The Fifth One

"It's getting late, Ms LaPerla. My mom's going to wonder where I am." I remained on the floor, looking wide-eyed up at him, nodding stupidly. "If I don't come right home after Follies practice, she sometimes thinks I'm doing things I shouldn't be doing." I smiled nervously up at him, then, when he gave my nipple one more tweak, a hot-fire pulse to my pussy. "You know what I mean?"

"I'm sorry." I had no idea why I felt so ashamed that I couldn't make him cum, couldn't swallow him down. "This is just... like..."

"It's fine," and his smile lit me up all over again, roguish and yet warm, a smile that made me want to try harder for him. "Don't apologize. It's not even Valentines yet, Ms LaPerla. We've got until June, at least, if I don't drop out and get my GED." He laughed then, patting my hair, making me feel obscurely special. Like I'd been chosen for something important. "You're good. Just stay there and I'll take care of this," he laughed, gesturing at his hard-on, and then he rose to his feet before my astonished eyes and stood over me, his dick in sharp detail from the dusky light slanting in my backyard windows, shining with my saliva, his balls hanging low in my twitchy fingers. "Just relax," he winked, wrapping his own hands around himself with an air of deep, cool familiarity.

He was going to jerk off all over me.

Quickly I laid one hand on his thighs and the other on his scrotum, wide-eyed, once again unsure of the etiquette here. I felt like a virgin somehow, for even though I'd been married before, and had more than my share of guys, this was something I had never before done. Once more his hand returned, almost casually, to my nipple; once more I groaned as he twisted it, eyes inscrutable, his other hand a blur on his shaft while his balls danced in my hand. I studied every part of him, lean and tall above me, his chest heaving as every breath went deeper and deeper until, suddenly, he drew a great big gasp and held it, his fingers tight just below his head, where my tongue had prodded him just minutes before.

My heart hammered me.

He spurted once, most of it flying onto the carpet behind me, the splatter startling as it whipped my face and hair just a little bit; I was still blinking when the second, heavier load boiled out of him, thick and angry, a great arcing rope that seemed to hang in the air between us before it splashed with shocking heat onto my lips and down my neck, the third big wallop smashing across my chest in a slick, warm torrent. He let his breath out in a soft, contented sigh, still cumming, his semen flying joyously now all around my face and neck; I'd long since lost count of which burst we were on. Five, at least. Maybe six, my tits dripping his muck all down my bare belly.

"Fuck," he groaned.

Grinning up at him through a mask of spunk, I laughed suddenly. "Mouth!" My tongue was busy at my lips, lashing his cum into my mouth, where I swallowed reflexively. I'd never done anything even remotely like this with my ex-husband. "Jesus," I agreed, no longer feeling ashamed. I still wished I'd been able to make this happen with my mouth, but I knelt there covered in the evidence that he was pleased with me. That was worth a lot to me, all of a sudden. On impulse, I leaned in and kissed his dick again, coming away with the last of his dribbled semen. He tasted clean, slightly sweet. "I can't believe that happened."

"I can." He sniffed, then raked his fingers once more through my hair. "Thanks, Ms LaPerla. I really should go. Uh... can I come sleep on the couch again tomorrow?

When I looked up at him, he'd finally lost that impenetrable expression of his. Now, he was grinning. I matched him, my face still caked. "You better," I told him softly, squeezing his balls. A sudden impression swatted at my mind suddenly: him and me. The drama office. Alone.

I decided maybe I would wear a skirt.

He dressed swiftly while I splashed water over my face, then took a moment to give my tits one more grope before, with a hungry parting kiss, he strode out my backdoor and hopped my fence. It was amazing; it had taken no time at all for Noah's touch to feel normal, even natural... maybe even indispensable. My mouth tasted like his penis as I kissed him, still smeared with his cum, feeling curiously domestic.

I should have felt like a whore, but his eyes hinted that I wasn't. I didn't know what that meant, nor where he'd found that kind of judgment at such a young age. But I didn't care, either.

* * *

"Okay, gang. That's it for class today. Bell's going to ring in about a minute or so, so you can just relax." I busied myself at my podium while the kids in Drama packed their stuff up, my eyes looking at anything but the back-row seat where Noah Cruz had perched himself after showing up tardy.

I stood there, very self-conscious in a summer dress I'd thrown a cardigan over the top of. I never really wore anything but jeans to work, but I was going with something new. Hell, lots of things were new lately.

