Tracy Goes to the Principal's

Four days later, I knock on the front door of your house. I know you are home, I called your office and they informed me that you had called in sick the last two days. It's a nice spring day and the grass is bright green with new growth on your lawn as I knock again. School has been out since Monday for spring recess but this is the first chance I've gotten to come visit you.

"Hello, Mrs. Willows." I say with a smile as you open the door after my third knock. Your eyes go wide in surprise as you see me standing there, your cheeks flushing red in embarrassment as you remember every instance of humiliation at my hands. "You're looking lovely today," I continue in a soft voice as you lower your eyes to avoid my gaze. "Mind if I come in, Tracy?"

"My son... my son is home." You tell me, casting a worried glance over your shoulder, hearing the noise of the television coming from deep in the house.

"So?" I ask as I step purposefully into your house, forcing you to step back out of my way. "I'm sure Mike won't mind if I stop by to visit." I assure you as I push the door shut behind me.

"But..." You say worriedly continuing to glance over your shoulder.

"I'm sure that he's not going to be interrupting us," I tell you, stepping closer to as I place my hands on your shoulders.

"It's... it's lunchtime." You explain your dark blue eyes full of conflicting emotions as you look towards the open doorway to the living room. "We eat together."

"So, I'll join you." I say smiling, my hand cupping your chin and turning your face until your eyes meet mine. "Doesn't that sound nice?"

"Please..." You beg, your eyes darting to the closed door behind me. "Not here... not today... please, I'll do anything."

"I think we've already established that fact, Tracy." I chuckle at the unintentional innuendo. "Now, why don't we go to the kitchen and you can make lunch." I suggest, releasing your chin. You stand there, your head bowed slightly before you reluctantly turn and lead me towards the kitchen. I admire the way your long blonde hair sways around your shoulders as you walk in front of me, the light cotton dress you are wearing falling just above your knees. "You've got a nice house here, Mrs. Willows." I compliment you as I sit at the table as you move around the kitchen.

"Thank... thank you." You reply uncertain how to act in my presence. "Would you... like something to drink?"

"No thank you, Tracy, I'm all set." I say smiling at you as you begin to make your son's lunch. "What kind of panties are you wearing today, Mrs. Willows?" I ask after a few minutes silence as you slice chicken breast at the counter.

"What?!" You gasp turning around, your eyes filled with surprise even as your cheeks flush in embarrassment.

"You heard me, Tracy." I say smiling at you reassuringly, "What kind of panties do you have on?"

"I... I'm wearing cotton panties, French cut briefs." You answer me softly; you voice little more than a whisper as you glance worriedly towards the hallway, afraid your son will enter the kitchen unexpectedly.

"What color are they?" I ask, enjoying your obvious discomfort, knowing that it arouses you as I ask the most humiliating questions of you.

"Yellow..." You answer after a few seconds hesitation, "Yellow with little blue flowers on them."

"Very seasonal, very spring like, don't you think?" I say with a soft chuckle, "Show them to me."

"No... please..." You say, shaking your head slightly as you continue to watch the open door carefully even as your fingers reach down to grip the hem of your dress. "Not here...not while my son's home," you plead as you lift the skirt up to reveal a few inches of your shapely thighs.

"Yes, Mrs. Willows, now." I insist as you slowly pull the hem of your dress up to reveal the front of your panties, your eyes filled with shame as you watch my silent reaction.

"Please..." you beg, your eyes darting from me to the door before returning to my face.

"You've got very cute panties on," I tell you with a smirk, "I'd like a closer look at them but you should probably finish making lunch first. I'll go talk to Mike for a few minutes while you finish the sandwiches." I tell you as I stand; moving over to stand close to you as your fingers slowly let your dress fall back down to cover your panties. "I've missed my pussy the last couple of days," I whisper to you softly as I lean close, my lips brushing against your earlobe as my hand rests lightly on your hip, feeling you tremble at my closeness. "I've been looking forward to using you all week, Mrs. Willows." I tell you as I turn suddenly and walk from the room.

You wonder what I'm saying to your son as you continue to make lunch, blushing as you remember the feel of my lips on your ear and my hand on you hip. ****** "Mr. Cash was telling me what the two of you are doing," Mike announces as he sits on the opposite side of the table, picking up his sandwich eagerly. I sit to your right, my knee brushing against yours under the table.

