Confessions of a Teenage Cock Teaser

       My name is Nessa and I like to make boys cry.  I’ve got the perfect, exotic face and fine-boned body of a supermodel (in fact, I started modeling when I was 16).  My luxuriant teased brown hair hangs down almost to my waist and my toned skin is a tawny, olive color I got from my Sicilian grandmother. The only part of my body that isn’t super-slender are my gravity-defying size D tits (thanks to a boob job when I was 16).  Boys just can’t resist me.  They stare when I come into the room and they can’t take their eyes off me.  You might say that I become the sole object of their obsession.  They can’t sleep at night until they’ve beaten off fantasizing about me.  And that’s how I like it.  Some girls don’t want to be seen as sexual objects, but I don’t mind at all.  It gives me incredible power that I just love to use.  I’ve learned how to turn cock teasing into a science. Nothing gets me off more than watching a guy stammering and sweating while he asks me for sex.  And then I get off even more when I deny him.  If he tries to force himself on me, I give him a sharp slap across the face.  Better still, if I’m in a really nasty mood, I jab my knee into his balls (the first time I did that, at age 14, I had an orgasm).   No matter what I decide to do, later that night, I’ll give myself a couple of dynamite orgasms with my vibrator and dildo just thinking about how much I’ve fucked him over.

       By the time I turned 18, which is when this story takes place, I had already accumulated a wealth of sexual experience.  You’ve probably heard of those little geniuses who graduate college by the time they’re 18.  Well, that would make me a sexual genius because by 18 I had done what most girls don’t do by 22.  Starting when I turned 12, I began to have sex on the brain basically all the time.   I gave my first hand job at age 13, my first blow job at 14 and lost my cherry at 15.  My mother was my inspiration and teacher.  She taught me how to masturbate so that I wouldn’t ever be dependent on a man.  I was born when she was only 20, so she was still pretty hot when I hit my teen years.  I got my face and figure from her.  My father walked out on us when I was 10 after abusing her for years.  Based on her experience, she taught me that men are pigs and deserve to be treated as such.  Women are the superior sex so they ought to use men to get sexual pleasure but not give any back without exacting a high price.   She showed me how to squeeze a man’s balls or how to kick him in the groin with my knee or shoe.  As I grew into my teen years, she was my sexual confidant and she let me watch on a hidden camera how she handled her boyfriends.  We also took out our sexual aggression on my little brother whose ass we used to whip a bright shade of red on a regular basis, especially after he reached puberty.  There were times he couldn’t even sit down for several days after one of these sessions.

       At school, I couldn’t be bothered to pay much attention in class.  I was always plotting which guy I would seduce and how I would torment him.  Most of them were too intimidated by my looks to try to hit on me, but some of the more macho, jockey types weren’t so inhibited.  Those were the ones I really liked to humiliate.  However, sometimes I would go after a nerd who I could tell was infatuated with me but would never in a million years try to even talk to me.  I would pretend to be friendly.  He wouldn’t believe his luck when I’d casually ask him if he wanted to study with me.  Usually I’d make him cheat on a test for me in exchange for a vague promise of sex.  Just being close to me teased his cock mercilessly.  I’d make sure to wear something really provocative when we studied, like a bare-midriff halter top or jean shorts that barely covered my tight little ass.  When he had finally taken the test for me and the time came for his reward, he was so worked up that I usually was able to make him cum in his pants.  That’s my special talent.  I love the look on a guy’s face when he’s had his little accident and he starts to smell that disgusting cum odor as it soaks through his pants.  That’s when I go in for the kill and say something like: “What’s the matter?  Did you sperm your pants?  That’s a total turn-off.  You can leave now and don’t come back until you learn some self-control.”   By now his face has gone totally red and there’s a dark stain spreading on the front of his pants.  The minute he’s gone, I start masturbating frantically with my dildo until I rack up a couple of mindshattering orgasms.

       Of course, the problem with my strategy was that I couldn’t ever have sex if I only focused on humiliation.  So, the trick was to combine the two.  Usually it was with an older guy, like in college, who was a little more experienced than your average high school boy.  I might make him eat my pussy until I came and then tell him I was too tired to take care of him, so he’d just have to jerk himself off.  I’d make him do that in front of me and then eat his spunk.  You should see the humiliated look on his face when I’d force him to do that!  Or I’d let him fuck me but only after he’d eaten me out a few times.  And then, after he’d had his orgasm, I’d say something cutting like: “Is that the best you can do?  I expect at least three orgasms when I fuck and you only gave me one.” Or “your cock just doesn’t make it for me.  I thought you’d be bigger” (I’d say that even if he’s well endowed). 

