Extracurricular Ch. 01

He knew it too. That type of bastard had a sense for it.

Rob's poker night, the one his mate Gary threw monthly, provided the perfect opportunity. He'd be out till halfway through next day and groggy for the rest of it. Had it not happened as such she'd have created some ruse, but this way she didn't even have to lie, except of course by omission.

And so she made the vital phone call. Her hand trembled as she pressed each treacherous number and the blood banged in her ears as the phone rang out. Then he answered and she had to quell the shake in her voice.

"Gavin?"

"Amanda."

"It's wrong. Let's do it."

"When?"

"Tomorrow night. How does that suit?"

"It suits fine. Apartment Nine, Albion Court, off High Street Kensington. Eight o'clock."

"I'd prefer nine. It'll make things simpler."

"Nine works too. Wear a coat and heels."

"And...?"

"A touch of perfume. Nothing else. Buzz and I'll let you in."

"I..."

"Till then, Amanda."

It was fortuitous that he clicked off, for the normally articulate Amanda Winter had been rendered speechless, shocked and aroused by how casually he had spun the exchange around to put himself in control. It pissed her off and confirmed her darkest hopes.

She'd known where she stood with Mr Gavin McClain, Managing Director of Rainbow Business Software, and it suited her well. It had been her night of lust--sealed off in a bubble from the rest of her existence, so that it did not pollute with its searing filth.

Rob, bless him, would never know.

She checked her phone prior to leaving her classroom for the evening and her fiancé's message awaited her. Guilt, as she'd assured Christina, simply had to be managed and she shoved her memories of Gavin aside as she listened to Rob's voice. "Hi, love--I'm thinking of giving seafood linguini a shot tonight if you're willing to risk it--pick up a bottle of cabernet in case it's overly scary. Or if you're not ready to risk the linguini, I could grab some take-away from the Mumbai Massala. We can stick with the cabernet, either way. I know it's a school night, but good girls deserve good things, right? Let me know. Love you."

I don't fucking deserve you, Mister. She kissed the faceplate of her phone and absorbed the sadness that came from owning truth to be forever withheld. But even as she packed all in her bag and purse, the memories she had stemmed were rolling in again. Her air of brisk professionalism as she walked from the room and to the school's exit was at odds with recollections that scorched her memory.

She waited till Rob was safely kissed off to his poker game and gave her one-night lover his desire; stripped, showered and moisturised, she donned heels, dabs of Chanel Chance Eau Fraiche and fuck-all else. There was a particular kind of thrill in primping herself for a man she already knew to be a bastard. He was as undeserving as he was sexy, which meant one single thing--she was doing this purely for herself. He was her final gift to Mandy Summers.

Yes, the mini red trench coat seemed apt, set off with crimson lipstick. She brushed out her dark brunette mane, checked that she looked every inch the harlot and set off for her evening's worth of sin.

Fate punished her when her Fiat Cinquecento rolled into High Street Kensington. There was no parking to be had for streets around and rain was coming on, heavy and cold. She walked several blocks into the pelting drops, a newspaper clutched overhead to protect her hair. It was a sodden mess once she arrived at the gates and pressed for Apartment Nine.

"Getting wet out there?" His voice into the intercom was all relaxed amusement, while she stood there shivering.

"Look, buzz me in, or I'll go back to the car."

"No you won't. You want this way too much."

The gate buzzed and so did she with illicit expectation. She pushed and walked inside the grounds, crunching up the gravel path in persistent driving rain, then inside the lush apartment-complex to her fuck-date.

He made her knock and wait dripping at his door, but she liked his meanness. She'd opted for him because she knew with every fine-tuned instinct what a toying fucker he'd be. This man was exactly what she needed.

The door opened and he stood barefoot in slacks and shirt, staring down on her in enjoyment of her rain-drenched plight. "Hi, Amanda." Then he gripped her by the belt of her trench coat and pulled her inside, the newspaper splashing to the floor as the door slammed behind her and she stumbled into him.

"Let me take your coat."

He unbelted it and ripped it open, checking that she'd followed his instructions. "Very good. Very good indeed. I'm glad teacher still knows how to take instructions."

