Lessons that Last Ch. 01

Author's note: All characters in this story are 18 years or older. All high school students are seniors and at least 18 years old.

Comments, criticisms, compliments and questions all welcome via the CONTACT tab on my profile.

This is my first story. I am looking for an editor for future chapters, so please let me know if you are interested.

Write what you know.

Chapter 1

Matt watched as the bead of sweat slid down her slender neck, its contoured path emphasizing the taut muscles and delicate hollows. As the bead dripped over her collarbone, Matt found himself leaning even further forward on his desk, waiting for the drop to begin its descent down her chest and into the inviting valley below.

The bead hung there for what seemed like minutes, pulsing in Matt's intense gaze. He licked his lips, his mouth suddenly dry, trapped in the moment. The ceiling fan above him pulsed rhythmically with the bead hugging her pale skin, but did little to diminish the damp heat in the classroom.

Doof. Doof. Doof.

The fan echoed a crude heartbeat.

As those minutes ticked on, the drop began its tortuous journey down her chest, climbing the exposed top of her full, heavy breasts. Matt heard a long, deep breath hiss quietly out of his mouth as he admired the perfect details of this glimpse: the glassy bead of sweat trailing over, and magnifying for an instant, a single, tiny freckle.

Matt's eyelids shuttered as if in slow motion, erasing the view in the same moment that the bead connected with the neckline of her tight, yellow top. Matt stared, the shiny trail of the now-vanished bead still visible down her neck and chest.

Cough.

Matt's attention snapped up, drawn immediately to the piercing gaze of two liquid green eyes; of her liquid green eyes, to be precise.

Caught.

Fuck, thought Matt.

He averted his eyes quickly, staring out the window at the school's manicured lawns.

Fuck, he thought again. And by Justine Harris, as well. Could anything be worse?

Zzzzziiiinng.

His panic barely had time to get off the ground before the end-of-day bell sliced through his senses, snapping the spell that had been suffocating the humid classroom. Matt turned his attention back to his class, already half out of their chairs and scrambling for the door, as he tried to regain his composure.

"I hope you've all finished reading The Sun Almost Rises," Matt yelled above the clatter of desks and chairs. "I'm testing you all tomorrow in preparation for your essay next week. Term's almost over, so no excuses anymore!"

Matt watched as his class scuttled out the door, some nodding their heads, others rolling their eyes, most not even registering his words. As the last dregs of students crowded out the exit, Matt noticed a slim figure leaning against the doorframe: blue cut-off shorts and a yellow top.

"You really shouldn't stare," said Justine, an amused half-smile curling her small, pink mouth. "It's rude. And what am I supposed to think? Is there something wrong with me, Mr Hamilton?"

Justine's smile turned into a small pout, and her sharp, green eyes took on a sulky droop. Matt heard the last couple of students giggle as they disappeared out of sight.

"Or maybe there's something right with me?" Justine intoned slowly, her tongue rolling across each word slowly. "Something you'd like, but can't have?"

Breath rushed from Matt's lungs to his mouth, but nothing came out. Justine wiggled her hips just barely.

Matt didn't have time to recover, as Justine stepped quickly around the doorframe and out of the room. He had time only to watch Justine's hips sashay around the corner, her ass accentuated by the tight denim of her shorts.

And then he was staring at open space.

Fuck, Matt thought ineloquently again, his feelings split evenly between a rising sense of humiliation and his student's cute, little ass.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

***

Later that afternoon, Matt slid himself under the barbell at the gym, resting his back against the dull comfort of the bench, prepping himself for another set. As he positioned his hands on the bar, wiggling around to get comfortable, he felt a wave of anger flood over him.

It was one of the many that had surged through him on his way from his class to his office to the school gym, gradually replacing his feelings of humiliation.

He'd just been humiliated by a high school senior. Worse yet, she'd done it in front of some of the other students. And worse again, she was one of his students.

Matt grounded his feet firmly against the floor, arching his back, and unhooked the barbell from its supports. As he lowered the weight to his chest, his thoughts drifted to Justine's ass, something that she'd teased him with on more than one occasion. In fact, Matt was fairly sure she'd teased just about every guy at school with it.

