As I'm lying on my back on my parents' bed, Mrs. Jones' wet and velvety tongue glides along my delicate folds. Her exploration sets off a fire within my core, causing my hips to buck in response. It feels so good!

With each flick of her tongue, she delves deeper into my quivering sex. Every lustful slurp feels like a sinful indulgence, savoring my essence as if it were the most delectable delicacy. Gasping for air, I arch my back in pleasure, my hands gripping the sheets tightly as Mrs. Jones licks me with a hunger that drives me wild.

"Mm, you're irresistible, sweety," she whispers.

Her skilled tongue dances and teases as she devours every drop of my sweet nectar. When she pulls away and stands up, I want to beg for more — to feel her lips and tongue on me again — but I feel too shy to ask for it.

Mrs. Jones unties the silky robe around her waist, revealing her naked curves underneath, and my gaze is instantly drawn in between her thighs, where I can see the glistening evidence of her desire. She wants me just as much as I want her.

"Let's hop into a shower together," she suggests with a sensuous smile.

With a seductive sway of her hips, Mrs. Jones guides me into the en-suite bathroom of my parents' bedroom. My clit throbs as she turns to face me, and the butt plug nestled snugly inside my tiny hole is almost forgotten. Her meadow-green eyes meet mine, her lips parting in a naughty grin as she takes off my delicate babydoll, exposing every inch of my nakedness to her greedy stare.

I watch her walk under the shower, turn on the water, and, with a playful wink, Mrs. Jones invites me to join her.

"What about ... the plug?" I stutter, my cheeks heating at the thought of how it will be pulled from my tight backdoor. Oh, I hope it won't be dirty! That would be really humiliating.

A devilish smirk spreads across her lips as Mrs. Jones responds, "We'll take care of it in the shower. Now, jump in and let me handle it."

Will it hurt? Taking a deep breath, I push that thought aside, trusting Mrs. Jones knows what she is doing. Warm water cascades down my skin as I join her in the shower, but it does little to ease my nerves.

"Turn around and place your palms against the wall," Mrs. Jones instructs.

I follow her instructions, and she steps behind me, her hands gliding across my shoulders.

"Push that pretty ass out for me," she murmurs as she presses against me, her hardened nipples brushing against my back.

As I arch my back slightly, I feel her hands move lower, her fingers tracing the curve of my spine.

"Spread your legs a little wider," Mrs. Jones commands, and I obey.

As she traces one finger along the edge of the base of the plug protruding from my taboo hole, my breathing hitches. I focus on my breath, trying to calm my racing heart as her fingers grab the base of the plug firmly, giving it a slight tug.

"Oh," I gasp.

"You like that?" Mrs. Jones murmurs.

"It's not unpleasant," I admit, my voice coming out in a shaky exhale as she pulls the toy out a little before pushing it back in. My swollen clit tingles, my anal muscles clenching around the delicious intrusion.

"Mmm, that's good to know," Mrs. Jones purrs, pulling the plug out again, this time further, before sliding it back in.

This is so naughty! My body shivers with need as Mrs. Jones continues to taunt me with the plug.

"You're so responsive," she chuckles as she teasingly slides the toy in and then back out. "John would love to see this."

My heart races at the mention of John, my volleyball coach, and my secret crush. I wonder how his cock would feel inside me, just like this plug, filling me up and making me feel so good. What am I even thinking?! I can't believe I'm getting turned on by the thought of having anal sex with my coach!

My body shudders as the plug glides out, my tight muscles gripping onto it as if reluctant to let go. Every inch of me throbs with desire, even though I know it's wrong to be this aroused by such taboo thoughts about my coach.

Mrs. Jones lays the plug on the shower floor, and I glance at it, relieved that it seems clean. She reaches for the soap and begins to lather up her hands, a scent of lavender filling the air. As her soft hands caress my back, I feel her ample breasts brush up against my naked flesh.

Her palms move lower, squeezing and massaging my buttocks. My breath becomes ragged, and the heat in between my thighs intensifies. As she spreads my butt cheeks, letting the water cascade in between them, I wish her fingers would follow the flow and find their way into my wetness. I am disappointed when her hands slide lower, tracing the curve of my thighs before reaching my knees.

Her palms travel back up, teasingly avoiding my throbbing core as they glide across my stomach, causing me to squirm as they reach my breasts, her fingers tracing the outline of my nipples before gently pinching them.

"Mmphm," I moan as Mrs. Jones continues to tease my rosy tips, my body arching towards hers in a silent plea for more.

"Such an impatient, naughty girl you are, and so hungry for more," she whispers in my ear. "Turn around and kiss me."

