Last Lesson Ch. 01

Out here in the hallway by the case of trophies and pennants, the sound from the gymnasium was less music than it was simply a heavy beat that made the walls rumble. The school hadn't hired the best dj in the world for the dance, but he did have one hell of a speaker system.

Felicia would have liked to have been in the gym, dancing, instead of out here playing the same damn game with her boyfriend that they played every time they saw each other these days – a game called "Can I get in her pants?"

She fielded yet another foray by Brian's thick, tanned fingers up under the side of her skirt and attempted to distract him by sliding his hand up onto her left breast. It was a tactic that had worked well in the past, but this time Brian broke off their kiss with a frustrated sigh, and shoved away from her. He turned away, that familiar petulant look on his face, and Felicia bit back her own sigh. They'd been here before. She could already hear every word that they were about to say, and she was just so damn tired of saying them…

"I want to break up."

Felicia blinked. That was not in the script.

"What? Why?"

"Why? This is why, 'Licia. I'm getting tired of all the cockblocking. I mean, we're been together what, four months? And you won't let me past your panties. You're obviously not into me." Brian shoved his big hands through his hair, making it stand on end.

"That's not true." It sounded weak, even to her. She had been losing interest in Brian recently, but it was mostly because of the frequent maulings and his ever increasing dissatisfaction with what she was willing to give.

"So, what is it then?" Brian spread his arms out, giving her the full view of his tight, muscled body in the clinging T-shirt and slim cut jeans. "What is it that I don't got?"

"How about some patience?" Felicia pushed off the wall and came toward him. "I just want to wait. Why is that so hard?"

"You're hot, okay? But there are lots of hot girls in that very gym, and all of them, given the chance, would get with me. So make up your mind. Do we leave together, or do I go back in there alone?" He folded his arms.

"You're – breaking up with me?" Felicia felt like she'd been punched in the gut.

"Is that what it's gonna be?" Brian demanded.

"You're breaking up with me at Prom?" Her voice rose to a shriek.

"The hell with this," he said. "You know what your problem is, 'Licia? You think you're special. You think you're so fucking special." He leaned into her and she drew back against the wall, suddenly afraid of him. "I've got news for you, princess. You're not. Keep your precious pussy. There's a hundred more out there I could get easy, so fuck you." He walked off down the hallway.

Hot tears sprang up in her eyes. "You prick!" she screamed at him.

He flung open the gym doors just as a gaggle of girls came out and stormed past them into the dark, discoball spangled interior. The girls looked after him, wide eyed, and then down the hall at Felicia.

She turned her back and walked away. There was no way in hell she was going to let any of them see her cry. The girl's bathroom came up on her left but as she neared it a girl in a pink gown exited, a cloud of fragrant smoke about her.

Great, the potheads have taken up residence. Felicia cast about frantically, feeling the sobs building in her throat, and blindly tried the door of the first classroom she came to. It opened, she nearly fell through it, and then leaned back on it to close it again as the tears rose up hot and swimming, spangling her vision. She slid down the door to sit untidily on the floor and just gave up finally and cried.

"Felicia?"

She started, and began to desperately scrub at her face. It was just her fucking luck that the room had someone in it…

"Are you alright?"

Oh, god, Felicia thought, as he came nearer. The dim light revealed Mr. Adams, her physics teacher. Could this night possibly get any worse? Kyle Adams was thirty-two, dark haired and tall and broad shouldered and completely cute. He bent over her, his hazel eyes concerned behind his glasses.

"I'm okay," Felicia said, or tried to. It came out as a dry, hoarse sort of croak. Better and better. She shoved herself back up the door, ignoring his outstretched hand, and groped for the doorknob. She cleared her throat. "Really, I'm – "

"He broke up with her?"

"Right outside the gym. Omigod, you should have heard it, Felicia was screaming like some crazy crack ho."

The voices were right outside the door. Felicia sucked in a breath, feeling as though her entire body had been dipped in ice water and then into lava. She couldn't meet Mr. Adams's eyes. She couldn't stay here. She couldn't leave. She was going to die, right here, of embarrassment, and at her funeral, all that anyone would be able to talk about was how she'd been screaming like a crack ho on the last night of her life.

