Immoral Counseling Ch 04

Author's Note: All characters are 18 years of age or older.

Lacy and her mom Claire sat in Weaver's office discussing her academic progress. Weaver seemed chattier and more upbeat than usual, and Lacy didn't like how he was smiling and looking at her mom. Claire was 35 but easily passed for 10 years younger. At 5' 5", she was a few inches taller than Lacy but curvier -- with wide hips and thick thighs. Her long blonde hair was a shade darker than Lacy's and wavier. She was dressed modestly -- at least, by her standards -- in white high-waist jeans and a short-sleeve, rust-colored top stretched to the limit across her 34G bust. Lacy was used to men ogling her mom, but something about Weaver doing it really bothered her.

"That's the sum of it -- any questions for me, Ms. Bradley?"

"No," she replied, "and please, we've known each other since forever, call me Claire. You're making me feel old!"

"Oh, nonsense -- I'm the only old one here. The first time we met I assumed you were Lacy's older sister."

"You're being generous," she said with false humility.

"I'm serious, no one would think you're a mom to a soon-to-be high school grad."

Lacy grit her teeth and rolled her eyes. It didn't go unnoticed by Weaver.

"Well, let's end things there," he said. "Thank you for coming in today, Claire."

"Of course. I'm so grateful for your guidance and mentorship of my daughter. We're indebted to you."

"Don't mention it. Lacy is such a bright and dedicated student -- it's been my pleasure to help her thrive and succeed."

Lacy wondered how he could say all that bullshit with a straight face. They exchanged a few more pleasantries before Weaver stood and saw Claire to the door. Lacy noticed him rest his hand on the small of her back. After she left, he had Lacy stay back for a few minutes before returning to class. No sooner had the door closed than he started to pull her into his arms.

She had expected this, of course. It had been over a month since their arrangement began, and Lacy was used to handling Weaver's sexual needs. Not only did she visit his office twice a week after school, but he had also taken to calling her out randomly during the day, either between classes or at lunchtime. These quickie hookups were usually done in his office, but she'd also met up with him in the faculty restroom, a supply closet, and the gym storage room a few times. Though she loathed it and him, she couldn't deny he knew how to please her. Despite her best efforts to resist, he never failed to make her cum with his cock.

"Stop, your breath stinks! I don't want to kiss you," she complained, pushing against his shoulders and trying to face away from him.

"Oh, come on, we've kissed plenty."

"I said no! And don't flirt with my mom like that, you pig."

"Don't be jealous. I only have eyes for you."

"Fuck you."

He grabbed the back of her head and forcefully pulled her lips to his. Though she tried to keep her mouth shut tight, he managed to wriggle his tongue in anyway. Her resistance didn't last, and after a minute or two, she gave up and kissed him back. While they made out, Weaver unbuttoned her shirt and slipped a hand into her bra, causing Lacy to shudder as his calloused fingers grazed over her 32D-cup breast. Her nipple hardened as he rolled the stiff nub under his thumb, sending tiny sparks of pleasure through the supple globe down to her aching clit. The hands that had been pushing him away moments ago now clung to him. Her tongue rolled with his between their mouths, and a soft whimper rose unbidden from her throat. When their lips eventually parted, her cheeks were flush, and her heart was racing.

Turning back to the desk, Weaver picked up a maroon paperback book from on top of a stack of folders and handed it to her.

"What's this?" she asked with some confusion. This was not the direction she thought things were headed.

"A study guide. US History's always been your worst subject."

She stared dumbly. Wasn't he about to fuck her? Why was he talking about history class?

"Don't think I haven't noticed you putting off Beckett's assignments. That oughta help get you started."

She glanced between the book and his face not knowing how to respond. His Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde act bewildered her. The whiplash between lecherous pervert and considerate counselor. What with his frequent sexual demands, it was easy to forget he'd once been her trusted advisor. She still found it difficult to reconcile the Weaver from back then to the Weaver of now. Not that he gave her a chance to organize her thoughts.

"We don't have much time," he said, sitting down on the couch and unbuckling his belt, "get on your knees and suck me."

It was like a smack in the face. Did he do this sort of shit on purpose? Lacy glowered at him, but she put the book away and knelt between his knees without protest. Fishing his thick, 8-inch member out of his boxers, she brought her lips to his tip. The smell and taste assaulted her nose and tongue.

