Her moans lumbered with soft whimpers; the hem of her skirt flipped over, splayed on her back. Mel can feel the sweat trickle everywhere, from her hairline, in between the locks of her golden hair, and she’s only grateful that she’s being fucked on her stomach, bent over against the hardwood desk of Mr. Langdon. Her braid nestled in between the crook of her neck and shoulders, tightly neat, away from the disheveled that is taking shape deep inside her tight pussy. Her knuckles bleeding white from the hold on the edges, anchoring her remaining strength.
Frenzy beads of moisture continue to stream down her thighs, running along to the back of her knees, pooling in the shallow curve; She can feel them weak, leaving her witless, but Mr. Langdon’s hand trails up to her nape – a firm grip, like a personal leash made out of his fingers, marking slight red streaks on her skin from his clasp. It was as if a declaration, a command, that she has no means to escape, as after all, she is delivering her end of the bargain.
Her cheek pressed on the wooden surface, mouth agape, escaping breaths that form humid circles past her lips and teeth. “Hngh,” scratches in her voice; her mind melds into pieces, within the grooves of her brain, the sparks in her nerves. Mr. Langdon traces his spare hand in the curve of her back, broadly down to the arch of her spine, until it reaches the paired dimples by her tailbone; he thumbs it like a stamp, like a click on a button. And Mel was bewildered of how he could trail the outline of her figure, the shadows of the bends of her body, all through the white cotton fabric of the uniform that is now certainly pervaded with wrinkles all in the wrong places.
Sweat continues to rush along her legs to the garters of her knee-high socks; Mel squirms from the slight dampness in the cinched garment, the contact makes her uneasy, hastily becoming too aware of the ribbed texture and the elastic’s compressing at her limbs. Blood pooling underneath her pale skin, she can feel her feet tingle with numbness as if time slipped under her fingers since Mr. Langdon had asked her to stay behind after class. To talk for a minute, she remembered the words loosely. Mel shuts her eyes, her walls clenching, clamping down on his size.
“Sshh,” Mr. Langdon shushes, his voice shaken with the way Mel’s walls squeezed his cock below, like a tight, warm, and sticky hug. His hand covers her side hip, his fingers lightly brush the side of her belly, brushes that turn into a knead; he pinches his grapple in between her skin, her supple soft skin, and he can only think of how she feels good in his hold, and, oh, how he can stay forever in this position: his legs parting hers, centered to her middle, the rhythm of their sweltering skins smacking. Mel’s ass is pliant on his, bouncing, and rippled with the effect of his cock, deep and sharp thrusts.
Mr. Langdon can see it very clearly – amidst the slight fog that creeps up on the lenses of his glasses, or the nosepads boring red hollow curves on the edges of the bridge of his nose, or his own sweat forming at the crease of his forehead, some stuck to the frays of his hair falling into place, or his heavy grunts, the scuff in his voice, unrestrained – glistening opaque come in between Mel’s folds, hazy white against the deep pink color of her flesh, her gaping cunt eagerly swallows each of his length within, taking him over and over; an indulgent sight, to which he can only wish to take a photo of, capturing the obscenity of their raw desires.
Tears swell in the corner of Mel’s eyes, imagining her body’s state at that moment, chaos in her system, every push of his is met with the pleasures exhaled from her mouth. His hold on her nape shifts, trails to her cheek, fingers lightly bump on the askew of her glasses.
“I- I need to go,” she huffs, her words gritting on her teeth, an effort to deflect before the last of her acuity leaves her out cold.
“What?” he almost hisses at her. Mel can feel his chest lean slump on her back, a slight of his weight bears down on her, and her head is rattled, feeling how small she is underneath the half of him, and how the small of her core feels the sensation of his hot cock buried deep inside, ignited by his slowing rhythm. His head presses on her ears, “Do you have anywhere else to be, Ms. King?” he questions between his breaths. “Surely not behind the library again, right?”
Mel shakes her head in an attempt, cheeks squeaking from rubbing on the desk; the friction leaving it redder. Mel had no reason to go, not when it’s ten past three in the afternoon on a Friday, not when every student had left in brisk for the weekend, not when no one awaits for her, wondering why she’s late for the first time, or why the head of her hair is all frizzed up, or why her uniform is a disheveled mess, or why the scent of Mr. Langdon is all over her body and skin.
