Henry and Mr Patterson have fun.

As their lips parted, Mr. Patterson pulled back just enough to look into Alice's borrowed eyes, his hand coming up to cup her chin, tilting her face up to meet his gaze as he murmured, "You know, Alice, I've always thought you were one of the hottest students to ever walk through my classroom door," and Henry felt a shiver run down Alice's spine at the words, felt her borrowed cheeks flush with a warmth that had nothing to do with embarrassment and everything to do with the way the teacher's thumb traced along her lower lip, because this was validation of a different kind, this was the teacher admitting what he'd always thought about the perfect little honors student, and Henry knew that Alice would be mortified to learn that her favourite teacher had been picturing her like this all along, that every time she'd stayed after class for extra help, he'd been imagining her on her knees, and the thought made Henry's borrowed cunt clench with a desperate, aching need as he pressed forward, his voice a breathy whisper against Mr. Patterson's lips, "Then show me how much you've always wanted me."

Mr. Patterson's thick fingers hooked under the skirt, and into the waistband of Alice's panties, pulling the soaked fabric aside with a deliberate slowness that made Henry's borrowed breath catch in her throat, and as the teacher positioned himself at her entrance, the blunt head of his cock pressing against her wet folds, Henry felt a moment of pure, crystalline clarity,this was it, this was the moment Alice's body was about to be claimed by her favourite teacher, lose it's virginity, and then Mr. Patterson thrust forward, burying himself inside her with a single, fluid motion that punched a gasp from Henry's borrowed lips, her back arching off the desk as she felt herself stretched and filled in a way that was entirely new to Alice's body, and Henry revelled in the way her cunt clenched around the invasion, in the way her legs wrapped instinctively around Mr. Patterson's waist, because this was the ultimate humiliation, the ultimate violation of everything Alice had ever been, and as the teacher began to move, his hips slapping against her thighs with a wet, rhythmic sound that echoed in the empty classroom, Henry let out a moan that was equal parts triumph and pleasure, her borrowed fingers digging into the edges of the desk as she surrendered to the feeling of being fucked by the man who had always seen Alice as more than just a student.

Mr. Patterson's hips drove into her with a punishing rhythm, his breath hot against her ear as he growled, "You like that, don't you, you little slut? I've watched you in my class for months, bending over to pick up your pencil, those tight little skirts riding up your thighs, and I knew one day I'd have you just like this, spread open on my desk, taking my cock like the whore you are," and Henry felt Alice's body respond with a desperate, keening moan, her borrowed hips bucking up to meet each thrust, "Tell me you're my little slut, Alice, tell me you've wanted this as much as I have," and Henry opened Alice's mouth and let the words spill out, her voice a broken, breathy confession, "I'm your little slut, I've always wanted this, please don't stop," and as Mr. Patterson's pace quickened, his fingers digging into her hips hard enough to leave bruises, "Make me your little slut!"

And then, in the midst of the pounding rhythm and the wet sounds of their coupling, Henry's borrowed eyes flickered toward the classroom door, and through the narrow window he saw a pair of eyes staring back, wide and horrified and utterly familiar, his own eyes, Alices eyes, pressed against the glass with a desperate, trembling urgency, and Henry felt a surge of savage triumph as he locked eyes with her, as he made sure she could see every detail of what was happening to her body, the way her borrowed hips were rolling to meet each thrust, the way her borrowed mouth was hanging open in a moan of helpless pleasure, and as Mr. Patterson continued to pound into her, oblivious to the audience at the door, Henry raised one borrowed hand and gave a little wave, a cruel acknowledgment that she was watching, that she could see everything, that she could do nothing to stop it, and Alice's face crumpled with a sob that Henry couldn't hear but could imagine perfectly, her small fists beating against the glass in futile protest as Henry turned back to the teacher and cried out in exaggerated ecstasy,

"Oh god, yes, fuck me harder, please! Your cock is so much bigger than that losers!" because he wanted Alice to hear every word, every moan, every wet sound of her body being claimed, and he knew that this was the moment she would never recover from, the moment that would haunt her forever, and he was going to make it last.

