The Pursuit of a Teacher


I took a few steps forward and then looked over my head at him while lifting my skirt up to expose my naked butt cheeks which I rubbed. It stung, but in a good way that made my pussy almost glow with heat. "Ohhh, Mr. Hamilton, I didn't realize I much I'd like to be spanked by you."

I spun around and walked backwards away from him as I brought my hand around to my front, lifting my skirt up to reveal my naked sex. I rubbed my fingers over my labia, spreading them slightly to show off my glistening pink flesh. "See how wet you make me, my naughty daddy-teacher." I grabbed my backpack off my student desk and slung it over my shoulder. "I can't wait for you to fuck me, Mr. Hamilton."

My teacher moaned and dropped his head as if suddenly unable to look at me. "Go home, Megan," he sighed.

I laughed and clapped my hands. "See -- that's progress, Mr. Hamilton. You didn't say 'no,' did you?" I shot him wink and blew him a kiss as I slipped out the door, feeling as if I was several steps closer to my goal. My last glimpse of him was staring down at the bulge in his pants, fingers hovering over it, but hesitant as he examined the wet spots I'd left there moments before.


Oh, I feel as if you are an eternal muse for me as I find myself constantly writing of the day we become lovers. My fingers fly across the keyboard as I imagining you taking me in so many wonderful ways. I can barely restrain myself from masturbating as I envision you taking me in the missionary position, my slender, but short legs spread wide, trying unsuccessfully to wrap around your waist as you plunge your long, thick dick into my wet and willing pussy. My cunt is like flame itself when I imagine myself kneeling submissively, my little butt in the air, cheeks spread by your strong hands as you take me roughly from behind. My leg muscles tremble with anticipation as I see myself squatting atop you, slowly impaling myself on your hard penis until I've taken as much of you as possible and then crying out in glorious orgasm as somehow you thrust upwards and bury yourself inside me.

I imagine you standing with me astride your cock, my arms and legs hanging limp and only your massive hard-on holding me up, making me cum with each step you take. I can see us in every possible position and you in every one of my openings and I dream of you being triplets -- each one feeding me my mouth, in my pussy and in my asshole, almost tearing me apart, but instead wreaking nothing but wonderful, carnal ecstasy on my behalf.

I long for the day that will come that will find us not bothering to rise from our bed of passion, your cock never leaving me...making me cum over and over again -- your lovely, hot semen filling my womb, my bowels and my belly...each climax declaring that I belong to you...each cry I make in orgasm being my confession to being yours body and soul.

Your resolve to resist me for my own good does nothing more than inflame my desire for you, making me kneel naked before God in supplication, praying that my destiny to be your lover...your mate...your wife, be fulfilled. I want you inside of me. I need you inside me. I must have you inside me. I will have you inside me.

My writings have moved you...each week, I can see your love and desire for me grow. I have painted portraits in words of how I feel...what I have to offer. Now, I will offer you more. I will etch who and what I am on your mind forever, where no paper shredder or delete button can erase my declaration of my love and lust for you.

It takes hours to accomplish, but with a modern digital camera, the sky is the limit in the options one has once one has figured out the mechanical details of operation and posing. First, a portfolio of pictures...dozens of pictures of me wearing everything from jeans and T-shirts to negligees to only my birthday suit. One of my favorites was a head shot of me, my hair hanging down below naked shoulders, my lips puckered and gently sucking on my forefinger while my eyes gaze upon you -- the love of my life.

My absolute favorite is, I think, very erotic. I am sitting on a wooden kitchen chair, completely naked save for a pair of three inch black high heels and sheer black thigh-high hose. My legs are spread wide with my hands on my knees. My long, brown hair has been brushed until it nearly glows and hangs down forward, framing my face and my small breasts ending as it brackets my pussy which is blossomed in arousal from imagining the erection my pose will no doubt inspire in you. My cunt glistens with wetness between my parted labia. I personally think it is very erotic...almost obscene in its intensity. It conveys my love and lust for you perfectly.