I don't have to be told twice! I turn around, wrap my arms around her neck, and crash my lips against hers. My tongue slips into her mouth as we deepen the kiss, our bodies pressed together, the heat between us rising.

As we kiss, I can feel her hands wandering down my back, lingering on my lower back, before sliding down to cup my behind.

"Oh, Mrs. Jones," I moan against her lips as she squeezes me closer.

I can feel her smile against my lips as she whispers, "My sweet little girl," and pulls away, making me whimper in protest at the loss of her touch.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. We have all day and all night. Now, be a good girl and wash me clean," she says with a playful wink.

I take the soap and start to lather her body, my fingers trembling as they move over her smooth skin, feeling the warmth of her body under my touch. As I wash her breasts, Mrs. Jones grins at me, causing my cheeks to flush. My hands glide down her stomach, lingering at her hips before moving lower, eliciting a soft gasp from her lips.

"No, honey," she whispers, gently guiding my hands away. "Save that for later. And never wash your vagina with regular soap. It can disrupt the natural pH balance and cause irritation."

"Oh," I murmur, feeling like I should know that already.

Mrs. Jones leads my hands back up and turns around, allowing me to continue washing her back. As I massage her shoulders, she leans back into me, letting out a contented sigh.

A doorbell rings, interrupting our intimate moment. Who could that be?

"I'll get that," she says before stepping out of the shower, and I follow her out, feeling unsatisfied.

As she quickly dries off and throws on a robe, I grab a towel and wrap it around myself. Mrs. Jones looks at me and licks her lips, like a hungry predator eyeing its prey. No. She is not like that. She's simply a nice, friendly neighbor who is teaching me about sex. I smile nervously, attempting to shake off the uneasy feeling that her gaze gives me.

"Dry yourself, sweety, and put the babydoll back on unless you want John to see you naked," she says, her lips curling into a sly smile.

What? The coach is here? I quickly dry off. He can't see me like this or dressed only in the almost transparent lingerie.

"I'll just go and get changed in my room," I say as I rush out of the bathroom, but Mrs. Jones grabs my arm gently.

"You don't need to be shy, sweety. John has seen it all before."

"But ..." I stammer, feeling my cheeks flush.

Mrs. Jones chuckles, handing me my babydoll nightie. "Trust me, John won't mind," she says, her eyes twinkling with amusement as she raises her brow. "I think he'll appreciate the view."

I pause, holding the nightie in my hands, then reluctantly pull it over my head. The fabric brushes against my skin, and the thought of the coach seeing me in this state—wearing lingerie that barely covers my anything and no panties—makes my heart flutter with a mix of nerves and a strange thrill.

The doorbell rings again, prompting us to head downstairs. When we reach the bottom of the stairs, Mrs. Jones tells me to go and sit on the couch while she answers the door.

"Okay," I say, taking a deep breath as I walk into the living room, which is directly connected to the entrance in an open-concept layout.

I feel my pussy throb as I force myself to sit on the couch, trying to ignore the nervous flutter in my stomach. Mrs. Jones gives me a reassuring smile before opening the door.

As the coach walks in and sees me sitting there, he halts in his tracks, a surprised expression crossing his face. His eyes dip to my pebbles poking through the thin fabric of my babydoll, and I quickly cross my arms, feeling heat rise to my cheeks. Mrs. Jones clears her throat, and he turns his attention back to her, a faint blush coloring his cheeks as well.

"I didn't realize we'd have company," he stammers, looking slightly flustered. His brows furrow. "Why is the kid here?" The tone of his voice is harsh, making me shrink back in my seat.

"John, be nice," Mrs. Jones chides gently, placing a hand on his chest.

I shift uncomfortably in my seat, feeling like an intruder in their conversation.

"Amy is not a kid," Mrs. Jones defends me. "She has just turned eighteen and is now an adult. And she is here because we all need to talk."

This is the first time Mrs. Jones has called me by my first name, and I can't help but prefer the loving pet names she usually uses. John's expression softens slightly, but his eyes still hold a hint of annoyance.

Mrs. Jones gives me a kind smile in an attempt to relieve the tension in the room, then returns her attention to the coach. "How much time do you have?"

"Until noon. I told my wife I was giving her," he pauses, his gaze flickering to me momentarily, "a private lesson."

It's a believable excuse. Given my status as the team's least skilled player, the idea of needing some extra practice doesn't stretch the imagination.

Mrs. Jones nods. "Good. That gives us plenty of time," she says, her voice calm. "Let's join Amy on the couch, shall we?"