"Wha... what?" You ask, sputtering around the mouthful of water you had just drank, your eyes shooting a worried glance towards me.

"Yeah, he was telling me about some project you're working on with him." Your son explains as he starts to eat his sandwich quickly. "Are you alright, Mom? You don't look so good..." He asks, looking at you curiously.

"I'm... I'm fine," You reply with a smile, trying to push down the panic that had flooded you at his announcement. "Just swallowed wrong," You explain lamely shooting me a quick glance.

"Your mother's been a big... help... to me," I say, smiling at you as I place special emphasis on the words. You blush as you remember the times in my office and what I'm calling 'help'. The talk then turns to Mike's after school activities and the many trivial matters that are only of importance to teenagers. I nod and make polite comments when they're appropriate, making small talk with your son as I move my hand under the table, placing it on your bare knee.

You shoot me a pleading look as you try to move your leg from under my hand, my fingers tightening on your soft flesh until you stop struggling against me. You smile at the story your son is telling, shivering as you feel my hand slide up your thigh, pushing your skirt higher as my fingers lightly caress your leg. "That's nice dear," You comment, trying to conceal your reaction to my touch as my hand rests high on your thigh, the side of my hand pressing against the soft cotton of your panties. You shift in your seat, your hips pressing forward as you feel my hand move to cover the soft mound of your pussy, my fingers cupping your sex through your panties.

"Not hungry, Mom?" Mike asks as he notices your food sitting untouched on your plate.

"I'm... I'm not feeling that well right now." You lie, biting off a soft moan that threatens to escape your lips as my fingers softly trace the contours of your pussy through the thin cotton of your underwear. You glance worriedly at me, your cheeks red with shame even as you spread your legs wider, giving my groping hand freer access to your panties. You shift in your seat as my fingers curl into your panties, running across the warm wet lips of you pussy. Your body trembles as I gently caress your labia, gently spreading your pussy open.

"Mom?" Mike asks, looking at the deep flush on your face and the way you keep shifting in your chair. "Are you alright?"

You open your mouth to answer only to have the ringing telephone save you from lying to your son again. "I'll get it," Mike announces as he rushes out of the room, "It's probably for me."

"Please..." You gasp, relieved to finally be alone without your son's curious eyes on you. "Don't do this to me... not today... not in front of my son."

"Take off your panties and give them to me." I instruct you, ignoring your pleas for me to stop.

"What?! I... I can't..." You stammer, glancing first at my hand in your crotch then to the door Mike so recently left through.

"Give me your panties, Tracy." I repeat, "And you'd better do it quick before he comes back."

You whimper softly, your eyes never leaving the doorway as you lift yourself up off the chair and slid the yellow panties down.

"When did you trim your pussy?" I ask, my fingers exploring the now hairless lips of your pussy as you push your panties down to your ankles. "Did you do it in hopes I'd stop by this week?"

"No..." You gasp, your eyes closing as my fingers play lightly over the neatly trimmed hair of your bush. "I... I trimmed my pussy on.... on Saturday. I trim... every week." You admit, bowing your head in embarrassment as you arch your back slightly, pressing your exposed pussy against my hand, enjoying the light caresses on your sensitive flesh.

"I don't believe you, Mrs. Willows." I hiss softly in your ear, my fingers tracing along the lips of your pussy. "I think you trimmed for me. I think you were secretly hoping I'd visit you this week. I think you want me to fuck you, to rape your married pussy again. Isn't that true, Tracy?"

"Noooo..." You moan, shaking your head slightly in denial even as you feel the moist heat of your pussy increase with my words. "I... I always trim..."

"Give me your panties," I instruct, removing my hand from between your legs and holding it out expectantly.

You squirm slightly at the absence of my groping fingers in your crotch, missing the soft knowing caresses as you bend down and pull your panties off, handing them to me in silence. "That's a good girl, Mrs. Willows." I chuckle as my fingers run over the soft cotton of your panties, my thumb rubbing over the small wet spot at the crotch. "Hmm, seems you're a little aroused today, Tracy, judging by how wet your panties are."

"No... I..." You start to deny, your eyes fixed on your panties as they lay in my hand.

"Really, then what could have caused this wet spot? Did you have an accident, Mrs. Willows? Did you piss yourself?" I ask, knowing the truth but enjoying the look of humiliation on your face as you try to avoid my gaze.

"Please..." you beg, your face red in embarrassment, your eyes fixed on the damp dark spot on your panties.

