the-saga-of-cornhall

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Subject: The Saga of Cornhall part 1 The Saga of Cornhall Sebastian Seymour was, in his own opinion, a well-respected and beloved teacher. Like many of his university peers, he saw himself as a young Michelle Pfeiffer a la Dangerous Minds, but male and with a darker greek complexion. Either way, he took his career seriously and believed his unorthodox methods of teaching helped inspire the youths he took under his wing. However, his high school students at an all-boys academy may have thought otherwise. To them, Mr. Seymour could be a bit excessive and aggressive in his passion for history. On the first day of a new semester, his passion materialized as a (probably historically inaccurate) costume circa 400 BCE. It was a bit much, in that the fabric was a not. Bookish Carl Stevens, in particular, wondered if the toga his teacher was wearing was purchased from a store or if he made it himself– he couldn’t imagine a reputable store selling such an outfit as it seemed more like something an exotic dancer would wear And Carl idolized his teacher. The toga, if one could call it such, was a thin fabric draped and clasped over Mr. Seymour’s right shoulder that somehow opened to cover his waist and very little else. The majority of his six-foot-toned frame and chest was left open, and his 24-year-old v-cut body was on display as the sheet of near translucent cloth draped loose and low on his body but ended lasciviously at the top of his thighs… Sebastian, or Seb, had no body shame and would very often jog or workout in clothing and attire significantly less than what he currently wore, but to his freshman class teenagers at an all-boys school, it was rather out of the ordinary. Carl Stevens’s glasses seemed denizli escort to fog up with his labored breathing just as much as his khaki trousers filled up with his dirty thoughts about his hunky and nearly-nude teacher. In fact, most of the hormonal teen boys in the class were squirming uncontrollably in the tablet arm, or the seat-attached school desks regardless of their sexual orientation. “To fear death, gentlemen, is no other than to think oneself wise when one is not, to think one knows what one does not know. No one knows whether death may not be the greatest of all blessings for a man, yet men fear it as if they knew that it is the greatest of evils.” It wasn’t wrong to say that Sebenjoyed hearing himself speak, and a speech like this from The Trial and Death of Socrates was one many times rehearsed and easy to reiterate. As he strode up and down the aisles, his students were granted the pleasure of seeing him from every angle– as he passed, his very visible muscles tensed and relaxed, and with the cool autumn air it was evident, especially to the very aware Carl, that his young teacher’s nipples stood taut and hard. Sebastian didn’t mind the staring eyes, taking it as admiration for his teaching. But his authentic grass-woven sandals were a bother– not only did the thong dig into his toes, but it had no traction at all. He found himself almost sliding instead of taking steps so as not to lose his footing. “So what did Socrates mean by not just living but to live well? Anyone?” Seb was halfway down the aisle and right by the outside of Carl’s desk as he posed the question. “I think he meant that you shouldn’t just…” as the student towards the front of the room voiced their dikimevi escort answer, Seb spun on the spot and as he worried lost his footing. His grass-woven sandals slipped upon the linoleum flooring and he found himself falling face down over the side of the desk of Carl Stevens. Seb threw his arms forward to catch himself, but fortunately, he didn’t hit the ground. Instead, his body was hoisted over the arm of the desk and the lap of Carl, tucked in such a manner that he was pinned between the boy and the desk, face towards the floor, bottom to the sky. “Mr. Seymour are you okay?!” Carl was understandably taken aback as his attractive and semi-nude teacher had suddenly fallen onto his lap. “Ugh, I can’t get off. Help pull me up!” Not giving it a second thought, the thing glasses-clad teen grabbed from the waist of his teacher and pulled at the easiest thing to hold: Seb’s toga. With the hunky teacher wedged tight between the desk and his teen student grabbing what he could, all the entire class could hear was a loud RIIIIIIIIIIIIPPP. The bookish teen was aghast, as he tore the barely-there toga from the muscled Seb. He was left staring at the upturned ass of his hunky teacher. Sebastian had considered his undergarments for his greek history day of class but decided that any of his colored boxers not only created lines but showed through. And he greatly regretted that decision as he was now naked and perched ass-up over the class nerd. “Oh my god, Mr. Seymour is naked!” “Dude, I need a better picture” “No one is going to believe this!” “Did you see Carl strip him?” “Way to go Carl!” The voices of the teenage boys were loud and cacophonous, and hard to distinguish dikmen escort especially as they began to leave their desks to get a better look at their upturned teacher. Seb was furious. “What are you doing?! Get me out of here!” Carl pulled and tugged, but his teacher was between his lap and the desk. It was not lost to either that Carl’s teen trousers were straining at their limits. His hands were also frantically grabbing wherever they could. “I’m sorry Mr. Seymour, but I can’t pull you off.” “Well if you can’t pull me off then push!” “Okay.” Carl took those words to mind and put both hands to the upturned bottom of his teacher with both hands cupping either buttock. Seb was stuck tight and before they knew it, the sweat and exertion of the teen and the rump of the teacher made the pushing hand slips. Before he knew it, both of Carl’s thumbs slipped forward and right up the rump of his teacher. “Gahhhhhhhh, take it out!!!!” “But it’s getting closer!” The surrounding teenagers cheered Carl to keep going. Between the camera flashes and the verbal encouragements, the bespeckled teenage boy kept pushing back and forth with his fingers in the attempt to get his teacher off of his lap. With each stroke, his cock pulsed harder but he was confirmed to help his idolized teacher. Seb was confused himself, but he loved the stimulation as his puckering asshole was fingered by his teenage student over and over. “Give it to me harder!” He would always remember those words as the teen boy thrust into without abandon that he dislodged from the desk and landed legs-over-head and finally orgasmed with his cock glorifying his own. There he was, Mr. Seymour, with his knees nearly over his head, naked, with his muscled body on display for teens a decade younger. Eventually, the bell rang, but not after memories were made and photographs were taken. “I can’t wait to do that again,” said Carl. “Are you kidding? That won’t happen again.” You’re right. Next time, I’m going to fuck you.”

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