She lets out a shuddering whimper, flustered, as he dips in her further, a prickle of his tip kissing the soft opening of her cervix tenderly – he’s taunting her, from his words, and the way his being envelops hers in a state of wrack; Mel is caught in the midst of it all, reeled in from the moment Mr. Langdon found her taking in another boy’s cock in her mouth behind the quiet pillars of the library on a Wednesday. A tangy taste, as she recalled, mixed with sweat that is expected from the team captain of the high school’s basketball team. What can she say? It was a good spot: a small bench under the trees with encompassing branches that give shade when the sun’s too bright, the still nature was perfect for the illicit encounters of a labeled goody-two-shoes-straight-A-student and a mischievous-yet-charming-jock, for her moans when that boy’s cock teases her folds with shallow glides, for his mouth foul of cussing when she sucks him like a candy and gives his shaft a performance of a lifetime. And Mel had been certain that no one would’ve followed her steps, no one would’ve wondered about the unattended items on the table, the open spread of a book in front of an empty chair of her usual seat, and without a doubt, no one would’ve cared, even if in the back of her mind, she hoped someone would.
Mel swallows the rumbles forming at the back of her throat, juices flowing, trickling to her hard and protruding clit. Mr. Langdon picks up his pace, thighs slapping against the back of hers, fluids dancing with the squelching sounds, the ooze sticking and webbing against their skins with each impale. And before she knew it, her belly knurls with a tension in need of a release, she’s reaching it with an inch, nails scratching the desk profile with a taut grip until her body trembles with her coming, until her legs jolt in reflex, stomach twisting with her liberating orgasm.
Mr. Langdon seizes her hips, taking in her quivering from coming that jerks his cock off its own undoing; a piping gush of his come inside her walls, a languid sigh escapes his lips. He propels himself deeper, his clenching rear and twitching gut, letting all of his empty inside of her.
“Hmm,” Mel lilts in mellow, her fingers ease with the hold on the edges as Mr. Langdon pulls out his cock at leisure. Her palms slowly steady themselves up from the position, treacly come drizzling on the back of her thighs, until she feels his hand as a barrier against her straightening.
“What are you doing?” she asks with a hint of frantic, eyes peeking at her behind, catching a glimpse of his cock, still unyielding, now covered with a white veil of come.
“You think I’m finished with you?” he replies, and Mel feels his fingers dipping in, skimming through her still throbbing cunt.
She cries from her sensitivity, long and sheathing fingers spurring her convulsing walls with pleasure. She feels him knuckling deep in her opening, and an added distinguishing band taking shape in her – the sinking of a cold metal ring, she remembers it gold, almost like the hue of her hair, dipped in honey, sweet. Then, she remembers all the times he brought up his kids, how he’d fight a yawn in the middle of his lecture because of the rowdiness of his little monsters from the night before, how he’d eagerly fashion the best dad! beaded bracelet on his wrist; just a good, good, good family man that he is, or Mel had thought. She wondered if he fucked his wife like this, a name she couldn’t recall, barely mentioned, if he had bent her over the kitchen countertop, rammed with his member, or if he had just lain on top of her in their queen-sized bed, thrusting in a rhythm she liked, whispering sweet nothings to her ear.
His fingers flexed inside of her, spreading her open with his two digits, wriggling, then curling in a rapid motion that Mel enjoyed. She couldn’t help her moans from the stretch; he’s carving her from the inside, imprinting her with his body. Mel whimpers her small no, no, no – until her cunt coils from another release. Mr. Langdon wriggles his fingers until he’s satisfied with the way Mel convulses from the pleasure; he pulls out, leaking juices drift across his exit. Their sex reeks, painting the walls with their smell, entwined into the four corners of the room, only leaving a memory to be remembered.
Brosis Langdonmel, where Langdon gets kicked out of the house, but he loves his lil sister so much that he climbs her window every night to sneak into her room and see her. Him stuffing Mel’s mouth with her own plushies so she can keep quiet.
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