A School Night

It was the last week of the last semester of my senior year. Final exams were finished and the students and staff alike were going through the motions of showing up to class and occupying desks. No one wanted to be there, but the school administration insisted on keeping their daily attendance numbers as high as possible. Something to do with school funding. Nevertheless, it felt like a punishment.

One class I didn't mind sitting through was Ms. Marshall's. She was my AP History teacher. I didn't enjoy learning about history, but I thoroughly enjoyed being near Ms. Marshall. She was a tall, elegant, yet timid brunette with long, wavy hair (often done in a ponytail) and large, brown, doe-like eyes. She always spoke as though she could break into tears at any moment. She also had tits the size of a pair of cantaloupes.

Most of her class was spent watching videos on history and filling out boring worksheets. Instead, I would draw pictures of Ms. Marshall in compromising scenarios (my favorite piece was one of her wearing a loose fitting shirt as she leaned over my desk). I spent so much time admiring Ms. Marshall that I had a comprehensive mental catalog of her wardrobe by the end of the year. It consisted mostly of snug turtlenecks, knee-high boots, and long skirts, my favorite of which was a black faux leather skirt that had a zipper up the backside. I often daydreamed about unzipping her skirt while she wrote notes on the whiteboard. In my more risque drawings, she wore a black lace thong.

One class I very much did mind sitting through was Mr. McIntosh's art class. Art stood between me and the end of my day. I thoroughly enjoyed art, however, I did not enjoy Mr. McIntosh. He was a stout, stocky, red-headed man who always seemed to be pissed off by the mere presence of his students. His face always looked like he was in the second hour of attempting to uncork a hard turd. He was an uncompromising man and he wardened a very rigid, tightly controlled classroom. He was a teacher - not an artist.

Mr. McIntosh always joked that he had a choice between teaching and prison (whether as an inmate or a guard, he would never clarify). I never really understood what message he intended by the joke, but I imagine he meant it as a way of scaring students from misbehaving in class. In practice, it prevented anyone from participating in class at all. Mr. McIntosh didn't seem to mind this -- he spent the majority of class behind his desk while I silently sketched things that, under the eyes of a more watchful teacher, would get me expelled from school.

One day after class had been dismissed, I realized I had forgotten my headphones in Mr. McIntosh's room. I doubled back and found the classroom to be unoccupied. I grabbed my headphones and started to make for the classroom door when I spotted Mr. McIntosh's sketchpad on his desk. He was hardly ever willing to share his drawings with his students. Curiosity got the better of me and I endeavored to investigate.

His personal art projects included scores of roughly drawn nudes, both men and women. The men were drawn from the shoulder down, and each and every one of them had a raging hard erection. All the women were drawn seated on a stool, at similar angles, with their legs parted so the viewer's imagination didn't have to do any heavy lifting. The details of the drawings were not fine, they lacked refinement and care - nothing more than crude erotica produced by a frustrated, horny mind in urgent need of arousal. They were perfect.

At the bottom of each page was the name of a teacher at the school. I thumbed through the pages in hopes of finding my favorite history teacher. In my search, I discovered a picture of the band teacher, Mr. Keen, drawn with a cock roughly the size and shape of a clarinet, and Mrs. Carlson, my old reading teacher, whose pubic hair was trimmed to a thin strip. Not a single picture of Ms. Marshall's cantaloupes could be found. I quickly snapped a few pictures from the sketchbook and began to head out the door, all the while pondering if Mr. McIntosh would be willing to take commissions.

On my way out of the classroom, the sound of conversation came from the art supply closet. I stood still for a moment and gave all my concentration to listening in. The bassy sound of a deep voice came first. Then silence. Then, a lighter, higher pitched voice. Then the deep voice again. The deep voice would speak for a few seconds, then the lighter voice would respond in one or two word answers. I slowly moved towards the door so that I could better eavesdrop.

"Tilt your head down," the deep voice instructed. The voice belonged to Mr. McIntosh.

"How's this?" There was no mistaking that timid voice.

I peeked in through a narrow gap between the doors. The closet was half the size of the classroom to which it was attached. The walls were lined with shelves of papers and paints. Inside, Mr. McIntosh's back was turned to me. He sat on a stool with a small easel set in front of him. To his right was another stool with a few pencils set on top. Just a few feet in front of him, Ms. Marshall was seated on a similar stool. Only her bare legs were visible from where I stood. Her clothes were neatly folded on a student desk to her right.

