"Come in," Mr. Deckard beckoned her into the empty teacher lounge. Yesterday, he had spent all class staring at her shaved slit. Today, his eyes didn't meet hers -- he leered at the white blouse tied under her breasts, her waist, her indecently short miniskirt, her age-of-majority creamy legs, the boots with 5-inch heels accentuating her calves and thighs.
She wanted to run, but the curse made her obey. Her mother told her not to use birth control. She obeyed. Phil told her to crave sperm in her snatch. She obeyed. And now the head lecher on the staff invited her into an empty room. She obeyed.
"Let's get started. I'm a straight shooter, and I don't believe in mincing words," said Mr. Deckard. He locked the door behind her, and showed her to the awful tartan couch in the room.
"Tanya," he continued. "Why did you keep your legs inappropriately spread throughout the class yesterday?"
"A boy told me too."
"So what?"
Tanya sighed. "I am cursed to obey any request anyone makes of me."
Mr. Deckard started saying something, and then stopped. He thought for a minute, scratching his bald spot. In the meantime, Tanya fidgeted, craving both sperm and escape. The couch was itchy against her creamy, uncovered thighs.
"Literally?"
"Yeah," Tanya half-moaned, her pussy's craving for sperm addling her brain.
"Touch your nose."
Tanya touched her nose.
"Pinch yourself."
Tanya pinched her thigh.
"Hike up your skirt."
Tanya pulled up the hem of her skirt, again baring her smooth slit to Mr. Deckard's eyes.
"Lie down on the couch and spread your legs so I can fuck you."
Tanya lied up on the brown tartan couch and spread her legs, leather boots still on, so Mr. Deckard could fuck her. |