Extra Credit: The Tease Ch. 01

It was my first day as a twelfth grade English teacher at Jacobson High School. It was a big school by all dimensions but looked very old, with two floors and maybe three thousand students crowding them. I was fresh from college at almost twenty three years old, though I could still easily pass for a Senior, much to the eventual embarrassment of the hardly eighteen year old girls passing me in the hallway, blowing kisses to the new guy with eyes that reflected the fly of my pants. I tried not to smile back though the pride a man feels when a woman wants to suck his cock before they've even been properly introduced, it's ageless. Walking through the thinning crowd of mostly half-hearted, seven a.m. smiles, I entered my classroom for the first time. It was small, but the pay was good and the area was excellent, and I'd heard wonderful things about the funds available for teachers, leaving the learning experience as open and unlimited to them as their own ideas and imagination. I wouldn't say I had expensive tastes, but, it was good to know that whatever I needed was within reach, and I could explore a lot of creative outlets to reach my students on a level they would take with them for the rest of their life.

Walking into my classroom as the final morning bell rang painfully from the long, hollow hallway, I closed my door and turned to my first class, my first hour, sixteen in all, ten girls and six boys.

"Good morning," I tried to say as cheerily as possible, hardly a morning person myself despite the butterflies in my stomach as I experienced the first hour and class on my very first day. "My name is Rob, which is the only name I answer to unless someone comes up with a nickname I like. Until then, it's Rob. Hopefully it won't be too weird calling a teacher by their first name, but, I'm only twenty two, so, I really don't think I'm ready to be called mister anything. I don't even drink coffee."

A few of them yawned sleepily, a few girls smiled, the rest seemed like marines at attention, frozen, awaiting their first order.

"First of all, today is going to be very slow and very casual, because being as it's my first day as a teacher and your first day from summer break, I imagine you'd all chase me home with pitchforks and torches if I started handing out homework and sending you home with classroom rules to get signed."

Slowly but surely I was getting their attention, more smiles, less yawns, a few nods and twinkling eyes, suggesting I wasn't quite the stiff they expected, though I knew there was plenty of time to blow that before the day was out.

"My classroom rules are simple, and being as there's only a few of them, should be easy to remember. Number one, honesty. The worst thing you can do to our relationship is lie to me. If you don't know an answer because you had a rough night or a rough morning, you don't feel well, let me know. If I'm having fun and I'm driving you nuts, let me know. Everyone has bad days, bad moods, and bad tempers, and I never want you to feel like that's not important, because it is. You be honest with me, I'll be honest with you, and everything will be as honest as we can both stand."

Now I was really catching glances of interest. I was feeling good. They were getting more life in their faces. I was on a roll.

"Number two, respect. Honesty is an open flame without respect. Respect means that we have to look out for each other, consider other people's feelings and beliefs, and try not to embarrass one another at least as hard as we try not to embarrass ourselves. Now, because I like honesty, and honesty isn't always comfortable, as we get in to different discussions of opinions and beliefs, there is a possibility I have no control over that certain people may feel discomfort. It is important to me that all of you feel capable of expressing yourselves unrestrained of emotion, and naturally of honesty, but please restrain context and language."

Someone coughed and I almost lost my train of thought, suddenly paranoid if it had been purposeful or not, sensing how nervous I felt and trying to throw me off to shut me up. They didn't look that cruel, but, I wouldn't put it past them, I didn't know them yet. I had to pull myself back on their side.

"Personally, I'm a fan of free speech, and if my own job weren't at risk and all of you were comfortable, I wouldn't ask any restrictions on your language, I don't feel this environment should change how you express yourself compared to others, so if something slips, don't worry about it. But if it's consistent, we'll have to work something out, because it'll be my butt if I don't have control."

Looked like number two ran a little too long, I still seemed to be losing them. It didn't take much this early. They were hearing the words, but not all of them were sinking in, lost in their own thoughts and problems, trying to stay awake.

