7. You like it, a lot.

You moan as the head of his cock enters your pussy. His cock is the biggest thing you’ve ever seen let alone had inside you. He goes slow, whispering “good girl” and “that’s it Lindsie” in your ear as he pushes. Everytime he calls you a good girl you get wetter and wetter, lubricating his pathway to the deepest parts of you. You feel him bottom out with a few inches left to go, the head of his cock pressed against your cervix. Mr. Taylor begins thrusting slow and deep.

“Oooohhh, oh my god. Fuck me, Mr. Taylor.” You can’t contain yourself. You’re too turned on by your English teacher fucking you sprawled out over one of his classroom desks.

“Lindsie,” he leaned down and whispered in your ear as he began picking up the pace, “I’m going to make a guess about you. I don’t think you’re on birth control yet.”

You shudder, of course you aren’t. He’s absolutely right. “Ah, No, I’m not!”

“I’m going to make another guess,” he’s fucking you, no using you, hard now, “You still want my cum.”

It dawns on you, you do. You do want his cum. You want the risk of carrying your teacher’s black baby. “I– I do.” You whisper back.

As you admit it to yourself your climax tears through you. Your favorite teacher knows exactly what kind of slut you are now. He groans as you whisper your desires and begins thrusting as hard and deep as he can. As your climax tears through you your pussy contracts around his cock, begging him for his cum. Each ripple milks him, showing him how physiologically **** you are for his seed. As your climax peaks, you feel a familiar twitch deep in your stomach. Mr. Taylor’s cock cumming almost directly into your eighteen-year-old womb.