It times like these that get me in trouble. A single guy, lying in bed with no woman next to him, has the imagination to be consumed in his fantasies for hours, daring to do the worst kind of things with the woman he desires. And my brain, at the moment, will not shut off. I keep thinking about her. The more I dream, the harder I’m getting, and the worse I feel knowing that she is untouchable.
Her hair is golden and touches her shoulders in layers. Her lips are always in a perfect pout. And I didn’t think God made a waist that small. I could wrap my hands around it, maybe twice over. Those breasts are always in a pushup bra, always teasing me. She’s beautiful, drop-dead gorgeous.
And she’s the only student failing my class.
Legally, she’s an adult which gives me relief when fantasizing about her. But the way she acts, she’s more like a twelve-year-old. A spoiled twelve-year-old. Every day, I dread but can’t wait for third period. Every day, she sits in the middle row, in the middle of the classroom, giving me the evil eye. But sometimes, her left eyebrow is arched as she looks me up and down. She bits her lip, then her eyes steady on my crotch. And when she catches me staring at her back, she smirks. Then, her demeanor changes quickly, as if she makes up her mind that she hates me. I can’t figure her out. All of my students love me. I’m the “cool teacher.” Maybe it’s because I’m the youngest of the faculty and have more of a connection to them. But since day one, she has given me trouble with her sarcastic remarks, refusal to do homework or any assignments, and her dangerous flirtation that only lasts minutes at a time. I’ve doled out many detentions to her and have sent her to the principal’s office too many times. Other teachers have said she is no problem in their classes. So, why mine?
It’s the next day, and second period has just ended. I’m taking deep breaths and am ready for a mutiny from my other students. An unexpected analytical essay is about to be assigned, and I’m gonna get a lot of groans. And then, there will be her and her refusal to write it. I’m looking forward for the battle now with a hope I will win.
The students file into my classroom. I get a lot of “Hey, Mr. Anderson,” and a few smiles. But she’s nowhere to be found. I’m hoping she’s late. A good excuse to give her another detention. But at the last second, she crosses the doorway and ignores me completely. Her head is held high with a smug smile on her cute, glossy lips. As she sits, she pulls at her too short shirt to cover her midriff. She flings her hair behind her, but it falls back in front of her shoulder. Then, she gets into her favorite comfortable position: leaning back, yet slumped in her chair, arms crossed over her chest, legs parted enough that would make ladies of etiquette gasp.
The bell rings, and it takes me less than a few seconds to shut them up. “Alright, today is an easy day.” I get a lot of expectant smiles. “All you have to do is write a five paragraph essay!” They roll their eyes and groan. I start passing the papers down the rows. “A poem by Silvia Plath. You have the whole period to write this essay. And I expect a completed paper from all of you.” I’m looking straight at her. Her chin is jutted out, her eyes are narrowed. She’s looking at me back, telling me silently how much she hates me. I smirk and finish passing the papers. “End of the period,” I remind them. I sit behind my large desk and pretend to be busy with some papers, but I’m casually taking glances at her. She looks at the paper in disgust, flips it over, and places it on her desk. Her arms cross again. She sighs and looks off to the side.
It is what I am waiting for. “Cameron, you only have until the end of the period,” I warn her. She shrugs in response. “You will get a zero if you don’t do this assignment.”
“Like I fucking care,” she challenges me. I already have my detention slips ready. I write one up. I knew she would do something stupid, such as cussing. I sign it and stroll toward her. I almost slam the yellow slip of paper on her desk to make sure she notices. I go back to sit and catch her glaring at the paper.
She stands next to the desk, paper in hand. The other students look up. “You know, I’m tired of getting these things.” Then, she rips it in half, then again, then again. She throws the bits onto the floor. She smiles as if proud of what she did.
“Principal’s office, now!”
“Whatever, you dickless jerk,” she says as she shoulders her backpack. At the moment, I wish this wasn’t a public school. I want to be armed with a paddle. She tosses her hair behind her, a defiant but seductive move. “Maybe that’s why you’re not married. You have no dick.” It is widely known that I’m not married, and it hits a sore spot. But I stand tall and strong. “And no balls, obviously, because you’re not man enough to deal with me directly.”
I can feel my face flushing. “Go to the office!”
