Chapter 7

Ivy was again called down to the principal's office. Mister Daniels told Ivy that he was hurt by her unusual behavior, but she didn't know what the hell he was talking about. "I'll get right to the point," he said.

"Please do."

He then went on to tell Ivy that he knew of her sexual escapade with the newspaper boy Jimmy. Ivy was terrified.

"I had gone to your house that night to apologize again to you and I happened to peek through your window. You really should be more careful, Miss Crane."

She noticed that he was beginning to blush all the way up his bald head. "W-Why are you telling me all this?" Ivy asked him.

"I thought we could come to some arrangement. Go lock the door, Ivy."

His eyes Seemed to be burning with the passion of a conqueror. She knew what he wanted. She grew frightened. "Here, now?" she questioned.

"A desk is as good as a kitchen table," he laughed.

He really saw it! she said to herself. She had let Jimmy bang her on the kitchen table. Knowing that if she didn't obey him it could mean her job, she got up slowly from her chair and moved dejectedly to the door. She felt like a fish on a hook, she was helpless to protest.

Once she had locked the door and was returning to her seat, he ordered her to undress. "B-But what if someone comes to the door?"

"They're all out to lunch, no need to worry your pretty little head about such things now, you should have worried the day you gave in to the newspaper boy," he laughed.

Ivy's trembling fingers began clumsily to unbutton her blouse. She saw his eyelids open wide when he saw her bra-encased tits. She hated being manipulated like this, especially by this son-of-a-bitch. She had enjoyed being coerced into indulging in sex with Eve, her father, even Johnny Q. to an extent. But this was different because she actually hated this man.

"You have impeccable taste in your choice of undies, my dear."

"Gee, thanks," she said with disgust in her voice.

She unhooked the snaps of her garterbelt from the tops of her stockings, then unhitched the waistband and draped the garment over the chair which held her blouse and skirt. She bent her right leg at the knee and placed her foot upon the chair so she could roll down her stocking.

"No! Keep them on," he told her. "Just take off your panties and let me see your hair-pie."

Ivy hooked her fingers under the top of her frilly panties and shucked them down her legs. She was amazed that she wasn't more nervous, more inhibited.

Mister Daniels put his fingers to his chin and studied Ivy's nearly naked body. He had never seen smoother flesh on a woman. Ivy was a real turn-on, unlike his wife. Ivy's tits were round and firm like two melons of flesh. He wanted to bury his face between the two globes, wanted to taste their freshness, their youth. "Lie on the desk."

As if she were his own private robot, Ivy positioned herself on the huge oak desk. She lay down and drew up her knees in a self-protective reflexive action. She heard the clink of his belt buckle being loosened, heard the rustle of his pants falling down his legs. Next, she felt his clammy hands gripping her stockinged thighs-he was parting them.

Mister Daniels had always felt that cunt lapping was a filthy act, but his wife forced him to do it to her, everything he read okayed the act, still he hesitated when he saw Ivy's richly downed cunt.

He drew two fingers through the groove made by her two pussy lips. He parted the two outer lips so he could obtain a view of the fresh pinkness of the inside of her twat. He lowered his head down near her vulva, breathing in the sensual warmth of her groin. He noted that she wasn't wet. He pushed his index finger into the pinkness of her cunt.

"Owhhh," Ivy groaned up at him.

As his finger probed the inside of Ivy's twat, his thumb rolled about her clit. She hated herself because she was beginning to respond to his manipulations. At first she'd just wanted to get the whole thing over with, but now she was beginning to enjoy the experience for its own sake. Ever since her initiation into the world of sexuality by Eve, it seemed that a mere touch-by anyone-could set her off.

She felt him remove his finger from her hole and then he washed his tongue through her slit. His hands were roaming over her thighs, touching her everywhere.

Ivy tasted nothing like his wife. Sometimes his wife forced him to eat her cunt for hours at a time; she was very strict with him.

Ivy wanted cock-any cock. Brazenly, she whimpered out her need to him. She practically begged him for his prick, her hands groped for him, wanted to touch his flesh. She didn't care that it was old wrinkled flesh, it was flesh. She pulled his face away from her crotch. Once she wouldn't even jerk him off, now she was burning for him.

Quickly, he stripped off his clothes and stood at the side of the desk right near her head. Like a woman possessed, Ivy grabbed for his prick and fed the stiff prong into her starving mouth. She began sucking at him immediately.

At home his wife never gave him a blow-job; she made him jerk-off in front of her to relieve his tension.

Ivy sucked frantically at the six-inch organ, her mouth was drooling, she was wild for cock. She twisted so that he could get his fingers into her cunt again. She let him handle her twat roughly. She groaned as he dug at her, jabbed at her, pinched her. She sucked and sucked and sucked until he began to jerkily fuck her mouth with his vibrating prick. He rammed it down her throat. It swelled, it shook, it flopped around inside her mouth. Harder, harder, he fucked her. Ivy writhed and squirmed as if she were bound to the desk. Then it happened. His lively prick spasmodically pumped her mouth full of middle-aged sperm. Ivy's overcharged cunt sucked greedily at the fingers which were jammed inside of it. She drank his sperm as if he were her lover. Can't I ever say no again? she asked herself.