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History Lesson

By: kimbelina



It was a dark, foggy night in November when he made his first appearance in the tutoring center. I'd been working there since the middle of my freshman year - I'm now a sophomore - helping my fellow students with everything from study skills to crafting a decent term paper to getting that elusive 'A' on the midterm or final exam.

Speaking of grades, a little background about me: I'm a straight 'A' student, have been ever since I can remember. Back in the day, I was a spelling bee champion, geography bee finalist, and national merit scholar. Now that I'm enrolled at State U, I'm double-majoring in pre-med and economics. I don't mean to brag - let's just say, academic success has always come fairly easily to me.

So, when it came time to find a job on campus that would pay the bills, the tutoring center was an obvious choice. I could catch spelling errors or fix bad grammar in my sleep. Teaching others about good study habits was as easy as, well, describing my own good study habits. The results spoke for themselves, right? Yes, there were those over the years who'd called me a nerd, or a snob, or worse; but now that my hard work was paying off - both on my transcript and in my bank account - I didn't really care.

By the time he came in that evening, I was fairly used to the routine. The student working the front counter brought him in to my office - oh, did I mention, I'd graduated to an office? Not that it was my own - I shared it with tutors who worked different shifts - but it was a perk for those of us who'd stayed with the job and proven ourselves. It was nice to have the privacy, whether the office was quiet and I was just doing my own studying, or whether I was trying to help someone.

Anyway, he handed me his paperwork, which consisted of a syllabus for a US History course, and a letter from his coach, explaining that if he didn't bring his grades up, he'd be off the football team. He grinned at me in that irritatingly confident way that jocks do, and I responded by sticking with the most professional demeanor I could muster. The lines were drawn - he was the cute jock who didn't care about his grades and thought he could get through life on looks and brawn, while I would show him that there was more to life than RBIs and touchdowns and penalty kicks. 

Did I mention how attractive he was? Yeah, couldn't deny that. 6'2", blonde, blue eyed, with a great smile, and the great body of an athlete in his prime. I couldn't take my eyes off his big, strong hands, and when my eyes met his, I couldn't help but blush. All the more reason to put on my serious face, my professional demeanor. I walked around my desk and sat down, putting some distance between us.

"So," I said, looking down at the letter as if I hadn't quite caught his name, "Jake, is it? Where would you like to start?"

"How about with your name?"

"Oh, um, sure - sorry! My name's Kirsten. So, you'd like some help with the US History course?"

"Yup, I'm really struggling in that one."

"OK," I said as I thumbed through the syllabus, "it looks like you've already written a couple of papers for this class, and you have a midterm coming up? Any chance you have one of your papers with you, so I can see the kind of work you've been doing so far?"

He grabbed his workout bag off the floor, dug around in it for a moment, and pulled out a few pages - folded, wrinkled, stained as they were - and handed them over to me. I unfolded them, pressed them flat against the desk with my hand, and motioned for him to feel free to sit down, as I started to read. The big red 'F' at the top of the paper was hard to miss, as were the reasons for it; it was soon obvious that this guy had no concept of how to structure an argument, how to answer the question being asked, hell, how to spell! Yikes, I'd have my work cut out for me. I always did like a challenge, though.

"Um, OK. So, have you talked to your professor about whether he'd allow you to re-write any of your papers?"

"No way, he's really by the book. Won't accept anything late, won't allow retakes or rewrites. Not much point anyway, I've never been good at writing papers."

"Alright then, so it sounds like the midterm is where we should focus. How about we set up a time for you to come back between now and the test date? If you set aside some quality time between now and then to study, I can quiz you."

"Sounds cool. So, when should I come back?"

"Well, I could do Friday at 10am?"

"Hmm, that's kind of early for me, do you have anything later?"

Of course. Out all night partying, no doubt. "Well, I could squeeze you in at the end of the day Monday, that's my late day here. I have someone until 7, and then we close at 8 - would that hour work for you?"

"Perfect. It's a date." His eyes twinkled as he said it, and once again I blushed. Damn, ridiculous that he had this power over me. He probably couldn't even spell 'cat' if you spotted him the 'c' and the 'a' and hinted that it ended in 't', but here I was swooning like a schoolgirl.

"OK, I'll see you then. In the meantime, here are some handouts about effective study habits. Be sure to put in enough time between now and then that you know your stuff. I won't go easy on you!"

"I wouldn't have it any other way, Kirsten."

I watched him leave the office, and as he headed down the hallway, fold one of the study skills handouts into a paper airplane and send it flying. Jeez. I didn't have any other drop-ins that evening, so spent the rest of my time looking over his syllabus and drafting a list of questions I could ask him when he returned. The rest of my week was a busy one, with tests and papers of my own, so I have to admit I quickly forgot about Jake after leaving the office that night.

It wasn't until Monday morning that I thought of him again, as I stood in front of my dorm room closet, trying to decide what to wear that day. It shouldn't matter to me how I looked going in to work that day, and yet somehow, I did spend a few extra minutes picking out an outfit. Why did this idiot have this power over me? Did hot jocks feel any pressure to study so that they'd impress us brainy girls? Never.

What outfit did I choose? I guess I shouldn't leave you hanging. I went with a blue silk blouse, buttoned down the front, the one that brought a few complements on my big blue eyes every time I wore it; my favorite jeans, the ones that fit perfectly and look great with anything; and black pumps. OK, OK, so clearly I wanted him to notice me. Hell, it was worth a try. If knowledge itself wasn't enough to inspire him, maybe a little sex appeal could do the trick. 

The day dragged on, with my own classes in the morning followed by a busy afternoon and evening at the tutoring center. Finally, 5 minutes late for his appointment, Jake wandered in and sat down. I felt his eyes move over my body as I shut the door to my office and walked over to the desk.

"So, Jake, have you found some time to study since I saw you last?"

"Ah, right down to business, huh? What ever happened to a nice 'hello, how are you today?', something like that?"

"Um, OK," I replied with a smile, "How are you doing today, Jake?"

"I'm great, Kirsten, how are you doing?"

"Just fine. Now," I said, getting back to business, "have you found some time to study since I saw you last?"

"Wow, you are a task master, aren't you? OK, yes, I've done a little studying. But this history stuff just doesn't stick with me. Not enough excitement to it."

"Are you kidding? There are so many great, thrilling stories in the history of our country, from the fight for independence, to the establishment of our government and our court system, the civil war, and all the way up to the last several decades, with wars, civil rights movements, you're telling me you don't find any of that exciting?" I raised my voice a little as I talked, exasperated as I was. He simply smiled again, that obnoxiously adorable smile of his.

"Well, I can see you're getting excited about it, that's a start!"

I sighed, stood up from my chair, walked around the desk, and sat on the edge, facing him. "Alright, Jake. You've got me for the next hour, and I'm determined to help you in your class. But I'm at a loss here - if you're really not interested, I don't know what I can do for you! You tell me how we can make this work."

