Misty McGuire felt a surge of titillation in her chest when she saw Darren, son of Greg, take his seat in the middle of her European History class. He looked like his father—same eyes and nose and controlled verve. He was a quiet student, never making a fuss or causing a disruption.

She quelled the tickling in her chest and began her class.

“Let’s continue our lesson on the Middle Ages. I have been impressed by your improved grades—some more than others. Maybe I should bump up the difficulty of this class.”

The students downed her suggestion with boos. She laughed.

“Let’s dig in.”

Over the next fifty minutes, she continued to avoid glancing in Darren’s direction. Images of his father would interrupt her mind, like shooting stars on a crisp black night sky. Again, she forced herself to control the images of Greg, the wild nights in Paris. They were intoxicating. And she wanted more of Greg ever since.

“Everything okay, Ms. McGuire?” a student asked when she had been taken away by thoughts of Greg.

“Oh, yes. Sorry.”

She relaxed a bit when her class ended, and Darren left. She prayed the memories of Greg’s strong body would leave with him. Hopefully.

That evening, she dropped her satchel on the recliner in her living room.

“Good day or bad, Misty?” her roommate, Brandy, asked from the couch.

“Ho-hum.” She thought of Greg and Darren and then shuffled them out of her mind. “What are your hours tonight?”

“Eleven to nine. I’ll be home after you leave in the morning.”

Misty tugged her blond hair into a ponytail. “I’m going to bathe, and I have papers to grade. Uh.”

“Just toss aside my bras.”

Misty had a languid soak. By the time she dried off her body, Misty was thankfully alone.

She sat cross-legged on the floor, at the coffee table, and marked up papers with her red pen. The Game Show Network was only background noise.

She had gone through half of the papers when Darren’s paper appeared. The same tickling returned, like it had in class earlier that day. This time, she let herself linger on the image of the boy’s handsome father who had stepped into the infamous Room No. 23.

That night was amazing. She recalled the musk cologne and the hands that moved all over her. Everywhere.

That fateful night, she had already climbed onto Orlando to ride him like a cowgirl. Thinking back, she was surprised that Greg joined them. Yet, in the moment, the whole event had been a blur of lust and excitement and Paris.

“In my ass,” Misty had cooed. She had never before said those words.

Greg had spread her ass, a soft sting. She hissed and whimpered as her body was stretched by the penetration of Greg’s dick and Orlando’s thick wood, which was already in her. Her and the two men found a smooth rhythm. Misty soon realized the firmness of male strength. The men became so obvious in their peak. Orlando began to huff, and Greg grunted.

Misty had given a direct order.

“Come on, come on. Finish me now! Don’t hold back, I want it all.” Misty, who had been so timid, had become a commander.

Both men grunted barbarically and finished.

Here now, she pressed her palm against Darren’s paper as if an extension to Greg. She smiled. Greg had rocked her. The memory still caused her to tingle out to her fingertips.

Looking at Darren’s paper, Misty noticed that he had clear penmanship—neat and straight. Again, Greg came to mind. His straightforward style—clear in what he wanted.

She scanned through his answers quickly, scribbled his score at the top of the page, next to his last name, circled it and put the paper under the stack, far away from her.

Yet, a deep-seated desire lingered inside. That desire sped her pulsations.

She picked up her phone from the coffee table where she was grading the tests. She decided to do something that may calm her. A text. The screen flicked alive. She rethought her actions. How would she just call him or text him and get the conversation started without being as blunt as “I need a good fuck.”

On her phone she typed, “Are you at home?” No, too unclear. Deleted it.

“How have you been lately?” Too casual. Deleted it.

“You up?” Might be too obvious. Deleted it.

“I enjoyed our meeting on the trip.” Too emotional. Deleted it.

“Want to fuck me?” She snickered at typing but quickly deleted it.

“Legs are spread wide right now. Need you between them.” She laughed again and immediately deleted it. She did not want even a chance of such a message going out.