Taking a deep breath, Matt pushed up firmly, his control fluid as he raised and lowered the barbell in slow, deliberate reps.

What a bitch, Matt brooded, his anger fuelling his reps. Justine had been losing pens in front of him all year, bending over, arching her ass, sticking her chest out, and making it clear that she wanted to be noticed. And, now, the one time that he forgot his self-control and had an absentminded perv, she took the opportunity to embarrass him.

Matt Hamilton, an all-American player who was not long out of college, felt like he'd just been whipped. And by a high school senior of all people!

What he wouldn't give to teach Justine a lesson.

Matt imagined placing his hand on Justine's upper back, arching her slender body over his desk, hands splayed awkwardly across its surface, her breathing quickening.

He'd lean over her, brushing his lips against her ear.

"Something I can't have, huh?" he'd whisper, sliding his hand into her shorts and cupping her ass.

Justine would stand there, face blank, pretending that she wasn't enjoying it, her heaving chest the only give away.

Sliding a finger into the crack of her ass, Matt would gently trace the tip up and down, applying just the slightest pressure to her hole with each pass. Dropping her gaze with a sudden sigh, a pink blush spreading across her face, Justine would let out the softest moan.

And then Matt would know it was all over for Justine's teasing.

Matt could feel his cock thickening with each rep and each passing thought, growing down the leg of his baggy gym shorts. Matt grunted, his solid chest and ropey triceps straining against the weights. The more he focused on Justine, though, the easier the set seemed to get.

Matt thought about relaxing the pressure on Justine's back and sliding a hand around her chest, cupping one of her round, heavy breasts and massaging it through the thin material of her yellow top. Her nipple would be visible, painfully hard.

Focusing on that thought, Matt just about threw the barbell as he pushed it up. Lurching, as if pulled by the barbell itself, Matt struggled to pull the weight down and into its support. Sitting up, he stared down at his arms, suspicious of how much easier those last few reps had felt.

What the hell?

Flexing his delts, Matt felt a small tingle running through them. His arms didn't look any different, but they sure felt different.

As he sat there pondering his new-found strength, Matt noticed a flash of colour out of the corner of his eye.

Distracted, he noticed the cheer squad bouncing around in the stadium, their late afternoon training session visible through the glass wall of the gym. Sitting there on edge of the bench, Matt had a perfect view of his fantasy.

He picked her out quickly from the line-up of nubile, young students, their backs facing him as they stretched. Justine's straight, waist-length brown hair gave her away. Matt's cock jumped as she bent over, wrapping her hands around her ankles, her skirt riding up, just barely covering her ass.

The school's cheerleading coach, Gina Sanderson, walked out, barking orders. A notorious bitch, Matt could never work out how Gina got any results from her squad.

Matt watched as Justine sprang back up, bouncing from toe to toe, her eyes trained eagerly on her coach. The change, from the insolent alpha woman she had been in his class to enthusiastic student was clear to Matt even from this distance.

As Justine rocked from her side to side, awaiting final instructions, her breasts bounced generously, up and down, up and down. Matt licked his lips. Then, with her coach finished bellowing instructions and insults, Justine obediently fell into line with her fellow cheerleaders.

Without first realizing it, Matt felt excitement bubble up inside him for the first time that afternoon, a grin spreading across his face. Maybe that was it.

Maybe Justine just needed a firmer hand.

Matt figured he probably could, probably should, teach Justine a lesson. He was her teacher, after all. She was a terrible student and she'd been distracting her male classmates, and more than a few of the girls if he was honest, for a while now. Maybe this was the moment for an intervention.

Picking up his towel, Matt decided to skip the showers, grabbed his bag from his locker and headed home.

He had lesson planning to do.

***

Scanning the rows of desks, Matt smiled to himself. There, in the very center of the second row, was a very empty chair with only ten seconds on the clock until it needed to be occupied. Of course, no one was ever sitting at that desk when Matt's senior English Literature class started.

Because Justine was never on time.

Zzzzziiiinng.

Still smiling, Matt stood and raised his well-tabbed copy of Hemingway's The Sun Also Rises above his head. Surveying his chattering, distracted class, he brought the small book down onto his desk with a thunderous clap.