So, whether I’d let them have sex with me or just cock tease them to death, I didn’t get a lot of repeat offenders.  They’d usually crawl off with their dick between their legs wishing they had never met me.  Sometimes I played games where I’d treat them nicely the first time we had sex, but then I’d cut them to the quick the next time.  I also had this trick where I’d grab their scrotum by the neck where it connects to their cock with my left hand and squeeze hard so that the balls bulge.  Then I’d jab my sharp fingernails of my right hand into the balls or mash them between my fingers until they screamed.   So, two or three times was usually the maximum I ever spent on any one guy.  But the way I figure, there’s so many men out there that I never have to look very far for my next victim.  And I have total confidence that I can seduce any man I want to.  I really couldn’t care less that I had a reputation as the biggest cock teaser in my school.  That didn’t stop guys from drooling over me anyhow.

       By the time I hit my senior year, which was just after my 18th birthday, I had also had a couple of affairs with much older men which were a lot of fun.  Even though they had a lot more sexual experience than high school cocks, they were usually very intimidated by a beautiful young girl like me.  So, they were very easy to manipulate.  That’s where this story comes in.

       It was the first week of classes and I was wondering how I’d make it through another boring year diddling myself under my desk while waiting for the weekend to roll around.  My math teacher was new at the school.  His name was James Philips (or so it said on the sign on his desk) and he looked to be in his early 30s.  He was kind of cute in a nerdy sort of way and the girls in the class got all turned on talking about him at lunch.  I should mention that I formed a club of the best looking, most popular girls in the school.  Naturally, I was the club’s president.  We shared a lot of intelligence on boys and plotted various schemes to entrap and humiliate them.  My attitude toward other girls was about the same as my attitude toward boys: a feeling of superiority.  I liked the idea of controlling and shaping the behavior of this group of beautiful bitches.  The difference between them and me was that, even though they were all really hot, high school girls, like high school boys, are still pretty insecure about their sexuality.  But I’m not.  I have total self-confidence.  I know that I’m almost always the most desirable woman in the room.  You could say that I’m pretty arrogant when it comes to sex and you’d be right. 

       So, my friends were all gossiping about what Mr. Philips looked like with his clothes off, how big his cock was and what he’d be like in bed.  I didn’t have any action going on right then since I had just fucked over and spit out a guy that I had met on the beach at the end of the summer.  So, I decided that instead of joining this juvenile game, I’d take matters into my own hands.

       “How about if I tell you just what he’s like by fucking him?”  I said.

       “You mean you’d do it with a teacher?” asked Lisa, a sexy little, black-haired Latina.

       “That’s right.  And I’ll make all of you a bet I can do it with him in a week.”  There weren’t any takers which shows you how much they respected me in the sex department.

       That conversation was on a Wednesday.  The next day in class, I was dressed to kill in a supertight pair of designer jeans, four-inch heels and a tight black leotard top that made my tits look like they were going to tear the fabric.  At the beginning of class, I went up to Mr. Philips and got close enough for him to get a good whiff of my expensive perfume.  I had already noticed that he was casting sidelong looks at me, but, of course, I was used to that from any man who wasn’t gay.  Now he couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off of my chest.

       “Uh, Mr. Philips, I wonder if I could ask you for a favor.  I’m having a little trouble seeing the board, so could I please move up to a seat in front.  Lisa said she’ll switch with me.”  Lisa, who was only a few feet away in the front row looked a little startled, but then she got what I was doing and she jumped up to say that she’d be happy to move to the back.  He gave his permission and pretty soon I was sitting in the front row using my body to cock tease him mercilessly.  I’d say he was pretty distracted for the next hour.  To give him a little variety, I stuck out one of my legs and showed him my pretty, tanned ankle set off with a sexy little anklet and my spiked heel.