"How about you start by asking me some questions."

"Um, OK. Pretty revolutionary method, I don't know..."

"Ha ha, very funny. Let me finish."

"OK, sorry, go ahead."

"Every time I get something right, you take something off. Every time I get something wrong, you get to put something back on."

"Are you kidding? Strip tutoring? Yeah, right."

"Well, hey, you've seen my work in this class so far. You're probably pretty safe, don't you think?"

I studied his face for a moment, searching my thoughts for an answer to his proposal. He had a point - there was no way he'd get the best of me. And if he did manage to get a shoe, or even both, I'd just start asking him harder questions.

"OK, sure, what the heck. If you'll genuinely try, I'm game."

"You have my full attention, professor."

"OK, here goes. Let's start with an easy one, build your confidence a little." He nodded, and I proceeded. "In what year was President Kennedy assassinated?"

"Ooh, I'm getting a shoe. 1963."

"OK, fine, one shoe off." I kicked one of my pumps towards him, and he caught it, holding it up as if it was a great prize. I giggled.

"Alright, a little harder this time. Name two of the other US presidents who have been assassinated."

"Hmm, well, I know Lincoln, but I guess I'll have to give you your shoe back." I stretched my leg out to him, and he put the shoe back on my foot. It was like some bizarre parallel universe version of Cinderella.

"Alright, then. How about this one: in what decade did the American civil war take place?"

"1860's." The shoe was his again.

"Alright, good. Please explain the significance of the Emancipation Proclamation."

"Not a chance." Back on my foot the shoe went.

We went on like this for a while, and I was actually enjoying myself - not only did I genuinely feel like I might be getting somewhere with him, keeping his attention as the questions got a bit harder, but it was fun to banter with him, always staying a step ahead of anything that might get out of hand. After ten minutes or so, though, he started to gain ground. He had both of my shoes, and when I went to a harder question, he hesitated only for a moment before smiling and answering correctly: "That's easy, the Potsdam Conference."

"Um, OK."

"You're not backing out on your end of this bargain, are you, Kirsten? You know the rules."

"Oh, alright," telling myself I'd just up the difficulty of the questions once again, but still baffled that he'd suddenly grown a brain. I debated for a moment about whether my jeans or my shirt should be next, before finally settling on the shirt. I slowly unbuttoned it, my eyes staying on his as I did so, until finally reaching the last button and pulling it off my shoulders. He smiled as he took in the view, and I tossed the shirt towards him. His collection of prizes was growing. I enjoyed the attention, but wanted to regain control.

"Alright, Jake. Please tell me the year of the Brown vs. Board of Education ruling, and describe its significance."

I stood before him, leaning on the desk with my bare feet on the floor, feeling remarkably naked in just a bra and jeans, but confidently awaiting his failure to answer the question. It was terrible, really, eager tutor that I was, actually hoping that one of my students would fail to know the answer.

"Let's see, that was 1954. Essentially, the ruling stated that the 'separate but equal' standard which allowed for segregation of schools, in this case in Kansas, was unconstitutional."

My mouth literally dropped open, I was so shocked. Not only did he give me the answer without the slightest hesitation, but it was a completely accurate and remarkably concise answer. Exactly the kind his professor would be hoping to see on the exam.

"Um..."

"That's right, Kirsten. I think the jeans are mine."

I stared at him for a moment, filled with a mixture of emotions, my heart pounding. I was nervous, suddenly aware of my surroundings, standing, as I was, half-naked in the office. I was suddenly curious whether he'd been misleading me about his lack of knowledge. Had he actually been studying hard this week, and plotting this situation all along? But mostly, I was becoming aware of the warmth between my legs. This scenario was actually getting me hot.

There was a knock on my office door before I could respond in any way to the situation. "Just a second," I blurted. Jake tossed me my blouse, which I quickly put back on and buttoned, before striding over to the door in my bare feet to see what was up.

"Sorry to bug you, Kirsten, I know you're with a student." It was our student receptionist, Megan, whose face greeted me when I opened the door. She glanced at Jake, who had smartly hidden my shoes and picked up his book, which he was pretending to read. "Just wanted to let you know that I'm leaving, and I think you're the last one here. Do you want me to lock up?"

"Um, yes, that would be great. I should be done in just a few minutes. But yes," I tried to sound as calm, as normal, as possible, "if you could lock the front door, that would be great. That way I can finish up with this student without any interruptions."

Megan seemed convinced. Either that, or she knew something was up but just didn't care. Probably had a hot date of her own to get to. Meanwhile, my attention went back to Jake, eager to see what would happen next. I listened for Tessa's key in the door of the outer office, and then closed my office door again, just as a precaution. Jake set down his book and looked up at me as I once again leaned against my desk. "So, I believe you owe me both the blouse and the jeans. You OK with that?"

"Don't worry, Jake," I replied as I removed first the blouse and then the pants, tossing them his way, "I'll be getting these back before you know it."

"Oh, really? We'll see about that."

The confidence in his voice now sounded real, more than just the swagger of a jock. Did he know something I didn't? I mean that literally - did he know something about US History that I didn't know he knew? I felt incredibly naked, even though I wasn't - yet. I stood before him in my matching bra and panties - black lace, if you must know - and was suddenly very self-conscious, as his eyes moved over my body. He shifted in his chair, and I couldn't help but wonder if he wasn't getting excited himself. But I re-focused. I was too competitive to simply let him win. There was no way he was going to beat me at this little game.

"Alright, Jake. The 18th amendment to the Constitution. Give me the year, the context for and details of the amendment, and explain how it relates to the 21st."

I started to reach for my jeans, which he was still holding on his lap, but he just smiled and launched into a well-formed response to my question. After finishing his nuanced description of the historical and cultural context of Prohibition, he paused for a moment, before finishing with, "You know, Kirsten, you really should have known better than to ask a dumb jock like me a question about alcohol."

I smiled, and reached behind my back to unhook my bra. A moment later, it was on his lap with the rest of my clothes, and my perfect round breasts were free for him to view. 

"And?"

I paused for a moment, wondering once again, although caring less now, how he had gotten the best of me. I wrapped a finger around the lacy fabric of my panties at each hip, and slowly slithered out of them, until I was finally standing before him, completely naked. "So, Jake, now that you have me here, naked, alone, what are you going to do with me?"

He stood up, tossing my clothes to the floor, his erection now obvious in his sweatpants as he approached me. He took my hand and placed it against his bulging cock, and I needed no further hint to begin stroking him.

"The truth is, Kirsten," as his hand cupped my dripping wet pussy, "In addition to being a football player, I'm a history major. Straight 'A' student, just like yourself. I just happened to have an interest in getting inside your pants, and figured this was the only way you'd give me the time of day, what with your unreasonable prejudices against athletes."

