F is for Fail

"Yes," I moaned as my toes scrabbled for the floor and I really was spread wide for him. As wide as I could spread myself.

"Yes, Mr. Montoya," I sobbed, my toes curling as he thrust deep and hard, his hands pulling me back onto him. "Oh yes... yes..."

"You okay taking it like this?" he gasped, and I knew he was holding back.

"I like it," I sobbed, and I was. More than okay. I loved it. Bent over before him, his to take and he was taking me. "I love it... Do it to me."

He plunged into me, hard and then harder, making me sob and cry out with each hard thrust, his body slapping up against me with every plunging drive of his cock into me. Fast, hard, powerful. Every thrust reverberating through me, and the longer he fucked me, the more my excitement grew, the greater my eagerness as that now familiar pressure and anticipation inside me built, sheer bliss radiating from my sex, filling my body, pooling inside me at my center and expanding, building and my hands clawed at the desk.

"Ohhhh... ohhhhh... ohhhh." My sobbing cries were louder now, uncontrolled and Mr. Montoya did what he'd done before when I couldn't control myself. He took my panties and stuffed them into my mouth, muffling the noises I was making.

"Ohhhh... ohhhhh... ohhhh." I loved taking him. I loved his cock deep inside me, thrusting, stretching me, forcing me to take him. I loved that friction against my channel walls as he moved, the thickness of his shaft sliding inwards at my entrance. I loved the sounds that came from my mouth, loved the wet sounds from my sex and the slapping rhythm of his body against mine.

That pressure inside me grew, a wave within me, building and I knew that sensation now. I knew what was coming and I wanted it and now I was trying to move myself, pushing myself back at Mr. Montoya as he fucked me and I was going to burst. I was going to... I was... I was...

"Hard," I sobbed. "Hard..." and he did and the universe exploded in a cataclysm of rainbow light and pleasure and a great golden wave that rocketed through my body, filling me from my toes to my ears and I hung there, not even able to scream as my sensory system overloaded and still he thrust, taking me over the edge and keeping me there.

Ecstasy.

That's what it was. Ecstasy, and he took me there and held me there, on and on, those golden waves washing through me, slowly receding but that glow remained and still he pumped himself into me, changing his rhythm, slowing a little, changing the angle he entered me at and his hands stilled my shuddering hips as he thrust, on and on and my sex spasmed on him, clasped him and that pressure was already building within me again and I was helpless.

Completely helpless.

He thrust, again and again and I struggled to moan, struggled to sob in the face of that building pleasure as he thrust hotly up inside me and his cock seemed bigger, harder.

"I'm close," he grunted. "So close."

"Do it," I choked, working my panties out of my mouth. "Do it." It was safe. I was taking the pill now. I had been since we'd first started making love because I wanted to feel him finish inside me, and I knew there was only me for him, and I loved it when he came, and he was going to soon, I knew and another orgasmic little wave rippled through me, then another, magnified as he thrust harder.

"God," he groaned. "Krystina... Krystina..."

"Yes," I sobbed. "Please... I want it... I want it..."

"You're going to get it...," he groaned. "Going to... going to..."

"Ohhhhhh," I wailed, my sex clutching at him as that wave inside me crested and broke and washed through me in a surging tide of pleasure once more, and now he was close. He was fucking me hard, his cock slamming into me, my breath huffing out with every thrust as he jack-hammered his cock into me and my sex squeezed him, squeezed and danced on him.

"Ahhhhhh," he grunted. "Ahhhhh," and his cock seemed to swell inside me. Swell and pulse and throb and I was impossibly full as those waves swept through me again and I screamed and hs cock drove into me, one, two, three wild driving thrusts and with each thrust he spurted his semen deep within my sex. Great jetting spurts that flooded me and my entire body quivered and shuddered and collapsed limply down onto his desk as he bent forward over me, his breath coming in frantic gasps.

"Am I good?" I moaned, holding on tight to the desk and doing my best to milk his cock with my sex as he stayed inside me. He'd come hard, he always did and I loved that sensation. That implacable grip of his hands on my hips, his cock driving into me, pumping his semen into me and there was always so much of it. I loved that, that feeling as he spurted inside me and I loved the thought of his semen flooding my sex.

Sometimes I thought I'd like to stop taking the pill and have his baby. That almost always made me climax and I smiled. I'd said that to him once and he'd held me close, his cock still inside me.