Second, I set the camera to record video and then as I sit in that same kitchen chair, with my legs spread wide and back, I masturbate with my fingers as I tell you how much I love you and how much I lust for you and how good it will feel to have your big cock wedged inside my hot, wet and very tight pussy. I tell you nothing I haven't said before, but now you see the complete me...the me who bravely confesses her love for you while fingering herself into orgasm, imagining that it is your big, bad, daddy-teacher cock that makes me cry and scream with pleasure...pleasure that I want to make forever...a lovely dance of just us two.


Weeks have truly passed and I could see Mr. Hamilton's resolve crumble with each new naughty assault. September had passed into October and the Fall Break was upon us. I stood behind my teacher as he gazed in awe at the images my zip drive was conveying through his lap top. He murmurs over and over, "This has to stop, Megan. It's never going to happen." Still his fingers keep flickering over the controls, moving to each image as he gasps at some new lurid or lewd photograph of me.

I'm not sure that he's even aware that I'm massaging his tense shoulders as he watches the nearly thirty minutes of video of me declaring my love and lust for him while plunging up to three fingers up and inside my cunt. Looking over his shoulder, I have an excellent view to observe his penis harden, rising up steadily in his pants.

As my last moans of ecstasy fade and my video image straightens up in the chair -- my long hair now a bit unkempt, I hear Mr. Hamilton moan as I begin to lick my wet fingers of my juices and then stare at him through the scene. My lips move as my digital image speaks, silently echoing my own words.

"Mr. Hamilton. The time for fantasy is coming to an end. You cannot deny, forever. After this Friday, we're on two weeks of Fall Break. On Sunday, at one o'clock sharp, you must drive out to Shyler's Falls out at the end of Shyler Mill Road -- you grew up here -- I know you know where it is. Nobody ever goes out there anymore except me. I go a lot to think and write and dream. Thirty feet above the falls on the hill there is a stand of trees including an ancient and massive oak. I will be waiting for you there. I'll pack a picnic lunch and a large blanket and all this terrible waiting and longing can come to an end."

My video image licked her fingers one last time, obscenely sucking her middle finger slowly between her tightly puckered lips. She stared out at Mr. Hamilton. "I love you and you love me. It's time we quit denying ourselves all the love and pleasure we have to offer each other. I'll be waiting, Mr. Hamilton, my love!"

My teacher sat there silently staring into the now frozen image of myself naked on the screen, a sexy, yet beatific smile on my face. My fingers slipped from Mr. Hamilton's shoulders and around his upper body. He finally started as I kissed his earlobe and whispered, "I'll be waiting, Mr. Hamilton, my love!"

I sauntered away from him, swinging my plaid skirt covered ass saucily, halting only when I heard his strained voice rasp, "It will never happen. I will not be there, Megan!"

I turned and smiled gently at my soon to be lover. Feeling totally in control, I replied softly, "Yes you will, Mr. Hamilton." I pointed to the laptop and continued. "You can say no, but it's Wednesday and between now and Sunday, you'll look at my pictures and video a hundred times. You'll reread my essays and letters and masturbate to them and my...visual aides and my love, come Sunday, you will come to me and then we can begin loving and cumming together."

"You don't understand, Megan," Mr. Hamilton sighed. "You can't know that, Megan."

"Of course I can," I replied. I raised my schoolgirl skirt to reveal my naked pussy, plunging a finger into my wet flesh as I said, "I've always known it would happen. I knew it here..." I plunged two fingers inside my wet cunt for emphasis. I pulled them out, dripping with my juices and pressed them against my chest...against my heart, the creamy cum smearing on my white blouse. "And I know it my heart where my love for you waits."

I began walking backwards towards the door, never taking my eyes off my future love. "And you know it too, Mr. Hamilton. You know it from the way your cock gets hard when you think of me...the way it is hard right now and you know it from how the thought of me makes you feel in your heart. You love me...once you say the words, it will get much easier.

I opened the door to his classroom and looked back one last time. "I love you, Mr. Hamilton." I winked at him and added, "I'll see you, Sunday, my love," and was gone leaving him alone to make the only decision he could make.


Time seems to stretch to almost infinite terms as those few days pass. I replay every conversation Mr. Hamilton and I have had since my pursuit of him began in earnest. I hear his denials of any feelings of attraction or love, but never discern a word of truth in them. I examine my feelings for him -- both lust and love, but cannot find an iota of self-delusion. I believe in true love. I believe in destiny. I believe we were...are destined to fall in love.