"Fuck! Did you even shower last night?" she gagged.

"It's been hot out. I bet if I smelled your pussy it wouldn't be so fresh either."

She didn't have a retort for that.

"You're wasting time. Stop complaining and get to it."

She scowled as she took his tumescent prick back between her lips. The tart, bitter taste of his sweaty cock clung to her tongue, and as she worked up and down his shaft, her eyes began to water. The intense flavor disgusted her, but despite her feelings, her pussy was dripping. She bobbed her head up and down on his meat as her nose started to run while she stroked the exposed portion of his shaft with one hand. Drool spilled down her chin and dripped into her cleavage. Eventually, the awful taste dissipated as she cleaned his sweat and filth with her mouth, and she carried on slobbering all over his pole without complaint. He throbbed pleasantly against her palate. Keeping a constant pressure on his shaft with her lips, she lapped her tongue along his swollen underside, flitting the tip under his sensitive frenulum.

"God, you were already good at this, but you've gotten even better," he moaned, running his fingers through her hair.

Weaver brought his hand to the back of her head and pushed her down until she gagged. A month ago, she'd never deepthroated before, and though he'd subjected her to it regularly, she still wasn't used to it. She pushed against his hips, but he overpowered her, dragging her down and making her retch. Her mascara ran in dark streaks down her face, and slobber dripped down her chin and neck. After several similar attempts, her throat opened at last, and as his cock bore into her esophagus, a shudder of submission ran through her. Groaning in ecstasy, he guided her down to the root. Her nose was buried in his pubic hair, so she had no choice but to breathe in his sweaty, musky odor. The smell filled her nostrils, overwhelming her senses, and her pussy juiced helplessly. As if on instinct, her tongue licked at the base of his dick where the shaft met his sack. He held her there for a while before relenting, allowing her to ease back -- but not off -- his cock.

"You're doing great," he said. "Pretty soon, you'll be able to take it without choking at all."

She narrowed her eyes at him, but with his fat dick stuffed in her mouth, she couldn't respond. He tightened his fist in her blonde tresses and dragged her back down his veiny rod, gagging her on it again. For several minutes, he roughly fucked her throat, the sound of her helplessly gluck-glucking on his pole echoing in the small office. Her traitorous cunt drooled incessantly from the rough throatfuck. Part of her wanted to snake a hand down between her thighs to rub her needy pussy, but she refused to give him the satisfaction. As pressure built in his balls, his cock throbbed against her tonsils, but he wasn't ready to cum just yet. When he released her, she backed away from his dick, coughing and gasping for air. Tears ran in dark streaks down her flushed cheeks.

"Use your tits."

Her eyes shot daggers into him, but her fingers were already unbuttoning her blouse. Once she had her shirt open and her bra pushed down, she drooled saliva into her cleavage and wrapped her ample bosom around his pole. Pressing the hot, pliant flesh from both sides, she stroked her tits up and down his length. It always felt bizarre having him there, feeling the beat of his heart through his erection, so close to her own. As his cock throbbed hot and hard between her globes, she felt her pussy twinging and aching. The mushroom head popped out the top of her cleavage and then disappeared back into her pillowy mounds like an obscene whack-a-mole. While she massaged his throbbing erection with her breasts, his tip spilled precum over and between them, mixing with her spit. The sensation of being swaddled and smothered by her supple melons gave him immense pleasure.

His hips began raising off the couch, his rod pumping in the damp, voluptuous valley. She mashed her tits around him, squeezing her pert nipples between her fingers and stroking her globes in opposite directions along his length. She'd never admit it, but she liked the way he was taking his pleasure from her breasts. It helped they were so sensitive. The heat of him pulsing in her cleavage sent little sparks of pleasure trembling through her body from her nipples down to her clit. Her feminine oil escaped past her drenched panties to dribble down her thighs. The sweat, spit, and pre-cum coating her mammaries squelched around his thrusting member, the lewd sound punctuated by his moans and her soft whimpers.