"Why don't you sit down for a minute?" Mr. Adams took her arm gently. "I've got tea."

Felicia looked across to where he was pointing and saw his desk, a small beacon of light in the dim room, with an electric kettle steaming beside the desk lamp. She nodded dumbly.

"I'll just turn on the light," he said.

"No!" Felicia grabbed his arm. "Please. I don't want anyone to know I'm here."

"Alright," he said after a pause.

His arm was warm and solid under his shirt. As he lowered his hand away from the light switch, his muscles flexed smoothly under her fingers.

Felicia snatched her hand away and wrapped her arms around herself. Away from the hot noisy press of the gym and without Brian's body heat to warm her, her thin spangled backless gown seemed like less of a good idea than it had at the store.

"Here." Mr. Adams settled her into his chair and then took his leather jacket off the back and wrapped it around her. It was warm, and smelled faintly of aftershave and ever so slightly of clean male sweat. He poured hot water over a teabag in a chipped mug that stated 'Physicists do it at the speed of light.'

"Er. Not quite school approved," he admitted, noticing her glance. "But I didn't figure on entertaining any students tonight." He turned to set the kettle on the floor against the wall, and his pants stretched tightly over his butt as he did so. Felicia watched him flex, her lips parting. The man was so fine… Then gloom descended again and she set the tea mug back on the desk before she dropped it. Tears gathered on her lower lashes and she wiped futilely at them.

"You want to talk about it?" Mr. Adams asked her gently, sitting on the edge of the desk.

"Brian – Brian broke up with me." She leaned both elbows on the desk and covered her face with her hands. Her makeup had to be a complete mess by now.

"At prom?" Mr. Adams's voice held exactly the right amount of surprise and outrage, and Felicia dropped her hands in surprise. "I'm old, but I'm not that old," he told her with a rueful smile. "I remember some stuff. That must really suck."

"Yeah. It sucks. And now I can't go back in there. You heard – you heard those girls. They'll all be talking about it by now. I just can't face them."

"Well, you'll have to do it as some point," he said.

"No I don't," Felicia said stubbornly. "The year is over. I'll just hide in my room for the whole summer and then go off to college without ever seeing any of their stupid, jerk faces again. Especially him. What an assh – uh, jerk." She finished weakly, aware of her slip of the tongue.

"We are after regular school hours, you know," he said, grinning a little. "I can't actually discipline you at the moment."

Felicia looked up at him for a minute, and then her lips twitched in a small answering smile. "He is, you know. An asshole." Emboldened by Mr. Adams's snort of laughter, she went on. "I called him a prick. He deserved it. Macho jerk. Loser. Testosterone-ridden male chauvinist pig!" Suddenly she was crying again, sobbing so hard her body shook.

"Hey, hey." Mr. Adams knelt beside her chair and patted her shoulder awkwardly.

"It's my fault," she choked. "I wasn't – I didn't – he wanted to have sex. He said, any girl would want to, and that I was – a princess and I thought I was special." Part of her was appalled that she was telling all this to a teacher – to a young, cute teacher – but she couldn't seem to stop. "He told me – he told me to keep my p- precious pussy. But I didn't! I don't think I'm special!" She hit the desk once with her fist. "I just wanted – I wanted it to be special."

"Oh sweetie." There was some embarrassment in Mr. Adams's voice, but mostly chagrin and sympathy and a touch of amusement. "You're expecting a lot from the average high school kid. Wait til you get to college."

"Yeah, well, my sister says that the guys are twice as bad there. It's all frats and parties and date rape drugs."

"Yes, well…"

"Why do guys have to be in such a damn hurry all the time? It's not too much to ask, is it? A little romance, a little tenderness?" She turned suddenly toward him. "Aren't I worth waiting for?" she asked, articulating finally the thing that had hurt the most.

Their faces were inches apart. Mr. Adams's breath was warm and soft against her mouth. She inhaled, smelling peppermint, a hint of tea, and some indefinable scent that seemed to be just – him. They stared at one another, caught by the moment like ants in honey. His gaze dropped to her lips and she parted them, leaned toward him…

"Felicia." He put his hands on her shoulders, and then snatched them away again. "Stop." He looked away from her.

