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One day she definitely knew the effect she had on me, even if she hadn’t before. I was writing an essay on The Grapes of Wrath and asked Mrs. B when she came by if a word was spelled correctly. She leaned over, her silky red hair brushing against my cheek and her breast lay against my left shoulder. My cock stiffened instantly—and uncomfortably. Without thinking, I reflexively reached down and maneuvered my throbbing dick into a more comfortable position. It did create a sizable tent pole in my pants that I tried to push down and hide, which only drew attention to my crotch. Mrs. B blushed noticeably, stood up while stifling a laugh and muttered an apology.

The next time our class met, I tried all period to catch her eye, without success. I dawdled after class to be the last one to leave. As I approached the door, Mrs. B. cut me off and closed the door, leaving the two of us face to face. She looked stern as she faced me. Still hot as fuck but stern.

“Oh, good boy, Brucie!” I moaned as he started to cum, filling me up with that lovely doggie heat. “Cum for me, Brucie! Fill my pussy with that hot doggie cum! Good boy, Brucie! Good boy! You're cumming in me so good!” My words were more for Mom, than they were for Bruce, though I was sure he enjoyed the praise. I just wanted to make sure she knew exactly what he was doing inside me. He soon stopped shooting, holding still and panting for a moment, before he twisted around and tried to pull away.