Without warning, Weaver yanked his cock out from the damp ravine between her spit-slick tits. Clutching the back of her head with both hands, he thrust his cock to the root in her mouth and ejaculated directly down her throat. Lacy grunted -- caught off-guard -- and drank his bitter seed down in frantic gulps. Though she loathed the taste of his wretched cum, the feel of it sliding thickly down her throat, Weaver brooked no compromise, holding her impaled on his spurting pole. Why did he always insist on forcefully pumping his semen in her mouth like this? It seemed like the deluge would never abate. The torrent of hot spooge pouring down her gullet, making her light-headed and dizzy from lack of oxygen. When at last he released her, she came up coughing and gasping, her face an utter mess. Thin, watery mucous ran copiously out of her nose, saliva covering her mouth and chin, tears streaming down her face from red, bleary eyes.

"I told you not to shoot in my throat," she spat, "your cum tastes like shit -- I almost choked."

"Seems you managed to swallow just fine."

Weaver handed her a roll of paper towels and fixed his pants. While she cleaned the fluids from her face and tits, he walked back behind his desk and sat down.

"When you're done, return to class."

"What?" she exclaimed, looking up from what she was doing in surprise.

"Got a busy schedule, so gotta end things here. Why? Disappointed you're not getting it in your little pussy?"

She glared.

"Keep dreaming, shithead."

Lacy tossed the used towels in the waste bin and handed him back the roll. Strangely, he simply dismissed her, without trying to kiss her or see her to the door like usual. Was it some kind of game? Was he upset with her? As the door shut behind her, Lacy felt oddly let down.

Stopping by the restroom, she cleaned her still-sticky face at the sink and reapplied her makeup. Her light blue, geometric print cheeky panties were uncomfortably wet, but she pushed those feelings aside -- no way she wanted more from him. Yet, while staring at her reflection with the tap running, a memory surfaced in her mind of its own volition -- like some part of her subconscious refusing to be ignored...

The week after spring break, she met up with him at his apartment after school -- their usual office session had been canceled for a staff meeting. Once inside, he led her straight to the bedroom. The spartan room contained only the bare necessities. A queen-size bed adorned with a comforter and a single pillow -- a wide, dark dresser with a chipped corner and no mirror -- a simple nightstand and a thrifted brass lamp -- a plastic hamper overflowing with dirty clothes. Unlike the living area, there were no decorations save for a glass candle under the lamp. Two doors on the wall opposite the window led into the closet and bathroom.

Once she undressed, he bid her lay back on the bed with her hands behind her knees holding her legs up and apart. Puffy pink vulva exposed. The room, the sheets, the pillows, all smelled of him -- his cologne, his aftershave, his stale sweat. An earthy, masculine aroma that wrapped around her like a blanket. He probably washed the covers once a year at most. She felt an unwelcome tingling between her spread thighs.

Looming over her, Weaver told her to maintain her position. Not the first time he'd ordered her to spread herself for his pleasure. She assumed he would go down on her, but instead, he reared back and slapped her pussy with his open palm. Her thighs snapped shut as she shrieked in pain. White hot agony splintering through her crotch.

"What the fuck is wrong with you!?" she wailed.

"Why did you move?" His deep voice simmered with malice.

"You hit my pussy -- it hurts!"

"So what? I gave you one job, and you can't manage it?"

Lacy was stunned. He truly was out of his mind!

"Get back in position."

When she didn't move, he got in her face and repeated himself. The tone in his voice made her blood run cold. Was he really going to hurt her pussy more? With slight hesitation and rapidly reddening cheeks, she spread her legs and grabbed the back of her knees. Her hands were shaking. She told herself she had no choice, but there were reasons beyond blackmail that made her comply. Reasons she didn't yet fully understand.

"Good girl," he said and smacked her pussy again.

Her hips jerked, body shivering from pain, but she held her pose. Teeth clenched, eyes wide. Staring at the hard expression on his face, anticipating the next strike with utter dread. It came with little warning -- a sudden flick of his forearm, then heat and pain shooting up through her, dotting her vision. Loud smack of his palm on her swollen cunt. Sweating now, panting through her open mouth. Heartbeat pounding in her temples. All awareness focused solely on the throbbing agony in her punished pussy. Despite the pain, her clit was swollen, and she felt a bead of feminine oil trickle down over perineum.

What the fuck is wrong with me

, she wondered.

