Greta Scarborough awakened that Monday morning with a steely resolve. She’d gone unfucked that weekend for what seemed the umpteenth time. Her husband Ned was a good man, and healthy. He just seemed disinterested.

“I’m tired of flouncing around the house half-naked and getting no response. I’m too young for this shit.” Greta groused.

She was, in fact, scheduled to be forty years old on her next birthday. Greta was determined not to let that birthday pass in marital celibacy. She hadn’t been dicked properly in months!!

The longtime English teacher had been eying one of her students—Kurt Kuhlmann—for some time. Kurt was a good-looking guy. All the girls seemed to like him. He was smart. She’d checked his records and knew him to be of age. They might get her for overstepping her bounds with a student, but they weren’t going to get her for abusing a minor.

Greta planned to entice her young charge and, hopefully, lure him into a sexual entanglement. The school year was halfway over. She needn’t see him again after June. She’d tested his discretion with smaller things and found him to be reasonably judicious. It was time, she thought, to step things up a bit.

Greta left her husband Ned sleeping in their marital bed. Resolutely, she showered and dressed for work, deliberately wearing a short dress and a pair of thongs designed to show off her goods. This was Greta’s ‘Sharon Stone’ moment. Looking down at her fireapple-red patch of curly pubic hair Greta drew a deep breath.

“I’ll take these off in the restroom and let him peep my bush. Black guys like bush.  He looks like he’ll know what to do.  I can’t do any more than that.”

Greta drove to the high school with her husband in tow. She carefully went about her day. She met with some of the other teachers in the faculty lounge, drank her coffee, accepted compliments about her dress, and went off to tend to her homeroom responsibilities. In fourth period Kurt showed up for class as expected, although he tended to skip class a lot. Greta chided him about it from time to time, but she did not force the issue. He was a good student.

After class, she approached him as casually as she might.

“Mr. Kuhlmann? Can I have a word?”

Kurt hung back from the exiting crowd of students.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“That last paper you turned in shows some promise. I’ve read a lot of your papers and your reasoning skills have improved markedly over time. Are you being tutored?”

Kurt smiled at the compliment.

“No, ma’am!!”

“It’s unusual for a writer to improve as markedly as you have. However, I have some suggestions and some questions outside of the comments I wrote on your paper. If you have a few minutes I’d like to discuss your latest work a bit further.”

“Right now?” he said.

“No, not right now. I’m free sixth period. I’m grading papers in the library. If you’ll stop by the library then we can talk.”

Kurt readily agreed. He had Jonna Kiner on tap that period, but she’d begged off on some pretext.  He’d planned to replace her with his girlfriend Denise. It didn’t look as if his conversation with Mrs. Scarborough would take too long. Kurt figured he’d pop into the library, then scoot out and get a luxuriant blowjob in the auditorium.

Kurt wandered innocently into the school library shortly after the sixth-period bell. He checked all the usual places. It was a big library. Finally, he came across Mrs. Scarborough sitting alone at a table back by the A/V rooms. She seemed to be engrossed in something.

“Mrs. Scarborough?”

Greta looked up from the other side of the table. She feigned surprise at his entrance.

“Oh! Mr. Kuhlmann. Thank you for coming.  Have a seat.”

Kurt sat down across from her. He could see she was reading through one of his papers. She paused, as if gathering herself.

“Kurt, what I have here is a progression of your papers since the beginning of the school year. You started out with the obligatory “What I Did Over the Summer”. In November you wrote an interesting piece about the Los Angeles riots. Then you kinda jagged into a sports piece about your favorite player, Kevin Garnett. Last month you wrote a piece about meeting a girl in Paris on a family vacation. All good work.

“I want to talk to you about your latest piece, this bit about ‘John Holmes and the Effect of Huge White Cock on the Porn Industry’. Without going into the propriety of your title, I’m wondering if you think this topic is appropriate for this class? Somehow I’m thinking that you’re deliberately fomenting controversy where none exists. And besides all that, John Holmes has been dead for years. You’re eighteen years old!!  I’m concerned at the level of detail in your paper.  You seem to know a lot about the porn industry.”