In every woman's life, there comes a point when the full realization of their power hits them. With some it is a gradual coming of knowledge, built of a hundred glances, brushes of skin, with a thousand smiles and winks and turning of heads, a buildup of every single drop of a man's eyes into their cleavage. With others, it is a lightning bolt from the blue, a moment of pure and immediate understanding that links them in kinship with Cleopatra, Helen of Troy and Jezebel.

For Felicia, that moment came as her physics teacher averted his gaze as though he couldn't stand to look at her a second longer. She paused, trembling with sudden and awful understanding, and nearly drew back in fear from the edge. Then the memory of Brian walking away, so secure in his arrogant, male superiority came back to her, and, tossing Mr. Adams's jacket off her shoulders, she leaned forward, put out her left hand, and turned his face back to hers. And then kissed him.

Felicia had been kissed before, by several different boys of varying skill and confidence, and none of them had been like this. His mouth, at first stiff and surprised beneath hers, softened and then opened in devouring, searing passion. He drove her back into the chair, his hands coming to the armrests, his shoulders bunching beneath her hands. He kissed her as though his life depended on it. His smell was dizzying, his mouth tasted of honey. She made small, desperate sounds against his lips, and he pulled away abruptly, leaving her gasping.

"Tell me to stop," he said, grinding his hands against the armrests of the chair. "You can't know – you don't know how I've dreamed about this. So tell me this is a huge mistake and we're ruining our lives by even considering doing anything more." His eyes were huge and swimming in the lamplight.

Felicia was panting as though she'd run fifty laps. He'd dreamed – about her? The wood creaked under his grip. She was terrified – and exalted. Her body was on fire. The place between her legs throbbed, hot and liquid. This – this was what it was supposed to be, not the fumbling caresses in cars and theatre seats, not the perfunctory grunting and creaking she heard at night in her parents' room, this, this! She seized his lapels and kissed him again, dragging his glasses off with one impatient hand.

A near despairing groan came out of him, and he let go of the chair to cup her face. It was even hotter this time, deeper, wetter, and then he was trailing kisses down her neck and shoulder. She grasped his shoulders like a drowning woman. He pulled her forward, bent her back over his arm and gently, almost reverently, cupped her right breast through her dress. When he drew his thumb across her nipple, she threw her head back and closed her eyes.

He lifted her and, clearing all the papers and pens to the floor with one sweep of his arm, set her on the edge of the desk. Her slit skirt rode up as he pressed in between her thighs, so that when he cupped his hands around her buttocks and pulled her against him, only the thin, damp material of her panties separated her from the feel of his cock, hard and straining inside his pants. He kissed her again.

She found herself dragging impatiently at his button down shirt, thrusting her hands under his belt and searching frantically for skin. When she ran her fingers up his spine, dragging her fingernails against his smooth, warm back, he shivered. She slid her legs around his, twining her feet around his inner thighs, drawing him closer. A delicious itch grew as she bumped her clit against his zipper and that hard, thick mass behind it, and she moved faster against him, her back undulating, until they were panting into each other's mouths, clutching and grabbing, sweat starting in the hollow between her breasts and the small of her back.

He broke free of her at last, eyes and hair wild. He wrenched his shirt off. A button spun away into a corner, and his undershirt rode up, revealing a taut and gleaming stomach. She bent and licked it, lifting the white cotton as she moved upward, until it too went over his head and onto the floor, and he was shirtless in front of her.

Her breath caught. He wasn't as cut as Brian, but he was lean and sculpted in the yellow lamplight. Felicia forgot the frantic hunger of a few moments before and just reached out and laid a hand on his chest. He was watching her, the wildness dying from his eyes as well. His skin was warm and smooth. Some scant hairs trailed between his pecs down into the waistband of his pants, but he was hardly more hirsute than the teenaged boys she was used to. He was beautiful. Her heart was pounding in her throat.

"Touch me," she said.

"Oh my god," he said.

He dragged at the zipper of her dress, forced the material down to expose her white lace strapless bra, her breasts quivering above the cups with the force of her breath. His blunt fingers curled into the cups, spilling her soft flesh free. He made a sound somewhere between a gasp and a groan and then bent his head to her. She threw her head back as his tongue roused her nipples to puckered, aching hardness, and when his teeth grazed her lightly, she let out a strange sound of her own, clutching at his hair.