"Spread your legs wider."

There was a heavy pause before the legs obeyed the command.

"How's this?"

The artist nodded.

I couldn't see the sketchpad or its subject from my vantage point. I began to feel that, at any moment, he could turn around and open the door to the supply closet. I was in very real danger of being found.

The moment I began to turn around, however, I realized the sudden power I could hold over every teacher at the school. Stealthily, I crept to Mr. McIntosh's desk and began recording a video of his classroom. Then, I turned through each and every page making sure to capture each drawing and the name below it. Safe in the fact that I could blackmail the entire staff and more than a few members of the faculty, I skulked back to the supply closet door.

He had finished his drawing. He stood beside her now, holding the large pad in front of her. Ms. Marshall, now draped in a large maroon school spirit blanket, smiled pleasantly at the drawing. Mr. McIntosh was smiling as well - but his smile was less pleasant. It was an alien expression on his face - he didn't look comfortable expressing an emotion other than bilious hatred.

"I love it." Ms. Marshall squeaked.

"I'm glad. Truth be told, I've been wanting to draw you for a long time."

I felt a sudden kinship with Mr. McIntosh.

"How does it feel to be part of the club?" asked Mr. McIntosh.

"Honestly? Relieved. I was starting to feel like some of the others were judging me for being too uptight. Or somehow better than them." Ms. Marshall eyed Mr. McIntosh up and down. "Have you ever done a self-portrait?"

"I can't say it's ever crossed my mind. I prefer to watch, not to be seen. I'm a voyeur."

So you like watching other people fucking?

Hearing the word "fuck" coming from Ms. Marshall's mouth was almost more startling that the whole strange scene unfolding before me.

"Yes." McIntosh said, meekly.

"Anyone in this school?"

"Huh?"

"Almost everyone in the school has posed for you, I was just working if you've watched anyone fuck."

If I hadn't seen it for myself, I wouldn't have believed McIntosh's face could turn a deeper shade of red than his natural crimson hue.

"No, at most, the guys will jerk themselves off to get hard for the picture. I thought for a while of buying them viagra, but I don't imagine anyone's pride would allow them to take it."

"So... they just masturbate in front of you? Funny to imagine. Do they just get hard looking at your pretty face?"

McIntosh blushed again.

"Sometimes they watch porn on their phone. A few use my drawings. I consider that an honor."

"Whose picture?"

"I have a lot of requests for Ms. Moreno."

Ms. Moreno. I scanned through the video I recorded of the sketchbook. Ms. Moreno was the school nurse. She was a beautiful olive skinned Mexican woman with shoulder-length silken black hair. She looked like she could have stepped right off a magazine cover.

In her picture, she braced her hands on the back of the stool and thrust her chest skyward. Her legs were spread eagle, barely teasing the sweetest medicine of all.

"That makes sense," Ms. Marshall said. "Anyone else?"

"You want to know if anyone asked to see a picture of you?" Mr. McIntosh smirked.

"Yes," she chuckled, "is that vain?"

"I don't think so, it's an honest question. And I'm sure you'll be happy to hear that you have quite a few fans, men and women alike. Myself included."

"Oh?" Ms. Marshall brought her hand up to her chin. "Do you ever... use your own pictures?"

"You want to know if I'm going to jerk off to this later?" McIntosh waved his sketchpad. "Do you really want the answer to that?"

"I do. I'm just wondering why you would wait until later to use my drawing when you've got the real thing right here?"

I was stunned. Ms. Marshall never gave the impression of a lusting seductress -- she was always so meek and shy. But now, her sexual advances were making both me and Mr. McIntosh blush.

"Why don't we have a little fun?" She delicately placed her palm between his legs.

"Oh?" her mouth tugged into a grin. "Is there something you'd like to share with the class?"

McIntosh unzipped his pants to reveal his already throbbing erection. It was as thick, red, and angry as the man to which it was attached. Ms. Marshall gazed in amazement at the spectacle. As she slowly got down on her knees, she let the blanket slip from her shoulders. Her breasts were heavy yet seemed to defy gravity. Her soft-pink nipples almost disappeared entirely -- if it weren't for the absolute frigid cold temperature of the classroom, they'd have been invisible to the naked eye.

