A Good Lesson.

This story is part of an erotica series I’ve titled X-Art. Explicit material below.

Clickbait photo by the amazing Mickael Gresset on Unsplash

He knew 18 was old enough. 

The problem wasn’t with the law. The problem was ethos. 

I sat on the edge of his desk facing the whiteboard, swinging my grass-stained feet as he spoke to me about the sacred relationship between a teacher and his students. 

I didn’t listen. I stared at his Adam’s apple as it slid up and down, and I gazed at the scar peeking out from behind his unbuttoned collar. I inhaled the scent of his soap.

I wondered why he’d needed to lock his office door and pull down the window shades to give me a lecture on morality and misplaced feelings.

I remembered the last day of school when he’d found me sobbing on a bench, the campus hollowed out by the prospect of summer. I’d collapsed into him while he rubbed my shoulder and asked if someone had hurt me. I’d shaken my head, unable to find the courage to admit the thought of never seeing him again was splitting me in two.

His office was cool enough, but I’d worn a short skirt under my graduation robes, and my skin was tacky with June sweat. The silk button-down I’d picked out was thin, and I caught his gaze fluttering over the lace underneath it. He removed his jacket and tie and hung them on the back of his chair as he continued to speak, then sat down and rolled closer to me. I uncrossed my ankles and watched his eyes fall between my legs before he could catch them.

He swallowed.

He reminded me he was twelve years older and married but it felt like he was reminding himself. His office phone rang, and he stood and leaned over me to answer it, pressing his groin against my knee. I nudged him to rub what was under the fabric.

He flexed his jaw, thanked the caller and hung up.

I watched his lips move while he assured me what I had was only a crush, but when I leaned in and slipped my tongue into his mouth, he pushed back with his own.

I spread my legs for him as he stepped between my thighs, running his fingertips along my skin. I unbuttoned his shirt and he moved his hands beneath my blouse to unclasp my bra. He thumbed my nipples while I rested my head on his chest and trembled against him.

He laid me down on the desk and asked me if it was my first time. I lied and said no, and he pulled my panties off, tucking them into his pocket. He kissed me and asked if I would be quiet while he ate my pussy. I said yes and please.

I held my breath until he forced his tongue inside of me, then gasped, breaking my promise. I listened to him grunt. I shivered and held a hand over my mouth. He tickled the part I rubbed when I thought about him, and I stroked his hair, whimpering his first name.

I muffled long, desperate moans when my thighs shook, watching stars explode behind my eyelids, filling my nervous system with rapture and memory.

He stood and unbuckled his pants.

He moved his lips over my breast and pushed the head of his cock inside me. I squealed. He hushed me and murmured an apology in my ear, asking again if he was my first. I said yes and started to cry.

He wiped my tears and asked me if I wanted to stop. I told him no, then I whined as he pushed himself deeper, inch by inch. He put his mouth on mine and moved gently until I relaxed and let my knees fall open. He wrapped his arms around my thighs and stood over me. I tried to be quiet, but he was hard and hot and unrestrained between my legs.

He didn’t seem to mind the noise.

He told me to touch myself and I did, shivering my fingers over my clit as he fucked me. I orgasmed twice while he watched and said I was a good girl.

He asked if he could come inside me, his face desperate and eager and dripping with sweat. I told him I wanted all of him everywhere. He slid his thumb between my lips while I sucked, tasting salt and ink. He closed his eyes, spasmed then reached down and gripped my hips, pushing his cock so deep I cried out before I could cover my mouth. He moaned my name as he filled me with silk.

We dressed quietly.

He pulled me to him and kissed me, then asked if I understood that a man should always make me come before he tried to fuck me. I nodded and said thank you.

Then I walked home and wondered if the people I passed on the sidewalk could tell my thighs were sticky with the man I loved.