Acceptance (Closed for saysalice)

[Setanta84]

Richard Yudof was the headmaster of the most selective pre-kindergarten programs in California. If a child did well in his program, that child would get into one of the top grade schools in the state and already have the right friends. Then the child would graduate to the most exclusive secondary schools. Finally, the most successful of them would go to an Oxbridge campus or Princeton and the more moderately successful and connected would go to either slightly less coveted Ivies or non-Ivy-Ivies like Berkeley or Stanford.

While this gave him a considerable amount of power among the most connected and rich parents in the richest and most powerful state in the country, Richard found much of his professional life tedious and boring. That is, until he set eyes on a very specifically interesting parent making inquiries at the admissions office.

He had first set eyes on her at a rather exclusive play party in the city, the kind where whether or not you got an invitation was based as much on your financial and social position as it was on your kinks and record of behavior. She was pleasant but shy. And wearing a tastelessly gaudy ring in the social area.

The husband was a nouveau riche cunt who rose through the ranks on the Street after the repeal of Glass-Steagall in the 1990s but before the crash of 2008. The type who knew the price of everything but couldn't spot actual quality if it knocked him on the head and buggered him on the shop floor. There were rumors that he, like some of the major players at the time, had only completed high school.

The wife, though, demanded more interest in the play area. Trussed up in a rig and hanging from the ceiling, she gave the attendees at the party a view of her body as intimate as any her philistine husband had ever gotten. It was the kind of pleasantly tight yet fuller-figured body that only youth and a very fortunate set of social and genetic circumstances could produce.

Wanting yet another look at her, he just slightly streamlined the process by ducking into reception and telling them to inform the women in admissions that she could have her preliminary interview with the headmaster now if she liked. As Richard settled into his chair and waited for them to buzz her through, his mind again wandered to that first meeting.

From the front sweat rolled off what must have been painfully hard nipples topping ample breasts. Her pale chest had a deep flush traveling down it that only became darker and wider spread when he called her a name she responded especially well to or hit her the way she liked. The sweat rolling down that chest led the eye naturally to what was then a completely bare pubis, which gave the crowd an additional way to tell her excitement was genuine: her sex would visibly clench under the conditions that caused her to blush and sweat more and breathe more audibly.

For Richard, the real show was the backside of her. The stripes of punishment and her blushes showed up exquisitely on her full, firm cheeks--and they clenched during those earlier mentioned episodes of excitement. Not only did they clench, but her anus gave winking little twitches that seemed to literally invite penetration.

Richard had wanted to play with her very badly. More plainly, he had wanted to grab hold of her hourglass hips and pound her winking little asshole until she screamed herself hoarse.

But he was one of many the cunt she was married to turned down that night. It seemed he was the type who liked to show off--but not share--his toys. Typical. He treated her like a newly acquired car.

As she was buzzed in, Richard was temporarily shaken out of his trance. Until he touched the small of her back and led her in as he closed the door behind him. Not passing up an opportunity to check her out while she made her way toward the desk, he noticed her hips were wider now and her ass bigger and fuller. Richard found himself wondering what it looked like bare and clenching in excitement.

Motioning to the chair, he managed a straight delivery of "Please, sit." Her breasts were at least a cup size bigger. And there was a fading large tan line where the tacky ring had been. Given his plans, Richard wasn't making a particular effort to hide the fact that he was checking out her good, but she seemed too nervous and rambling to notice.

In between the thanks for seeing her and something or other about the kid, the quality of her voice caught Richard's attention and shifted it momentarily from her newly large tits. She had one of those effortlessly girlish voices, the ones that sound extremely subversive during play.--as opposed to the extremely creepy and "I was abused as a child" red-flag-raising forced kind

He remembered her egging the home-stealer on during their play session. Telling him he hit like a girl and the like. At the time, Richard did not know if they were just too new to the scene to have really perfected the balance of the roles, if this was just one of many areas that the husband didn't quite adequately attend to in their lives, or if she just happened to be naturally bratty.

Sensing how hard she was selling the kid to him, Richard had suspicions that he could satisfy this and very many other curiosities if he played the situation right. He had every intention of doing exactly that.

