Vixen Expostulates


Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/ft, Consensual, Heterosexual, Fiction, .

Desc: Sex Story: Determined to seduce her English teacher, Vixen traps him in his office. He never had a chance.

Vixen sat in the front row in Mr. Valpor's second semester English class listening to him discuss Mark Twain and local color. She took notes and between times sucked on her Bic pen, keeping her pouting lips wet and soft, showing him her tongue tip now and then and enjoying the dampness her vagina was generating. She was "in heat" and she knew it. Estrous it was called in the animal world.

She noticed that he was wearing a wide wedding band, and it looked like he might have gained some weight since he got married. She had decided how she was going to get him, suck him, fuck him, and this time she was sure she would not fail. She was done with subtlety and seduction.

Vixen had enjoyed herself in the shower this morning and was now ready for the real thing, fully primed, her nipples already hard and stretching the thin cloth of her clinging polo shirt. She could almost feel him inside her already, probing and pounding, stretching her pussy, rubbing her cervix.

When class ended, she stayed behind and when he looked up, said, "I need to talk to you, sir, if you don't mind." She was wearing a open-necked blouse with her sandals and oldest jeans, ones it was easy to get a hand into, the top button already straining.

She knew what he could see when she leaned toward him since she, as usual, hadn't bothered with a bra. She felt the thick seam of her jeans split her lips, and she suppressed a groan as her labia parted and her clit jumped.

"Now?" he asked, raising an eyebrow, trying not to stare at the incredible breasts Vixen was displaying as she leaned forward, her elbows pressing them together, a pair of luscious melons creating a deep valley. They seemed to glow and pulse, hanging there, the nipples jutting out like thumbs. His mouth watered and his palms itched.

"If you've got the time?" She licked her lips and smiled, setting the hook and pushing her boobs more firmly together. She saw him wince as she felt her shirt begin to stretch and her nipples harden, almost pointed.

"Sure," he said, standing and gathering up his materials, ignoring the tremor in his testicles and the jiggling movements under her shirt. "Come on back to my office."

Vixen followed him, admiring his lean body and hoping he had a good cock. A few times before, she had misjudged her targets, deceived by a muscular chest or good thighs, and come away disappointed, but her English teacher was her only downright failure, and if he were weak-cocked she was going to be very angry.

Once they both were seated in the small, book-filled room, and she had crossed her long, jean-covered legs, the girl sniffed and began after swallowing and biting her lower lip, hands clasped on her knee, breasts jutting as her shirt stretched tautly between her nipples. Acting helpless was, she knew, her fortŽ.

"In high school, we have, you know, counselors, people we can talk to about problems." She sniffed and blinked.

The man nodded, and leaned back. He didn't mind looking at pretty girls, but he wished he weren't so easily aroused.

"But here, except for my roommate, and she's awful busy; she's on the swimming team, I don't have anybody."

"Really," he said with a polite smile, "I find that hard to believe." He suspected Vixen could have any student she wanted and probably some instructors as well.

"Well," she smiled back, and crossed her legs the other way and took a deep breath, hands in her lap after she pushed her blouse back up so it gaped more in the middle, "I have plenty of boys, boy friends, you know, males. But they don't want to talk. That's part of the problem, boys I mean. And talking. Oh, I'm all confused." She closed her eyes and hung her head, sniffing loudly.

Valpor licked his lips and tried to recall if there were any girls as luscious as this at his college or high school. He rotated so his legs were under his desk and adjusted the crotch of his trousers. He was sure there were not. On a one to ten scale, Vixen was an eleven or twelve.

"You know what they want." Vixen gave him a few eyelash blinks, her coy look.

He nodded, and then shook his head, dispelling the image of some big football player rutting between Vixen's long legs, her red hair swishing from side to side, her wonderful breasts jumping to and fro, hell of an image, those high jugs in action.

"Well," she said, "this is kind of embarrassing, well, I mean, the boys, they don't, I guess you'd say, they don't satisfy me, sir. I mean they're all sweaty and pumping and groping and stuff. But, but they won't even talk about it, before or after."

