A Game of Consequences Ch. 05

"So it looks like Monday, then?"

"Seems like it. I'll be looking forward to it." She winked, turned and walked away. I would have been happy admiring her bum-cheeks all day, as they bounced under her tight skirt, but on that occasion it was hell, watching that sexy display as she walked away from me, leaving me to nearly 48 hours of purgatory. I spent perhaps the most boring Sunday ever, at home with my folks. I mowed the lawn, I helped Dad wash the car, I even helped Mum with the dinner - anything to take my mind off the overwhelming lust I was feeling for Jill.

By noon on Monday, I was gagging for it. I showered, cut and filed my nails, splashed on some aftershave; I even trimmed my pubic hair. I set off for school in my uniform - something that, a few weeks earlier, I'd thought I'd never have to do again.

I knocked on the door of her tutorial room, and heard her say "Come in." I entered.

She was sitting at her desk, wearing a smart grey business suit with a white shirt underneath. Her hair was tied up, as it usually was when she was at school, and she appeared to be marking an essay. "Ah, Richard," she said casually, "good to see you. Take a seat for a moment."

I sat down as she carried on scrutinising the paper in front of her, apparently going about her normal, teacherly duties. There was no obvious sign that she had any motive other than a normal teacher-pupil discussion about academic matters - except that she was wearing rather more make-up than she normally did on a school day.

"Jill, I..." I began.

"While we're in school, it's Mrs Dawson to you, Richard. I won't have undue familiarity, do you understand?" she said without looking up from her marking.

"No, Miss - I - I think I understand."

"Do you, Richard? Mmm, we'll see. You'll need to be patient for a few minutes."

So I sat in silence for what seemed to be an age, watching the woman I'd so recently fucked with such abandon until my thoughts and lurid memories were interrupted by a sharp knock on the door. 'Oh no,' I thought, 'she's invited someone else along. This is going to be a tutorial session and nothing else.'

"Yes?" she said, again without looking up. The door opened, and the caretaker, Mr Fraser, stuck his head round the door.

"Hi, Mrs Dawson. Just thought I'd remind you I'll be doing my rounds shortly."

"Thanks for letting me know, Frank. I'm going to be a little late tonight. Richard here has applied to some tough universities and will have to face quite a gruelling selection process, so we'll be doing some mock interview practice. I'd be grateful if we weren't disturbed, please - I want to make it as realistic as possible."

"That's OK, Mrs Dawson. It's just that I'll be locking the main gate at six, so if you need to get your car out after that, just knock and I'll open up for you."

"Thanks, Frank. I'm grateful. Goodnight."

"Goodnight Mrs Dawson. Oh, and good luck, Watson."

"Thanks, Mr Fraser," I called out as he closed the door. I didn't really like him - how many school kids get on well with the caretaker? - but I thought I should be polite.

No sooner had the door closed than Jill got up and locked it. "We don't want to be disturbed, now do we?" She lowered the window blind, which meant that there was still a reasonable amount of light but no one could see in.

"So, Richard," she said as she sat down again at her desk. "You're at an interview. You need to answer the questions as convincingly as possible. Shall we begin?"

"Sure."

"Well, Mr Watson," she said smiling. "Tell me something about yourself."

I guess it wasn't quite what I'd been expecting. To be honest, I wasn't sure what I'd been expecting; perhaps a repeat of our session in my room, with the extra frisson of doing it in school. But I guessed this was a tease, a slow build-up to something naughtier, so I played along.

I started to waffle about how I'd always wanted to go to this college and how the course was ideal and closely matched my interests. I spouted crap about History and the fascinating interplay of constantly evolving and maturing political ideas on its ebb and flow. I droned on about the importance of symbols and religio-social trends. A couple of minutes in, she got up and took off her jacket. Underneath, I now realised, she was wearing a sheer white blouse, and her hard nipples stood out, pink and inviting, pressing tightly through the flimsy fabric. But she showed no sign of trying to stop me from spewing out the stream of self-important bollocks that I'd begun, so I had to carry on, staring with increasing frustration at those hard, pink buds, pointing accusingly at me. Inside my tight trousers, my cock was trying hard to point back.

"Thank you for that, Mr Watson," she said looking at me with a serious expression on her face. She crossed her legs, and the skirt rode up her thighs quite a long way. I could detect a stocking top. "Of course, we appreciate that you're interested in the curriculum, but that's assumed to be the case for every student; otherwise, why apply here? No, we're much more interested in you. What is your background? What first made you interested in History? What interests and hobbies do you have? What are your ambitions?"

Once again, I started trying to talk sensibly about my family and my swimming, while trying not to stare too directly at her nipples. Then, just when I felt I couldn't stand it anymore, she swivelled her chair to face me directly and uncrossed her legs. It was pure Sharon Stone. I got a view straight up her skirt of a neatly-trimmed pussy, framed by black stocking tops. And she stayed there, her legs open, gently swivelling her chair back and forth a little, as I was faced with - well, almost everything on display. I took this as my cue to stop talking bollocks and start talking sex.

"I first got interested in History because of a fantastic teacher at my school."

