Mrs. Sinclair didn’t say anything for several seconds as we sat at the small dinette table in her kitchen. As I waited for her to start talking, my mind was busy thinking of various scenarios of what could be going on.
How much did I truly know about Sally Sinclair? Yes, we had become somewhat close as a student and a teacher and talked about some personal things between us, but how much about her did I truly know? Maybe this was what she did; maybe she found students who had a crush on her and flirted with her and she teased them. Maybe it was all a game for her.
Maybe she and her husband played the game together, I thought. Maybe this was how they got off. The two of them found a young man who was interested in her sexually and she teased and fucked him as her husband watched or she told him about it afterward. Hell, maybe he was not even out of town and hiding in the house and was going to watch me fuck his wife. I had heard there were married couples who did that.
So what if he was a pastor and the two of them claimed to be devout religious people? There have been many scandals involving religious men and women who people thought were beyond reproach; sex scandals and financial scandals, or both combined.
Well, I thought, if Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair were into that kind of thing, then I would give his flat-chested, flat-ass, plain-looking, petite wife a fucking she would never forget. Maybe even fuck her up her small, bony ass. Grab those hips of hers and pound her asshole as she screams out to her fat husband how deep my enormous cock is up her nasty ass and tells her husband how much she loves me fucking her in her tight asshole.
I would give them something to talk about when they used me fucking her as their kinky foreplay. Hell, if he was hiding in the house, I would tell him to come out of hiding and get a ring-side seat so he could see me cuckold him up close and personal. I would have his wife telling him how big my cock was and how I fucked her like he never could. I may even make the fat bastard eat my cum from his wife’s old rancid pussy while she licked and sucked my dick clean of her pussy juices.
I was angry and frustrated as those thoughts were running through my mind. Mrs. Sinclair reached over and took my hand, which was on the table, into her two small hands.
“I love Henry and I have never cheated on my husband, Thomas,” she began her tale.
I listened to all she had to say, and I also heard all she had to say. Mrs. Sinclair told me her story like she was giving one of her classroom lectures. I could tell she felt embarrassed to talk about some parts and other parts made her emotional, but she still told me. It took a lot of courage to be as honest as she was to me that day.
“I never even considered cheating on my husband or felt tempted to,” the woman continued her story. “That was until I met you and we became close. You are so beautiful and sweet and kind and I felt temptation and desire that I had never felt before.” She gave my hand a gentle squeeze. “I prayed, Thomas. I prayed many times for God to remove the thoughts I had about you, the temptation and the lust I felt for you, but he never did.”
“Maybe that’s because God wanted you to let me fuck you,” I said as I grinned and placed my other large hand over her small, delicate ones. Her hands were soft.
“Don’t be blasphemous, Thomas, and don’t use that language, please,” she chastised me but in a kind voice and she gave a faint smile.
“Sorry,” I told her. I was sorry I said it. It was not the thing to say at that moment she was pouring her heart out to me.
“God didn’t remove the temptation or the thoughts I had about you, Thomas, and they only got worse. I hated you sometimes and may God forgive me for that also,” she confessed as she looked at our interlocked hands. “It was not your fault that I hated you. I hated you because of how you made me feel and because I lusted after you.”
“There were times I told myself to just end it,” she continued. “I told myself that today would be the day I told Thomas we could not eat lunch together anymore. That our relationship was going to be strictly that of a teacher and student. Then I would see you walk into my classroom and how handsome you are, how charming you are,” Mrs. Sinclair looked up at me and gave me a half smile, “and how you had a crush on me and flirted with me. Yes, I noticed, Thomas. Yes, I was aware of it all. I could never tell you, no, and I could never stop my lust for you.”
“Then I saw you today in the weight room without a shirt on and sweat dripping from your face and glistening on your beautiful dark body, and I felt so helpless. When you offered to give me a ride home, I knew I should have said no, but I didn’t. I lied to you, Thomas. Mr. Pinkston was at the school. But I just wanted to be around you. Riding in your truck and smelling your pungent odor, all I could think about was you kissing me, touching me, your lovely body pressed against me, and you…you inside me.”
Mrs. Sinclair paused and blushed at the last part. “I knew once I invited you into my home, I could not resist you if you tried to touch me and kiss me. I knew if you did, I would make love to you,” she confessed. “I knew it would be so wrong. Wrong to commit adultery and to want and desire a young boy as badly as I do you. Wrong to include you in my sin,” she told me. “That is the worst part about it, Thomas, for me to involve you in my sin. I hate myself for trying to make you sin as well. But you are just too beautiful for me to resist, Thomas. For that, I am sorry and hope you can forgive me.”
