Teacher's Pets

Class. Math class. So boring. Who would have thought that I'd have to pay fucking $20 grand a year to take shit I hoped I'd never see after high school? No one said, "Hey Susan, when you get into college, you're gonna spend the first two years taking shitty ass math courses and doing trigonometry problems just for shits and giggles. Enjoy university!" Why the fuck not, I ask? I'd have blown this shit off so fast, I'd be-

"Miss Havers?"

"Yeah?" I asked. I zoned out. Fuck me. I have no idea what's going on.

The teacher paced the front of the classroom. Classroom being an over-kind term: it was really just a bland, white jail cell. Trapped, we were all trapped and being brainwashed to believe that the Pythagorean Theorem would get us somewhere in life. Right. Like I'll ever use that shit when I leave this cell.

"Miss Havers?"

"I didn't hear the question," I mocked. Go me! It's your birthday! You sound like you actually give a shit.

"Miss Havers, did you hear anything I said?"

I shrugged. Fucking professors, think they're all mightier than fucking God. Especially this one, whatever the fuck his name is. He wrote it on the board, somewhere. I think that was thirteen hours ago when class began. Ugh. I just want to tear my hair out. What possessed me to sign up for a three-hour math class on Saturdays? This really sucks the giant-

"Psst."

I had to bite my lip and try not to shriek. Someone behind me was tapping me. What the fuck? I don't know any of these fuckers. I'm new here. Freshman, hello! Leave me the fuck alone and keep thy hands to thyself. That's the rule, kids. Stick to it.

"Psst."

This fucker isn't going to relent. So I just try to unceremoniously pivot my body in this ridiculously cramped desk and see what this toadstool wants. Why the fuck do they always find me? Fucking freaks. I hate them all.

"What did he say about next week?" this kid questions. I gotta give him the look over before I can think. I'm a young, horny female after all. Presumably, he's horny too because he's got a cock. Cocks are always hard, right? In college, anyhow. In a few years, they'll always be soft. Might as well take advantage while I can.

So anyhow, what the fuck does this kid want? He's staring at me and I've totally forgotten. He's gorgeous. Fucking unkempt black hair swept forward on his tan forehead, deep brown eyes. An adorable lopsided smile, big ears. He must be a softy; I always fall for the softies. They never wanna fuck, always want to make love. What the fuck? This is college. Get over yourselves. Ahem. I was saying. He's wearing this precious little argyle sweater vest over a white button shirt and black slacks. Cute. I like it. It's a bit nerdy, kind of emo but it works for him. I usually like bad boys but hey, a little variety never hurt anyone. Variety is the spice of life, after all.

"What did he say about next week?" he repeats. "I was taking notes but he was talking too fast."

I shrug. How the fuck should I know? I was too busy plotting the demise of Western Civilization and now I'm too busy trying to see-through your sweater vest, hottie. Fuck, I can't say that to him. Clear throat, breath. "I didn't catch what he said."

He stares at me quizzically and then to my blank notebook. "Did you copy down any notes?"

"No."

"How are you going to pass?" he questions, mesmerized by the empty sheet of lined paper. He's staring at it like it's a fucking diamond in the rough. What the fuck? Alright, schoolboy, take your eyes off my notebook.

I shrug.

"Sorry," he frowns, eyes downcast. "I just really need to pass this course."

"So do I," I smirked, biting down on the end of my pen. I do that when I'm sexually frustrated, you know? It's a bad habit. I'm a bad habit. Maybe schoolboy will let me be his-

"Miss Havers, Mister Milson," the school marm drones as he lords over us. "Congratulations, you are now a study group."

"What?" I stammer, staring at schoolboy. He's continuing to stare like a lost puppy dog. Fucking great! I get paired with a fucking loser. He's probably going to leave class and run upstairs to the library and study. That is, until his Chess Club meeting. What the fuck? Why am I being subjected to-

"Miss Havers, I suggest you relocate your desk to the corner with your partner," the fucking tool states.

Yeah, fuck you too! I groan to myself as I drag my desk over by schoolboy. He's already fishing inside his messenger bag- that's right, a fucking messenger bag- for his calculator. Brilliant! My emo heart bleeds for this kid. He's got a fucking $20 sweater vest from fucking Wal-Mart on and a fucking pocket protector hidden in that bag somewhere, and he thinks he's gonna fucking pass this course on-

"I don't understand the problems," he states as I place my desk beside his.

