tagFirst TimeA Lesson for Teacher

A Lesson for Teacher


Bill slumped over and padded at her piano. He fumbled around and listened to himself. He only looked at the room's decorations like the wide square of sun that burst through the French doors. A golden Victorian clock on the mantelpiece. The teacher's cleavage, made thick and pert by her black cotton dress. The hardwood floor. Her fair skin, each half-breast identical except for one faint blue vein. Her red thin lips opened. "Your mind is somewhere else today, Bill. Have you been out drinking?"

Her round face curled in a smile and he remembered hearing somewhere, Never trust a girl with thin lips. Her bright blue eyes found his and the closer his gaze wandered to her chest, the more danger pumped through his blood. She seemed indifferent.

"Even in my early twenties, my parents won't let me out. I think I'll always be their slave. Their loss, I say." He squinted. "I make a fine slave, but I can be a handful."

She giggled. "Keep playing your chords. I haven't had to rap your fingers with a spoon yet, but you are uncontrollable. Pay attention."

He gave attention to himself, the cool smooth keys on his fingers, her warm chest beside his head, the light on her flank where the sun and the dress clung to her figure. He watched the tiny curve of her belly, the navel a bare dent in the dress. He traced the vein again.

"Bill, if you looked at the keys so intently instead of my boobs, you would be a virtuoso in a week."

The chords stopped. He blushed.

"Come on, it's a good thing." She sat on the edge of the piano, her hips beside his hands. Her chest leaned closer. "Use that desire. You want this delicate, black and white thing, don't you? Your parents are paying a lot of money for this and I'll give you your money's worth, even if I have to tease it out of you." Two slender pianist fingertips, painted her lips' natural red, touched her chest. "Play," she whispered.

Bill smirked at her and hit the chords. "Can you blame me for wanting something different? I've spent my life locked away by their wealth. They control their banks and their children. Everything they make, they dominate. Maybe I want a different experience. Don't you ever wonder how different your routine could be?"

The teacher reached for something on top of the piano. She smacked the spoon down on his fingers. The piano clanged.



In his gasp, she glimpsed a delighted grin. He ran through the chords faster.

"Hmm, I think you have the hang of it. So, you really want to do things differently?" She tugged the dress. It stretched, her cleavage seemed to grow. "Maybe you're more classic than classical." She stood. "Come on, into the library."

Bill followed her swaying hips, her cheeks' shape poking through the dress. All around, old books in shelves wallpapered the room and loomed over the tiger skin rug, the leather furniture and empty fireplace. She waved him to the rug.

"Maybe you're into Milton? I have an old poem here about when Satan tried to take over Heaven."

Bill moved the way he played, uneasy, unfamiliar. "I'm into all kinds of blasphemy. You know how I feel about rules."

"Dante wrote about going to Hell." Her lips danced about, thin red fire, big shapes and clear words. Her tongue peeked out and Bill grew faint. Watching those lips, flame one second, a damp orifice the next, he forgot her pale body and didn't hear her.

He moved closer. "This is all very fancy."

The teacher's breath stroked his neck. Bill realised how close he'd moved. She giggled, squinted at him and shook her head. A lock of black hair touched his shoulder.

"I hate fancy." He heard his voice, clear again. "I see effort and I want to destroy it. Put me in a suit and I'll get it dirty." Bill stared into the shadow of her cleavage. Everywhere his eyes touched, he imagined plunging himself. He grabbed her hips. Bill's cropped hair touched her forehead.

"Talk. Move your lips."

In the inch between them, his crotch bulged and pressed her thigh. The teacher leapt rigid. She frowned.

"What are you doing?"

Bill's fingers fumbled. He glanced at her faint vein, the books, everywhere but her eyes. She sighed.

"You don't know what to do."

She bent forward, her hair pooled on his neck. Bill felt wetness on his throat. One hand clutched each of his thighs, her thin mouth on his skin. Bill gasped, froze, felt the hands brush up and down his legs. The power returned to him. He grabbed the teacher. For one beat, she gaped and panic lit her eyes. He sucked her lip between his, felt around, probed both with his tongue. She giggled at him, muffled. The teacher grunted. "Do you know what to do now?"

"You're too neat," he panted. "I'm going to defile you. Get on the rug."

He tugged her down by the dress. It stretched and out popped her whole chest in its bra. He pulled the bra away. The teacher rolled her eyes and reached behind her back. It fell into her dress. "You think I have no idea what I'm doing," he growled, her waist between his knees. Bill yanked the dress until it tore away. The noise burst down the hall. He tossed it at the mantelpiece. Old books and candlesticks showered around them. She panted.

"You have me half naked. You don't even know how pantyhose work."

"I'll decide how." Bill leaned under the mantelpiece, in the fireplace and pulled her arm near. She crawled, still giggling. The teacher touched his thighs, delicate and controlled. He kicked off his shoes and shoved down his jeans. Both hands took her face. One cheek and half her neck went black. The fireplace's soot smeared her shoulder. Her lips parted and he saw her wet tongue. The teacher's face dropped, she went quiet. She sucked in half of him and moaned into his shaft. He held her black mane. The fringe thickened with soot. She winced each time the soot painted her and slid him into her throat. When her lips touched his base, they moved with her moans. She held his back and moved him just an inch through her throat. Bill gasped, grabbed her neck and pulled her away.

"Not yet."

He leaned back in the ashes. Bill planted a handprint on each her hips and pushed her onto the rug. The teacher crawled, showed him her thick ass. He grabbed her pantyhose at the crotch and tore. His hands left black trails up her legs, over her thighs and her ruined stockings. He touched her red silk panties and jerked them down. Her thin, bald lips showed one fold of the pink inside. He held each ass cheek, kneeled up and watched his cock thicken at her. The head touched her hot thigh and traced toward her opening. She widened, her wetness opened by itself. He touched her juices, paused and glanced at the red curtains.

"Come on." Bill stood, clutched her by the sooty arm, walked her to the window and yanked the curtain open. Light spilled over their bodies. He pressed her into the curtain. Her hands smeared his chest black. He cupped the breast with the faint vein, tasted her pert hard nipple, covered it in soot and shoved his cock into her. It bumped the back and she whined.

"Your neighbours are going to see this," he whispered. "You're going to look out the window and you're going to wave."

The teacher's face went serious. Her eyelids screwed shut. She shivered and moaned at each thrust. She glanced out the window and waved. The teacher rocked with him, leaned back and held his shoulders. Her fingers trembled and she squeaked, a shrill soprano. She pouted and moaned quicker, rougher and she screamed. Bill felt his pleasure build. The teacher slowed and her wetness went loose, calm.

"Did you just come?" Bill snarled. "You're not done yet."

She quivered again and touched soot on his tiny nipples. They smeared the curtains. Both breathed heat at each other. Damp slaps burst from their thighs. Her fingers loosened. She trembled, opened her mouth wide and shrieked. Bill felt his dam break. He roared. The teacher's legs convulsed and kicked out from under her. She fell into the fabric. Bill clutched the curtain with one hand and his juices sprayed over it. His milk sailed over her and peppered everything. One hot drop landed in the patch of clean hair she had left. Another smeared her cleavage.

Bill looked down at her and felt the neighbours' gaze on his back. She curled in the curtains and trembled. Far later, she stood.

"You've ruined my library."

The teacher engulfed Bill in her lips' fire.

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