Being Schooled

Being Schooled Being Schooled

Status: In Progress

Genre: Romance

Details

Status: In Progress

Genre: Romance

Tags

Summary

Chapters of an ongoing story, a classic "naughty schoolgirl and teacher" styled fantasy.

Tags

Summary

Chapters of an ongoing story, a classic "naughty schoolgirl and teacher" styled fantasy.

Chapter1 (v.1) - Back to School

Author Chapter Note

A tale of naughty schoolgirl and teacher, a classic trope to be sure, but a fun one!

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: January 28, 2016

Reads: 1901

Comments: 4

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Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: January 28, 2016

A A A

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I turned eighteen a few weeks before I graduated from high school and I had been counting the days all year. Because of Mr. Archer, my English teacher. He was thirty-three and I couldn't help but laugh when I would hear the other girls talk about him as if he were old. But then maybe they hadn't seen him out surfing like I had at the beach. His sandy hair slicked back and his tanned athletic body dripping and glistening with water as he strode out of the surf with his board. That has been just before school started and watching him from my spot on my beach towel, I'd felt something clench low in my belly and my heart literally skipped a beat. The man was gorgeous with eyes like the sea itself and a smile that dazzled like the sun sparkling on the ocean.

He saw me, too, that day. I know because he turned that dazzling smile on me when he caught my obvious stare. I must have blushed all over my body because he laughed but it wasn't mean and as his eyes travelled over my bikini clad form he grew serious again and there was something suddenly hungry in his eyes. I saw something twitch in his trunks and he suddenly jerked his eyes away from me and turned abruptly away.

So imagine my stunned surprise when, just a few days later, during my last class of the day, I saw the new English teacher turn to face us after writing his name on the board and those amazing sea green eyes met mine again. He looked startled for a moment and I saw him swallow before he looked away and began to speak, introducing himself and talking about his goals for our class for the year. He had a voice made for reading poetry and it blew me away that a man so good looking would also be so smart. I was smitten. Hard.

It wasn't long before I broke up with my dumb jock of a footballer boyfriend. He was forever trying to unhook my bra when we made out and trying to put my hand on his dick while he did his best to convince me that "blow jobs didn't count." I wasn't a prude but I was a virgin and I knew I wasn't just going to have my first time with some fumbling idiot whose idea of sweet talk was to constantly tell me I was hot and how I was always making his dick hard.

And so for the entire school year I worked on getting Mr. Archer to notice me. I was only seventeen and I knew there was no way we could be together without him throwing his career away. I didn't want that. But I also knew I was going to be eighteen before the year was over and it was my senior year and after the summer I'd be moving away to go to college in another state. I wanted my last summer at home to be amazing and I wanted to dispense with the whole virgin thing before I left for school. I wanted something with no strings attached. But I wanted it to be good. Hell, I wanted it to be amazing. So I set my sights on Mr. Archer.

I found excuses to talk with him during class, going up to his desk and leaning over it to point out a passage in a book I was "struggling" with the meaning of. The poor man practically had no choice but to look down my shirt and I always made sure I was wearing some pretty lacy bra. Except that sometimes I wouldn't wear a bra at all. And I made sure he saw that too. I was an excellent student of course, never missing an assignment, staying after class sometimes to go over papers I was writing and getting his advice and insight. And in the course of that I realized I really liked him. He wasn't just hot. He wasn't just smart. He was cool and funny and oddly sweet. And every time I'd catch him looking at me I'd feel a little thrill of victory... especially when I finally started noticing he'd get hard almost the instant we'd be alone.

It was so hard not to take advantage of that. So many time I was close enough to have just leaned over and kissed him and it was soon obvious there was no way he would have been able to bring himself to tell me no. Sometimes his hands would shake when I'd casually hop up on the edge of his desk and lean over to better see a book. I knew he wanted me and it was driving him mad. Maybe as mad as it was driving me.