This is just fucking brilliant. I'm stuck with a dumbass nerd. I thought nerds were supposed to be smart? What the fuck is happening? Why the fuck did I choose this school? I'm stuck in the fifth portal to Hell. Up at the front of the classroom, Barbie and Ken are giggling over their equations. Huh. Yeah, let me laugh too. Cock + Pussy = We're fucked. I got that one. That one was easy. Fuck. Why didn't he pair me with one of the nerds over there on the right? Up against the wall. Yeah. That kid with the fucking greasy curls and then the girl in glasses. They look like real dweebs. I'll bet they could teach retard schoolboy a thing or-

"I don't understand the problems," he repeats.

"Do you have a speech problem?" I quip. Fuck, I think I'm funny. Why does this kid keep repeating himself?

He stares up from his textbook at me, pencil dropping into the crease of the book. "What?"

"How old are you?" I challenge.

He continues with that stare. His ears are fucking gigantic. This kid can probably pick up NASA signals. "I'm eighteen, why?"

Eighteen. Great. I shrug.

"How old are you?" he counters. Spry this kid.

"Eighteen," I smirk.

He nods. "Interesting...outfit."

I cross my legs and smirk some more. Nice of you to notice my skirt, kid. Thanks for the love. Good that someone fucking noticed, cause this shit ain't cheap. Do you know what a little skirt like this costs at Guess? Fuck, it ain't cheap. You'd think for a fucking piece of cloth- and that's really all it is, a tiny shred of fabric- they'd be giving this shit away. And the shirt? Yeah, that wasn't cheap either. I ain't no cheap whore, babe. Put that tongue back in your mouth. Stop staring, your ears are turning red, kid. That's kinda fucking cute, actually. You're a dork, do you know that?

"I like your shoes," he smiles warmly. Is this kid for fucking real?

"I'm in a fucking Betsey Johnson camisole and a fucking Guess skirt and you notice my fucking beat up Chucks?" I gasp. I want to fucking slap this kid.

He nods. "I love Chucks."

What the fuck ever. I'd love a new partner.

"How are we doing over here?" the mother hen asks for the umpteenth time and I give him a death glare. What the fuck is this teacher's issue? Since when do teachers lord over their students like a fucking chicken hatching a fucking egg? I missed that memo. Who the fuck skipped that past my desk?

Schoolboy shrugs. "We're confused on Problem #3b. I don't understand how to-"

Okay, let them be gay. Whatever. I don't give a fuck about Problem #3b. Or Problem #56h, or Problem #69a. Mmm. Did I just say 69? I could put schoolboy in a nice one. I'll bet that little innocent kid routine will wash right away. Yeah, he'd be screaming my name, begging for more. Maybe he'd even fucking let the teacher watch. Yeah, fuck that's hot. The teacher's kinda cute. Whatever the fuck his name is. He looks pretty young for a college professor. Thirty maybe? No older. Chestnut brown hair, brown eyes. We got a lot of those in this classroom. Brown hair and brown eyes. He's got a cute smile too. He's smiling at schoolboy as he squats beside him and leans on the desk. That's kinda hot, actually. Or maybe I'm just deranged. His khakis are pulled tight across his crotch, and I'm thinking, maybe math isn't so bad. He's kind of a big guy, kinda husky. Nice button down denim dress shirt. No tie. Ties are a bit too stuffy, even for a whore like me. Unless I'm wearing it and he's dragging me around by it. That'd be hot. Maybe he'd like to keep me after-

"See me after class, Miss Havers," he smirks as he stands and peers down at me. He's wearing black, thin-framed reading glasses now. That's sexy. He grins like a little chipmunk. "I'll explain that problem to you and your partner."

That was odd. Since when was I a part of this conversation? I was just staring at his slacks pulled tight across his dick and suddenly he's-

"I think he was staring up your skirt," schoolboy grins.

"WHAT?"

Schoolboy jumps back a mile and then begins laughing. Presumably at me and not with me, because I ain't even fucking smiling. He clears his throat and grabs his pencil, licking his lips before he goes back to scribbling numbers all over his notebook. What a fucking nightmare! You keep taking that many notes, kiddo, and you're gonna fill twenty five-subject notebooks in this class alone. Either way, I wanna know what the fuck's going on, so quit that shit-eating grin and talk.

I nudge his crotch with my foot, and he jumps. "What?"

"What did you say?" I question, haughtily. "What the fuck?"

He grins and leans in his desk, his lips lightly grazing my ear. "I said that the professor was staring up your skirt."

I nod and lick my lips, moistening the skin. My throat is dry suddenly. I feel warm between my thighs. Fuck, why didn't I wear panties? I'm going to make a mess in this desk. Fuck.

"I think he realized you're not wearing any panties," schoolboy smirks and then pulls away.