Mrs. Jones walks over to the couch and takes a seat next to me, motioning for John to do the same. John hesitates for a moment before finally making his way over to join us, his posture tense. I can sense the unease radiating off of him as he sits down next to Mrs. Jones, his eyes avoiding mine.

"So," Mrs. Jones begins to speak, breaking the silence that has settled over us. "Amy has agreed not to say anything about us to anyone. Isn't that right, sweety?"

"Yes," I respond, nodding in agreement.

The coach looks at me with a stern expression, his eyes narrowing. "Uh huh," his tone making it clear he isn't convinced.

Mrs. Jones shoots him a warning glance. "Amy is a good girl, John. She was just curious, which is why she was spying on us having sex. You know how we were at her age," Mrs. Jones continues. "It's the hormones. And she barely has any sexual experience. She just couldn't help herself."

Earth, please swallow me whole. I sink lower in my seat, wishing I could disappear. The coach nods, but I can tell he's still skeptical.

"We were just talking earlier about how Amy never even gave a blowjob before," Mrs. Jones adds, making me want to crawl into a hole and never come out. "Can you imagine that, John?"

His jaw clenches, and his face turns red as he struggles to respond. Finally, he mutters, "That's difficult to believe, since she is such a pretty girl."

Mrs. Jones glances at me with a mischievous smile, knowing full well the effect of her words on both the coach and me.

"Yes, Amy is a little beauty," Mrs. Jones says with a wink, causing me to blush even more.

I can feel the electricity in the air as I shift in my seat, my core tingling and my nipples perking against the silky texture of my sheer nightie. The coach's gaze dips down to my chest, his eyes darkening.

"And she has a pretty pussy too," Mrs. Jones adds with a wide smile, causing the coach to clear his throat nervously. "I enjoyed tasting it last night almost as much as I enjoyed her wet tongue licking mine this morning."

"What?" the coach utters in shock, looking between us with wide eyes, his face turning bright red as if he just ate a spicy pepper.

Mrs. Jones chuckles, enjoying the awkwardness she has created. "Yes," she purrs. "Amy may be inexperienced, but she is quite eager to learn, and I promised to teach her everything about sex. Isn't that right, sweety?"

Unable to look either of them in the eye, I stare at my hands, my fingers twisting nervously in my lap. "Yes, Mrs. Jones," I whisper.

Mrs. Jones smirks, leaning in closer to the coach, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I'm sure you'll be more than happy to help with her education, won't you, John?"

"Um, well, I... uh..." The coach stammers, taken aback.

Oh, to imagine the coach touching me so intimately, as Mrs. Jones did, makes the wetness between my thighs gush with want.

Mrs. Jones places her hand on his knee, a sneaky grin playing across her lips. "Amy is a quick learner and very willing to please." Her hand creeps up his thigh towards the bulge in his pants, causing the coach to shift uncomfortably in his seat.

"What are you doing?" he asks, grabbing her wrist firmly.

Mrs. Jones chuckles softly, her eyes glinting playfully as she leans in even closer, whispering, "Come on, John. Let Amy watch. How will she learn if she can't see how it's done?"

The coach hesitates, glancing nervously at me, and all I can manage is a faint smile in return. Watching them have sex through the keyhole was one thing, but being in the same room with them is a whole other level, and I have no idea what Mrs. Jones has planned for the lesson.

The coach looks at Mrs. Jones. "I don't think that's a good idea," he finally says, his voice wavering as if he is unsure of himself. And yet, he releases her wrist. Her hand slides across his stirring manhood.

Mrs. Jones raises an eyebrow, a naughty smile playing on her lips as she replies, "Oh, come now. It'll be our little secret."

The coach sits there, Mrs. Jones' hand stroking his swelling shaft, straining through his trousers. His gaze shifts back and forth between Mrs. Jones and me, as if he is trying to decide if he should stop her or not. I get the impression he would prefer that I leave the room, but I stay, hoping to get a close look at the cock I've been fantasizing about.

Mrs. Jones turns to me and says, "You want to watch me as I give John's delicious cock some much-needed attention, don't you, sweety?"

My heart races as I nod, unable to tear my eyes away from his crotch, my body already throbbing with excitement.

"See, John?" Mrs. Jones purrs, turning back to the coach. "Your little volleyball player is eager to see you in action."

"Fine," he groans. His eyes narrow as he stares at me. "But only if she promises to keep this... between us."

"I promise," I breathlessly whisper, biting my lip.