At the end of the class, I took my time gathering up my stuff and got up to leave after the other students were already out the door.  I flashed him my 1000-watt cover girl smile and said: “I really like how you explained those equations.”  Then, without waiting for his stammered “thank you,” I tossed my long hair over my shoulder and walked slowly out the door.  I made sure to pour the maximum amount of sex into each step, which wasn’t hard given my tight jeans and heels.  I didn’t have to watch him to know that his eyes were glued to my 32 inch hips and tiny ass, desperately trying to imagine what that little heart-shaped area where my legs met my butt looked like without clothes on.  You know what I mean, when a girl’s wearing heels and nothing else, her ass gets cocked upwards so that you can see her sex from behind.  I guess that’s why men go so gaga over girls in heels.  It’s also one of the reasons I always wear heels; the other is that they make my sexy legs look even sexier.

I knew I had him by the balls.  I wouldn’t have been surprised if he locked the door and jerked off as soon as I left.  He was certainly ripe for the picking – or torturing.  I was sort of hoping that he was married because one of my fantasies was to make a man leave his wife in exchange for sex with me and then dump him.  But it turned out later that he was actually just coming off of a bad divorce, which also had its advantages in terms of fucking with his mind.

My plan was to wear a different outfit each day that would highlight a different one of my assets.  That first day, I gave him a general introduction to everything my body had to offer, but I didn’t show him too much flesh.  The next day would be his chance to check out my legs.  I wore my super-skimpy Lycra shorts, the ones that showed a little bit of my ass both from above and below.  I had on a tight tee shirt that I tied off at my waist.  That would give him a flash of my midriff, but not too much because it was my long, slender legs I wanted him to admire.  Before class, I anointed them with moisturizer.  Since I had just had a wax job for the start of school, they were super-smooth, tanned, and with the moisturizer, they glistened.   This time I went with even a higher pair of heels: 5 inch platform sandals with stilettos.  They made my leg muscles extra taut and sexy.

Well, you should have seen the effect this ensemble had on him!  And I didn’t help matters much by caressing my legs slowly and sensuously .  The trick was to make him think that it was his hand on my flesh and not mine.  I was pretty sure I saw an erection in his pants and he certainly kept getting confused about what he was trying to say.  My friends were giggling and texting each other under their desks.  After the class, they all gave me high fives. 

Since that was a Friday, he had the weekend to fantasize about me.  I don’t know what he was doing, but I could make a pretty informed guess.  As for me, I don’t mind admitting that I was pretty turned on.  On Friday night, I went out picked up a guy at a college bar I like to frequent.  Since, despite my looks, I’m under age, I have to get a guy to buy me a drink.  It usually doesn’t take me long to pick somebody up.  This time it was a frat guy, maybe 22 years old. Of course, the whole time, I was thinking about Mr. Philips and what I was going to do to him, so I was just using the frat boy to douse my flaming pussy.    I let him fuck me but left some pretty good scratch marks in his back.  That didn’t discourage him, so he came back for more the next night.  This time I sat on his face before fucking him.  I gave his balls a pretty hard squeeze as he came, so he had to be in some kind of pain.  When he asked me when he could see me next, I told him that I was going to be pretty busy for the next week, so I couldn’t commit to anything.

I thought that – and the ball squeeze -- would give him the message that it was over, but, no, he started calling me on my cell phone the next day.  When I didn’t pick up, he kept calling every few minutes.  Boy, was I pissed off.  I finally took his call and arranged to meet him in the same bar Sunday evening. I really didn’t want to see him again, so I put on my usual rejection act.  I acted cold as an icicle.  He was too dense to notice, so he put his hand on my leather-clad butt.  “C’mon, baby, let’s get out of here,” he said, his voice slurred from too much alcohol.  Those were the last words out of his mouth.  The next thing I did was to put my hands on his shoulders to hold him in position and then drive my knee with all my strength into his groin.  My reward came almost instantaneously.   He doubled over and I pushed him down to the floor where he collapsed gagging.  I stuck the sharp heel of my boot into his abdomen.  “Don’t call me again or I’ll grind your balls into hamburger meat,” I threatened and then jabbed my heel viciously into his gut.  He was trying to stop himself from heaving as I walked out of the bar with every male eye in the place glued to my fabulous bod.  When I got home, I nearly burned out my vibrator on my clit and cunt.  After I hit five, I lost track of the number of orgasms I gave myself.