His gaze absorbed her exposed curves and his hands filled themselves with her tits, while pushing her against the wall of his apartment's entryway. The coat hung on her shoulders as he kissed his slow sure way from her neck to her bullet-pointed nipples. He licked and sucked on the peaks of both her mounds, his ravening hunger tamed by expertise, and she groaned at how fucking great it felt.

"Good thing school's out, Amanda," he said as he slid to his knees, hands still clutching her breasts. "I think you're running a fever."

He could share the sexually fevered side of her. The rest was for Rob alone. "To you it's Mandy," she breathed, before his tongue plunged into her cunt.

He ate her out voraciously, palms trailing down to grapple her ass, so that his tongue could fuck her deeper. Then he flickered the tip on her clit, fingers thrusting; she gripped him tight by the hair as with the hands and mouth of a master he brought her off. She came hard and drenching like the rain outside all over his still-intruding fingers.

"See how good a host I am?" he said, feeding her own essence into her mouth with two dripping digits. She sucked hungrily, loving every dirty fucking second. Damn, she'd hit the motherload with this bastard.

He tore the coat clean off her and put her on her knees, raising up her chin with wetted fingertips to look on her in her sweet abasement. "Okay--so how does 'Mandy' suck cock?"

She set about his fastenings with practised fingers, heart swelling in anticipation of the prize beneath. "Like most men can only dream of," she assured him. He sprang out, as huge as he was hard. Oh sweet Christ... She allowed him one split-second's worth of stunned flattery before opening wide and gobbling him up.

Damn, his swollen shaft took some managing. Once her lips were properly stretched around the head, she gripped the base and vacuumed him with smooth undulating slurps, taking in half his thick inches each time, before retreating to lick luxuriously under his glans. She stared a challenge for him to resist her attentions and he eyeballed her in return, the arrogant fuck. She imagined his hand on the back of her head--for surely it would stray there before long--and shunted herself far up his length, taking him squelching to the back of her throat repeatedly and staving off her gag-reflex like the trooper she was. Then she bobbed on the head, cheeks concave, palm wrapped around his shaft to massage as he smiled his approval and stripped off his shirt.

What a beautiful iron-hard torso. He took care of himself, did Mr Gavin McClain.

"That's it, Mandy-girl," he said, as good as naked, his hand closing as she had known it would around the back of her head. "Now all the way down." He meant it too, shafting every last inch of himself past her tunnel-gaping lips till he was packed right down her throat. "Hold it there, hold it..." She hadn't much choice, chin pressed as it was to his balls, but she steeled her nerve until he pulled out again in a great slithering rush. "Yes. I knew that'd be no problem to you."

"Fucker," Mandy panted, drool spilling from her lower lip.

"You make that sound like a compliment," he said as he freed himself completely of trousers and briefs.

"It was."

They shared the faintest glimmer of a smile, before he bent down, grabbed her thick hair, and dragged her scrambling to her feet. "Then I'd better live up to it, hadn't I?"

He seized her by the wrist and pulled her into his plush open-plan living area, no doubt gauging where to put her so he could fit his dick inside her cunt. It was a gorgeous space, expansive with white ceiling and slate-grey walls to compliment the stainless steel of the kitchen. So imminent was their rough copulation, she didn't have the capacity to take in much more detail than that.

There were three seats in the living-room--a great cream-upholstered sofa, a matching banquette, and a black leather recliner--and he fucked her on them all. He put her on the recliner first, pushing her face down against the cool leather before fitting his cock to her pussy and shafting it all slowly inside. Christ, he filled her up, and soon he was reminding her on every mighty thrust; the grunting of his savage pleasure was sauce to her hot shuddering enjoyment. She clutched at the chair's pliant leather, bracing herself against what she already knew would be an extensive reaming. The forces at work on her body were stressing it like a fairground ride might do; she'd been on a pleasantly fun big dipper for some years now, but this was a diabolical state-of-the-art roller coaster and all she could do was scream, cling and see out the ride. Colossal proportions--length and girth--were testing her pussy on each stoke, and the force behind them was like a fucking bulldozer.

Amanda's clit was pulsing, and she reached to relieve its tension with one hand, clawing with the other for continued support from the armchair. It was coming on her--not just orgasm, but the 'purple mist'--she'd coined the phrase back in university--that force which took over when she was aroused beyond a point of no return. In her student days she'd learned to resist it unless she was in a situation where restraint did not matter, for when it descended, all bets were off as to her response; she might say or do fucking anything, and scarcely remember next day what had occurred.