I had been called good-looking, handsome, hot, and other terms and words to describe my looks; but never beautiful. I liked that Mrs. Sinclair said that.
I smiled at her. I was much hornier now than had been all day in her presence. Her confession and the things she told me about her desire for me had my hard cock aching to be inside her pussy and aching for relief. If it was not for the tight jock strap cup over my erection, my cock would be sticking straight out from my shorts. Instead, the tight cup prevented it from being very noticeable under my shorts. There was a bulge there, but it remained mostly hidden.
“You are not involving me in anything I don’t want to do, Sally,” I told her, and used her given name for the first time. “I want you just as bad, maybe worse. I have wanted to fuck you for a long time.”
Mrs. Sinclair wrinkled her nose and looked at me with disapproval when I said the word fuck. “Don’t say that word, Thomas,” she chastised me again for my language even now. I could not help but chuckle.
“Please call me Mrs. Sinclair,” she asked. “I like it when you do. I enjoy hearing you say my name like you do,” she made another confession. “I know I am not pretty, Thomas, not as pretty as that…that Jezebel Rhonda you are seeing,” she told me.
“Rhonda? I don’t know,” I started to tell her I was not seeing Rhonda and how I thought she was pretty and sexy.
“Don’t, Thomas, whatever happens now please don’t lie to me or ever lie to me, please,” she interrupted me. I nodded to tell her I would not lie to her. “We teachers hear things even though students don’t think we do. I know you are seeing her and having sex with her, and I know of her reputation.” Mrs. Sinclair gave me another one of her looks of disapproval. “You deserve better than a whore, Thomas,” she told me and sounded jealous.
“Language, Mrs. Sinclair,” I teased her, using her words against her.
Mrs. Sinclair giggled. “Whore is not a curse word. It’s a vulgar word and not to be used in polite conversation and should never be used to describe a girl or woman,” she told me and then gave me a mischievous smile. “Unless it fits and with Rhonda, it fits. I just hope you use protection with her.”
“I do,” I assured my older teacher. “I always do.”
I always use a condom with Rhonda. Mrs. Sinclair was right, Rhonda was a whore, and I was not the only boy she was fucking.
“You are pretty, Mrs. Sinclair, and sexy also,” I told her.
She frowned at me and shook her head. “No, Thomas, I know I am not, but it’s nice to hear you tell me that. I came to terms with my looks a long time ago and knew I was not a pretty girl and would never be a pretty woman. Not hideous, mind you,” she said and giggled, “just I knew I would never be an attractive woman. I am quite aware of my looks and body’s shortcomings.”
I ran my fingers over her hands, caressingly. “I like your looks and think you have a sexy body and remember, I did promise not to lie to you,” I told her.
Mrs. Sinclair smiled at me. “I am glad you do, Thomas. I have never cared what people thought about my looks. I never had the sin of vanity, but I am glad you like how I look.”
Her talking to me and being so honest and open turned me on even more. Yes, I wanted to see her on her knees sucking my cock. I wanted to see how she would struggle to put my large cock into her small mouth and even enjoy her whimpers of distress as she tried to take it into her mouth. I wanted to see her swallow my cum.
I then wanted to fuck her, and I wanted to fuck her hard. I would start slow, but then before I was done, I wanted to be pounding her old pussy hard. I wanted to see her face and hear what she sounded like when she got fucked. However, I also enjoyed her confession of how she thought of me and lusted after me. As much as I wanted her to take her right there in the kitchen, I could be patient.
Mrs. Sinclair continued her tale, and it was a long one. I won’t include it all in the story because it would take too long and parts would bore the readers. I would like to summarize some of what she told me because it explains a lot about Mrs. Sinclair. It explains her Puritan values about sex and why she became so obsessed with me.
Mrs. Sinclair grew up in a strict Pentecostal household with strict religious parents. But she did not mind that because she was religious as well. She never dated when in high school and not because her parents didn’t allow her to date. There were good, moral Christian boys at her church and her parents would have allowed her to date. She didn’t date because no boy seemed interested in her. She had male friends, but that was all they were.
Mrs. Sinclair attended an evangelical university, Oral Roberts University in Oklahoma, which enforces strict rules about dress, curfews for the students, and separate housing for male and female students in dormitory facilities on campus. Student access to housing of the opposite sex is largely restricted, and the university has other strict rules you would expect from such an institution. Mrs. Sinclair said she loved it there, but again, while she had male friends, she didn’t date anyone.
She said she almost settled for another student who wanted to date her, but she didn’t. She said it was not God’s plan for her to date and marry that boy.