I wanted to protest, to assure him that I wasn't prejudiced, that I would have given him a chance, that I would in fact have been flattered to know that he was interested in a nerd like me - but I could only moan in pleasure at his touch, as he began pinching my clit in between long, slow strokes in and out of my pussy. I didn't want him to stop, but I also wanted to show him my appreciation, so I quickly dropped to my knees, pulling his pants and boxers down as I went.

His big, hard cock bounced free and I eagerly took it into my mouth, beginning a slow, steady rhythm. I sucked him in from tip to base, my tongue busy pleasuring him inside my mouth while my fingers tickled his balls. Never before had I enjoyed giving head so much as in this moment, my own juices trickling down my inner thigh as I felt him begin to stroke in and out of my mouth, moaning as I brought him closer and closer to climax.

He grabbed my long blonde hair in both hands, weaving his fingers through it and forcing himself deep into my throat with an increasing tempo. He lasted for what seemed like minutes as I continued to focus all of my attention on his throbbing cock. I gasped for air as he finally pulled out of my mouth for the last time, stepping back and shooting his load all over my face, his hot, sticky cum dripping from my chin down onto my erect nipples.

After taking just a moment to admire his work, like an artist surveying his canvas, Jake pulled me up off my knees and scooped me up into the air, placing me gently on the desk. I needed no encouragement to spread my legs for him, allowing him to give my throbbing pussy some much-needed attention. Jake knelt between my legs and began licking me, slowly, gently, again and again until I began writhing beneath his expert touch.

His fingers were next, first one, then two, then three pressing into my hot wetness as I grabbed his head and pressed him into me. It was now Jake who was gasping for air as I quickly reached my first climax, squirting my juices onto his face and just barely containing myself to a whimpering moan, rather than an all-out scream.

I panted, dizzy with pleasure, sticky with sweat, as I came down from my waves of pleasure. I felt Jake's hands on my hips, and opened my eyes to see him pull me to the edge of the desk, where he could press his hard cock into me from his standing position. I lifted my legs, resting my calves against his shoulders, and cried out as he bottomed out inside of me, holding himself there as we both adjusted to the incredible sensations of his big cock inside my tight pussy.

He began slowly rotating his hips, remaining fully buried inside of me, for a few minutes, before starting an in-and-out motion, which he continued for a few minutes more, our eyes meeting as I encouraged him with my intense look of sheer lust. I had never experienced such raw sexuality before, certainly not on top of a desk in an office – something that had long been a secret fantasy of mine.

As we both approached climax, he shifted our position, pulling out of me long enough for me to scramble off the desk and to my feet next to him. In one smooth but aggressive motion, he spun me around, pushed me against the desk, my forearms supporting my weight, and plunged into me from behind.

I now lost all track of my surroundings, and cried out in pleasure with each of his strokes. "Yes, yes, yes, that's it – fuck me! Yes, just like that!"


History Lesson



Thanks to Wickedinside for editing my story, I appreciate your help.

*****

I was sitting at my desk in History class, staring off into space, fantasizing about my teacher, Miss Smith, when I felt a tap on my shoulder.

"Not paying attention again?" Miss Smith asked me as I snapped out of my reverie.

"Um, no, sorry," I replied, embarrassed.

"Stay after class, I need to talk to you," she said to me before turning away, "Jesse, do you know the answer?"

I slumped down in my desk, wishing I could disappear.

*

As the bell rings, everyone rushes out the door except me. I look up towards the teacher's desk where Miss Smith is sitting. She is a gorgeous lady. About 5'8", nice breasts, always dressed to the nines, sandy shoulder length hair and the most beautiful green eyes I have ever seen in my 18 years.

"Tim, we need to talk. What is going on in that head of yours?"

"I don't know," I mumble.

"You're a bright young man, you've carried a 95 average throughout all your previous History classes, yet this year you're barely passing. I know you're capable of the work. Is there anything going on that I can help you with?"

Yeah, you could take care of my erection, I think to myself. "No, I guess I'm just overtired or something," I reply as I stand up and walk towards the door.

"Tired? Aren't you sleeping at night?"

I stop before the doorway, "Well, I am kinda stressed this year, it's my senior year, and my parents want me to go to a good college and all..." my voice trails off.

"And?..." there's something about the way she asks me, a look in her eyes I can't describe, that causes my mind to go blank.

"Um, yeah. I guess I don't know what I want to do and that's why I haven't been paying attention," I tell her, hoping she buys my excuse. I know what I want to do. Her. On her desk. 

"Come back after school today; we can discuss this further. I don't want you to be late for your next class," she says as she gets up and starts erasing the chalkboard. I stare at her for a moment, watching as she reaches up to get what she wrote at the top of the board, how her dress rides up a bit, how her breasts stand out, how her hair flows over her shoulders. I hurry out the doorway before she can say anything else.

*

3:00 pm. I head back to Miss Smith's room as all my friends head home or to practice or whatever else they have going on.

I stop at the bathroom and splash cold water on my face, trying to cool my thoughts, before heading to her room.

She is leaning over a desk, shuffling papers, giving me a perfect view of her bottom as I walk in the room. I hold my notebook by my waist, trying to conceal my erection. I watch for a moment before clearing my throat,"*ahem*, I'm here Miss Smith."

"Oh goodness!" she jumps a bit, her butt shaking, making me a bit hornier,"I didn't hear you come in." As she turns towards me, I see that the top two buttons on her dress are undone, exposing a bit of decollatage.

"Um, yeah, sorry," I mumble, transfixed by the skin showing, I can see more cleavage than I have ever seen her expose.

"Okay, so what seems to be the problem you're having? You mentioned your parents want you to go to a good school, is that not what you want?"

"Well, Miss Smith, uh..." I stammer, trying not to envision her unbuttoning her dress further,"I do want to go to school, but I don't know what for. I was thinking of maybe taking a year off or something and getting a job."

"Really? How do your parents feel about that?" Miss Smith asks, walking towards me, crossing her arms under her breasts.

"Um, they were not at all pleased when I mentioned it," I reply, looking at her chest, then moving my gaze to the floor.

"I can imagine; you are a brilliant student and I am sure you would excel at anything you put your mind to," she says in a reassuring tone.

I'd like to put something else to you, I think to myself. "Um, thanks, yeah..."

She steps closer to me and puts a hand on my shoulder, petrified, I look up at her. Our eyes meet each other's. Her eyes are a brighter shade of green than they were this morning in class.

"Would it help if I talk to them for you?"

"Um, I don't know," I reply nervously, tearing my eyes away, I look at her hand on my shoulder.

"I'm sorry, does that bother you?" she asks, removing her hand. I can feel the warmth where she was touching me.