She smiles, because she knows I can’t do anything more. I glare at her as she leaves the room. Once she’s out the door, I return to my desk and avoid everyone’s eyes. I question the reasons why I lust over her.
The next day is going smoothly, but I’m counting the minutes until third period. I’m not sure if I’m ready for another battle. But she doesn’t show up. I’m relieved, but at the same time torn that I don’t get to see the beautiful brat. My students have seem to forgotten yesterday. But halfway through my lecture, the door opens. One of the staff enters with Cameron behind her. “She was ditching,” she says and leaves. Cameron trudges to her desk, but she isn’t the same girl I’ve known. Her head is down; her hair covers some of her face. But from what I can see her eyes are red and teary. She slowly sits and rests her head on top of her folded arms. She doesn’t look at me at all. I stop for a second, in shock, then continue.
Twenty minutes later, the bell rings. Without a thought, I say, “Cameron, I want to see you.” I sit behind my desk and try to think of what to say. She walks up to me, trying to muster up some dignity from her breakdown. I don’t know what to say, but my instincts tell me to help any student in any way I can. “What’s wrong?” I mean to say that more gently, but it comes out harsh and annoyed.
She shakes her head. “Never mind.”
“Why were you ditching?” She shrugs, her usual response. “What happened?”
“My boyfriend dumped me! Ok?” I wasn’t expecting an answer. My heart softens, but I don’t know why. She is too cute when she cries.
“Well, I’m sure you didn’t deserve it. He is just a boy. You need someone more mature than that.” The words fly out of me. I can’t believe what I’m telling her. And it doesn’t help that I’m openly staring. She’s looking at me strangely, a look I’ve never seen before. It isn’t a glare, nor is she giving me her flirtatious glances. It’s hope that I might feel something for her, and she’s recognizing it for the first time. It’s a look that acknowledges that I’m not the bad guy. She nods and leaves the classroom. I’m worried now about what I said. In my mind, I make the argument that I said nothing wrong or suggestive. But my eyes and weak posture tell a different story. I should have just told her, “You’re beautiful, and I think about you every night. Let’s fuck.” I’m getting myself into trouble anyway.
But the response she gave back makes me hope for a chance with her. She didn’t recoil from my advances and seemed to enjoy me having a little look at her every once in a while.
The next day is uneventful. All through third period, she doesn’t even look at me. She is still not paying attention, but it doesn’t bother me. We exchange no glances. Her face, however, is softer and more humble. She watches her hands instead. The period passes quickly. I have no reason to hold her after class, so I let her go.
She is out of my mind as I sit at my dining table, eating a crappy frozen dinner, and grading papers from last night’s assignment. For the most part, I am disappointed that many of my students didn’t understand the assignment, but my star student, Steven, writes an eloquent essay. I happily put an “A” on the paper. I pick up the next paper in the pile and stall. I can’t believe what I’m seeing. At the top right corner is her name, Cameron Slater.
I put my fork down for this one. I’m not sure what to expect. I’m thinking that it will be off topic and full of grammatical errors. I start reading. As I’m reading, I’m getting angry. Nothing she wrote was offensive, and she made a good argument. Her sentences were perfectly structured, her vocabulary at college level. No eighteen-year-old can write like this. I’m pissed. The little bitch plagiarized.
I have the resources to check for plagiarism, but I don’t bother. It’s obvious. I mark a zero on the paper. I can’t wait to hand it back to her.
And the anxiety kills me all the next day. As soon as the bell rings for third period, I have my stack of papers in my arm. Going down each row, I hand back the students’ graded papers. I’m hearing mostly moans but sometimes a soft, “Yes!” Then, I get to her desk. I look down at her with an evil smile and let the paper drop on the desk. I don’t wait for a reaction. But a couple rows down I hear her cry out.
“This school doesn’t accept plagiarism,” I say over my shoulder.
“But I didn’t plagiarize!”
“Bullsh…” I catch myself it time. The students look up at me, wide-eyed.
“It is bullshit!”
I glare at her as I walk to my desk, ready to prepare another detention slip. But she is getting up from her seat, grabbing her backpack with one hand, and nearly crushing the paper in the other. “Where are you going?”
“To the principal’s office. This isn’t fair!” It sounds more like she is going to cry then scream more. She is out the door. I’m relieved that she is gone and didn’t have to send her myself. But two periods later, I’m called into the office.
