January Week 2: Friday--Mr. Baker...Snow White--Doggy Style

Leah locked eyes with the camera as she changed positions on the bed, the skirt of her Snow White costume riding so high it might have been a belt. The frilly blue-and-yellow fabric bunched in pleats around her hips, exposing the soft undercurve of her ass, pale and quivering, illuminated by the sickly ring-light above the mattress.

"Does Prince Charming want me like this?" Leah asked as she moved onto all fours on the bed. She glanced back at Mr. Baker, who was stroking himself with showman’s flair.

Mr. Baker nodded suggestively. He gave her a little twirl of his wrist, a silent signal to arch her back and present herself, and she did, feeling the chill of the air conditioner on skin usually reserved for her fiancé’s eyes alone. The sight of herself—prim, braless teacher one moment, raw porno debutante the next—was dizzying. Her heart hammered against her ribs.

“Now that’s what I call classroom participation,” Baker grinned, training the lens on her ass, panning left, then right, as if composing a nature documentary. “Let’s see what we’ve got in the student files, shall we?”

Leah stifled a groan, more from shame than arousal, and wiggled her butt for the camera with sarcastic bravado. “You want to grade this on a curve, or just give me an F for effort?”

“I think this is extra credit. But you’re gonna have to work for your gold star, Miss Williams.” With his free hand, he reached down, parted her thighs, and ran two thick fingers up the seam of her slit, spreading the folds with an ugly, triumphant flourish. The cold air made her shiver. A glistening line of wetness trailed from her cunt to his palm, which he presented for the camera’s closeup like a chef unveiling a prized catch.

Leah bit her lip and stared dead ahead, refusing to let him see the complex snarl of shame and involuntary heat in her expression. The lens zoomed in on her flushed face, then snapped instantly back to her ass as he lined himself up behind her.

“Should I call you the Big Bad Wolf, or is that a different fairy tale?” she managed, aware that every word was being archived.

“Different story. But I can huff and puff if you want.” He pressed the swollen head of his cock against her entrance, rubbing it back and forth, smearing precum along her folds. “Open up for Daddy, princess. Show your audience how you win the spelling bee.”

She winced at the word, but didn’t resist. He slid inside—no pretense, no foreplay, just a hard, thick push that bottomed out in the deepest part of her. Leah grunted, her hands clutching at the ugly floral comforter. The camera whirred, drinking in every detail: the way her back bowed, the way her breath shuddered, the way his hips ground against her ass with relentless, teacherly rhythm.

At first she tried to go somewhere else. She mentally recited the entire Bill of Rights, backwards. She planned the week’s lessons. She imagined her fiancé, Jonathan, watching this from the comfort of their rented apartment, face torn between anger and the same shameful curiosity she felt herself.

But none of it worked. The physical sensation overwhelmed her, a heady cocktail of humiliation, fear, and—God help her—something that was starting to feel dangerously close to pleasure.

Baker wasn’t gentle. Each thrust **** her higher on the bed, making the mattress springs shriek. He kept up a steady stream of commentary, half directed at her, half at the camera.

He reached forward, tangling his fist in her hair—careful not to block the shot—and yanked her head back so she was **** to look straight into the lens.

“Tell them who’s fucking you, princess.”

Leah’s mouth was dry. She tried to spit out a retort, but all that came was a strangled gasp. He slapped her ass sharply, the sound echoing in the little bedroom.

“Say it, Snow White. Who’s your Prince Charming?”

“You are,” she choked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Louder.” Another slap, another wave of heat igniting along her skin.

“You are!” she shouted, as if the volume would somehow reclaim her dignity. “Prince Charming, or whatever the fuck you want me to call you!”

He laughed, pleased, and fucked her harder, his hips snapping against her with sickening precision. “That’s it. Now ask for your happy ending. Beg for it, like a good little princess.”

Leah squeezed her eyes shut. She could feel her face burning, could feel every inch of her body on humiliating display.

“Please,” she said, not even sure what she was asking for. “Please, just… just let me finish.”

“Not good enough,” Baker taunted, rocking into her until the headboard thumped against the drywall. “Beg for my cum. Tell the camera how much you want it.”

She hesitated, clenched her jaw, and then—because resistance was its own perverse form of defeat—she said it.

“Please. Please fuck me, Prince Charming. I want your cum. I want it so bad. Please!”

“Oh Shit. You’re gonna make me fucking cum! Fuck!” He huffed and puffed on the edge of exploding. "UGH...Ooooh...ugh....Agh! Ready for the moneyshot, princess?" he asked a frantic tone in his voice from the pleasure coursing through his body.