Mega Huge Collection of Rougher Daddies

by Lara Friedman

  He had to clear his throat twice, and step behind his podium to cover up a problem he hadn't had in a while, that being a spontaneous erection, and he couldn't look at her for the rest of the class period.

  And with his fiance out of town on a writing job for a whole month, he had been without sex for a good week and a half. And he was not used to going without sex.

  "Mr. Geller, if it's not too much trouble, I wanted to ask you to read my paper first..." Bitsy looked at him from beneath her lashes. "I'm not sure it's at all what you're asking for, and I want to have time to revise it before the final draft is due."

  Rod nodded his head, without making any more eye contact than necessary. "Sure, Bitsy. I'll read it tonight and give you any notes I might have tomorrow."

  Despite his best intentions, he saw the smile on Bitsy's face as she said thank you and his groin tightened a little. "Have a good night, Mr. Gellar," her final words were as she walked backwards out of his classroom before twirling around.

  Later on that evening, after a glass of wine and a phone call to his fiance that did not end in phone sex as he was hoping it might, Rod grabbed his brief case and sat down on his couch, leaning back and crossing his leg over. He pulled out all the papers, leafed through until he found Bitsy's paper, and put the rest back in his brief case. He grabbed a pen, pulled his coffee table closer, and settled into a long read.

  However, by the time he was done reading the first paragraph, he was not proud, but his hand was wrapped around his 7 inch cock, pumping slowly up and down.

  Her thesis was "Every night, I go to sleep dreaming of sucking your cock, Mr. Gellar, and every morning, I wake up with my fingers in my pussy, wishing it was your cock."

  Suffice to say, the rest of the paper was horribly inappropriate, and if anyone caught him with it, he'd be fired on the spot. It was a list of fantasies, ranging from being thrown and ravished on his desk, to her sucking his cock beneath his desk while he taught class, to serving detention on her knees, to being spanked for cheating on a test... She even had a fantasy about him taking her tight ass.

  At the end of the "essay," if you could even call it that, she included her phone number, in case he had any questions or wanted to send her any dirty pictures. Legitimately, that's what she suggested.

  And fuck, it was tempting. And just as he was about to dial the number, it hit him; she was a student of his. Sure, she was 18 already, and she wouldn't be his student for very much longer, but still. He could lose his job. No, strike that, he WOULD lose his job.

  So he took a permanent marker, colored over the number, took a cold shower, and resolved to talk to Bitsy about what their relationship was NOT going to include - which was mainly unbridled, passionate fucking.

  The next day, it took forever to get to his last class - Bitsy's class.

  The minute she stepped through the door, Rod knew he was in trouble.

  She had on dark skinny jeans that he could see practically molded to her ass as she walked past his desk, hooker red high heels, and a top that did wonderful things for Bitsy's cleavage.

  It really wasn't anything different than what she normally wore, because she liked to dress to show off, but her words were visually imprinted in his brain, and if he wasn't mistaken, those high heels had played a very big role in a fantasy about her walking on top of his desk - in just the heels.

  Thank God there was a test in class today, he thought to himself. There was no way he could actually give a lecture in the mental state he was in.

  Before he knew it, the bell rang and students were bringing their tests to him.

  "Bitsy," he called out to her as she was gathering up her stuff, "may I have a word?"

  She walks up to his desk quickly, "Sure, Mr. Gellar, but I really have to go to the bathroom. Can I come back in a second?"

  After he nodded his consent, she rushed out of the classroom.

  Rod was thankful for the reprieve, because he still had no idea what he was going to say. How to break it to a hot, young, sexy woman that you couldn't sleep with her? Even though you really, REALLY wanted to?

  His door opened as he was mulling over his options, and he looked up and stilled. She was no longer wearing the jeans, nor the top she had been wearing, but she still had the shoes. It was coupled this time, though, with a short, plaid skirt, a white button up shirt that wasn't actually buttoned, just tied in a knot between her breasts, and her hair was in pigtails.

  She closed the door behind him, turned the lock, and started walking towards him, with something dangling between her fingers.