"No, it's good," I let out an apprehensive chuckle.

She puts her hand back on my shoulder, "I meant this," she says.

I can feel the blood rushing to my face so I look down to the floor, "it's okay, I guess."

"Only okay?" she asks.

I cannot answer.

She reaches up and lifts my chin so I am forced to meet her gaze, "Only okay?" she asks quietly.

"I mean, um, well, uh, it's really nice," I can feel my breathing become a bit ragged as I am unsure what she means to do. Part of me secretely hoping that my fantasies might come true, part of me scared to death that someone might walk in and see us, afraid that maybe I am misunderstanding what she means.

"Ah, I see. Do you have a girlfriend Tim?" she whispers as she caresses my cheek.

"No," I reply sheepishly. My classmates have been merciless in their teasing of me about not seeing anyone. I can't help it my parents are strict and won't allow me out at night nor to have friends over.

"You're a handsome young man, I am surprised you don't. Several of the girls in your class think you are quite handsome and wish they could go out with you. A couple of the female teachers as well, but you didn't hear that from me." she whispers conspiratorially.

"Really? I, uh, I didn't know that."

"Well, if you weren't so busy daydreaming, you might notice them checking you out, silly," she moves a bit closer to me, close enough I can feel her breath, smell her perfume. I want to look away, but there is something in her eyes that enthralls me. "I know I find it hard to teach sometimes when you're in the room," she says into my ear, her voice a throaty whisper.

I can feel my ears burning. 

"It's alright, it's a Friday afternoon, all the other teachers are gone so there's no one but us right now. Why don't you tell me what you daydream about?"

"Um, stuff, I, uh, I don't know,"

"I think you do," Her hand moves down my arm.

"Um, maybe..." Her hand closes on mine. I have never had a woman touch me before.

"You can tell me..." She turns toward her desk, pulling me along behind her. She sits down on her desk, legs crossed, dress riding up her thighs, she holds my hand with both of hers.

"I, uh, think about sex..." I look down, feeling ashamed after having said it. Ashamed that I have a raging hardon that I am quite sure she has to have noticed by now.

"I see," her fingers trace circles in my palm. "Does it bother you? Me asking these questions?"

"A little bit," I whisper.

She leans close to me again, mouth next to my ear, "I'll make you a deal. Be honest with me and I will be honest with you."

"I'm not sure what you mean, Miss Smith," I reply, feeling a bit scared.

She reaches behind her and takes a piece of paper from under a textbook and holds it in front of her for me to see.

My mouth hangs open, a look of horror on my face. It's a drawing I made.

"See, I think I am pretty sure I know what you are thinking about, Tim."

"Um, I'm sorry, Miss Smith. Oh my God, I didn't mean to." The drawing is of a young man and a lady together, joined at the hips, lips locked together. The young man is me, the lady is Miss Smith, right down to the dress she is wearing today.

"You dropped this earlier today. I thought it was a homework or something, imagine my surprise when I saw what it really was. You are really quite talented as well as smart." She puts the drawing back down on her desk, "If you don't mind, I'd like to keep this."

"Sure, I guess that's alright," I say feeling a little relieved and abashed at the same time.

She starts stroking my hand again, "Your hands are quite special if they can create that." She raises my hand to her mouth, and looks me in the eye. "I wonder what else they can do," she says before kissing my fingers. "I bet you are quite talented at other things too, you just need a bit of confidence." Her lips meet each of my fingers. I can feel my cock straining against my pants. My breathing is ragged. I stare incredulously at her as she takes my index finger and puts it in her mouth, sucking gently on it, her tongue flicking against my fingertip. I have never been so aroused in my life, yet I can only stand there dumbfounded.

"Do you mind me doing this?" She takes my finger from her mouth and kisses it,"It seems like you enjoy it." Her gaze moves down, I follow it and see that she is staring straigh at the bulge in my pants. "And it seems like he enjoys it as well." She holds my hand in one of hers, kissing my fingers again as her other hand touches my bulge. A little noise comes from my throat. "What's that," she asks, here hand slowly moving back and forth along my bulge. 

"That feels nice,"

"I can think of something that feels nicer," she takes my hand that she had been kissing and holds it against her breast. I can feel her nipple through her dress. I squeeze her breast a bit.

"That's even nicer," I whisper.

"I thought you might like it." She removes her hand from my crotch and looks me in the eye again, her eyes filled with passion. "You have to promise me one thing. Well, two things..."

"Go on."

"One, no one can know about this. What we are doing right now."

"Sure, my lips are sealed, Miss Smith."

"Good, and number two. We can do this more, but you have to pay attention in class. Bring your grade up. You can stay after every Friday for some 'special' help." The way she said 'special help' made me want to promise her anything.

"Anything you want, Miss Smith."

"Anything?"

"Yeah..."

"Hmmmmm...let's see," She grabs me by the butt and pulls me against her. I can feel her body pressed against mine. I can feel her warmth through my clothes, sure she can feel my erect member through our clothing. "I want this first." She plants her lips on mine; not sure how to respond I stand there for a moment. She pulls back,"How did that feel?"

"Really great," I whisper.

"Ok, well, let's see what else I want," she says huskily as she kisses me again. My hands are on her shoulders, I have no idea how they got there, holding her as she kisses me. I can feel her tongue against my lips, so I open my mouth a bit. She slips her tongue into my mouth where it eagerly meets mine. Our arms envelop each other as our tongues twirl against each other's. I never want this moment to end. After what seems like forever, yet also only a brief instant, she pulls back. 

"You're pretty good at this for someone who has never kissed anyone before. I'll tell you what." She turns away from me and scribbles something on a piece of paper. "Maybe we can have weekend study sessions as well. That might be better," she tells me as she folds the piece of paper and reaches into my front pocket with it in her hand. I can feel her hand against my thigh as she releases the paper. She stands up slowly, her hand still in my pocket, pressing against me. I feel her hand slide over a bit and grasp my cock. I let out a small gasp. She lets go and removes her hand from my pocket. "I feel bad teasing you like this, but, unfortunately I have somewhere I need to be. My number and address are on that piece of paper; whatever you do, do not lose that! I want you to come to my house tomorrow afternoon, around 3ish. Call me first. We can pick up where we left off today." She kisses me on the lips again. "We really should get going, I'll be waiting for your call."

"Absolutely, Miss Smith. Tomorrow." I turn and walk out of her classroom; my heart feels like it's skipping a beat, my head in the clouds. I look over my shoulder as I walk away and see her smiling at me. I wave as I head home, smiling like I just learned how to.

*

Saturday

I had no trouble convincing my parents to let me leave, I told them I needed to stop by my job to pick up something. I walked down the block towards the grocery store where I worked, but continued on past, hoping they weren't watching me. I felt a strange kind of elation washing over me as I walked down the street towards where Miss Smith lives. I called her when I passed the store. She picked up midway through the first ring,"Hello?"

