Chapter 1
"Class dismissed. See you all next Tuesday."
I stepped away from the blackboard and moved toward my desk. The classroom erupted with an explosion of noise, as though a cooling wave of relief were washing across my students, releasing them from the restrictions of the silence I had imposed upon them. They laughed and spoke loudly, and picked up conversations in mid-sentence, where they had been left off from an hour before, when the class had begun. There was pushing in the milling crowd as they spilled through the open door leading to the hallway, and a few mild obscenities which I pretended not to hear. I chose to ignore them, and fortified this decision with the unspoken acknowledgement that they were no longer my responsibility. The day was over, and it was time for their parents to commence worrying about their behavior now-if, of course, they ever would. My job was done, completed as best as I was professionally capable. I pulled out my chair and slipped into it, nudging my knees under the desk.
My notebook lay closed upon my desk, and I flipped it open, fluttering the pages until I came to the lesson I had scheduled for my classes tomorrow. Years of teaching experience had conditioned me to plan my lessons one to two weeks in advance, so that I'd have free time in the evenings to devote to either supplemental activities, or for my own personal attentions. I never studied my lesson plans to the point where I would chart out each and every point I would make, as some teachers do. Rather, I had a generalized idea of the subject and topic of the lesson, and reinforced it with a quick perusal of my notes, to keep it fresh in my mind. I allowed my unconscious mind to work out the format, as I knew it would, developing an approach which would inevitably work perfectly. I began to skim the handwritten page. "Miss Harper...."
I looked up. Kitty Bonaventura was standing at the side of my desk, her books clutched tightly in her arms, folded like a shield across her tiny, budding breasts. She was a slender, unattractive girl, with short mouse-colored hair and faded unimpressive eyes. Pimples erupted like miniature volcanoes on her shallow cheeks, indicators of the turmoil bubbling below her adolescent surface, until her flesh resembled a slice of raw, uncooked pizza-which, incidentally, was her favorite food.
"Yes, Kitty. Is there something you wished to speak to me about?"
The girl flushed crimson, looking briefly over her shoulder to see whether anyone could overhear. The last cluster of students was squeezing itself through the narrow doorway, completely oblivious to Kitty Bonaventura and her problems, as they have always been for this somewhat sad, homely young girl.
"Well, it's about my...uh...test paper."
"Yes, what is it?"
She hesitated, as if afraid to continue. "Well, I uh read it over again, and I uh...you know...think I should have got this-"
"Gotten," I unnecessarily corrected.
"-Huh? Oh, yeah. Gotten. I think I should have gotten this last part right. I don't think I deserved such a low mark." She held out the paper for me to see, a long bony finger indicating the area in question.
I sighed to show my exasperation, then pulled the paper from her hand. Whenever I mark a test, I usually do it very carefully, and try to give the student the benefit of any doubt which may arise. I read the question quickly, to get myself oriented, and then I skimmed her answer. It was a typical high school attempt at bullshitting. It was obvious she had no idea what the answer was, so she attempted to talk around the answer, not really saying anything at all, but hoping that I would be gullible enough to swallow the garbage she was handing in.
My anger flared momentarily, and I looked up from the scrawled, almost illegible page, to tell her exactly what I was thinking, when I caught a glimpse of Richard Lowe, another one of my students, sitting at his desk, his hands folded neatly across his books, looking impatiently at me with anguish in his eyes. A flutter of excitement went through my body, and before he could catch my eye, I dropped my vision back to the page, and pretended to reread it.
The words blurred in front of my eyes as the implications of his being there reawakened my thoughts. It wasn't as if I had forgotten about him-for I could never have done that!-but in the confusion of the last few moments of class, and the sense of relief that I felt to know another work day was over, Richard Lowe was relegated to the back of my thoughts. The sight of him sitting there, and all it implied, brought him vividly back, and a second flutter of raw sexual excitement gripped my loins. I pressed my thighs together to stem the oozing wetness that was staining the crotch-piece of my panties.
"Well, Miss Harper, what do you think?" Kitty persisted. "Do you, uh, see what I mean?"