You might think that a weekend like that would have cooled my jets a little, but the thing is that acting sadistically toward guys just enflames me even more.  So, the next day, which was Monday, my pussy was sopping wet, my clit engorged and I was ready to proceed with my wicked plans for Mr. Philips.  My schedule called for this to be bare midriff day.  Normally, I would combine a bare midriff with a pair of short-shorts.  But I didn’t want him to be too distracted by my legs; those had to remain in his wild imagination from Friday.  I decided to wear the same pair of leather pants that I had used the night before to ball-break Mr. Frat Boy.  They rode pretty low below my navel.  For my top, I wore a white tank top that ended just below my breasts and also showed off my slender arms and shoulders.  I’ve got a pierced navel with a jewel that would keep his eyes focused on my midriff, which is one of my best features.  It’s very flat and only 22 inches around.  Although it doesn’t have the definition of a bodybuilder’s stomach, it’s still pretty hard and taut.  I was tanned a dark brown from hours of lying on the beach during the summer, so that will give you a pretty idea what I looked like.   Well, the moment I walked in the room, he was a goner.  He couldn’t take his eyes off of me and he was stuttering and stammering throughout the lesson.  He must have really had a “hard “ weekend (pun definitely intended!). 

Tuesday I was ready to up the ante again, this time with my stupendous breasts.  Like I said, I had them done when I was 16.  They’re also one of my best features.  In order to make him drool, I wore a skimpy beach halter dress that barely covered my tits.  I was taking a chance because I probably could have been called to the vice-principal for dressing like that.  What I did was to wear a light silk shirt so that I wouldn’t cause a riot in my other classes.  But I took it off just before math class and waltzed in with my two guns blazing.  Poor Mr. Philips must have burned his eyeballs staring at me during class.  My tits are so firm that they don’t absolutely need a bra, especially when I’m wearing a halter dress.  So, in addition to their exposed tanned tops, he feasted his eyes on my erect nipples poking prominently through the thin material.

At the end of class, I walked up to him so that my breasts were less than two feet away from his obscene gaze.  “I’ve got some questions about today’s assignment,” I said in a low, husky voice.  “Could I come in after school to discuss them with you?”  “Sure, sure,” he stuttered, no doubt not believing his luck.  But I had no intention of coming in.  It was all part of the tease.

On Wednesday, I went in for the kill.  I dressed conservatively in the morning, but just before math class, I went into the bathroom and changed into my most provocative outfit.  I wore a micro-mini-skirt, sky-high heels and the same silk shirt as the day before, unbuttoned to my cleavage and tied up tightly under my rack.  All my assets were now on display – except for one.  I looked like a high class whore on the prowl for fresh meat.  I sat down and turned my desk so that Mr. Philips would have an unobstructed view of my legs.  Before class started, he came up to me, trying desperately to make eye contact instead of staring at my breasts.

“Nessa, where were you yesterday?  I thought you were going to come by after school to talk about some questions,” he said with a certain desperation in his voice.  I could see that he had really suffered when I hadn’t shown up the day before and he had been working up his courage to broach the subject with me.

“I was too busy,” I responded coolly .  “How about today?”  He nodded eagerly, obviously willing to accept the possibility of being stood up and humiliated by me again.

Sometime in the middle of the period, I slowly uncrossed my legs, spread them apart, cocked my hips and then slowly crossed them again.  His mouth dropped open and he was totally paralyzed.  The other students may not have guessed what was happening, but I certainly knew since I had made it happen: I had just flashed him my shaved, wet little pussy (did I mention that my outfit did not include panties?).  I pretended as if nothing had happened, waited another five minutes and did it again.  By the end of class, he was no better than a gelatinous mass of protoplasm with a huge erection which he tried to hide by holding a book in front of his crotch.  Of course, he didn’t fool me or my friends.  After class, I got lots more high-fives and excited questions about what I planned to do next.  I told the girls to wait for me  at the neighborhood café after school and I’d probably having something to report.

True to my method, I didn’t race back to the math classroom right after school.  I gave it a good twenty minutes, enough to make him wonder whether I was going to show up at all, but not enough for him to give up all hope.  In the hallway in front of his classroom, I took off my shirt.  Now I was only wearing a skimpy red string bikini top that barely covered my tits.   I knocked on the door.

“Come in,” said a muffled voice.

I turned the handle and slid into the room.  He started to stand up as he caught sight of my half-undressed body.  His mouth was wide open and his crotch stuck out like a tent.  He sat back down on his desk staring at me.  This was going to be fun!

