The finishing touch to a fuck-filled evening...
"Ms. Carlyle said I could spend my detention here with you, Mr. Dory. I told her there's something I needed to do for you."
"She said she trusted me and let me come. Do you trust me, Mr. Dory?" I dragged a student chair and placed it facing his big teacher's desk, a couple of feet away.
"May, listen. We really need to talk. It's not that I'm not-"
"Please, you don't need to talk." I sat down in the chair that I had moved in front of him. "It's better that you don't. You haven't done anything wrong, Mr. Dory. I don't think you could ever do anything wrong."
Still seated, I slouched down a bit to place my feet up onto his desk, wide apart. "I'm the bad girl here."
Mr. Dory rubbed his temple, so hesitant. But also, so hesitant to stop me. "What happened, May? What's going on?"
I wiggled my tushie and drew my skirt to my waist. It was so wonderful, the silence, the fluorescent lights, that school smell of photocopies, all of it. I took three fingers of my right hand and began to rub myself in circles over my white cotton panties.
"I found out I could be brave," I whispered.
After all my nights alone- in my bed, in the tub, just like this- I was finally looking him in the eyes as I touched pookie. There was that first little involuntary squeeze I felt from her down below, the internal roadflare telling me I was wet already, just in case my fingers couldn't tell my panties were already damp.
He sat back. Oh, thank god, he sat back. He was still wound clockwork tight, but it meant he wasn't going to leave, wasn't going to stop me. Whatever I did, this moment was mine. I sighed happily.
I rubbed tighter and harder. My lungs emptied then filled to capacity. I looked at pookie and her soaking little piece of cotton. It was time to move on, she told me.
I looked up again at Mr. Dory's eyes, through my eyelashes. He looked so intense. I took two fingers and gingerly peeled my panties to the side, leaving my pookie swelled and exposed. He saw so well.
I drew my middle finger up and down, ever so slightly parting my most secret of lips, pushing in a tiny bit as I reached the top once, twice, for the rush of contact with my little clitty. I was hot all over; I knew I could cum pretty quickly if I wanted. I didn't know if I could not cum if I tried to stop.
I imagined my finger was his finger. I drew it down, down, then pushed inside. Just a little inch, then a little more. Pookie held me so tightly, so sweetly. Mr. Dory gasped and I looked up.
"Mr. Dory, I can't see anything behind your desk. I don't think you're doing anything wrong. But if you wanted to be bad, you could. And nobody could see it, not even me."
"I'm the bad girl." I didn't recognize my own voice.
"You're not a bad girl, May. Never."
He shakily dropped his pen, then his hands went down below his desk, out of my view. Yes. Oh, yes.
I squeezed one still-clothed boobie and began rocking myself back and forth again, moving in and out, in and out, pressing down on my little button with the heel of my palm on each pulse. I heard the squelch of pookie's juices as they coated my hand, but then heard another wet squelch with a little echo.
As if it was coming from underneath a metal desk.
I smiled wildly at him as he stared back. A minute of this, squelch and pulse. And another minute? I didn't know. Our motions, our sounds, our smells acquired the same rhythm, and I was overjoyed.
All of a sudden, it wasn't his finger that I imagined inside me. No, of course not. My knees shook like never before. I felt a twitch in my belly, then another, at the... you know... the hole in my bottom. No, no! I needed to hold this. I needed this to last, for him.
I felt the surge travel my spine and I was drowning before I could ready myself. My fingers left my insides, but my hands still held pookie so close as she lost control of herself and I shut my eyes tight.
On and on and on. . .
I need to breathe! This i