How could I not love him? He is the first human being to really open up the world to me -- speaking of literature and history and of the world as it actually is and has the potential to be. He has given me Shakespeare and Irving (both Washington and John), he gave me Mary Shelley and Walt Whitman and Alice Walker and Borges -- and the list goes on and on. Mr. Hamilton has shared his joy of the written word and the necessity to always stay true to oneself. He was the first to treat me as a thinking adult and I couldn't help but fall in love with him.

Yes, there are years between us. I am just turned eighteen...I can't even legally buy an alcoholic drink. He is fifty-four years old, but his soul is young and I feel it reaching out to me...needing me to complete him.

He is a good man. I did not have to stalk him to discover this. Being perceived as a child...and a shy and quiet one at that renders me invisible to most of the adult world. Since I was a freshman, I've heard others talk about him...both students and teachers. He is a private person with a sad life...married once to a terrible shrew who he suffered for nearly twenty years before she left him, leaving him in near financial ruin. He is a gentle and talented lover to hear Ms. Hemmings, our theater arts teacher talk about it. A vain and reckless woman, she found him not as she put it, "Enough of a bad boy to suit me." When I heard her confiding that to one of the newer teachers in their department, I wanted to run over and slap her for being so stupid.

Mr. Hamilton is a beautiful man...still in great shape for a man in his fifties. His black hair gradually turning a lovely shade of gray, I know he runs to keep his weight steady, although his build is more along the lines of a wrestler -- stocky and muscular without being overly so. The first time I say him jogging near the city park, I nearly had an orgasm and had to pull my car over...the way his leg muscles flexed as he ran, sent incendiary bursts of pleasure racing out from between my legs.

He has a reputation for being stern but fair, although I doubt that few students beyond myself know what a wonderful teacher he that would be missed when he's gone. Yes, I know that thirty six years separate us, but that is not an insurmountable gap -- I envision decades of passion and lust and love being shared by us. I will be his lover. I will give him babies...sons to carry on his name and daughters for him to dote over -- it makes me shiver with excitement and more than a little arousal to think of our children growing to adulthood, instilled with his wonderful virtues.

Yes, I believe in love. I believe in destiny. I believe that Mr. Hamilton and I will truly live 'happily ever after!'


It was a beautiful day...the kind of Sunday that was meant for lazy lovemaking and cuddling under God's sky in the great outdoors. The sun hung brilliantly in the middle of a azure sky while the tall trees above the falls stirred in a gentle, cooling breeze as I arrived at Shyler's Falls, carefully negotiating my little car along the neglected dirt track that led from the gravel road towards the falls.

Shyler's Falls was one of those little wonders of nature that is so often forgotten in our computer age. A large stream ran over a cliff some thirty-five feet high into a pool below before gathering itself together to meander off southward. Above the falls towered a gathering of ancient trees that stood guardian to this almost magical place.

I imagine that just a few generations back, it had been an oft visited place by randy teenagers and young families, but now was neglected. I'd discovered it two years ago after running across mention of it in an old newspaper while research a paper for ironically, Mr. Hamilton. In two years of coming out here to meditate or write or simply be alone with my increasingly passionate thoughts of my darling teacher, I have never encountered anyone.

To be perfectly honest, it was here, sitting under this mighty oak, that I first shucked off my jeans and panties, spread my legs and masturbated while imagining Mr. Hamilton fucking me, my screams filling the air as my fingers plunged and twirled in my wet pussy -- shocking me when I came so intensely that I ejaculated pussy juice nearly three feet, fertilizing the grass with the product of my love and lust.

I hiked up above the falls with a picnic basket in one hand and a thick quilt in the other. The quilt was a prized possession -- something my Granny Mills had given me before she passed away. My maternal grandmother had been the only other person I had felt was a kindred spirit...with a love of books that rivaled mine and a passion for her late husband, my grandfather, that I hoped I would experience with my soon to be lover. Granny Mills had given me the quilt, an heirloom from her grandmother... "From my wedding bed, sweetie. I leave it to you -- may you someday lay on it with the man of your heart and be half as happy as your grandpa and I have been."

