Fucked My Boss Housewife

Nothing much happened at the school until the second year. I have always been slim and slight and as this was a rugby playing school, a big emphasis on sports, I didn't fit in very well. Academically I was fine, but when it came to scrumming down I was a square peg in a round hole. As a result, I was starting to get picked on. Nothing too sinister at first, just the usual snide remarks about being weak, a shrimp and a weed. As the months went by one or two of the older boys in my house started to physically pick on me. Punching me in the back of the head as I walked to class was a fun thing for them to do. One day I couldn't take it any more and I snapped, turned around and kicked one of my tormentors in the balls. It was witnessed by several other k**s, and unfortunately for me, Mr West, the house-master of one of the other houses in the school.Mr West was a good friend of my own house-master, Mr Henry, and he told him what had happened. He left out the detail that I had been punched. She sends a text message and a moment later someone buzzes us in. She leads me up five steep flights of stairs to a heavy green metal door. It’s open. The smell of incense, oil paint, and body odor fills the canyonesque space, a long but narrow studio with 20 foot ceilings, a bare pine sleeping loft, and a huge industrial sink that seems to double as an illegal shower. One of the walls has a ladder up against it and I can see six foot tall knee-high boots painted on the brick, fading into the unlit reaches of the upper wall so that I couldn’t make out who was wearing them. A trim woman in her mid forties turns when we come in the door, her face glowing with a mischievous grin. She’s wearing a pair of paint-covered, ass-hugging jeans. As she turns, her braless breast nearly falls out the side of her tank top. When she gets closer, I can see her nipple piercings showing clearly through the loose fitting top. She squeals at the sight of my companion, ignoring me completely and.
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