I was still avoiding him as the bell rang, the kids streaming out, launching into the hallways like boats into a stream, disappearing out of my life. I'd been on pins and needles all morning, having stayed up the night before with my fingers busy, wringing orgasm after orgasm out of my swollen pussy.

I'd have three different pairs of panties to wash, just from yesterday.

He sat there, sprawled in his seat at the back of the room, as he always did before loping down to his couch and crashing during my prep period. I glanced at him now, seeing a phone in his lap and earbuds in his ears, the kids flowing past my room with the occasional braying laugh or "Hey, Ms LaPerla! What's up?" or, sometimes, just smiling shyly in at me as I leaned on the doorframe. The school liked us to keep track of the people in the halls during the passing periods.

It was almost possible, for a moment, to pretend he wasn't back there, waiting for me.

At length the uproar died out, the last of the tardy kids jogging past from the bathroom, or their previous teachers' test reviews, or from necking at the base of the stairwell. One more knot straggled past, a clump of sophomore girls, and then a quick glance in both directions told me the hallway was empty.

Behind me, my student cleared his throat. "Did you lock the door, Ms LaPerla?" I stiffened. "I overheard some kids in Trigonometry talking about how you were in a dress today." I turned, a little uncertainly, to catch him smirking, still slumped in his last-row seat. "I think I know why."

"Noah." It came out as a bit of a croak, and I cleared my throat madly. "You do know why." Not too certain of exactly what would happen, I stepped over to the couch and sat straight, my knees together.

He regarded me coolly, then stood abruptly. "I like it," he smiled. "Nice legs."

"That's so inappropriate." I didn't mean it, not anymore, and I craned my neck to watch him as he came. He knew it, too, and he knew what I wanted: his shirt was sailing over his head, draping itself gracefully over Becca Legassi's seat in the front row. My mouth went dry when he pushed his tracksuit pants nonchalantly down, along with his underwear. "Noah!" I squeaked. "You can't! Not here."

"Whatever." He stepped out of his pants and his sneakers at the same moment and started walking toward me once again, his dick swinging between his skinny thighs. I looked at it, of course, so incongruously exposed in the middle of a bright February schoolday. "I like being nude. You don't have to look, Ms LaPerla."

"You're kidding me." I looked, of course, and when I spoke again my voice was thick. "You... you look really good."

"Yeah?" His eyebrows rose as though he hadn't even thought about it. "It feels weird, lying on the couch in my clothes. I figured I might as well get comfortable." He smiled. He was inching harder, slowly. "Join me?"

"I can't possibly take my clothes off at work." But I wanted to: fuck, how badly I wanted to. "You shouldn't either."

"Probably not." He shrugged, taking a seat at the other end of the couch. He sprawled, completely at ease, one foot on the cushion beside him while the other stretched out over my dusty floor. I could see everything he had, my eyes widening. He wanted me to look, I understood. He enjoyed showing off. His balls dangled before the shadowed taint I'd explored just yesterday, and suddenly I wanted nothing at all but to return there, touching him. Licking him. Kissing him. Pleasing him.

I stirred. "I felt so bad yesterday," I confessed, "that I didn't make you shoot." I knew I was flaming red, my flush taking my confidence far away.

"Yeah. You told me that yesterday. I told you not to apologize." He laid his head on the back of the couch and smiled. "You can try again," he suggested, flapping a hand down at his junk.

"Try..." My hand flew to my face. "Jesus Christ, Noah, I'm not going to blow you. Not here." I jerked my head back toward my locked door. "Other people have the keys here. I don't want to get caught."

"Whether you're caught sitting with a naked student, or caught with his cock in your mouth? Same difference, probably." He yawned. "It's okay, Ms LaPerla. You can just snuggle up a little, lay your head in my lap. I won't do anything."

"You're already doing plenty," I muttered, but I was finished resisting and we both knew it. Hell, had I ever resisted? I shrugged out of my cardigan and, with one last glance over to the door, I sank down toward his upper thighs. He sat, naked and glorious, his muscles lazing along the stained cushions. I took a breath, pausing at the last moment, before I scooted my butt down toward him on the couch. I saw his leg, the one whose foot rested on the floor, the smooth flesh along the inside of his thigh inviting me. No, commanding me.

I fell. Stretching sideways beside him, I sank down into him, my cheek resting on the warm skin of his leg. He smelled like yesterday, sharp and manly, with that hint of sweat and dick and ass that stabbed deep down inside me, and just like that I'd have four sets of panties to wash.

