Extracurricular Ch. 01

"You may be right, but then you'll never know, will you?" He held her stare and Josh could sense the evaluation going on in her mind. His uncle was working her as her class looked on. Giddy though the students were, they were picking up on the moment. To the teacher's clear relief Gavin cut it short. "Got to go. Nice meeting you all."

Competitive spirit flared within Josh. This thing was for real. "Have a great evening," he said to the whole table. "Christina, see you Sunday." He turned away, but then went back as on an afterthought, tapping fingers on her shoulder. His heart was thundering. When you were in a contest with Gavin, you had to do no less than channel him. Christina looked up at him smiling, her friends having returned to conversation with their teacher. "Hey, I've got some ideas for a new menu I think you'll love," he told her.

"You do? That's great." Her voice quavered at his sudden proximity. He inhaled peppermint from her breath.

"And I'd love it if you were the one to try them out first."

"You would?"

"I would, in fact I insist on it." You've no idea how much you're going to try out with me, girl--a whole fucking smorgasbord. "You're going to be my taste-tester."

He was sure she was blushing under the dim lights, right down to her perky cleavage. "Well if you put it like that..."

"That's exactly how I put it. We'll talk Sunday and arrange a tasting. It'll be fun." His fingertips brushed the back of her neck. "Bye."

He left and went after Gavin, leaving girlish chatter about the hot chef and his sexy uncle in his wake, along with a stricken look on Christina's face.

Game on, Gav. Game fucking on.

* * * *

Christina hesitated, knuckle poised, at the door to Miss Winter's classroom. If there was one person in whom she could confide, it was Amanda. Her A-level modern languages teacher had provided a sympathetic ear since her first term at Holland Park Sixth Form College--since the whole drama over whether she should get together with Gabe Carter or his best friend Nick. But was she really ready to share what had happened over half-term break? She was still sore from it, the ache a physical counterpoint to her guilty conscience.

Of course, she had the other Gabe-related issue to discuss, but that one was nothing more than a pretext to the agenda's main item. Maybe she could start off with it. Nervously she rapped.

"Come in." Miss Winter was occupied with a sheaf of papers at her desk, all signs of free spirit 'Amanda' from The Oktoberfest buttoned up or scraped back into a ponytail. She looked impressive in her silk brooch-clasped blouse and navy jacket--still attractive, however stern.

"Hi Miss. I'm not disturbing you, am I?"

"Not at all, Christina. Sit yourself down--I'll be with you in a second."

Christina perched on a desk, feet crossed and swinging, and distracted herself with the array of posters on the teacher's walls--German and French greats both historical and modern, photos of Munich, Paris and Provence, front pages of Le Monde and Die Zeit--anything to take her mind off the throb in her pussy.

Her teacher ordered the papers and set them aside. "Lower-Sixth French essays," she explained. "Not all my students can be shining stars like your class, bless them. Now, what would you like to talk about?"

The past weekend's naked extravaganza was all but consuming Christina's mind, but she chickened out and opted for the pretext. "An opportunity's come up," she said, "and I'm not sure what to do about it."

"What kind of opportunity?" There was interest in Amanda's voice and no hint of pre-judgement. She always listened free of prejudice.

"My sister has a friend who works for a London modelling agency. Top agency, really reputable," she added hastily, for she had in mind the kinds of shoot the company often did. "Lysette--that's my sister's friend--she recommended me to them, said I'd really suit what they're looking for. I didn't take her seriously, but she talked me into going along and registering, just for a laugh, you know?" Amanda nodded and looked intrigued, so she continued. "They gave me an assessment--I, you know, tried on a few things and one of their photographers took some pictures and, well..."

"They've offered you work?"

"Mm-hmm, yes they have." Christina sat on her hands and beamed at the proposition she had been made. "It would only be part-time, I'm not leaving school or anything, I promise. But..."

"What kind of modelling is it? If you don't mind me asking."

"It's, well... They do fashion. I mean lingerie and swimsuits are fashion, right?"

"Yes, yes they are." Amanda's dark eyes glinted with amusement. "And you undoubtedly have the look for demonstrating those kinds of fashion item."