After she graduated college, she returned to her parent’s house and started her career in teaching in her home city of Fredericksburg, Virginia. She dated a fellow teacher for a couple of months but broke it off when he wanted to have sex with her. She told him she would not have sex until she was married. He didn’t like that, and she ended their relationship.
When Mrs. Sinclair was twenty-five, she met her husband, Henry. Henry is twelve years older than her and they met when he became the assistant pastor at her church. He had been married before and was a widower for four years when they met.
Mr. Sinclair felt it was time to have a new wife, and he focused his attention on Sally Wilcox. While he seemed to care about her, he didn’t love her in the way two people who get married love one another. What drew him to Sally was her kindness, her impeccable reputation, and her religious morals and values. She was the type of woman a Pentecostal preacher should have.
Mrs. Sinclair’s family and church friends encouraged her to date the new, highly regarded assistant pastor, even though she admitted she didn’t love Henry and was not attracted to him. Having no other prospects, Mrs. Sinclair started dating the man and, in just a few months, they were married. She told me she grew to love her husband and was in love with him and he grew to love her. I got the impression that while she did love him, and I did not doubt that, there was no passion in their marriage and she didn’t sexually desire him.
A few years after they were married, he became a pastor at another church in North Carolina, stayed there several years, and eventually ended up at the church he is currently a pastor of in Georgia.
I asked why they didn’t have children, and Mrs. Sinclair told me in an emotional tone to her voice she was pregnant when she was twenty-nine but had a miscarriage. After her miscarriage, she could not become pregnant again. She seemed saddened by that, naturally, so I dropped the subject and never asked why they didn’t adopt or take in a foster child. It was none of my business.
After Mrs. Sinclair told me her story, she let go of my hands, stood up, walked around the table, and sat on my lap. She didn’t do it seductively or try to entice me or be sexy. After she placed her small body in my lap, she leaned down and kissed my lips in a chaste manner.
I put my arms around her waist, pulled her close to me, and tried to turn the chaste kiss into a more passionate one. Mrs. Sinclair didn’t resist and opened her mouth to allow my tongue to enter. As we kissed, she frantically pulled up my tee shirt and once again started running my hands over my chest.
I started to lift her skirt so I could run my hand up her thighs and finger her pussy, but she again stopped me. She didn’t stop kissing me, however, but moved her lips to my neck.
“Please, don’t do that,” she whispered in my ear.
I was confused and thought she was teasing me once again. I decided to be blunt with her. I was aroused, frustrated, getting angry again, and I wanted to fuck her. If she didn’t want to have sex and was just playing some type of game with me, I wanted to know.
“So, are we going to fuck or what?” I asked her as she was still kissing my neck and running her hands over my chest.
I winced when she grabbed a handful of my chest hairs and pulled them hard. She stopped kissing my neck and raised her head.
“I don’t like when you use that word, Thomas. I don’t like when you use crude language at all,” she told me. She then kissed my forehead and smiled. “Yes, I want you to make love to me, Thomas. I desire you and lust after you and, God forgive me, I want you to make love to me badly.”
“Then why did you stop me?” I asked. Her admitting to me she wanted to have sex calmed me down.
Mrs. Sinclair blushed. “I didn’t want you to do what you were about to do, Thomas. Doing that is vulgar and something I just don’t do. I…there are…I am not a whore, Thomas,” she blurted out. “I am not like your friend, Rhonda.”
“How do you feel about blowjobs?” I teased her.
Mrs. Sinclair wrinkled her nose and was still blushing. “You mean to use my mouth on you? No, that is disgusting and I would never do that.”
I was disappointed but accepted that I was not going to have Mrs. Sinclair suck my cock. I was going to fuck Mrs. Sally Sinclair, who I had been fantasizing about fucking for a long time and who was the main character in a lot of my masturbation fantasies.
“So, what about me doing it to you?” I asked. I knew the answer but wanted to hear it.
Mrs. Sinclair gave me a look of disgust. She answered as if I had asked her if the moon was made of cheese. “Don’t be perverted, Thomas. There need to be some rules if we do this.”
“I didn’t know there were rules for fucking,” I said with a grin.
Mrs. Sinclair ignored my curse word. “You can’t tell anyone. That is very important,” she gave me her first rule.
“I won’t and no one would believe me anyway,” I assured her. She smiled.
“This is going to happen just once, Thomas, never again,” she told me. “For the rest of the school year, I also think it is best if we don’t eat lunch together anymore. Maybe when school starts again after the summer break, we can if things are different between us.”
