Jan. Week 3: Frozen--Leah insists on getting it over with...

She fixed him with a flat, deadpan stare.

“I’m ready to just get this over with,” she said, each word dipped in enough sarcasm to fill a swimming pool. “I said I would dress up—not cosplay or roleplay or whatever. I’ll suck your dick and then I can go, okay?”

Mr. Baker shrugged, trying to mask his disappointment, but his cock swayed a little heavier with hope.

“Fine, fine,” he said, as if he were the one making a sacrifice. He moved closer, standing directly in front of her, leaving Leah with **** but to stare up at his grotesque, expectant dick.

She rolled her eyes heavenward, as if praying to the gods of educational employment for deliverance, and grasped him at the base. He was already growing and Leah fought the urge to gag. If she learned anything from the last few times, it was to just get it over with—treat it like a dentist appointment or a flu shot. As she slid her lips over the tip of his cock, he began to moan with pleasure.

“You really are a natural.” Mr. Baker said as his cock grew stiff with every touch from Leah’s mouth and hand.

She would’ve rolled her eyes again, but her gaze was already fixed on the blank wall behind him, letting her mind drift to anything but the present. She imagined her fiancé Jonathan, obliviously tinkering with his computer at home, or her class of seniors sleepily filling out worksheets. Hell, even the endless grading stack in her tote bag sounded preferable to this.

Mr. Baker’s hips bucked slightly as Leah began to suck him with expert efficiency. He was getting off on the whole “frozen princess” thing, and Leah wondered if he’d planned it all along, or if he just owned a truly staggering number of Disney-themed costumes “for the theater department.” The thought made her want to laugh and puke simultaneously.

“God, you’re so good at this,” he moaned, voice cracking with adolescent intensity. “You ever thought about doing this for real? Like, you could make so much money.”

Leah popped off, just long enough to deadpan.

“I already have a job, thanks.” Then she went right back to work, focusing on the rhythm he liked best. She worked his cock in practiced silence, cheeks hollowed. Leah let her mind drift as she bobbed her head, hand stroking in counterpoint, feeling the ridges and heat of his shaft with each pass. Mr. Baker was a broken record above her, groaning and mumbling, “Yeah, just like that,” as if she were an appliance set to the right program. She wondered if he even noticed the way the wig slipped forward. Probably not. The man was a walking collection of fetishes with a camera for a brain.

He kept up a steady stream of banter, barely pausing to breathe.

“Oh man, you really look like her,” he panted, as if Leah was supposed to be flattered by the comparison. “You could do birthday parties. Or maybe bachelor parties, huh?”

Leah grunted around his cock, resisting the urge to bite down. She focused instead on finishing the job. She’d learned early on that drawing it out only made it worse for herself. She used her tongue like a weapon, swirling around the head, then driving forward in a quick, businesslike rhythm. Her hand pumped the base, squeezing just slightly harder, knowing from experience that it would get him closer. He was leaking already as Leah tasted a seeping of precum, slick and salty, and Leah’s stomach clenched at the taste.

“Ahhhghgh I’m gonna CUM! Aghuuuuuugh!” There was a split-second beat before Mr. Baker’s cock twitched against her tongue, thick and insistent, and then a bolt of salt and warmth fired into the back of her throat. Leah locked her lips tight, swallowing on reflex, the bitter taste blooming across her tongue and settling in her stomach with a sickening finality. A few more pulses followed, and she rode them out, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a messy disaster. She held him until he slackened, feeling the familiar flush of humiliation creep up her neck and across her cheeks.

Mr. Baker lurched a little, breath hitching with adolescent drama.

“Oh, shit, Elsa! That was…whew. I’m gonna have to send Arendelle an apology letter.” He staggered back, his cock slipping from her mouth with a wet, anticlimactic plop.

Leah wiped her lips with the back of her hand, the synthetic wig sending a charge of static along her knuckles. She wondered if she could get brain cancer from the sheer amount of cheap plastic and humiliation she was absorbing, day by day.

“So—” she said, voice dry as the teacher’s lounge coffee, “we done here?”

Mr. Baker was still basking in the afterglow, eyes glazed over like a kid who’d eaten five funnel cakes at the county fair.

“Yeah, yeah. I guess so. Wish we could stay longer but I guess you have to go.”

“Yeah I do.” she nodded standing up and disrobing as quickly as was possible and then putting on her own clothes.

When everything was stowed and the last evidence of their little shoot erased, Leah grabbed her bag and made for the exit. The halls were silent. She glanced at the old analog clock on the wall and cursed—it was later than she’d hoped, and Jonathan would absolutely notice if she rolled in after dark. Leah’s panic simmered as she crossed the parking lot. She imagined Jonathan at home, already suspicious of her unexplained overtime.

By the time she reached her driveway, Leah was halfway convinced she could bluff her way through anything—so long as she didn’t look Jonathan directly in the eyes. She took a deep breath, braced herself, and went inside.