January Week 2: Friday--Mr. Baker...Snow White: Mr. Baker cums inside Leah-Cowgirl (Suspicion: +5)

“Don’t Ugh! Make a Mess! Just cum inside me!” Leah panted as she rode him. She didn’t want him to make a mess on her face.

“Agh Fine!” he said as he let go of his restraint and let Leah ride him to completion. “Oh yes…oh Yes…keep riding prince charming here…” he laughed and came and groaned out all at once as she rode him.

The last few seconds of composure dissolved in a rhythm of slaps and ragged, animal gasps. Leah squirmed her hips, working the shaft with the muscle memory of a thousand porn clips, but with the added artful edge of her own fury. The man beneath her was twitching, white-knuckling the edge of the mattress, his face pinched in a rictus of pleasure and disbelief. The whole thing was so farcical—she half-expected a cartoon bluebird to settle on her shoulder and start singing as she bucked on his cock, but instead there was only the harsh strobe of the camera’s autofocus and the slap of skin on skin.

She had no idea how long she’d been riding him. She was sweaty and lightheaded, her thighs starting to tremble, her breath coming in ugly little huffs that sounded nothing like the sexy moans she’d faked for the camera. But Baker was close, she could tell by the uneven shudders of his hips and the way his gaze flickered between her tits—bouncing in their stupid fairy-tale bodice—and the LCD screen of his recording phone and camera. He was **** to time his orgasm with the perfect shot.

“Aghghghgh!” he groaned as he came “Fuckkkkkk!Shitshghthgtttttttt aaaaaaaaaah!”

She kept riding him, clamping down, grinding her hips in a slow spiral, wringing out every last involuntary twitch.

“Shit that felt good.” he said as she stopped riding and he steadied the camera for a final shot. Leah crawled off of him, his tepid goo draining all over his cock and pelvis, and in between her legs. Leah scrambled for some tissues.

“You want a copy for yourself?” Baker asked as he sat up and moved to grab some tissues to clean himself up.

Leah shook her head, mute. She cleaned herself up as best as she could as she changed into her regular clothes.

“Well, thanks for being a good sport Leah. I gotta admit.” he said glad she had put the costume on. “Have a good weekend Leah.” he said absentmindedly as he prepared the cameras he used to take home to “edit” them to his own liking.

“I’ve gotta go.” she said trying to hold it all together and noting the time. Jonathan would be home by now.

She slung her bag over her shoulder and tried to walk out of the classroom with her head held high, but it was hard when every step was a sticky, uncomfortable reminder of what she’d just given up. The sun was setting, blood-orange through the dirty glass of the parking lot. She tried to breathe in the fresh air, but it only made her acutely aware of the stale, animal smell she carried with her.

She drove home in silence, the radio turned off. Every time she shifted in the car seat, she could feel the evidence of what had happened, and she wondered—would Jonathan notice? Would he know? Would he smell the other man on her skin, or would he just be relieved that she was home, that she was still his?