Disclaimer:
This story may contain explicit written descriptions of sexual acts. You must exit this site/story now if...
•If you are not 18 or the age of legal majority in your community.
•If this type of content is in any way restricted in your locality.
•If you are disgusted or offended by the actions contained in this story
Please review the codes before reading. If this is not the kind of erotica you enjoy, please read another story that's more to your liking.
8========D
My Job as a Fluffer (v8.21) by Sal de Klerk, "The Salacious Scribe."™️
I was sitting at home one lazy Sunday afternoon, cleaning out some old photo albums. I wanted to digitize some of my old photos for relatives. As I opened one album I didn't remember, a polaroid fell out when I picked it up, I saw a picture of me at my first job after high school. I was in my usual outfit, a lace catsuit, and heels. I was on my knees, tits hanging out, with a large dick in my mouth. I spent three or four days a week fifty weeks a year for ten years like that. No, I'm not a whore. I'm a fellatrix who was the most popular fluffer in 'The Industry'. My job was to suck male talent dick so they could fuck some lubed-up porn princess.
Back in the day, directors, producers, and male talent often asked me to get in front of the camera. Now I ain't shy by any means, but I hate sex. I hate sex like vampires hate holy water. I made a mistake once and agreed to shoot a P.O.V. blow job scene. I hated every second of it. The male talent kept flubbing his lines. I mean how hard is it to say, "Oh yes baby... feels so good... suck harder...," and shit like that. So there were all these pauses and we had to start and stop several times. The jackass kept getting soft every time we paused. I gave up and quit. I heard the video is out there somewhere, but I ain't ever seen it.
So, a lot of people ask me how I got into this line of work. Well like most things it's not who ya know, it's who ya blow... and how well you blow 'em. Dad was a troubleshooter for his firm so we bounced around from city to city state to state. I moved thirty-eight times by the time I graduated high school. Because we moved so much, I ended up repeating a few years of school. I was almost twenty when I finally graduated. To be honest, it wasn't all the moves. I was a party girl who prefers booze and blow jobs to books and brains.
On the last day of high school, I had a couple of teachers I wanted to thank. First was my Earth Science teacher. He was a sweet old lonely man. He didn't even try to resist me. I walked into his classroom after the last student left for the summer. I pushed the door closed and pulled the shade down.
"Vat are you doing Mz. Cox," (*Not my real name.), he asked.
"Something to thank you for the time you took with me and your other students Mr. I." I dropped to my knees in front of him, and by the time he inhaled enough air to speak, his cock was in my gullet.
Instead of chiding me, he dropped into his chair and let me do my thing. It took a while; I mean the dude was like eighty. He never got hard, but I did feel it firm up a bit as I sucked his dick and fondled his balls. I was starting to get tired when I felt him twitch before he oozed a bit of cum into my mouth. I smiled up at him as I swallowed. I finished with a few extra-powerful sucks and a nice long lick from the base of his balls to the tip of his dick.
Then I put him away and zipped his pants. I took out the small bottle of mouthwash I keep with me. I rinsed my mouth and spit the minty liquid into the trash can. I stood up and gave him a gentle kiss on his lips. "Thank you for being such a sweet man and wonderful teacher. I'll miss you." He smiled at me, stood up, "Tanks ewe, my dear. It haz bean many years sinze... my wife died." Then he hugged me. I hugged him back and I swear I felt his tears on my bare shoulders.
When I heard he died a few days into the new school year. I made sure to go to his funeral and left the panties I wore that day in his coffin. It felt right, somehow. I miss that old German. I still have a copy of the school paper with the in-memoriam article.
Next was my Yearbook teacher. He was a sixties flower child if I ever saw one. Huge Pink Floyd fanatic, and coolest teacher in the school. We had pizza delivered to his office. He would make sure every student got free lunch even if they didn't have a lunch period. I knew he had a thing for schoolgirls. He always chose a petite blonde with glasses to be the yearbook editor. I suspected he chose them based on how willing they were to spread their legs, but nothing was ever proven. I was tall with hair the color of caramel and didn't need glasses. But I didn't let that stop me. I went to t local thrift store to find a wig and struck gold. I found a wig that looked like Madonna's hair from her Blonde Ambition tour. A few days later was my annual eye doctor appointment. I stole a pair of frames that looked similar to the yearbook editors. Height I couldn't change, but I figured if I was on my knees, I'd be short enough. I went into the teacher's bathroom and put on the wig and glasses. It surprised me how good I looked as a blonde. 'I may have to dye my hair,' I thought. I put on the glasses when Mrs. Cunt Bitch from Hell walked in.
"Students are not allowed in this bathroom," she said in that nasty nasal voice.
