harder and the hammock swings back from the force of his thrust. He grinds his dong up my hole and I feel his coarse pubes sand the red skin of my virgin ass.

“You feel that, punk?”
“Ohhhh…yes sir, master.”

Crap, I feel that!

I’m not thinking about algebra. I’m not thinking about math at all. I’m not thinking. I’m just feeling his thick log in my hole and the places that it’s ramming with each slow withdrawal and hard thrust. He burrows into me and I just hang on and take more of his pounding. Like a spoiled punk. Like a good slave. He crams every inch into me and I close my eyes…and yet only see him. He slams into me and I feel my dick throb and my balls ache. I can feel him up in my chest as I pant hard and swing forward to take every fucking inch of his fucking shaft.

“Hang on bitch…you’re getting’ a load.”

My Master pounds his stiff rod into me again and again as I see his jaw clench and his eyes close. The chains of his hammock rattle and ring and I feel my hole tighten and beg for the flood of spunk that I need to rush up inside me. He slams his hips against my raw cheeks once more as I feel my gut bear down on his pulsing, bursting cock.

EPILOGUE:

Silly me. I feel so stoopid. Turns out I had the wrong apartment. I already told you I was bad with numbers, so shoot me, already.

Turns out my tutor lives in 212 not 312. Turns out my “Master” got stood up as well. He was expecting some old dude. Like 28 or something. Oh well. BTW: my master is like an executive accountant or something. Total math whiz. He is totally going to see to it that I pass algebra. “Or else!” he says. We have another session next week. He also says he’s going to explain those hooks in his bedroom to me.

I can’t fucking wait.