I nodded. I know what she meant. Mrs. Sinclair thought if she separated herself from me, then her desire and lust for me would pass. She thought or hoped that if she separated herself from me my crush on her would pass as well. I would miss eating lunch with her, but it was worth it if I go to fuck her.
“One time as in just having sex one time or one time as in having sex more than once, but only for today?” I asked.
It was not even one in the afternoon and I didn’t have to be at work until the late afternoon. I could fuck her a few times and then leave, go home, take a shower, and go to work.
Mrs. Sinclair gave me a confused look. “I…well…I suppose if you would like to make love or if you could more than once we could.”
“Why wouldn’t I?” I asked
My teacher looked as if she was still confused, and blushed once more. “I didn’t think that…well I suppose since you are younger it would make sense,” she said, but I got the impression she was not really talking to me but thinking aloud.
“You have never been fucked…sorry…made love to more than once with your husband?” I asked.
I was never curious about their sex life, but after she confessed to me I became slightly intrigued. Not in a perverted way to talk about as foreplay, but based on what she told me so far and the things she didn’t do sexually made me curious.
Mrs. Sinclair was still blushing. “I…my intimate relationship with Henry is…I don’t want to talk about that, Thomas,” she told me. “That is between me and him. Please don’t ask about me about my marriage.”
I nodded. “I won’t.”
She smiled. “Thank you.”
We sat there without saying another word for about ten seconds. I thought maybe Mrs. Sinclair was beginning to change her mind until she slowly brought her hands to my chest and once again caressed me as she was looking me in the eye. She looked like she wanted me to kiss her again. I took the hint.
I gently placed my hand on the nape of her neck and gently pulled her to me. We started kissing again passionately and our tongues entered each other’s mouths once more. She was making sexy, faint whimpers as we kissed. I started to pull the hem of her dress up so I could slip my hands under it. I know she said she didn’t want me to finger her pussy, but it was just a natural reflex I had.
She gently pushed my hand away but didn’t say anything. She broke our kiss, stood up, and held out both her arms.
“Can…we…we can go to the bedroom,” she suggested.
“I would love to,” I told her, took her hands in mine, and stood up.
Mrs. Sinclair was holding my hand as she led me through the house to her bedroom. She was pulling me as if she was in a great hurry. She led me through the house so quickly that I didn’t get a very good look at it.
Not that I cared for a grand tour. I also was in a hurry to get to her bedroom, take off Mrs. Sinclair’s clothes as we kissed some more, look at her body I have been lusting over for some time, take off my clothes, and get in bed with her.
Since she was not going to suck my cock and she was not going to let me taste her pussy or even finger her pussy, I supposed our foreplay would be limited. As much as I wanted to just throw her on the bed and fuck her, I did enjoy foreplay. I would kiss her, play with her nipples, and caress her butt cheeks before we had sex. That was my plan, but that was not what happened.
On the way to her bedroom, we passed a dining room that led into an open living room, and then down a hallway. I did notice that along the hallway were four open doors, two on the right and two on the left. The first door on the right was a bathroom, the guest bathroom, I assumed. The first door on the left looked like an office. The second door on the left opened into a large bedroom. Based on the size, it must have been the master bedroom. I expected us to go into that room, but we didn’t. We went into the last room down the hall, which was on the right.
As she led me to the smaller bedroom, I got the impression she did not want to commit adultery in the same bed she shared with her husband. Once we got into the bedroom and I saw it, something else came to my mind.
At first, I thought it was the guest bedroom but then I realized, based on the décor, it may be her room. Maybe she and her husband did not share the same bedroom. I didn’t ask, and I didn’t care. I didn’t care about her and her husband’s sleeping arrangements, and I didn’t care if they still fucked or not. All I cared about was that I was going to fuck her.
It was a tidy room with few nickknacks on the single nightstand next to the bed and the dresser that had a vanity mirror attached. The bed was double-sized and decorated in a feminine style.
The bed had a decorative headboard and footboard. They were painted white and had painted vines with pink flowers blooming on the vines. The corners of the headboard and footboard had a post on them. The two posts at the foot of the bed were shorter than the two at the head of the bed.
On the bed were several pillows for decoration, some solid pastel colors, and some floral prints. The thick fluffy-looking comforter on the bed was also a floral print, as was the bed’s bed skirt.
On the walls were only two pictures. A large painting above the bed was a print of a woman dressed in a white Victorian-style dress holding a parasol and she was standing in a field. Mrs. Sinclair later told me it was a print of a Claude Monet painting. The other painting on the wall where the dresser was against it was a small picture of Jesus.