Then it came to mind. She snapped a picture of Darren’s graded test and shared it, typing, “Darren did great on the test. Wanted to let you know.” The thought of what she had just done blurred her mind with “should I have” or “should I not have” sent that. But she had no choice now.

A moment later, her phone chimed. The reply from Greg. “Glad for good grade. Been taught well.”

She questioned whether she had gone too far after studying what his message might mean. But the night of their meeting, he had been interested in hooking up again. Nevertheless, they did leave a little awkward after what they’d done. It wasn’t abnormal to feel that way though. She had felt it before.

The possibility of them tonight was dead. She put the phone down and tuned into the 1980s game show, Concentration.

She filled a large glass with rum and Coke. She shuffled deep between the couch pillows. A half-hour later, she had filled up the glass once more. However, the doorbell startled her from repose.

She checked her watch. 1:23.

“Who in hell?”

She set down the glass on the coffee table next to the coaster. She questioned whether to get the door or brush it off.

The doorbell rang again.

A second ring made her get up. She wasn’t dressed to meet anyone. She wore her workout shorts and a t-shirt. Worst, no bra. Looking through the peephole, it was him! She immediately punched in the deactivation code in the security system and undid the three door locks.

He wore a gray shirt with Gold’s Gym imprinted on the chest and a pair of jogging shorts. She didn’t notice his shoes, because her eyes couldn’t get past a bulge in the shorts.

“Greg, what brings you out this late?”

“You,” he said bluntly and stepped inside.

Misty glanced outside for a car before closing the door.

“Where’s your car?”

“Uberred over. You know, covert operations.”

“Mhmm.”

“Now,” he said as he wrapped his arms around her waist and slid them down to her bottom, “let’s get down to business.”

“And what business is that exactly?” She tried to break his grip.

He tightened his grip on her cheeks. She felt the pain but also knew his hard-on pressed against her.

“What if I said ‘no’ to you?”

He stared directly into her green eyes. “Try to.”

Knowing there was no way, she raised up to her tippy toes and kissed his lips.

Their mouths met, lips pressed tightly. Her tongue reached out first. It touched his. And their make-out session heated up so fast that a fire began to burn across her body. It was the same sexual fury that had ignited her in France as he made her European history.

They moved across the room until they fell over the arm of the couch, him on top of her. Her hand reached under his shirt to feel his chest and trim torso. Then she went up his shorts to fondle his balls through the thin fabric. He exhaled, pausing the kissing, maneuvering to allow freer access to anything her fingers wanted. She cuddled the pair and tickled beneath them. She knew she had hit a special spot on his body.

Her hand started to reach into the waistband of his shorts, and he moved again so they could be removed easily. She pressed a finger on the tip of his engorged cock.

“Yes, Misty, yes,” he said.

But she stopped, quite abruptly.

He was awakened by the sudden stop. “What is it?”

She led them to the bedroom.

She sat on the edge of the bed. When he came over, she stopped him, with an outstretched arm. “Stay standing,” she said as it seemed he was ready to pounce on her, obviously consumed by lust. “I want more of you.”

He stood before her. He pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it aside. She scratched her nails down his chest and then rubbed the palm of her hand against the length of his cock, still sheathed inside of his shorts.

“You’ve enjoyed the night so far, haven’t you?” she asked.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“How obvious? Show me.” She leaned back slightly.

“Why don’t you find out for yourself.”

She smiled and yanked his shorts down to his ankles. In the movement, her cheek brushed against his cock.

“He needed to get out,” she said lightly. She wrapped her hand around his cock and stroked his length. Its pulsing warmth heated up her palm.

“He did, he did need out,” Greg answered through the pleasure of her touch.

“I need to get out now.”

His eyes popped open. “Get out?”

She lifted her t-shirt slowly. Her breasts had been hidden behind the fabric as if stowed away. Her breasts lifted higher and higher, then fell, wobbly, when Misty took the shirt over her head. She shook out her hair from the ponytail. She had young tits with deep pink nipples, hard and erect.