“Hi, there, Jim,” I said in my most sultry voice.  “I hope we’re alone.”  Using his first name was, of course, totally deliberate.  I wanted to erase the teacher-student hierarchy and substitute a different hierarchy: me-him.

“Yes, of course, we are, Nessa,” he stammered while his eyes fixated on my two bikini-clad grapefruits.  Boy, was he pathetic!

“What’s the matter, Jim?”  I asked.  “Do you always stare at your students’ tits?”

His face turned red as a beet.  I dropped my bag and slithered up to him.

“I think maybe we’ll forget about quadratic equations for today, OK?”  I said sarcastically.   My breasts were now only a few inches from his face.  “Want to touch them?” I offered.   I picked up his hands and placed them on my breasts.  I let him run his fingers under my bikini and feel my erect nipples.

“Looks like you’ve got a little problem in your pants.  Maybe I can make it feel a little better.”  While he caressed my breasts, not believing his good luck, I ran my fingernail up and down the huge bulge in his pants.  He suddenly gave a strangled cry and went rigid.  I could tell immediately what had happened: he was shooting off in his pants.  What a dork!  His self-control was no better than some high school virgin.

Within seconds, his cum started to seep through the thin fabric of his pants, emitting its characteristically salty stench.  I withdrew my hand quickly and said in my most scolding voice: “Oh, my God!  Look at the mess you’ve made!”  He looked down in horror at his crotch.  It had to have been the single most humiliating moment in his life.  And I had the job of rubbing it in!

I leaned over, took my I-phone out of my bag and snapped a picture of him with his cum-stained trousers.  “I think my friends are going to get quite a kick over this picture,” I said, smiling.

“Oh God, please don’t,” he pleaded desperately.

“Why not?” I asked innocently.

“Nessa, I don’t know what you’re trying to do, but you can’t just dress like that and think you can get away with it.  I’m going to report you to the vice-principal,” he threatened, deciding that to take the offensive was his only hope.  But he hadn’t reckoned with me.

“I can dress any way I want.  I’m not responsible for your pathetic lack of self-control.  In fact, I think the vice-principal might also be very interested in this picture.”

He now recognized that he was screwed, that I had checkmated him in a game at which he was an amateur and I was a master.

“What do you want from me?” he asked plaintively.  “I’ll do whatever you want.”

Now I had him where I wanted him.  “OK, the first thing you need to do is tell me the truth: have you been fantasizing about me?”  He nodded. 

“How often?” 

“Uh, a lot.”

“I asked you how often,” I demanded imperiously.

“Pretty much all the time.”

That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.   I smirked at him: “In that case, if you want me to do anything for you, don’t you think you should control yourself around me?”

“I’m sorry,” he said, seemingly on the verge of tears.  “I couldn’t help it.  You’re … you’re .. just so beautiful.”  He was getting more pathetic by the moment, but that’s exactly what I wanted.

“OK, if you don’t want me to show that picture around the school, you’re going to have to think of my pleasure first and not your own.  Now, lie down on the floor.”

He looked shocked at my command but I followed it up by pointing a long-nailed finger at the floor by my feet.  “On your back,” I ordered.  He started to say something, but then thought better of it and lay down on the floor.  I immediately straddled his head facing his feet and lowered myself down onto his face.  This is my favorite position with guys: I force their noses into my anus and their mouths into my cunt.   I can lift up slightly and order them to eat me out with their tongues or I can clamp down and cut off their airways.  That’s how I started off with poor ol’ Jim.  As I smothered him with my bottom, I said:

“Now listen to me carefully.  I want you to lick my clit and make me cum.  I’m going to give you two minutes to do it and if you don’t, I’ll choke you with my cunt until you pass out.”

He got the message and went to work.  I was pretty worked up myself already, so it took me a lot less than two minutes to climax.  And I have to admit that he was pretty good with his tongue, although he probably didn’t feel too comfortable with his nose deep inside my ass.  As I came, I had no choice but to come down hard on his mouth so that by the time I recovered enough to raise myself up, he was gasping.  I didn’t give him very long to catch his breath before I lowered my bottom down again and demanded another orgasm.  Since I’m usually multi-orgasmic, this was pretty typical for me.  Two or three are my standard issue.  But given the week-long build up with Jim, I wasn’t surprised that I needed four.  I’m not sure how he felt about it, but he really wasn’t in any position to complain, so he had to keep going until I finally declared a truce. His tongue and jaw must have been pretty exhausted: his problem – not mine.