Once in the room, Mrs. Sinclair let go of my hand and walked to the window in the room. She pulled down the shade and then shut the curtain; it made the room dark but not too dark so you could not see. I chuckled when she took down the picture of Jesus and leaned it against the wall with the painted side facing the wall. Mrs. Sinclair turned to me, blushed, and gave me a smile of embarrassment.
She walked to the bed, removed the decorative pillows, stood close to the edge of the bed, and looked at me. “Please turn around, darling,” she told me.
Mrs. Sinclair was blushing again and sounded nervous. I liked that she called me darling. It was the first time she used a term of affection for me and I enjoyed hearing it from her in her southern, ladylike drawl.
I shook my head. “I want to watch you undress,” I told her.
Mrs. Sinclair shook her head. “No, I…we…no, please, darling. I…please no,” she stammered.
“I think you have a nice body, Mrs. Sinclair,” I told her as I walked toward her.
“I am not ashamed of my body, Thomas,” she told me defensively. “It’s just…”
“A sin to see you naked or for you to see me naked,” I interrupted her and mocked her as I put my arms around her small waist.
She looked up at me, “It’s not that, darling, it’s just…I don’t…please respect me in this.” She told me.
I started to get the impression that Mrs. Sinclair’s Puritan beliefs about sex went deeper than I thought. I was to find out several moments later I was right. But I decided to push her past her comfort level, even if just a little.
I leaned down and started kissing her, and she quickly responded and put her arms around my neck. I started kissing her neck and ears and Mrs. Sinclair’s moans and whimpers told me she enjoyed what I was doing.
“I want to see your body, Mrs. Sinclair,” I whispered in her ear. “I have wanted to see your body for so long and I think about what it looks like when I jerk off thinking about fucking you.”
When I told her I thought about her when I masturbated, Mrs. Sinclair’s body went stiff and she pulled back and looked up at me.
“You…you think about me when you do that to yourself?” she asked as if she didn’t believe me.
“Yes, I do,” I assured her, and it was the truth.
“You shouldn’t do that to yourself, darling,” she told me but smiled.
I could tell she enjoyed that I told her how much I lusted after her and how I thought about her when I jerked off. I could also tell while she may have thought masturbation was sinful that she knew guys did it. I am sure she even knew her pastor husband jerked off.
“You can see me down to my undergarments,” she told me.
I nodded. I took the compromise.
I stepped back a couple of feet and watched Mrs. Sinclair take off her clothes. She removed her shoes and socks quickly, but when she started to take off her white tee shirt, she did so slowly. I could tell it embarrassed her to undress in front of me. She covered her breasts even though she was wearing a bra.
“Drop your hands. I want to see,” I told her and my voice was louder, sounded harsher, and commanding even though I didn’t mean for it to be. “And turn on the lamp. It’s too dark in here and I want to see you.”
Mrs. Sinclair’s body jerked from the sound of my voice as if it scared her, but she quickly lowered her hands, reached over, turned the lamp on the nightstand, and placed her arms at her sides.
I didn’t think about it then, but later I realized that was when Mrs. Sinclair first started to show her submissiveness to me. If I had known at that moment, I could have told her to fully strip off all her clothes for me and she would have done it.
I looked over her small body. Her bra was white, and the cups were solid and not sheer, but her erect nipples were poking out and noticeable even though the cups of her bra looked padded. I thought she must have long nipples and maybe that was why she didn’t want me to see her small breasts, even though they were covered by the bra. Even in just her bra, my older teacher didn’t have any cleavage.
“Now the skirt, Mrs. Sinclair,” I told her. This time my voice was softer and not authoritative at all.
The small older woman removed her skirt and stood in front of me in just her panties and bra. I was wrong when I thought her entire pale body would turn red when she blushed, but it was close. Her face, neck, and chest were pink from embarrassment. Her panties were also white and they were baggy and certainly what would be referred to as granny panties.
Mrs. Sinclair’s body was blemish free and her skin was white like ivory. While she may be in her forties and her face may have shown some signs of her age, her complexion didn’t. Maybe it was good genes, or maybe she found some magic lotion to put on her skin to make it look younger than her age. I didn’t care; I thought her smooth, alabaster complexion was sexy.
Her small pooch in her lower belly was a little more noticeable, but I also found it sexy and it made her thin stomach look sunken in. Her legs were thin, and she had thin thighs. While not typically the body type I was attracted to in a woman, I found Mrs. Sinclair’s body sexy.
“Can…can I get in the bed now?” she asked. She sounded like she was asking for my permission.
“Yes,” I told her as started to remove my shoes and socks.
Mrs. Sinclair pulled down the bedcovers and got into the bed. She moved to the other side and pulled the covers up to her chin. I watched as she placed her arms under the bedcovers and saw her raise her knees as she removed her panties. She bunched them up in her hand and dropped them to the floor.
