Jessica Chan: Teenage Temptress

We drop in for Mark Taylor's last class of the day. It's 5B for English, an experience he always approached with a degree of trepidation. Not a large group (around twenty or so) but they were far from straightforward.

Sure enough, reprehensible activities are happening as he walks in. Some of the kids are in their seats but a sizeable and noisy group are gathered around something at the back of the room. 'Hey, no looking up her skirt,' rings out loud and clear, followed closely by 'Bet he's getting a hard-on!' and raucous laughter.

Mark goes over to see what the fuss is about. What he finds, surprise surprise, is that Keith Trotter, quintessential class nerd, is being bullied.

Today's variant Mark hasn't seen before: Keith is prostrate on the ground and being forced to grovel to one of the girls. He's on his belly kissing her feet and telling her how gorgeous she is. Those watching are finding this spectacle hilarious, needless to say. The girl herself, Jessica Chan, is in hysterics.

'What the hell is going on here?'

Greg Bryant, Keith's persecutor-in-chief, looks round at Mark, no trace of fear or remorse. His father is a major donor to the school. He's bullet-proof. 'Trotter was just worshiping the Empress.'

Keith, red-faced and humiliated, has lumbered to his feet and is staring down at the floor.

'The Empress?' Mark is conscious of showing a little too much interest.

'That's me, Mr Taylor,' grinned Jessica. 'I'm an Empress. Didn't you know?'

In a manner of speaking this was true: Jessica Chan was a beauty, the hottest girl in school, a luscious oriental honey with a devastatingly pretty face and the sort of figure that wet dreams are made of, all of which meant she definitely had the power of an Empress when it came to the boys. It was a power Jessica was aware of and one she abused quite shamelessly; she had all the boys (including big bad Greg Bryant and his gang of bullies) infatuated and wrapped around her finger.

As far as Mark was aware no boy in school had gotten anywhere with Jessica but this didn't stop them forever panting after her. Gluttons for punishment because all she did was torment them with what they yearned for but couldn't have. The girl was barely eighteen but already a world class prick tease.

'No, Jessica, I can't say I did.' As always Mark feels a little weak around Jessica Chan. It wasn't only the boys who were in thrall to her.

'It was only a bit of fun, Sir. You're not mad, are you?' Jessica is pouting prettily, knowing she isn't in any trouble.

'Um, well, let's just get started, shall we?' mumbled Mark, his gaze lingering longer than a teacher's should on various parts of Jessica's anatomy, something her outfit does absolutely nothing to discourage. She's in full 'teenage temptress' mode today: short clingy skirt to show off her stunning legs, skimpy spaghetti top (no bra) which offers up oodles of mouth-watering cleavage, beautifully pedicured feet in open-toed sandals - jesus, it was enough to induce a coronary.

His attention hasn't gone unnoticed. A smug smile flits across Jessica's lovely features. She knows how sexy she's looking and she's pleased with the effect on her teacher.

Mark finally gets the kids to their desks and the lesson started. It ought to be an easy one (he has them sitting there attempting to write a short piece on Beckett) but within a few minutes he's losing focus on what he's meant to be doing (which is marking their last essay). The reason for this isn't that he was on 'mission impossible' trying to teach this bunch much of anything about English Lit (though he was), or that it's a hotly humid day and the air conditioning isn't working properly (though it is and it isn't), no, the reason Mark is struggling is that he's being savagely distracted by Jessica Chan.

Jessica's lovely legs are angled out into the aisle and she's continually crossing and re-crossing them, the performance choreographed so that her skirt rides ever further up her honeyed thighs. She's sat by the wall on his right, about halfway down, and it's a small room, so Mark has an excellent view from his desk at the front. And the view is tantalising in the extreme. How the fuck is he meant to concentrate?

Although actually he is concentrating: he's concentrating on feeding his fevered imagination, stealing as many burning glances as he can in Jessica's direction.

He knew it was unprofessional to be ogling one of his female pupils, and a bit creepy too, he supposed, what with him being middle-aged and married. Trouble was, his wife was also middle-aged and married. Things weren't that 'exciting' at home. He was frustrated and susceptible.

