Alex at School Ch. 01

The first time Alex tasted James there was nothing sexual about it at all.

"No, no, no! That phrase is supposed to flow through the notes. Make the line sing. Look, like this."

At that, James took the clarinet from Alex and began to play the principal theme from the slow movement. She could hear the difference clearly. As he played, the notes stopped being individual sounds, but took their proper places in a song of exquisite beauty. The phrase lifted, held, and then dived down the register. She felt herself hold her breath on the long penultimate note, and then sigh with regret as the passage ended.

He was her clarinet teacher, and he made the instrument come alive as he played. He wasn't playing music; he was working magic, playing on her emotions through the medium of a work composed nearly a hundred years previously.

He handed back the instrument, and as she slipped the mouthpiece between her lips – tasted him as if for the first time. Just before she attempted to recreate the soaring lines of melody she thought to herself;

"I wonder what it would be like to be kissed by him."

Alex was in the sixth form of a girls' grammar school. She had turned 18 on October 12th, two weeks previously, and was working hard at her A'levels along with clarinet, guitar and piano.

She was very bright, hard working and liked by everyone. She was expressive in her manner, her brown eyes dancing with delight as she teased one of her friends; her dark shoulder length hair glistening when she threw back her head to laugh. When she smiled, her white teeth peeped shyly through her full lips.

She didn't make any effort to show off her figure, (unlike some of the girls in her school), but it would have been hard to hide the lush curves of her full breasts or her slim waist over her swelling hips. At 5 foot 4', though, she didn't have the stunning looks of her more glamorous class mates, and so she just thought of herself as ok, rather than sexy.

She was so focused on work and activities that boyfriends had largely been a non event. One or too had managed to persuade her to go out with them to the cinema or a drink at the pub. At close quarters, though, she found the boys of her own age rather shallow and boring.

That wasn't to say she didn't have a sex life in her head. There had been the teenage crush on a hunky teacher only two years previously, but she had kept that very much to herself. Lately, however, she had begun to realize that although all the boys of her own age, (and quite a lot of the adults), had a tendency to look at her chest and talk nonsense to her, there were some who treated her like an intelligent person with a mind of her own. In her fantasies, it was these men, even though somewhat older, who she was starting to associate with her growing feelings of sexual desire.

She imagined scenes of romantic dinners where they talked about themselves and the world. They went for walks in the country, and watched plays at the theatre. And she imagined kissing them, caressing them, and being opened and possessed by them. And it was here that she was discovering a darker more thrilling side to herself. These men were all gentlemen, and treated her with courtesy and respect, but sometimes she found herself seeing them become more aggressive, more dominant, more demanding.

As she lay in bed at night, gently toying with the sensitive folds of her moistening sex, she would imagine them tying her up, spanking her as she wept and pleaded (but not enough to make them stop), and then feeling their hard cocks slide into her open mouth or her very wet cunt. She was their bad girl, their sex slave, their slut who wanted and needed be used and filled by them. She wanted them to teach her how to please them in every way they wanted. As she fantasized being made to kneel on the bed like a dog so that this older man could fuck her and spunk in her clenching pussy, she would grit her teeth to hold back her moans as she climaxed on her busy fingers.

And then, she would lock away the images like a secret diary, buried in the recesses of her mind, and resume the role of the bright, intelligent, innocent school girl.

James had only been her clarinet teacher for a couple of months. He was in his late 40s. Always a musician, he had nearly become a professional performer. When that had proved an impossible dream, he had opted for teaching instead, and deputizing for orchestras in the provinces. He had a reputation for being a bit of a perfectionist, someone who would work at a piece of music until it wasn't just played right, but until it couldn't be played wrong.

And yet, despite his focus and his commitment to the playing, he always seemed to remain friends with his pupils. His energy and enthusiasm were infectious, and for him they would work that bit harder, even being known to practice at home. He had been married once, but as for so many musicians, the marriage had foundered on the reefs of long absences and late nights playing concerts in out of the way locations. She had moved in with a work colleague and was last seen happily pregnant and settled.

Not that James had remained celibate by any means. There had been flings with a couple orchestral musicians – both string players. Andrea, the double bass player had been quiet and gentle until that first night in bed. Then she had exhibited a wild and frantic side to sex that was a revelation to James. With her he had learned about bondage, role play and all the wonderful ways of the Dominant/Submissive relationship. Between them they had quickly established that Andrea was most definitely happier being a submissive, and James had a talent for devising scenes that played perfectly to her desires. As for him, he was at first concerned, and then delighted to discover the extra charge that there was in being the master of a willing sex slave.

That had all come to an end about five years previously when she had left to take a very lucrative position at a city orchestra in Austria. And yet, even now, when he was feeling down, he would remember various erotic scenes. His favorite was of her, clad only in stockings, suspenders and high heels, lying face down, spread eagled on the bed. Her arms and ankles were tied to the bed posts with silk scarves. Her incredibly tight arse was raised in the air by three pillows stuffed under her, and he had spent nearly an hour spanking her and masturbating her until she was hoarse from screaming in pain and pleasure, and begging him to

"shove your fucking thick cock up my virgin ass and fill me with your spunk."