The incessant background noise ceased as every student turned their wide eyes to the front. Opening his book, and holding it above his head again, Matt paced out from behind his desk and along the first row of students.

"We've been studying Hemingway's classic for a whole term now, yet some days I'm not even sure if any of you have read it," Matt intoned firmly, the faintest hint of a threat coloring his words. "Today, we're going to find out whether I'm right."

Running a finger along the top of the desk in front of him, Matt turned square on to face his class.

"Tamsin."

A ruddy-faced girl at the back of the room, all teeth and no mouth, looked up, a startled expression in her eyes.

"Tamsin, what does Hemingway's protagonist, Jake, do for a living?" asked Matt, a nervous silence still hanging over the room. "What's his vocation?"

"Uh... he's a..."

Tamsin squirmed in her chair.

"He's a jour... a journalist, Mr Hamilton?" Tamsin finally replied, half question, half answer.

"He is indeed, Tamsin. Very good," said Matt. "Now we know that at least one member of the class has skimmed at least ten pages of the book. Great news."

Turning to pace back down the front row, Matt heard a sharp crack behind him as the classroom door swung open. He turned, watching Justine walking casually toward her desk, her perfect hair and even more perfect tits, bouncing slowly.

Today, she was wearing a green, mid-thigh dress, belted at the waist, emphasizing her long, slender legs.

Perfect, mused Matt.

As she approached her desk, Justine began to slow, the unusual silence in the room apparent to her, along with the wide-eyed expressions of her classmates. Slouching quickly into her chair, Justine bent down and fumbled to pull her book out of her bag, confused by what was happening in the normally relaxed class.

The toes of two black shoes poked into Justine's view next to her bag. Peering upwards, Justine found herself looking directly into the unamused gaze of her teacher, Mr Hamilton. And, flicking her eyes down a little, she realized her face was inches away from his crotch.

"You really shouldn't be late to class, Justine," Matt said, smiling down at Justine as she looked up at him again. "It's rude. And what am I supposed to think? That there's something wrong with my class?"

Justine didn't move, recognizing those words as her own, paralyzed by the same tension that had settled over the class minutes before she had arrived.

Justine tried to look away from Matt, but found her eyes awkwardly focused on his crotch again. This close, Justine thought she could make out just the slightest bulge in her teacher's pressed, gray suit pants, running for an impossible number of inches down his thigh.

This time, it was Justine who absentmindedly licked her lips.

"Sit up, Justine."

Justine complied, unsnapping her body from the awkward half-squat, and leaning back into her chair, trying to put as much space between herself and her teacher.

Matt turned and walked back to the front of the classroom.

"So, we know something about our protagonist now," Matt said, back to his class. "But, you'll need to know more than that to get through your exams. So, can someone tell me who Jake, and, for that matter, just about every male character in the book, is in love with?"

The silence in the room pulsed in time with the ceiling fans, the heat settling uncomfortably on every student. Justine felt a bead of sweat run down her neck.

No one answered.

"Justine?"

Justine stiffened in her seat, feeling the uncomfortable heat in the room more than ever.

"Sorry, sir?" she asked.

"We're doing a pop quiz on our book for this term, Justine," Matt said, turning back to his class, waving the book above his head. "Have you read it? Or did you think cheerleading would pay a six figure salary one day?"

"I... uh... well..."

A hushed wave of giggling ran through the class as the students watched the Queen Bee squirming in her seat. Justine felt a hot blush spread across her cheeks, her usual confidence replaced by tongue-tied embarrassment.

"I'll repeat the question for you, Justine. It's really very simple," Matt said. "Who is Jake in love with?"

Even as Justine tried to focus, she felt the bead of sweat run down over her collarbone. She found her attention drawn again to her teacher's crotch, and even from this distance, thought she could make out a tell-tale bulge in his trousers.

What the hell is wrong with me? Justine wondered angrily, shaking her head.

"Rattling around for some brains, Justine?" Matt asked. Justine felt the bead of sweat now rolling quietly down her upper chest, as more snickers skittled across the class.

"Lady... Lady Brett Ashley," Justine replied croakily, pausing to wet her mouth.

"Very good!" Matt said, clapping the book down on his desk. "That gets us about another ten pages into the book."