It wouldn't be quite so uncomfortable for Mark if Jessica didn't intuit the situation, didn't sense the lust rioting inside him, but of course she did. She knew that merely her presence in his class got him all flustered. She also knew she held all the cards. If 'Mr Taylor' so much as laid a finger on her, no matter the provocation, it'd be instant dismissal and maybe worse. For a confirmed prick teaser like Jessica Chan there was only one way to play a scenario like that.

Mark sneaks yet another lech, risks a slightly longer one this time. Had her skirt moved up another half a centimetre since he last checked maybe thirty seconds ago? Mark believed it had. He's not a hundred per cent sure but he reckons there's just a little more on display.

At this point his study is interrupted by the subject itself because Jessica decides to tuck her legs under her desk and out of sight. Mark catches her eye and wishes that he hadn't: Jessica's gaze is triumphant and amused. He is being mocked. She's playing with him and wants him to know it.

He looks away, embarrassed, forces himself to think about other things, deeply unsexy stuff like what was for dinner later, but it's futile; he's broiling with desire and the one and only thing he wants to do is stride manfully across to little Miss Chan over there, rip her clothes off and drill her senseless. The challenge, as always, was to get through the hour without attempting that.

Easier said than done on days like this when the girl was on a mission to drive him wild.

He tries another technique, looking instead at Eleanor Harris, a sadly unattractive girl sat in the middle of the front row, but that doesn't work either, it only gets him musing about the difference between the two girls; a physical contrast so complete that it was unfair to Eleanor them even being in the same room. He remembered the time a few weeks ago when Jessica and Eleanor had both been late, walking in together five minutes after class started. 'Hey, look, it's Beauty and the Beast,' was the loud and cruel jibe from one of the boys, Danny Burgess, and poor Eleanor's face had crumpled in dismay when she realised why people were snickering. And Jessica? Well the bitchy smile and the extra wiggle as she sauntered to her desk told the story.

There's some seriously phallic stuff going on now with Jessica's pencil. She keeps fingering and stroking it, every so often slipping the fucking thing into her mouth and sucking on it. She isn't looking at Mark but she knows damn well he's watching. Christ. Could you be murderously jealous of a pencil? Yes, yes you could.

A muffled cry. No need to check the source to know it will be Keith Trotter. Yep, he's getting the 'treatment' again.

The desk directly behind Keith (pretty much in the middle of the room) was much sought after because of the opportunity it afforded to torment him during class and today it's been bagged by Jerry Zimmerman. What Jerry is doing, having finished his essay, is leaning forward and continually flicking at Keith's ears with a ruler. Keith is whimpering for him to stop and looking beseechingly in Mark's direction.

Mark was getting sick and tired of this. Why the fuck didn't the kid stand up for himself?

Usually he'd intervene, tell the bully to desist, but this time he just can't be bothered and he pretends not to have noticed. Jerry can hardly believe his luck and quickly graduates to rapping the top of Keith's head with his knuckles, doing it hard, making Keith cry out in pain.

The rest of the class see what is happening and start tittering. 'Quiet please,' Mark announces. 'Stop it, Jerry,' he adds, deciding it's gone far enough. Jerry settles back in his chair. He has an insouciant grin on his face. 'Sorry, Sir,' he says, clearly not.

Keith carries on silently sobbing and Mark looks at him with distaste. God, he really was pathetic. The stuff that got done to him and he just seemed to suck it up. Because Mark has heard the stories, all the teachers had, he's heard about the horrors inflicted on Keith Trotter when there was no member of staff around to protect him.

Any case, this was the usual deal with this class: Trotter getting picked on and Jessica Chan playing the temptress. If it weren't for these two things it'd be a breeze.