As I came the third time, I reached down and squeezed his sopping crotch.  It was a little gross from his sticky cum, but my discomfort was more than compensated by his pain: he gave a muffled yelp which felt like a jolt of electricity in my twat, sort of like when I stick my vibrator in there.  It got me going for my fourth time.  I decided to try the same maneuver as I climbed the wall for my orgasm.  It worked like a charm.  I squeezed his balls, he screamed and I came.

I collapsed on his chest with my genitals stopping up his nose and mouth.  I would have suffocated him, but the smell of his cum was a little too much to take.  I finally climbed off of him and smoothed my mini-skirt back in place.  I picked up my phone and took another picture of him lying on the floor with that nasty stain and his face red and smeared all over with my pussy juices.

“You’d better clean yourself off,” I said, pointing at his crotch.  “You look like a pervert and you smell even worse.”

With that withering remark and no word of thanks, I picked up my bag and strode out of the room.  I walked down to the local café where my friends were waiting for me.

“Well,” asked Nikki, a tall blonde with straight hair down to her waist, “did you fuck him?”

“Not exactly,” I replied.  “But I made him cum in his pants and then eat out my pussy four times.”  I showed them the pictures I had taken to prove my story.  “And I’m not done with him yet.  In fact, I’m only getting started.”

(To Be Continued)

Part 2

       I was pretty jazzed by all I had accomplished with Mr. Jim Philips over the previous week.  I had managed to seduce him in record time and get him to cum in his pants.  I had humiliated him to the point where he was now my slave, as bound to me by his out-of-control libido as if I had chained his cock to my pussy.  But I was too smart a femdom to take it for granted.  I needed to cement my control slowly and deliberately.  So, the next day, I didn’t show up for his class.  I had a pretty good idea what must have gone through his sex-addled brain.  At first, he was probably relieved not to see me because he had to have been very nervous about how to act around the 18-year-old bitch who had sat on his face the day before.  But that was what the brain in his head was thinking.  Then the brain in his dick must have taken over and made him frantic with lust.  So, he probably went home that night and beat his meat until he drained all the sperm out his balls.

       I did show up the day after, which was Friday.  I saw him look all pale and awkward when I walked in the door.  I basically ignored him, took my seat in the front row and pretended that nothing had happened two days earlier.  I was wearing a short skirt and a tube top so he had plenty to look at.  I left class without even giving him a backward glance.  He had to be in agony.

       After school, though, I made my way back to his room and opened the door without knocking.  He looked startled, like a deer caught by my two size-D headlights.  I gave him a knowing, arrogant smirk.

       I waited to speak long enough to make the silence awkward. 

“Miss me, Jim?” I finally asked.

He nodded, his mouth wide open, catching flies.

“How’d you like to see me outside of school?” I surprised him.

“I’d love to, Nessa” he said too quickly, probably wondering if he had already crossed the line that could cost him his job.

“OK, so go get a motel room Sunday evening at 8:00 and text me the details.  Here’s my number.  But don’t try to call me.  I’ll only take texts from you.  If you call, you can forget about seeing me.  After you text me, take off all your clothes and lie down on the bed.  Wait for me like that.  I can give you an hour, but no more.  I’ve got a date later on in the evening.”

“OK, ” he said nervously, taking the slip of paper with my cell number, “but, uh, Nessa, would you, I mean,  maybe we could do it tonight?”  Boy was he desperate!

I tossed my long hair across my shoulder and laughed: “You can’t be serious.  I’ve got guys lined up on my calendar for the next three weeks.  You ought to consider yourself lucky that I’m squeezing you in so soon.  Oh, by the way, between now and then, do me a favor and keep your hands off that wiener of yours.  I want your balls full.  Got it?”

I decided not to get my rocks off before I had my next encounter with Jim.  That would make it all the more intense when it finally happened.  I kept myself busy over the next two days going shopping at the mall with my girlfriends, picking out the right outfit for my next move.  They wanted to know what I planned to do to our math teacher, but I kept them guessing.

Around 7:30 on Sunday, I started getting ready.  I did my makeup and my hair and then examined the different clothes I had bought earlier in the day.  I settled on a skimpy lime-green wrap-around skirt, matching thong panties, a similarly-colored half-shirt tied off beneath my breasts, a push-up bra, and spike-heel sandals.   I had to admit that I looked irresistible, especially with my breasts pushed tightly together and most of the cleavage showing. 

