It wasn’t as easy as that. Life rarely is. My boyfriend wasn’t a bad man… perhaps that was the problem. Perhaps I was a bad girl. Something deep inside me craved a bit of danger – I was too young to settle. I was heading towards a mortgage, a husband and kids couldn’t be too far away. Perhaps I needed to be bad one last time? That was close to the truth.
Joe was a ‘bad’ lad – that was the truth. I kidded myself that I could be the one to save him.
If I just showed him some kindness – if I gave him the incentive to behave, perhaps I could be the one to turn his life around; the one who showed him the way. That’s what teachers were supposed to do after all.
More likely he’d be the one to drag me down, to destroy everything I had worked so hard to achieve.
Joe wasn’t stupid. He noticed the change in my behavior immediately. And so did his classmates.
“Teacher’s Pet!” they scalded, as I helped Joe with something. But the attention seemed to pay off. As I said, Joe wasn’t stupid, he was just lazy… and the culture of his little gang was to do as little work as possible. Joe’s marks improved in all subjects and soon it wasn’t just his friends who were noticing what was happening; my colleagues were noticing too. And they had noticed why. But they didn’t know the truth of my feelings, of my fantasies. If they had, they surely wouldn’t have been so keen to push us together. All they saw was Joe’s behavior changing. He became less disruptive, as though growing more mature day by day. He even started doing extra-curricular activities… although he was only interested in the ones I was assisting with.
Then he arrived at school with his arm in a plaster cast. “They attacked me, Miss,” he said. “Doesn’t pay to be a teacher’s pet, you know.” He said it cheerfully and it was a shock to hear him admit to the situation.
“Oh Joe, I’m so sorry,” I said, feeling the guilt weigh down on me.
“S’Okay, Miss. It wasn’t your fault.”
But in a way it felt like it had been my fault. It was my interest in him which had brought Joe to the attention of his peers, and ultimately led to the fractured bone in his arm.
Joe’s broken arm excused him from P.E. and I was ‘volunteered’ to keep an eye on him. I found myself wondering whether he’d be capable of ‘other’ physical activities. I imagined what we might do together for two hours on a wet Wednesday afternoon. Those dirty thoughts left me feeling even naughtier than usual. Joe and I in a one-to-one. Delicious.
I was wearing tight black jeans and I’ve been told that my ass looks great, particularly when I start bending over. I did it. I found all sorts of excuses to lean and bend… and the exercise made me hot in more ways than one. I was teasing my pupil, although I could easily deny it. However what couldn’t be denied was the effect it was having on Joe. Judging by the lump in the front of his trousers, Joe was fully erect. Of course, I had seen his hard-on in the flesh… and I ached to see it again now. More than see it; I wanted more than anything to touch it and feel it and even suck it, if he would let me.
Even though he was just 16, Joe was taller than me, and there was a powerful physique hiding under that school uniform. I knew his cock was at least seven inches long and thick with it. He wore his dark hair short, and his pale blue eyes were watching me, following me, as I pretended to busily go about my business.
“Are you doing this on purpose?”
“Doing what, Joe?” I asked, startled.
“Teasing me? Showing me your fine ass?” My stomach lurched both at the language he used and the fact that he’d caught on to what I’d been doing. Had a little smile escaped onto my face? I didn’t know how to respond but he carried on talking. “I think you should know that it’s working.”
“You’ve made me hard,” he said, with a dark twinkle in his eye. “Wanna see?”
I did. I wanted to see his cock so badly it hurt. I wanted him to show it to me rather than have to spy on him. To have him show me would be so much naughtier than spying. I thought about seeing him in the showers again and wanted to ask him why he’d got hard. But I couldn’t admit that I’d been spying. He’d probably just deny it anyway and I would have exposed the fact that I’d been watching, that I’d seen it happening with my own eyes.
“It happens a lot when you’re around, I just wanted you to know,” Joe said, after I’d been quiet for a while. He’d taken my silence as a negative answer.
“Do you want to show it to me, Joe?” I asked, trying to turn the situation around.
He smiled. “I guess so.”
“Then, yes; I’d like to see it,” I admitted, feeling my blood pounding as I overstepped the line.
“Do you… like me then, Miss?”
“Of course I like you, Joe,” I said, as he started fiddling with his fly one-handed.
“I mean… really like.” He looked at me as he added, “as in fancy me?”
“I can’t answer that, Joe.”