Her hands reach for his belt buckle, and my heart skips a beat, knowing that I am about to witness something forbidden and exciting. Mrs. Jones' sexy smile widens as her fingers deftly undo the coach's belt, his eyes never leaving mine. I feel trapped in his deep gaze, unable to look away.

As she unzips his pants, he gives me a sideway smoldering grin and leans back onto the couch, arms outstretched, the same expression on his face as when he sees us win a game. Mrs. Jones rises from her seat, slowly undoing the knot in her robe and allowing it to fall to the floor, revealing every seductive curve beneath it.

She kneels in front of him, her gaze fixed on his, tugging his pants down, with the coach lifting his hips slightly to assist. His huge erection is visibly throbbing against the fabric of his grey boxers as he glances at me, still seeming unsure if I should stay or go.

Mrs. Jones follows his gaze and smiles. "Sweety, why don't you make yourself more comfortable by taking off your lingerie? It would put John at ease, and we are all friends here."

I can see his Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallows nervously, his gaze flickering between Mrs. Jones and me. My heart thumps loudly in my ears as I consider the suggestion, and the thought of being naked in front of the coach causes heat to spread throughout my body.

Mrs. Jones whispers, "Don't be shy, sweetheart. Let John see how beautiful you are."

I want to please Mrs. Jones, but I worry that the coach will compare me to her. She's blessed with larger assets and curves that make heads turn, leaving my slender frame feeling inadequate in comparison. But then my lingerie barely covers anything, and I realize that Mrs. Jones is right — it's time to embrace and take pride in my body.

With trembling fingers, I grip the hem of my babydoll nightie and slowly begin to lift it up. As I expose more and more of my skin, I can feel the coach's eyes on me, his intense gaze making my vaginal walls clench with excitement.

The room feels suffocatingly hot as I pull the fabric over my head, revealing my nakedness to him for the first time. His pupils dilate with hunger as he takes in every inch of my skin, sending an incredible rush through me.

"Amy's breasts are so perfect," Mrs. Jones murmurs. "Don't you think so, John?"

The coach's chest rumbles with a deep growl of approval as he takes in my perky breasts, my pink little pebbles hardening under his heated gaze.

 "Simply gorgeous," he murmurs.

My body trembles as I become the center of their attention, my skin flushed with a mix of nerves and arousal.

"Sweety, would you allow John to touch your breasts?" Mrs. Jones asks, the coach tensing up at the suggestion, his nostrils flaring slightly.

I hesitate, my mind swirling with conflicting thoughts, but the intense need building within me ultimately wins. "Yes," I breathe.

"Then move closer to him, honey," Mrs. Jones instructs, her tone encouraging.

As I get closer to the coach, his strong, musky scent wraps around me, making my head spin. Sitting so close, almost touching, feels like a dream come true, with butterflies fluttering in my stomach. I hold my breath as I look into his dark brown eyes, which appear to darken when his gaze lands on my breasts.

The coach hesitates for a moment before reaching out to touch me, his palms warm and gentle against my soft skin. My nipples stiffen at his touch, aching for more of his caress. Every inch of my being is buzzing as I lean into his hands, longing for the intoxicating rush that consumes me every time he's near.

"So firm, aren't they?" Mrs. Jones whispers.

"Mm-hmm," the coach murmurs, grinning. "They are irresistible. So responsive."

The coach's smirk grows wicked as his eyes ravage my chest, his hands claiming my breasts with a dominant grasp. His fingers dig into my skin as he kneads my flesh with possessive hunger. A faint moan tears from my lips, and I'm consumed by the desperate desire for him to never, ever stop. No, I crave more. So much more. I need him to take me completely. I want to feel him inside me, filling me with the raw passion I witnessed him unleash upon Mrs. Jones when I spied on them having sex.

Mrs. Jones's husky laughter fills the air as she observes our charged interaction. "John, I can see by the proud salute of your erection that you're enjoying this as much as Amy is," she says, her voice oozing with amusement.

My gaze is involuntarily drawn to his crotch, and I can't help but notice the swollen head of his cock straining to break free from the confines of his boxers. The fabric is stretched taut, exposing the impressive length and girth of his erection.

"Allow me to assist you with that," Mrs. Jones purrs as she hooks her fingers into the waistband of his boxers and slowly begins to peel them down.

The sight of his rigid, throbbing shaft escaping its cotton prison as the fabric slides down his thighs makes the heat between my legs almost unbearable, and I have to squeeze my thighs together to contain the pulsing ache that demands to be relieved.

The coach releases his grip on my tender, swollen breasts, letting his hands fall to his sides. His eyes appear to say, "Watch and learn, little girl," before shifting his focus to Mrs. Jones, who's kneeling before him, her eyes flickering like absinthe flames.