"Hi, Miss Smith?"

"Tim, how are you doing?"

"Awesome, how are you?"

"Excited. Are you on your way?"

"Yeah, I'm walking over now. I should be there in about 10 minutes or so."

"I can't wait to see you."

"Neither can I. Wait to see you, that is," I say nervously.

"When you get here, ring the doorbell and come in. The door will be unlocked. I'm upstairs doing some cleaning."

"Ok, will do."

"See you soon." She hangs up.

I put my phone away, filled with nervous anticipation. Unsure of what is going to happen, yet wanting it to happen, whatever it is going to be. The stuff I dream about for sure, I can feel my cock swelling as I walk down the street. I put my hands in my pockets, hoping no one notices, as I walk a bit faster.

*

I come up to a Cape Cod style house that matches the address Miss Smith gave me. It's a Colonial Blue color with white shutters and a red door, stereotypical New England style. I walk up to the door and stand there a moment. I can hear some music playing, the latest Adele album from the sound of it. Gathering up my courage, I ring the door bell. I hear the chime, over the music, as I open the door and let myself in.

"Hello! Miss Smith?" I call out as I close the door behind me. I take my shoes off and leave them next to the door where I see Miss Smith leaves her shoes. I cannot believe I am here. At her house. To do I don't know what.

Remembering that she said she would be upstairs, I slowly ascend the carpeted staircase to the second floor. I can hear the music coming from a room at the back of the house. She must not have heard me, I say to myself. "Hello, Miss Smith," I call out again as I walk towards the music.

"Come in, Tim."

I stand outside the door to the room the music is coming from for a second, wondering if this is her bedroom, and what lays beyond the door. I reach for the doorknob tentatively and open it. The room is much as I imagined it would be. A queen size bed against one wall, dressers and a mirror against the wall opposite the bed, light beige carpeting, white drapes pulled shut, overhead light on and Adele playing. I don't see Miss Smith though. I walk into the room and as I do, she steps out of the closet. She is wearing a short skirt and a tube top that hugs her figure. I stop, my breath catches in my throat. I've always imagined what she would look like at home, but she is even more gorgeous than I ever would have thought. I look at her, her hair is tied up in a pony tail, she is not wearing any makeup , but I think that makes her more attractive. She's also not wearing any shoes, I look at her bare feet, toe nails painted red to match her skirt. "You're the most beautiful person I have ever met." I say to her. 

"Why thank you." She blushes as she walks towards me. Somehow that makes her even more beautiful to me. "Have a seat on the bed. How are you doing today, Tim?" she asks me as I sit down.

"I'm doing well, a bit nervous, but well. How are you, Miss Smith?"

She leans over and kisses me full on the mouth. "Quite well, thank you." she says after the kiss. She stands in front of me. "Do you like this skirt?"

"It looks amazing on you."

"I'm glad you like it, I would wear it to school, but it seems like it would be a tad inappropriate for a teacher to wear," she laughs,"but, I wanted to show you."

"You are truly a gorgeous lady, Miss Smith."

"Flatterer," she kisses me again,"the say flattery gets you nowhere, but that's a load of bunk. Don't you think so, handsome?"

"I suppose so, Miss Smith."

She puts her hands on my shoulders and looks me in the eye. "You can call me Rachel here, Tim."

"Sure thing, Miss Smith...I mean Rachel," I feel like I've been invited in on a grand secret that no one else knows.

"So, where did we leave off yesterday?"

"Um, I think we kissed..." I say a bit nervous.

"Silly boy," she lightly slaps my shoulder "Only kissed?" She puts her hand on my crotch, my cock is already hard. "Oooh, you're excited to see me, aren't you, Tim?"

"Yes" I want her to kiss me again, her hand to keep touching me there between my legs.

"Well, I'm excited to see you as well." She pulls her skirt off, I can see she is wearing a red lacey thong underneath. I have never been this close to a, mostly, naked women. All I can do is look at her body, taking it in, burning it into my mind.

"Do you like what you see, Tim?"

"Oh God, yes, you're perfect, Rachel," I tell her. I can see the shape of her vagina through the fabric of her underwear. Can see that she keeps it shaved.

"Mmmmm, there you go with that flattery again," she kisses me again, her hands pulling my shirt up. I lift my arms so she can pull it off. "Oooh, look at you. Do you work out?" she asks as she runs her fingers across my chest. I've never felt anything so amazing in my life.

"Well, maybe a bit. I have to carry some heavy stuff at the grocery store, so I try to keep in shape." I tell her.

"You're very well built," she kisses my neck as her hands rub my chest. She traces a finger down to my navel and back up. "You feel amazing, Tim."

"Thank you...You feel great too, Miss Smith," I say as I tentatively touch her waist.

"Don't be afraid," she pulls her top off, revealing a lacy bra that matches her thong. I can see her pink nipples through the fabric. I reach up and cup her breasts, feeling them, how firm yet soft they are. I can feel her nipples harden under my hands, so I touch one with my fingertip. I trace along the edge of it, feeling how she reacts to my touch; her breath catches a bit.

"Those talented hands of yours, how I've wanted to feel them all over my body." I kiss her neck while feeling her breasts, her hands move down my body, I can feel them slide under my jeans. "I've wanted to touch you all year, dreamt about it since September." she tells me as she unbuttons my pants while kissing my ear. "And now I'm going to devour your body, what do you think of that?"

"Please, I've wanted you ever since I met you," I continue kissing her neck, while sliding a hand under her bra to feel her skin.

"Let me help you a bit," she reaches behind her and unclasps her bra. It slips over her shoulder, exposing more skin, making me more aroused, my cock strains against my fly that she is unzipping. I pull the bra off her, exposing her breasts and nipples for me to see.

"You have the most amazing breasts," I kiss her shoulder, cupping one of her breasts while I kiss the other, taking the nipple into my mouth and suckling on it.

She finishes unzipping me and pulls on my pants, I raise my hips and she pulls my pants and underwear right down to my knees. My turgid member pops free. She looks down at it,"You're cock is a thing of beauty," she breathes in my ear as her hand touches it.

"Oh, Rachel," I moan, while sucking on her nipple.

She wraps her hand around me, holding it for a moment before moving her hand a bit. Up and down the shaft. The greatest feeling I've ever had. She kisses my neck, shoulders, chest, stroking me slowly. Kisses my stomach, trailing down my navel, I stop what I am doing to watch; her kisses move down further. She grips me in her hand, her mouth inches away from the tip of my penis, and looks at it for a moment before kissing the head of it. She looks up at me and kisses it again. I gaze into her green eyes, enjoying the sensation, wanting it to last forever. Rachel licks the tip of it, kisses the underside of it several times, cupping my balls in her hand, she licks me from the base of my shaft to the tip, then kisses the tip again. A drop of precum leaks from it. "Feels good?"