“These girls needed out.” She lifted them with cupped hands and pressed them tight together. “They love to be sucked. You want to help, daddy?” She jiggled them as if they were chewable toys for a playful dog. Greg bit.

She fell back and he climbed onto her. He put his hands and mouth all over the young breasts. He sucked hard and slurped over them. He pulled up the breasts with his suctioning mouth and let them plop back down. He flicked the nipples with the tip of his tongue. She moaned and at times tickled throughout the play. She watched this new man above her in her bedroom and ran her hands through his hair. “Yes! They love it. You get extra credit for this attention. Yeah, mhmm, you will.”

And he kept kissing the toys she was sharing.

Laying there reveling, she studied the arch of his nose. She ran her hand across a muscular shoulder, which had a tattoo of a topless Hawaiian girl in a grass skirt. She watched his neck strain when he sucked hard on her breasts.

Suddenly her body tensed, she closed her eyes, her face contorted. She started huffing fast. But a smile appeared. “Thank you, Greg,” she said through quickened breaths. “That trip to Paris has done you well.”

“I had been to Paris before.”

She wrapped her legs around his waist to clutch him. She didn’t say anything. He peeled down her shorts. She saw his eyes home in on her pussy. His fingers combed through her trimmed bush.

She lifted her legs up to her chest and spread them wide. But he rolled her onto her right side. Looking over her shoulder, she reacted to his raised hand, tightening her butt.

Slap!

Then he grabbed a handful of her ass cheek and made it wiggle. She was about to say something about the cuteness of her butt; however, he beat her to it.

“You’ve got the hottest ass I’ve seen in a long time, damn.” Greg regripped the handful of ass flesh and wiggled it again, watching the wiggles pass from one cheek to the other. He smacked her once more. “You don’t know how glad I was to get your text tonight. Just to see this ass.”

She basked in his compliment about her body and his desire for her.

“You’re an ass man? Do you like anything else?”

She rolled onto her back and then slid off the bed and down to her knees. She came face to face with his cock. She gripped his dick like he had gripped her ass.

“You don’t know how much I’ve wanted to see you again.” She lowered the engorged erection and wrapped her mouth around its head. Her tongue massaged its crown and wetted the underside with a long lick. Once lubed, she bobbed her head back and forth quickly. She pushed her mouth farther down the shaft until she gagged. Out came the dick smeared with her saliva. She drooled onto the dick once more and took it full into her mouth again. Greg gripped her blond hair with both hands and rocked her head in time with his thrusts into her mouth. He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes. She tasted a salty release of precum spray into her mouth. She stopped.

“Fuck me,” she hissed through her heat. “It’s what we’re here for.”

She climbed onto the bed, lifted her legs and spread them wide open. Her pink pussy was waiting for him. He aligned his dick with the gateway between her parted lips. His cock, lubed by her blowjob, and her pussy—waiting for a long time—made the fuck happen easily. They thumped and slapped their bodies against each other.

Thump, Thwamp, Thump, Thwamp

They both grunted and huffed. “Give it to me, daddy, fuck me hard! Don’t stop,” she growled wickedly.

“Say my name, bitch, say it, who am I?”

“Big Daddy, you’ve got the dick I love. Fuck me!” She screamed in her inward explosion of heat and orgasm.

He thrusted faster and faster, causing further intense waves of lust. He exploded deep inside of her. He remained stiff like a statue until his body relaxed to a calmer state. The pair remained inert, catching their breath and retrieving their minds. She squeezed his entrenched cock by tightening her female muscles.

He rolled off her and onto his back to regain his strength. She darted away for a moment and came out of the bathroom in a shear robe. She didn’t think it necessary to tie it. The circular outline of her pink nipples was obvious against the fabric. She watched him dress.

A few minutes later, she led him to the front door. A compact car was idling in the driveway.

“Thank you for tonight.”

“My pleasure. Let’s do it again soon.”

She raised up, placing one hand on his chest, and kissed him deeply. His hands moved from her waist to heave up one of her breasts and the other to grasp an ass cheek.

“Sooner rather than later.”