AN: Hopefully, this is the first chapter of a series. If you're looking for some plotless, hardcore porn, hit Back. This is primarily a romance, albeit with some hot sex. But expect feelings, poetry, and the like to come into it. If you are offended by teacher/student (18+), this is not the story for you. Thanks!
Everything between us lies in the fleeting glances. I see her looking at me from the corner of her eye sometimes, when she doesn't know that I, too, am watching. If I'm honest, I'm not exactly frightened. It makes me tingle, a secret thrill, a covert attraction conducted in exchanges about homework and classic literature.
There's a border between an innocent, even if not entirely innocuous, student/teacher relationship (albeit with some tinges of sexual tension) and a taboo expression of lust between a woman verging on thirty and a high school senior. How does one go from Don't Stand So Close to Me to something that is probably illegal?
I ponder this as I doodle lazily in my notebook. The hour hand is ticking closer and closer to three, and a sort of stupor has the rest of the class with their heads in their arms on the desk. She's given up on us and is instead telling us the date our essays are due with half-hearted conviction we aren't paying attention. I'm not, but I'm definitely listening.
The bell rings. 'Class dismissed,' Ms. Wilson announces. 'And... Miss Evans. I need to talk to you about your essay.' Her last words are lost in the rush as every other student practically starts a riot trying to get out the door. I hear them, though, because I'm attuned to her, and I linger to gather my belongings.
The classroom is deserted now, and she walks over to my desk. Her mid-length auburn hair is slightly messy from nervous fiddling, I notice.
'Yes, miss?' I say casually, my arms full of books.
My teacher pauses. I wait carefully, forgetting to breathe, imagining all the words I'd wish she'd say. But when she finally speaks, it's only to say, 'You should do up your buttons.'
I blush and make a show of buttoning up my crisp white blouse. I did undo the top buttons before English, it's true, and it definitely wasn't for the pimply boys that sit near me. I bite back the temptation to fire back, 'I'm flattered you noticed', and simply answer, 'Yes, miss.'
'And the essay?' I can't resist teasing her a bit. And anything's worth it to extend these precious few moments of alone time.
She gives me a sharp look from her dark brown eyes and pats me on the shoulder. I shiver at her touch, ever so slightly. 'Don't get smart with me, miss.'
I bat my eyelashes and turn towards the door. 'And what would you do to me if I did, miss?'
As I saunter out the door into the Friday afternoon sunshine with a slight smile on my face, I hear a faint sigh.
Monday morning, double English. I'm sitting there at the front of the classroom, blue tartan skirt as short as the uniform regulations allow, stocking-clad legs crossing and uncrossing as Ms. Wilson paces amid a lecture about e.e. cummings. She shoots me a surreptitious but quelling look, but I push my luck and flick my wavy blonde hair back flirtatiously in response.
To my great pleasure, she doesn't avert her eyes.
In an exasperated, slightly sarcastic voice, she asks of the class, 'Did anyone do their required reading? Let me jog your memories. Lady, I will touch you with my mind.'
Ignoring the scattered giggles, I respond back, my voice neutral but my gaze heavy, 'Touch you and touch and touch.'
'Until you give me,' she finishes, 'suddenly a smile, shyly obscene.'
More laughter erupts. I disdain to acknowledge it. We are staring at each other openly now, the air between us crackling with fledgling lightning. And slowly, deliberately, my mouth curves into a smile.
I know from the look in her eyes that it won't be long until she gives in.
'...so bored, Emily,' my friend, Ashley, whines from beside me. 'I don't know how you put up with this stuff.'
'I want no world, for, beautiful, you are my world, my true,' I sing back with a smirk as I take notes, acutely aware of the eyes upon me. I look up for a moment and see her across the room, hands moving swiftly in expressive gestures as she speaks. She's wearing dark stockings of her own that extend all the way up to her knee-length grey skirt—professional chic. Her burgeoning breasts, I'd estimate considerably more than a handful, strain at her orderly white blouse. The way I describe her outfit is reserved, but then there's the fact that her buttons are undone some of the way down to extend her creamy throat and some of her cleavage (just a sexy little hint), and her lipstick is a provocative shade of red. I'd call it kissable red. And she's let her glossy auburn hair down, tumbling over her back.
'If you want me, just tell me! Don't recite poetry, for God's sake,' Ashley says, with an exaggerated sigh and a shrug of her shoulders.
'Whatever is done by only me is your doing, my darling,' I tease, and Ashley groans.
'Well, Miss Evans, Miss Ryan, I'm pleased to see you two indulging in a bit of impromptu poetry recital,' remarks Ms. Wilson, a dry note to her otherwise pleasant voice. 'Unfortunately, we happen to be studying a different part of Cummings's oeuvre.'
'Sorry, miss,' mutters Ashley meekly, hiding her head in her arms. I, however, overstep the line.
'Now I love you, and you love me, and books are shutter than books can be.' I do pride myself on my ability to recite poetry in clutch moments. However, Ms. Wilson simply turns away, mouthing Lunchtime to me with those oh-so-perfect lips of hers, and continues her discourse on the impact of Cummings's poetry.
