A Town Called Lucky: New School Yr.

% A Town Called Lucky

*Caveat lector: All sexual activity or interest is between 18 year olds and older.*

# Prologue

It was lunch time on the first day of the new school year.

I beat a retreat to the office and just as I did my assistant, Miss Colston, came into the office behind me and started to tell me about something or or other. I leant behind her and pushed the door shut and locked it and manoeuvred her further into the room towards the desk.

"Oh no," she said, spinning around and putting her hands on my chest. "No. I know that look. No, we can't, not during hours any more we said, we're not even four hours into the year and... wait... not duri--- ohhh, fuck, you bastard, you can't *do* this, even if you do have magic fingers, ohh---"

After a digital warm up I pushed her over the desk, lifted up her skirt and went to it, one hand pressed into the small of her back, the other in a firm hold on her hair, keeping her head up. It was a pose she was used to by now, though usually I waited until 4PM.

"Fuck. Yes," I muttered through gritted teeth as I tried to push her clean through the pine with each thrust. "Don't. Fucking. Move. Fuck... you and your cunt are just what I fucking needed."

I couldn't really see her expression because she couldn't turn her head, what with her hair being used as my handle to pull myself into her. I couldn't see it but I could image she was smirking.

"Ohh, I guess... I guess I should be flattered, huh? But, ugh... But I know its not me that got you all worked up."

"Jesus, Jess. Those fucking seniors."

"You're always like this."

"Not like this. I swear they're doing it on purpose."

"Of course, ugh, of course they're doing it on purpose. They're --- ahh, fuck, not so deep, fuck --- they're just a bunch of randy, ugh, hormonal, ugh! 12th Graders."

I didn't pay much attention to the 'not so deep' comment. Well, not other than angling down a little and trying to push in harder.

"Ahh--!" he yelped.

I moved my hand from her hair to cover her mouth, which, happily, arched her back towards me even move.

"Their hair, Jess. Fuck. At least two of them were actually twirling their hair at me, like a 90s porno or something. And the little bitches getting every. Fucking. Chance." I was punctuating with thrusts. "To show me. Their gorgeous. Long. Fucking. Legs. Bending over to pick up bags. Walking right up to the desk at the end of the lesson then sauntering off. Wriggling. Their tight. Asses. Its unbearable... ugh..."

I was sweating and felt my blood pumping in my temples. Jess was making slightly worrying little squeaks through my fingers and had gone limp on me. So I eased up and let her head down gently onto the desk surface and moved my hand to the back of her neck as a carried on at a more survivable pace.

"... There must be something in the water this year," I continued. "Normally its a couple weeks before the little tarts get any ideas. I'm fucking stern enough with them. That used to work, for a while at least."

Jess had recovered and said, in that odd, breathless, reverberating tone that women get when you have their cheek held firmly to a wooden desk while you fuck them from behind, "Maybe you're getting a reputation as a man-whore. How many did you have last year?"

"Cheeky bitch," I replied, lightly swiping her ass without stopping. "Last year, I'll have you know, there was only the two."

She gave me a look. *Now* I could see the smirk.

"OK. Only the two that actually went anywhere. Obviously I might have had a one time thing with one or two of the others."

"Or a three or four time thing with three or four of the others," she retorted. "You know, a normal girl might be upset that her boss used her, ahh... used her to take his sexual frustration out on, ugh... whilst he carried on with a... ahh bunch of.. bunch of hot, ahh, teenage sluts."

"I should warn your husband you're not normal then. He'll be devastated. He must have thought he'd married such a normal cock hungry bitch."

She rolled her eyes.

----

It was four years ago that I moved to Lucky. A big, sprawling, run down industrial town in the middle of nowhere, US-of-A. Why? We'll save that story later. I've got Jess to fuck right now. Eye on the prize, boy, as my old PE teacher used to say.

For now, all you need to know is that five years ago I was passing through for work, on a modestly paid research trip about post-industrial decline, a fair old way from home, which was Dublin, where I worked at Trinity College.

I noticed Lucky presented certain opportunities and freedoms. I hated my stuffy little life in Dublin in any case. And so a year later I moved my wife and myself out there. To hell with the academy and career progression, for a few years at least.

From Trinity College to teaching advanced courses in English, History and Biology to 12th Graders in fuck knows where; my friends thought I was mad. My wife was surprisingly open to the whole thing, probably because I told her we'd move on to California some point, and she'd always wanted to live in California.

I got the job easily, as you might expect. Very excited to have you, sign here, tell us if you need anything, and that was almost the last I heard from the Principle in a year.

It was mostly girls in my classes. Half the boys dropped out to work in the remaining manufacturing plants over in the next county, along with the menfolk, most of whom only came back for the weekends. The remaining boys were those without the wits or drive to work, and few of them got into the advanced courses or wanted in.

The girls were better, kind of, but hardly a hotbed of academic ambition. Those who did find employment after graduation would mostly be in hair dressing or waiting. Or, if they'd won the genetic lottery, 'waiting' at one of the better tipping and more scantily dressed venues on the outskirts of town, where the men and boys would stop on their way back into Lucky on Fridays after working at the plants all week.

Yeah. Lucky was one of those kinds of places. The left behind places without a train line, where the Greyhounds came every other day, maybe. To say I loved it, and loved the people, would be pushing it. But there was a rawness to everything, to live where no-one else in the state, let alone the country, gave a fuck about who you were or what you did or if you even existed.

On to those freedoms I was talking about...

There was only one high school left in Lucky and --- having swallowed the the older --- failing schools into one convenient single point of failure, it was seriously huge. Huge and dysfunctional.