I chuckled at her modesty and removed my tee shirt.
“You are so beautiful, Thomas,” she told me when she saw my naked chest.
I smiled at her and started to take off my shorts.
“No, please wait until you get in bed,” she told me.
I shrugged and walked to the bed. I wanted her to see me naked. My ego and arrogance wanted to see her reaction to my big cock. But I respected her request. She was going to find out how big my cock was in a few moments anyway.
I imagined us in the bed, kissing and her touching my cock and gasping in surprise at the size of it. I imagined her whimpering and telling me it was too big as I entered her wet, tight pussy. I imagined Mrs. Sinclair begging me to stop as I pushed my cock further into her. Then her telling me how big it was and how deep it was inside her as my thick cock stretched her pussy open. How she would stop telling me to stop and how good I felt and to fuck her.
I would then start to fuck her and she would start screaming how great I felt and beg me for more and to fuck her harder. I would start to fuck her hard and wear her old, white, neglected pussy out. I may even put my finger up her tight, virgin asshole when she had her first orgasm.
Imagination is often much better than reality. That was not how it was, at least not at first.
Mrs. Sinclair lifted the bedcovers for me, still keeping her modestly and without letting me see her body, as I got into the bed. Once in the bed, she pulled the covers up over both of us and rolled over to her back, looked up at the ceiling, and waited. She was waiting for me to get on top of her and have sex with her like it was some type of chore she had to perform.
The hell with that, I thought. I had respected her Puritan morals and attitude towards sex so far, but I had my limits. I reached under the covers, removed my shorts and jockstrap, and tossed them to the floor. I then turned to my side to face her, reached over, and put my arm around her. Mrs. Jennings flinched, and I gently placed a hand on her shoulder and turned her small body to face me.
“Thomas, what are doing?” she asked, but didn’t try to stop me.
I ignored her and slid my arm down the small of her back and kissed her. Once again, she responded to my kiss quickly, placed her arms around me, and we were soon making out passionately. As we were kissing, I slid my hand down to her bony, flat butt and put my hand around her thin upper thigh. I then moved her leg and draped it over mine.
“Thomas, stop, please stop, darling,” Mrs. Sinclair begged between her panting and whimpering as I was kissing her neck.
I didn’t stop, though. I didn’t stop because even though she was telling me to, she started grinding her pussy against my naked thigh.
“Don’t do this to me, darling, please,” she kept pleading, but I didn’t relent.
I didn’t know what she meant by don’t do this to her, but even though she was telling me to stop her body actions told me differently.
I pulled down the bedcovers to our waist, moved my hand to her back, and started unhooking her bra strap. Again, she told me not to. Once I had her bra unhooked, I started to remove the straps of her shoulders. Mrs. Sinclair did pull back that time and closed her hands over her bra to prevent me from removing it. She was still rubbing herself against my leg, but much slower now.
I didn’t say anything, and neither did Mrs. Jennings as I moved her hands from the bra and moved her arms over her head. She didn’t offer any resistance as I held her arms above her head with one hand around her thin wrists. She whimpered and looked at me with her black eyes pleading with me. I grinned and pulled the straps of her bra off her shoulders. I looked at her chest and saw her breasts for the first time.
They were smaller than I thought they would be, maybe because she always wore a padded bra as she did that day. With her arms stretched over her head, Mrs. Sinclair’s chest was almost flat. Her small breasts were tipped with dark brown nipples that looked sexy and erotic in contrast to her smooth ivory skin.
The dark areolas were small. They could not have been any larger than a nickel coin, but her hard nipples were long, longer than I assumed. When fully erect and taut, Mrs. Sinclair’s nipples were almost an inch long. They looked like they were begging to be played with, tweaked, kissed, and sucked. I did just that.
I lowered my head and took one of Mrs. Sinclair’s nipples into my mouth. She gasped out loudly, and I felt the hands I was holding by her wrist form a tight fist. The older woman started twisting her body as if she was trying to break free from my hold on her.
“No, please, no. Oh, God please…uhhh God,” she cried out from both pleasure and reluctance. “Don’t do this to me, darling Thomas; please don’t make me into…” She didn’t finish what she was trying to tell me and instead cried out again. This time from pain and pleasure mixed when I gently bit down on her hard, long nipple.
I could tell she felt both pain and pleasure from what I did by the way her moans sounded. I bit down a little harder and flicked my tongue over her nipple as I brought my free hand up. I pinched her other nipple between my thumb and forefinger and she cried and started moaning louder.