At the base of my beloved tree, I spread the lovers' quilt and knelt slowly on it. I was wearing a short and strapless summer dress -- the elastic material clinging to my upper arms, but leaving my shoulders bare as well as my upper chest. I glanced down to confirm that my nipples were as hard as they felt, almost painful as they poked against the thin, silk material. I curled my bare legs underneath me, throwing my shoes off to the side. I'd dropped my wristwatch into the picnic basket before I'd left, but I didn't want to look and see if one o'clock had come and gone yet. Minutes blew away in the soft breeze that wafted through the trees as I waited and prayed, my ears perked to hear his approach.

"Do you have any clue how beautiful you really are?"

I screamed as the words came seemingly out of the air, spinning around and falling back on my arms only to see Mr. Hamilton sitting in the crotch of an old, wizened apple tree's branches. He was wearing a sleeveless sweatshirt, jeans and old, battered sneakers, his peppered hair windblown.

"How...where did you come from?" I gasped. "You scared the shit out of me!"

Mr. Hamilton chuckled softly and said, "I've been here a while...watched you climb up the hill."

I scrambled to my feet, suddenly feeling foolish. "I never saw your car, Mr. Hamilton."

He shrugged his shoulders and replied, "There's more than one way to get to Shyler's Falls, Megan. I was coming here before you were born." He paused and shook his head and added, "Hell, I was coming here before your mother was born."

He looked around and said, "This is such a beautiful place. I'd pretty much forgotten that I and my friends used to come here to swim in the pool and to fish and just goof off." He looked down at me with his dark brown eyes, seeming to fix me in place with the intensity of his gaze. "When I was a teenager, I always thought this would be the perfect place to kiss my true love." He sighed and said in almost a whisper. "Never happened."

I felt my heart, already pounding powerfully, leap up into my throat. In a voice that sounded more confident than I suddenly felt, I said, "Well, not yet, but here's your chance, Mr. Hamilton." I held out my hand. "Could...would you come down to me please.

I watched as my teacher became stock still, staring down at me with an expression of such desperate desire that it nearly broke my heart. I silently willed him to be brave and daring and come come into my arms. Mr. Hamilton took a deep breath and suddenly was there -- half sliding and half jumping from the tree to land with his knees bent and straightening up with a slight wince.

"Are you okay," I said breathlessly, reaching out my hands to clasp his forearms as if to steady him.

"Can't make that jump like I used to, Megan, when I was your age," he replied with a slight chuckle. He didn't pull away from my grasp, but rotated his arms so that he could hold my forearms as well. His grip, firm, yet gentle, sent quiet ripples of ecstasy through me. "I'm an old coot, Megan. Are you sure you want to waste your love on an old fool like me?"

I stepped up and into him, putting his face between my hands, subtly pulling his head down towards me. "You are not old, Mr. Hamilton. You are not a coot and you are not a fool!" I pressed my body against his, hoping that it wasn't simply imagination that made me think that he was hard beneath those jeans -- that it was his erect cock pressing against my belly.

There was anger and exasperation in my voice as I hissed, "You are the man I love, Mr. Hamilton. My heart belongs to you, today and forever. I want to fuck you. I want to marry you and have your babies and we will, by fucking God, live happily ever after!"

I could see the fear in his eyes bleeding away, only to be replaced by wonder and maybe amusement. "Mr. Hamilton, if you don't kiss me right now, I will simply die!" I moaned, my voice edged still with a touch of anger.

"Well, we can't have that, can we?" he whispered and then the world began to spin as his arms seemed to envelop me and lift me and his lips were on mine as my arms went around his neck. I felt his tongue brush between my lips and I opened my mouth wide, thrusting my own tongue forward and then we were kissing as lovers should, tongues twirling and dancing, curling about as we tasted each other.

I felt Mr. Hamilton's hands pulling me closer as they slid down my back and I trembled as I felt his fingers slip underneath my short dress and cup my naked butt cheeks, murmuring approvingly at my naughty lack of panties while I drew my legs up around his waist, unable to encircle his body with my slender, but short legs. I dug my heels into his flanks to help him in supporting my body, but I knew he would never drop me. For the first time since I was a little girl, I didn't mind being picked up like a child. In his solid grasp, I felt loved, safe and incredibly aroused.

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