Kurt shifted uncomfortably in his seat.  Mrs. Scarborough continued:

“The work itself is brilliant. You obviously put a lot of research in. It’s well written. Your conclusions are insightful, perhaps TOO insightful from someone your age. I hesitate to say that your use of the word “Cock” in the title showed good judgment, but I’ll let that pass. I DO have a question. Who exposed you to this genre? You seem to have a good handle on it. TOO good of a handle.”

“Umm, Mrs. Scarborough, you…ummm…told us to write something that was outside of our comfort zones. The assignment was to write something controversial.”

“Yes, but THIS? Your comments about racial stereotypes in this country and this bit about penis size are MORE than controversial. This bit about “if Holmes had been a black guy, he might have gone unnoticed” is fairly standard fare and could’ve gone unsaid.  It’s pedantic.  You’ve mentioned any number of black porn stars that were comparable. These people lived forty and fifty years ago!! It’s obvious you didn’t get this level of research from Wikipedia. These people aren’t mentioned in any encyclopedias.  You had to have access to dated materials in order to draw the conclusions you drew. And the PICTURES!!! So graphic!! Was that necessary?”

Kurt hunched down in his seat. He’d thought his paper to be groundbreaking for a high school senior.

“Everybody watches porn, Mrs. Scarborough,” he grumbled.

“Yes, but not to the degree you’ve indicated. Most people just watch it as aphrodisiac, you know, preamble.”

“Preamble to what, Mrs. Scarborough?”

“Ummm well, you know. Sex,” she countered.

Kurt grinned. He decided to switch things up.

“How long have you been married, Mrs. S?”

“We’re not talking about me, here, Mr. Kuhlmann. We’re talking about your enthusiasm for the subject matter at hand.”

“Have you ever seen a John Holmes flick, Mrs. S?”

“Again, Mr. Kuhlmann, we’re not talking about me. I want to…”

“I bet that you and Ned have a whole library full of porn, don’t you!!  A big boxful!!”

“You’ll kindly refer to my husband as Mr. Scarborough, Mr. Kuhlmann.”

“Ned, like I said,” Kurt replied. He was getting a little cocky.  “Tell me what YOUR problem is with MY subject matter?”

“MR. KUHLMANN!! Your paper is chock FULL of scatological references and inappropriate descriptions of pornographic sex!! You’re lucky I didn’t report you to the principal’s office!!”

“The principal’s office? For what? Doing what you TOLD me to do?”

“Mr. Kuhlmann!!  I never suggested this subject matter!!”

“Mrs. Scarborough, are you embarrassed by a discussion about big dicks?”

“Well…well…I…er…” she stammered.

“Mrs. Scarborough, have you ever SEEN a good sized dick?”

“I…I…”

Greta’s embarrassment was entirely disingenuous. She’d steered the conversation in this direction to just this end.

“Mrs. Scarborough, there’s a whole world out there that I bet you’ve never experienced. You asked me to step outside of my box. I’m asking you to step out of yours. Not everybody grows up in a two-parent home with two and a half kids and a dog and a mortgage.”

Kurt stood and stepped back from the table, intending to leave.  At that moment, Mrs. Scarborough uncrossed her legs. Glancing under the table, Mrs. Scarborough’s fireapple red bush was apparent. Kurt’s eyes locked on it. Greta spread her legs a bit to let him know that this glance wasn’t accidental. Her calm expression belied her trepidation. It was his move now.

Kurt was shocked at the vision before him. That Greta had not immediately crossed her legs told him that this was a deliberate move. Slowly he lingered his eyes from her crotch to her eyes.

“What’s the matter, Mr. Kuhlmann? Have you never SEEN a good sized pussy before?” she countered.

“I…I…er…” Kurt stammered.

“Yeh, that’s what I thought,” she said.