I had no idea what she wanted to tell me or what she meant, and I didn’t care. I cared only that I knew she was enjoying what I was doing to her and that soon I was going to be fucking her.
I kissed and sucked and licked and bit and pinched both her nipples for several more minutes. Mrs. Sinclair had stopped telling me no, and she surrendered to the pleasure I was giving her. She knew I was not going to stop anyway, so she surrendered herself to me. I released her wrists and when her hands were free; she didn’t try to push me away. She placed both her hands on the back of my head and pressed my head harder against her body.
I wanted to do so much more to her. I wanted to make her touch my hard cock; I wanted to go down on her pussy and taste it, and I wanted to make her suck my cock. I wanted her to do things she told me she would not do, and I thought I could make her. I didn’t, however. I didn’t, not because I was respecting her Puritan morals about sex; I didn’t because I badly needed to fuck her. My self-control had reached its limit.
With another woman, I may have had more self-control, but this was Mrs. Sally Sinclair, the older, white woman I had desired for so long, and my fantasy of fucking her was coming true. It was time to feel her tight, wet, white pussy around my big, black cock.
I rolled Mrs. Sinclair to her back and got on top of her. She spread her legs for me, placed her hands under my arms, and gripped my back with her delicate hands. I propped my large body over her smaller one by placing my elbow of my left arm to her side and with my right hand; I guided my cock to her pussy. I watched her face as I entered Mrs. Sinclair’s body.
Her pussy was wet, and it was tight. I slowly thrust into her pussy only about three inches and looked at her face. Mrs. Sinclair’s dark eyes were opened wide, her brow was furrowed, and her small mouth formed an O shape as my cock went into her. She looked so sexy. She didn’t say anything but made this high-pitched moaning noise repeatedly between her heavy panting. I pulled back my hips slightly and then thrust deeper into her.
“Uhhh, God, Thomas!” she cried out, again in a high-pitched tone. “Uh, uh, uh, uh, Thomas!” she made high-pitched, feminine grunts as I pushed further into her.
Her eyes were closed then, and her fingers dug into my back. I was about six, maybe seven inches inside her tight, wet pussy. Fuck, she was so tight. I don’t know if her grunting was from pain or pleasure or both. She didn’t try to stop me, so I kept going. I gave one more long, slow thrust and Mrs. Sinclair screamed out. She literally screamed out. It was a brief, loud, gasping scream. It made me flinch when I heard it. She th
en started panting heavily and whimpering loudly.
“Did I hurt you?” I asked. I was concerned. Her scream sounded like she was hurt and badly hurt.
“It hurt a little when going in, but…but no, you’re not hurting me, Thomas. I’m sorry…I…I just didn’t know a man could be that big and…and it’s so deep,” she told me while panting.
I smiled down at her, kissed her lips, and made love to her. I didn’t go hard or fast at first. I wanted to enjoy being inside her pussy, so instead, I just started slowly rotating my hips. Mrs. Sinclair started moaning again and her hands gripped my back tight. I made love to her instead of fucking her.
As I made love to the older woman slow and gentle, I ran my hands up and down the back of her thighs and her small, flat butt, and kissed her lips, neck, and long, hard nipples. When I would bite them, she would cry. I occasionally told her how good her pussy felt, how wet it was, and how tight she was. Mrs. Sinclair didn’t chastise me for the use of vulgar language.
Instead, she made loud moans of pleasure, but she didn’t scream out like she did that one time. She would occasionally call out to God or moan out my name. A few times, she told me I was making her feel good. Mrs. Sinclair always chastised me for my use of blasphemy when I used God’s name in vain, but she had no problem being blasphemous when we fucked.
Mrs. Sinclair didn’t thrust her hips up into me to meet my thrusts into her pussy or move her hips at all. She just laid there moaning as I did all the work. I didn’t care at all. Mrs. Sinclair had an orgasm after about five minutes of me gently making love to her.
My teacher didn’t cry out that she was having an orgasm, but I could tell she did. Her fingers dug into my back, her body got ridged as her muscles tightened and her back arched. Her moans turned into a louder high-pitched squealing sound. As she came, I looked at her face. Her eyes were shut tight, and her face formed a sexy grimace looking as if she was in pain. I knew she was not.
As she was cumming, I pushed my cock as deep as I could into her and didn’t move. Mrs. Sinclair was sexy when she had an orgasm, but aren’t all women? When her orgasm ended, she was panting for air, her chest rising up and down rapidly, and she was making whimpering sounds as she enjoyed the euphoric feeling of her after-orgasm ecstasy. Her face and chest were flushed.