I looked directly at Kitty, avoiding any possible eye contact with Richard. Let him sit and, stew for a while more, I thought.
"See what you mean?" I repeated.
"Yes. About my paper. Do you see what I mean about my last answer? Don't you think it's right?"
"I'm not exactly sure I agree, Kitty. Let me have the paper back and I'll think about it. I'll let you know my decision on Tuesday, when this class meets again. How does that sound to you?"
"Wonderful," she bubbled, tingling at the idea that she might have pulled something over on me. Her thin, colorless lips parted into a smile, revealing twin rows of metallic braces stretched like iron ribbons across her teeth. "Thank you so much. That's...just thank you, Miss Harper."
"See you Tuesday, Kitty." I placed the test paper in my notebook, next to Tuesday's lesson, knowing full well what my answer would be. I allowed my eyes to wander across the lesson again until I heard the sound of Kitty retreating, and the gentle slam of the door as she left. Sounds from the hallway were dim and faraway, hardly intruding upon the almost brittle silence settling upon the classroom.
I continued to ignore Richard Lowe, tingling almost because I knew the kind of uncertainty that was racing through his thoughts. We were alone in the classroom, and he was feeling how different that was from the buffered safety in numbers which usually filled the room. Our traditional functions were melting away from us, and I could sense his mounting panic. I was more than a teacher to him now, more than Miss Harper, and he was more than just a student, much, much more than Richard Lowe. We were two human beings, without the convenient mask of our roles. I was a woman, and he was a young, innocent boy.
I continued to ignore him, filling with a sense of power which always accompanies this type of circumstance. Let him sit and wait and wonder and worry. Let him make all the moves, as uncertain and as terrifying as they must be. Creation of a mood, of a specific psychological state is always the most important part of a seduction.
Richard coughed.
I pretended not to hear.
He cleared his throat, moving his feet back and forth on the wooden floor so that they made a dull scraping sound. His finger tapped nervously against the edge of his desk.
I continued to read my lesson plan.
"Excuse me, Miss Harper," he said. His voice cracked and the words came out dry and squeaky.
I looked up, pretending surprise.
"Oh, yes. Richard. Excuse me, please. I forgot completely that you were waiting."
He smiled haphazardly, as if he were uncertain about the appropriateness of his reaction. He began to rise up from his desk, lifting his books in his slender, long-fingered hands, with the intention of coming to me.
I lifted my hand. "No, don't. I'll come there."
He settled back into his seat, straightening his spine until his entire body seemed rigid. The smile froze upon his face, mask-like, but his clear, troubled blue eyes revealed the uncertainty which lay hidden behind the wall of his unspoken thoughts.
Richard Lowe was very young, and very handsome, with delicate, almost fragile features, and wide innocent eyes that any woman would have given ten years of her life to possess. The lashes were long and tapered, very dark in color, in direct contrast to his fair complexion and long blond hair. His cheek bones were high and flaring, and the cheeks themselves were hollowed, giving him a drawn, aesthetic seriousness. With lips that were full and sensual, another feminine characteristic, pulled gauntly across his clenched teeth in that inflexible smile, I realized he reminded me very much of pictures I had seen of John Keats, the poet. The impression was further enhanced by his soft golden hair which flowed liquidly like a frame around his face, the gentle wave-like curls lapping at the open collar of his pale blue shirt.
He was sitting in the direct center of the room, three aisles from the hallway on one side, and three aisles from the bank of windows on the other side. As I walked down the center aisle toward him, I noticed for some reason that there was exactly as many empty seats behind him as there was in front of him-three. In that split second before we faced each other, I saw some sort of strange appropriateness in his location. For the. moment he was literally the center of my attraction.
"Well, Richard," I said, seating myself on the desk directly in front of him, "I guess you know why you're here today, don't you?"
His lips worked up and down, causing his tentative smile to crumble. "Well, ah, no...not really, I don't."