"I don't think this is piss," I tell you as I lift your panties to my face, sniffing at the wet spot as you watch me in shame. "Definitely doesn't smell like you had an accident, Mrs. Willows," I tell you with a knowing smile, my tongue stretching out to lick at the small dark patch, tasting the fluid of your arousal.

"Don't..." You gasp out, shivering in humiliation as you watch me lick along the crotch of your panties, tasting the lingering flavors of your pussy.

"Hmm, definitely doesn't taste like you pissed yourself either, Tracy. I'd say that despite your denials you are turned on, that you get aroused by me." I tell you, smiling as I fold your panties into a neat bundle and tuck them into the pocket of my pants.

"I... It's..." You stammer, whatever you are about to say being interrupted as your son returns. You quickly push your chair closer to the table, hiding your exposed pussy under the tablecloth.

"Hey, Mom," Mike says with a smile as he takes his place on the opposite side of the table. "Me and a couple of the guys are going to get together this afternoon," He tells you as he begins to devour his food once again.

"O... okay." You murmur, trying not to shiver as you feel my fingers once again trailing lightly over your thigh, the soft tickling touches nearing your exposed sex as you try and concentrate on what your son is saying.

"That'll work out well, Mrs. Willows." I say, grinning at you as my hand cups your pussy under the table, feeling the heat of your desire as my fingers comb through the hair of your bush. "I've got a couple of things I'd like your mother to... go over." I explain to Mike as he finishes his lunch, unaware that I'm groping his mother's wet cunt across the table from him.

"That's cool." He responds completely unconcerned, his thoughts on the plans he has for the rest of the day. "I've got to go get ready, Mom." He announces as he stands up.

"Ohhh...kay," You barely manage to say, your eyes fluttering as my fingers suddenly slip into the tight opening of your vagina, filling your sex.

"Are you sure you feel okay?" Mike asks a look of concern crossing his face as you struggle to hide the effect my hand is having on you.

"I'm.... I'm fine." You gasp slightly, your legs spreading wider under the table as my fingers slide further into you. "Have... a good time." You manage to say, holding back the moan that threatens to overwhelm you as my thumb gently strokes the soft hood of your clit.

"Okay, Goodbye Mr. Cash," Mike says, waving as he hurries out of the room. I nod my head towards him as he leaves, "See you in school, Mike."

"He's a good kid," I tell you as I start to slowly stroke my fingers into your pussy, your hand gripping the edge of the table as you try to hold the moan of pleasure deep in your throat.

"You... bastard..." you hiss at me, your breath coming in ragged gasps as I continue to fuck my fingers into your hot, wet pussy, "In front of my... son."

"You can curse me all you want, Mrs. Willows." I tell you, my fingers curling against the sensitive interior walls of your vagina, "You can blame me but we both know it aroused you, turned you on even more to be molested with your own child in the room."

"If... if he had seen..." You gasp, arching your hips up against my exploring fingers, your knuckles white as you grip the table hard. "My life... I'd be ruined..."

"And that's what excites you, isn't it, Tracy? The thought that someone might find out what a slut, a whore hiding behind a respectable front, you really are." I taunt you, feeling your body beginning to tense under my caresses.

"Oh.... Oh, God..." You pant, your slender shoulders shaking as your body tenses, your pussy gripping my fingers tightly as you orgasm.

"That's a good slut, Mrs. Willows." I tell you as you slump in your chair, your skin flushed as you struggle to get your breath back after your climax. "Now, my dear," I pause as I hear the front door close signaling that Mike has left, "who does this pussy belong to?"

"I... It belongs to you," You answer me slightly breathlessly, moaning softly as you feel my fingers slowly slide out of you.

"Has anyone else used my pussy recently, Mrs. Willows?" I ask, holding my fingers up in front of your face so you can see the glistening juices of your sex. "Have you fucked anyone other than me, your husband perhaps?"

"No..." you confess, your eyes fixed on the moisture dripping along my fingers, "No one has used your pussy... I haven't... I haven't had sex with John in weeks."

"Good," I say smiling at your confession as I stand up, licking my fingers clean with a loud slurping sound. "Let's go into the kitchen now, Mrs. Willows. I've got a couple things I need to get done today." I tell you as I pull your chair out for you, letting you walk in front of me through your quiet house.

