Lying naked on the couch, my body still humming with the aftershocks of my climax, I watch Mrs. Jones and the coach ascend the stairs. The sound of their footsteps fades as they disappear into the hallway, no doubt headed for my parents' bedroom.
My mind wanders back to the memory of spying on them having sex on my parents' bed. It was wrong to invade their privacy like that, but that night set off a chain of events that led to all these incredible orgasms.
A faint creak from upstairs catches my attention, but the door doesn't shut. Is it an invitation? My heart quickens at the thought. No, I remind myself. Mrs. Jones instructed me to rest, and I should listen to her, so I stay put.
Mrs. Jones' moans drift down the stairs, followed by the coach's grunt and the rhythmic squeaking of the bed frame, which blends with the slapping of skin on skin. I really want to watch them. And join them. But I know I should respect their privacy and follow Mrs. Jones' instructions.
The moans escalate into lustful cries, and my body yearns for a visual that matches the erotic sounds. I need a distraction. With my eyes closed, my hand slowly moves down my body, between my legs, and over my glistening petals. My fingers rub and circle my sensitive pearl with uncontrolled intensity, mirroring the animalistic rhythm of their cravings. This isn't about romance or gentleness—it's untamed lust.
My nub throbs with anticipation, and my fingers instinctively respond, stroking in tight circles as I push myself to the brink. I bite my lip, resisting the urge to moan aloud as the pleasure grows, feeling that familiar tightening in my core and rising pressure as I teeter on the edge, aching for release, but it's just out of reach.
My body begs for more... I want—no, I need—his cock inside of me. The touch of my fingers is no longer enough to satisfy my desperate longing for the coach.
With a sigh, I open my eyes, the sound of their bodies colliding drawing me in like a magnet. I tiptoe up the stairs, my heart racing as I approach the open door to my parents' bedroom. The distinct sounds of sploshing, whimpering, groaning, and heavy breathing become louder, and my curiosity gets the better of me.
I can't help but look inside, my eyes widening at the sight before me. Mrs. Jones is on all fours on the bed, her body arched in pleasure as the coach vigorously pounds into her from behind, his cock sliding in and out of Mrs. Jones' slippery softness, my core clenching with need.
Her plump breasts sway with each powerful thrust, and the coach's sweat-slicked back gleams in the bedroom lights. His grunts accompany each vicious movement, and his fingers dig into Mrs. Jones' hips as he drives into her with ferocity.
The intoxicating scent of aroused bodies hangs heavy in the air, a unique fusion of musk and sweat that sends my taste buds into a frenzy and my juices flowing with insatiable desire. I yearn to be in her position, to feel his fingers dig into my hips as he takes me with the same fervor.
Mrs. Jones' eyes meet mine, and she smiles mischievously before her eyelids flutter shut, surrendering to the mounting passion. The coach is so engrossed with Mrs. Jones that he remains completely unaware of my presence in the doorway.
"Oh yes, John, right there!" Mrs. Jones cries out, her body contorting.
He continues his relentless thrusts, his hips slamming into her as she quivers on the edge. My body hums with a thrilling vibration that begins deep within and spreads outward, scorching need pulsing between my thighs as I watch them.
"Yes, just like that!" Mrs. Jones exclaims, her body spasming as she peaks.
Her ragged breaths echo in the room as she collapses on the bed, her body spent. The coach continues his thrusts with a satisfied grin on his face, still oblivious to my presence.
After a few deep breaths, Mrs. Jones opens her hazy eyes, a playful smile curving her lips. "Oh, hello there, sweetheart," she purrs, feigning surprise at my presence.
The coach stiffens, his hips slowing to a stop as he turns to face the door. At the sight of me, his eyebrows lift, his eyes widen slightly, and he tilts his head, clearly intrigued.
"Come here, join us," Mrs. Jones murmurs, patting the space on the bed beside them.
I hesitate only for a moment, my gaze flicking between them, before I step closer, my body buzzing with visceral craving. The coach's cock remains buried in her warmth, his gaze following my every move as I approach.
As I sit, I suck on my lower lip, feeling the heat of his gaze on me, my fingers fidgeting nervously in my lap. With each quick breath, my nipples harden from the weight of his hunger for me, making it impossible to hide how turned on I am.
"Did you enjoy the show?" Mrs. Jones inquires, her voice slurred with amusement as she watches me squirm under the coach's burning stare.
My cheeks flush as I nod. "Yes," I breathe, my voice catching slightly.