"Number three is the last rule, and it's the only way to get an A in my class. Effort. Not perfection. Effort. No one does everything right, all the time. For as important as your grades are, it is important to me that whatever my grade contributes to your overall grade point average is a fair representation of you as a student, as a person, as a worker, and as a potential success, and I can tell you right now that all of you are A's. You will have to put much more effort into getting a D or an F in my class than you will an A or a B, that's the good news. The bad news is, I can't just completely give you the grade that I know that you're capable of if you're not putting in the effort. So, if you can handle those three rules, rather than drone out something boring in response, pound on your desks and harumph.

They hesitated. I expected that. Unfamiliar instruction from what they're used to always choked up the class, even when I was apart of it. They were trying to figure out what exactly I'd said, which wasn't easy when the windows were still black from the night-sky, flooding over into the early morning. Much to my delight, a smaller guy with glasses and braces began thundering out a drum-roll on his desk and "Harumph-ed". I "Harumphed" back, slowly instigating a back-and-forth Harumphing which really started energizing them.

And such set the tone for the rest of the day. By lunch time, I was full of energy and having one of the best days I could remember, trying to keep track of all of the things I had to tell my fiance' later on. So many personalities and characters, so many smart-asses already, I was overwhelmed by the potential I had to work with in these kids.

By the end of the day, I was all too excited to get home, and having done nothing the entire day, I figured it wouldn't be long at all before I could be on my way.

That's when she walked in.

At first I had no idea who she was. She was tall with petite shoulders and a long, slender body, with light, shoulder-length blonde hair curled softly around her neck and down her back, with bright, subtle make-up and a thin pink smile. The more I looked at her, the more I was convinced that had she been one of my students, which only puzzled me more in how she possibly could have tucked herself away where I wouldn't notice her. She was beautiful in an innocent way that gleamed with sexuality, a natural temptress, the kind of girl that spent her entire highschool career ruining relationships and friendships alike, getting everything she wants.

A whore in every possibly positive and negative connotation of the word. I was nearly sweating. As a matter of fact, I was beginning to lose my grip on the fact that I was a teacher and she was a student, and therefore probably needed to stop admiring how nice her breasts looked. A little bit of cleavage just barely peeked out over her soft, white halter top and the thin, baby-blue shirt that exposed it at the chest, just a hint of white that I couldn't look away from. It was like a curtain behind which the silhouette of a beautiful, naked woman danced and teased.

I wanted to see them, imagined my cum all over them, sliding around the curves and into the depths between, drooling down toward the middle of her long, thin stomach. She was my favorite size, big for a B-cup, and I couldn't help but feel the warm waves of arousal beginning to fall over me like the back-draft of a fire. Feeling my sudden hard-on threw me into a state of complete panic as my hands began trembling and I hid them in my pockets, feeling dizzy and nauseated. I had to keep cool. That's all I had to do. Keep cool and LOOK AT HER FACE.

"Are you mister..." she paused, searching her memory, trying to be discreet as she squinted her eyes at the nametag clipped to my pocket. At least, I think she was squinting at my nametag… though I couldn't help but wonder what about my pants so intrigued her, the fear of being fired coursing wildly through my veins nonetheless. I had to get back control of myself! I may be a pervert, as most men admittedly are, but this was a student; a low even I at my worst wouldn't sink to. It wasn't worth ruining my personal and professional career. I needed to stop!

"I'm sorry," she finally squeeked out. "I don't know where my head is right now… you're mister…"

"Actually," I said, shifting to the side to hide my hard-on, "you're the first person to call me mister all day."

The statement caught her off guard and she lost her train of thought as I smiled apologetically.

"Call me Rob," I said as I motioned for her to sit down at a desk.

"I'm Megan." she said with bright blue eyes staring up at me from that adorable little pale doll-face that I would've went wild over in highschool – as a student, that is.

"What can I do for you?"

She looked deeply in my eyes and then looked away, looked like she was blushing, stumbling with her words with the same awkwardness that I felt trying not to touch the throbbing cock that was baring hard against my pants, begging for release before she left.

"I was wondering... if you had room for more students." she said, as though expecting me to be offended.

"I do now," I said looking around the room with a sheepish grin.

Now she looked at me like I'd said something offensive… did that sound as sexual as it felt? I couldn't tell anymore, everything felt like grounds for prosecution, everything sounded like the interlude in a porno to cut the conversation and get down to some serious doggy-style with two big handfuls of hair… and she was the only face I could see myself riding around like a whore in my dungeon.