My palms are sweaty and my heart is beating fast. What has she told the principal about me? Is she going to accuse me of flirting with her? I wait to be let in by the secretary. I think I’ve gone pale. I feel like passing out. I enter and sit next to her in a chair in front of the principal’s desk. He’s frowning and sober, which is not out of the ordinary for this strict, characterless man. But why do I feel like I’m in trouble? I look at her sitting next to me. The corner of her mouth twitches. She’s trying not to smile. Little brat.
“Cameron says that she didn’t plagiarize,” he states simply.
“Of course she’s gonna say that.”
“Do you know this for a fact?”
I don’t have the evidence, and I can’t lie. I want to keep my job. “I haven’t checked it, but no eighteen-year-old can write like that.”
“She’s insisting she didn’t, and I think we need to resolve this,” he says and folds his hands on the table. I can’t believe he’s not on my side. Maybe she has charmed him too. “Since Cameron cussed and ran out of the classroom, she’ll receive detention, but it will be with you. During that time, I want you test her with a written assignment. If she writes at the same caliber as this paper…” He picks it up to show me again. “Then, I think you owe her an apology.”
I’m in shock, but I accept the challenge. I will win. I’m that confident. “Fine.”
And the wait begins until the end of the day. I’ve picked a good poem from Robert Frost for her to analyze. I know she will stumble. And when she does, I will laugh as I submit an “F” as her final grade.
The last bell rings, and I wait only five minutes until she enters the room. With a bit of sway to her hips, she strolls to her desk, sits down, and crosses her arms. Her hair is now in a side ponytail, her lips are a little more crimson, and she put on a new shirt, a v-neck that revealed way too much cleavage. I put the paper in front of her while trying to avoid gaping at the little slut in front of me. “Forty minutes.”
I watch her from my desk, and to my surprise, she is reading it. Her pencil underlines certain spots and takes notes in the margins. Soon, her hand is writing furiously. She erases often and looks like she is talking to herself in whispers. Her concentration is intense. I’m worried that she is proving me wrong.
At thirty-five minutes, she gets up from her desk and walks to mine. With no emotion on her face, she offers me the paper. I take it from her, and she turns away. I watch her saunter back. I love that petite ass in those tight jeans. But I catch myself before she notices, and I look down at the neat writing covering both front and back of the lined paper. She has a lot to say. It better not be crap.
I feel sick when I finish. I hate admitting when I’m wrong. And now, I have to. I look up, but there is no defiance in her at all. Just fear.
“Why aren’t you doing your assignments if you can write like this?” She shakes her head and looks down. “If you did your homework you’d be getting an ‘A’ easily. Why?”
“I hate writing,” she mumbles.
“But you’re so good at it.”
“I’m not,” she argues with a shaky voice. Her eyes start to water.
“People,” she said with her usual shrug.
“Well, they’re wrong.” I’m not sure how to convince her. The poor girl looks defeated. Whoever criticized her really hit her hard. “If you do the rest of the assignments, I’m sure you’ll pass.” She looks off to the side and says nothing. I glance at the clock. “You have twenty minutes left. Then, you may go.” I reread the essay. I’m tempted to share it with the class or just anyone. I want someone to tell her how good she really is.
I look back at her. She’s looking back at me, and it’s unnerving. She’s biting her lip and studying me. She’s giving me those looks again, those looks that get me in trouble late at night. I notice that it is just her and me and about fifteen minutes left. My cock is hardening. Fortunately, she can’t see how swollen I am. But I think she knows by reading my nervous face.
This is the opportunity I’ve been waiting for. Yet, I’m frozen. I really do want to touch her naked breasts. I really want to know if she’s a virgin. I break away first and look down at my desk, trying to suppress the fantasies by ignoring her.
I hear her get up and walk toward me. She places her hands on the desk and leans over. She takes one hand and lightly strokes my face. She is almost all the way on the table when she kisses me. I can stop and make the argument that she kissed me first, but I give in. I taste the cotton-candy flavored lip gloss on her lips. As I’m close to her, I can smell the womanly perfume. It’s a strange combination of sophisticated and childlike. I run my hand through her soft hair and keep kissing those beautiful, pouty lips.
