There was no need to panic. The world was slowing back to normal. I was okay. She reached around and straightened my tie, flooding my senses with her ...resh clean scent.“Can I ask you a question, Dag?” she said, sitting across from me.“That’s one,” I said. “Do you have another?” She smiled.“Why do you always wear gray suits and white shirts?” she asked. “You have different styles, but they are all gray. All your shirts look the same. You’d look good with a little color on.” This time it was my. So good. Too good! Just keep on fucking me. Oh yes!" She kept on babbling on and on like this as I kept pounding my cock into that married white pussy. Just as she was finally coming down from her second series of orgasms of the night, I decided to give her husband a better view. I pulled my cock all the way out of her, and she immediately started whining "What happened....no....no....please don't stop. Please put it back in me. I need a black cock in me. Please...please." Shut up slut! You are. At the dinner table every night, she sat right across the table from me. More than once I looked up from my entranced stare at her tight top, to find her staring right back at me. She wouldn't look away right off, and when she did, under the pretence of continuing her meal, I could usually detect the slightest smirk.Of course, this alone was not enough to lead me on. Perhaps she didn't really notice, or perhaps she thought me a creep, and did her best to stifle a guffaw upon busting me. Maybe. Nervously, she picked up the phone, “Hello, this is Emma Morgan.”His voice, deep and resonant as ever, as he replied, “Ah, yes, the brilliant dress designer. Your principal has been singing your praises.”Controlling her breathing Emma said, “She exaggerates, Professor Parsons.”“Whoa, no more of the professor. I’m not at your college, and you are almost away into the big world. Call me Chris.”“All right, Chris. Why are you phoning me?” She was so curious about this approach.“I was wondering.