History Lesson



"Yes, oh my God, yes."

She licks the precum from my cock, then puts the whole head of it into her mouth. She looks up again and I watch as she slowly takes the whole length of me into her mouth. I can feel the warmth and wetness of her tongue moving against my member, the head at the back of her throat. She then slowly lets it out of her mouth, licks her lips, then proceeeds to take me into her mouth again. I watch in awe as she starts bobbing her head on me, slowly at first, then a bit faster, her eyes locked with mine, her hand fondling my balls. After a couple minutes of this, she stops but continues stroking me. Standing up, she kisses me again. I return the kiss, my tongue flicking across her lips. She opens her mouth, our tongues meet, I pull her against me. The warmth of her body against mine feels so good, so right. I grasp her butt, a cheek in each hand, and give them a squeeze. A soft moan escapes her. I pull her thong down; it falls to the floor with the rest of our clothes, discarded and unnecessary. She climbs on the bed, straddling me, her hand still stroking me. 

"Tim, you feel so good, I just want to have you inside me."

"Mmmmm, Rachel," I groan as I feel her slowly lower herself onto me. She stops for a moment and rubs the head of my cock against her pussy lips, the feeling is divine, then she guides me to her moist entrance and slowly sits on me. So wet, so warm, so delightful. Her pussy is tight on my dick. I feel like I've never been harder.

Her arms are wrapped around me as she slowly raises herself, I feel my cock slowly exit her, except for the head, before she slides back down on me again. She does this again, and again, slightly faster each time. My hips begin to move in concert with hers, before I know it, our bodies are slapping together, our breathing ragged, moaning, kissing each other sloppily, arms wrapped around the other's body, I can feel my balls slap against her with each of her downward thrusts, it's the most erotic noise I've ever heard. I can feel my balls start to tighten.

"Oh God, Rachel, ohhhhhh," our bodies slap together again and again.

"Tim, you feel so good, I want you to cum inside me, Tim. I want to feel your cum inside my pussy. Cum inside my fucking pussy."

My cock erupts with wave after wave of pleasure, my cum rocketing out inside her, I feel her pussy tighten on my cock with each thrust, as she lets out a howl of pleasure, her orgasm intense

We fall back together on the bed, her on top of me, my cock, spent, slides out of her. We both are gasping for air, holding tight to each other. 

"Oh, that felt so good Tim. We should do this more often. Maybe we can have a weekly 'study' session?"

"I think I'd really like that, Rachel."



History Lesson



He reached around and grabbed my bouncing breasts, squeezing them hard as he increased his rhythm and brought us both to a powerful orgasm. "Yes, yes, yes..." I continued to scream out until my voice melted into incoherence, my face buried in my hands as I recovered my senses. He lasted just a few moments more before pulling out of me and shooting his load across my back.

I gasped and panted for a few minutes more before finally getting out a few coherent syllables, "Thank you, Jake. That was wonderful."

"It was my pleasure, knowing that I came out on top of our little game."

"Yes, you win. Nicely played."



History Lessons



I'd like to thank Daniellekitten for being my sounding board on this story. I never would have gotten it off the ground without her!

**********************

I heard someone come in the room, but it didn't register in my brain until she spoke.

"Excuse me, Mr. Thompson?" she said.

Looking up from my desk, I saw the biggest, most beautiful pair of brown eyes in the world. It took me a second to recognise the face.

"Angelina Benardo!" I made sure to pronounce the g as an h in her first name. "What are you doing here?"

My face broke into a broad smile. I stood up. She came around the desk and gave me a warm hug. My body tingled at her touch.

"Do you remember what you told me the last time we saw each other?" she asked in her perfectly melodic voice. "I'm here to collect."

**********************

That was my sixth year teaching at the small rural high school in eastern Kentucky. Angelina was one of the best students I ever had. She took my AP American History class when she was a junior and AP European History from me her senior year. I was fresh out of college and landed my first job without having to send out a single resume. After a rocky first year of teaching, Angelina came into my life during my second year in the county schools.

I had always wanted to teach; it runs in my adopted family's blood. My grandmother was an elementary school principal, my mother a university professor and my father a middle school science teacher. When I was in high school, I taught self-defense and taekwondo and took as many teaching assistant jobs in college that I could get my hands on.

After graduating with my bachelor's degree, I was offered a chance to have my student loans forgiven if I would teach in either an inner-city school or in rural Appalachia. The principal had gotten my name from a graduates list provided by the dean at the College of Education and he called before the ink on my diploma was dry. Even better, the school district was so desperate for teachers, any teachers, that they even paid me a healthy signing bonus plus my moving expenses. It didn't hurt that I was a minority coming to a community that was almost entirely white and predominantly poor.

Four years later, my loans were discharged, but I loved the small town I now called home, I loved the school where I worked, and most of all, I loved my students. I had the opportunity to move and find a better-paying job, but I couldn't stand to leave. That didn't stop me from using the prospect of going out of state to leverage the county into paying for me to go get a master's degree and start a Ph.D. program, though.

Angelina was her class valedictorian. Not only was she smart, but she was drop-dead gorgeous. I try not to stare at my students who look older and dress more provocatively than kids did when I was in high school, but Angelina stood out. And it wasn't because she dressed slutty. She was always perfectly groomed, wholesome without looking uptight. I don't recall her ever overtly flirting with me, but she was always ready to engage me in a conversation or debate in a way that was years ahead of her classmates.

She had an air of worldliness to her that was rare in a community where people lived on the same streets as their parents and few people, if any, ever left town for good. "Provincial" is how I would describe the people here. They're good folks, most of whom make a living off coal mining and farming, but they have a small world view. Angelina was different. It was as if she knew there was more to life than doing the same thing her parents had spent a lifetime doing.

Maybe it was because, like me, she didn't quite fit in. In a community where every fifth person's last name was Adkins, Lewis, or Jones, the Benardos were conspicuously different. Her parents were from Belize and came to the United States before she was born. Angelina's father worked for a while as a migrant farmer, but somehow got a job in the Kentucky coal mines.

He eventually quit working underground and founded a trucking company which became fairly successful. His wife opened an Italian restaurant and the two of them were living the American dream. Sounds funny, huh? A family from Belize serving manicotti, carpaccio and spaghetti. Of course, I don't have much room to talk; I'm a Chinese guy named Marc Thompson living in Kentucky teaching American and European history.

Despite having to overcome a noticeable accent and the fact that their skin was darker than everyone else's, the Benardos melded into the community because they were hard-working and honest, and that counts for a lot around here.