Christina let slip a giggle, her face burning crimson. "I guess I do." She recalled her teacher's discreet suggestion early in the Lower-Sixth year to tone down her look--thigh-gripping pencil skirt and gauzy blouse--so that the boys and Mr Stimpson, the Economics teacher, wouldn't be perving on her all the time. It was advice she'd heeded, adding tights and a jacket over blouses less flattering of her ample breasts.

"Gabe hates the idea," she explained. "He says why should I go prancing about in lingerie like a--what was it he said?--a 'tabloid bimbo' when I could have a proper career. I told him I wasn't giving up all my future plans, you know, that it was only some fun and extra money that'd come in useful. I told him it'd all be really tasteful, not tacky, but he wouldn't listen. We had a whole blazing row about it." Christina wondered how much that row had figured in the events which occurred on the days immediately after. "I mean," she appealed to her teacher, "what do you think?"

"I think," Amanda Winter said, carefully weighing her words, "that much as I liked Gabriel when I taught him, you should take him out of the equation before you make your decision. I'm guessing he can't get past the notion of you parading yourself half-naked for anyone else to see, so his view is a touch jaundiced. Is that fair?"

"Yes. Yes, it is. He does tend to get a bit jealous." God, if he only knew... Christina squirmed at the recollection of a recent 'parading'--for someone other than her first-year art-school boyfriend.

"This is all about you, not him," her teacher went on, "and about what choices you make regarding your career path. You know I'm biased. You're an excellent Modern Languages student and you could use those skills in business, diplomacy, tourism... any number of interesting careers. I wouldn't want you to forego those opportunities for something that's more immediately exciting." Christina reddened again, this time with pride at her teacher's faith in her. "I understand why you're attracted by the idea of modelling. It's got instant glamour and sexiness and--well let's not mince our words, you're built for that kind of shoot, right?"

Christina had been aware since before arriving at Holland Park of her well-defined contours. "Well yes, I suppose I am." She gave a self-conscious giggle.

"No supposing about it. The camera would love you and that kind of attention is very flattering. And there's no doubt the money would be useful with university in view, so I don't discount it out of hand."

"There's a 'but' on the way, right?"

"It's a bit of advice, take it or leave it."

"Of course."

"All I'd say is, be careful what images of yourself you put out there. Depending on what else you decide to do with your life down the line, they can come back to haunt you. Trust me, I have experience of that."

"You do?"

Amanda smiled ruefully. "Okay, Christina, confession time - but keep this to yourself."

"Of course, Miss."

"I wasn't much older than you are now--I'd started University--and I was sunbathing on Brighton beach during a break with some friends. You know, rare day of British sunshine, on comes the tiny bikini, and I was, well..." She illustrated her body with a vague flurry of her hands. "Va-va-voom. Like now, only ultra-tight and nineteen years old."

Christina pictured the nineteen-year-old Amanda bikini-clad and sun-worshipping; not that she imagined her teacher's figure to be significantly less 'va-va-voom' now than then. "I'm lying there," Amanda recalled, "reading a Camus novel and all of a sudden it's "Hey girls," and this cocky young guy is handing me a card. He's a, shall we say, 'talent scout' for Ladzworld Magazine."

"Seriously?"

"He finds I'm at Uni and suggests I'd suit their 'Campus Hotties" feature. Well I laughed it off at the time, but later I got to thinking..."

"Miss, you didn't..." Christina was open-mouthed in her amazement. She couldn't help but be fascinated that her teacher was divulging a spicy secret from her past.

Amanda shrugged. "Money was tight. I knew I wasn't going to get any richer over the next three years and they were offering two thousand quid. I got to feature as their "Campus Hottie of the Month". I mean it was more tasteful than it might have been--I was nude, but..."

"You were nude?"

"Semi-covered up, not tits and ass all out there. It was shot around this great stone water fountain in a London park and my crucial bits were always covered up or thereabouts. I started off in a micro-bikini and then shed it as the photos went on. They had me peeking out from behind a statue or splashing in the water with my hair draped over my boobs... Oh yes, and there was one with me stretched out face-down along the border of the fountain. My ass was pretty much on display in that one, come to think of it."

"Wow."

"I took it as nothing more than a lucrative bit of fun, but my family weren't too happy when they found out. And it didn't do me any favours years later when I was teaching at my first school."

