Teacher's Pet Ch. 03

I thought this rather elegant solution to the problem, but even so Suzie was bright enough to figure it out. As she filed out after class she leaned over to my desk and whispered: "enjoy the show a little too much?" and laughed mockingly.

Repositioning Suzie solved the immediate problem but didn't resolve my growing obsession with her. I began thinking about her while running during cross-country practice, while going to and from work, and even when I walked down the hall. I had to steel myself not to look at her tight butt when she happened to walk to class in front of me and to never let her walk right in front of me, as on one occasion she stopped dead in her tracks and I crashed into her, my pelvis to her bum, only to hear: "Oh, I'm soooo sorry Mr. Stephens. I'll be more careful next time."

Worse, I carried this infatuation into my subconscious. I often dreamt of her. Not dreams of romance, love or marriage, but dreams of hot raw temptation, that always ended poorly.

The dreams followed distinct patterns. In the first, I hear my front doorbell ring. When I get to the door, Suzie was standing on my doorstep in the rain. She is soaked and, in my dream braless, making the t-shirt she is wearing virtually transparent. Her heavy nipples and areole are perked up hard and upright against the cold wet rain. I see them, of course, and want to suck them until they hurt. I feel my cock hardening and can't take my eyes away from her.

Dream Suzie is shivering, but even so, she does not wrap her arms around her for warmth. Instead, her hands are at her side, her tits standing proud and hungry. She sees my eyes lock onto them, and she bows her back to raise them even higher. She knows she nearly has me hooked.

"I went out for a walk, and I got caught in the rain. You wouldn't begrudge me a little warmth, would you?" she asked. The way she uses the word warmth makes it clear what kind of warmth she wants me to give her.

I fight a losing battle standing in my doorway. I look up and down the street to see if anyone will see it if I let her in the house and Suzie tracks my eyes. She knows exactly what's going through my head. There is no one there. I let her in and suggest that she stand near the fireplace while I grab something warm for her to put on. I leave to grab a warm blanket but look back at her as I depart. This is a mistake. She is standing sideways to the fire, holding her hands down to it. The light from it outlines her proud young firm breasts against her wet shirt, the nipples protruding from the front. The sight freezes me in place. I want those tits so badly. I want to rip the hem of her shirt up over her face and lower my mouth to them, to suck them into my mouth and devour them until I make her moan with pleasure, her nipples red and stretched long.

I walk back to her and stand before her, my hands shaking. I know what I am about to do is wrong. This is the wrong girl to touch. She cares nothing for me. And yet, I look into her eyes and insert my hands under the hem of her white T shirt.

"We should get you out of your cold wet things" I say. "I can put them in the drier and get them warmed up. I begin to lift the hem, then stop. I know my actions are all pretext, and I couldn't care less whether she freezes to death. I want to see those enormous globes. O want to maul them. Mash them with my hands, squeeze the nipples between my thumb and finger. Eat them. I hesitate and stop. She smiles, telling me without words that she likes what I'm doing and that she wants me to remove her shirt, leaving her top naked. I begin again and still she is smiling. Just as the white fabric rolls over the bottom of her massive breasts and I begin to see them, she smacks me hard across the face.

"I came to you for help, and you just want to take advantage of me" she poses. "You're just like all the others" and breaks down crying. I am furious at the intentional whipsaw.

Bullshit!" I scream at her, twisting the thin fabric of her t-shirt in my hand over her breasts. "You came here half naked. You just wanted to torque me up. Well congratulations, you got exactly what you wanted. You know what you want, so why lie about it? You know what you want to give me, don't you? So DON'T LIE TO ME!!" I hear myself scream.

Her head is bowed. She reaches up with her two index fingers and clears the tears from her eyes, raises her head and smiles her little black-widow smile, admitting that even the tears were part of the act.

I explode in anger and yank the t-shirt up over her head and over her back. Using the slack cloth, I tie her arms behind her at the wrist and then force her to her knees. Her tits spring free, massive and lovely. They are within inches of my cock, and she is heaving with passion.

But she cools. "This is rape," she says calmly. "I'll tell them that I got caught in the rain and came to you for help, just some warmth from the cold, and then you raped me."