"You want to feel John's cock inside you, too, don't you sweety?" Mrs. Jones teases.
My heart races at the thought, and my pulsing gem is already responding to the idea. "Yes," I whisper, unable to contain my excitement.
"John, I believe our little girl here is ready for you," Mrs. Jones says, her voice tinged with playful challenge. "Why don't you show her what you've got?"
The coach's eyes are intent on me, his gaze famished, full of intense thirst as he pulls out, his cock glistening with her essence, but no white traces of his cum can be seen. Still rock-hard, he moves to stand before me, his jaw tight with desire.
"Why don't you lie down and get comfortable, honey?" Mrs. Jones suggests.
My heart flutters as I adjust my position, the cool sheets against my back in stark contrast to the inferno between my shaking thighs.
Mrs. Jones grabs a pillow. "Lift your hips," she instructs, and I obey, feeling the pillow slide under my ass. "This angle will allow John to reach your G-spot perfectly," she assures with a wink, making me blush furiously.
The coach wraps his hand around his shaft, stroking it. "Do you have a condom?" he asks Mrs. Jones.
"She is on the pill, John," Mrs. Jones says, grinning wickedly, and precum spills out of the plum headed cock as she speaks.
Mrs. Jones leans in closer, her voice sultry. "Are you ready for this, sweetheart?"
I nod, my gaze locked on the coach's swollen bulge, my vaginal muscles tensing in anticipation of wrapping around him.
Mrs. Jones smirks. "Then spread your legs wide and let him in," she instructs, her hand sliding down to my button, teasing me with a caress.
"Oh," I gasp, opening my thighs further as the coach moves closer, towering above me.
"Take it slow, John," Mrs. Jones murmurs, her fingers tracing circles across my sensitive flesh as the tip of his cock brushes against my welcoming entrance. "Amy has only a little experience with this."
His eyes turn dark with desire as he leans in. "Don't worry, I'll be gentle," he promises, before slowly pushing an inch of himself inside of me, causing a whimper to escape my lips.
The sensation of my crush's cock slowly filling me up, lubricated with Mrs. Jones' honey, sends a whirlwind of maddening frenzy spinning through my mind. Their intimate juices blend with mine, creating a heady cocktail of addictive pleasure. Every fiber of my being is electrified with the need to be claimed, to surrender to the possession of his touch, with every pore yearning for the imprint of the heat of his body against mine.
"Fuck!" the coach grunts. "She is so tight."
I feel a mix of pain and exquisite pleasure as he continues his steady invasion, my walls yielding to his size. His cock is much thicker than Ben's, and the stretch is both familiar and thrillingly novel, making it feel as if it's my first time all over again.
"Relax, honey," Mrs. Jones whispers, her fingers caressing my sweet spot faster now, with more pressure. "Take all of it."
As I try to ease my grip and take in his size, Mrs. Jones' fingers continue to tease my aching jewel, helping me to tolerate the discomfort and focus on the fluttering pulses that spark under her touch.
"Well done, sweetheart," Mrs. Jones whispers as his hips press against mine, his length filling me completely.
I lock eyes with the coach as he moves slowly within me, his expression strained, a clear indication of his struggle to maintain control. My body is on fire with desire, my nectar flowing freely and coating his length with a slick layer of arousal.
He fills me with each languid thrust, sliding his cock in and out of my tight depths. My core throbs around him as my inner walls clench and release, embracing his engorged member with each powerful stroke.
As the coach quickens his pace, Mrs. Jones matches the rhythm, rubbing fast circles on my clit, her touch sending my moans soaring into high-pitched cries
"Do you love John's cock, honey?" Mrs. Jones purrs.
"Mmm, yes," I whimper, my entire being yearning to succumb to the dizzying rush his every move evokes in me.
"Show us how good you can be and cum," she teases, her fingers working their magic.
The coach's thrusts become savage, his hips snapping against mine as he drives himself deeper into me with reckless abandon. My core spasms frantically around his aroused flesh, gripping him tightly, the heat within me building to a crescendo.
Every rational thought evaporates as I whimper and moan. My muscles tense as the tingling warmth explodes, radiating from my core. I convulse around his erection, my inner walls clenching and releasing in rapid succession. My mind floats like cotton candy in a sea of euphoria, unable to concentrate on anything other than the delicious nirvana coursing through me.