"Like that, do you?" he growled against her, and then bit her again, harder.

Stars burst behind her shut eyelids. The sensation was almost too much, and yet not enough. She had both fists clenched in his hair, and wasn't sure if she was holding his head to her, or trying to drag him away.

Her bra had gone at some point. Her skirt was up to her waist. When he released her at last from the tormenting, teasing grip of his teeth, she collapsed to the desk, her face red with exertion, her nipples redder still.

He reached for his belt, but she beat him to it, wanting him to know that this was her choice, her desire. She unbuckled him slowly, watching his face as she did it, watching how his eye darkened as she drew the leather from the loops and tossed it aside. His button and zip were next, and then she reached in, feeling the heat of his flesh even before she laid her palm against it, stroking him gently through the cotton of his briefs. This she had done before. When she wrapped her hand around his cock and tugged upward, sliding her thumb up and over that tender tag of skin, he clenched his jaw and drew in a breath through his teeth.

Freed from his clothing, he was straight and fine, a little longer than her hand. He was thicker than Brian, she noticed right away, and had the very first shiver of not-quite-fear when she imagined how it would be when he put it inside her. Then again, some of the girls said that it didn't hurt – and even if it did – she thought about his teeth and shivered again. Maybe it would be okay if it did.

"Stop," he panted, "stop." He pulled her hands away, kissed her devouringly.

They were fumbling with her underwear, desire making their fingers clumsy and stupid when they heard the voices and froze. Male and female. Outside the door. The girl giggled, and then gasped. A body hit the door softly. She giggled again, and the boy said something, low and eager.

Felicia looked into Kyle's eyes, aware that hers had gone huge with trepidation. He looked back at her, and laid a finger against her lips. The other hand he slid into the crotch of her underwear, knuckles brushing her other lips. She bit his finger, hard, as he balled that hand into a fist, and pulled.

Her lace panties, damp and stretched, resisted for a moment and then tore.

"What was that?" The girl's voice was muted, but clear.

"What? Nothing." The boy silenced her further protests with more kissing.

Kyle pulled his finger from Felicia's mouth and then clamped his whole hand over it. He tossed her panties aside and leaned into her. Without his prompting, she reached out to him, and guided his cock toward her.

Everything was ratcheted to a fine, excruciating intensity by the need for silence. Felicia felt the velvet smoothness of his skin against her palm, the dampness and heat of her own pubic curls as she pulled him inward, and when the head of his cock brushed her clit, she closed her eyes and bit her tongue. She moved her hand to his hip to urge him forward.

"Open your eyes," he breathed.

Without taking his hand from her mouth, he began to push into her, their eyes locked together. Her lips parted beneath his palm. She was wet. He slid forward easily, smoothly, without effort. There was an abrupt resistance, and he stopped, took his hand from her mouth and then bent his body over hers, gathering her to his chest. His whole body was shaking now, muscles trembling with restraint. He buried his face against her shoulder, trying to regain control.

Outside, the boy made some comment, and the girl laughed breathlessly.

"Do it," Felicia said in a whispered gasp. "Oh, do it."

He grasped her ass in both hands and did two things at once – bit down into the thick muscle between her shoulder and neck, and thrust forward, breaking her hymen and burying himself to the hilt in her cunt.

It hurt. And oh, it felt so good. She turned her face into his neck, pressing her mouth and nose to his sweaty, salty skin to keep her scream in.

"Okay?" he was asking. "Are you okay?"

"Mmm-hmm," she managed, and then had to put her face back, because he started to move.

"Good. Ah, good." He put one hand into her hair, cradling her against him, holding her still as he began a slow, silky rocking back and forth that gradually opened her a little more, and a little more. The feel of him in her, the stark fact of his cock inside her, was as much a turn on as the way that he was working it, the way that he kept her back bowed to allow as much contact as possible with her swollen, pulsing clit. She couldn't keep silent altogether. A small whimper escaped her as he pushed forward again, and he answered her with a gasp.

"Someone's in there," the girl outside whispered.

"Let's get out of here," her boyfriend answered.

Their footsteps faded away, but Felicia hardly cared by that point.