"You're a liar" I whisper fiercely into dream Suzie's ear. "I can prove it!"

I reach down and into her shorts and push my fingers under her panties and into her quim. She is red hot and the breath rushes from her as if from a bellows. Her perfect pussy, with its' big dark fat lips, is gushing like a faucet and her wetness coats my fingers as I fuck two of them in and out of her with increasing strength. The smell of her begins to permeate my small living room. She arches her back in pleasure, resting her bound hands on her legs and moans, desperately seeking out her own climax.

I withdraw my hand and unzip my pants, freeing my cock.

"Is this what you did to my sister?" she asks petulantly.

"Shut up!" I scream.

"Did you rape my sister?" she asks. "Did you make her want it, even when she didn't really? Did you enslave her, you pervert?"

I grab her face by the jaw: "no more talk" I pull her up by her hair and throw her down on the couch. She lands heavily, her arms still bound. Mounting her, I pull her tiny shorts and panties aside and out of the way and lunge into her. She responds like a woman possessed, pushing her pussy up onto my cock with ravenous hunger. Our lust is accelerating like fire, and she is desperately near climax.

"Please!" she whispers fiercely.

I lower my head to her and kiss her firmly on the lips, never slacking in my assault on her perfect little pussy.

And that is when she bites my lower lip so hard that blood gushes from it, spilling across her chin and neck, and I awaken from the dream.

This ritual of temptation, submission, and rejection was present in every dream I had of Suzie. It was worse when Landrie made an unwanted appearance.

In this different version of the dream, for instance, I leave her on the doorstep and tell her that I'll gather something warm for her to wear—but that I'm taking her home. I gather an old hoodie and she puts it on. we walk to the car. She is deeply disappointed that I didn't make a move on her, but she's not giving up. As soon as we start the long trek to her home, she looks purposefully at me, then lowers her hand into her lap. At first, she runs her fingers up and down her thigh.

"Don't do that!" I tell her.

"Am I disturbing you?" she asks coquettishly.

"Please, stop that!" I ask again.

"Or you'll what, spank me? Teachers used to do that all the time. Can you imagine how many dirty old birds like you used to spank young girls like me on the pretext that they'd done something wrong, when all they really wanted was to get their grubby hands on that young ass? Would you like to get your grubby hands on my young tight ass Mr. Stevens?" dream Suzie asked coyly.

She arches her back just a little so that her hips were lifted off her seat and slips her fingers beneath the tiny strip of fabric separating her legs, obviously rubbing her labia and clit. Her head lolls backwards towards the headrest as the pleasure hits her hard. Soon the cab of my small SUV smells like girl spunk. I am anesthetized by the narcotic smell and the sounds of her moans.

At the "T" at which a left-hand turn would take her home, I hesitate, then turn right instead of left, heading for the interstate highway, so that I can extend our little journey to give Suzie more time to do get herself off.

"I know you've had my sister" dream Suzie says. "She was such a priss, always playing the virgin trump card to me like I was a whore for doing what I wanted with the guys in school. Then all the sudden last summer she had that smug 'I've been well and truly fucked' look, like she was the only person in the history of mankind who ever got laid, but that with her it was a virtue, not a sin. Bitch."

Throughout the soliloquy, dream Suzie keeps rubbing her clit, working her hand around so that her index and middle finger run more deeply into her cleft. The cab now stinks of her, and I can smell it so clearly in my dream that on nights when I awake at this point, I wonder where the smell has gone.

"You want to see me cum, don't you, dirty little man who fucked my sister?" dream Suzie asks mockingly.

"Isn't that why you turned right back there instead of taking me home? You want to see if I'll jill off for you, to give you something more to think about that when you stare at my tits and pussy all day in class? That's what you want isn't it?" she asks.

I stammer incoherently and Suzie removes her fingers from deep inside her. They're covered with her slick and she extends her arm until the fingers are just under my nose and spreads them apart. Her juice makes a small cord between the outstretched digits.

"Ooooh, I got a little wet" she purrs. "Do you like the way I smell?"