The 'temptress' in question has taken to toying with her spaghetti straps. They're prone to sliding down over her shoulders and she has to keep pushing them back in place. She never seems to quite manage it, for some reason, and they stay kind of half up and half down. Finally Jessica admits defeat, she decides that the straps aren't needed and wriggles her arms free, the scanty top now quite precariously positioned; it's just about barely in place, the only factor preventing total disclosure being that her boobs are large and firm enough to stop it falling all the way off. Fuck, she was driving him absolutely crazy!

Catching him staring -- or dribbling would be more accurate - Jessica preens and flicks her hair. The little tease is having a whale of a time: she has her poor teacher on a spit and it's just a matter of how thoroughly she wants to roast him. She stretches languorously in her chair, arms above and behind her head, meaning that the action switches, the lower edge of this tantalising top of hers now commanding the attention as it climbs up her belly to unveil several inches of tanned and perfectly toned torso. Her fabulous tits are overtly straining against the flimsy material.

Mark is patently leering by this point, he couldn't help it. The view is delicious and maddening in equal measure. Two specific thoughts are tormenting him: (1) that he could go over there and the force in his little finger would be sufficient to dislodge Jessica's top and reveal her luscious breasts in all their glory, and (2) that he couldn't.

So he opts for the only viable alternative: he sits there and suffers.

Jessica's smirking intensifies as she observes the effect on her victim. She knows precisely what's occurring with her top, is perfectly aware of the turmoil she's causing. She was taunting Mark quite openly now. There isn't the tiniest shred of pretence at innocence. The next time she catches him looking she grins right at him and brazenly sticks her tongue out. Then she leans forward to write something on her pad and the abrupt movement is the last straw for the (now strapless) top. It slips and, oh sweet jesus, her juicy melons come tumbling out.

Jessica reacts swiftly, pulls her top up, gets the straps sorted (properly this time), but the lingering glimpse of her magnificent breasts, nipples and all, is burned indelibly on Mark's brain. He couldn't say with certainty just how many sleepless nights it was going to mean. Maybe just a couple of hundred if he was lucky. Oh god.

Jessica looks thoughtful for a moment. Has she had enough fun for one day? Has she finished with her 'torture teacher' game?

The answer comes soon enough. She runs her tongue slowly and lasciviously round her lips and at the same time resumes the gratuitous flaunting of her legs, the crossing and re-crossing 'routine' even more erotic than before. With a wicked grin in Mark's direction she loosens one of her sandals and dangles it seductively from the end of her toes.

Mark is mesmerised and he isn't the only one. Her malicious teasing might be directed at 'teacher' but it was also shattering the composure of those boys who happened to be sitting within eyeshot. Mark sees agonised longing etched across a number of adolescent faces. He doubts their essays on Beckett will amount to much.

Todd Walker, sat diagonally behind Jessica and therefore with a great view of what she was doing, is really suffering: poor kid's tongue is hanging out as he stares at Jessica's spectacular legs and he's fiddling surreptitiously with his trousers.

Mark has problems down there too and he gives thanks that he's behind his desk rather than stood in front of it. He's sweating quite profusely and he has a throbber of an erection. 'Stop it, Jessica, for fuck's sake,' he murmurs under his breath.

But no such luck. What she's doing now is lazily scratching an 'itch' on the inside of her thigh, located right up under her skirt. Mark could see a sliver of white lace. Her finger drifts higher and, oh god, she's stroking her pussy through her panties! Taking her sweet time about it too. Damn the girl!

Mark is losing it now, unsure how he was going to survive to the bell. He has to stop staring at this diabolical little cock teaser otherwise he'll explode there and then and make a mess of his pants. With an effort that can fairly be described as 'heroic' he drags his eyes away and stares sightlessly down at the pile of essays on the desk in front of him. He selects one and pretends to read. He keeps this up for about five minutes and although he hasn't processed a single word he congratulates himself for not looking up and checking on the gorgeous Jessica Chan more than maybe a dozen times.

Not such a triumph, in truth, because even when he isn't looking at Jessica he's having torrid fantasies about her.

Still, only a few minutes to go and he could do what he often needed to after this class: beetle off to the toilets, find a cubicle, and 'take care' of himself in that regard.

Live to fight another day.