I behave. I turn up to the (deserted) library at lunchtime, where I know she'll be. She's waiting for me, an aggrieved expression on her face as she marks some essays. She doesn't seem to be making much progress, though.
'Sorry about earlier, miss,' I say contritely.
'Do you think you're invincible, Emily?' she sighs. 'You can't carry on doing this.'
I keep a straight face.
'Do you really think that nobody has noticed?'
I can feel myself teetering on a very vital edge. This is where I make my move. It's the logical fork in the road—either I let this opportunity slide, or I at least bring the elephant in the room to the forefront.
'I would hope that somebody had noticed, miss,' I answer, in measured tones.
There is a pause. The tension is so thick I can feel it on my skin. She furrows her brow, hesitant to speak. Then she mutters, 'Like my colleagues?'
'You mean the teachers are noticing... this,' I breathe. And the moment snaps delicately as I lean forward and kiss her softly on the lips. My lips brush hers and she flinches, but I put my hand out on her shoulder, and she doesn't resist further. Her lips crush against mine, and I respond in turn, tasting her lips for the first time. Sweet cherry lips, soft lips that I've longed to kiss.
We're alone in the library, and she yields to me there, and I yield to her. We're breathing faster, heavier, as our arms slide around each other. I'm in her warm grasp now, my mouth firmly on hers. We intertwine on a stray bean bag. I fumble at the rest of her buttons, unclasping them with great urgency, as she practically tears at my blouse. All the pent-up tension between us has come loose, and we don't need to speak as we race to strip. The excitement in our breath speaks volumes.
Off comes her top, and her breasts are closer to me than ever, the only barrier her lacy white bra. I reach around her and unhook it, letting it fall, as she rips off mine, and our breasts spill out into freedom. Her round, ample breasts sway; they're lush and voluptuous, tipped with flushed-rosy nipples. She cups my more modest ones in her hands, caressing their pert flesh, and I let out a very audible sigh as her fingers stroke my protruding nipples. All too eagerly, I reach for hers, softly squeezing them as I grasp for as much as I can hold. At my touch, she moans into my ear as her mouth finds mine again and our tongues tango, her sensitive nipples hard against my fingers.
Ms. Wilson pushes me down into the bean bag, and we kick off our Mary Janes. I stare up into those velvety brown eyes, wanting her to lead the way, waiting to give her my innocence. And she intends to. For all my bluffs, for all my seduction, it's up to her to claim me. We somehow slide our skirts off and lie there, clasped in each other's arms, our bodies hot and almost humming. She presses her upper body against mine, rubbing her breasts up against mine and making me hiss.
My teacher eases her hand in between my legs, stroking the outside of my white silk panties with the tips of her fingers. I clutch onto her, my arms wrapped around her waist, and open my legs a little for her. My panties are wet with my juices; I'm drenched with my lust for her. They cling to my aroused, swollen lips, which she rubs. Then she inserts her fingers under the elastic of them and pulls them off. Her own panties come off at the touch of my hand, and we grind against each other, completely naked. We push up against each other, our pussies meeting, and both let out a moan of frustration as we frantically make love. I can feel her melting into me as she bears down, roughly rubbing up against me.
There's a tingling sensation as we collide. It races down my spine as I feel the pressure of her on the dampened lips of my vulva. My puffy clit is being ground against too. And I can feel that intense pleasure mounting, practically shaking in her arms now, as we race to the climax we've been craving. All that pent-up frustration comes out in our fierce movements.
It suddenly occurs to me that anyone could walk in on us now. The library isn't locked, and even it was, the librarian has the key. But the thought is strained and I can't concentrate on it. I just want this feeling, this crazy feeling all over my body, this beautiful sensation of my teacher and I coming together, and I have to chase it. It's like I'm climbing upwards, and now, now I'm floating, I can feel myself get closer and closer and I'm being strung out, pulled completely taunt, my back is arching, I'm convulsing, it all breaks loose, I'm moaning ohhhh as electricity courses through me. And she's whispering, Emily, Emily, and thrashing a bit, her legs bucking as she pushes up and down and cries out my God--
My breath laboured, I lie there under her. My body is slowly glowing as I cool down. Ms. Wilson's orgasm dwindles, and she sinks into me with a long kiss.
After awhile, we break free of each other, and she sits backwards onto her knees. I get to appreciate her beautiful body naked. The shapely, womanly curves of her hips, the perky nipples on her full breasts, her smooth, glistening skin... She, too, is looking down on me. But both of us are afraid to speak and break the beauty of the moment.
Lunch is ending soon, so, with a sigh, we hastily pull on our clothing. I look a bit dishevelled, with my top in disarray, my hair flying everywhere like a halo, and my face glowing, but she looks as dignified as ever. I reach for my panties, but with a smirk, she snatches them from my grasp.
'Heyyy,' I whine.
Ms. Wilson has a positively devilish look on her face. 'You'll have to earn them back... some other time. I think "Ms. Wilson has something of mine" is a good excuse to visit my office, isn't it?' She giggles.