"Oh my God. Did you get in trouble?"

"Kind of. I thought the pics would be long buried, but then one of my male students stumbled on one online. I'd gone under the name 'Mandy Summers'--thought that was oh so clever--but students ended up passing on Google images of me in all my glory. 'Check it out, it's Miss Winter!' You know what fifteen-year-old boys are like. And of course, they let me know that they knew."

"God, Miss, that must have been awful."

"It wasn't wonderful. I barefaced it out, but then a member of senior staff got wind of it and started to make my life difficult. Said the photos made my place on the staff untenable. Bob Wendell--probably slobbering over those pics at night, the desiccated old fucker. Sorry, pardon my French."

Christina had to smirk at her teacher's faux pas. "You don't have to apologise, Miss. So... did you have to leave?"

"Leave? God, no. Not to please him or any of the rest. I'd have had them before a tribunal if they tried and they knew it. But it did make life there... uncomfortable and I started casting around for something else. One of my reasons for the move to this place. The students are more mature and if the 'Mandy Summers' business were to crop up again, my results-statistics are more than enough to shut up senior management."

"Well I won't tell anyone." It gratified Christina that she'd achieved a sufficient level of matiness with Amanda for her teacher to share so much. But she also knew she'd end up taking a private peek at Campus Hottie 'Mandy Summers' on her iPhone before the day was through. Out of curiosity.

"I know you won't," her mentor replied. "Point is, be careful what you allow on camera. It could make life tricky down the line. The modelling is your decision, but think through all the implications and be ready to stand by what you do, that's all I'm saying."

"I know, Miss. It's okay, I'm smart. Not that you weren't," she added hastily. "You know what I mean."

"I know exactly what you mean. But hell, I did look hot in that shoot." They laughed together more like friends than teacher and student. "I hope that helps."

"It does, Miss. Thanks." Christina didn't shift. That other issue was taunting her.

"And... is that everything? Something else on your mind? You weren't as focused as normal in class today and I think it's maybe more than the modelling job."

Christina rubbed one foot against the other. Amanda Winter's intuition had caught her before she could lose her nerve. "There's something, yes."

"Is it you and Gabriel? Did your argument run a bit deeper?"

"No... No, not really. It's more..." She shifted about on the desk.

"Christina, you're not obliged to tell me anything. But it might make you feel better if you did."

"Miss..." She squirmed in a misery of embarrassment. "Have you ever done anything really stupid?"

"You mean more stupid than stripping on camera for a lads' magazine? Tell me. I can see it in your face. What have you done that's so bad, sweetheart?"

Christina's anguish came flooding in. "Miss... I... Oh God, Miss, I've cheated. I've gone and cheated on Gabe." There, it was said. No more prevaricating.

Her teacher paused, calmly taking in what she'd said. "Okay. So was it... with someone you knew well?"

"Kind of. A bit. I was sort of friends with him. He made it sound like it'd be okay if I went around to his place--but he'd been pressing for it for over a week. I knew it was more than a 'friend' thing and so did he. And... he knew I knew. I thought it would be fine and I could tease a little. Have some fun but not let it go any further. I was so mad at Gabe after the row, and he was away on a weekend residential organised by his college. And then when I got there... it all kind of spun out of control."

It was a poor euphemism for the decathlon of amorous athletics in which she'd taken part.

The weather was getting summery and she'd worn the patterned red dress with the plunging front for Josh's 'tasting', her matching lace brassiere peeking out. It was hardly the look for someone with innocent intentions.

"Looking great," he said. "I was wondering if you'd wear the black number from the Christmas party, but trust me I'm so not grumbling." His gaze was roving freely all over her, not straying shy of her plump breasts, and it caused her to break out in gooseflesh. Then he did his cocky-funny chef's banter at the stove like he was on his own TV show, and she was his guest, chopping and tossing all those exotic ingredients together into delicious sample dishes.

Soon she was eating teriyaki pork and chili chicken from the spoon he proffered, laughing as he caught the traces that had run down her chin. It seemed a natural progression when she ended up sucking the sauce from off his fingers.

"God, I like the way you do that. Let me taste."