The sudden realization that I had slipped causes me to drop my hand and pull back. I can see the rejection in her eyes. I broke her fragile spirit like so many others have done.
“I’m sorry,” she quickly says and rushes to her desk. I chase her down and grasp her arm.
“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have led you on. It’s my fault.”
She is on the verge of tears. I grab onto her other arm and pull her close. Her hands are pressed to my chest. She sniffles and buries her head against me. And my dick is growing larger. She feels it against her abdomen and gasps. I can tell it isn’t from shock that I want her but in a sudden surprise that she is turned on. There is no hiding my erection. It was my way of telling her how much I wanted to be buried into her pussy. Her hand travels from my chest, skimming my abs and going past my belt, down to the tent I’ve created. She lightly strokes my cock. She is gentle, but I can feel it through the fabric. I’m trying not to moan out loud.
“I want you to be my first,” she whispers. Now, I want her more than ever knowing how tight that little cunt is.
“Are you willing to learn?” I feel her nod in my chest. I nudge her chin up and kiss her again. She gives my dick a little squeeze then puts her hand on my biceps. She feels around my arm, noting my strength. I pull back and gaze into her anxious eyes. “First, I need you suck me off.” I love seeing the surprise in her face at my crude demand. I see her gulp, she looks even more nervous. She has obviously never given a blowjob.
“Umm…” she whimpers.
“Get on your knees. I won’t make you swallow. Just get him wet.”
She seems more at ease; obviously she’s scared about drinking my cum. She sinks to her knees. Her baby blue eyes are staring into mine. She rests her behind on her heels. Her tight jeans are pulled taut.
“Take off my belt.” She carefully manipulates the buckle loose. With a single swish, she removes it through the loops and tosses it aside. Her eyes shoot back to mine. “Unzip them and pull them down.” I see her gulp again and hesitate as if afraid to uncover what’s underneath. Just as carefully, she unbuttons my pants and pulls down the zipper. She grabs a handful of fabric at both sides and gives a small tug. They fall to the floor leaving my boxers on. She looks up at me, I nod. She pulls the boxers down and is eye-level with my stiff cock. She is looking at my dick and balls curiously, but not touching.
“Use your tongue, lick me all over.” She’s gulping and daring herself. She gets her mouth close and takes a couple breaths. Shyly, she runs her tongue over the tip for a little taste. Then, she licks the bottom of my shaft from halfway to the tip. She encloses the tip in her mouth and swirls her tongue over it. Now this is feeling good.
“Get him very wet. Don’t be afraid.” She is more eager now to keep lapping at my dick. I’m smiling and looking down at her. She takes me in her mouth, about three-quarters in. Her warmth and wet feels good. She starts sliding me through her lips, back and forth carefully, trying at all costs to keep her teeth from raking me. She’s also trying to avoid getting my pubic hair anywhere near her face.
“Put your hand over the base of my dick.” I show her the “OK” sign with my hand. “Keep it there and take every inch of me.” She does and my cock slips in deeper, but not enough to stimulate the gag reflex. She is rocking her head and maintaining a good rhythm. My head is tilted back, and soft moans are escaping my lips. I look down again, and for the first time she is looking up at me. I commit this image to memory.
I’m feeling her teeth scraping me now and assuming her jaw is getting tired. “You can stop.” She sucks up some of the spit as she pulls away. I can’t wait for the next step: getting that virgin pussy primed for my dick. “Up.” She slowly rises and keeps staring into my eyes. I run my hands down her arms. One hand reaches underneath her tight shirt and caresses her naked abs. I feel the lace of the bra and her chest rapidly rising and falling. I’m dying to play with those young tits. My hands go to the sides of her shirt, and I lift. She holds her arms up, and I slip the shirt off. I love the sight I’m seeing. Tight abs, tiny waist, boobs spilling out of her white lace bra. I do not hesitate reaching my hands behind her, searching for the clasps.
I unhook the three clasps easily; I’m proud to say I have experience in this. I tear the bra away from her. The pale yet gorgeous boobs are revealed. Her huge nipples are hard and waiting for attention. I gently roll each one in my fingers and give a light pinch. Her lips tighten. She’s trying hard not to show how aroused she is. I’m ready for more. My hands dive down to unbutton her jeans. She watches me undo them, while she rubs her tits, realizing for the first time how intense the sensation is. I unzip them and hook my thumbs into the waistband. I tug hard, but there is very little movement. I look at her guilty face.