I cleared my throat and ran a hand through my hair.

"You want to transfer?" I finally said with some measure of being a professional.

"Do you think I could?"

I couldn't stop staring at her, I'd given up trying to, the battle now was trying not to check her out. I was losing that battle anyway.

"Well, my first hour is my smallest class, I think my last hour is the only class with a full house. Have you talked to your counselor?"

"No, I figured I'd ask you first." she smiled. I imagined her eyes clamped tight, around my cock, pounding an orgasm out of me that sprayed all over my hand, holding her tightly by the hair, pulling moans deep from the depths of her throat which I was navigating to it's fullest extent with my solid, rock-hard cock.

I nodded and it was silent for a moment, and for the first time since high school, I felt that awkward feeling of nervousness when a guy tries not to think about a girl naked while he's talking to her. It was everything I could do to get my brain back on a functioning level.

"Who do you have for English right now?"

She looked up at me sadly like I had asked her to identify her rapist from a line-up, and I almost felt bad for digging.

"Mister Ramierez," she said with a sigh, "he teaches English and he doesn't even speak it!"

She was almost yelling toward the end of the outburst and I couldn't help but chuckle as she looked at me pathetically.

"It's not funny," she said, fighting off the urge to join me in chuckling, hints of a coy little grin beginning to stretch from the corners of her bitter little scowl.

"Are you kidding me," I said with a grin, "an English teacher who doesn't speak English? What could be more fun than that? That's right up there with the gym teacher with asthma and the blind art teacher."

I was flirting now, I could hear it in my voice, feel it in my body language, what could I do? I was long gone? My career rested on the hope that she would turn around and leave before it went too far.

"At this school, it wouldn't surprise me." she said with a reluctant giggle, beginning to relax. "What about you, what's your handicap?"

I wanted to scream exactly what my "handicap" was, what had seriously handicapped any normal ability to walk, think, or speak while she stood before me, waiting to be pulled down for a spankling like my dirty little bitch.

My mind had another brief moment of clarity from which I fought out another seemingly innocent statement.

"Well, for one thing, I dropped out of highschool in tenth grade."

Her eyes lit up like I was suddenly her hero.

"Are you serious?"

"Sure," I said, beaming with pride, "public school sucks. Every teacher has a different way of grading, a different idea of what's important and how things should be done, a different stereotype of kids that they hate, and generally no feeling of responsibility towards making it their fault if you don't do well, even when it's to their credit when you do."

"Are you for real?" she said with excitement. "Homeschool kids are such dorks!"

"Yeah, they are. I did my thing through the mail. They'd send me a subject, and maybe every other day I'd read the material, do the exam, and eight exams later I had another credit. I was done by noon and still had time to sleep in, and after all that I still graduated within about three weeks of everyone I went to regular school with. I wouldn't do the public school thing again in a million years, not if they paid me."

"They are paying you!" she jumped with an accusatory laugh.

"This is different, though. Yeah, I still have a few people to answer to, but, I mean, they aren't telling me what to do anymore than they tell you what hours to show up for. Instead of doing six things a day I do one thing six times, and, I get to meet people like you that want to switch into my class and turn all the other teachers jealous against my hulking good looks and celebrity status."

God how I wanted her to make a disgusted face, shoot me down then and there, and kill at least some of the energy building behind the idea of bending her in half and give her the ride of her life. I wasn't convinced that being rejected would even put me off at this point, more of a challenge, more of a thrill in the persuit, but I was desperate for anything here, any help at all.

"Celebrity status?" she said mockingly. "Look whose full of themself already!"

"Hey, laugh it up cutie, when I start getting handfuls of you at a time switching into my class, call it whatever you want, but that makes me the "cool guy". And I mean, that has it's benefits, but I honestly do get a kick out of putting a different spin on the whole high school experience, and giving some of you kids a break from English teachers that don't speak English. Hell, even the ones that do and just don't know how to speak your language."

I had to stop myself. I felt like I'd danced on the edge and lost my balance, hanging on by a single hand, gripping for my life to decency. I'd called her cutie. I'd actually used the phrase "getting handfuls of you". I said the word "benefits."