He did, his tongue tantalizing hers. The moment had already turned too intimate for her to want to stop the kiss. It went on for-goddamn-ever, his fingers whispering about her face and neck and shoulders, trailing through her hair, as his mouth explored. Then it was "time for dessert. Special tasting in the living-room. You're going to like this," he assured, "a lot."

Mocha Chantilly trifle, from his own recipe. It looked as mouth-watering as he did with his short-trimmed dark hair and his hard-defined swarthy features. He resembled that scary-hot uncle of his in appearance, though his manner was more brash and extrovert. Until he went into full seduction mode, that was. "Let me show you how we'll eat this," he said, as she teetered on his living-room carpet. "And take off those shoes. I don't want you falling over."

She kicked off the heels and awaited his next move in sexy-guilty trepidation. A single attempt at protest died in her throat as he eased her dress-straps from her shoulders and unclipped her brassiere at the back. He uncovered her breasts like it was appropriate that he should and breathed audible enjoyment as he smeared Chantilly cream all over her nipples from the glass he had retrieved from the fridge. "The chef should always sample first, don't you think?"

"I... I suppose so." The words quavered voicelessly from her throat. She fought off dizziness as he grasped each breast in turn and stroked and swirled on her nipples with a masterful tongue, licking and sucking her clean. "Oh - Oh - Oh my God... Ohhh..."

He scooped cream from the dessert glass and fed it to her with that same talented tongue, the moment decadent and delicious. Then he told her, calmly and firmly, "Strip--take everything off. Don't think about it, just do it."

She forced out "I have a boyfriend". It would be her one feeble flicker of defiance that whole weekend.

"Yeah? Well he's not here and I am. I've got a huge fucking hard-on for you, Christina, and we both know you want to be on the end of it. So get naked now."

Heaven help her she did want it, divesting herself of every last stitch right in front of him. She even padded around one-eighty when he prompted her: "C'mon, let me see that beautiful bum."

His breath stalled as he cupped and squeezed her ass and her boobs, and then he laughed, his eyes alive with delight and mockery and conquest. She saw the eager boy in him alongside the suave seducer. "Holy fuck," he said, "I'm going to do you all bloody weekend. Get down on your knees. This tasting's getting started for real."

He hadn't been joking. The boy had 'done' her all over his apartment, any which way he could bend her, that night and beyond. He might have gone on longer if his work commitments hadn't come calling. The multi-position shafting had left her far sorer than she'd felt the morning after Gabe took her virginity.

Not that she told Amanda any of this. It was mortifying enough to admit to her transgression in general terms, without letting slip shreds of lascivious detail. "I was at his place Friday night and half of Saturday," was what she said. "I'd told mum and dad I was staying with a friend--it was halfway true, I suppose. I meant to go home Saturday morning. Gabe had left a voicemail and I was feeling rotten, but then he--the guy--kind of talked me into staying."

How lame did that sound? There'd been very little talk involved. She couldn't believe how many times and with how much vigour she'd been taken over one eighteen-hour period.

"Gabe got back Saturday night and he took me for a... a really lovely lunch the next day." Her voice was starting to tremble now. "He'd done a sketch for me while he was away--ponies in the New Forest. It was beautiful. And I sat there and felt such a horrible cheat. I couldn't believe what I'd done."

Tears were welling and Amanda rose from her desk to sit beside her and take her hand. "There, sweetheart, it's okay."

"No, Miss, it's really not okay." The sense of wretchedness became overwhelming. "I had to fake that it was and that nothing had happened. And then later I saw him again--by... by accident, not another date I mean--and he was really pleased with himself, letting me know he wanted to do it all again."

"This is the chef, we're talking about--the young Gordon Ramsay type, from the Oktober pub?"

Christina looked at her teacher, stricken. "Yes. Yes, it's him."

"Thought as much. Good-looking boy and knows it."

"He is," Christina admitted. "And he does." And Amanda hadn't even seen him naked--all lean brawn and big strapping cock.

It was already standing proud when she unzipped the front of his jeans with faltering fingers and tugged on the front of his shorts.

"Go on. Take it out." The bulbous head was peeking over the band. She pulled all clothing away and it swayed before her widening eyes, skin stretched taut over a thick-veined trunk, helmeted head shiny and perfect. No wonder he seemed so pleased with it.