Her hand closes around him, her fingers wrapping firmly around his girth as she begins to stroke him in a slow, tantalizing rhythm. Her gaze locks on mine, and a daring smile spreads across her lips, as if inviting me to join in.

"See how good he feels in my hand?" Mrs. Jones whispers, her voice husky with arousal, as she squeezes the purple tip of his cock, coaxing out a glistening droplet of pre-cum.

The clear liquid sparkles on the swollen head of his penis, and my heart skips a beat as I watch, transfixed, as she extends her tongue, her pink tip darting out to lap up the droplet with a slow, deliberate flick.

"Mmm, exquisite," Mrs. Jones purrs, her voice dripping with satisfaction.

Her tongue swirls around the head of his cock, her eyes locked onto his, and I'm powerless to look away, my swollen bud throbbing as I watch Mrs. Jones lick up and down his shaft, her saliva creating a slick sheen over the entire length. The room seems to fade away, leaving only the three of us lost in our intimate bubble.

"The sweet spot," Mrs. Jones whispers as her tongue lavishes attention on the sensitive area beneath the tip of his cock, and his shaft twitches in response.

A playful giggle escapes her lips as she forms a perfect, wet seal around him and begins to move her head in a slow, sinuous rhythm, taking him deeper with each stroke. His breathing quickens, growing more ragged as the room is filled with the soft, husky moans that accompany each gulp of his length. Her hand moves in perfect synchrony with her mouth, a practiced, fluid motion that speaks of intimacy and familiarity between them.

As she takes him into her throat, her free hand cradles his scrotum, her fingers kneading his balls with a gentle touch. Her saliva drips like honey down his shaft, lubricating his length as it disappears inch by inch into the wet heat of her mouth.

My attention is drawn to the hypnotic sway of her head and how her mouth appears to devour him whole as she takes him in inch by inch. It's as if she's done it a thousand times before, conquering him with each stroke.

As her lips envelop the base of his shaft, I hear her gag slightly as she holds him deep in her throat before pulling back and letting her tongue swirl around the tip. Her tongue dances around him, licking and twirling, before she takes him back into her mouth. His hips buck slightly, and his hands grasp the cushions, fingers digging deep into the fabric as he surrenders to the blissful torment.

Her eyes are fixed on him—a heavy-lidded gaze that seems to entrance him as he watches her head bobbing up and down, her slurps and moans filling the room. She's like a siren, a seductress, and she knows he's all hers right now. She is in control, and he is at her mercy. I want to be just like Mrs. Jones!

The room vibrates with a symphony of gasps, moans, and sighs that seem to bounce off the walls, reverberating through every cell in my body and settling deep within my core. It's as if they're lost in their own private universe, where nothing else exists but the two of them, their desire for each other so strong that they've forgotten I'm even there.

Mrs. Jones suddenly releases his cock from her mouth with a loud, wet pop, a glistening thread of saliva stretching between them like a tangible connection, before turning to me, her gaze like a serene pond caught in a storm—deep, green, and wildly inviting.

"Are you enjoying the show, sweetheart?"

Her voice is husky with seduction, and her eyes shimmering with a knowing spark, suggesting she is fully aware of the erotic spell she is casting over both of us. Her smile is a wicked promise of pleasures to come, and I can feel my body reacting to her teasing, my arousal exploding like fireworks in every nerve.

My heart thunders in my chest as I stumble over my words. "Uh, huh," I manage to stammer, feeling a rush of lust flow through my veins like liquid fire.

Mrs. Jones's voice drops to a sultry whisper as she asks, "Want to try it, sweety?"

Her gaze pierces mine, and I find myself lost in the depths of an enchanted forest, the trail of breadcrumbs forgotten as she ensnares me in her lush green embrace.

"Don't be shy, my sweet little girl," Mrs. Jones coos. "I know you want to taste this forbidden fruit."

Her hand caresses the coach's erection in a rhythm that appears to match the beat of my racing heart, her saliva gleaming on his shaft, a translucent thread that seems to bind us all in a web of lust.

I look up at the coach's face, and our eyes meet in a flash. His gaze is full of expectation, his pupils dilated with excitement. I can feel the sexual tension between us rising to a fever pitch.

My thoughts are all over the place, caught between what I want and what I'm scared of. The only sound is her hand moving up and down his shaft—a smooth motion that's making me feel all kinds of things, but most of all, a curiosity about something I've never experienced before.

The silence is thick with tension, and I can feel my inhibitions beginning to melt under their intense gaze.

TO BE CONTINUED...

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