Angelina was the oldest of five. When she graduated, she got a scholarship and went off to school at the University of Kentucky. Quickly doing the math, I figured she was a junior, but knowing her, she probably had enough credits to be a senior. One of her brothers was in my AP American History class this year and another brother had taken it two years before. Both were smart, but neither of them could match their sister. She scored 5s on the AP American and European History tests and I think she got the same—or close to it—on the AP English test, too.

I held her for a second then let go. She hadn't changed much.

She had a full head of beautiful, soft dark hair that went down to her waist. Her big brown eyes twinkled as if she knew something you didn't. She had perfect skin. Her body was perfectly portioned. Angelina was quite simply the most beautiful Latina I had ever laid my eyes on. 

Years ago, she had asked if I would take her out to dinner and I turned her down.

"Grading papers on a Friday afternoon?" she asked me in her cute southern drawl. Having grown up in Kentucky, she talked more like a debutante than a girl whose parents were from Belize. "And on Valentine's Day at that!"

It's not like I had anything better to do. I lived in a small town with few single girls that appealed to me, and although no one would ever admit to it, folks around here did not take kind to interracial dating, and that left me with lots of lonely nights. 

Valentine's Day is one of those days I tried to forget about. Being a construct of the flower and greeting card industries, all it does is depress me and everyone else who is alone. The kids had spent the day passing candy, flowers and stuffed teddy bears around school. A couple of them even gave me the token Valentines you pass along to your grandparents, the pastor and teachers.

"Mid-terms are coming up and I have got to get these papers done before I get swamped with exams." My heart started to race as her fingers brushed my hand.

"Those can wait." There was something different in her voice. Forcefulness. The Angelina I remembered had been quiet, almost timid. She was different.

Angelina put her arms around my neck. My hands reflexively went to her waist.

Her cheek pressed against mine. I could feel her breath in my ear.

"Do you remember my graduation?" she whispered. "I asked if you wanted to take me out to dinner. I was eighteen. You were my favourite teacher. I was no longer your student. You knew I liked you. And you liked me." 

I did like her, but it was in a platonic teacher-pupil way; I would not let myself be attracted to one of my students, especially one like Angelina who had so much ahead of her once she got out of the one-horse town where she grew up.

"You said, 'Come see me when you're twenty-one.' That was almost three years ago. Today is my birthday."

My stomach jumped and my hands tensed around her waist.

"You owe me dinner," she said softly.

There was a quiet desperation in her voice. Almost pleading.

I pulled back and stared into her eyes. I didn't know what to do. I took a deep breath.

"Umm . . . Sure." My reply was nervous. "Let me finish up here and then I've got to go home and change. Can I pick you up in an hour and a half . . . say, six o'clock."

"Well . . ." She fidgeted for a second. "That might be a little tough . . . My parents don't know I'm in town."

"What—" I started.

"They think I'm at school. I just drove home today without telling them."

"Why?" My heart skipped a beat.

"Because I wanted to see you, Mr. Thompson."

"You can call me Marc now, Angelina." I gave her a puzzled look. Impure thoughts raced through my head. "Where were you planning on staying?"

"With you, Mist—um . . . Marc." Her confidence faltered for a second.

I didn't know what to say. She seemed to have the whole thing planned out. Part of me said that I should have called her parents right then. But another part of me thought, She's an adult now. She can make her own decisions. Go for it!

"Okay, let me get my things and we'll go back to my house."

We let go of each other and I gathered up all the papers on my desk. I avoided making eye contact with her. I shut off the computer, locked all the file cabinets and turned out the lights in my room.

I led her out of the building and we went to our cars. She followed me back to my small house. All the while, I couldn't stop thinking about her alluring eyes and beautiful face.

Pulling into the driveway, I went into the house, dropped my stuff inside the door and then went back out to help Angelina with her bags. Before we left the school, I mentioned that if she didn't want anyone to know she was in town, she should probably park in the garage. Not that word wouldn't get around soon enough. It's a small town and my neighbours were sure to notice an extra car pulling up to my house.

Still, she parked in the garage so no one would notice who it was; her secret visit would be under wraps for a little longer.

Once inside, she had a small duffel and some things in a hanging bag. I showed her to the small guest bedroom and gave her the 60 second tour. With no student loans to pay off, I had managed to buy a small three bedroom house. Unfortunately the sink in the small bathroom wasn't draining properly, so I told her to use the bathroom off my bedroom. 

I had converted one of the bedrooms into my computer room and library. I had a small living room with a couch and a TV that sat off the kitchen. Around front, there was a nice porch and I had a big backyard which I gladly paid one of the neighbour's kids to mow.

"Let's go some place nice." Angelina shot me a mischievous look as she took her things into my room.

I gathered up some clothes and went to the guest bedroom to change. If we were going out to a place that didn't serve family-style or have a drive-thru, I wanted to be in something nicer than a polo shirt and khakis. As I was thumbing through the phone book, I heard Angelina to into the bathroom.

Since Angelina didn't want her folks to know she was in town, we were going to have to go somewhere else. I knew of a nice family-owned restaurant a couple towns over, so I called and made a last-minute reservation. They were packed; it was a Friday night and Heart Day, so they were booked up. It's a good thing I knew the owner because he managed to squeeze me in after a cancellation.

I went over and knocked on the door to the bathroom.

"Angelina," I said.

"Yes?"

"I'm going to run down to the store for a minute. Do you need anything?"

"Not right now."

"Okay, I'll be right back. I left my cell phone number on the counter if you need to call me."

I went out the door and jumped in the car. The IGA was right up the street from my house. I picked up a silly birthday card and bought a couple of the few remaining roses. I had the woman at the flower counter make them into a corsage.

"Big date tonight, Mr. Thompson?" Her son was in one of my American History classes and her daughter had graduated with Angelina. 

"Yeah, I guess so," I grinned sheepishly. Word of this was going to get around town quick. If you want to keep any secrets, don't live in a community that has only one stoplight.

"Who's the lucky girl?" she asked. I could see her mind racing, going through all the single women in the county I might have asked out.

"Someone from out of town." That would throw her for a loop. 

"Well have a happy Valentine's Day," she said. I knew that as soon as I was out of sight, she was going to start calling around to see if anyone knew who I may have been seeing. I chuckled to myself and wondered how much energy they would spend trying to figure it out.

There were a few other things to pick up, then I headed back to the house. The door to the bedroom was closed, so I figured Angelina was still changing, putting on makeup or doing whatever it is girls do before they go out. I sat down at my kitchen table and went back to grading papers.

A short time later, the bedroom door opened. I heard Angelina's soft footsteps as she walked over to where I was sitting. 

My jaw dropped when I looked up.

Angelina was wearing an elegant red dress. A colourful sash hung from her thin waist, resting on her shapely hips. Her hair was down almost to her waist; the light shimmered off the thick black mane that covered her bare back. She had a black lace choker around her neck to draw attention up from her delicate curves. A little bit of makeup highlighted her cheekbones and soft features. There was a look in her eyes. Anticipation.