Sometimes it was all I could do to get up to my room when I came home after school, locking the door and flinging myself on my bed, my hand slipping into my already damp panties, my fingers working in tight hard little circles on my clit til I came, gasping his name under my breathe. I'd lick my fingers, my eyes shut tight, imagining I was putting them in his mouth and before too long I'd have to touch myself again, I'd get so worked up thinking about how I'd seen his cock straining against his pants earlier in the day. Oh how I wanted to reach out and stroke it through the soft brushed cotton of his trousers, feel its heat and see how hard it really was. How I wanted to unzip his pants and slip my hand inside and draw his length out and see it up close at last. I knew even then I wanted to put it in my mouth, taste it, lick it, suck on it. I wanted to make him make sounds I'd only imagined. I wanted to feel his hips jerking and his hands in my hair. I wanted to make him come and then beg me to make him come again.

But I didn't know how to show him that. Sure, I'd been teasing him all year. He'd seen my panties under the short shirts I liked to wear countless times. I'd brushed up against him every chance I'd gotten. But I knew it was too risky to just come on to him in the classroom even after school when we were alone. The door was always open and there had been plenty of times other teachers or students had walked in. And I hadn't been able to figure out how I could possibly make my move.

It was a little over a week after my birthday on a Friday and I was at my wit's end. What was I going to do? It was towards the end of class and I was about to ask if I could stay and ask him a few questions after school about my final. I figured I was just going to have to blurt out my feelings somehow and hope he'd be willing to take a chance and see me somewhere later.

But instead what happened was that he asked me if I could stay after and go down to the bookcage for him to bring up some textbooks to review for the next year. Of course I said yes!

Now let me explain. The bookcage, as it was called, as in the basement of the library. It was locked behind a chainlink fence and gate you entered after you entered the basement. It was always dim down there even with all the lights on and there were rows and rows upon filled bookshelves going up almost to the ceiling. In the back behind all that was a single desk and chair and some carts for moving the books around. I was a library aide so I knew my way around the bookcage well.

My heart sang. At last I was going to be somewhere with him private enough to tell him how I felt! So I was completely crushed when he just handed me the keys as he sat down at his desk and told me which books he needed as he turned his attention to a stack of papers he needed to grade. My cheeks were red and there were actually tears starting in my eyes as I took the keys and turned away.

Maybe I was wrong about everything. Maybe I'd just been imagining him wanting me. Maybe he was just fine with the flirtation between us and wasn't interested in it going any further. Humiliated, I headed down to the bookcage, only flicking on half the lights as I made my way towards the back, my face hot and my heart pounding with shame. My panties were wet and my braless nipples were hard against my soft cotton tank top and I threw myself in the chair at the desk and cried with frustration and the heartbroken knowledge that he didn't really want me after all. What a fool I had made of myself! All the times I'd touched him, trying hard to make it seem an accident, all the times I'd let him see my breasts, bending over his desk, just like this desk, knowing he'd see the curve of my young ass and the silky panties that covered the pussy that was so wet for him. I was a little slut I realized then. Virgin or not, I'd spent all year throwing myself at him, dreaming about sucking and fucking him and putting my hand down my panties almost every day and getting myself off while daydreaming about him.

And before I knew it I was doing it right there. I was so pent up, so hurt and yet at the same time still so fucking hot for him. All the times I imagined him bending me over a desk just like this one and shoving his cock up my pussy and fucking me. Would he call me a slut while he did it? Did he know I was a whore deep down even though I had never let anyone fuck me before?

My legs shaking, I stood up and bent over the desk just like I imagined him making me do. My fingers worked furiously on my clit and I was gasping, my eyes still wet with tears and somehow that was turning me on even more as I imagined him fucking me while I cried, telling me what a dirty little slut I was.

I was inches from coming when I heard his voice.

"Amanda?" he asked, his voice shocked and yet hoarse.

My eyes flew open and I jerked upright, whirling around to face him, so dizzy with shock and shame my knees gave way and I had to grasp the edge of the desk behind me to keep from falling.

He swallowed hard and said, "What, what are you doing?"

How could I answer him?


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