Private lessons - part II.

I keep getting the words wrong on purpose. Mike is supposed to be correcting my grammar, but my head is busy wondering how thick he really is. The rumors started weeks ago and they won’t leave me alone. So when the lesson ends and he stands up, I stay seated, legs still parted under the table. My skirt rides higher when I shift. He notices. Doesn’t say a word. Mike walks over, drops his belt, and pulls himself out. The stories were true. He’s long, veined, heavy in his fist. I lean forward and take him in my mouth before he can speak. Warm. Salty. My tongue works along the underside while spit drips down my chin. He holds the back of my chair for balance, hips rolling slow. I stand, turn, and pull my panties to my knees. He slides two fingers between my folds first, finds me soaked, then pushes the head of his cock in. The stretch pulls a moan straight from my chest. He fills me to the hilt in one steady drive. My cunt grips him tight, pulsing around every inch while he fucks me against the edge of the desk. He pulls out, spreads my cheeks, and presses the same slick cock against my asshole. The ring resists, then gives. The burn is sharp, but it fades quick once he’s inside. He moves in short, careful strokes until my muscles loosen, then drives deeper. My forehead rests on the wood, both holes tender and used, the wet sounds loud in the quiet room. Every thrust knocks a breath out of me.