I cannot stand it, and I break. I reach out for her wrist and force her fingers into my mouth, tasting her tang and wishing desperately that I could put my tongue into its point of origin. For a moment dream-Suzie loses it right along with me. She thrashes against her seatbelt in response to the sucking sensation on her fingers, her hips pumping up against an imaginary lover. But then she regains control and rips her fingers from my mouth, laughing at me.

"Take me home, you fucking perv" she says coldly.

I hear from the back seat "yes, please take my sister home." It is Landrie, whom, I realize, has been there all along. "You should not have touched her. You will not touch me again, ever."

I wake up in a cold sweat.

The net effect of both dreams was always the same, an enormous boner, or worse a slick spot in my boxers from night emissions, and an ache in my balls so strong that I find it hard to return to sleep before the 5;30 alarm wakes me for cross-country practice. I was losing sleep regularly and it was showing in my work.

Worse, I could not get over the niggling doubt, translated so pointedly my dreams, that Suzie had figured out that Landrie and I were much more than teacher and student. I couldn't say why I felt that way, it was nothing more than an amorphous fear, but it grew each day, and night.

Fortunately, I had a hard stop with Suzie that kept me from doing anything with her. I was sure that if I were to so much as kiss Suzie Souther on the cheek it would be immediately and triumphantly reported to Landrie and that would end my relationship with Landrie. There was a deep, abiding, take no prisoners competition between these two powerful young women. If it didn't rise to outright hatred, it was damned close.

I felt sure that while they might well love one another at some level, Suzie's unusual interest in me stemmed not from any attribute I had, but from the desire to hurt her sister. She wanted what she thought Landrie had "gotten" not because she desired me, but like a toy or a book or video game, I was something that belonged to Landrie and could be stolen. Except that if she were able to steal this "thing," Suzie would deliver an infinitely greater punch to her sister than she ever had before. If she was able to capture me, even momentarily, she knew it would hurt her sister deeply.

Copperhead, I thought, maybe a Coral Snake with all that color, pretty on the outside, but if she bites, you don't last fifteen minutes.

Part Two:

A Productive Conversation

My growing infatuation with Suzie was so troubling that it drove me back to basics, and to seek out her sister's counsel. Whatever else she was in the parallel universe of my sexual fantasy, Suzie Souther was a student, my student, and it was my job to teacher her. Focusing on this task helped douse a little cold water on the growing fire I had for her.

But to teach her, I had to address her the way she was. So, not long after I moved her out of my sightline, I asked her to stay behind.

"You're bored" I began.

"No shit" she replied, testing me.

"You operate under the misimpression that history is useless" I said, refusing to rise to the bait. "You feel that studying what others have done in the past has no application to your life and is useless, that you are merely remembering and regurgitating factoids that can easily be mined from the internet in the unlikely event that you ever needed them. Is that about it?"

Suzie was visibly taken aback, not from the accuracy of my observation, but that I had bothered to make it at all. After a pause she said, "yeah, that about sums it up."

"Okay, here's the deal. I'm going to make a substantial extra effort to prove to you that you are wrong. It will be more work for me, so if you want me to do something extra of value for you, you need to do something for me in addition you must meet basic minimums and do the extra work I assign" I responded.

"Great! You mean I get to do all the boring shit I don't want to do in the first place, and as a reward I also get to do more boring shit? What a pleasure! And if I don't, you'll what? Flunk me for not doing extra work? That's prohibited. I know the rules. If I do the tests—and thanks by the way for the butt-fuck on the pop quiz while I was out—then I pass, and that's all I need to do. And that's all I intend to do. I'm not going to study history in college. I'm not going to waste my life learning a dead art about dead people and, God forbid, teach it!"

"No" I said answering her charge and again avoiding the bait. "Of course, I'm not going to flunk you. If you continue, you'll make a grade based on how you handle course materials, just like everyone else. Based on what I've seen so far, that will be a C-/D+ average like you have in just about every other social studies course you've ever taken. You'll be bored beyond measure, gain nothing from the experience, and waste fifty-five minutes a day of your senior year along with some of my time and the time of the students around you who have live through your bullcrap. If that's what you want, you can have that. But if you want something more, to be something more, I'll give you the extra materials and describe what I want done. You'll either do it and look in the mirror and see someone who lives up to your own standards, or you'll refuse to do it and continue playing the dumb blonde, knowing all the time that you blew the opportunity to be real. It's entirely up to you."

