He pulls her off him

I yanked hard on her hair where it was still wrapped around my fist.

The sudden **** made her gasp as her head jerked back and her eyes went wide. I could hear her gasping from having taken all of me. Her hand clenched reflexively around the phone, and her thumb tapped the side just in time to lock the screen before I could see anything.

My chest was heaving, panic creeping into my expression now with flushed, disorientation, feeling the moment spiraling beyond my control.

“Tell me you didn’t,” I said again, my voice rough. “Tell me that’s not what I just heard.”

She blinked up at me, lips parted, and eyes still red and watery from the depth she’d taken me.

“What?” she whispered, trying to sound innocent, or even confused and wounded. “I– I didn’t... I was just trying to breathe.”

I stared down at her, the hand still tangled in her ponytail was trembling slightly.

“You pushed my head down,” she added, like she was pleading. “You **** that big cock all the way into my throat… I was just trying not to gag.”

Her grip on the phone didn’t loosen, but she smiled faintly, clearly pleased with herself. It was obvious she was entertained by how easily she'd thrown me off, knowing what she described is how it would look in the picture. She looked up at me with those glassy, expressive eyes, still wet at the corners after swallowing me, and for a moment, she said nothing at all.

For my part, I stood frozen in place, still in shock, my hand slackening where it clutched her ponytail. After a breathless pause, I let it go completely.

She watched me step back, from conflicted thoughts and pulsing need.

Then, without missing a beat, she leaned back on my desk, until her elbows braced were behind her, arching slightly as she adjusted her position. She lifted her feet until she could hook her heels on the edge of the desk with a gentle clack. The movement made her skirt slide up her thighs the rest of the way and bunch around her waist, while the back of it hung just off the edge.

She reached down and tugged at the fabric, her eyes following her own fingers as she flattened the skirt against herself so she could see.

Looking down her body, were the simple white cotton panties, pulled snug across her hips. It presented the picture-perfect clean, soft innocence, that was completely out of alignment with how she was acting.

From where I stood, just a step or two back from the desk, I could see everything. My attention drifted upward, catching the slightly wild look in her eyes, as she looked down her own body, with her signature bite of the left side of her bottom lip under the front tooth. Further down was the soft angle of her blouse still tucked neatly into the waistband of her skirt, but parted wide from leaning back, causing the fabric to stretch and fall open. One breast rested demurely beneath the simple white bra, framed by the open blouse, while the other was more obscured, partially hidden by the fold of the blouse and the way her arm pressed against it as she reached down.

That subtle inward pressure made the flesh swell, pushed up by her arm pressing against the breast, and the outline of her bra tugged tighter over the swell beneath. The contrast, of that simple, unassuming school uniform, the crisp fabric draped across skin she’d made so deliberately visible with her unbuttoning, was disorienting.

And below, her legs were spread wide across my desk, white knee-highs pinched gently behind her knees, the skirt bunched up, nothing more than an obstacle to her, at her waist. Between her parted thighs, the soft mound beneath the cotton fabric was fully visible now, even the faint crease at the center, thanks to the taut pull of the fabric clinging against her. Her panties hugged her closely, highlighting the bare skin around them, of her hips, before disappearing beneath the curves of her ass. Each subtle move of her body only pulled the fabric tighter, the edge of it pinched where it met the desk, the leg bands digging slightly into her with just enough pressure to tease what lay beneath.

I’d noticed her ass before in passing, the way her figure carried itself under fitted slacks or uniform skirts. Petite, yes, but always with that subtle lift in the back. A shape that made its perkiness known even when hidden.

But now, at the center of it all, where the clean white of her panties might’ve once conveyed innocence, I saw something far more salacious. The adductor muscles just beneath the fabric flexed with the effort of holding her legs as they lay spread open, lifting the cotton slightly, creating the smallest of gaps between her panties and her skin. An invitation disguised as modesty.

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