"Maybe you should see the nurse, the infirmary." He shook his head. "I'm no expert. You are talking about sex, aren't you?"

She nodded and sniffed. "Well, you just got married, didn't you?"

He nodded and licked his lips. Sex with his young wife was always done in the dark and always the same way, missionary. It seldom took long, but it did help him sleep on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays. His pre-nuptial experiences with women had been few and brief, mostly disappointing or frightening as well as expensive.

"I guess maybe I'm getting homesick. I had a nice boyfriend back there, back home. We could talk about things, and he wasn't jumping all over me. He took his time when we made love." She sniffed again, having rehearsed that lie before her mirror. She tended to exhaust them or even frighten them.

"Got a Kleenex?" she asked, testing the strength of her line, and making her chin quiver as she was about to move the reel. The fact was that Vixen had never really had a boyfriend, just a series of lovers.

He produced a box from his desk drawer, and she took two and wiped her eyes and blew her nose, holding the tissues balled up in her hand. She pursed her lips and put on her hangdog look, the one that always got her father.

"I hate to ask you," she said, seeing his worry and concern as she wiggled in her chair, "but will you hug me, Mr. Valpor, just, you know, just one hug, and talk to me?"

She stood up and quickly parked herself on his lap and leaned her head on his shoulder, sniffing, her right arm limply about his neck and shoulders. "Just for a minute." She pressed her breast firmly to his chest and moved it gently up and down. She felt his cock rise under her thigh and smiled.

He smelled good, masculine and sweaty. "My daddy always made me feel good." She didn't say her daddy had deflowered her, used her sixteen different ways, loaned her out to his friends and starred her in his pornographic videos.

Valpor did not know what to do with his hands. His left rested on the girl's denim-covered hip, and she clasped his right, along with the damp Kleenex, and held it to her chest, right between her luscious breasts, his knuckles almost touching her chin, his forearm in her deep cleavage.

Vixen purred and made a pleased sound deep in her throat. She wriggled her buttocks and felt the first suggestion that his prick was stirring. "Thank you," Vixen sighed, pushing her right breast firmly against his chest. "I just get so lonely and sometimes I'm scared." She sniffed. "They want so much, the boys I mean, over and over, deeper and deeper."

He patted her hip and Vixen pulled his right hand inside her blouse and over her left breast. "Um. That feels good," she sighed as her nipple slid between his fingers. "So good." She was not lying about that. She tensed a pectoral muscle and filled his hand with her big knocker, the nipple area jutting out nearly an inch.

"Vixen, really, please," Valpor said, aware that he was becoming aroused. He wished he had left the office door open. He tried to pull his hand away from her warm breast. His fingers had never felt such a soft, smooth, spongy breast; in fact, it occurred to him, he had seldom felt any girl's breast in the last few years since the woman he married would not allow it. Although not from want of trying. His wife's breasts were small and firm, nothing like these warm globes.

He longed to see her tits, to mouth and suck them, to knead them and maul them, crush them, distort them. Damn, damn, damn!

Vixen made sobbing noise and quivered as if she was crying. She kept one eye open.

He stroked her breast and patted her hip. "It's all right, honest it is." His hand was filled with girl flesh, her nipple now in his palm, and his cock was growing rigid and very uncomfortable.

She nodded, dropped the wad of tissues and put her right hand up atop his and squeezed her big jug, lifting it right out of her unbuttoned shirt. She kissed his neck open mouthed as his thumb rolled over her nipple. She whimpered. It hardened quickly, jutting out, and she knew she had won and began to reel him in as he caressed her young jug, kneading it firmly. She glanced up and saw that his eyes were closed.

"Thank you," Vixen sighed. "You're so nice. I feels so good here in your arms, so safe." His stiffened cock was bumping her butt, and his fingers were still on her tit, now stroking gently.

"Right, fine, but I think you should go now." He managed to clear his throat. "I have some work to do, some papers to read." Her erect nipple was between his thumb and forefinger, and he rolled it gently. The girl seemed to purr, and the nipple grew longer and harder. His mind demanded that he push her away. His body refused.

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Story tagged with:
Ma/ft / Consensual / Heterosexual / Fiction /