"When you're older, Krystina," he'd said.

Did that mean he wanted to keep this going after I went off to college. Would he move? Give up his job here? Come with me? Him and me, it'd be okay for us to be together openly when I went to college. I wouldn't be his student anymore. We wouldn't have to keep this secret. We could even live together and I thought I'd like that. Him and me together, every night. He was older. He was a lot older than me but that wouldn't matter so much when I was older.

"Oh God, Krystina," he groaned, holding his cock deep in me, pressed up against me and he throbbed again, a last spurt. "That was good."

"Mmmmmm," I murmured, my eyes half closed, and I was lying on his desk now, limp. "Can we stay like this for a few minutes before we start studying?" Because this was a tutorial session, and my Dad was paying Mr. Montoya to tutor me for Physics. He did tutor me in Physics, after he tutored me in sex, and we kind of mixed both together a lot, and I was doing way better at Physics.

I was doing way better at sex too.

"Sure," Mr. Montoya gasped, staying inside me, one hand stroking my back and I wanted to purr.

"I can't study Physics like this," I moaned, an hour later, and he was sitting in his chair and now I was straddling him, seated on his lap, facing him. I just sat there with him inside me, shuddering because I loved him inside me. Big and hard and completely stuffing my sex full with cock. His cock, and it went so far up inside me I couldn't think of anything else at all. My hands rested on his shoulders and I just sat there shivering and I looked at him as he brushed my white school blouse back and I knew what he was going to do next.

"Sure you can," he murmured, and he did it. He brushed my blouse open, exposing my boobs and then he took my nipples between his thumbs and fingers, both of my nipples, and he squeezed them gently and I just about climaxed on the spot.

"Review that last formula, Krystina," he murmured, smiling as I bit my bottom lip and tried to talk except the words that came out were totally incoherent and I was moaning as well. "Focus now. If you can focus while we're doing this, you won't have any problems with your exam. Focus, Krystina."

"Nnnnhhhhhh," I whined. "Nnnnnhhhhh," and I couldn't stop myself from moving, lifting and lowering myself, his cock moving inside me and I wanted to look at him where he slid into me but I was still wearing my skirt.

Mr. Montoya chuckled. "I better finish you so we can study," he said.

"Ohhhhhhh," I moaned, because now he moved under me, thrusting upward and he touched something high inside and he was so deep in me, his hands on my hips pulling me down and I wanted more. I needed more and I did what seemed natural.

I braced myself with my hands on his shoulders and I began to ride him, lifting and lowering myself faster, sobbing with every movement and I never wanted to study anything but this with him.

"That's good," he breathed, and we were watching each other's faces. "That's so good. Jesus, that's good."

"I want to be good for you," I moaned, riding him, tossing my hair back as I rose and fell, seated on his cock, impaled on his cock and his hands were back on my hips, kneading my butt, stroking my hips, my thighs and I was seated on a steel rod, impaled, filled and I couldn't do anything except move myself on him and the pleasure rippled through me with every thick slide against the walls of my channel and I was close. Closer with every movement and I was sobbing now and his hands were taking control.

"Oh yeah, you're good," he groaned, moving me and he was penetrating me to my core, huge inside me and his hands moved me and his cock took me with slow intensity and now his nose brushed mine and we were kissing as I rode him. Gentle brushing kisses of our lips as I moved on him, panting and sobbing and shivering with the sheer intensity of that pleasure.

"Ohhhhh God," he groaned, stiffening beneath me and his cock seemed to swell inside me and he was close now too and I looked into his eyes and he smiled.

"Climax for me," he said, pulling me down hard onto him and I did, instantaneously, as if I'd been doing nothing but waiting for his command and it took me by surprise, washing through me like a tsunami, overwhelming, sweeping me away in a whirling maelstrom of pleasure that filled me so that I clung to him, my chin on his shoulder, my moans of delight filling the room as his cock filled me and my sex spasmed and danced on him as my body shuddered helplessly.

"Oh Jesus," Mr. Montoya groaned, his hands on my hips, pulling me down hard onto him as his cock throbbed inside me and that first spurt erupted from the tip of his cock, his hot cum flooded me wetly and I buried my face against his shoulder and moaned as my sex spasmed and danced and my climax washed through me, golden shuddering pleasure washing through me as spurt after spurt of his cum exploded from his cock deep inside my sex.