 

[saysalice]

"Yudof...Yudof..." she muttered through the bobby pins clenched in her teeth, staring at herself in the mirror as she tried for the third time to do something respectable with her hair. It wouldn't do, to forget his name - or worse, to confuse him with one of the directors of the other schools she'd applied to. Yes, that would be disastrous. "Yudof," she whispered again. It wasn't a name she'd ever heard before.

It took every pin she had, to tame her curls in this humidity, and still a few stubborn tendrils refused to be contained, but she knew that up was definitely better than down. Sleek was in. With it down, she looked like some unwashed hippy. She really could have used a trim, but it was too late for that now.

Turning in the mirror to see the back glinting with steel, her gaze traveled down, as it always did, to appraise her backside. She sighed. The skirt wasn't overly tight, but the shape it presented displeased her. In the year and a half since her pregnancy, and in spite of her best efforts, she'd been unable to get her body back to the place it was before. She had an excellent tailor, but still couldn't quite reconcile with the figure she presented in the mirror. She pulled on a light suit jacket. It was a little better.

Quirking a smile at herself as she turned back to check her hair again, she shrugged at her reflection. "Good enough." For the girl I go with, she finished silently. Which reminded her -

She texted again: Am I meeting you there?

This time, the response was almost immediate.

Who the fuck is this???

Setting her jaw, she smoothed her skirt and sat down on the edge of the tub, auto-dialing his number.

A shrill voice greeted her with a blatant, "The FUCK is this?" This one sounded like she could drive, at least. Possibly vote.

She closed her eyes briefly and replied with crisp courtesy, "This is his ex-wife. Put him on, please."

There was a clunk in her ear of the tossed phone, and after a moment of fumbling, David's voice, froggily. "Christine. I know it's in your calendar that I'm on vacation this week... Is he bleeding out of his eye sockets or something, because - really."

She pressed her lips together to keep from saying something she'd regret. "Check your calendar. What's today, David?"

He uttered a sigh that was half a yawn. In the background, she could hear a nasal whine, thankfully unintelligible. "Tuesday. It's...way too early on a Tuesday, Chris - so hey, what's up?"

She stood up, unable to contain her exasperation. "Really? You really forgot about the admissions interview? I've only reminded you like, six or seven times." He was cursing under his breath, and she continued over him: "Look. Put some pants on and just meet me at the school in twenty minutes, okay?"

He was chuckling ruefully. "I'm out in the middle of the ocean, my love - OW! Sorry! Just - habit. Even if I had a good stiff wind behind me the whole way, in twenty minutes I'd still be out in the middle of the ocean. You'll have to go without me."

"Are you serious?" She checked herself, and lowered her voice - Jamie knew by now that she was talking to Daddy, when she yelled. "David, the waiting list for this place is like five years long, and they want to meet with us today! I told you weeks ago! We said - you said you wanted the best for him - "

"Look - you go. You'll be fine. And then call and tell me the number to write on the check, okay?" He was not entirely capable of keeping the bitterness out of his tone. "I just - don't think I need to be there."

She was shaking her head. She made herself inhale and exhale before she answered quietly, "No. I know you don't."

She hung up on his halfhearted protest and another squawk of background noise, and looked at herself in the mirror again. Tucking a loose curl behind her ear, she made herself smile, and waited until she believed it before opening the door.

Clipping into the kitchen in her heels, she addressed the sitter breezily: "I'm leaving in a minute, Hannah. I'm sure I'll be back by lunchtime. Is there anything at all that you need me to pick up?"

Jamie was in his high chair, his fingers curling into a shallow bowl of cereal, and he grinned at her as she touseled his light brown hair. "Who's Mummy's handsomest boy? I'm going to see the man about your school today, Jamie-bear! Kiss for good luck?"

He had a Cheerio stuck to his cheek and milk all down his shirt, so she bent to kiss his forehead.

"More kiss, Mumma!" he demanded, and when she leaned in for another, he grabbed a sticky fistful of her lilac shell top to plant his wet lips against hers.

"Aww, can't have too many luck-kisses! Thanks, buddy!" she laughed, carefully disengaging his little fingers and reaching for a paper towel to dab at the spot on the raw silk, hiding her dismay. Too late to change - there'd be traffic. She rose on tiptoe in her heels to try to see the stain in a mirror hanging near the front door. Maybe it wouldn't show, when it dried.