She opened her legs a bit. A lump began to grow in Kurt’s jeans. Greta allowed his lump to grow. Sometimes the best thing to do is to let an uncomfortable pause linger. The person who talks first loses. Kurt began to hyperventilate.

“Mrs. Scarborough, I….”

Bingo!! Greta chalked this up as a win.

“You what, Mr. Kuhlmann?” she asked acerbically.

Kurt looked around. They were alone in this section of the library, but easily visible to persons who happened to pass by.

Greta queefed.

The delicate odor of her pussy lingered up from beneath the table. Kurt was transfixed by the smell. If this wasn’t a booty call, nothing was. She turned her head to take a languid look at the A/V rooms behind them. Kurt immediately caught the upshot. He still sought affirmation.

“Mrs. S!!  You’re not suggesting…”

“What AM I suggestng, Mr. Kuhlmann? You tell me.”

Kurt’s life flashed before his eyes. He’d encountered booty calls before. Nothing like this. This woman was twice his age!! She’s married!! She was one of his teachers!!

Still, there was no denying his enthusiasm for poon. The dark recesses between Mrs. Scarborough’s thighs promised delights yet unknown. She WAS a good-looking woman (this as if he were just noticing it). And here she was before him, with her legs spread and a look of curious ambivalence. Had she really brought him her to discuss his paper?

Kurt regained control of himself. It’s called “manning up”. He set his jaw. He stepped around the table to bade her stand.

“Come with me,” he said.

Greta followed him into one of the A/V rooms. Each of these small, sound-proof rooms were really enlarged closets designed to allow users to play audio or video without disturbing the other denizens of the library. Each room was equipped with a chair and a small table, a monitor and a video player.

Kurt turned to close the door behind them. Greta Scarborough stood before him expectantly. He unbuckled his jeans and pushed them to his ankles. His penis boinked upward. Ned’s penis hadn’t risen like this, unbidden, in years. Greta drew a deep breath. Kurt was huge! Nine inches of steaming black pole protruded from his bulging nut sac.

“Yes,” she muttered. “That’s pretty much what you wrote about.”

Kurt spun her about and bent her over a table.  Greta raised up on her tiptoes. She V’d her legs. 

“Finally!!”

Using his forearm, Kurt pressed her upper body forward. Her buttocks protruded. Using his other hand, he gripped his dick and painted her slit up and down with his cockhead. There would be no foreplay. The feel of her luxurious crop of pubic hair brushing against his cockhead tantalized him.  She was at least as blessed as Sharon, and her pubes weren’t as nappy. Her slit yielded wetly to his probing pudenda.

He sought and found the damp spot indicative of her entrance. Usually a guy will savor this moment, especially if it’s his first time with a particular woman. The sensation of a cunt oozing open to curdle about a cockhead is mesmerizing. Kurt eschewed this tradition. He barreled forward, slathering his dick in hole. Greta gasped. Kurt plunged a bit deeper. Greta’s eyes widened in wonder. With a third forward movement Kurt’s powerful dick disappeared fully into the white woman’s pussy.

Only now did the young man avail himself of her vaginal fragrance. He held himself inside her tightly, straining to empty himself on the first go.

For her part, Greta Scarborough relished the feel of a monster cock plundering her southern goods. Her husband Ned was a nice guy.  In his best moments, Ned had never been this far up his wife’s pussy. Kurt’s lengthy dick was visiting territory as yet undiscovered. It glowered there. Greta held him inside her tightly as she quelled the urge to capitulate. Soon he would begin to churn. And then she would unleash the firestorm she’d harbored between her legs, lo, these many months.

Kurt began to pummel her with short, powerful strokes.  His cock steamed with the virility of youth. Sensing that her G-spot languished at the very back of her vagina, Kurt concentrated on battering this area with his cockhead, hoping to scorch her cervical pudding into fuck thunder. Greta accepted his thrusts stoically. She drew breaths in short gasps. Her titties swung back and forth in her bra.

