English

"Today we are going to be learning about ****."

Okay, that got your attention. English was usually your favorite class to doze off in. Mrs. Caine would often just introduce a story, familiarize the class with its themes, and then let you read for an hour before discussing it for the last twenty or so minutes of class. This week, she had chosen a rather interesting book: Oedipus Rex, the story of a man who had killed his father and married his own mother. Immediately, your own thoughts had drifted back to that morning, during your dream in which you were covered with your mother's pussy. What a weird time to be bringing up the topic of **** in your English class. Yesterday, you would have scoffed or cringed at the idea, like so many others, but today, the thought of it gave you an extremely confused boner. Your mind wandered back to fantasies of you and your mother, fucking like animals around the house, and once again, you found yourself to be aroused by the idea, instead of disgusted.

But there was another layer to this. As you read, your eyes fell upon Mrs. Caine, and you wondered if the idea of **** excited her at all as well. Did she have a son? Did she dream of fucking her son? She was in her early forties but she had aged like a fine wine. She was brunette and beautiful, with brown eyes and soft pink lips. Her breasts were constantly hidden by a loose blouse, but you could tell by the outline just how bountiful they were. What remarkable proportions.