Moan 'Teacher' over and over as she begins to fuck you, surrendering completely to the sensation.

Pandora's Box Costume Shop, Birch Street, at 11:18 PM on Wednesday October 30th, 2024

The first inch splits me open and I forget every single thing I've ever known about being Trevor.

"Teacher —" The word rips from my throat as her cockhead pushes past my entrance, stretching my pussy lips around that thick, swollen glans. The sensation is obscene — a burning fullness unlike anything my male body has ever experienced, my new cunt gripping her shaft with desperate, involuntary contractions. Wetness gushes around the intrusion, my arousal coating her cock in a slick sheen that makes the next thrust easier, deeper.

"Teacher, Teacher, Teacher —" I'm chanting it now, a broken prayer, my back arching off the bench as she drives another three inches inside me. My pussy stretches around her girth, the walls fluttering and clenching, trying to accommodate something far too large for a body that didn't exist twenty minutes ago. But the costume's magic makes me perfect for this — perfectly wet, perfectly tight, perfectly shaped to take every inch she has.

"That's it," Pan growls above me, her hands locked on my hips with bruising force. "Say it again. Tell your teacher how good her cock feels inside your tight little cunt."

"So good, Teacher — oh fuck — so good inside me —" I'm babbling, my legs wrapping around her waist, heels digging into the small of her back, pulling her deeper. She obliges with a brutal thrust that bottoms out, her full ten inches buried to the hilt, her heavy balls slapping against my ass with a wet smack. I scream — a high, feminine shriek that echoes off the fitting room walls — because I can feel her cock pressing against my cervix, the head nudging that deepest point, and the fullness is so complete it borders on religious.

She pulls back until only the tip remains inside, and the drag of her veined shaft against my inner walls makes my vision blur. Then she slams forward again, and again, setting a punishing rhythm that rocks the entire bench beneath me. Each thrust fills me completely — stretching, claiming, owning — and my pussy squelches obscenely with every stroke, juices running down my thighs, pooling on the bench beneath my ass.

"Teacher — harder — please fuck me harder —" I'm gripping her blazer, knuckles white, my breasts bouncing with each impact beneath the sheer white blouse. My nipples are diamond-hard, visible through the transparent fabric, and every jolt sends sparks cascading through my chest from those still-hypersensitive witch nipples.

Pan obliges. She grabs my hair — those long dark waves that aren't mine — and yanks my head back, exposing my throat. Her cock pistons into me with savage precision, each thrust bottoming out with a wet slap of flesh against flesh. I can hear it — the slick, rhythmic fuck fuck fuck of her cock plunging into my soaked cunt — and the sound alone pushes me closer to the edge.

"You're going to come on your teacher's cock," she commands, her voice rough with arousal. Her hips snap forward, grinding deep, and I feel her cock throb inside me, swelling even thicker. "You're going to squeeze this fat dick with your pretty little pussy and you're going to scream for me. Understand?"

"Yes, Teacher — yes yes yes —" My pussy is clenching rhythmically now, building toward something enormous. The pressure is coiling in my lower belly, tighter and hotter than anything I felt with the witch costume. This isn't just sensation — it's submission, it's being taken, and every thrust validates something deep and hungry inside this borrowed body.

Pan's rhythm falters — just slightly — and I feel her cock pulse inside me, a thick rope of precum painting my inner walls. She's close too. Her amber eyes are glazed, pupils blown wide, that composed smirk replaced by something raw and desperate.

"Come for me," she snarls, driving deep and holding there, grinding her cock against my cervix. "Come for your teacher, you desperate little slut."