I opened my eyes; again, I hadn't even remembered closing them. And there was his penis, lewd and vibrant before me, not two inches from my face with my hair spread all along his thigh. He watched me closely, eyes half-closed, waiting to see what I would do; it seemed only natural to sigh, my breath ruffling his coiled pubic hair, and then I reached a slow hand up to rest on his other thigh, my head and arm surrounding his dick almost protectively. "Is this okay?" I asked in a small voice.

"If it's okay for you, it's okay for me," was his simple reply, but then his hands were stroking my hair once more and I was remembering he'd done all this before, that it was probably boring for him; but his face told me otherwise. And so did his penis, rising before my eyes, stretching and firming with every beat of his heart. "Do what you want, Ms LaPerla." It was a whisper.

I didn't even feel like I was consciously controlling my hand as I brought it up, fingernails trailing along his thigh, into the little forest of his hair, to the root of his dick, then out along a shaft still firming steadily. It was almost straight by then, starting to rise up at a jaunty angle, and the two of us merely stared at it and willed it harder. At a certain point it grew stiff enough that it rose up, arcing over his belly with a sort of grace, my eyes widening again at the sight of his young beautiful balls.

They'd emptied themselves all over me, less than 24 hours ago. Now they looked ready to do it again.

Slowly, quietly, I breathed him in and then moved my head along his thigh, planting a gentle kiss where his scrotum met his shaft, studying the way his skin changed color as the blood pumped into his dick with every shudder of his heart. And all the while his hand stroked my hair, petting me, my body curled within the fence of his splayed legs.

It was the most intensely sexual moment of my life, as I explored him.

He watched me through those same lidded eyes, giving away nothing but a vague curiosity about what I would do from moment to moment. I tasted every part of him I could reach, my tongue going everyplace my fingers had been yesterday: I lifted his balls to lick his taint, long slow wet glides up along his warm skin, almost grooming him. Adoring him, letting him feel my attention.

I did not try to suck that day. I remembered too well the arch of his hips as he'd thrust eagerly into my mouth, my own retching sounds, the waterfall of saliva I'd left on my couch at home. I didn't need to mess up my hair or, worse, let him cum all over my dress; I still had two periods to teach, which would be difficult enough already. So I held back, understanding slowly that I didn't really need to make him orgasm: he was young enough and energetic enough that he could probably produce four or five reliable hard-ons each day, shooting each and every time.

He could make himself cum later. I'd seen him do it.

"You've got a beautiful cock." I blushed as I said the word, but I wanted to use it, wanted to be raw. "I love it."

"Yeah." His fingers never stopped raking my hair. "I get that a lot." He chuckled, still sitting there easily. "I like you playing with it."

"This isn't playing, Noah." I kissed his tip, tasting the precum there. "This is serious. We can't do this in here." I had my eyes on the future, a future where I imagined getting no work done at all as I gave myself to him every day. "We need to be careful. But... god, I love how you taste." My tongue worked its way between his balls.

"I'd love to return the favor," he sighed.

"Not here." I said it at once. My heart leapt as soon as I realized what he was saying, but I knew I needed to nip it in the bud. "I told you. I can't get naked here."

"I know." He said it calmly, as if he'd thought about all this already. "I can get away to your house, no problem, as long as I can think of something I can tell my mom. So I'll do it, sometime." He caressed my face. "We've got time, Ms LaPerla."

I'd been thinking about this. "Noah?" I gave him a long, slow lick along the side of his dick, already shining with my spit. "Would you like to call me Melissa?"

"There's a lot of things I'd like to do." He brought his other hand into play now, touching my shoulder. My collarbone. The side of my neck.

"Like what?" The tingle between my legs was driving me crazy.

"Like bend you over a desk and fuck the shit out you," he told me bluntly, and a thrill shook my body. "Stuff like that."

"Oh my god."

"You'd like it, too." There it was again, that confidence of his. He was stating a fact, and he knew it. "I'd make sure you liked it."

"Fuck," I giggled. "I already like it." It felt like a confession, like a secret, and he frowned until he realized what I meant.

"Oh. You mean, you're getting wet?"

"No, Noah." I kissed his balls again and then sat up, perched close to him on the edge of the couch. "I'm not 'getting wet.' I'm completely soaked." I darted my eyes back toward the locked door. "I'd love to show you; it's just so risky!"