"Ohhh... ohhh... ohhhh," I moaned, desperately clutching at him as he came and came and came and I loved it when he did, just as much as I'd loved it earlier when he bent me over his desk and fucked me and I squeezed his cock with my sex, milking him as he throbbed inside me and his hands held me tight and he groaned his pleasure as he humped upwards desperately beneath me and I clung to him, sobbing with my own pleasure.

"God, you're good, Krystina," he said at last, and it was a long time after and I was still sitting on him and we were both still breathing hard and me, I was just glowing and shivering every now and then in the aftermath of that climax and when I looked at the clock, I wanted to smile because I knew we could finish my Physics, and do it one more time before he drove me home to the Dragon Cafe.

"Do I get an A this afternoon?" I murmured without lifting my face from his shoulder.

"Oh yeah, that was better than A. That was an A Plus," he said, one of his hands caressing my butt.

"I'll tell my dad you just gave me an A Plus for sex," I half-giggled. "He'll be happy my tutoring's going really well."

"Don't you dare," Mr. Montoya said, but he was smiling, and he knew I was joking.

It was an old joke and it went all the way back to Grade Nine. My first year in high school, and Mr. Montoya hadn't even lived in town back then. Mr. Montoya only arrived in town the year I started Grade Twelve and my Physics results in my Grade Twelve mid-year exam hadn't been so good. A + in everything but Physics, and Physics had been a B. You have to understand Chinese parents to understand what that did to my mom and my dad.

Here's the thing. If you're Chinese-American, well, an A is Average. B is below average. C is "Can't Eat Dinner", D is "Don't Come Home" and an F, well, that's F as in Fail. F as in, "Failure". F as in "Find a New Family." Don't laugh. It's true. That's why Asian American students outpace everyone else academically. It's the expectations and the pressure from not just your family but everyone in your Asian-American circle. Relations. Friends of the family. Your peers. Everyone.

If you're Asian American, there's all kinds of role models to emulate, and everyone you know understands what they are. "Mrs. Ko's oldest son is a doctor." "Mr. Chin's daughter is an accountant." "My Patricia just graduated from dental school." Medicine, law, engineering, accountancy, computer science and pharmacy. There's others of course, but everyone aims high. Everyone expects their children to study hard and do well. It's not about coercion or some mysterious ethnic Asian gene. It's about the way Asian-Americans view their horizons, with extraordinarily high expectations, so high that the kids who don't rise to the occasion and meet those expectations feel like black sheep.

If an Asian-American kid comes home with a 3.5 grade-point average, their parents are disappointed that it's not 4.0, and they show it. If you get into, say, Cal State, the question is why you didn't make it into Stanford? Were you slacking? If all you have is a bachelor's degree, you're asked why you don't have a PhD or an MBA.

So what does "do well in school" mean if you're Asian-American?

That's easy. Getting straight A's across the board in every subject, graduating as valedictorian or salutatorian, getting into one of the top schools or an Ivy, doing some type of graduate education, and working in one of the 'four professions': doctor, lawyer, pharmacist, or engineer. That's Asian-Americans. When you're Chinese, it's even tougher, because you're expected to beat all those other Asians as well and hey, they're smart too. Nobody said those Korean kids were dumb.

No pressure there.

In my case, yeah, I'm Chinese. Krystina Wong. Wong. Chinese name. That means, yes, I have Chinese parents, so yeah, pressure. I studied really hard. Mom and dad emigrated here way before I was born. Refugees. They didn't have much of an education where they came from but all that meant was that I was gonna have to achieve everything they thought their kids should aspire to. And I was an only child so I got it full force.

Tiger Mom. Tiger Dad. Me. Yikes.

Anyhow, you're probably wondering what all that's got to do with Mr. Montoya bending his star Grade Twelve student over his desk after school finished for the day, flipping her skirt up around her waist and standing behind her fucking the ever-loving Jesus out of her, and yeah, that's what he'd done, and then, well, you read what I did. Then I sat on him and rode him until he came a second time and that's not what your average (or above average) Asian-American Grade Twelve girl does with one of her teachers, is it?

