The Norwegian Made Me Do It

And we lay there like that, our fingers trailing over each other's slick bodies, giving gentle kisses and caresses. The breeze kept coming through the slider, and now clouds were gathering from out at sea. After awhile I started to run out of patience, and I rolled onto my side, facing him so that I could play with his balls. I needed that cock again. Now.

It had been eight minutes. Apparently, that was enough.

He grew erect again slowly but with increasing speed as I began giving him wet, heavy kisses, my hand tracing eagerly up and down his pole. Maybe some talking would help, too. "There you go, lover," I said, low and urgent. "Get hard for me. Show your teacher what you can do, Dylan." It worked; I felt his slimy penis get firmer in my hand. "I'm going to take that cum again, lover," I smirked, pushing on his shoulder to get him on his back.

My strong, slender legs coiled and pushed, and I crouched over his body like an attacking spider. I pinned his wrists playfully to the mattress, sitting on his thighs; his cum leaked out of me and dripped onto his skin. "You about ready, boy?" My lip was curling now, my eyes flicking down to gauge what my hand was telling me: he was bone-hard again, and I knew he was prepared when he raised his hands to grab my tits. "Oh yes. You're ready." Cold and impersonal, now on my own agenda, I straightened his penis and sat on it in one firm push, sliding easily downward with my cum-greased vagina, straddling his hips with my knees resting on my sheets. He grinned, ecstatic at being back inside me, but his pleasure no longer interested me.

I started grinding. Most men could make me cum pretty easily, but I'd been having sex long enough to learn how to do it myself. With me, it didn't involve bouncing and bucking; I liked to keep the dick inside me, moving around it, using it to get my clit into the act. Sex with me on top was a slow, simmering ride. I grabbed his hands, clasped them against the sheets, and went to work.

Very quickly it became obvious that I was going to develop a problem. His cock had felt great in me before, but now that I had a full load of semen aboard I was feeling very... full. It was fine, but eventually he'd spurt again, and I had no wish to become a water balloon. Still picking up my grinding momentum, I leaned down and grazed my nipples across his chest. "Dylan," I said, "you're going to need to tell me before you cum again, okay? Can you do that?"

"Sure, Ms Boyle," he said, clearly lost in my body, his hands squeezing my boobs tightly. I sighed, gave him another lusty kiss, and then gave myself over to the thrusting, sticky demands of my body. My hips moved in steady circles, pushing my clit hard against the top of his dick and then raising my ass to come down again and repeat the contact. The sounds and smells were, as always, intoxicating: my senses were picking up everything, from the splash of my pussy to the acrid, manly smell of his armpits. I had my hands resting lightly on his chest, steadying me; Dylan, fortunately, had enough sense to just lie there and take it all in, his eyes boring into mine as I took my pleasure.

"Uhh," I moaned involuntarily as I started to pick up the pace. Things were moving along nicely now. "Grab my ass, baby," I whispered, thrusting my tongue into his ear, and he was as obedient as ever: strong, eager fingers pried my cheeks apart, moving me back and forth as my excitement grew. "You can thrust if you want to, Dylan," I murmured. "You're going to make me cum."

It took him a few awkward strokes, but eventually his hips figured it out; he learned how to draw his penis out just as I was at the top of my circle, then push it hard back in as my hips came back down. And now this crazy day began to pay off for me: the crushing horniness I'd felt since that Swedish-Danish-Norwegian pervert had seen my gaping pussy was at long last easing, my clit humming as I began to lose it. Dylan knew it, too; my moans became yelps, then screams as I grappled him tighter, my cunt spasming around him as my control slipped away.

And then... bliss. Sheer, undiluted bliss, the slapping of our bodies and the grunts of our mouths making the perfect soundtrack to the hot, hard wave that exploded behind my groin. As usual when I orgasmed, my mind went into a blank, cotton-candy existence where everything felt muffled; I felt like I was watching myself as I thrashed on top of this boy.

Dylan's face beneath me looked concerned, then finally joyful as he realized what was happening to me. "Holy shit, Ms Boyle!" he said tightly. I was in no mood for conversation, my eyes wide and crazy, my body on autopilot.

At last it began to fade; I returned to myself, treating Dylan Rotolo to the widest, most genuine smile he'd probably ever see. The spell was broken; finally, I was sated. "You," I announced, sucking at his lower lip, "are a wonderful boy. And I love your dick."

His face was all scrunched up now, his fingers tightening on my ass. "I don't think I can hold it much longer, Ms Boyle," he said pitifully, and my mind returned to its duty at once. I sprang off him, releasing his cock with a slurping pop, and crawled crablike down to take his head into my mouth.

He tasted like nature: sweat, naked skin, my vag, and his semen all combined to assault my tongue with a coppery saltiness. His balls were drawn tightly up, and I barely had time to get a few fingers around his weary shaft before it pulsed in my mouth. The first spurt was wary, even timid against my tongue; the second flew hard onto my nose as I lifted my face to watch him cum. I smiled in delight as the third rope splattered against my chin and neck, his penis convulsing. "Mmm," I laughed, wiping at my face; he was breathing very hard, still amazed at his luck. I was kissing his belly, still stroking his shaft idly.

He was looking down his body at me, and I could read his expression like a comic book: his naked teacher, her face spotted with his semen, was fondling his tired cock and running her lips through his pubes. Oh yes: this was most definitely the highlight of his life. I was proud, exultant, luxuriating in my own sexual gratification. Lying there between his sweaty legs, my head resting now on his groin, I sighed comfortably. His hands came down to shyly stroke my hair.

This wasn't all hearts, flowers, and unicorns; I had just taken two loads from my own student, in my own bed, and I still had half a year left with him in my class. Hell, I had to grade him. But in that moment, with his cum still leaking steadily out over my thighs, I couldn't think about any of that. I was content, and that felt nice enough for now.

* * *

In the end, of course, I had to tell Gina. We met for some bubble tea on a Sunday two towns over and I spilled the whole story to her. At the start of the conversation she was furious, but as I spoke she passed through curiosity, into interest, and then to resignation. And, I think, a little envy. "Huh," she said at last, chewing at the tapioca. "But you're good now, right? Like, you're not all horny anymore?"

"Seems fine," I said, shrugging. It had been a week, and I wasn't even thinking about sex anymore. I'd been able to talk and interact with both Dylan and Todd without picturing their cocks, and even though things with Dylan had been awkward for a few days, he seemed to understand that he and I were probably not destined to become a great, long-term romance. I broke the news to him after school on Tuesday, gently, with many hugs and as much sensitivity as I could muster. I cried, he shuffled his feet, we thanked each other, and that was the end of it.

I had to get on with my life. After all, Leon was due in another week, and I'd need to scrub the mattress.