It was nearly obnoxiously sweet. I heard a second deeper moan. Looking between the flowers I could make out flashes of light from her side of the hedg.... I wondered absently if the bug I had caught was among those flashing. I took hold of my cock as I listened to her moaning. Soon those sounds would be coming quicker and quicker together. Low moans, soft gasps of pleasure. Clockwork. I wondered what event in life has her locked into this pattern of Saturday night self-pleasure. My mind had. I was a young and impressionable nineteen-year-old when I spent a night with Saranya. She was my class teacher in my third standard briefly she left the school in order to get married but came back work as teacher when her husband died in a motorcycle accident just only their second year of marriage. I was looking for knowledge and she knew how to teach that the best way I can describe her. She was of medium build with shoulder length hair and eyes that could look somewhere into the depths of. More

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