Teaching Her a Lesson Pt. 15

"Just tell me you two did explicitly make sure she isn't going to tase us."

"Duh. Trust me, Barbie's our bottom bitch now."

The analytical part of me wanted details, but the rest of me told it to shut up and not ruin a healing moment. Besides, the Sterns might not be the best students, but when it came to raw talent for manipulation and bullying, they were leagues ahead of me.

"Good. Do I get to know what the 'ambitious' part of their new commands is?"

"Ambitious?"

"Yeah, they said... I forget how they said it, but it sounded like we were up to something."

She rolled her eyes. "That's Abbie's shit. I'm no snitch, but you can chill. It's nothing to get excited about. If it works, you can thank her; if it doesn't, won't hurt anything."

If it were anyone else, I would have been nervous. Abbie, though, could use my Serenex whenever she wants. "Fair enough. I suppose I can handle a surprise now and again. Just... keep an eye on her for me."

Taylor grinned, taking a step forward, planting her feet on mine. It didn't feel great, but it brought her close enough that her chest was brushing against mine, so I allowed it. "I'm flattered you think I'm less likely to abuse that stuff than she is."

It was a very fair rebuttal. "Hey, and for what it's worth, good work today, too. It'd be nice if you wanted to graduate as much as I want you to--"

"I bet it'd be nice for you if I wanted a lot of things as much as you did."

Also fair. "Cute. But if you keep this up for the next couple weeks, you're going to be able to walk that stage, no problem. Doesn't look like we can do much for your ceramics grade at this point, but that's not a required credit."

"And also it's ceramics."

"Exactly. But really, you're doing well. Just don't let up in the home stretch, OK? You still owe me that essay -- and this time, it better be a serious effort."

She sighed. "God, you are so much more fuckable when you're doing your teacher thing, you know?"

"Yeah?" I pulled her tight against me. It really wasn't fair that it felt this good to touch her. "I'd say you were more fuckable as a student, but frankly, you're pretty much insanely fuckable all the time."

"That right?"

I cupped her buttocks in my hands. God, it was perfect. "As someone who's becoming a bit of an expert in fuckable women, you, my dear, are easily the most fuckable."

In turn, Taylor draped her arms around my neck, mussing my hair, dragging her fingernails against my scalp. "Oh yeah? Let's see then, how many girls have you fucked since you last fucked me? Since I'm so fuckable and all."

I winced. "Well..."

"So there's my sister, obviously. Cassie?"

"Um, yeah."

"Her mom?"

"Not actual sex, just--"

"That's a yes. Barbie? Candy?"

"No!" She waited, hearing the technicality in my voice. "We started, barely, but we, ah, didn't have time."

Her nose took an upward swipe at my lips. "Right. So that's two other high school girls and three adult trolls. And you started at a deficit to begin with after stiffing me Friday night."

"Come on, that wasn't my fault!"

"Wasn't your fault? What, somebody make you write 'I'll make Taylor beg for sex' a hundred times when I wasn't looking?"

"I wasn't about to take advantage of you." Seeing she was about to raise fresh objections, I hurried on while kneading her tender, inviting posterior affectionately. "You were drunk. Plus, you hate me."

Taylor licked up my neck, murmuring into my skin, "So what? You hate me, too."

"Well, yes," I admitted. When had we made our way to my desk? Suddenly, though, her thighs were abutting the edge of it. "But that's what I love most about you."

She laughed her nasal, mocking, throaty laugh that had tormented me for two years in this classroom. One hand slowly extended into the air. What was she... oh, right.

"Yes, Ms. Stern?"

"I have a question, Mr. Canon."

"Ask away."

"Straight-up, Mr. C.... how long have you wanted to fuck me?" Her head twisted to one side, then the other, studying me intently. "No bullshit. And I don't mean when did you first notice I got a body. I'm asking, when did the thought first enter your head, 'I wanna stick my dick in Taylor Stern.'"

I lifted her by the ass and set her on the edge of my desk. "Probably when you and Abbie came to my house that night. You know, after the first dose."

Her hands suddenly seized mine firmly as I tried to undo the front button on her shorts. "I said no bullshit. When did youreally first think about it."