  "I didn't get a call from you last night," she said, pouting a little. He finally noticed what was dangling between her fingers; it was what appeared to be a red, lacy thong.

  That gave him the impetus to say something as he tried to get up out of his seat. "Bitsy, this is completely inappropriate-"

  He was cut off as she was suddenly straddling him and waving her lingerie under her nose. He couldn't help it, but he took a big sniff, and nearly groaned aloud at the delicious smell of her pussy.

  "I was all alone in my bed," she whispered in his ear, "playing with my wet cunt, pinching my nipples, wishing I had something in my mouth to suck on like your yummy, yummy cock." On the words "yummy," she bounced up and down on his cock, which was of course rock hard in his pants. She bit his earlobe, which sent another lightning bolt down to his crotch.

  She started rubbing herself against him, and through his pants, he could feel how wet and juicy she was.

  Dear God, he was just a man.

  She was unbuttoning his shirt while licking at his neck, and he was impressed with her coordination and ability to multi-task, and was about to tell her so when she suddenly surprised him by ripping the rest of his short open, sending buttons flying everywhere.

  And then suddenly, her mouth was running over his chest, his hands were in her hair, and he couldn't remember his name, let alone his profession or the reasons why he shouldn't be letting her do this.

  "Mr. Gellar," she moaned against his chest, "please fuck me."

  And suddenly, Rod was no longer a passive participant. He gripped her waist, hoisted her up onto his desk in front of him, and untied her shirt.

  Of course, Bitsy wasn't wearing a bra any more, which Rod couldn't be happier about, as it gave him instant access. He immediately covered one of her nipples with his mouth; he gently nipped at the tip and Bitsy hissed. She knotted her fingers in his hair, dragged his head back, and slanted her mouth over his, sucking his tongue into her mouth.

  Rod's hands went to her skirt and flipped it up over her thighs, thankful she had already taken off any barriers to him. He unbuckled his pants and dragged them, along with his boxers down to free his hard dick.

  She felt it bounce against her thigh and tore her mouth free. "Wait," she breathed. "I want to suck your cock first."

  "Later," he ground out. "I fucking need your cunt now." He didn't wait for any comments or protests, he grabbed his cock, and slid it into her sweet, sweet honey pot.

  "Oh, fuck," Bitsy yelled, throwing her head back as Rod slid all the way home. She whimpered as Rod just stood there, soaking up the feeling of being in such a tight, teenaged pussy. "Mr. Gellar," she whined, shifting her hips in desperate need of stimulation. "Mr. Gellar, please... pound my pussy."

  And those were the words that broke him. He slowly slid backwards until the tip of his cock was in her, and then slammed back in, grunting as the pleasure took him again. She gripped his ass as he shifted back and did it again and was moaning loudly he was almost worried about getting caught, so to shut her up, he stuck his fingers in her mouth.

  She immediately started sucking on them as he rocked harder and harder into her cunt.

  She took his hand out of her mouth as she noticed he was getting closer and closer to cumming. "Fuck my dirty little pussy, Mr. Gellar. Make me your slut. I want your cum in my pussy."

  "You're such a little whore," Rod groaned. His thrusts were getting faster a
nd heavier, and he moved his hand down to rub her little clit, because God, he wanted to feel that sweet little twat tighten on his cock and milk it.

  She started moaning loudly again, but there was nothing he could to do stop it, this time, because he was grunting and groaning just as loudly. Flesh slapped against flesh as his thrusts got more sporadic.

  "Oh, fuccccccck," Bitsy wailed as her tight hole started spasming around Rod's rod. And that started Rod's orgasmic bliss as his cum spurted into Bitsy.

  Rod's first thought, coming back to reality: What the fuck did I just do?

  The End.

  In Prague

  As I was leaving my room in Prague's Kempinski Hotel, the door latched behind me at exactly the same instant as the door to the next room clicked shut. Dressed for my morning run in black tights and a solid aqua-coloured, short-sleeved Pearl Izumi running shirt, I said good morning to the man who had just emerged from the room next to mine and began down the hall.