I didn't even have a department head. I'm not sure I was actually in a department.

The amount of sex going around was, well, there wasn't fucking in every corridor but there was plenty of it about and no-one cared so long as you kept it to yourself. I happened to know the Principle was having an affair with the father of a 10th Grader, and at least two of the male teachers I was friendly with had admitted to regular flings with their students.

As the exotic foreigner ("are you from Australia, sir?") --- a tall dark rugged looking Celt in his mid thirties, who only taught seniors, kept himself to himself, and maintained a mysterious air by the simple expedient of having a hard to understand accent --- I had plenty of opportunities to indulge every year.

And indulge I did. It was always best to wait a little way into the year though, at least until you'd filtered out the gossips and tattles and any that *didn't* have daddy issues (not many, conveniently, given the rates of permanent or at least weekly absenteeism amongst the good men of Lucky).

Jess Colston had joined as my teaching assistant in my first semester. She was a delight, mid twenties and, as another non-Lucky blow-in, from New Hampshire, a little gust of sanity for me between lessons.

Oh, and she was gorgeous, in a curvy, homely, comely way. Rather different from my beautiful, delicately built willow of an Irish wife.

And she had a great attitude, our Jess. Never complaining much about the late hours, or last minute lesson planning, or the being chucked around and man-handled and ravaged at a second's notice, whenever the urge took me...

--------

"Oh God Jess. Fuck you feel good. Don't fucking move, I'm going to come."

"Oh no, no you don't. Just how many of your kids do you think I need?"

True, she'd had two these last four years. Her husband was delighted, he'd always wanted a big family and there was enough of a similarity in our features for a happy man to not think twice. They really might have been his, she'd told me, they really might. The timing was possible, just. But she didn't think so.

She would beg and I would be good for a while, get into the habit of pulling out and decorating her face or tits. The come-covered look did suit her so well, after all.

But eventually, when you're surrounded by hot teenagers you really shouldn't knock up, and a hot assistant you really can, well... I'm only human.

Her protests were always undermined by her orgasms. I knew how to play her body.

I took the hand from the small of her back and ran it up across her ass cheeks, making circles that got smaller and smaller until my thumb was tracing around her anus.

"Don't come in me, please, please, not this ti---ohhhh fuuu---"

I pushed the thumb in to the first knuckle and held her like that, like a bowling ball.

"Uhhh, nngggg---" She starting to shake as I timed the thrusts with a jerking grip motion of my thumb in her ass.

"I'm going to come in you Jess. I can't go out there and knock up a whole fucking class of teasing eighteen year old tarts but I can do whatever the fuck I want with my sexy fucking TA."

"Fuuuckkk---"

"Come for me Miss Colston. Tell me you want to come and you want me to come. Yes, yes, push back on me you little whore---"

"Oh gddd yesss, I'm, I'm---"

"Whatever. I fucking. Want with you. Whatever I fucking want... I want you to come, I want to fill you up, I want to fuck you until I fucking explode and my heart fucking bursts and you're screaming like a fucking banshee and I don't care if the whole school hears it and thinks you're being fucking raped---"

"Yes! Yes, do it! Do it! Oh Goddd, ohhh---"

For me, in that moment, as it always does, everything became silent and still and weightless, like I was at the very apex of a great leap through the sky, neither rising nor yet falling, but suspended in the clouds.

When I came back to Earth Jess was wriggling contentedly under my prone body.

"Bastard," she said, almost affectionately, turning around to lay on her back, punching me on the shoulder as she did so.

"Ow."

She kissed me hard then held my face and said, "You arrogant Irish bastard. Will you ever let me not be pregnant?"

"Hey. You've had a good two plus years of not being pregnant, all in, since you started here. That's not bad going... for such a fertile cock hungry bitch as you."

She punched my shoulder again, harder, then leaned in to bite my nose. I dodged her and rolled off and up onto my feet, surveying the scene.

Jess looked excellent, as ever, splayed out over my desk, clothes hither and thither, hair a mess where my fist had restyled it.

She didn't bother to lift herself up to look at me as I hopped around getting pants back on, just lying there running a hand in absent minded circles across her Mons, eyes lidded.

"I came in to tell you you've got a visitor in the office office," she said.

The office office is what we called my official office, for meetings and dressing down students and archiving documents and so on. The office we were in right then was technically a colleague's, but he had gone off with a nervous breakdown two years ago and never come back or officially left. We used it for the messy business of real teaching; the lesson planning and marking (I tended to view the floor as my filing cabinet), the hiding from students, the impregnating your TA, that sort of business.

"Oh?" I said, bouncing lightly off a bookshelf as I tried to get my standard issue well-worn brown brogues on without sitting down.

"Your wife. She's waiting in the office."

Oh yes. I remembered.

"OK, sure. I'll go over now. Just let me..." I looked around and found the deodorant and gave myself what the antipodeans call an English bath. "You can finish the history hand-outs for my 2PM on your own, right?" I asked.

She didn't answer me. Instead she got up on her elbows and looked at me. "You know if my husband ever twigs then there's hell to pay. You know that? I'll have to move in with you, mister, you won't get out of that. Me and the kids. Your wife will love that. There's turning a blind eye and there's---"

"---I know, I know. Any case, don't you worry about her. I'm working on her."

"What? What the fuck does that mean?"

I went over, leant down, kissed an escaped Colston tit and, straightening my tie and pushing back my hair, went out to meet my beautiful, delicately built, willowy, determinedly unaware wife for our lunch date.

It was a beautiful day out and this was going to be a good year. I could tell. The best yet.