a naturally wet finger from fingering manholes.

After I'm done doing my thing, I played the video again. Wow, that's a pussy, and it got me beating my stick. YUM-OH.