  "Excuse me," he said in lightly accented American English. I stopped to look back at the tall, brown-haired man who was turning his key in the lock.

  "Yes?"

  "You must lock your door with the key, it's not automatic," he reminded me.

  "Oh, yeah." Turning, I dug the key from the tiny pocket inside the waistband of my tights and locked my door. "Thanks," I said and walked to the elevator.

  "My pleasure," he responded, as he followed me into the small four-person lift.

  He looked ridiculous. He wore an oversized, orange and white, long-sleeved T with Rabobank printed across both front and back. Funny, I pronounced it Rob-a-bank in my head. He also had on baggy, NBA style basketball shorts – orange and brown, but a different, not-even-close-to-matching shade of orange – and blue Adidas running shoes. My quick assessment: super-geek!

  "Do you know where to go?" he asked in flawless English.

  "Go?" I asked.

  "On your run, do you have a direction?"

  "Nope, first day, fighting jet lag. I was going to explore..."

  "Follow me if you like; I'll take the most beautiful route I know. 5K ok?" he asked, grinning broadly.

  "Sure," I agreed, grateful for any company, goofy looking or not.

  Prague is often called the most beautiful city in the world, and this morning it was easy to understand why. The early morning sun was making the tops of the tallest buildings glow beautifully. There were red roofs atop white walls and gold highlights shimmering brightly. Many of the street lamps were still illuminated, adding to the early morning sparkle.

  Together we jogged along the north edge of The Old Town Square to the Vitava River, where a left turn sent us upstream to the Charles Bridge before looping through other parts of the Old Town district back to the Hotel.

  The streets were active with street cleaners, gardeners, marble polishers and delivery people. Curiously, many of them grinned broadly and waved at us.

  His name was Ben and he spoke sparingly, just enough to point out the sights, but this he did breathing easily. Crossing the square, we saw the magnificent Astronomical Clock and then, along the river, the so-called "dancing building" or "Fred and Ginger" because the architecture resembles a dancing couple. He asked if I liked to dance. I responded with a nod and a yes. He then pointed out another building, saying it was the best discotheque in Prague, with four floors featuring different music styles on each one. In the 40 minutes it took us to do the loop that, along with comments on a few more buildings, is about all he said.

  Even though he didn't say much, Ben was a good listener. He showed genuine interest in my new position with the Eastern European edition of a successful magazine for independent women. Only 24, I was fortunate to have landed a dream job like this just two years after graduating with my journalism degree.

  Keeping up with his pace pushed me often to shortness of breath. I still somehow managed to go on about myself. I think it was because I couldn't bear the void of his silence.

  Later, back in my room, I realized I didn't learn very much about Ben at all. Some journalist, I chided myself. All I could say for sure is he had nice shoulders, a nice smile and wore goofy looking clothes to run in.

  After a quick shower, make-up and clothes, I determined that I had plenty of time to try the continental breakfast in the hotel. Ben was already in the dining room and gestured to me to join him. In blue jeans, ivory dress shirt and black blazer, he appeared considerably less geeky than he did in his running togs. The broad shoulders were still there but now it became evident he was quite lean; when he walked back to the buffet I could see he had narrow hips and no butt. From across the table his eyes were liquid cobalt. My reassessment: Handsome Viking.

  Having missed my first chance to learn about this laconic man, I turned up my journalistic talents and conducted what amounted to an interview with a reluctant subject. It was like being on a chat room receiving only monosyllabic responses. However, I did learn that he was born in Massachusetts to an American father and a Danish mother, but grew up in Copenhagen from the age of two. He attended college and graduate school in the states and he was here as a guest lecturer at the University of New York in Prague for the coming spring semester. He had only arrived the week before and had already found an apartment he would move into the next week.

  My first official day at the office wouldn't be until Monday, but I went in right after breakfast to get oriented. It turned out I was given just enough time to find my desk before I received my first assignment. At 3pm I was in the waiting room of a Czech doctor who had authored yet another diet book, another variation of the low-carb theme. The appointment had been made weeks earlier. My arrival in Prague allowed it to fall to me. Obviously this guy was not very high on the list, if they gave it to the new girl not yet even on the payroll.