Gradually Kurt amped up the fervor. His thrusts became longer, deeper. Soon he was longstroking his teacher like a seasoned professional, heedless of her station. Looking down he could see his cockhead appearing briefly at her furry entrance before disappearing fully again into the paradise of her sticky.

Greta reached under her dress to unclasp her bra. She gripped Kurt’s wrists and drew his hands titward, encouraging him to grope her breasts. Kurt obliged her without losing their southern connection.

Greta came suddenly. Urgently. She announced her capitulation with an anguished groan and a spastic, full-body shiver. Kurt held his dick in place as a tremulous orgasmic tsunami rose up and crashed over his English teacher. Greta’s eyes rolled into her head. Her pussy clamped, vice-like, about his penis. She began to sweat from her forehead, underarms and mons pubis.

Kurt, too, was ready to cum. But by then he knew enough to hold back his seed. He didn’t really know this woman. For all he knew she didn’t use birth control. He hadn’t bothered to ask. All the girls in his seraglio went rawdog because they were on the pill.

Instead of adding the sizzle of his semen to Greta’s anguish, Kurt pulled out. This sudden loss of vaginal heft left Mrs. Scarborough flummoxed. She been expecting, no, CRAVING his ejaculate. Her plan had been to crawl into bed that night with her husband, redolent with the smell of another man’s cum wafting up from below. Nothing says, “FUCK YOU!!” like the odor of another man’s jism.

With his dick still preening northward, Kurt knelt to smash his face into her ass crack. Greta hadn’t been expecting this. Ned ate pussy too, but not from the back, where his persnickety nose might press against her asshole and get a whiff of her lunch.

Conversely, Kurt’s nose, lips and tongue now regaled her pussy and her tender asshole with ardor. Greta’s climactic tsunami doubled, zooming to another level. Having never experienced an anal suck, Greta now steeled herself in the face of a thrill unparalleled.

Kurt lapped at her vagina and her anus in tandem. Greta’s hips churned spasmodically. When she felt his tongue tip dallying at the entrance to her outbox, Greta went blind with passion. She reached back to pull her ass cheeks widely open to his oral assault.

Now her young lover stood. He dipped at the knees and pointed his dick into her stink.  This time he paused to allow his penis the obligatory whiff of its impending impalement. This pause serves another purpose. It gives the receiver a chance to decline entry. Greta felt Kurt’s cockhead poised at the entrance to her outbox and immediately knew his intent. In the midst of her mania, Greta steeled her jaw. Her legs stiffened. She felt a deep pressure down there, an otherworldly thickening. And then gradually, ever so slowly, he was inside her again.

The push into her rectum differed markedly from the glide into her vagina. A rectum is a tighter orifice, ill-designed for procreation. It has none of the delicate nerve endings in a vagina, indeed, it isn’t designed for entry, just exit.  So when a penis pushes into it, a rectum’s first instinct is to reject. It takes a determined penis to penetrate a rectum.

Kurt Kuhlmann possessed such a determined penis.

Holding his teacher in place, he eased himself northward into her outbox, inch by inch, ignoring her efforts at expulsion. It is this expulsion effort that makes anal sex so exhilarating. He must overcome this if he is to tame his woman properly. Anal sex is a power move. Greta wilted before the teenager’s virility.

Mrs. Scarborough endured the immense pressure of Kurt’s penis probing its way into her fundament. Again, her husband Ned had visited this orifice once or twice, just not to this extent. Kurt’s penis was a cudgel.

Fully immersed now, he began to short stroke her as before. Greta reached down to twiddle her hairy cunt. She inserted two fingers as if to mimic the sensation of double penetration. Greta was in heaven; she’d chosen well. She felt Kurt’s hot breath against her back as he pummeled her behind. He was straining with the effort. Her ass cheeks trembled gelatinously each time he surged into her. And Kurt’s dick was a marvelous balm for her sexual burn. She strained against him, encouraging him to plumb ever deeper into her milfy asshole. This felt SO good!!

