Hey, Mister Marshall (St. Mary's Rebels 4)

But for now I’m going to feel his hot skin on my tongue right this second.

Running my fingers in the dark, coarse hair of his thighs, I reach for it and as soon as I wrap my fingers around his rod, he flinches. His hips jump in the chair and his abdomen, partially revealed right now with his shirt pushed up slightly and his pants pulled down, tenses.

More so than it was before. When I’d only slid down his lap and taken my place at his feet.

I can see all his muscles bulging and standing up in stark relief, his fists vibrating on the armrests, and I know it’s only going to get worse when I put him in my mouth. So with my free hand, I massage his thigh, going up to his ridged stomach before I bend down and take him in my mouth.

His first taste hits me like a freight train.

And it hits him as well because he grunts loudly and I see him throwing his head back against the backrest, his fists opening and gripping the armrest.

But honestly that’s the last visual I get before I have to close my eyes because my own veins are throbbing with lust. My own body is pulsing with his taste, with his size. With his scent and heat.

All of which is overwhelming.

All of which makes me think how naive I’ve been in thinking that his taste and scent of leather and cigar is thickest at the base of his throat.

It’s not.

It’s the thickest here.

It’s the kind of thickest that might turn me into a junkie.

Because I’m already laving his head like one. I’m already tonguing it, sipping it, slurping that slit on the top like an addict, like I’ll never get to do this again. And when that’s not enough, when even his pre-cum won’t satisfy me, I go deeper. I take him in further and he was right.

My mouth does drive him crazy.

Because those hands of his, that were gripping the armrest, come down to my head when he hits the back of my mouth. They clutch my midnight hair as his hips lift up from the chair.

And for a novice like me, it’s too much.

Or it would have been if along with being a novice, I wasn’t also a whore.

His cute little whore.

And since I am, I love that he pushes his dick into my mouth. I love that his hips flex and his abdomen clenches and so I try to open my mouth even wider. I try to even open my throat if such a thing is possible and then, I do feel him inching down further. I do feel him filling a tiny space at the top of my throat before he retreats and gives me some of my control back.

Which I don’t need really.

I don’t need my control at all. So I try to give it back to him. I try to push my head down even more so he’ll take over and keep me at his mercy, and he does.

He takes over the reins and fucks my mouth. He fucks a tiny portion of my throat, his hips moving up and down, his fingers clutching my hair and his grunts echoing around us.

Meanwhile, I keep laving the underside of his rod, keep laving the thick vein on his cock, the tasty dark skin, the ridges that I didn’t know he had.

Stupid condom.

And now that I know, I can’t help but moan. I can’t help but clench and clench my thighs together, scratch my nails on his thighs, twist the base of his cock, hoping that he’ll go in further, he’ll make me take him in further.

Just when I think that he’s going to do it though, he erupts in my mouth.

His body arches up and I feel the first lash of his cum on my tongue.

It tastes all salty and musky and like it did last night.

But I know that that’s all I’m going to get. He’s made a promise to me and like always, he’ll deliver.

So he knocks my hands off so he can grip his dick and take it out of my mouth so his second lash lands on my glasses. Followed by the one that lands on my cheeks, my forehead. My chin and my throat.

With every lash that lands on my face, I moan and knead my tits.

I whimper and press my thighs together, smelling him, tasting him.

Feeling pampered by him.

In four short weeks, summer school is going to be over.

And I’m going to graduate.

Before, when I hated this place and craved my freedom like air, I’d been counting down the days until my graduation. I’d been dreaming about it, longing for it, pining for it.

But now there’s no dreaming or longing or pining.

Instead there’s a strange sadness and dread.