But with this man her guard was properly lowered. The purple mist consumed her, and all became a blur of wanton lust.

She'd serviced him with her mouth in between time spend on soft furnishings, that much she remembered. Then it was on to the sofa, where he'd laid her on her back, right? Spread her legs in a wide fork and speared between her splayed pussy lips, ramming deep with clench-jawed concentration--that look if nothing else would stay with her forever--and mashing her tits one-handed all the while. She had bruises to show for the latter. More heated cock-sucking, then she was straddling him on the banquette, bouncing on his column in a fury and caressing her well-molested tits, a whore, and a goddess both at once; knowing how damn sore she'd feel the next few days and caring in that moment not one jot. He talked at her--filthy and depraved talk that drew out Christ knew what confessions as she rode on him. She didn't care. All that mattered in that moment was the delirious Joy of Fuck.

He put her on the throw-rug after that and his relentless cock was homing in on her ass, but some notion of propriety wrestled its way through the fog of her desire and stopped her from accepting his anal plunge. She writhed around and halted him. "No, not that."

"No?" His grip on her arm was like steel.

"No." She'd have loved it, however scary the invasion, but there needed to be something left for Rob. Something wicked and special. It was one more way in which she had justified her duplicity before setting off in the car. She slithered her hand all over Gavin's length. "Next best thing. Let me show you."

It had served her well since her late teens--her combined mouth, hand and tit-job--and she had honed it on a few guys since then. She gave Gavin the full treatment, glazing him with her throat, wanking him into a froth and squeezing her glamour-model boobs either side of him, massaging him balls-to-tip. Doing it over and over till he and she were a gluey mess of spit. Men had always let her do it till their cocks spewed hot all over her, but Gavin propped himself on the rug, enjoying the show and letting his lust build slowly till it powered him into action. He grabbed her and threw her face-down, then spread her wide, drove back inside her cunt--she'd been bracing for an anal reaming--and fucked her unsparingly.

"I want you to feel this for the next week, Mandy" he growled in a low-key rage.

"Shit, I think I will..." she muttered in response. Then he pulled out, dragged her up and put her like his good little terrier on the hardwood floor.

"Since you seemed so eager to take me in the face..." He was jacking himself to crisis some few feet from her, features set like stone. "You look at me, teacher-girl. No flinching." She stared him out till the great volleys of cum engulfed her, splattering and cascading on impact with her wincing face.

A fittingly filthy end to a hot and messy business.

"How often do you need to get your furniture upholstered?" she asked once she'd showered and towelled down. He'd supplied her with a beer from his fridge and now they sat naked together in his kitchen.

"My cleaner is well-paid and asks no questions," he told her.

"You, sir, are without doubt the dirtiest bastard I've ever met in my life."

"And you're a lady as it turns out. How old-fashioned to save your ass for the second date."

His presumption made her laugh. "Deeply memorable though this has been, there won't be a second date." She clinked her bottle to his. "So here's to our first and last evening together. It's getting late, so I'd better drink up and be on my way."

"Fair enough," Gavin said, and he drained his bottle. "Don't forget your coat."

The movie played out in Amanda's mind all the way to her car. If you were going to indulge in an evening's worth of betrayal, then it should at least be worth the guilt. And even though she'd had to cry off sex for several nights and disguise the mild bruising on her left breast, it had been. Which didn't make her response to Rob's phone message today any easier to send.

"Hi lover-man. Seafood linguini sounds great, I'm looking forward to it already. I'll grab that wine on the way home. See you soon."

Damn, she truly didn't deserve him. A guy so dependable, so sweet and caring. A guy with a reasonable set of priorities, not some self-serving shit like Gavin. It had been one of the great sexual nights of her life but thank Christ she'd never see Mr McClain again. She'd destroy that card in her purse before today was through to underscore the point.

How self-obsessed was that man? Arrogant, shallow, and materialist... His place had been impressive, no denying it, but enough with the ostentation. Come on, did any guy need to have two flat-screen televisions mounted in his living-room? What was all that about?

~~~~

If she had only known...

TO BE CONTINUED