So yeah, a momentary regression to Grade Nine, when a younger Krystina Wong came home with a form from high school for her dad to sign. Home was actually a big apartment above the Dragon Café. Small town, one main street lined with small businesses and shops and a couple of bars and yeah, the Dragon Café. One of those old two story buildings you find on small town Main Streets everywhere across small town America.

Most of my school friends lived in normal houses or out on farms. Me, I lived with mom and dad up above the Dragon Café. Used to be offices upstairs I think, but when mom and dad bought the old building with a loan from Uncle Wentan back in San Francisco, we moved in upstairs to save money. It was empty, no tenants, and no-one interested, so we lived up there and dad worked away, kind of converting it to somewhere we could live comfortably, bit by bit.

I slept on a mattress on the floor when I was little, but now I had a bed and my room looked sort of like a normal bedroom. Except all the furniture was from moving sales and garage sales and stuff and it was a real mish-mash, but it was home, and there wasn't a mortgage, and mom and dad were doing okay. Everybody likes Chinese food, and mom and dad did a bit more than that.

They worked the Dragon from way before six in the morning until late night. Small town, only Chinese restaurant and if anybody wanted Chinese food, the Dragon Café was where they came. Anybody wanted breakfast, like, a real breakfast that wasn't from MacDonald's or the two other takeout places scattered down Main Street, the Dragon Café was where they came. Pancakes, toast, waffles, bacon and eggs, sausages, ham, whatever. We did it all.

Heading home at night from one of the half a dozen bars scattered down the road, the Dragon Café was where you stopped for your fries. We were famous for our fries. Big chunky golden fries that tasted delicious, and we made 'em fresh, they weren't the frozen ones. I didn't have to prep them though, we had an old auntie out the back who did that, and she lived with us as well, slept in a room out the back and Uncle Wentan had sent her to us. Illegal, so she came cheap, but she liked it here. My dad did the cooking and mom took the orders. Typical small Chinese family business.

Me, I sat upstairs and I studied, and when I got tired of that, I came downstairs and sat at a table at the back of the Dragon Café, and I studied, and when it got real busy I helped out clearing the tables. That was where I was when I flipped that form to dad to sign. Downstairs in the Cafe studying. This was when I was back in Grade Nine, mind. First year at high school. Easy to embarrass. Self-conscious the way fourteen year old girls are. That's why I always remembered what happened next.

"What this?" my dad asked, his voice rising in volume and I knew he'd spotted something he didn't like and I couldn't figure that one because it was nothing but a permission form for a Field Trip. I don't even remember what the Field Trip was. I do remember what my dad said though, because he said it real loud.

Loud enough that everyone in the Dragon Café heard.

"What this F for?" my dad just about yelled, and he wasn't quiet. My dad was never quiet. "You get F for Sex. F is for Fail. You fail Sex? You no fail anything. You study Sex harder. Next time I want to see A for sex, not F, Krystina. You need tutor to get A in sex, I get you tutor."

"Dad!" I squealed, blushing bright red, because the Café wasn't exactly empty.

"Hell," one of the truckers sitting there was looking at me and grinning. "I'll volunteer, won't charge a thing."

His buddy punched his shoulder. "She's just a goddamn kid, Marty. Don't embarrass the girl. You know old Charlie don't know much goddamn English."

"No F next time," my dad said, signing where he was supposed to sign and he'd have kept on at me but there was an order waiting and the Dragon Café didn't keep customers waiting. You did, they'd be off to MacDonalds.

"Sorry kid," Marty said after my dad vanished into the kitchen. "That was a bit outta line."

"That's okay," I muttered, my face flaming and I guess we could've turned the lights off and saved some electricity because my face would've lit up the room.

Someone from high school must've been in the Café and heard, because next day...

"I hear you got an F for Sex, Krystina," Phil said, and he'd never talked to me before but he was one of the jocks and a senior and everything and I would've died from excitement if he'd talked to me about anything else. "You need a tutor, you just call me. I'll make sure you get an A."

He wasn't the last and it was about a month before something else took everyone's minds off Krystina's F for Sex but believe me, that embarrassment lasted for years and I never did date, even when I was older and guys asked, because you know, I was the only Asian girl in town so if you liked Asian girls....

And everybody'd heard about my F.

I didn't get over the embarrassment until, well, Mr. Montoya got me over that hump and that was four years later, when I was in Grade Twelve and yeah, I was eighteen. Just. Boy, did Mr. Montoya get me over that hump.