Headmistress

She comes. She grabs his head, pulls his face onto her crotch, bucks and twitches, gasps, whispers hoarsely, "Ah fuck fuck yes, oh your fucking tongue, yes."

"Miss, are you all right?"

"Yes ... yes Paul, thank you ... did you feel my orgasm against your mouth?"

"Yes Miss, it was very powerful."

"You are a naturally talented cuntlicker, Paul, it is a fine skill to have. Now, of course, we must not forget that you have been aroused ever since you saw the girls in the shower, and I must not let you out of here without releasing that sexual tension."

"Yes Miss."

She sits forward in the chair. "Stand in front of me. I will not ask you to work out the etymology of the word fellatio; I will move straight to the demonstration."

"Oh my God, Miss, you're sucking my cock!"

Miss Price is not only naturally talented, but highly experienced as a cocksucker, and it will not take her long to release Paul's sexual tension. She sucks gently but insistently, using her tongue cunningly on the underside of his swollen glans. She holds his big hard shaft steady with one hand. She uses her other forearm to lift her large breasts up, presenting a target for his imminent emission. The pose is reminiscent of Rubens's painting of Hélène Fourment, but Paul's response is more Jackson Pollock, as a last flick of Miss Price's tongue causes him to deposit a copious spatter pattern of semen onto the soft skin of her breasts. Paul groans as he ejaculates. It is the biggest load of cum he can ever remember producing, and an impressive performance even in Miss Price's extensive experience.

"That's better. Good boy" She squeezes out the last drops.

"Miss, I've made a really big mess on your tits." It's true. It takes a lot of cum to cover Miss Price's boobs but he has made a valiant effort.

"It's all right, Paul."

And they both burst out into hearty laughter, and she stands up from the armchair and they embrace, smearing sperm from her chest to his. The Headmistress's study is a suburban living room, her desk a foldaway dining table. The predecessors' portraits are framed enlargements of holiday photos, Greece mostly, hung on pale painted plaster, not oak panels. There are still some sounds of sports and games outside - Cathy Jackson's kids in the garden next door.

"Fucking hell, Leanne, you were incredible!"

"You were amazing yourself, babe," says Leanne Sinclair (née Price) to her husband Paul.

"The cunnilingus etymology bit - where the fuck did you get that idea from?"

"Well, I was supposed to be a teacher. And how did you hold out for so long? I was sure you were going to come just from the spanking. Not that I would have minded."

"Do you want to get cleaned up?"

"No, actually let's stay like this for a bit. It's nice."

"Yeah, it is." They curl up on the sofa together, relishing their own aromas of semen and cunt.

"I love you, Paul."

"Love you too, Miss Price."