He had done just that, having prepared the tight entrance before hand with liberal amounts of baby oil, and she had cum three more times before he had finally unloaded himself into her bowels.

Nobody who ever met the demur Andrea would ever imagine the language she used in the bedroom, and out of it, to urge her James onto more and more perverse sexual practices. He recalled her happy face, smiling up at him from the bath where she was kneeling. She had spent half an hour persuading him that she really did want him to piss on her, and that she wouldn't hate him in the morning. He still couldn't believe that he had done it, or that deep down where he hardly ventured into himself, he had been exhilarated by it. The sex that night had been particularly nasty and mind blowing.

But there was one rule he had maintained with iron discipline. He had never, ever, done anything to even suggest that he found any of his pupils (adult or otherwise), sexually attractive. He had been acutely aware of the couple of times in the past when some female had taken a shine to their teacher. Always, though, he had just ignored it, and waited for it to go away.

So it was that two people, so different in many ways, but with the same deep unspoken needs, were brought together. They met through music, but they would move far beyond that to a deeper appreciation of each other's desires and gifts.

That night, Alex had new face to add to the male body she gladly submitted to as a sexual toy. In her mind, James made her repeat that same musical phrase, standing closer and closer to her. She imagined deliberately getting it wrong, and him turning to her with his eyes flashing. He then sat down and pulled her over his lap and spanked her, wonderfully, twenty times on her panty clad bottom. His hand was firm and hard, like the prick sticking into her belly.

As she imagined the shame and heat of the position, her fingers delved into her pussy and found the wetness that signified her arousal. In and out she pushed, spreading the slickness over her swelling lips. In her mind she was weeping gently, but oh so happy to feel this man master her. In the quiet of the bedroom her low moans and twisting head accompanied the stimulation of her clit. When he had finished punishing her, she imagined standing up and seeing the tent in his trousers. Suddenly no longer shy, she was able to reach out and stroke its length. In reality, her hand moved up to her breast and stroked the soft skin and tightening nipple. She could almost feel his shaft twitch under her touch.

Slowly she pulled down his zip, pleasuring herself with the delightful anticipation. In her fantasy he wanted her to mount him, to ride him like the slut she longed to be. For the moment, however, she was enjoying the teasing foreplay of revealing his cock.

Oh God, she was so wet now. Her two fingers were sopping wet, and her love hole was clenching them as she pushed them in and out of her. She felt the liquid slide down the inside of her thighs onto her nightdress.

It had been years since her fantasies had been so vivid, or so arousing. He seemed to sitting there in front of her, and she couldn't tell whether she was masturbating in the privacy of her bedroom, or releasing the erect prick of her teacher.

As yet, she had never seen a real cock, though one of her friends had brought some American magazines in which had left nothing to the imagination. In front of the others she had acted disgusted and offended – but the pictures were seared into her memory. So it was one of these glistening monsters that she held, and had difficulty putting her fingers around. She saw him smile as she moved her hand up and down the skin, and wondered if would be making the same groaning sounds she heard from her own voice.

She pinched and twisted the rubbery nubbin at the tip of her left breast. She whimpered to herself, now rubbing the flesh to either side of her clit, as she saw herself stand astride her teacher and, pulling aside her white knickers, sit herself onto his hardness.

Her hand moved slowly with three fingers and pressed deeply as she imitated the stretching penetration of her lover.

"Oh god," she whispered, "oh god, oh god, oh god."

Her hips bucked on the bed as her visions took fire in her. She could feel him, she could swear to it, and it felt so fucking good.

Finally, sitting on his lap, feeling him sunk deep into her, she put her arms around his neck and kissed him.

"Thank you sir for teaching me. Thank you sir for spanking me. Thank you sir for letting me fuck myself on your wonderful cock."

She smiled to herself as she saw his look of surprise and wonder at her language. Her stomach clenched as she felt the desire to actually do this in real life. Like water skittering on a hot iron her thoughts shied away from the implications of this. No, for the moment she would be content with this. And yet, deep down, unspoken in the caverns of her longing, her submissive self waited and planned.

And now, she felt her climax rise. Shit, this was going to extra good tonight. She set up a more driving rhythm, using one hand to rub her cunt and the other to continue playing with her tits. In the cinema of her mind, she was now moving up and down on James, watching his face transformed with pleasure, and driving up her own tension.

"Oh my god," Alex breathed as she felt the wave building with frightening speed. This was all happening so fast, and yet it felt so amazingly good. She held the feelings at bay for as long s possible, riding the sensations. But the need could not be denied. As the orgasm burst through her, she had James cum as well, and she felt his spunk flood into her as she collapsed on to him, wailing and crying with joy.

In the bedroom, as always, her noises were more muted – only some strangled whimpering as her body spasmed and she gasped at the contractions. Like a circus juggler, she kept the sparks flying as she continued fucking herself, milking every second of pleasure from her imagining.

When the aftershocks finally died down, Alex breathed out slowly. She didn't often come so hard and so intensely. There was something about James that had struck some chord hidden in her. In her mind he was no longer old enough to be her father. He was experienced, gently and knowing. As she curled up and drifted off to sleep, she pondered how she might get to know him better and discover the truth about him.