McIntosh's pants slacked slightly around his thighs. Ms. Marshall's lips lovingly kissed the tip of his pulsing prick. She began planting a trail of delicate kisses down the length of the shaft. As she did, she slipped one hand between her own legs and began rubbing herself lightly with her fingertips.

She delicately licked the length of his shaft in one elegant movement, before taking the tip of his cock into her mouth. Her head began to bob in a gentle rhythm. McIntosh rolled his head back. His entire body seemed to go slack. I had never seen Mr. McIntosh relax before. I had also never seen his cock before. But now, he seemed to be a different person entirely. I felt a moment of pity for him -- it must take a lot of energy to be so consistently enraged.

And then that moment of calm was over.

McIntosh grabbed a tuft of Ms. Marshall'shair and plunged her head to the base of his tool. Ms. Marshall took the entirety of it down to the hilt. She gagged hideously as McIntosh filled her mouth. After a moment, he released her and unsheathed himself from her sated lips. His sword was mightier than his pen.

"Wow," she coughed. "You want to play rough, huh?"

Ms. Marshall stood up. For the first time, I saw her in all her glory. Even under the horrible yellow fluorescent lighting, she radiated a glow of sexual energy. She loomed over McIntosh, and it seemed for a moment that she would force him to his knees and make him return the favor to her. Instead, she leaned over the stool on which she had been previously posing, bending only at the waist at a near perfect ninety-degree angle. Without looking back, she shimmied her hips invitingly.

Mr. McIntosh, without hesitation, sank his fingers into her soft hips and drove himself into her.

Ms. Marshall let out a surprised squeak as McIntosh slammed into her. As he continued to thrust, her squeaks became more and more muffled.

It's a bit too late to worry about being discovered, I thought. But both teachers were blissfully unaware of the fact that they were being watched. I began to daydream about what class would be like the next day. I thought about how strange it would be to be sitting in Ms. Marshall's class tomorrow as she droned on about ancient wars, entirely unaware that I had been watching her as she seduced and fucked her colleague.

"I'm gonna cum," Mr. McIntosh's warning snapped me back to reality.

"Don't cum inside me!" Ms. Marshall quickly hopped forward, pushing the stool to the ground with a loud rattling clatter. Mr. McIntosh grabbed his cock by its root and squeezed it tightly. It was urgent and red and ready to erupt. For a moment, he seemed unsure of what to do next. Luckily for him, Ms. Marshall's lusting appetite took control of her faculties and wrapped her lips around his quivering head.

His whole body tightened and his cock began pulsing inside her mouth. She shut her eyes tightly and coughed. A spurt of white erupted from Ms. Marshall's mouth and she pulled her head back as though launched by the force of his ejaculation. His cock twitched once more, and a lazy glob of sperm dribbled onto Ms. Marshall's left breast.

"Tissue!" Ms. Marshall yelped. Tears began to well up in her eyes. Whether it was an emotional outburst or a visceral reaction from having sperm shot directly to the back of her throat, I couldn't tell.

Meanwhile, McIntosh had come to the realization that there were no tissues or rags in the supply room. He turned around and took two awkward waddling steps toward the supply closet door. I stifled a gasp as he stopped right in front of the door where I had been peeking. His still erect red cock pointed accusingly just a few feet from my face. Even though he thought he was alone with Ms. Marshall, he must have thought better about storming out into his classroom with his pants around his ankles. As he began to make himself decent, I quickly slipped out of the classroom and marched swiftly out of the school.

---

The following day in Ms. Marshall's class, I was the most attentive I had ever been. She wore a snug green turtleneck, dark gray leggings, and black boots. She may as well have been wearing a suit of armor -- I could see right through them.

After the bell rang, I waited for all the other students to leave, then mustered up all the courage available to me and walked up to Ms. Marshall's desk. I unzipped my backpack and pulled out my yearbook.

I handed Ms. Marshall the book and asked her to sign the back page.

"Of course!" She smiled as she flipped open the book.

It took her a moment to realize what it was she was looking at before quickly slamming the book closed. Her big brown eyes stared up at me in shock. It was the same look she gave Mr. McIntosh after he spilled his load over her chest.

"Let me draw you."