While I was getting dressed, I got a text from Jim saying that he was in room 218 of the Capri Motel.   I made sure to give him plenty of time to get more and more anxious about whether I was going to show up.  I passed the time by diddling myself, but stopped short of an orgasm.  By the time I pulled my car up to the motel, I was about ready to explode.  

The door of room 218 was unlocked, the way I had instructed him, but when I let myself in, I was very displeased to see that Jim hadn’t followed all of my instructions: he still had on his boxer shorts which were pretty distended with his erection.  I wasted no time ripping into him.

“What part of naked don’t you understand?” I snapped.  “You were supposed to take off all your clothes.”  He looked at me stupidly as I strode to the side of the bed and swiftly yanked his shorts down below his thighs.  There was his hard cock displayed for the first time for my inspection.  I have to admit that I was pretty impressed.  It must have been a good ten inches long and more than five in diameter.  It was certainly one of the larger organs I had ever seen.  My friends had all underestimated it despite their fevered speculations.  I felt a gush of pussy juice and I knew that I had to get him inside of me.  But as hot as I was, I wasn’t going to rush things.  Cock teasing came first since I had to establish my dominance before I allowed him to fuck me.  Just to make it clear to him that I was in charge, I gave his shaft a wicked slap.

       “OW!” he cried in surprise.

       “That’s what you get when you disobey me,” I intoned sternly but secretly amazed that at age 18 I could assert so much power over an older man. 

       I continued: “You’d better not make a disgusting display of yourself like last time and cum before I give you permission.  If you do, I’ll punish you a lot worse than that.”

       I pulled his boxers down his legs and over his feet, after which I undid my wrap-around skirt and snaked my tiny panties down my legs and over my sandals.  I was now naked from the midriff down.  I decided that I wanted to do this naked all the way, so I took off my top and bra as well.  The lucky guy now got to see all of me for the first time.  But I wasn’t going to let him feel lucky for long.

I grabbed his scrotum at the base and squeezed while simultaneously pinching the head of his penis.  This maneuver was designed to prevent an early ejaculation.  Using his cock as a fulcrum, I swung my lithe body over his chest without letting go of his ball sac.  But what I wasn’t counting on was how close I was to cumming.  The moment my naked pussy touched his chest, I exploded.  Somehow managing to maintain my grip on his balls, I let go of his cock and frantically strummed my clit.  As my orgasm peaked, I shoved my cunt lips against his nose and masturbated myself on him.  I was screaming like a banshee.   I felt him start to cum also, so I instinctively tightened my grip on his balls and twisted them a half turn.  He screamed in pain, which set off another orgasm in my cunt.

       When I finally calmed down, I was encouraged to see that my CBT maneuver on his genitals had prevented him from cumming.  Now I could put the second part of my plan into effect: what I call my “hand-job from hell.”  I also call it the “three step treatment” because it consists of three parts.  During the first part, which is the longest, I give a very slow hand-job.  I usually start out by dry-handing my victim which involves seizing his cock firmly and slowly sliding my hand up and down his shaft.  Then I switch to titillating the head, again, very, very slowly.  After I get tired of doing that, I either squirt some Astroglide on his organ or use my pussy juice as lubricant.  I prefer my natural juices because that’s what they’re designed for.  Now I slick his skin much faster.  I keep a careful eye out to make sure that he’s not about to come.  If he is, then I’ll remove my hand and let him wave about helplessly in the breeze.  Or, if it looks like he’s too close, I put on the squeeze.

       That’s what I did to Jim.  I could tell from how sensitive and swollen his balls were that he had followed my instructions about not beating off for the previous 48 hours.  Lucky for him that he did.  He may have had a serious case of blue-balls, but that would be a long way better than busted balls.  You see, around that time, I was getting seriously into ball busting, so I probably would have beaten his testicles into pulp if I had decided that he had cheated on me.  A few years later, after I perfected my techniques, he would have been in even worse shape.