Justine let out a sigh of relief, failing to notice the gleam of triumph that flickered across Matt's eyes as he watched a drop of sweat disappear into the exposed material of her dark, red bra.

History repeats itself. Or does it?

Justine was struggling already and Matt had barely put any pressure on.

"And what is Lady Ashley's job, Justine? What does she do?"

Justine paused, feeling the flush spreading across her upper chest.

"Uh... I don't think she does anything," Justine replied, a little more confident this time.

Matt narrowed his eyes, leaning back on his desk, admiring the speckled, red blush that was blossoming over his student's chest.

"Well, actually, there's the suggestion that she's done quite a few things in her life," Matt said, as a few of the better-read students snickered. "Quite a few of the characters is probably a better way of putting it."

Matt let the snickering die down before continuing.

"Would you say that's all Hemingway suggested Lady Ashley was interested in doing?" Matt asked. "Only interested in sexually manipulating the men around her?"

Matt spoke those last words slowly, his tongue rolling over each one, his eyes locked on Justine's. Justine could feel the implication, but she found herself lost for words.

"Which character does she infamously seduce at the end of the story?" Matt pressed, barely pausing to allow Justine to answer his previous questions.

More silence throbbed through the classroom, matching the heightened throb of Justine's own heart. She could feel the heat pressing in, and on the spot, under the pressure, she felt suddenly alive. She was without an answer, terribly embarrassed, but also somewhat breathless.

What is happening? she asked herself, confused by her fluttering heart. It's just a fucking pop quiz.

"Uh. I don't know," Justine finally replied lamely.

"You don't know?" Matt questioned, shaking his head in disappointment. "Not a great answer in an exam, Justine. Not a great answer. I hope cheerleading works out for you."

More snickers.

Justine put her head in her hands, finally breaking the connection with her teacher, a feeling of disbelief setting over the top of her racing heart. Only 24 hours earlier, she had been in charge of this situation.

As Matt continued on with the class, he surreptitiously surveyed his number one target. Justine stayed hunched over, staring intently at her desk, but still with that unmistakable pink flush painted all over her upper body.

No matter how many minutes or questions went by, every time he looked back at Justine, she had that unmistakable pink on her pale face and chest.

Justine was lost in thought and deeply confused. She was used to being in control, being at the top of this high school food chain. Yet, she'd enjoyed being pushed around in front of her classmates, even somewhat humiliated.

Zzzzziiiinng.

Justine quickly threw her book into her bag and made a graceless dash for the door.

"Justine, you'll stay behind," came the firm command from the front of the class. "The rest of you are dismissed."

Justine froze, shifting her weight from foot to foot, before finally plastering her sweetest smile on her face and turning to face her teacher, her classmates streaming around her and out the door.

Pushing against the tide, Justine made her way grudgingly to the desk at the front of the room, her teacher now sitting behind it, scribbling deliberately into his diary. At first, she waited patiently, but after a couple of minutes of his scribbling, Justine found her foot tapping impatiently against the tiled floor, the noise echoing around the empty classroom.

Internally, Matt smirked, writing particularly detailed instructions into tomorrow's lesson plan. The longer Justine waited, the better.

Finally, after several more minutes, Matt sighed, put his pen down, closed his book and looked up at Justine.

"You've been late to just about every class this whole year," he said, his voice serious. "Why do you think that's acceptable for you and not anyone else?"

Justine was caught off guard, but reinforced her sweet smile, feigning ignorance.

"I hadn't even realized, Mr Hamilton," she said. "I get so busy with my prefect work, cheer training and the social club that I guess I'm sometimes late to class, but I'm sure it's not all the time."

"It is all the time," Matt replied firmly, gesturing with his hand at the desk behind Justine. "Take a seat, please."

Matt stood up, walking around his desk, but Justine didn't budge. She stared at him, her eyes hard and daring.

"Take a seat, please," Matt repeated, his voice deeper this time.

A shiver ran up Justine's spine as Matt's words rumbled over her. The dynamic had changed, and she found herself taking a step backwards towards the seat Matt had indicated.

What the fuck is wrong with me? Like fuck I'm going to be pushed around by my dweeby English Lit teacher, she chided herself.