Increasingly Kurt’s short strokes metastasized into medium strokes and finally into long strokes, exiting her rectum almost completely on withdrawal, forging forward completely on insertion. The luxuriantly wicked smell of anal intercourse swept up from their conjoinment. Kurt unleashed the firestorm, slathering her asshole with howling jets of jism. For this Greta was grateful. The friction of their pounding intercourse was becoming stressful. His jism eased that friction some.

She felt him soften inside her for a few moments. Kurt allowed himself a rectal marination moment to regain his strength, drawing breath in great bolts.  His dick pulsed inside her, expending its residual jism in dribs and drabs. All too soon she could feel the boy regaining animus. His breathing calmed. There was a gradual thickening and lengthening down there. Greta’s husband could never recover this quickly.

Fully hard again, Kurt eased himself free of her stink.  Her alabaster ass cheeks flew through various colorful permutations—red, pink, blue, purple—like a cuddlefish.  Only now did Kurt step from of his jeans, which had been shackled about his ankles. Greta’s dress was hiked up around her waist.  Her crack dripped with semen. Her red pubic hair was smashed and in disarray. Her slit pulsed anxiously.

Kurt had Mrs. Scarborough stand erect. She turned to face him breathlessly. His cock stood between them, unbroken, unbowed. Nothing further needed to be said. Greta knelt daintily and took his cock into her throat. Kurt watched as she bathed his erection in opulence. Saliva bubbles rose and dripped sloppily from his ass-christened shaft. Mrs. Scarborough cupped his balls tenderly as she blew him.

He let her suck for as long as she might, knowing that he needed to extract another monster cataclysm from between her legs to satisfy this first engagement. Anal sex is for the man. Vaginal sex is for the woman.

Greta suckled and sniffled his penis worshipfully. This was the cock of her dreams, oozing with the scent of her asshole and her cunt.  She was dazzled, excited to have it in her mouth finally, lapping at it with her tongue, engulfing it fully in her throat. Kurt was amazed that an older woman could suck cock this capably. He’d always envisioned Mrs. Scarborough as a button-down, no nonsense, married spinster, dedicated to her cats, her husband, and her church. Kurt ran his fingers through her hair as she blew him.

His impending second climax led him to switch things up. He’d cum in her ass. Now it was time to baptize her pussy. Kurt bade her stand. He reached down to lift her leg into the crook of his elbow. Now he dipped again and pointed his cock into her cunt. Greta groaned gratefully. She felt him easing again into her valley of delectable delights.

When their pubic mounds met she knew she’d engulfed his nine inches fully. She clasped him to her breast tightly as they began to churn.  Faster and faster they humped, seeking to extract that crazed moment of completion that sends a coital couple into the stratosphere and merges their souls as one. They kissed deeply as they fucked, sharing tongues and spittle. Faster and faster still. The world collapsed around them and still they crashed into each other forcefully, dick into pussy, pussy creaming around dick, pubic mounds wet with sweat, pussy froth and jism jello.

Finally, Greta could take it no longer. She shrieked aloud, crying out her fervent lust to the gods. Kurt came as she spewed epithets unspoken since Greta first emerged from her mother’s vagina.

“FUCK!!  OH!!  KURT!!!  FUCK MEE!!!  OH SHIT YOU MUTHERFUCKER!!!”

He never imagined his English teacher could be this scatologically expressive. Kurt held her tightly as his semen sluiced into her cunt. They trembled together. His hot jism washed out over his balls before dripping in long, elastic bands to the floor beneath.  Drenched in sweat, they gripped each other in a post-coital ague.

Their lust continued to dissipate. Only now the awkwardness of their situation became apparent. Mrs. Scarborough’s dress was soaked in sweat. Great half-moons appeared at the armpits. Globules of semen trickled down her thighs. Her hair was frilly, her makeup in disarray.