She let me rub along her hips while I thought. I'd been fantasizing about her for so long -- and for so much of that time, pretending to myself that I wasn't -- that I could hardly remember. Like she'd suggested, I had noticed her body early. A nun would notice Taylor's figure. She was the quintessential blonde bombshell. Long legs, womanly hips, enticingly rounded ass, big proud tits trotting along ahead of her. Had she been blonde when I first saw her? I was pretty sure. Since then she had varied the shade between dye jobs. Last winter's dark red had been interesting. Not that I minded the current light brown.

My fingers twirled through her tresses. God, I loved that hair. Thick, long, and always looking like it had been brushed no less than a day or two ago. Like the girl whose wickedly beautiful face it framed, it was simply too much to be fully tamed, no matter how much it was crying out for someone to try.

Taylor let me think, distracting me only in ways she couldn't help. (Nor would she if she could.) Every breath she took, the stripes of her skin-tight top shifted as if trying to cling tighter, find a way to show the full shape of her boobs more accurately. Since they had been burned into my mind ever since I'd first made her show them to me, I had to admit it was doing a good job. With a body like Taylor's, the only real shame was that I couldn't see her ass and her tits head-on at the same time.

Huh. There it was.

"Do you remember that tornado drill a ways back? The one where Principal Horen dragged it out for like twenty minutes because the sophomore hallway wouldn't shut the hell up?"

She made a face, puzzled but intrigued by the reference. "Yeah. I think my knees are still bruised from that shit."

"I'm pretty sure that's from the shower floor, but maybe." I knelt down, planting a kiss on each knee. I stayed down there once they'd both been tended to. The view from this angle was somehow even better. "So yeah, I remember, I was just doing my job, standing around glaring and shushing people. And it happened during our class, and of course you were being a pain in the ass about it."

"All those drills are stupid as hell. Like people gonna be calm when the school's blowing up. And those active shooter drills? Shit, I got a human shield pre-selected in every fucking class. Bring it, Sandy Hook."

There it was, the reminder of how terrible she really was.A sobering if futile reminder of the other reason I shouldn't be touching her. "Anyway, I remember you were down there, in that position, hands and knees and hunched over. Except you, well... you were wearing this, um..." Why was it so hard to say? I'd seen her naked, but that had been in some other reality, a fantasy made real. This story was something that had happened here in the real world, where she was a student and I was a teacher and everything about us was wrong.

"Come on, spit it out. Shit, you can take my clothes off but you can't describe 'em?"

"You were wearing these pink athletic shorts. You know the ones I mean?"

She nodded, her smirk still slight. "I know the ones."

"Yeah. And with you bent over like that, they crept right up the crack of your ass. I swear it would have been harder to imagine you naked if you were just in your underwear, you know?"

"They do do that. That's why I barely wear 'em any more. Fit nice and comfy, but for some reason they ride right up there, and once the wedge starts, it only deepens. Gets even worse in the front, believe me."

"I believe you. And yeah, that was a sight, but... it was weird. Taylor, you wear tight shirts almost every day. If you're not, it's because you're wearing a short dress. Except that day, you were wearing this really baggy t-shirt. It was white, I think? I don't remember what was on the front, since you were... yeah. Down there."

She didn't deny my assessment of her fashion sense. "Doesn't ring a bell. So I had a white shirt on, and...?"

"So finally everybody -- even you -- settled down while we waited for those sophomores. And I was doing a heck of a job not staring at your ass, but--"

"Aw come on, in those shorts?"

"--but you got fidgety. Everyone was. But you started doing this thing where you sort of thrust your hips up to stretch them out, and... I wasn't even trying to look, but there was nothing for it. Hand to god, I was behaving myself--"

She tapped me on the head. "We're all impressed by your self-control. Now get to the part about wanting to fuck me."

"Well... when you did that, the front of your shirt -- because it was really loose, right? -- it was hanging way down. So from behind, I could see right up your shirt. Except you weren't wearing a bra. You only did it a couple times, but yeah. That was it. For a microsecond I got to see the underside of your boobs, your ass in the air, those shorts... and I was done. Went home that night and sprained my wrist."