The coach grunts, his body shuddering as he spills his seed inside me. Mrs. Jones continues to rub my clit, her fingers relentless as aftershocks wash over me, my core spasming around his throbbing erection as he fills me with his hot cum.
He pauses his thrusts, his member still buried deep within me, seeping cum, as I feel the last quivers of rapture run through my body. Mrs. Jones slows her movements, giving me a moment to catch my breath before removing her hand.
As the coach pulls out, his cock glistens with a slick layer of my dew mixed with his white seed, coating every inch of his semi-hard length. Cum still leaks from the tip, a sticky reminder that he just creamed me deeply, and I feel warm sperm ooze out of me. As he looks down at me with a satisfied grin, I feel like such a naughty girl for letting him cum inside me like that.
Mrs. Jones wraps her fingers around his shaft, her tongue darting out to lick away any remnants of our combined fluids. I watch as she envelops him in her mouth, tasting the sweet and salty elixir of our passion.
After she licks him clean, Mrs. Jones turns to me with a mischievous smile and whispers, "Your turn now, sweetheart."
She moves between my legs, her tongue softly swirling around my now overly sensitive button. With a lusty moan, she plunges into my core, lapping up the juices that flow freely from my silky depths.
When Mrs. Jones finally comes up for air, she smirks and says, "We can't let good cum go to waste, can we?"
She settles beside me, her hand finding the curve of my waist, while the coach lies on my other side, his fingertips gently mapping my breast. We lie entwined, a beautiful mess of limbs and desire, the air thick with the heady scent of sex and the sweet tang of our shared passion.
I can't help but smile, grateful that my parents insisted on Mrs. Jones as my babysitter. Having sex with her and the coach was like a dream come true and better than any rager to celebrate my 18th birthday I could have imagined.
"This has been fun, but I need to get home to my wife before she suspects anything," the coach says, getting up from the bed and swiftly getting dressed.
Mrs. Jones gets up and kisses him goodbye as he walks himself out.
"I'll go downstairs and make lunch—well, considering the time, dinner. Just rest, sweetie," she says.
After Mrs. Jones leaves, I close my eyes, reliving the intimate moments we shared. Sleep comes swiftly, and the memory of our forbidden tryst remains vivid, a secret film reel playing behind my eyelids.
I wake to the gentle caress of Mrs. Jones, bearing a tray of dinner. She sets it on the bed with a soft clink.
"Dinner in bed, just for you," she whispers with a warm smile, making sure I savor every bite before we curl up together.
Her embrace is comforting, a warm and soft haven as we drift back into the land of dreams.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
I slowly open my eyes, realizing I'm alone in my parents' bedroom, the sound of the blender in the kitchen pulling me from sleep. My body feels sore from all the sex I had in the last 24 hours. As I stretch out my arms, memories of all the explosive orgasms flood back to me, leaving me with a satisfied smile on my face.
I head to the bathroom to freshen up, then go to my room and slip into a pair of lacy pink panties that hug my curves just right. A tight white crop top accentuates my perky breasts and toned waist, and a black miniskirt shows off my slender legs. Before going downstairs, I quickly brush my hair and apply a light layer of strawberry-flavored lip gloss, hoping Mrs. Jones enjoys the taste.
When I walk into the kitchen, Mrs. Jones has breakfast ready—eggs, toast, and a smoothie on the side. "Eat up, sweetie," she says with a smile. "We have a long day ahead of us."
As I eat my breakfast, my mind drifts to all the fun she might have planned. But to my disappointment, she announces that I need to clean the entire house to cover all the tracks from our activities. She'll be cooking lunch while I tidy up.
By noon, I'm finally finished and hope to get some intimate time with her after lunch before my parents get home. But no, Mrs. Jones has something else in mind. She insists I need to study because somehow she knows my grades have been slipping—probably something my mom told her.
While I study math, she sits next to me on the couch, relaxing with a book.
For hours, I still hope to get some of her special attention, but then I hear the front door open and my parents walk in.
After exchanging pleasantries, my mom asks, "Amy wasn't too much trouble, I hope?"
"Not at all! Amy was a sweetheart," Mrs. Jones replies with a warm smile. "We had lots of fun, and I can babysit for her anytime."
"Really?" My mom glances at my skimpy outfit, squinting her eyes in disbelief. "That's great to hear. We were hoping you could sit for her next weekend, too."
"Sure, I'd be happy to," Mrs. Jones says, grinning and winking at me, my pussy already getting wet with anticipation for the next weekend.
THE END.
For now...
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