“Feel better now,” I teased her. Mrs. Sinclair didn’t answer with a word but nodded her head.
I then decided it was time to fuck her. I propped my large body up over her slight frame by placing my elbows on her sides. I pulled out of her pussy about three inches and thrust hard into her. I again slowly pulled out about three inches and again gave a hard thrust into her pussy. I did that about four or five times.
With each thrust into Mrs. Sinclair, she made a loud, feminine grunting sound and either called God’s name or mine. I slowly pulled out again, this time about six inches, and again a hard thrust into her pussy.
“Ugh, God!” Mrs. Sinclair moaned out louder. “Stop, oh darling, please stop. Don’t do that. Please, Thomas.” Mrs. Sinclair pleaded.
I ignored her and again pulled out and thrust harder into her, and again, and again as I started going slightly faster. Just as before, Mrs. Sinclair called my name or God’s and grunted loudly with each thrust into her body. But she kept pleading for me to stop and whimpering.
“No, Thomas…Ugh, God, no, baby, not like…ughhh, Thomas! No, not like this,” her pleas became more like rambling between her moaning grunts. “Don’t do it like that, please. Don’t make me feel like this.”
Mrs. Sinclair started struggling and twisting her body and she wriggled around until my cock slipped out of her. She kept telling me not to make her feel like I was and other senseless phrases about how I was making her feel I didn’t understand.
“Did I hurt you?” I asked as she tried to move out from under me.
She shook her head rapidly and stopped wriggling around.
“Then what’s the fucking problem?” I asked harshly. I was angry again at her games. I was getting frustrated with all the don’t do this or don’t do that.
Did she think that just because she had an orgasm we were done? Did she think she could use me to get off and not let me finish? Did she have an orgasm and then start to feel guilty about cheating on her husband? I asked those questions in my head.
“You…you just aren’t supposed to do it that way,” Mrs. Sinclair told me.
“Do it like what?” I asked, confused. “And if I am not hurting you, what do you mean how I make you feel?” I demanded sternly.
Mrs. Sinclair turned her head to avoid looking at me. “You are not supposed to move in and out of me and go so fast,” she told me to answer my first question. “Just do it like you did at first.”
I laughed at that. “Seriously? Who told you that? Is that in the Bible somewhere? Thou shall not thrust in and out of the pussy,” I mocked her.
She blushed and tried to move away from me, but I held her tight. “Don’t be blasphemous, Thomas,” she told me sternly. “I am not a whore, and you were making me feel like one with how you were doing it.”
That’s what she meant when she told me not to make her feel the way I was making her feel. She enjoyed what I was doing, but she didn’t want to enjoy it. She was ashamed of herself for enjoying it. I don’t know how her husband fucked her or how she was used to having sex, and I didn’t care.
“You’ve never been fucked before, have you,” I told her. It was not a question.
“I…I am married, Thomas, and I am a good wife, and I honor my wifely obligations,” she told me sharply. “But he is not some pervert like you who has dirty, sinful perversions.”
She sounded angry and also seemed embarrassed by her admitting to me that she and her husband still had sex. I didn’t expect anything different. I didn’t care if she and her husband still had sex.
I could have cared less if Mrs. Sinclair was getting gang-banged every day after school by the entire football team. I was the one in bed with her that Saturday afternoon and all I cared about was that I was having fantasies of mine coming true. I was fucking an older white woman and that older white woman was the woman I would often think about when I jerked off.
I also knew I was right; of course, she had sex with her husband, who I knew was the only man she ever had sex with. But she had never been fucked and fucked hard. I was going to change that. I knew that while she was telling me not to make her a whore; she did enjoy it when I was thrusting my cock into her tight pussy hard.
“A pussy like yours needs to be fucked, Mrs. Sinclair, and it needs to be fucked hard,” I told her. “Being a whore can be enjoyable, Mrs. Sinclair. Just ask Rhonda.”
I used the other girl’s name to be mean. I know that was a dick move, but I did inform readers I could be an asshole when I was younger.
Mrs. Sinclair didn’t struggle as I spread her legs as I expected her to, even though she kept repeating the word “please”. She didn’t tell me to stop when I shoved my big, black, erect cock into her small, tight, wet pussy.
Once again, Mrs. Sinclair surrendered to me and once again that afternoon, it didn’t come to my mind that she did so because of her submissiveness to a man she was intimate with. I didn’t realize that until later that night when I was at work and I had time to think about my older teacher’s actions and words. It didn’t come to me until later how easily she surrendered her body to, as she called them, my dirty, sinful perversions.
I started fucking my petite, forty-two-year-old history teacher hard. I didn’t start slow at all.
