"Oh, I'm sorry, Mrs. Webb." What - um, oh, no problem, Crystal," the cheerleading adviser and choreographer says nervously. "I've actually been meaning to tell you something. Can we talk in my office?" Well, I kind of have to --" It'll just take a minute," insists Mrs. Webb, entering the office. "And close the door behind you please."Still smarting from where her 34-year old teacher's 34D breasts smacked her in the side of the face, Crystal hesitantly follows. Lowering the volume of her friends' laughing, she takes one last peek at Kimberly through the shut door's window. She starts to wonder how her body compares while taking a seat in front of Mrs. Webb's desk. Confident that she has Kimberly beat, her spirits sink when she sees the beautiful older woman across the way.Well over six feet in heels, her figure remains perfectly proportioned. But what Crystal is most envious of is her ass length, golden brown hair. Always struggling with what she considers to be a dirty mixture of dark. He had nothing else in his life now. So few things he couldretain control or pleasure over. He had the memories of his former life,his futon, and his desire for his mistress' decadent jism. Beforeswallowing it he rolled the globule around his mouth and under histongue. After it had sank down his throat he would search the corners ofhis mouth and the nooks of his gums for any stray particles. Finding nonehe could only take solace in the memory of the experience. This was asmall comfort indeed.With another dejected exhlation through his nose he rolled silently offthe bed, gripping the sheets once again and creating a small whistle ashe rapelled to the floor. With an unconscious obedience he crawled backto his futon rather than patting on two legs to it. He was ordered tocrawl at all times unless otherwise asked. He only broke this rule whenhe was in a state of anxiety and he was sure that he wouldn't be punishedfor it. He clambered back onto his fuzzy, pink futon and after reeling in.
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