"All of this is risky. We won't get caught." He poked a finger down into the top of my dress, fingering my bra. "Melissa." It sounded so weird, coming from him. "You don't look like a Melissa."

"No?" His hand had fallen to my thigh when I sat up, stroking up underneath the dress. "What do I look like?"

"You look sexy."

"That's not what I mean," I scoffed.

"Maybe. But that's what I mean." And with that, his face took on an expression of hunger, almost, a look that curled my toes, and that was even before he sent his hand deep under my dress, without any more warning, and clamped it hard over my mound.

"Oh!"

"You feel sexy, too." He didn't look as lazy now, his eyes staring boldly into mine. I know I was hot, scarlet and sweaty, my legs opening on their own to welcome him, but he didn't need my invitation. Already, I could feel his fingers worming past the side of my thong, then the tiny stings of his hand groping along my pubes, tugging on them. I reached blindly out to cling to his bare shoulder, thinking I'd fall straight back off the couch if I didn't, and my other hand was reaching for him when he slipped his fingers straight up into my pussy.

I must have shrieked, because I remember my ears ringing and the slow, triumphant curl of his lips. "Oh my god," I sobbed, pulling at him, clutching him tightly. I'd been right, of course, and he could feel it now: I was drenched. "Noah!"

"Shh." His eye had a harsh gleam in it, hand still buried up my dress. He wrapped his other arm around my neck, holding me in place. "Wouldn't want to make anyone think anything is happening in here," he smiled, digging deep into me, exploring me as I'd explored him. I settled onto his hand, shifting impatiently to make sure my dress wasn't caught underneath me, because I knew I'd be gushing and didn't want to spoil the dress.

Of course, I could have avoided that by simply standing up, walking away, and doing some grading. But I wasn't about to do that, not anymore.

I leaned in, my forehead crushed against his, both of us with a deeply serious look in our eyes now as we clung to each other, my connection to him growing with every skillful thrust of his fingers. I'd always been too bashful to let any of my boyfriends do much more than just fuck me, and that added to how new this was. How fresh. How naughty, my own student bringing me off during my prep period, and me craving his touch. Needing it. Just below me his dick stood tall and straight, pointing up at me like an accusing finger, and the only thing that stopped me from grabbing it was the certainty that if I let go of his shoulders, I'd fly backward off the couch in a muddy orgasmic haze.

It occurred to me, very vaguely, that I should just gather my knees under me, scoot up, and sit on that dick. It would be so easy...

And yet I didn't. I don't know why, except that there was a finality to that act I wasn't really prepared for, and then there was the overwhelming importance of being able to look at myself in the mirror and know that I'd never had sex in my classroom. Not that the distinction should have mattered much, honestly, because by then I was grinding hard on Noah's capable fingers, my pelvis swinging like a pendulum, riding his hand hard enough to feel the dull, achy pressure of his palm outside my clit, with my brain angry that I couldn't bear down any harder. Or that he didn't have a finger sticking up out of the heel of his hand.

But it didn't really matter, I realized dully, because I was well on my way toward losing control, my fingernails making crescent marks on his shoulders, his eyes coalescing into a cyclops stare as I pressed my forehead to his, my voice moaning helplessly into his open mouth. His leg, the one that he'd perched up onto the seat, swung neatly down and around my hip, clasping me even closer to his hand as I heaved great choked gasps against his face.

And then he moved his thumb up, slotting it deftly into place up under the hood that guarded my clit. And that destroyed me.

I wondered how loudly I cried out before he threw his face forward and shoved his tongue into my mouth, his arms and legs holding me as I came, keeping me locked into place; between his embrace around me and his fingers inside me, I was powerless to move. The orgasm shook me intensely, shattering through my whole body in a teeth-gritted wave of red, eager convulsions, a wave of white lightning spearing out from behind my navel and napping toward the furthest parts of my toes and fingers, leaving me a taut straining wreck.

And still he worked, his fingers digging deeper and deeper, eyes on mine as he devoured my tongue and lips. I was shoving my myself up against his nude body by then, feeling the dull urgent heat off his erection pressing against the bunched dress at my waist. "Yes," I managed, a low husky gasp of need, abandoning myself to him. At that moment, the entire School Committee could have walked through the classroom door, and not even that would have stopped me from humping his fingers. I pulled back from his hungry lips, panting into his face. "You're making me cum, Noah," I grated.