Have you ever chased something only to find out it was not what you wanted? Well, that's my whole story. for For most of my sexually aware life, I have wanted to be with Stacy Morgan. We met together in high school, went to the same university, and never once, did I lose sight of my desire.
I suppose if I am to tell you this properly, I should start at the beginning and wind my way through the various highlights.
I was a simple kid, perhaps sixteen, (But don't worry this is not some underage tale), a senior at Coral Coast High School: For Developing Minds, when Stacy Margaret Morgan arrived. She had in a matter of weeks, climbed the lofty heights of popularity to undoubtedly become our resident angel.
Stacy had everything - her family was rich; she drove her own car; she was smart, was always a straight-A student; and beautiful, if that was the limit with which to describe heaven.
She was good or great at everything, debate team, cheer squad, thespian club, and even a photojournalist for the school's heralded rag, 'The Intellectual Tribune'. I knew almost from the start, that I couldn't compete; sure, I could fantasize about being with her, and kid myself about it happening, but that was the pipe dream.
There were jocks galore, math wizards, charismatic posers, and yes, even a few teachers who regularly fawned over her. I personally fell into the nobody class - no jock; hated sports; no wizard; got by and was a deep thinker, but didn't want to chase the goals. In fact, I wasn't even cute or popular, but I had one redeeming quality - I was never a quitter.
So there we were in high school, and Stacy excelled, got a scholarship, was Prom Queen and lived an exemplary life. That is, of course, on the surface of it.
I bore witness, as Stacy ruined the second-most-popular girl's reputation, with a photo exposé of a lesbian encounter, which, of course, was set up to do just that. I even watched as she threw our team under the proverbial bus, the day of the championship because she dumped the star player and wanted him to suffer, so she gave the opposing team captain the playbook.
That's the trouble with fixation; you can see the bad things, but on the scale of justice versus desire, they weigh nothing. I personally tried that last year of high school to date her twice, but she wouldn't have it. Oh, I was never really out of the picture though, for she was fully aware I had inside information about her, and I truly feel she loved stringing me along as the poor lost puppy.
In university, her shenanigans continued. Once again, she was on cheer squad, the newspaper, and debate team. Once again, she excelled and manipulated her way, seducing a married female teacher just on a bet.
That, perhaps, was one of my greatest regrets and downfalls for I was the cameraman who recorded the evidence and had to painfully bear witness once again.
Now, I can in all honesty tell you, that being an eighteen-year-old (yes we're talking two years later), watching a bisexual eighteen-year-old female seduce a thirty-five-year-old biracial, married female was the stuff of fantasies. But this was not a fantasy, nor was it just a seduction because you wanted the other person; this amounted to nothing more than a joke.
Here she was, a spiteful little girl, planning and executing a plot to ruin someone's life. Oh nobody involved knew it was to ruin her life except, perhaps, Stacy, but that's how it played out and I fully believed it was the goal.
Had I known, I would have stopped this, but by the time I learned the details, it had all been over. She started simply enough, feigning ignorance in the course and requiring ever-increasing help. She would ask dumb questions in class, take poor notes, and purposely get poor marks on tests. She complained she just couldn't do it, was too dumb and was always distracted because jocks just used her because she was pretty.
Then came the after-hours tutoring, and this led to the spilled coffee. As a conniving little bitch, Stacy excelled. She set it up so the slightest jostling of her desk would cause the coffee to tip over and preplanned the direction towards herself.
Then came feigned injury, as it splashed on her pale-blue shirt, and how she had to rip it off because of the burns. I knew for certain the coffee was not hot, but I did not know that she purposefully removed her bra, prior to the tutoring.
There was our poor victim, dabbing at the burned bare chest, as Stacy screamed and cried - a thespian, remember. This led to a long hug, then kiss, and the teacher backing away.
Stacy would have none of that. She pursued pinning the teacher between her and the desk. Kissing, caressing and groping everywhere she could, until the teacher tried to escape over the desk. It was all in the plan though, for Stacy followed a tiny bit faster and moments later, she had reverse straddled our tiny, married victim.
Now sitting on her chest and holding the poor woman down, Stacy shimmied back so her velvet thighs and curvaceous glutes muzzled most of the protests. Her hands meanwhile drew up the victim's skirt, and when panties came into view, her tongue attacked.
Desperately trying to escape, the teacher flailed at Stacy's hips and squirmed beneath her, but each movement allowed Stacy a little deeper and she never relented.
Slowly, the teacher succumbed, as Stacy's tongue worked its magic. Soon the legs began parting, hips began to roll and moans replaced protests. When at last, the moans and gyrating hips had completely replaced all resistance, Stacy grabbed the thighs and forced them wide open.
Panties were pulled unceremoniously to the side and Stacy fully engulfed her. A strong orgasm soon followed, rocking the young teacher and she lay there panting, but Stacy was not done. Capitalizing on the blissful exhaustion, she climbed off and stripped away that last vestige of decency with only a minor protest.
Then, again, she placed herself between the shapely legs and with renewed vigor, Stacy forced the young wife to cum again. This time, it was licking, teasing and fingering that brought on the bliss, but it wasn't direct or quick.
Stacy reveled in holding her on the edge, demanding the teacher expose her own breasts and denying release when it didn't happen.
Again and again, she kept this up, until out of sheer desire and desperation, the teacher ripped open her own blouse and bra. Tiny, little breasts with stiff, pink nipples found my lens, as buttons skittered and rolled about the classroom. Then her back suddenly arched, and she screamed she was cumming with hands buried in Stacy's hair, holding on.