I stared down at him and smiled, as aloof and ll as superiorly as possible. I straightened my shoulders and stiffened my spine, giving the impression that I was taller than I was. Even though it was mostly illusion, I still seemed to tower above him. My thighs were squeezed tightly together, with my feet touching as they rested on the chair of the desk. My knees were on a direct level with his uptilted eyes. I smoothed the wrinkles in my tight-fitting short skirt, drawing his attention to it, as I'd planned. His eyes traveled downward for an instant, became aware of the nearness of my legs, and darted instantly back up, to the safety of my cold, glaring eyes.
"Don't you?" I challenged, my voice mimicking the tone one would use for a very young child. "Isn't that curious. I certainly thought by now you would have some idea. You must have some inkling as to why I've asked you to remain after class this afternoon. Don't you, Richard?"
I could almost watch the thought process register in the twitching muscles of his face. For just one moment his eyes began to drift down, away from the electrified current of our facial contact, when they stopped abruptly. He fixed them once again upon my face.
"Does it have anything to do with my test?"
"AH!" I clapped my hands together in an exaggerated gesture. "How wonderful. You do know."
He squirmed in his seat, his lower lip trembling. He caught it between the dazzling white rows of his teeth, sinking in until the lip turned white from the grinding pressure. The long tapering web of his eyelashes fluttered as he began to blink nervously.
"I wasn't sure..." he began. "I mean-"
"You weren't sure?" I said, the accusation implicit in my mocking tone. "My God, Richard-if not that, what then? Do you think I have nothing better to do with my valuable time? Did you think I had you here for a social visit?"
His mouth moved, desperately trying to frame words that would convince me of his reasons, but the confrontation was shattering, and he found himself unable to think clearly. He began to blink fitfully, as if in reaction to my words, as if they were physical slaps, stinging his flushed face.
I parted my knees slightly, pulling my thighs an inch or two apart. His eyes caught the movement, and he followed it unconsciously. I watched with a certain detached amusement as his eyes widened incredulously when he found himself peering up my skirt.
"I'm sure you don't believe that I've invited you here to make love to me," I said, using the same accusative tone, yet lightening it somewhat to give the impression that I might be making some sort of joke.
His face turned crimson, unmistakably indicating exactly what he had been thinking. He stammered and flustered, the energy of his denial causing him to rise up from his desk.
"No...no! Of course not....I-I never--"
I put my hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down into his seat. like my own private puppet, he dropped back down, effortlessly. The anguish in his face was incredibly evident, and I watched as he struggled with himself not to look at my legs again. But the continual, unwavering stare of my eyes upon his beet-red face was too intimidating, and he could not return the look. As his eyes moved down, across my body, I spread my thighs a little further apart. He closed his eyes tightly shut when he saw the movement, as though he were afraid to see what I was showing him.
"My, my, you are sensitive," I said. I leaned forward and touched his burning face, rubbing his cheek, ostensibly to soothe his shame and discomfort, but actually only heightening it. "Don't you know when you're being teased?"
I spread my legs further open.
Richard opened his eyes. He was looking right up my skirt, directly between my thighs. He closed his eyes and made a wet sound with his throat. Then he opened his eyes and pleaded them desperately at my cold, smiling face. There were beads of perspiration dotted across his forehead.
"Miss Harper," he spoke softly. He brought up a trembling hand and brushed it against the damp locks of his hair, pushing them back absently. "Miss Harper," he repeated, "I don't feel so good."
"Nonsense," I said. "Don't be such a silly little boy, Richard. Just sit down and let's be done with this. Is that understood."
"Yes, Miss Harper."
"Good. Now, about your examination. Where is it?"
He quickly opened his notebook and withdrew the sheet of paper which he had folded in half. I pulled it from his outstretched hand, tossing it open with a snap of my wrist. In bold red letters was scrawled: F See me!
"Ah, yes. Here it is. Now what have you got to say about-this."
I spread my thighs further, until they were at least six inches apart. I wore no pantyhose, so I knew my thighs must have appeared like two tapering avenues under my skirt, twin parallel lines converging at my panties. The mound of my pussy was broad and swollen, and I was very much aware of how tautly the pale blue material of my panties was stretched across it. The hair on my pussy felt damp from being flattened so tightly against my flesh, and I wondered whether he could see any of the hairs as they poked out from under the elastic leg bands of the panties.
Richard opened his eyes, stared at my cunt, took a deep, trembling breath, and spoke toward my face: "I don't know what happened, Miss Harper. Really, I don't. I studied...like I always do...I thought I was answering the questions right. Really, I did. I don't know what happened. I can't understand.. . . "
"I think I understand," I said, coldness crackling in my tone. "It seems to me that you really didn't study. No one could have done as poorly as this and tell me he sincerely made an effort to study."
I spread my thighs again. He trembled visibly.
"But I did!" he cried. "You can even ask my Mother. She saw me studying."
"She saw you looking at your text, perhaps," I said. I squirmed on the seat, using the tensed muscles of my ass to pull at the hem of the skirt until it inched further up my thighs. Greater and greater expanses of naked pink flesh emerged from under my skirt. "But not studying. Your body might have been there, but your mind certainly could not have been."
Richard rubbed his hand across his mouth. He shrugged hesitantly. "I don't know....Maybe...maybe you're right. Maybe I-"
"Maybe?" I repeated, showing him clearly that he had offended me. I slid my thighs around, until my knees were aimed at the three windows on my right. The bright afternoon sunlight streamed through in slanted, almost parallel slats of brightness, illuminating any of the remaining shadows which might have continued to exist between my widely parted thighs, under the rigid hemline of my skirt. My voice was sickly sweet in its prompting: "Of course I'm right, Richard. You know what I'm saying is the truth. Don't you, Richard?"
He looked up at me, something happening in his eyes, as if the veil of confusion were suddenly whisked away. His lips parted and he licked his lips nervously.
"Yes, yes, Miss Harper," he hurried to agree. "Of course. Yes, you're right. That was what happened. That's it. You are right."
"Good boy, Richard," I said, sliding forward on the desk until I had positioned myself so that he was looking directly between my legs. "Of course, Fm right. I'm always right. That's why I'm the teacher, and you're the...student."
He smiled nervously up at me. "I'll try better the next time, Miss Harper. Can I go now?"
"And do you know why you had difficulty studying this time, Richard?" I completely ignored his request.
He sighed softly, slumping in his chair. "No, why, Miss Harper?" he asked, barely audibly.
I leaned forward and brought my face down to his level. My thighs split wide apart as the hem of my skirt was almost lost in the pressing folds of my crotch. I glared directly into his frightened eyes, smiling malignantly. Despite his sheer terror, Richard's nostrils twitched from the sensual assault of my perfume.
"Girls," I whispered, licking my tongue around my puckered lips. "Girls."
He blinked, not understanding. "Girls?"
"You've been paying too much time to girls, and not enough time to your studies."
"But, I-"
"How old are you, Richard?" He shrugged. "Fifteen."
"And, do you have a girl friend?" He tilted his head almost imperceptibly. "Yeah."
"Do you see her a lot?"
"Weekends mostly," he said, beginning to squirm in his chair as he understood my direction. "Some times after school."
"What's her name?"
"What has this to do with my exam?"
"Her name, Richard. What's her name?"
"Alice."
"Are you going steady?"
He thought for a moment, his attention wandering for an instant from my face. I took immediate advantage, and began to rotate my hips, grinding them around in a slow, rolling circle, offering the invitation of my parted thighs to his reawakened awareness. My panties were sopping wet, and the material made a squishy sound as it rubbed against my flesh.
"We've been going steady for almost a year."
"Do you love her?"
He shrugged, as if to say he really didn't know. "More important, perhaps-does Alice love you?"
"I don't know. She says she does, but.. . . "
"Have you ever told her you love her."
"Yeah, but-"
"And she believes it?"
"Yes, but, Miss Harp-"
"Have you ever been intimate together?"
The perspiration was streaming down his face now, and his blue, opened collar shirt was stained with large ragged circles of wetness. His lips twitched nervously, and he unconsciously rubbed at them with the knuckle of his left hand, his teeth sinking into the flesh and pulling at it with tiny-rippling bites.
"I don't know what you mean?"
I laughed to purposely humiliate him. "Oh, come now, Richard. You know what I mean by that. Intimate. By that I mean did you ever touch her-breasts?"
The movement of my hips in its slow sensual grind caught his eyes again, and he stared between my widely parted thighs. The underside piece of my panties felt as if I had wet myself, and I could feel the material stuck up inside, between the fluttering crack of the lips.
"This is crazy, Miss Harper..." he began, sensing perhaps for the first time, exactly, inevitably where this could only end.
"Answer my question, Richard."
"Which question? I...don't remember-"
"Have you ever touched Alice's breasts?"
He nodded, sniffling out his response. "Yes."
A throb of excitement went through my body, making my knees weak and my nipples stiffen inside the rigid cups of my bra. I had him. I had him. He was mine...mine to do with as I pleased. I literally held him in the palm of my hand, to do with as I chose, even if I chose to close my fist around his squirming form, and crush the ego right out of him. He was like an insect trapped, a bug stuck on the point of a pin. There was no escape for him any longer, no where to turn, no road to freedom. Richard Lowe belonged to me, and I chose to exploit that power.
"Did you touch her tits on top of her clothing or under it?"
"Both," he answered, closing his eyes, sinking. My clitoris was erect between the lips of my cunt, and the grinding pressure of my drenched panties rubbed back and forth across the swollen nipple of pleasure. I felt the smoldering canal of my vaginal passageway flexing and releasing, like a grasping fist, as the dripping wetness of my excitement coated its sugary walls. My thighs were nearly as far apart as they could conceivably go without dislocating them, and my skirt was bunched uselessly at the edges of my panties, exposing the entire length of my legs. "How did it feel?" I asked breathlessly. Richard trembled, from head to foot. "I don't know...I mean...good. They felt good, nice."
"Was she firm, soft? Big breasted, small? How? Tell me."
"I don't know. Not too big." I clutched my breasts in my hands, squeezing into the pleasure-swollen mounds with all ten fingers, pinching them through my blouse. T lifted them and offered them to Richard, watching his eyes widen as I did so.
"As big as I?" I asked. "Smaller?"
He licked his lips. "About the same."
"Were they firm?"
"Yes."
"And the nipples-were they big? Were they stiff? Did it give her pleasure when you caressed them?"
"Yes...yes...yes! Oh, please, Miss Harper-"
"Did you suck them? Did you suck her breasts? Did you lick her nipples with your tongue?"
"Yes, I did. I did, Miss Harper. I sucked them."
"And she liked it when you did that, didn't she, Richard? Didn't she?"
The handsome young boy was staring unashamedly between my widely parted thighs, tears welling up in his eyes. "Yes, she did!" he cried, fear and excitement causing his voice to rise shrilly. "She loved it...she loved it! She begged me to do more...more! She said...she said...Alice said that it-"
"Yes...yes! What did she say?"
"She said-it made her wet!"
"And then you touched her between her legs, right?"
"Yes-s" he sobbed.
"You touched her cunt...her pussy...her twat. You slid your fingers slowly down her panties, and you felt her flesh. You felt her hair. You felt her-wetness!"
"Yes, I did! Please let me go home, Miss.. . "
"You touched her clitoris...you rubbed it. She squirmed. She pressed her body up against your hand, and rubbed those soft, wet lips back and forth across your fingers-"
"Yes...yes!"
"-You could feel her tiny little hole, nibbling at the tips of your fingers, like a hot breath, trying to suck you up inside of her..."
"Oh my God...oh."
"And you fingered her cunt."
My own voice was shaking with passion, and I had all to do to keep from prying my fingers away from my breasts and jamming them, down to my knuckles, into the seething pit between my thighs. I trembled fitfully, closing my eyes and gritting my teeth, as if to contain my mounting excitement, as if by doing so I could magnify the rushes of pleasure which were washing across my belly.
"Did you fuck her?" I asked.
Richard sobbed, tears spilling over, raining down his tortured face. "Yes, I did. Yes, Miss Harper-I did! I'm sorry...I-I'm sorry..."
"And she liked it, didn't she?"
"Yesssss!"
"Was that what happened, Richard, the night you were supposed to be studying? Were you with
Alice? Were you making love to her? Were you fucking her that night?"
"Yes, goddam-you-leave-me-alone!"
I laughed brittlely, to relieve my mounting tension. The grinding layers of pressure were too much for frail, immature little Richard, and he was coming apart at the seams, bursting wide open.
"What did you say?" I whispered, my voice harsh, urgent. "What did you say to me?"
Richard gasped, opening and closing his eyes as if he were blinking. His jaw dropped slackly, and saliva dribbled down over his beardless chin.
"I'm sorry...Miss...Harper. I-"
"What did you say to me?"
I stretched my thighs as wide apart as I could, sliding forward on the desk until my partially exposed crotch was only inches away from his face. I could feel the elastic of the panties pulling over the mound of my pussy, exposing half of it to his wide, staring eyes.
"I didn't mean...."
"Stand up, Richard," I hissed.
"Please, Miss Harper. I gotta go home. It's late...My mother will be-"
"Stand up!"
"Yes...yes. Pm sorry. I will. I..." He stumbled to his feet, swaying from side to side in the aisle, his head bowed, his eyes down cast.
"Look at me," I demanded. "If you can say that to me...if you can insult me like that, then you can stand and face me."
He looked up, between my thighs, at my almost naked bottom. He was wearing a pair of tight fitting jeans, and the throbbing silhouette of an erection made the front of his pants stand boldly out. His arms dangled uselessly at his sides.
"What's that?" I said, pointing to his stiffened rod.
He closed his eyes in anguish, squeezing out a few more tears. "Please...don't. Don't."
"What is that?"
He cowered from the command of my voice, shrinking back as if something physical had struck him. Conversely, his erection seemed to lengthen, stiffen, grow thicker and bolder, pushing out against the straining material of his jeans until I thought it would rip wide open.
His face turned scarlet, and in a voice that was a mumbled whisper, he said: "My...penis."
For a moment I said nothing, and somehow the silence was shattering. Then I laughed, laughed cruelly, in a cackling, belittling sharpness.
"Your-penis?" I repeated, shredding what was left of his ego with his own words. "Your penis. Is that what you call it? Your penis? Is that what Alice refers to it as? What did she say to you, Richard, that night when you made love? Oh, Richard, fill me with your penis?"
I could see the shaft clearly outlined against his pants. It seemed long and thick and incredibly hard. I knew if I put my hand there, even close to it, I would be able to feel the heat, even through the coarseness of the material. I was tempted, sorely tempted to do just that.
"Do you call it your prick?" I asked. "Your cock? Your rod? Your shaft? When you pull it up and down, when you play with it, when you masturbate-how do you think of it then?"
"My...God!...My cock," he said. "It's my...I call it my cock!"
I dropped my hand down between my thighs, running my fingernails across the naked white softness of my flesh. Richard's eyes followed the movement of my hand, from the inside of my knee, to the crease where the top of my leg folded into my crotch. The flesh was damp with perspiration, and it glistened dully in the streaming summer sunlight.
"Take it out, Richard," I said evenly. "Take out your cock."
He shook his head, moving it in short, staccato arcs, as if his neck were hinged, and the effort to turn it were somehow mechanical. His lips parted, and his jaw jerked up and down, without any sound squeaking out except for a low, rolling moan.
"Take your cock out."
"I...can't! I-"
"Richard!"
"Please, Miss Harper. I can't! Don't make me do this. Don't.. . don't.. . don't!"
I stretched my hand out, away from my thigh, toward the throbbing hardness that was like a thick lump across the front of his jeans. My fingers strained forward, toward the erection, stopping inches away from the swollen shaft.
"Richard," I threatened softly, "if you don't, I will."
"Please...please!"
"All right, Richard. I'm going to touch it!"
His entire body stiffened as my hand moved down, and I could feel the head even before my fingers made contact. I pressed down against the thickness of his erection, pinching the shaft through the jeans, squeezing it into the palm of my hand. It began to throb and swell, and Richard gasped, as if in pain, and he bent forward suddenly.
"Oh...Jesus!" he moaned.
His cock throbbed powerfully, and I could feel a spreading wetness ooze out from the tip of the shaft, wetting his jeans.
Richard Lowe was coming in his pants.