Mr. Patterson's thrusts grew sloppier, more desperate, his breath coming in ragged gasps against her neck, and Henry felt Alice's body tightening around him, a familiar coil of pressure building deep in her borrowed core, when the teacher pulled back just enough to look into her eyes, his face flushed and slick with sweat, and he murmured, "God, you're so much tighter than my wife, Alice, so much hotter," and Henry felt a surge of vindication at the words, at the confirmation that Alice's body was better, more desirable than whatever middle-aged woman Mr. Patterson had waiting for him at home, and he let out a breathless laugh that was all triumph, his borrowed legs tightening around the teacher's waist as he gasped, "Then fuck me like you mean it, Mr. P, gimme that big cock daddy," and Mr. Patterson groaned, his hips slamming into her with renewed vigor, his fingers digging into her flesh as he chased his release, and Henry knew that this moment would be burned into Alice's memory forever, that every time she saw Mr. Patterson in the hallway she would remember the way he'd compared her to his wife, and found her wanting, and found Alice's young body superior.

But just as Henry felt Alice's body begin to tighten around him, just as the first waves of an orgasm that was not his but hers began to ripple through her borrowed form, Mr. Patterson's rhythm faltered, and he pulled back with a groan of frustration, his hands gripping her thighs as he tried to steady his breathing, "Fuck, I can't, I can't cum inside you," he muttered, his eyes darting to her midsection as if the thought of impregnating her had suddenly become a real and terrifying possibility, and Henry felt a flash of disappointment, a moment of genuine loss at the interruption, but then he saw the panic in the teacher's eyes and felt a new, more subtle kind of power settle into his borrowed bones, because now he knew that Mr. Patterson was afraid of the consequences, afraid of what this act might create, and that fear was a weapon Henry could use, so he slid off the desk, his borrowed legs shaky but determined, and dropped to his knees in front of the man, looking up with Alice's wide, innocent eyes as he said,

"Then let me help you finish, sir," as he reached out and took the teacher's still-hard length in his borrowed hand, feeling the weight of it, the heat, and he knew that Alice was still watching from the door, that she was seeing her own body kneel before her teacher and beg for his seed, Henry's face was still covered in Marcus' seed, and now, the teacher's would also join it. As Henry opened Alice's mouth wide and leaned forward, his tongue flicking out to taste the salt of his own sweat mingled with the teacher's pre-cum, he whispered, "I want to taste it, Mr. P, I want to swallow every drop," and he saw the teacher's eyes roll back in surrender as he guided the tip past Alice's lips, and Henry felt a profound satisfaction as he took the teacher deep into her throat, as he felt the man's hands tangle in Alice's hair and guide her rhythm.

Mr. Patterson's hips bucked forward, a guttural groan tearing from his throat as he buried himself deep in Alice's throat, and Henry felt the hot pulse of his release flooding her mouth, thick and bitter and utterly triumphant, and he swallowed greedily, Alice's throat working around the teacher's length as he took every drop, his borrowed eyes watering but fixed on the man's face, watching the ecstasy twist his features, and he knew that Alice was still watching from the door, that she was seeing her own body on her knees, her own throat bulging with her teacher's cock as he emptied himself into her, and Henry felt a profound, crystalline satisfaction at the completeness of her degradation, at the way her body was being used and filled and claimed by yet another man who should never have had her, and when Mr. Patterson finally pulled back, his softening length slipping from Alice's lips with a wet pop, Henry licked his borrowed lips clean and looked up at the teacher with Alice's innocent eyes, a thin trail of cum still dripping from her chin, and he whispered, "Thank you, sir," in a voice that was all mockery and triumph, knowing that Alice would never be able to wash the taste of this moment from her memory, that every time she closed her eyes she would see her own body kneeling and swallowing and begging for more, and that this was only the beginning of the hell he was going to put her through.

Henry rose from his knees with a fluid grace that was entirely Alice's but carried the unmistakable swagger of his own triumph, wiping the back of his borrowed hand across her mouth to smear the last traces of the teacher's seed across her cheek, and he took his time adjusting the skirt that had been bunched around Alice's hips, smoothing it down over her thighs with deliberate, theatrical care, savouring the weight of the teacher's gaze on him and the knowledge that Alice's eyes were still pressed to the glass, still watching, still weeping, and when he was satisfied that he looked presentable, that Alice's body looked as innocent as it had when she'd walked through the school doors this morning, he turned and walked toward the door with steady, unhurried steps, his borrowed heels clicking against the linoleum floor, and he pulled the door open to find his body crumpled against the wall, her face wet with tears and streaked with snot, Henry met her devastated gaze with a smile playing at her lips, and he leaned in close enough that she could smell the mingled scents of Marcus and Mr. Patterson on her own breath, and he whispered, "Fuck that was so good," before turning and walking away down the hallway, leaving her there, trapped in his body, as he went to see what else he could do.