Taylor snorted, but the snort accompanied a laugh. She looked pleased. "Gross. Though shit, yeah, I think I actually remember that? I don't go without a bra too often, for obvious reason, but yeah. I liked to match those shorts with this blue tank top I got, but that fucking cunt Mrs. Horen saw me in the hallway and called me out for dress code. She made me wear one of those bullshit shame shirts, and I was like, 'fuck you, Whorin' Horen, you gonna make me dress like a cow, you're gonna have to deal with the udders.' Damn, I don't remember the tornado drill though. It's hella funny to make you blush sometimes and all, but I think that one was just honest thot shit."

"Honest thot shit," I repeated, shaking my head. "Anyway, there ya go. That was the first time I thought about it."

"That's a better answer."

Her tongue sticking out one side of her mouth, Taylor pulled both arms in through her sleeves and began working beneath her blouse. The girl wiggled and squirmed until finally her result was achieved. A royal purple bra slid out of her sleeve and then dropped onto the floor by my desk. She then slid the hem of her top up, revealing inch after inch of golden tanned stomach until she finally stopped the progression right beneath her breasts. I could just see that little crease where her boobs ended and her tummy began. A thin sheen of boob sweat glistened, but hell if I minded. Let those poor prisoners go free.

"Was it like this?" she teased.

I took her hands in mine and guided them further upward. When I saw the bottom of a nipple, I stopped, then tugged it back down. "There. Right like that."

"Yeah? Little bit of under-titty and you ran home and stroked that cock black and blue, eh?" There was the full smirk. It was an expression so bitchy it almost required a genetic predisposition to being a bitch. Damnit, it made me hard. Which was perfect timing, since I was about to do what I'd first thought of doing the day of that tornado drill.

Until we heard a key entering my classroom door.

Randi followed her custodial cart into my classroom right in time to see me picking up a stack of papers off the floor, having barely had time to sweep it off my desk as a cover for why I was kneeling. Taylor, with impressive reflexes, had whirled off the desk to crouch beside me. Thankfully the desk made for handy cover, because she'd forgotten to tug her blouse back down under her boobs. After grouchily scolding Taylor for her tantrum, I helped Randi straighten up desks while Taylor angrily stormed out of the room, trying not to look like she'd had to stuff her discarded bra under her skin-tight blouse.

An hour later, we lay sweating and catching our breath on my bed, giving ourselves a few minutes recuperation time before the next bout. She'd beaten me home, and had been waiting for me naked when I walked in. The little brat had even managed to chug most of one of my beers, asking me if I still had my qualms about fucking a drunken teenager. I told her I'd make an exception this once. She drank the rest of the bottle as I poured it down the length of my cock into her waiting mouth, for once not grimacing about the oral.

"What about you?" I asked.

"What about me what?"

I turned my head to look at her. Hair more tangled than ever, skin glistening with a sheen of sweat, tits bulging upward in a futile resistance of gravity, pussy dribbling heedlessly onto the sheet I'd put on only the day before while watching her prance around in that crop top. "You know what I mean, Taylor. I opened up to you about the tornado drill, and for me it's a story about being a lecherous old creep lusting after innocent schoolgirls."

"Who's innocent?" Taylor rolled over until her momentum carried her right back on top of me, straddling a cock that began responding immediately with fresh vigor. Her pussy grinded back and forth, slick with our combined cum, working me back into fuckable shape. She'd given me time to think, so I returned the favor -- though like me, she was distracted by her tits. (My hands on her nipples might have had something to do with this.)

"Well?" I pressed when she rose up to direct my cock back inside her hot, wet tunnel. I couldn't help but moan, but then went on, "You can't get out of this with your pussy, Taylor. That's cheating, and you know how I feel about you cheating."

"I never cheat," she breathed, hands interlacing with mine for support as she began her ride. Green eyes slid closed as red lips fell open.

"Come on. When did you first think about having sex with me?"

Taylor bellowed in pleasure as she bottomed out for the first time. Her tits, hanging forward from her chest, wobbled as a small climax shook her body. "I still haven't, C-dawg."

"Bitch."

"Prick."

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