"What was so good about this teacher?" she asked, coyly.

"She has an engaging style, and she makes you think. And not just about History."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, mostly she makes you think about how good it would feel to fuck her sweet, wet pussy." I wondered how she would react to that.

"I see. Tell me more."

"Well, she has the finest pair of tits I've ever seen, with the most amazing nipples that seem permanently erect. They point at you, just daring you to suck and squeeze them. Her arse is peachy, and the way it moves under her skirt can cause a hard-on from fifty yards away. Her legs are gorgeous. I've spent hours just longing for them to open for me."

"And did they?"

"Oh yes. It was the most thrilling experience of my life."

"Really?" As she said it, she slid forward in her chair, opening her legs wider. Her skirt slid higher, giving me an even better view of her pussy. "And what effect did all this have on you?"

"It made me lust after her, uncontrollably. It gave me a hard-on every time she flaunted herself at me." My heart was pounding, and my cock was tenting my trousers.

"I see. And can you provide evidence of this effect?"

"What? Do you mean...?"

"Yes. I'd like to see this alleged hard-on. Don't be shy. Evidence is important, as I'm sure you know."

I stood up, unfastened my belt and trousers, and unzipped. I'd dispensed with underwear - I realised she liked that - and my cock was hard and upward pointing, in a way that only teenage boys seem to achieve.

"Yes, I think that will be sufficient, thank you. Now I think it's time for your oral examination." She started unbuttoning her flimsy shirt and pulling it open, displaying those breasts, those nipples, making my cock even harder. It started to twitch in anticipation. I got up and moved closer.

"So, Mr Watson, show me what you can do." She swivelled the chair towards me, displaying - well, everything, just daring me to touch.

I could've dived for the muff. I could've suckled on one of her hard, pink nipples. But, instead, I bent over her and kissed her. A long, soft, sensual kiss that went on and on. She reached out and started gently stroking my cock. My hand went down to cup a breast, making circular rubbing motions over the sensitive nipple. My kisses moved to her neck, my other hand to her pussy. Then my mouth returned to hers as my fingers penetrated her sweet, wet hole. Yes, she was already wet.

She was wetter still when I finally made my slow way down her body, stopping to lick or, occasionally, suck, everywhere I could along the way. I reluctantly moved my cock out of range of her skilled fingers as I gradually sank lower, past her deliciously-suckable nipples, past her cute little navel, to finally slip my tongue where we both wanted it to go. I'd always found her juices delicious, and with her legs spread wide on either side of my head and her hands in my hair, I lapped away as she guided me. She came with my tongue pressed firmly against her clit, sliding back and forth, two fingers inside her tight, wet vagina and another inside her ultra-tight bumhole. And I stayed on task until she was kicking my back with her heels and pulling my hair out by the roots, begging me to stop.

I finally stood and helped her to her feet, then up onto the edge of the desk. My clothes ended up in a heap on the floor, together with the wrapper from a condom I'd extracted from my pocket. If I'd been a gentleman, I'd have waited to be invited. As it was, her hard nipples, pointing at me, and that wide-open, very wet, very pink slit spread out before me were all the invitation I needed.

We were gazing into each other's eyes as my cock found the wet entrance and, rather rudely, intruded without being asked. She gasped, her eyelids fluttered, and she whispered "Fuck me! Oh yes, fuck me!" It would've been rude to do anything else.

I can still recall the sheer erotic charge of that delicious episode from my sexual adventures with Jill. The closeness of our bodies as she perched on the edge of the desk, her skirt around her waist, her sexy, stockinged legs spread for me and her beautiful breasts pressed against my chest. The way she breathed "Oooh, yessss!" in my ear when my cock filled her and her wet pussy lips kissed my abdomen. The way her head fell back as I withdrew and drove back in quite hard, a long moan escaping her lips. Then her hungry mouth on mine, her hands in my hair, her stockinged heels on my bum as I settled into a pattern of deep, rhythmic thrusts. And the feel of her heightened arousal as my thumb found her clit and she started moving her hips and pulling with her heels to meet my thrusts.

And then there was that moment when, after her gasps of "Oh yes! Oh yes!" increased in volume and intensity, she suddenly moaned loudly and I could feel her legs start to shake. I think it must've been the most powerful orgasm I'd given her. But I, the selfish bastard that I was, kept on thrusting. Fortunately, this wasn't a problem for Jill, who kept coming for at least another minute until I unloaded into the rubber. Then she hugged me and kissed me. And we collapsed back onto the desk.

We cleaned up as best we could and dressed. She opened a window. "It stinks of sex in here," she said. "I need to fix that or I could be in trouble with the cleaners. Oh, and give me that condom. We don't want them finding that in the bin."

Before we left her room, she kissed me and slid her hands down to fondle my arse. "Fantastic fuck, Mr Watson. You've learned a lot. You should sail through your interview. Just don't try any of the more - er, advanced - stuff we did here. At least, not in the interview room." She laughed

As she went to collect her car, I walked out of the school's main gate. Except I wasn't aware of my feet touching the ground. Life was seriously good.