This is a definite non-problem, I smirk to myself. The teachers hot for his student. Mmm. I like this. I smell an A in Trig. If I play my cards right, maybe it'll be an A+. My grade point average this semester is going to fucking kickass. That's right, baby. I've already looped the History professor into believing that I'm bisexual. He was practically singing his lesson on the fucking American Revolution when I uncrossed my legs and licked my lips. Oh yeah, you know you want to touch my-

"We have to stay after class," schoolboy interrupts, staring up from his textbook. He's still scribbling down numbers like they're going out of style. What the fuck is with this kid? I mean, he's hot and all and I'd fucking suck his cock and swallow it down, but fuck he's a dork. Since when does an eighteen year-old give a shit about Trig? I don't give a shit about Trig. He shouldn't give a shit about Trig. Human Sexuality is where it's at. Maybe he'd like to cum to that class with me?

"So?" I spit, venomously. No sense in making him not work for it.

"So the bell rang?" he questions, standing up and pushing his seat back into its row. I watch him bend over and collect his other books. Nice ass. Tight little buns, I'll bet. I'd love to watch how they tighten when he's driving into me with all his- "We better hurry," he interrupts with a frown. "I've got like forty minutes til my next class and I don't even know what building it's in."

I nod and grab my purse and books, following him to the front of the classroom.

This is swell. The professor is scribbling notes onto a syllabus, talking animatedly with Barbie and Ken. There's a duo right there, I grin. She looks like she's been around the block a few times. Great tits, babe, too bad you had to pay Doctor 90210 for them. Mine are real, and don't you fucking forget it. Whore. I hate girls like this. They think cause they can afford a fucking bottle of bleach and a set of tits that they have free run of the entire place. Of course, she's won over Ken. His tongue is lolling. Look at his pathetic Abercrombie ass. What the fuck ever. How'd I find this school?

"Miss Havers, Mister Milson," he welcomes us, gesturing toward the front row of desks and I sigh as I toss myself into a blue chair. Fuck, now I've gotta fucking pay attention to Professor Bumblefuck. I never got his name. Like it fucking matters. I mean, he's fucking hot and I'd let him eat out my cooch but- "I'm Professor Thomas," he smiles, extending his hand and I snap back into the world of Trigonometry. I hope to never spend time here again.

Schoolboy takes his hand and shakes it. "Joel," he smiles. That answers that. Schoolboy is Joel. Brilliant. "I'm a little nervous about this class, Professor Thomas," Joel drones on. What a fucking dork. Seriously. How many times have I said that? But seriously. "I need an A in order to maintain my gpa and keep my scholarship. I'll be fucked if I...I meant-"

Ha! Fucking schoolboy, you cussed at the professor! Brilliant move. You're really gonna keep up your precious gpa now. You got no pussy and no brain. I smirk at him, as he blushes and the ears turn red again.

"Sorry."

"Call me Aaron," the professor smiles, waving his hand. "And no problem. You'll get your A, Joel, just as long as you come to class prepared, ask questions, and study properly for my exams. I'm not a tough guy, there will be no surprises."

Professor Chipmunk Cheeks is droning now. He is pretty hot. When he scribbles notes on the board, his slacks pull tight across his bubble butt. I like that. I like a man with some meat. Hopefully, a lot of meat- if you know what I'm saying. He looks like he played football. Maybe he was-

"Miss Havers, may I call you Susie?"

"Huh?" I stammer. Why do I keep zoning out?

"Susie," Professor Thomas repeats with a smirk. His hands are placed on the top of my desk, spread apart and resting on the edges. He's leaning down, staring into my befuddled eyes. "Susie, you haven't listened to anything I've said, have you?"

I swallow. "I was, I..."

"She zoned out," Joel interrupted, trying to rescue me. Hey, thanks schoolboy! I'll forgive you the fucking weird ass dorkiness for that.

Professor Thomas crosses the room and opens the classroom door before grinning. Chipmunk cheeks. I said it once, I'll say it again: he's got chipmunk cheeks. I can picture him smoking a fatty after sex, those cheeks flushed with exhaustion. I'll bet he smokes. He smelled like nicotine when he leaned in close, his teeth have the yellow stains. Fuck, I could go a Marlboro Light. I haven't had one since this morning. Fucking three-hour classes suck. I wonder if Professor Thomas would like to share a nice big blunt with-

"Susie and Joel," he directed, waving at us with a giant smile. "Follow me."

Joel looks confused, like a deer in headlights. "I have another class and I need-"

"This won't take long," Professor Thomas assures him. "I need to explain that problem to you and my office is more comfortable."

I'll bet, I grin to myself. Maybe you've got a sofa in there, a leather one, and we can rip the cushions open and roll around in-

"Hey," schoolboy calls, jogging to catch up with me as I follow Professor Thomas. I mean, Aaron.