"What... what do you... want me...?" You start to ask, your blue eyes filled with shame as you fidget around the kitchen, your gaze never settling on me as I stand in the middle of the floor.

"First things first, Mrs. Willows," I say, smirking at your behavior. "I'm curious; does your bra match your cute flowered panties?"

"Yes... my bra matches." You tell me softly, your head bowing as I move to stand in front of you, my hand resting lightly on your shoulders. "I... I always wear matching sets..."

"Show me, Tracy." I tell you softly, my fingers cupping your chin and lifting it so that you are looking me in the eyes.

Your hands move up to the collar of your light cotton dress, your fingers deftly undoing the buttons one after another, moving down until your dress is hanging open from your neck down to your waist. "Show me your bra," I whisper softly to you, seeing the lust and shame in your eyes as you try to look away.

You moan low in your throat, your fingers gripping your dress by the collar, spreading it to expose the smooth expanse of your skin, a small golden pendant hanging down between your collar bones. Arching your back slightly, you pull the two halves of the dress wider apart, pulling it down off your smooth shoulders to reveal the tops of your rounded breasts. "Show me your breasts, Mrs. Willows."

"Yes..." You sigh softly as you continue to strip for me, your face a mask of humiliation even as your breathing becomes heavier, a flush of arousal flooding your cheeks as you pull your dress down so that it gathers at your waist, your breasts encased in the cotton bra exposed as you look up at me.

"Very good," I say as my eyes admire the rounded tops of your breasts, my fingers gently tracing down the strap to the cup of your bra, following along the edge to the valley between your heaving breasts. "I like this bra, Tracy." I tell you, my fingers curving, dipping under the fabric of your bra to feel the soft warm flesh of your breast. You inhale sharply as my fingers brush against your hard nipple, your back arching, pressing your tender tit harder against my palm. "Are you turned on by this, Mrs. Willows?" I ask you softly, moving around to stand behind you, my hand still caressing the warm flesh of your breast. I pull you back against me, my chin resting on your shoulder as I press my body tight to yours, letting you feel the hard bulge of my erection pressing against your soft ass. "Does it arouse you to have me, your rapist, taking advantage of you in your kitchen?"

"Yes," You moan softly, leaning back against me, "It turns me on to let you... let you have me anyway you wish to."

"Do you want me to fuck you, Tracy? Do you want your rapist to fuck your married pussy again, Mrs. Willows?" I ask, one hand still caressing your breast while the other rests on your stomach, holding you close to me.

"Please..." You plead softly, your body writhing against mine as you press yourself harder against me, your soft ass caressing my hard cock as you move. "Please, Sir, fuck me. Use my married pussy, Mr. Cash," You hiss, your hand covering mine, sliding it down over the bare skin of your stomach, guiding my fingers into your open dress, pushing my hand lower to press against your wet, ready pussy. "Please."

"Hmm, you're turning into such a good slut, Tracy." I murmur in approval as your fingers guide my hand over the wet folds of your cunt. "I bet you'd do anything I asked as long as I fucked you. Wouldn't you, Mrs. Willows?"

"Yes," You gasp, your fingers pressing my thumb against the tight opening of your vagina. "I'd do anything for you, anything."

"Yes, I think you would," I agree, letting you push my finger into your pussy, feeling your soft flesh grip at my invading digit hungrily. "I want you to marry me, Mrs. Willows." I tell you simply, my lips brushing against your neck as you tremble under my touch.

"I'm... I'm married.... My husband...," you gasp, your eyes half closed as you try to force more of my hand into your wet, needy pussy. "My family..."

"I want you to marry me as my slut, my married slut, Tracy." I explain to you, my finger drawing small circles on the sensitive inner walls of your vagina. "You marry me as my fuck toy, my little cum slut while staying married to John. Do you understand, Mrs. Willows?" I ask, my thumb strumming against your hard little clit, causing you to gasp out in pleasure.

"I'd... I'd be yours but still married to... to my husband." You pant, turning your head to look over your shoulder at me. "I... I would belong to you while still having my family."

"Very good, Tracy," I tell you softly, my lips brushing against yours as you look at me, lust mixed with shame filling your large blue eyes. "Well, what's your answer, Mrs. Willows?"

"I..." You pant hesitatingly as you feel my touch on your sex start to lighten as I slowly start to draw my hand away. "I'll marry you, become your... your cum slut." You tell me, your voice lowering to a humiliated whisper at the last words. "Just please, please fuck me now."