His hand landed between her legs again, and though she spasmed and squirmed, Lacy managed to hold her legs open as commanded. Her faithless cunt dribbled, tendrils of pleasure sizzling through her nerves. Knees parting, hips lifting for more. Why was she letting him do this? Why was she offering up her intimacy for his sadistic enjoyment? When he spanked her one last time, she yelped and dug her fingers into her thighs, but her pussy pulsed and twitched joyfully. The sting prickling through her tender labia turning to pleasure. By the end, she was breathless and trembling, nipples hard and pussy juicing from the abuse. Drooling with her tongue out. Still holding her legs wide -- red, sloppy cunt on display. In case he wanted to spank her more. Instead, she was distantly aware of the old man undressing.

Climbing between her thighs, Weaver sought out her wet slit with his crown. Felt her heat and moisture on his tip. Lacy tried to push him off, but between his weight and strength, it was like trying to knock down a brick wall with her bare hands. With a twist of his hips, he buried himself in her pussy, eliciting a cry of painful pleasure from the busty teen. Her hands fell back beside her head on the mattress. All fight went out of her. She surrendered herself to his cock and allowed herself to luxuriate in the pleasure of being taken like a whore.

Weaver rocked into her deep and steady, letting her enjoy the fullness of his girth. Kissing her all the while, tongues dueling, saliva spilling over her ruddy cheeks. God, his breath reeked! So why was it turning her on so much? His prick drilled deep into her pussy, scraping back and forth over her sensitive g-spot. On her back, feet in the air like a filthy slut. Her hips lifted to meet each stroke, pleasure building inside her. Inside him as well. Swelling tightness in his groin. The mounting urge to inseminate her. Grabbing her ass in both hands, he pulled her up into his thrusts, gouging her cunt with his meaty weapon. Jackhammer thrusts battering her cervix. She screamed into his mouth, racked by the illicit sensations whirling in her core. The two -- so utterly mismatched -- striving in unison towards the climax until it burst. Like an avalanche, it consumed them whole. Exploding together, humping and rutting into each other with mindless lust. Lacy's eyes rolled back as the cascading waves of euphoria reduced her to quivering pile of orgasming teen flesh...

The sound of two girls' voices entering the restroom stirred her from her reminiscence. She realized she's been standing in a blind stupor for 10 minutes while the water ran in the sink. Turning off the faucet, she dried her hands and hurried out. As she strode down the hall, wetness seeped through the sodden fabric of her panties and dribbled down her thigh.

When she returned to class, she was tense and on edge. Becca, who sat near her, could tell something was off. Once Lacy had settled, she leaned over and whispered to her.

"Everything go alright with your mom and Mr. Weaver?"

"Yeah, it went great. Why?"

"You just look stressed."

"I'm fine," she lied. "It's been a long month catching up -- I'm tired."

"I bet."

That night, Lacy sat at her desk in her bedroom trying to study, but she was struggling to focus. She'd had a dull ache low in her pelvis all day. Even now, hours later, her pussy was still tingling. It was frustrating. She didn't want to admit that the things Weaver did aroused her, but she couldn't deny the wetness in her panties. Her clit was begging for attention, and it took all her willpower not to hump her chair like a wanton slut. Although she knew she was pent up, she didn't want to masturbate either. It would be like admitting he was right.

Her phone buzzed with a text from Simon. The thought of him was a welcome distraction. She'd mentioned that her mom would be home late the day after tomorrow, and he was asking to come by. Over the past month, she'd denied his requests, but she welcomed alone time with him now. With how much she'd been fucked by Weaver, she was started to forget what it felt like to be with her own boyfriend. When they'd finished making plans, she set her phone down and resumed her studies. A few minutes later, to her surprise, her phone vibrated again, but it was Weaver this time.

"Something's come up. You don't need to come after school tomorrow."

"Great!"

"Don't be like that. I always make you feel good, don't I?"

"You're delusional. Leave me alone, I'm studying."

"How diligent! I won't bother you further. Just show me your pussy."

"Are you fucking insane? Hell no!"

"Just do it. Hurry up, so you can get back to studying."

She gripped her phone, stared incredulously at the screen. The audacity! But she knew better than to disobey. Sighing, she pushed her panties and shorts down with one hand and snapped a quick picture of her pussy.

"There. Now leave me alone, you pervert."

"Your pussy is beautiful. It never fails to get me hard."

A picture of his turgid dick accompanied the last text. Lacy was shocked by the vulgar image, but it also made her heart race and her pussy wet.

"You bastard, keep your nasty dick pics to yourself!"