She couldn't resist another critical once-over, and she turned to the sitter uncertainly. "Tell me the truth: do I look like I'm trying too hard?"

Hannah's hesitation and blank stare jangled her nerves. "Not hard enough?" she amended anxiously.

"Oh, you go'geous!" Jamie chirped from his high chair - their little mirror game - and she laughed in spite of herself.

"Oh, you go'geous too, mister! Okay, I guess I'm off. Back soon, sweetie! Be good for Hannah-banana!"



She arrived at the school with five minutes to spare. In the reception area, several other moms sat waiting to be seen. Christine eyed them surreptitiously from her seat. Many had brought folders full of paperwork with them, though she couldn't imagine what it might be - medical records, maybe? Aptitude testing? Psychological profiles? More than one had her husband sitting alongside her. One had even brought her young daughter, all dressed up and drooling on her pageant-princess finery. Christine clutched her purse on her lap and tried to keep from fidgeting. There wasn't a curly-haired coif among them.

She was surprised to hear her name called almost at once - she'd expected a wait, and apparently the other parents had expected her to wait, as well. She could feel their narrowed eyes on her as she followed the receptionist to the headmaster's office. She cursed David silently for the umpteenth time that morning, wishing he could have taken time out of his busy whoring schedule to accompany her. Not because he inspired confidence or that she particularly wanted his company, but...an institution like this was sure to have old-school values. They'd be looking for a solid family unit, among other things. Surely, she and David could have faked it for one day.

Exhaling heavily, she wiped her hands on her skirt before taking hold of the doorknob. She'd heard the receptionist announce her over the intercom, so she knew he was expecting her, but she rapped politely with the other hand before opening the door. She was startled to find him just inside, ready to greet her, and she extended her hand with a smile to introduce herself. "It's Christine Parrish, actually. Jamie - James Matheson's mum."

The headmaster's gaze took in her wardrobe, and then lingered overlong on her curves as he ushered her inside and closed the door. She was immediately self-conscious as she moved to the chair he offered - did it reflect badly on her son, that she was a little overweight?

She cleared her throat. "Thank you for calling me, Mr. -"

She blinked and faltered. Oh God. His name. Her mind raced back to this morning - practicing in the bathroom - her pear shape in the mirror as she looked over her shoulder -

"Yus - Yudof." She was sweating, already. "Thank you. We're so grateful for this opportunity. Um...unfortunately, my - Mr. Matheson is unable to join us, this morning. Some emergency. At work."

He was staring at her chest, not her face, and Christine remembered the wet little handprint and felt herself beginning to blush. As if on cue, Mr. Yudof raised his eyes in time to see the rosy flush tint her cheeks. She made herself look back at him. This was for Jamie.

"But I can assure you, we're both very serious about this application, and we know what a privilege it is, even to be considered. And I just know that Jamie - we call him Jamie - will fit right into your program and - will just - excel, given the chance. I - I didn't bring anything, but - I can tell you anything you want to know about him. He's just - just the sweetest - I mean, he's so clever for his age! He already knows his numbers to ten, and his alphabet - well, most of his alphabet. He likes to say 'I'm a bumble bee' instead of LMNOP - but that's my fault, I taught him that..."

She trailed off. She was rambling, like an idiot. David would have cut her off ages ago. Mr. Yudof was still studying her with detached interest, like she was some strange insect that had happened to crawl into his office. A sweaty ringlet loosened from her updo and fell across her forehead. Nightmare.

She had to try.

Trying to ignore her flushed cheeks, she made herself breathe before she spoke again. "He'll be so good. We'll work so hard with him. It's still a few years before he'll be old enough to attend, and if - if you accept him, I promise he'll be ready." She smiled, swiping her hair off her damp brow with one hand. "We'll be ready."

 

[Setanta84]

Now that Richard finally had a private audience with the late Mrs. Matheson, he decided to go for the long game. Particularly now that it was abundantly clear many of the endearing qualities she had displayed at the party had survived her unfortunate union. Richard was going to be very direct and then let her twist in the wind for a while.Much to his benefit, she had already given away most, if not all, of the game at this point of the process through her words and actions.