"Wow," I said before thinking. It took me a couple of moments to find my voice to say anything else. "You look fantastic. . . . I feel underdressed now."

I got up and went into my bedroom and found a jacket and tie to match my shirt.

"Where are we going?" she asked when I returned.

"Savannah's," I replied. "We have a reservation in about an hour, so we'd better get moving."

It had been a while since I had gone out on a real date and I nearly forgot about the flowers. I helped her with her coat, and we were almost to the door when I turned around and went to the refrigerator. I got out the corsage.

"May I pin this on you?" I asked.

"I would be delighted." There was a twinkle in her eyes.

My heart racing, I pinned the flowers above her left breast. I could tell she wasn't wearing a bra. 

It took me a minute to stop my hands from shaking. She gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. A shiver ran through my body.

"Thank you," Angelina said, flashing me a delighted smile. "They're very pretty."

"Best I could do on short notice."

"Then you did very well."

She took my arm and I led her out to my car. I opened the door for her and then got in myself. I looked around, but didn't see any of my neighbours obviously spying on me.

We were both nervous. We hadn't seen each other for close to three years, and the tension was palpable.

I tried to engage her in a variety of small talk. I asked how school was going. She wanted to know about her brothers.

Mostly, I tried not to stare and marvel at her beauty. When I last saw her, she was a drop-dead gorgeous girl. Now she was a drop-dead gorgeous woman.

The drive on the curvy Kentucky state roads took us almost an hour. I tried to pick the nicest place I could afford. Savannah's was actually a little out of my price range, but since I didn't go out much and hadn't had a Valentine's Day date in years, I figured I could splurge this weekend.

Located in an old farm house, Savannah's features decidedly upscale French-style cuisine in a friendly, romantic setting, which seems oddly out of place in rural Kentucky. Still, they did a fair amount of business because the food was so good, even if it was a little pricey, especially on "big date" nights. When we walked in the door, everyone's eyes went immediately to Angelina. She drew admiring and envious stares from all the patrons and staff.

I gave my name and the hostess seated us in a private corner booth. The lighting was low and the setting intimate. We looked over the menu in the soft candlelight. I ordered the shellfish risotto, Angelina had the roasted veal chop.

We sat there, fidgeting nervously for several minutes.

"Angelina," I finally said. "Why are you here?"

"Because you promised."

"No, really . . . Why me?

She took in a deep breath, searching for the words. "You were the best teacher I have ever had. You care about each of your students. You cared about me. You are fair. You are kind. You are everything I ever wanted. And I couldn't have you."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

"Mister Thompson . . . er, Marc . . . Did you know that I never went out with any of the boys in high school?"

All I could do was shake my head. I did know that, though. She was untouchable, and not in the bad way. She was way out of everyone's league and they all knew it. Some of the boys were intimidated by her brains and her beauty. Others just wanted to get in her pants. She would have none of that.

"They asked me. But they didn't really like me. They thought I was hot or that maybe I'd let them feel me up or play with my butt. You respected me. You made me a better student. You pushed me to study and do well on tests when all other people could see was a pretty face and a funny name. I noticed you checking me out a time or two, but you never made a move. And when I tried to flirt with you, you ignored me. Not because you didn't like me, but because you were the teacher and I was the student."

There were tears in her eyes.

"I practically threw myself at you after graduation. It hurt when you said no. But I realised that it wasn't because you didn't want me, it was because to you, I was still a child. I've grown up, Marc."

I could tell she felt funny calling me by my first name.

"You're only eight years older than me. I'm almost as old as you were when I started in your class."

We both smiled slightly. I felt her take my hand.

"I'm not your student any more," she said quietly. "I'm not a child and I'm not the daughter of our small town. I'm a woman now. And I want you to have me."

"Angelina," I managed to whisper. "Surely you can do better than a high school teacher in a po-dunk Kentucky town."

The corners of her mouth turned up slightly. "I can. I graduate in a year. Less if I want. I could have doctors or lawyers or even a congressman's son. But I don't want them. I want you."

"Why?"

She took a deep breath. "Because you convinced me that I was special. That I could do anything, or be anyone I wanted to be."

There was love in her eyes. It scared me.

She had obviously been planning this for quite some time. All those years ago, I had noticed that sometimes she went out of her way to talk to me or stand close together. She paid more attention to me than her classmates sometimes. I was convinced that it was just a young girl's infatuation and that once she went to college she would meet someone and forget all about the folks she had known growing up, including her high school history teacher. It turns out I was wrong.

Our dinner arrived and we ate quietly. Since it was Valentine's Day, a photographer came by and took our picture together. I also told the server that it was her birthday, so the wait staff brought her a double-layer chocolate fudge cake with a candle on it and sang to her. 

"Happy Birthday." I passed her the card I had bought. It was a cheezy birthday card that you can find at any grocery store. Inside, I had scribbled something about her birthday and Valentine's Day and signed my name.

She reached into her purse and handed me a card. My hands trembling, I opened it.

Between two doves was a ribbon in the shape of a heart. I flipped to the inside. Underneath the card's sappy Valentine's Day text, was Angelina's flowing handwriting.

Marc,

You have been a fabulous teacher to me and a good friend. I have never been able to tell you how much I care about you and what you have meant to me. I hope you'll let me into your life.

Love,





History Lessons Ch. 01



Being a college student, I've heard the stereotypical stories about girls who sleep with professors for a grade. But I don't actually know of anyone who's really done it, nor has the thought ever occurred to me. Well, perhaps I should amend the latter part of that statement-there's cut-throat competition at my college where almost everyone is an overachiever, and it's never occurred to me to trade a blow job for an Ivy degree. But it would be untrue to say that my mind has not wandered onto non-academic concerns during lectures once in a while...

Thursday evening found me in the library café, with what must have been the millionth cup of coffee I'd consumed that day. Since most of us upperclassmen don't have Friday classes, I would have normally been out with my friends, having a few drinks to celebrate the end of the week. But tonight, I was struggling to focus my attention on a depressingly thick stack of readings. My own damn fault for electing to write a thesis this year, I thought to myself.

At least they kept the place nicely heated, and so even as the winter winds rattled against the high-arched windows, I shed my jacket, sweater, and long-sleeved tee, leaving just a tight little tank top on as I settled cross-legged into the armchair, and pulled the first of the books over to me.

Anti-Machu sentiment...delayed troop movements...National Assembly declarations...

I must have drifted off the sleep, because the next thing that registered was a tap on my shoulder. I started, and the book slid off my lap as I looked up for the source of the disturbance. Oh no. Of all people, it had to be my seminar professor who caught me napping.

"Er, hi Professor Jameson," I offered sheepishly.

He didn't reply, but bent down to retrieve the book I had dropped. