Chapter 2
"...and in 'American Short Stories' you'd be well advised to be able to answer questions on chapters two and three. I don't know for sure, but I wouldn't be surprised if you encountered a pop quiz sometime in the next couple of days. Any questions?" Of course there were none. As Julia surveyed her class, she knew that already their minds were outside the classroom, that she was done with them until the same time tomorrow. All books were closed, all eyes were focused on the door to the classroom, each body ready to bolt at the signal. "That's all" said Julia and another period ended.
Steve Tanner was one of the last to leave. It had been three days since he'd handed in his late paper. The past two days, he'd once again been absorbed into the mass of occasionally alert faces that confronted her every day.
"Steve, do you have a minute," she asked him. He waited, expressionless, as the rest of the students filed out. She noticed that he held his notebook like a shield in front of him, perfectly covering (protecting?) his crotch.
When they were alone, she assumed a professional, teacherly air and produced his paper, the bright red LATE still glaring from the first page. "I'm giving you an A on this; the minus is for handing it in late. Otherwise, it's really excellent. I'm impressed."
"Thank-you Miss Perkins," the lack of expression in his voice matching his face. He reached a hand out to take it from her, the other still keeping his notebook firmly in place.
"You don't have a class this period, do you?" He shook his head. "Why don't you read my comments. I'd like to discuss this with you, if you have the time."
He hesitated a moment, then slouched into a front row desk and leafed through the pages, pausing over her notations in the margins.
"I'm not sure I see what you mean here, when you say I'm too ambiguous." He pointed to a comment on page ten and she moved around behind him to read over his shoulder. As she bent down to read, she was aware of her breasts making contact with his shoulder. He gave a small involuntary jerk but she took no notice, keeping up a constant stream of scholarly chatter, all the while gently rubbing her nipples across the back of his shirt. She took no notice of his discomfort even though he'd begun to squirm and small beads of sweat broke out on his forehead.
"O.K.; the problem here really isn't with content so much, it's just that you're too clumsy with your sentence structure. See, in this paragraph here, it's not really clear if you mean Melville, or if you're referring back to this reference to Ahab on the preceding page. A better way to phrase it maybe would have been...." She had no idea what she was saying, just babbled through a stock monologue on form and content, all the while luxuriating in the physical touch of his body. She smelled after shave on his skin though could find no evidence on his cheeks that he had a genuine need to use it. A pack of cigarettes stuck out of his shirt pocket and she saw him racing between classes for a restroom filled with smoke and mindful of approaching footsteps of teachers, or worse, Henry Scroggins, the principal. Two of the cigarettes in the pack were shorter, thinner and obviously hand-rolled and this too amused her. Artifacts of youthful passage into a world perceived as somehow more mature, more important; evidence of his impatience with the monotony of a world he'd already outgrown.
Julia walked back to her desk and leaned against it in front of him. She'd chosen her outfit carefully that day and knew her light sweater left no doubt as to the shape of her breasts the shape of her nipples pointing out and slightly up and away from each other. He seemed reluctant to look at her, and when he did, his eyes went straight to hers, avoiding the slim light lines of her body. Her blonde hair, long and straight, had been brushed to a shine and the sparkling strands brushed against her breasts as they sloped away from her body. She looked good and knew it. So did Steve. Of that, she was certain.
Finally she could take no more of his monosyllable answers, his awkward reluctance to gaze upon her hungry with longing. She wanted him to lust after her, wanted him to drool over her.
"Steve," she asked calmly. Do I make you uncomfortable?"
A red flush rose in his cheeks. A hot flush, she told herself. His eyes were riveted on the desk top. His breathing had become heavy, staccato and sharp. She repeated the question, her voice quiet, near whispering.
"Do I make you uncomfortable?" There was no doubt in her mind now, as to his desire. Had she misread his intentions, he'd already have ended the meeting, or at least diffused the situation. Instead, the small trembling of his hands, his furtive quick glances at her breasts, his inability to speak steeled her resolve, convinced her that he was hers for the taking. She'd already dealt with her own doubts and now her objective sat before her, the path to its attainment unobstructed.
"I've been thinking about the question you asked me the other day. You remember which one, don't you?"
"You mean about whether or not you liked teaching?" His eyes met hers, a look of confusion spilling almost like tears from them. His face was a silent plea; he was out of his element in this. If ever there was a time for her to provide guidance, it was now. She would show him the way; she would lead him by the hand. As far as she was concerned, the path was easy to find; her legs spread before him in an inverted 'V clearly pointed his direction.
"I recall you asking me something else." Her voice was low now, hoarse. She let it flow melodically over him, soothing him. "Something about someone young and someone older ... I remember saying that if someone could get hurt, you should be very careful."
She allowed her eyes to bore into him. To her joy, he held her gaze.
"What if no one gets hurt?" he asked at last. "You never find two people together without the risk of one getting hurt, Steve. Some people spend their whole lives prisoners of their fear of being hurt. You have to decide if yours is strong enough to keep you from experiencing life."
This subtle challenge to his passage from youth was, perhaps, unfair. She did not play fair. Maybe she'd regret this; actually, she knew damn well she'd regret it. She also knew she'd regret infinitely more letting this boy pass untouched from her life.
He looked away.
"Are you afraid to look at me, Steve? Don't you want to look at me?" She slowly, deliberately, raised her hands to her breasts, cupping them from beneath. They filled her smooth palms easily.
He looked at her again, and now the burning lust was openly etched along his tightly constricted eyes, in his slightly parted lips. The note book in his lap tilted at a crazy angle, as if resting on a large object. She knew exactly what that object was, could even now imagine the soft flesh swelling, growing hard. She walked to the door and shut it. The clicking of the latch echoed in the silence between them. She turned to him, her voice scarcely audible.
"I can open this, if you wish. You can walk out, if that's what you'd like." She took his statue-like immobility for an answer, locked the door, and raised her sweater over her shoulders. She heard him gasp. Inside her tight jeans, she was a flood of juice, her cunt a vast empty pocket, a silence, a void to be filled with cock and cum. His cock. His cum. Cum that even now filled his balls with relentless pressure. Was the tip of his cock drooling the clear liquid of arousal into his jockey shorts, she wondered. Was he already building to a blast of orgasm at the sight of her exposed breasts? She hoped so. She knew it was so. His face told her everything.
"Miss Perkins," he stammered. "This is scary."
"I know," she said with a tantalizing smile. "Isn't that what makes it exciting?" His face was now a sheet of pure astonishment, a blank page upon which she'd sketched the object of her own desire. She walked over to where he still sat rock-like in the desk.
"Touch me, Steve. Touch my breasts." She unhooked her bra, let the two halves fall to her side and gave her body a quick shake. Her breasts shivered, a visual imprint of the nerves firing spastically beneath the surface of her skin. Goose bumps broke out on her neck and shoulders; she felt hot, her skin burned to feel his touch, craved it. He still made no move towards her. Nearly mad now from longing, she bent down to him, letting her nipples dance in front of his face. Slowly, as if against his will, he tilted his head toward the rolling mounds and at last she felt the contact of his body and hers. "Oh, yes, please touch me!" she moaned. Perhaps she should keep her emotions more in control she thought. She could frighten him off yet. But she was reckless, having crossed all lines of caution long ago.
She took his face in her hands and kissed him. He kissed her back; a strong, passionate kiss. Still kissing her, he reached up and touched her inflamed tits.
"Oh that's good. Yes, that's good. Oh God they need you. Hold them, please hold them in your hands, your strong hands." He squeezed. She cried out. Loud. Too loud. She had to be careful; too much was at stake.
She fumbled at his crotch, unzipped his jeans and dug for his cock. It was trapped in the heavy material, far too stiff for her to maneuver and so pulling him up from his seat, she knelt before him, lowered his jeans to his knees and stared in wordless triumph at the thick cock that stuck through the leg of his jockey shorts. Those too she lowered and at last he was hers, literally in her hands to do with as she pleased.
What pleased her was to stick it in her mouth as fast as she could. As soon as she did, she realized the extent of the youth's torment, for at the first touch of her tongue he came in a massive gusher of cum. She hadn't expected so much so fast and half of it caught her full in the face. Recovering quickly, she buried the shaft to her throat and let the thick liquid spew forth. It was like she'd opened the valve to a fire hose, though the flames within her raged on, unaffected.
Steve was still helpless to do anything but stand there and let her work on his cock. She looked up at him, saw his head thrown back, his eyes closed and knew he liked what she was doing.
"You'd could come a quart, you hot stud," she said and he smiled an embarrassed grin. "I don't usually shoot off so quick," he asserted. "Really; sometimes I can go for a long time."
"That's because I know how to get you hot," she said to him, cradling his huge bag of balls. She poked a finger up his ass and sucked him till he was hard again. Then, still stroking his cock, she stood up and faced him. His cum still dribbled from her lips and she slowly licked it off and swallowed it.
"What do you want to do with this magnificent tool?" she asked him.
He stared hungrily at her breasts. "I want to fuck you and suck your tits," he said. She was excited to hear him say it, undid her jeans, and lay across her desk. "Pull my pants down and fuck me, hard," she ordered and he obeyed, a willing student following his teacher's lead.
He was huge. She cried little whimpers in his ear as his cock entered her and she felt it stretching her pussy walls. The flared tip shot ripples of unbearable ecstasy as it rushed deep in to her and pulled back, in deep and back. Having emptied his balls once already, he took longer to fill them again and she felt free to dig at him with her hips as she came again and again from his thrusts. Each orgasm increased in intensity; still he fucked her, and as she finally felt him build to a climax, she felt the muscles of her cunt sputter into a series of wild fluttering contractions. Her mind went blank; she was lost in the long corridor of his cock, lost in the insane rocking motions of his thrusts.
He came in another burst and she felt his cum leaking out around the sides of his cock, spurting through her cunt lips .
"Oh yes, yes, she moaned; shoot it in me. Fill me with it. Oh, empty those gorgeous balls in my cunt! Oh God, it's hot, so hot, you're hot Oh yes, yes, yes!
He stood over her, pumping like a madman, face screwed up into a twisted series of jagged lines and sharp intersecting planes. He was silent, probably scared to death of being discovered. Such fears never entered Julia's mind. Indeed, no thoughts crossed her mind. It was simply a white void, a slate wiped clean by his torrent of cum washing through her. The great cock pressed at her cunt from all sides; she could only moan in response.
At last she felt him grow limp, watched with amusement as his eyes shyly refrained from meeting her own. Was that another blush rising in his cheeks; No doubt about it. The boy had just fucked her eyes out yet was afraid to look at her body. He slid his greasy dick from between her legs and stepped back away from the desk, but she held her position, spreading her legs a little further.
"Look what you've done to me, you little stud," she teased, smearing her hands through the wet film that coated her thighs.
A self conscious grin darted across his face; he mumbled something inaudible and bent down to pull up his rumpled jeans. He quickly tucked in his shirt, buckled his belt and still he would not look at her.
"Don't you like my body Steve?" she asked, again with the melodic singing tone in her voice. His eyes darted across her flesh, so passively displayed before him, still open to him yet he couldn't hold his eyes on her as if the burning of her passion gave off a glow too bright for his young eyes.
Nonetheless, it bothered her that he felt so uncomfortable. She wanted him to enjoy what he had done, wanted him to want her, wanted him to NEED her, need to look at her, feel the varied movements within her, wanted him to learn from her. With no real conscious awareness of the transformation, Julia discovered a vital renewal in her role as teacher. This was one student she'd be willing to spend hours helping with his homework.
"Steve, look at me." Her voice was stern, commanding, more a return to the 'Miss Perkins' of third period than the wanton, craven woman of a few moments earlier. His eyes met her own. They were wide, but with astonishment, not fear. The enormity of their act together was just beginning to sink in. She imagined how he felt at that moment, his damp crotch still absorbing the residue of cum dribbling from his now soft cock, the fine empty calm in his balls, the tingle across his skin. Suddenly she wanted only to protect this fragile young man, to guide him, carefully, as he learned to accept his maturity, his manhood.
She sat up on the desk, reached out for his hands and pulled him to her. They kissed and she felt his resistance melt in her arms, fall before the onslaught of her passionate lips seeking his. She placed his hands on her breasts and forced them to press into her. He clung to her body like a baby and she fed him her nipple and for long delicious moments, suckled him with tender care. The touch of his mouth was gentle, sweet, arousing. As they held their embrace, she slid her hand between her legs and fingered herself to another orgasm. He sucked harder, supporting her shoulders firmly as she began to shudder from coming. Gasping, laying her head on his shoulder, she felt the wasted years lift from her life like a curtain, saw revealed there a lavishly arranged stage, felt the bright anticipation of a performance that only now was just beginning.
And then the moment was past; the smaller world of books and school day tasks beckoned him. He had no choice but to answer. Their mingling was a fragile thing, a small moment sliced out of a much larger flow of events that really paid them no heed. It was for her to create their space together, to show him the way, overcome his natural reluctance, protect him from the hurt and danger she exposed him to with her brazen behavior.
He remained silent as she dressed. His interest in her body was now open and she replaced each article of clothing slowly, lingering at the various points of her body before covering them. As she pulled her panties over her still moist thighs, she rubbed inside them, raising her hand up to the wet slit and dipping her finger in the goo. As she pulled her bra around her full breasts, she stroked the round curves and gave them a loving caress. Then they were kissing for the last time.
"Don't worry that this was wrong," she instructed him. "You and I make it right. Do you understand?"
He gulped. "I guess so Miss Perkins. I really don't know ... this isn't like anything I've ever done before."
"Me neither. Or did you think I routinely seduce my students?" Her eyebrows raised in a seductive arch. "But isn't it fun?"
He gazed longingly at her now clothed body. She must, she thought, seem to be like the fragments of a dream half remembered on waking; subconscious sensations still real, tangible, yet, as they mix and are overwhelmed by the real day-to-day world, fading, till at last they are but a fond memory without form or substance. Was that how he saw her? She would make it real. She would make herself a reality in his life, a dream that would not fade, a vision of real flesh, capable of touching and being touched. She would make him crave her.