Fidgeting with her hair and shoddily tailored dress--and the quick blushing glance she gave him when she finally noticed his appraisal of her physical assets--suggested something more than shyness. Like many new mothers, Ms. Parrish was probably coping with the loss of her pristine, girlish figure. Those were easy targets to hit, but ones best not hit either immediately or directly.

The first line of attack was made clear by her struggle to maintain composure and the kinds of weaknesses in the profile she telegraphed worrying about with her leading questions and statements. She seemed to be the poor test-taker type, all preparation flew out of her head and memory failed her during episodes of high stress. Christine also seemed very concerned that the less traditional family presentation augured poorly for her child's application. He'd start there, ramp up the stress, and then work toward her more personal insecurities as she became more and more flustered. But first, he'd put her at ease.

Richard started by removing his black designer glasses and placing them on the desk, both to get a more unobstructed view of the more voluptuous figure motherhood had given her and to create an ambiguity about his state of vulnerability in her mind. "To be perfectly frank, Christine, I am delighted that Mr. Matheson is unable to join us this morning. I never liked him. He has an unseemly and uncivilized tendency to rub his good fortunes in the faces of others. And, of course, there is the rumor that the highest degree he holds is a diploma from one of the local public high schools. Accordingly, I think it is a great boon for you that his financials seem to be the only thing we will get to consider about him."

Smiling warmly, he read her face. During the preamble of disparaging the rube, she had started to develop a casual smirk--which fell the moment Richard brought up the rumors about Mr. Matheson's education record. Richard then raised himself out his seat, making sure to steal an aerial glance of Christine's now very ample cleavage as he moved to the window and turned his back to her.

"Of course, you know better than I the limits of Mr. Matheson's public graces. That gauche ring he had you wear to those play parties in the city had to demean you. Well, in ways other than you demonstrated a fondness for, at least." The sharp intake of breath at the mention of her kinky past was the signal at which Richard spun on his heels and began to glide to her side of the chair.

Christine quickly buried her chin in her neck, unable to make eye contact after Richard's revelation. She was breathing hard now. As Richard stood by her side and placed his hand on her shoulder reassuringly, her chest was flushed and her large breasts were heaving as she breathed hard enough to nearly bounce them.

"Yes, I'm afraid your ex-husband's education would indeed be a minor headache to address with the other applicants and current families in the program compared to that."

Taking Christine by the chin, he lifted her flushed face to meet his eyes--and spied the beginnings of tears.

"But I'm sure a big girl like you knows that..."

And then lowered her chin to give her a direct eyeline to the thick bulge filling the left leg of his tailored slacks.

"...and is resourceful enough to address such concerns to my complete satisfaction."

 

[saysalice]

She bit her lower lip to keep from saying more. He was silent longer than the rhythm of natural conversation would typically accommodate. Making her feel his silence. Or perhaps only waiting to see if she was quite finished speaking.

Did he realize that this arrangement of his desk, the placement of her chair directly in front of his desk - in the headmaster's office - made her feel like a saucy schoolgirl waiting to be brought to task? Was it intentional? To make all these privileged parents of entitled infants immediately, instinctually aware of their place, in his office? Or was she the only one who felt this way?

Christine watched as he removed his glasses and set them calmly on the desk in front of him. It made it harder to look him in the eye, somehow. His response surprised her - an oddly candid admission, that he was "delighted" to have avoided David's company. Even as her lips twitched at his description of her ex-husband, her mind was reeling. Did he know David, then? Had they met him together, at some upscale function? She studied his face and felt only the faintest twinge of recognition, accompanied by an inexplicable underlying sense of dread. At her gaffe, probably. Unbearably uncouth, to have forgotten him.

Her polite, attentive expression wavered just a bit when he mentioned David's questionable education. It was such an intimate detail - something she herself had not known, for years. Mr. Yudof had obviously done some digging into their backgrounds. She supposed that she should have expected it, but wondered suddenly what he might have found on her.

She twisted her interlocked fingers in her lap as she watched him rise and step to the window. Turning away from her - it felt dismissive. She was uncomfortable, knowing that she alone would have to represent her son's interests. Neither she nor her ex-husband had been brought up in this world, and Christine had never felt quite like she fit in. If David was "new money" in these circles of powerful old families, she was just "the wife". And now, she wasn't even that - she wasn't anything.