       Anyway, I gave Jim’s cock the slow torture that comes from hanging on the edge of orgasm for twenty minutes without being allowed to go over it.  He was moaning and gasping to beat the band.  Since I was straddling his chest, he couldn’t see what I was doing, but he sure could feel it.  Every time he got too near, I took my hand away and let his shaft desperately search for a hand or a mouth or a cunt to cum in.  And, boy, was he desperate.  After the third or fourth time, he started pleading with me to let him shoot.  I just laughed and gave his balls a vicious squeeze.  That turned his pleading into a high-pitched scream.

       As he got more or more worked up, I concentrated my efforts on the tip of his cock.  I rubbed some of my cunt juice around the mushroom head in light, rapid strokes.  The noises out of his mouth were pretty incoherent.   Then I pinched open his piss hole and touched the tip of my finger inside.  It was as if I had jolted him with electricity: he nearly threw me off his body.  I somehow managed to stay on top and hold him down.  Then I did it again.  Same response.  When I got tired of that, I took both hands and stretched the skin of his scrotum as far as it would go and then scored it with my nails.  Once again, his body took off and he screamed so loud that I was worried the motel manager might come try to find out what was happening.

       Now it was time for the second step in my torture routine.  I focused my fingers on the delicate underside of his cock, what I call the cum trigger.  I frigged it rapidly, lubricated it and did it again.  Within what seemed like no more than a few seconds, his breathing grew ragged and I recognized the tell-tale signs that he was about to come.  He probably thought that I was going to shut his orgasm down again, but I had a new surprise in store.  As he cried out that he was cumming, I put my palm over the head of his cock and blocked the opening.  When his cum boiled up out of his balls and shot through his gigantic shaft, it ran into my hand and had nowhere to go.  Two days’ worth of sperm backed up all the way down his organ.  The pain must have been excruciating, at least to judge by the howls he was emitting behind my back.  I kept my hand in place until the convulsions of his orgasm abated.  When I lifted it off, the cum dribbled out, which robbed him of the pleasure of shooting his wad. I milked his shaft from the bottom up out, squeezing out all the remaining jizz.

       Time for step three, the cruelest of all.  I had been giving hand jobs now for some five years and had become quite an expert at them, if I do say so myself.  One thing I learned pretty early on is that once a guy has cum, he really doesn’t like to be touched down there for quite a while.  His orgasm seems to make the nerve endings in his genitals go haywire so that the touch of a girl’s fingers that had previously given him such pleasure now became almost intolerable.

       I used Jim’s spunk for lubricant this time around and jacked his still hard cock rapidly.

       “NOOOOOO,” he wailed.

       Of course, that only egged me on.  I rubbed my palm rapidly on top of his cock head, eliciting more desperate pleading: “Please, Nessa, please stop.”  “Stop what?” I played with him. I kept it up until he starting sobbing hysterically, which was the reaction I was waiting for.  I had reduced him to a sniveling slave.

       Unfortunately for him, my victory started a new fire raging in my vagina.  I was going to need another orgasm … and soon.  Although my plan for Jim was to hold off allowing him to fuck me until I had gotten my tentacles into him further, I just couldn’t wait.  It was a combination of what cock teasing a man always does to my cunt and having such a large specimen in my hands.

       I reversed myself and faced Jim’s tear-streaked face.  His hair was plastered with sweat, which gave me an idea.  My hands were sticky with his cum so I wiped them off on his wet scalp.  But I didn’t give him any to contemplate this latest humiliation.

       “Get ready to get fucked, big boy,” I snarled and shoved his still-tumescent erection into my pussy.  He was really in no mood for more sexual activity, even though, of course, he had been fantasizing about this exact moment ever since he first laid eyes on me.  As I pounded up and down on his groin, his eyes looked like they were about to pop out of his head.  He was screaming non-stop from the friction of my vagina on his hyper-sensitive cock.  He probably would have fainted except that I was so close to cumming that it only took about a dozen strokes and a minute of strumming my clit until I had a mind-shattering second orgasm.  I collapsed on his chest with his pole still buried deep inside me.

       When I finally dismounted him, he looked at me with stunned disbelief.  Here he thought he was going to get some good sex off of me and all he got was a painful milking and some post-coital torture.  Meanwhile, I had gotten myself off twice.

       “Why are you so mean, Nessa?” he asked me plaintively in a choked voice.

       I smirked at him.  “Because I can be,” I declared.  “When a girl looks like this, she can do whatever she wants.”  With those words, I got dressed and waltzed out of the motel room, leaving him to contemplate what an 18-year old bitch had just done to him.