“Take them off.” She has no choice but to go slowly as she wiggles and squirms out of her too tight jeans. I feel as if I should scold her for wearing something so inappropriate. She’s blushing; she knows how wanton her wardrobe is. Her jeans are off, white lace thong still on. I need to feel the evidence of her horniness. She stands still with legs spread slightly apart. I place my hand in between her legs. My fingers push the damp panties aside to feel the slipperiness of her wet cunt.
She gives me a little whimper. I look at her. Her face is turning crimson. I can see through her bitchy demeanor now. She’s a shy, unconfident, young woman, acting up for the purpose of getting my attention. I very lightly stroke her bud. She’s shaking now. With my other arm, I hold onto her and kiss her neck. “Take them off,” I whisper in her ear. “If you trust me.”
The thong slips off within a second. Her cunt is hidden behind a neatly trimmed bush. I take off my shirt to ease her embarrassment of being the only one completely naked. And I wanted her to have an unhindered view of my rock hard dick. “Sit on the desk.”
She scoots some stacks of papers over and sits on my large desk. Her legs are together and swinging like a fidgety child. With my hands, I spread her legs apart and motion for her to place her feet on the desk. She does, and she is open to me. I can finally see that perfect little pussy of hers. I stand close and place my left hand on the desk next to her. With my right, I trace my finger around the juicy lips. The teasing is getting to her. She’s begging me with her eyes. I grant her wish.
I carefully slide one finger into her. She throws her head back. Her mouth forms a little “O.” I keep it in there to let her get used to it. I then bring it out and push it back in. She’s starting to pant. I stroke her a few times, getting her wetter. I surprise her with another finger.
“Oh…” she says softly and winces. She’s concentrating hard as I work the two fingers in and out of her, slowly gaining speed. I like hearing the sopping noises of her cunt while I fingerfuck her. I want to go faster and leave her screaming. But I can’t damage my little virgin girl. I shove the two fingers are far as I can. She arches her back, shuts her eyes tight, and moans.
“Ready for me?”
“Yes, Mr. Anderson.” That response makes me want to shove myself into that cunt and pound the hell out of her. Being patient is killing me. I snatch my jeans from the floor and take the condom out of my wallet. As I put it on, she keeps her eyes closed as she stays perfectly still while presenting herself to me. Once it is on, I brush her hair back to get her attention. “Lie on the desk…” I motion to have her lie lengthwise. I love this enormous desk. If only she knew she wasn’t the only woman fucked on it.
A small, anticipated smile is on her beautiful face. I look straight into her eyes as I enter her. I take my time. The condom is well lubed and her juices are nearly dripping out of her, but I don’t want to hurt my girl. She grunts a little as I ease my way in completely. I feel myself leaving reality for a second. The warm tightness is pushing me to cum early. I’m trying not to whimper out loud. My eyes close for a few seconds to savor this feeling.
I sigh and pull out little by little. Then, I push into her again. It’s getting easier as I continue to penetrate her. I’m stopping myself from fucking her hard, punishing her for all the crap she has given me. But my anger has subsided. There is more lust for her now than hatred.
Her arms fall behind her head, and her wrists are pinned together, as if tied. Her eyes stay closed. Every once in a while, she will look at me, satisfied that she was getting her wish. She moans a little as if she feels like she has to. Her head is turned to the side, her breasts bounce with each thrust. I focus on them, but close my eyes as I let go. When my head stops spinning, I look down at her tranquil, smiling face.
I use a couple towels from my desk and dump the condom in plastic bag to throw out elsewhere so the janitor doesn’t discover it. I sit on the edge of the desk next to her. She moves over a little to give me some room.
“How about this? You do your homework assignments, and I’ll let you receive detention with me once a week. Deal?”
Her usual smirk is replaced with a cute, innocent grin. “Deal. Next week, I’m gonna call you an asshole in front of the whole class. Is that alright?”
“Ok. But by that time, I want to hear you admit to being a good writer.”
She nods. “Ok.” She gets dressed, and I kiss her ‘goodbye.’ My mind is already coming up with ideas for detention next week.