I drew myself up to my full height and used a pissed adult haughty tone of voice. "I don't know who you are Bitch, but I'm not a goddamn student. I'm Mrs. Ciccone (Madonna hair, why not steal her name too. I doubted cunt bitch from hell would catch on.) I graduated from UPenn with a Master's in Education last week. I'm subbing in the district until I can find a permanent position." I knew she was working on her master's but when she defended her thesis she failed, hard. So hard that she had to throw it out and start over. I had to twist her titties, she twisted mine enough over the years.
Her face flushed and her eyes opened as wide as the void in her head. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know. Please forgive me."
"Whatever, bitch. Next time ask before you make an ass out of yourself." I spun on my heel and stormed out. As soon as I was out of the bathroom, I laughed. God, that felt good. I had planned to get a different kind of revenge on her, but she wouldn't have known about it. Now I got to tell her off, and I was going to suck her husband's dick. No reason other than I hated his wife. She was a frigid harpy and didn't deserve a guy like him. But he was last on my list.
I went to room 404 and didn't find Mr. S. anywhere. I figured he'd be back soon, so I went into his office. Not the outer office but his private inner office, and put on a mixtape I created, for today. Hot for Teacher, Pink Floyd the Wall, and others I don't remember anymore. He came in a few minutes later. "Trixie," (That is my real first name. Dad was a fan of The Honeymooners and had a thing for Joyce Randolph.) "What are you doing here? Then he heard the music, and his face changed. I could see in his eyes the rumors were true. Everything I'd heard for the last eighteen months since I started going to this school was true.
"Relax, Mr. S. Or should I call you Rich? Is that what Debbie and Sherry (the current and former yearbook editors) to call you when you took them to that no-tell motel on the boulevard?"
He collapsed in his chair. "How did you know," he gasped in horror.
"Everyone knows about you like everyone knows that Gotti is a mob boss. But no one can prove it. Don't worry Mr. S I won't say anything." I opened his belt and unzipped his pants. I had trouble getting his cock out since it was already hard. I took it in my mouth and felt it twitch. I began to suck and slurp on it as I bobbed up and down. Mr. S sat in his chair and grunted and groaned as I sucked it in and tongued it before I drew back and teased the tip.
"Fuck me you're incredible. I love the wig and the glasses. Thank you he moaned as I felt him swell up in my mouth and shoot a decent load. As he came, he begged, "Don't swallow, hold it please!" He repeated variations of that phrase while he spurted his thick cream in my mouth. When I had his whole load, he grabbed my arms and pulled me up. Then he leaned down and kissed me with his mouth open. I knew what he wanted, so I fed him his cum. He sucked as much as he could from me then drove his tongue into my mouth to scoop out the remnants. I let him take all he could and felt him swallow his load.
'That's kinda hot,' I told myself as he pulled me even tighter to him and sucked as hard as he could. When I had no more cum in my mouth, he let me go.
"That was incredible. One of the best blow jobs I've ever had. Thank you." I used my mouth wash and offered him a swig. He shook his head. "No thanks, I'm meeting Debbie later and it'll turn her on to taste my cum when we kiss.
I laughed and kissed his cheek. "Tell her I said 'hey'. Oh, and nice cock, too bad you only like blondes." I handed him the wig and glasses. This way you can get your fantasy no matter what the girl looks like. He put them on his desk, last I heard he still has them in his office.
Last but not least was Mr. Milquetoast. (Remember Cunt Bitch from Hell, this is her husband.) He wasn't a great teacher; he wasn't a bad one. He was the type of teacher you forget as soon as you finish his class. He always reminded me of that short story The Secret Life of Walter Mitty. The hen-pecked, quiet, shy, guy who always daydreamed of adventures, to escape his shrew of a wife. They made it into a movie, in 1947 starring Danny Kaye and in 2013 with Ben Stiller. Danny Kaye was way better.
Anyway, the reason I chose him wasn't that he did anything special. It was revenge for his horrid wife and the way she treated her students. Honestly, it surprised me there wasn't a line of students waiting to fuck and suck him because of his wife. I wanted this one to be special. I wanted him to think of me every time he jerked off after Cunt Bitch from Hell denied him sex.
I was wearing my favorite red denim dress. Some of the boys called it easy access. It had a zipper that started at the low-cut neckline and ran to the hem. One quick motion was all it took to access my sexy bits. I still have that dress in my closet. I wish it still fit. But in the twenty-five years, I've added more poundage than I want to admit. I guess it was the hundreds of gallons of cum I've swallowed. I keep lying to myself, 'one day you'll wear it again.' Yeah, like the size twelve me will ever fit into a size two petite again.
Underneath the dress, I wore a pair of bright pink crotchless panties and no bra. I peeked into the classroom and saw Mr. M packing up for the summer. I unzipped the dress and let it hang open. I made sure one breast had popped out and was visible. I threw open the door and ran in. Mr. M looked up and said, "Trixie wha... why... huh?"