She ought to say something - but he was speaking again - about that awful ring, and she felt herself flush again in silent agreement. She'd told David it was too much, that she was afraid she'd get mugged - but the truth was, wearing it made her feel like a whore. It was so obviously a show of affluence and not a humble token of love - he hadn't bought it for her, not really. She'd always secretly felt as if she was an accessory to the ring, and not the other way around. As if he'd been telling the world: this is her price.

Wait - play parties?

Her scalp tingled and she felt herself pale as her head snapped up to stare at his back. It was such a specific phrase - could she have heard wrong? What had he said? That she'd demonstrated a - a fondness....for being demeaned. He was turning to face her now, and she ducked her head at once, feeling a rivulet of sweat trickling between her breasts as she heard him approach. She was stunned - frozen with fear - her face was numb. No. Impossible, that he could have been there - to see...oh God! Two bright spots burned in her cheeks as she remembered the things she'd done at those parties - stark naked, spread wide. Shameless.

No. She blinked rapidly to keep back stinging tears. Someone must have told him. One of the perfect little Stepford wives out there had caught wind and had happily passed it along to ruin Jamie's chances - a five year waiting list - it was so cutthroat -

She felt his hand suddenly, firm and heavy on her shoulder, and knew the truth. It was his mention of the ring. Who would have bothered to tell him of that tacky bauble, when they could salivate over a description of her plump breasts, bursting out the top of a tightly-strung corset, or the sweat that ran down the backs of her thighs the night she wore a short latex skirt? The way she'd staggered like a newborn colt in thigh-high ballet boots to escape the lick of his bullwhip. The exact sound of her screams when he'd made her come, suspended and spread-eagled and aware behind the blindfold that they were all looking at her. Tears spilled. There was more - God, there was worse. If he had described any of it, she could have believed he'd heard it second-hand.

No. He remembered her.

Christine couldn't suppress a moan as she recalled that first night - hesitant, in the car in the parking lot with David, voicing her concerns: What if we see someone we know? My dentist...a co-worker...your boss?

He had assured her: If they're in there, they're kinky too. They won't judge.

She'd continued to worry until they were inside and and she gradually realized that she didn't know a single person. Then there was a heady excitement in the belief that she could remain anonymous - that yes, they could watch her, but they didn't know her...

Mr. Yudof tipped her chin up to make her look at him as he breathed life into her deepest fears: exposure, disgrace, scandal. And "big girl" seemed to her the barest insult - a slap across parted lips.

He adjusted her gaze again as he spoke, so that she was looking at his crotch, at his erection, and Christine tore her face away - more out of shock than defiance. Why was he hard? There wasn't time to process it. She felt dizzy and nauseous as she struggled to form a proper reply. Address his concerns. What did he want to hear?

"Sir -" This was so much worse than any petty schoolgirl offense. What was making him hard? "We don't - I don't - do that, anymore. That was a - a phase, that was before we ever thought of having a child..."

She squirmed, sweating, wishing she could just get up and leave, but her legs felt weak. She felt pinned to the chair. If Mr. Yudof had been to that club...what sort of things was he into? Why was he hard - was it the memory of watching her, or was it from watching her now?

She kept her eyes on the floor. "I don't do that, anymore," she repeated in a halting murmur. It was all she could think of, to reassure him.

 

[Setanta84]

The unstifled moan that greeted Richard just before he had taken Christine by the chin--along with her sweat, hyperventilation, and tears--and tone of respect as she said 'Sir' had been promising. If the rest of her were any indication, he was betting that Christine's ass and pussy were clenching wildly under her second-rate dress despite herself. And then he heard the very end of her blathering clearly.

"I don't do that anymore." The tone of Christine's murmur, her sweat, the flushness of her skin, the increasingly unraveling hair, and her posture gave her a most deliciously subversive appearance: the little girl who had been found out. Recognizing that in her and realizing this curvy little slut was going to make him break her caused Richard's already hard cock to swell and lurch in his pants. He patted Christine on the head like one might pat a dog's head and sat on his desk in front of her.

With both feet planted firmly on the floor at shoulder width, Christine was now in a position where--if she looked up--her face would be directly between Richard's knees and his obscenely throbbing bulge would be directly in her face. Grinning mischievously, he leaned back on his hands and began to speak.