He smiled. Grinned in fact, then said, “Me too, Miss.”
The doors were shut and no-one could see us unless they came right up to the door and peeked over the posters.
I was holding my breath as the lump in Joe’s underpants came on show. He stopped.
“Can I see your cunt?” I cringed at the harshness of the word. But it also thrilled me.
“You’ll only show me yours, if I show you mine?” I asked.
“S’only fair, Miss.” The grin exploded into shock as I undid the top button of my jeans. He couldn’t hold back and as I undid my zipper, Joe dragged his cock out and started stroking it.
“You’re really going to show me your cunt?”
“My pussy, Joe. I’m going to show you my pussy.” He hauled on his rod, perhaps savoring my use of a dirty word and the visual treat to come.
“Have you ever thought about me when you masturbate?” I asked. I’ve thought about you Joe, oh so many times.
“Yes, of course,” he said. “We all do.” I stopped for a moment. It had never occurred to me that the other lads jerked off to me. “Is that OK?” Joe’s hand had stopped pumping.
“Yes, I suppose I should be flattered.” I was feeling even dirtier now that I knew the deeper truth of the effect I was having on the boys. We looked at each as I tugged my knickers down as my pupil jacked off. As my crotch came on display, he spat on his hand and eased the glans out from under his foreskin and rubbed the bare purple head between thumb and forefingers.
“Show me inside,” he said, bringing his face closer to my crotch. I opened my legs as I leant against the desk and spread the petals of my pussy, exposing the pink wetness within. I had expected him to be hesitant but as Joe wanked, he lowered his mouth and licked right into the exposed groove of my slit. It seemed so natural to let him do it, but then again I’d played this very scenario over in my head again and again.
It felt shockingly good, my body eager to take every reward for my depraved behavior. I’d done it – I’d really done it. I was so aroused that every movement of Joe’s tongue gave me a wicked surge of pleasure. Perhaps mine was the first pussy he’d ever licked. I groaned at the thought. To be his first; the first woman he’d ever tasted. I wanted to reach down and wrap my hand around his cock; I wanted to be the first woman ever to touch it… but it was out-of-reach. “Oh Joe,” I gasped, running my fingers through his hair instead.
What he was doing to me was fabulous. I groaned as another wave of pleasure took hold, threatening to take me to orgasm. Joe mistook that sound as a signal of some kind. He stood-up with his big cock jutting up at almost 45-degrees; the purple swollen head bobbing up and down. Before I had a chance to say a word, he stepped forward and slid it inside me.
“Oh Jesus!” I shrieked. I’d never meant to let him fuck me. But it was too late – my pupil’s cock was already slamming in and out of my slippery hole. I was so wet – a combination of my own juices and Joe’s saliva. His breathing was really heavy as he fucked me with wild, barely-controlled strokes. I hadn’t been fucked like that in years; every slithering stroke of his cock into my sex was a blissful kiss. I might have been horrified by what I was letting him do but my hungry body was delighted. He was my pupil; I was his teacher and here I was letting him fuck me. I wanted it to stop, needed it to be over, no matter how good it felt. There was a sharp bite of ecstasy and I decided to wait just a few more seconds until I…
“Ooooh Fuck!” I came really, really hard. Not just the physical act of spasming muscles but an enormous emotional release. Only two people had ever made me orgasm before, and I was one of them. Sadly, my boyfriend wasn’t the other.
I wanted to reward Joe for his efforts, for what he’d done. As I orgasmed, I exaggerated my response to it, making it big and loud and unmistakable. Perhaps it wasn’t just for Joe – a part of me was doing it for my absent boyfriend. This was what he should have been making me feel all these years. I needed this. Sometimes I wanted more than to feel loved, to feel safe – I wanted to be sexually fulfilled; to share moments of ecstasy.
Even as Joe continued his relentless pounding, I found myself filling with a staggering emptiness, an emptiness which peaked as Joe groaned and sprayed my cervix with spunk.
I didn’t love him any more. No, that wasn’t right: I still loved him; it just wasn’t enough.
The revelation was staggering. “Thanks, Miss,” Joe said, zipping-up. “Do you mind if I go and clean myself up?”
“No, of course not, Joe,” I said hoarsely. I slipped to the floor as soon as he’d gone. The cold polished concrete was soothing against my bare bottom.
Emotions came, flooding my body with black ice.
The sobs came.