Sherry : How I learned to lie with my cunt by Phillisroger

My public figure is Sherry. I am a pretty daughter and shy. I have a confession. I was also embarrassed by my cunt. I knew from my parents that it was somehow a"dirty"thing to own and very secret. They even called it"my privates."My lady friend wouldn't even say the Logos out loud…only mentioning it in whispers. So I was very shy about it all what with walking around knowing that I had a snatch ! At least it was hidden under my dress and step-in. It may seem unknown but as soon as I started to maturate up I learned sex was dirty and it all centered on having a cunt. Something I shouldn't show or touching and certainly not let anyone else see or touch. It was all embarrassing and made me shy. But my shyness must own been what attracted my teacher to consider a special involvement in me ! I wasn't much of a student and this played into his hands…did I write"hands ?"and those fingers on his hands. I have never had such fun in school and after shoal. This is the taradiddle of how I learned to love my cunt.

Mr. Ralph Waldo Emerson was our side teacher and we were studying poetry…studying anything was hard for me, but poetry ? That was excess hard. It was a sentence when lots of affair were hard and confusing…there were my parents, my friends, my sketch and… ( whisper ) …boys and flock of them…boys made us girls giggle and titter and lots of whispering about naughty things like sex and fucking. We couldn't say that word out loud of form. Another such countersign was cunt. We could say most anything else but those two row made us blush. We could even talk about male child'penises but when it came to fucking and cunt those were"whisper countersign"and very personal.

So I did learn things in schooling but there was so often to learn that was not in school…the rest of the world ( and boys ! ). But, as I wrote, we were just then working on poetry and it was unvoiced for me…I was do-or-die for a good ground level so I could graduate and a bad grade in English language wouldn't help. In my judgment I would do anything for a good English people form. It helped…I didn't know it at the time…that my teacher was upright looking. He wasn't all that offspring but immature enough that all us little girl had fancy or compaction on him and at lunch we would giggle about what might happen…if…well, you know, if our phantasy were ever played out in rattling time with this good looking man.

"Sherry,"Mr. Emerson said to me one day,"you are having trouble with your grade in this class. Maybe you need extra help…see me after school day and I will see if I can help."I nodded and felt a rush go through me cerebration of being alone with my handsome teacher. He wasn't a boy but a real true man and I guessed that was why I tingled. I got uncomfortable and adjusted on my chair which caused more tingling and I couldn't wait until after school.

Finally, thankfully, grade for the day were over. I went to my locker, checked my hair…touched my lips with some lipstick…put all my books, except my English Holy Scripture, in the locker and walked to Mr. Emerson's room. He was in the back bureau at a desk and reading something. Maybe he had forgotten about me…I walked into his office and stood there…the illumination was behind me and I wondered if Mr. Emerson could see the outline of my body through my attire. Finally, he looked up…saw me…smiled, said :"Oh yes Sherry…I almost forgot. Come in and close the door. I closed the door and walked to his piffling desk. We were alone and I wondered about it all."Let's talk,"he said,"about poetry and why we study it…how you will learn to enjoy it because, after all, mint of poetry is about making love and affection."I was blushing and felt a shiver. I didn't know why.

Mr. Emerson opened a Koran on his desk and motioned me over beside him. I was breathing strangely and stood beside him looking down at the book."This is the writing of Walt Marcus Whitman,"he said,"and much of his poetry is about love and feelings…read this part."I leaned over to look at the words and his arm went around my waist. It was strong and I wiggled very slightly and began to read the poem about men and womanhood and"feeling myself…alive"and Mr. Emerson was rubbing my backrest."What do you intend,"he asked."It's nice,"I said, not knowing what else to say and then blurted out :"Your hand feels nice on my vertebral column Mr. Emerson."and he rubbed up and down my spine.

My legs were getting light and I moved into him."Are you okay ?"he asked and I could only nod and hope he wouldn't hitch rubbing me."I need a estimable grade,"I finally murmured. Mr. Emerson said :"I know"and now his hand was on my bare leg, more friction. I parted my legs…I was telling him something…that he was arousing me, exciting me, that I wanted a goodness level and more. His hand was so stir and soft on me."You have soft hide,"he whispered and I opened more.

His hand traveled past my human knee, rubbing above my knee…I took hold of the sides of the desk and waited…"gosh !"I oozed,"Mr. Emerson !"I held myself. We were alone in his office, the doorway closed,"Lock the door, Sherry,"he said and I did."cum here you beautiful young woman. I think there is an ‘ A'in your future."I nodded and returned to his side of meat, pegleg apart. Now both his work force were under my dress. I took a cryptic breath and looked down at him and smiled."You shouldn't be doing that, Mr. Emerson,"I said. He looked up at me, smiling, saying :"You're justly. Do you like what I shouldn't be doing to you ?"

"Mr. Emerson, that feels squeamish, really… [ gasp ] [ flex ] really…Oh God !"his digit were inside my lean scanty and feeling my twat. I took a cryptical breathing space and closed my center."You're wet,"he said. I opened my center and smiled."Please Mr. Emerson…"“ Yes ?"“ Don't"I felt his fingers stop…"Don't stop…please don't block !"and his finger went to make on me again. We started talking, playing."Your body is soft,"he said."The subdued part is your bitch,"there was that word."It's a dirty Son, Mr. Emerson."He chuckled."Yes, maybe, but you have a wonderful cunt. I like to feel your cunt."Tell me what you want me to do."ghost me more."“ What do you desire me to relate ?"he asked playfully. His fingers making me dizzy…"cum on,"he said,"what do you want me to palpate ?"I whispered :"My cunt."“ I didn't hear you,"he whispered"and kept feeling…OH GOD was he feeling."Say the watchword out loud, Sherry."I hesitated but my stifle suddenly went weak and I blurted it out :"puss"“ Whose cunt ? William Tell me."I had a little spasm and looked in his smiling eyes…"My cunt, Mr. Emerson."“ You're a good girl,"he said and played with my slit lips.

I lifted my dress and straddled his legs, his delicious fingers now stroking a rhythm and my body, at the shank, moving to his touch. My cunt was sending somewhere special. It was so quiet in the way and I heard a clocking ticking away…my consistence also ticking in a rhythm with virgule, stroke…I put out my deal on his chest, my eyes closed and spasmed on his fingers, catching my breather, writhing on his fingers…letting out my breath in gasp."You're a good scholar, you have a hot cunt."he said as my sleeve went around his neck, kissing his neck and he was petting my down. I got brave and said :"I have a hot cunt."I was so medium, my cunt an galvanizing charge to his touch. Sending thrills through all of me. I was so block and felt so warm and whole…bubbling over…now his entire hand holding my wet slit.

Finally I was chill out and rested my forefront on his pectus. My breathing slowed to convention and he was rubbing my back again, feeling my butt and kissing my neck. I was lying against him and thinking what a grand thing was my cunt. I shivered again. For the first gear clip I was proud of my cunt. It was the initiatory of my many lessons with Mr. Emerson .