"That's a shame, Christine. You did put on quite the show. All sweaty and blushing, like you are now, with hard nipples, a heaving chest, and clenching buttocks. It's a real shame that your arrangement with your former husband was so exclusive, I imagine you were extremely agile before carrying and delivering your recent arrival--when you were, er, more athletic."

Christine still hadn't looked up, but her breathing was getting more labored and primal now and she was squirming like wild in her seat. The sight reminded him of a dog trying to rub itself on the carpet. It pleased Richard.

"Unfortunately, our program is also very exclusive. We have a substantial wait list, as I am certain you are aware. Without a supportive spouse with ties to our community and a more traditional educational background--and without friends--I am doubtful Jaime's application would avoid the waitlist. And that does weigh on me. I am sure he could easily get into Chico State as a first-generation student with adequate educational and social support for someone of his background."

Now Richard had Christine on that sweet spot where the stress was at least equal to, if not overwhelming, her earlier conflicted excitement. He lifted her head again by the chin, lifting her face up and dragging it casually forward, positioning her pretty face right over his bulge.

"But all you is not lost, Christine."

As he said this, Richard slid his thumb into her mouth and was pleasantly surprised that she suckled it on instinct.

"There are options available to you, provided you are willing to make certain sacrifices and meet certain conditions. . . ."

After saying this, Richard locked eyes with Christine as she sucked his thumb through tears, pressed his free hand's index finger into the little dried handprint right between her tits and over her heart, and said, ". . . for Jamie."

 

[saysalice]

Again, his silence was prolonged, palpable after Christine had finished speaking. His silences would be her undoing. What must he think of her? Sure - fine, he was kinky too, if he'd been at the club...any of those nights - which night, she wondered? Every night? But she was well acquainted with the art of living a duplicitous life - the careful tightrope walk of the line between those sordid acts and her perfectly respectable existence. She liked to think she had been managing it quite well.

Until now.

He said nothing, but she could feel his eyes on her, and she felt more exposed now than she had ever felt at those parties. She knew her role and her place when she was all dolled up in leather and latex, just as she knew who she was - a very different person - in mom-jeans and comfortable shoes. Those worlds were never meant to collide. Now she was just terribly unnerved and confused.

As if sensing it, he patted her suddenly on the top of the head - who does that? - which was just disconcerting and not a comfort at all.

She wouldn't look up. He sat directly in front of her on the edge of his desk, and she could see out of the corner of her eye that he continued erect. She winced as he described her from memory: a shameful, unflattering picture, and then finished off with a sly reference to her weight gain and changed body. She couldn't sit still, couldn't keep from practically writhing in her discomfort. She wanted to leave - to flee, if she was honest - but what would she say to David, when he asked? And he would ask.

She was well aware of the exclusive, nearly elitist standards and reputation of the school and its programs, but the headmaster made a point of detailing why she and her family would not measure up, even if he could overlook her unsavory leisure activities. She flinched as he suggested an alternative school, and flushed at his dig regarding Jamie's background. Like any parents, they wanted better for their son - they wanted the best. But Mr. Yudof seemed to be implying what she had long suspected: that they were reaching too high, trying to buy their way into circles they had no business in.

But he hadn't said as much - not plainly. All he had to say was that their application was rejected, and Christine would stand up and walk out. She wouldn't stay and endure this humiliation. Why was he dragging it out? Did he get off on feeling so superior?

She felt his fingers chuck her under the chin again, and as if in answer, he brought her face forward gently but insistently over the inescapable bulge in his pants. She raised her red eyes to look back at him sullenly, feeling with a dull, hopeless certainty that she knew what he wanted. She was not at all surprised to feel him push a thumb between her smudged lips, and did not resist him, though her eyes filled with tears again as he spoke of the sacrifices she must make.

His too-familiar touch to her chest made her heart pound. There was no doubt in her mind as to how this was going to go, but still her stomach lurched and her cheeks flamed with the shame of it. She had never, ever had to resort to such tricks, but he was right - she would do anything for her son. She let his thumb slide wet between her lips as she stumbled out of the chair, onto her knees in front of him.

