He shot his juice in the middle of the floor.
Then he walked over toward me on the bed, and when he had barely reached the edge of my bed, he ejaculated again, this time draining his juice on my thighs. He must have been stimulated by the sight of my panties, garters and nylons on my thighs. I wasn't especially trying to display myself for him, although I could see his eyes intently focused on my panties and thighs. I didn't display any more of myself for him than I have displayed for many men many times before.
That afternoon was a memorable one in which I continued to enjoy the boy's penis. After each ejaculation he lay and rested, recovering from his efforts but maintaining his erect organ inserted well into my vagina. During the moments of arousal, his awakened senses stirred with renewed vigor. His penis once again began to jab and poke into the full depths of my vagina. During these moments I couldn't contain myself and responded with yet another orgasm (and there were many), clutching and gripping the roots of the boy's penis with my vaginal contractions, forcing his thrusting efforts to massage the sensitive nerves of my clitoris.
This boy and I began our intimate relationship abruptly. He told me his name just before he inserted his penis into me. His name, appropriately enough, is Peter. I continued to feel a lingering guilt, since I was old enough to be his mother. I suspect his mother would be furious if she knew his pastime and his whereabouts.
I feel sure that he had played around with the little girls in his class, flirting with them and making them giggle. But I believe that I was the first woman for him. I insisted that he use his penis like a man, jabbing, poking, thrusting, and generally giving a woman all that she desires.