"Hey yourself," I grin.

He stares at me, like he expects my head to spin in a 360 and then pop off. "You...lightened up."

"Class is over," I shrugged. "Now I can fucking breathe!"

"I heard that!" Aaron called, smirking over his shoulder. I didn't mind watching him arrive into class, but fuck, I sure loved watching him leave. That ass was big and juicy and-

"Susie, can I...Your name...It's Susie?" schoolboy questions, timidly.

I nod. "Yeah, and you're Joel?"

He nods. "I was thinking since we're study partners, maybe we should exchange numbers? It'd help if-"

I grab his notebook and scribble down my cell phone number. "I live off campus," I smirk. "Call me anytime." Did I over-emphasize the anytime? I think I might have. Still, I happily follow Professor Thomas into his office and schoolboy walks in behind me and shuts the door. He looks like he's gonna piss himself with fear. I want to fucking throw myself down on the-

There's no couch. What the fuck? Aren't college professors supposed to be rolling in the dough? I mean, why the fuck else would you want to educate a bunch of fucking retards all day long in a fucking jail cell, cubicle fucking white washed room that smells like a-

Professor Thomas tosses himself into the chair behind his desk and sighs. He stretches and the bottom of his shirt tugs up a bit, that is, before he reaches down and yanks it from his slacks. "There," he grins. "That feels so much fucking better."

It looks like schoolboy's eyes might pop out of his skull. His little monkey ears are all red and he's scratching at his sweater vest. Which is kind of sexy, the way he's running his fingernails over his chest, between his nipples. Maybe he's hot? I sure as fuck am. I'd like to tag team him and Professor...Aaron. Sorry. Aaron.

Aaron lets out another sigh before fumbling through his top desk drawer. He grins, reaching inside and pulling out a package of Marlboros. "Do you mind?" he questions as he places the cancer stick between his lips and searches for a lighter.

"Me too," I smirk as I prance toward his desk and lean forward. He pauses, taking in the view. That's right, baby, you know you want to suck my nipples. I'll let you. Just ask.

He grins and places a cigarette between my lips, lighting it for me and then smirking. "Bad for you, it'll kill you."

"Let it fucking try," I smirk.

He laughs at this, running a hand up through that chestnut hair. It's cut close, but he's still got a bit of shag going on. And some five o' clock shadow. But that's okay: that's motherfucking hot, right there. Stubble, cigarettes, deep voice, dark hair. I'm fucking sold. I think Trig is my new favorite class. Just maybe I'll get that A, after all. Cause I'm gonna be the best fucking Trig student that there ever-

"So," Joel interrupts, clearing his throat. "About that problem."

Professor Thomas chuckles. "Sit down, Joel. Take a load off." He gestures toward a chair in front of his desk, and Joel stares at it. Fucking schoolboy. Chill the fuck out. Take a fucking seat. "Cigarette?"

Joel shakes his head. "I don't smoke."

"Good," Professor Thomas raises an eyebrow and grins. "It'll kill ya."

"You sound like a fucking public service announcement," I interrupt, then realize with horror that I've said it aloud. Joel's eyes are wide, staring at me. I know my own eyes are wide.

Professor Thomas turns to eye me, head to toe, and then grins. "Well aren't you a foul-mouthed little vixen."

I shrug. "Take me or leave me."

His grin widens as he stands and pushes his chair back from the desk. "I think I'll take you."

"WHAT?" Joel shrieks, jumping up from his chair so fast he knocks it over. I turn to meet his confused eyes, my own just as perplexed. Did Professor Thomas just hit on me? I mean, I know I'm fucking hot but I never thought that-

"You," he demands, stepping up in front of me and leering down at me. "Sit on my desk."

I nod, try to swallow, and lean gently onto the right edge of his desk. Mahogany, from the looks of it. Probably a family heirloom of some sort, cause the intricate detailing is a style that I haven't seen in years. It's probably-

"You," he interrupts, pointing at Joel and uprighting the fallen chair. "Sit."

Joel sits and swallows loudly. He looks like he might fucking piss himself. Of course, I think I might fucking cream on this desk if I don't-

"Susie," Professor Thomas smirks devilishly. "Turn and face Joel."

I do as I'm told. Is this Aaron guy for real? I mean, seriously. What if I were to shriek "rape" right now? He'd be in some hot ass fucking water with the Dean and the-

"You won't," he smirked, running a hand through my hair. His breath was warm on my earlobe. "You won't even think about it."

I nodded.

"Do what I say and you'll get an A."

I nodded and grinned.