"What do you want me to do?" she asked quietly, if only to demonstrate her willingness. She was quite sure that she knew. Lifting her gaze but not her chin to look up at him, she couldn't keep the smallest flash of contempt from glinting in her dark eyes.

Men. They thought blowjobs were the answer to everything.

 

[Setanta84]

Feeling Christine’s heart race under his fingertips and seeing her skin flare up like in that scene all those years ago, Richard grinned the grin of the victorious and vindicated as she slumped to her knees and started to remove his pants. She was being bratty and showing him some disrespect, but it was clear she had accepted her role in the order of things. Christine was going to be the headmaster’s slut for the morning.

As she gripped the base of his shaft and pulled it free from his designer pants, there was just a moment--just a moment--where he saw her look of disdain fade as she leaned back, stuck her tongue in her cheek, and gave a somewhat approving glance of appraisal of the eight inch long and seven inch round shaft in her hands. Expertly, slid one hand into his fly and cuppled his balls and closed the index finger and thumb of the other around his shaft, lowered her head and began to flutter her tongue over his large, cut, and throbbing head.

But he was not going to blow this first experience. He had to do it right. With great reluctance, Richard took Christine’s skilled hands away from his shaft and balls and pulled her jacket down, baring her shoulders and pinning her arms. Grabbing Christine’s hair he removed the pins and shook out her hair, giving her his favored “just fucked” look. At this, the look of resigned contempt returned to Ms. Parrish’s face, but Richard was not concerned with that anymore.

Running his hands down her face and neck, Richard’s exposed cock throbbed and bobbed along with his heartbeat as Christine closed her eyes and her skin turned warm under his touch from her blushing. Sliding his down across the lilac shirt once again, he pawed and squeezed her newly large breasts before running his fingertips under her belly. As he rolled the silk up over the top of her breasts, Richard made a subversively pleasing discovery.

The weight gain from the pregnancy and the stress of divorce was not the cause of Christine’s more ample bust. She was still lactating. Unable to meet Richard’s gaze, Christine blushed a deep red as she felt Richard’s eyes linger on the hot pink, heart-shaped nursing pads that were clearly visible under the nearly sheer, patterned lilac nursing bra--her agitation once again making her breasts lightly bounce on her chest.

To Richard, the white of Christine’s skin, hot pink hearts, and lilac bra brought memories of unwrapping an Easter basket to mind, the hymn that was regularly sung before the egg hunt coming to him as he luxuriated in the sight:

O mighty God, when I behold the wonder
Of nature’s beauty, wrought by words of thine,
And how thou leadest all from realms up yonder,
Sustaining earthly life with love benign​

As much Richard wanted Christine to resume his blowjob immediately after unwrapping her, he could not pass up this opportunity. Grabbing Christine once again by the back of the hair, he pulled her up from her knees, making the hot pink hearts rise to his eye level. After unclasping the bra and removing bra and pads, he was greeted by Christine’s nipples. The areolas were larger and the tips looked slightly more abused than he remembered--and dilated. Without the hot pink cloth hearts over them, each breast was leaking a small but clearly visible amount of milk over her breasts. Richard leaned forward, took the tip of the left breast between his teeth and sucked. Hard.

Richard was more than a little surprised to not only hear Christine lewdly moan out loud with clear pleasure in her voice at this, but clumsily clutch his head closer to her breast with one of her recently pinned arms.

“Ohhhhhh, GOD, yesss, Mr. Yudof. Suck it just like that. My poor tits get so engorged by like 4:00 am, lately, if I go too many hours without pumping them--I, unhhh, I just weaned Jamie. Hot and hard and leaking--they feel like they're full of gravel. And they hurt. If it's been too long--awww--it takes awhile to work the milk out. They're so full. You’ve got to suck them hard when they’re like this, Mr. Yudof.”

Again to Richard’s surprise, Christine grabbed his shaft unprompted when she said ‘hard’ and started to jerk him off enough to rattle the table as he sucked the milk from her breasts. With his hands he pulled her skirt down and peeked around the breast in his face. She was wearing a turquoise lace thong. Hallelujah. And that ass was bigger and more beautiful than he remembered. Grabbing a cheek in each hand, he roughly mauled them as he worked on expressing her milk and she his semen.