Maybe I was overly-paranoid, and the sexual tension was part of the learning curve I would get used to and grow out of. Lots of male teachers started off young with girls they were naturally attracted to, at maybe four or five years older then them. It still didn't make it right to persue it, but maybe I could calm down a little and not feel like such a predator… as much as I was starting to like it the more that I looked at her and the word resonated in my mind. Predator. Hunting her down. Claiming my prey… any way that I wanted. Mmmm.

"Who told you you're cool?" she said, standing up and heading for the door, completely catching me off guard with her suddenness.

She was leaving. I was almost home free. It would all be over and it would keep getting easier from here. Thank God!

"Who told you I'm not cool?" I said, turning my back to her, looking at my desk as though I cared at all what I was looking at. I wasn't even paying attention, I still saw her breasts.

She reached out for the door and closed it behind her, setting her books down on the floor and walking over to my desk, crawling on top of it and bending over low, turning her butt right into my face.

"You want to be a celebrity, Rob?" she said teasingly.

"Uh... Miss... shit... Miss.."

"Megan." she said with a seductive purr.

"Look, stop... just stop."

"What's the matter? Cool Rob can't handle the heat? You should've stayed out of the kitchen, Rob... I know everything you've been looking at, and everything that's been going through your head. You like my tits, Rob? Here's your chance."

"You have to stop, right now. We're already in a lot of trouble if anyone sees, hears, or finds out anything. This is my job, and I don't want to lose it."

"C'mon, Cool Rob, I'm eighteen. You're an adult, I'm an adult, and I'm not even your student... yet."

"Not my student, but a student, and even if you weren't a student at this school, teachers can't get involved with high school students anywhere. Besides, I have a fiance'."

"What do you think she'd say if she knew the way you were looking at me, Rob?"

Cue the guilt trip.

"You're right. Okay? You're right. I shouldn't have been looking at you, and I'll be sure to have a long talk with her about it as soon as I get home because I'm leaving right now."

I made my move for the door but she proved faster, pulling off her shirt and laying down on my desk, thrashing down hard with a considerable thud echoing in the small, mostly hollow room, turning my attention back to her to watch her pushing her jeans down around her ass and spreading her legs. I stalled looking back over my shoulder, stopping my hand short of opening the door for anyone who might be walking by to look in.

"What's the matter, Rob? Change your mind?"

I turned to her, wanting to yell at her, wanting to take control and risk scaring her if it meant saving my job and my relationship, but the sight of her body on my desk took my breath away. Her long legs were thin and shapely, spread apart with amazing flexibility, hanging over either side of my desk with lacy white panties peeking out from between her thighs, visibly soaked by the juices spilling out in warm, electric tingles. Her bra was white cotton, soft and thin with hardly any padding, more than filled by her breasts which spilled out of them, standing up perkily even as she laid on her back.

"Go ahead, Rob," she said with a playful giggle, "I know you like what you see."

"Go ahead what?" I said nearly out of breath.

"Play with yourself, Rob," she cooed, "I love watching an older man cum."

I bit my lip to fight off a moan, still trying to struggle my way out of this somehow.

"Look, we can't do this here. We can't, alright? Can not!"

"Rob… relax. I'm going to cum, and you're going to cum, and when we're done, I'll put on my clothes and I'll leave. The sooner I see that hot fucking jizz shoot all over the floor, the sooner I see your cock pumping out rope after rope of hot sticky cum, and your hand is full of it, dripping in between your fingers… the sooner I can leave."

As though under her spell, controlling me with her eyes, my hand reached for my zipper and pulled it down slowly, still drinking at the sight of her soft nubile body, her hands reaching for her breasts and squeezing out moans softly from her lips, sliding down her waist to her thighs, rubbing up into the soft white cotton of her panties and than sliding back up, touching a finger to her lips. Her tongue danced at the tip of her finger, watching as it slowly disappeared into her mouth, little by little, closing her eyes and bringing her finger down straight into her mouth to the end, and then pulling it out as slowly, letting a thin line of saliva trail from her finger to her lips, kissing the air and glancing devilishly back at me.