Suzie flushed red and hot, then responded, "are these going to be extra assignments like you gave Laaaandrie?" She asked challengingly, batting her eyelashes exaggeratedly and tilting her head to the side just so to make it clear that my extra assignments included fucking her sister.

I knew that this challenge would be coming. Suzie knew something, though probably not everything, and she clearly wanted to test me about it. That alone helped me avoid the "deer in the headlights" reaction that would have conceded her accusation. That mental preparation, combined with the fact that she just plain pissed me off, also permitted an easy, red-hot retort.

"No, your sister never needed extra assignments, or extra motivation. She took on extra work on her own because she had a natural curiosity and interest in learning, and she understood the value of it. She was, as you know, an extraordinary student, my best student in the ten years that I have been here."

Suzie colored even more red; her rage barely repressed. Bingo.

I plopped "The Other Boleyn Girl" by Phillippa Gregory onto my desk. King Henry VIII had six wives at a time the Catholic Church prohibited divorce and remarriage, a doctrine which dominated the English-speaking world. When the church refused his many requests for an annulment, it led to England's separation from the Church and to the formation of the Church of England.

During his run Henry "dated" two sisters, Mary and Anne Boleyn. His attention was first drawn to Mary, but ultimately Anne intervened and tempted Henry into giving her what she thought she wanted--rejection of her sister and marriage to her. Only things didn't work out so well. Shortly while after the marriage, Anne grew out of favor with the fickle king, who falsely accused her of sedition and had her beheaded in favor of a newer, better model. I thought the book a particularly nice object lesson for this student, buried in an otherwise interesting and compelling piece of British history.

"There's a little something in here, just for you. I've tabbed the first chapter of three I want you to read. Get it done by tomorrow and I'll give you the assignment after class." Suzie looked down, picked the book up, read the cover, then made a production of dropping it back on my desk loudly before waltzing out, Jessica Rabbit style.

I picked the book up and sat it atop my desk, where it sat facing her every day for the next week—a constant reminder and invitation.

I had thought about calling Landrie for help but was concerned that the conversation might reveal how deeply Suzie's sexuality had bit into my psyche. But my desperation, or perhaps just the desire to talk to Landrie coupled with a good excuse to do it, won out. That Friday night I reached out to her.

"Hey!" I opened uncomfortably.

"Hey yourself" she responded somewhat guardedly, "what's up?" All business I thought, I've interrupted something.

"I've got a problem with your sister, Suzie" I responded, getting directly to the point.

A silent chill spread through the telephone line.

"My sister?" Landrie said coldly.

"Yes, you know, the young woman with whom you lived with until the last few weeks, that sister."

"I know her" Landrie said hotly. "Big boobs, foul mouth, poor attitude, dishonest, unreliable. What's your problem, and why should it suddenly be my problem?"

The strength of her hatred surprised me. I understood for the first time that I might have stepped into waters that were too deep for me to survive, "Well...I am trying to get Suzie to be something more than a crummy history student, but I'm getting my relationship with you thrown back in my face. So far Suzie hasn't said anything indicating that she knows any details about us, but she clearly believes that you and I were an item. You wouldn't have shared anything about the two of us with Suzie, would you?"

"Are you out of your mind?" Landrie answered hotly. "Tyler, my sister has done nothing but take whatever I had for my entire life. She'd steal dolls and hide them; she'd run off with my bike as soon as we got home off the bus and drive it right past me just fast enough that I couldn't chase her down. She stole money, clothes, even birthday money I'd gotten from mom and dad. Then she'd lie about it, and they'd believe her. Boys were just another thing for her to steal, it was impossible to bring anyone over. She doesn't have an original idea in her head about what she kind of boy she wants, I'm not sure she's ever had a real relationship. But if something belongs to me, including a boy, she wants it so she can rub my nose in the fact that she has stolen it. You know why I hid the books I got from Uncle Eddie's inside the paper jackets from textbooks? It's because she's so lazy that books were the once place she would never look. Tyler, I had to lock up my jewelry in my own home to make sure she couldn't steal it! You're just the next thing she wants to steal.