Taking two loads in one day

The door clicks shut behind me, a soft, final sound. The stale air of Mr. Henderson’s office smells like old paper and his cheap cologne. I clutch my assignment to my chest like a shield, my heart hammering against my ribs.

“Close the blinds, would you?” he says, not looking up from his desk. His voice is flat, a command.

I hesitate, a knot tightening in my stomach. “Sir, I just wanted to drop this off...”

His head snaps up. His eyes are hard, glassy. “I said, close the blinds.”

My hands tremble as I reach for the cord. The room dims, the fluorescent light now buzzing louder in the sudden intimacy. He stands up, his chair scraping harshly against the linoleum. He’s taller than I remember. Wider.

“Come here,” he says, and it isn’t a request.

My feet feel glued to the floor. “Mr. Henderson, I need to get to my next class...”

He rounds the desk, a predator moving in on his prey. He grabs my wrist, his fingers digging into my skin. “You’re not going anywhere.” He pulls me, shoving me back against the edge of his desk. The wood bites into my thighs. “You’ve been wanting this, haven’t you? Walking in here with your short skirt, leaning over my desk.”

“No, I—” My protest is cut off as his hand dives under my skirt, ripping at my tights. The nylon tears with a sharp, obscene sound.

“Stop, please don’t do this,” I gasp, pushing at his chest. He is immovable, a mountain of flesh and heat.

He pushes me back flat on the desk, papers scattering around me. My assignment flutters to the floor. He’s yanking at his belt, the buckle clinking. His other hand pins my hip to the cold, hard surface. I squeeze my thighs shut, fighting him.

“Open your legs,” he grunts, a flush creeping up his neck. When I don’t comply, he forces my knees apart with his own, his body a heavy, suffocating weight over me. I feel the head of his cock, thick and blunt, nudging against my panties. He doesn’t even take them off, just shoves the wet fabric aside and rams himself inside me in one brutal, dry thrust.

I cry out, a choked sound of pain and violation. But my body, the traitor, is wet from the struggle, from the shock. He slides in to the hilt, and then he freezes.

He looks down at me, his breath ragged. A flicker of surprise, then anger, crosses his face. “You little slut,” he hisses, his face inches from mine. “You’ve done this before. You’re not a virgin.”

There’s no shame in me, only a desperate need for it to end. “Please, get off me,” I whisper, trying to buck him off, but my pelvis only grinds against his.

“Shut up,” he snarls, and begins to move. He fucks me with a punishing rhythm, each stroke hard and fast against my cervix. “Tell me to stop again,” he grunts, his hand finding my throat, squeezing just enough to make my pulse pound in my ears.

“Stop,” I bleat, my voice weak and pathetic.

“Louder,” he commands.

“Stop!” I cry out, but even as I say it, I feel it. That ghastly, glorious spark igniting in my core. It’s a betrayal. My hips begin to meet his thrusts, my body chasing the friction. I hate myself for it. I hate him for it.

“Your pussy is fucking greedy,” he growls, sensing my surrender. He fucks me faster, harder, the desk squeaking against the floor. The first orgasm hits me like a tidal wave, ripping a moan from my throat that I can’t control. My back arches off the desk, my legs tightening around his waist.

“That’s it,” he moans, his rhythm faltering. “Fucking cum for your teacher.”

He doesn’t slow down. He fucks me right through the aftershocks, driving me towards another peak. It builds faster this time, a frantic, desperate pressure. I hate my body for doing this, for responding to the assault with pleasure. I cum again, a sharp, violent clench of my inner walls that makes him hiss in surprise.

“Fucking hell,” he spits, and I feel his hot seed pump deep inside me, flooding my cunt. He collapses on top of me for a second, a dead weight. Then he pulls out, his softening cock leaving a wet smear on my thigh.

He stands up, zipping his pants. “Get out,” he says, not looking at me.

I slide off the desk, my legs shaking, my skirt crumpled. The wetness between my legs is a cold, sticky shame. I grab my fallen assignment and rush out the door, not daring to look back.

The front door of my uncle’s house is unlocked. I stumble in, tears finally spilling down my cheeks. The smell of his dinner—something greasy—hangs in the air. He’s in the living room, a beer in his hand, his service revolver on the coffee table.

He looks up, his eyes narrowing when he sees my face. “What’s wrong, girl? What happened?”

I crumble. The words pour out like a confession. “My teacher… Mr. Henderson… he raped me. In his office. I told him no, I told him to stop, but he didn’t listen. He… he put it in me, Uncle. He came inside me.”

I expect him to be angry. To grab his gun and storm out. Instead, he sets the beer down slowly. He doesn’t move. His eyes don’t blaze with fury—they get dark. Heavy. A predatory stillness settles over him.

“Did you…” he starts, his voice low, rough. He licks his lips. “When he was raping you… did you cum?”

The question is a slap in the face. I freeze. “What?”

“Answer me,” he says, his voice hard now. “Your cunt. Did it get wet? Did you cum?”

Fresh shame, hot and sharp, floods me. “…Yes,” I whisper.

His pants begin to tent. I can see the outline of his hardening cock straining against the fabric. “Did he cum in you? Spill his seed in your little teen cunt?”

Tears are streaming again. “Yes.”

He stands up, his erection jutting out obscenely. He walks over to me, not with comfort, but with a predator’s intent. He grabs my chin, forcing me to look at him. “You’re a slut, that’s why you came. You liked it. You spread your legs for your teacher and you liked it. You seduce men. It’s what you do.”

“No, Uncle, I didn’t…”

“Shut up.” He spins me around and bends me over the arm of the sofa. My skirt is still askew from earlier. He pulls it up, exposing my soaked panties, still slick with my teacher’s cum. “Look at this pussy. You’re already wet, aren’t you? You’re a goddamn slut.”

He doesn’t ask. He doesn’t warn. He pulls my panties down, and I feel the same horrible, familiar pressure at my entrance. His cock is different from the teacher’s—longer, thinner—but it slides into me with ease, aided by my teacher’s mess and my own treacherous slickness.

“Fuck,” he groans, bottoming out. “Your cunt is too good, girl. Just too fucking good.”

He doesn’t rape me violently like the teacher did. He fucks me. He grabs a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back as he pistons into me, his hips slapping against my ass. “You came for your teacher? You’ll fucking cum for me too. Now. Cum on your Uncle’s cock.”

He doesn’t let up. He fucks me with a possessive, cruel rhythm, his balls slapping against my clit with every thrust. And this time, it’s different. The shame is still there, but it’s laced with a dark, illicit heat. I don’t have to hide it. He wants me to enjoy it.

He leans forward, his hot breath in my ear. “I love a good teen cunt,” he grunts. “So tight. So warm. You’re going to take my load just like you took your teacher’s.”

I cum. It’s explosive, a gush of pleasure that makes me scream, my body shuddering violently under his. He fucks me through it, grunting like an animal.

“That’s fucking right,” he growls, his rhythm becoming erratic. He buries himself deep, and I feel his pulse against my inner walls as he lets go, pumping his seed into me until it drips down my thigh, mingling with the teacher’s cum.

He pulls out and slaps my bare ass. “Clean yourself up. And don’t you ever lie to me about what a slut you are again.”

I lie there, draped over the sofa, my body trembling. I came twice. With my teacher, and with my uncle. And this time… I enjoyed it even more. And that is the truest, most disgusting thing of all.