Kurt, too, suffered from half moons at his armpits. He might go about his day with these. No one would notice. Greta certainly could not. Any passersby could tell from the odor that they’d been imbibing on sex.

Greta was aghast. She had no way of knowing who might be on the other side of that door. Not so much the students, but any of her colleagues might see her and surmise that she and Ned had taken a moment for themselves. Anyone witnessing Kurt leave the A/V room would easily put two and two together.

“Pull your pants up. Go on out. We can’t be seen leaving here together,” she huffed, sopping semen from her calves with her dress.

Kurt looked about the library wildly. He often went about his day in a pussy-induced stupor. His half-moons were no problem—unless Denise were anywhere about. He had to get down to the gym and shower. He kept a change of clothes in his locker for just such circumstances. Kurt gave Greta a wistful nod and booked.

Greta Scarborough now sat on the little table in the A/V room to tally the score. Yes, she’d finally scratched her itch. She’d siphoned a monster cock, ridden the Hershey train, invested herself with another man’s seed. She was exhausted, but happy. Semen oozed from her pussy to smear on the table beneath.

On the other hand she felt like a marked woman. Any number of people could easily see that she’d been fucking. She didn’t have a second set of clothes. She’d made no “after-coitus” plans. She just knew she had to get home before Ned and clean up, then come back to the school to pick him up. Such a disappearance would not go unnoticed. She had a seventh-period class to teach!!

“How do I get myself into these things!!” she flustered.

Obviously, she and Kurt were going to fuck again. This encounter was not a one-time thing. The sex had been amazing. Greta never knew she had such talent available. There were other boys she might consider, true, but Greta felt she’d chosen the pick of the crop.

She sat at the table, allowing her dress to dry. Seventh period was fifteen minutes out. Greta thought that maybe she could go down to the nurse’s office and claim some illness, using this as an excuse to go home early. A class substitute could be arranged.

“I’ll tell the nurse not to involve Ned. I’ll say it’s a girl thing.” She’ll understand.”

This sounded like a plausible plan until she realized that the nurse’s loose lips might scuttle her endeavors. Any skullduggery such as this relies upon absolute discretion. Greta considered the nurse to be a loose cannon. She might say anything to anyone. One comment to the wrong ears could become two, then six, then thirty. Ned was sure to find out. Another plan had to be devised.

Greta reconsidered her options.

‘GRETCHEN!!!”

Greta’s sister Gretchen Bainbridge worked as a secretary in the school office. It was immediately clear that Greta couldn’t seek Gretchen there. Instead, Greta whipped out her iPhone.

“Gretch!! I’m in A/V room #3 in the library!! Gretch, I’m in a bad way! You’ve gotta run out and bring me some clothes!! No! Wait!! Bring me your overcoat!!  That’s it!! Bring it to me now!!”

Gretchen recognized panic in Greta’s voice. The sisters were close. She swept off to the library, overcoat in hand. 

Arriving at the A/V room Gretchen staggered back.

“Jesus Christ!! Have you and Ned been fucking in here? Whew!!”

Gretchen fanned her nose distastefully.  The aroma of sex in the little room was overpowering. Unmistakable. Then the real reason for Greta’s panic became evident. Greta gave her sister a piteous look. Gretchen’s eyes widened in understanding.

“Oh my god!!” whispered Gretchen. Taking charge of the situation, Gretchen shackled her sister in the overcoat and whisked her away. They navigated the empty school halls easily.

In the school parking lot, she turned to Greta.

“I’ll square this with Sullivan and arrange a substitute for your seventh-period class. You get home and wash up. BE BACK HERE IN AN HOUR TO PICK UP YOUR HUSBAND!!  GO!!!”

(Sullivan was the Vice-principal in charge of attendance.)

Greta leapt into her car and sped off. This encounter was going to lead to a heartfelt talk between her and Gretchen, she knew. But the talk would go no further. Gretchen was discreet. Greta breathed a sigh of relief.

“Next time I’ll bring a dry bath and a change of clothes.”