  My editor gave me the address, a metro map and fare. Her name was Renee and she was from London; appearing to be only a few years older than me, maybe 30, I thought. Renee assured me it would be a splendid way to learn the "trolleys" – the transportation system – but cautioned me to give myself plenty of time. She also told me I'd be having dinner with her at 8 and scrawled the name and address of a restaurant on a card. "After that we're going clubbing, so wear sophisticated sexy."

  Waiting for Doctor Rotsenovic gave me time to again consider Ben. Picturing him in his comic running getup brought a smile to my face. His quiet, reticent manner seemed challenging and magnetic. Men usually split themselves open to me if I return half a glance. This one gave me nothing but nice manners. I tried to picture his face and all I could see were his dancing blue eyes as they engagingly drank in my conversation during breakfast. Trying to conjure any other part of him produced only that goofy two-tone orange jogging costume and brought a grin to my lips.

  The diet doctor was an easy interview, self-centred and full of his new celebrity. When he wasn't hitting on me, he talked a lot about his diet, and even more about himself. "Smarmy" is a description that came to mind for Dr. Rotsenovic. By the time we concluded the interview, I felt like I wanted a bath.

  Thankfully, there was plenty of time for one before dinner with Renee. Back in my room I drew a shallow bath and reclined while the water continued to run. The warmth felt soothing, relaxing. I squeezed the washcloth to over my arms and neck and breasts, enjoying the sensation of the warm, dribbling water. The fragrance of the soap was foreign to me – light, but not overly sweet.

  I gave in to the intoxicating effects of the bath, closed my eyes and began wondering what Ben might be doing. Was he in his room next door? Was he still at work? I envisioned now not Ben the super geek, but Ben the Viking; his quiet smile, his long arms. I imagined what the rest of him supporting the broad shoulders might be like: firm, flat chest; forged abs; and rippling, lean flanks? What was it about him that was so enticing? Was it that he was so unusually calm and collected around me?

  Men were often nervous around me, but I never really understood why; I don't think of myself as beautiful – I have a l
ist of flaws that would fill a book. But in eleventh grade Assistant Principle Reynolds once told me, when I was called to his office for dress code violation, that I was no longer allowed to wear the style of clothes made popular by Britney Spears, even though the other girls did, because it was different for me. I exuded too much of "whatever It was that boys liked." He said, "It's as if you are in a library where all the girls are whispering the same words, except you are yelling them."

  Now I was older and more sophisticated in stature and wardrobe, yet my sexuality still seemed to ooze from me just as much. In truth I've not only come to accept it, I've learned how to use it.

  Boys who didn't get nervous were dangerous. The nervous ones never broke my heart. Don't get me wrong; I could fall in love with the nervous ones as easy as anyone. The trouble is that I was far more likely to be the one who broke their poor hearts when I would suddenly lose interest for some moody, dark, brooding bipolar bastard just because of his rare indifference to me.

  But Ben was not dark and brooding. He was cheerful and smart and a little goofy, on purpose, I supposed. He's the kind of guy street workers waved to on his morning run just because he was friendly and cordial. I decided that he was not indifferent toward me, but confident and self-assured. As I considered Ben, my fingers, which had found their way to my vagina, were slowly making circles on my clit. Lateral ellipses allowed my three middle fingers, held flat and firm, to washboard over the sensitive little bud. With the image of Ben's deep blue eyes watching me it was only a matter of moments for me to feel a mild orgasm resonate through the core of my body. I sloshed about enough in the tub to splash small waves over the rim.

  After relaxing a bit longer in the warm water, I shaved the stubble from my legs and pubic area, finished my bath and then did my hair and make-up. At that the real task began: deciding what to wear for the evening. After trying on three different outfits, I chose a silver lame blouse with a black micro skirt and don't-you-just-wish high-heeled sandals. Underneath I wore a black lace bra and black thong. I topped everything off with large silver hoop earrings and a silk, black and silver shawl.