by Writing Shark
Mr. Hoover has a visitor
Harold Hoover rubs his eyebrows and rests his head in his hands. Running a school is hard work, especially at a time when teachers think they’re running the show… just like parents. And Harold stands in between. Of course, he can’t reveal his frustration to the parents or the teachers, the risk of putting his foot in his mouth is too great. This balancing act demands a lot of his energy, but at least he has a comfortable home in which to relax. And there is his cozy, loving wife with whom he… Harold groans again. He knows it’s been too long since he’s given his wife Grace the attention she deserves.
She is a true angel, helpful, gracious, patient and reliable. Harold loves Grace with all his heart. After two weeks with her mother, it is high time for some closeness and tenderness and Harold loves his wife all the more, she is patient and reserved with her needs which, he is sure, will drive Grace into his loving arms just as he wants to snuggle into hers.
“Tonight will be a good night,” he says to himself, trying to convince himself, thinking of his wife.
There’s a knock at the door. Harold looks at the clock. Ten more minutes until he was going to leave his office. He has no more appointments but he is a good teacher and always listens to his students and their parents.
“Come in.” He’s just too nice. Then a head pokes through the door. A very lovely head. Harold Hoover’s eyes go wide.
“Mr. Hoover?”
“Miss Schoomer. How can I help you?” The woman is wearing a stunning dress, totally inappropriate for the occasion. This shocks the older gentleman, but the sight only makes him more eager for the evening with his wife. Just this one more conversation, he thinks to himself.
“It’s about Elise.” Of course it’s about that.
“Yes! Oh, God yes! Harold yes!” Harold Hoover is in heaven. Never did he imagine that this mediocre evening could go so incredibly. Never did he imagine that any evening at all could turn out so incredible.
Amy Schoomer leans over his desk, elbows propped on the dark wood, papers and school books crinkling underneath. Her tender buttocks rise to meet each of his paniced thrusts, tentative at first, then increasingly demanding, in an attempt to bring him to a climax that makes him forget everything around him.
It had started normally. Trouble with her daughter. Nothing new, even if young Alice must have had a healing influence on Miss Schoomer’s daughter. Still, there were difficulties. Apparently, Elise had kept Miss Schoomer from an important date or something like that. Miss Schoomer, Amy, Harold is fucking her right now, surely he can use her first name, Amy had told him a story but Harold can’t remember it.
Only the hot, willing, and damn pliable body of Amy fills his mind. No thought of work, her naked ass vibrates far too sweetly with every blow of the two bodies. No appointments, the lonely woman sighs and whimpers far too slutty for that. And no Grace, for that… Harold Hoover doesn’t know why. Grace is his life… but….
“Fuck Harold… thank you… I need that… FUCK! Fuck you are so good… thank you… fuck me… FUCK! Fuck I’ve been waiting for this for so long…” Grace doesn’t count at this moment. Grace would… understand, I’m sure. Yeah, yeah that’s for sure.
The two weeks had been long and Harold had missed his lovely wife. She wasn’t there. And in the last few days, she’d been so distant. Wasn’t she? Harold doesn’t know. More essential now is to lift her leg and watch Amy shift her weight and turn her head toward him.
“Amy you are so beautiful,” Harold says, but means that her tight cunt is tight and wet. The words just don’t form in his brain. He’s too nice for that. And so far he’s always been proud of it. Grace is far too regal for him to use that vulgar language. They’re both teachers, they have a job, and…
“Fuck Haroold you fuck this cunt so good. My cunt is overflowing from your fucking monster cock!” And within Harold all dams break. His pants and underpants are hanging down his trembling legs, his belt is banging loudly against the table with each of his wild and uncontrolled thrusts and one of his socks has slipped down almost over his ankle.
“Fuck you horny whore! Fuck I’ll fuck you in your fucking cunt! Fuck! Fuck! You fucking cunt!”
“Yes! Harold yes! I am your cunt! I am a dirty cont!” Amy contracts her muscles and shrieks out an orgasm that, would Harold still think of his wife, has nothing to do with Grace.
Nothing to do with the Grace he thinks still exists.
“Oh God Haroold you fuck me so good!” Every word hurts her heart, her soul, feels like she’s puking molten lead. But Amy perseveres. She has a mission. Her Master, the Lord of all that she is, has given her a mission. Her God has spoken to her. Amy doesn’t know what he has in mind. She only knows what she has to do, and she fulfills her part of his plan with fervor as if her life depended on it. What it does.
Amy has watched the family to whom she gave birth to a daughter. With awe and fear she has watched Elise grow and develop into a Winters. She has seen her God mold the women around him into what serves him best and she was afraid. Afraid that she would become something she couldn’t recognize no matter how hard she tried. Afraid that her daughter, as pleasant as it was to relinquish responsibility over her, would see in her only a machine that would keep her cunt wet and her brain empty. But those fears didn’t really play a role in her life and that too had scared Amy, which in turn wasn’t important.
The only fear was that her God would not fuck her anymore. That she would become useless after all she had been through. Full of fear, she had watched her god reward his servant women with sex and kisses. But not Amy. Once he had fucked her almost to the point of insanity, so he just put his divine dick inside her and made her come and come. Then nothing more. She had only sucked his cock and licked every cunt that came in front of her face. Hellen and the others are rewarded by sex and orgasms. Amy is rewarded by the hope of sex and orgasms. And this reward was enough, actually, just the hint she might, after getting fucked, hope that she would still be useful to her god, to bring her to Harold.
So Amy pretends to be a desperate, lonely woman, overwhelmed by her life and so broken that she would sleep with a man like Harold Hoover. She thinks of her god James, gets wet at the thought of him, does what she can to please him, and lets the torture wash over her. The only good thought in her tortured, defeated mind is the all-encompassing hope that James Winters will look at her proudly.
And maybe he will fuck her. After all, she’s getting him two new, better cunts than her useless, worn-out cunt. That makes Amy happy. She’s being helpful. She helps. James will be proud of her.
And so she throws herself at the old, weak, stupid man, enjoying the pathetic substitute of a cock he tries to shove into her wet, willing hole. She squeezes out the words she wants to say to James, throws at the weak man the looks she wants to give him. She has so much to give. If she’ll just let a lot of herself be taken, let herself be used, then maybe, with any luck, James will kiss what’s left of Amy… kiss.
“Yes, oh god yes! Fffffuuuuck!”
Writing Shark 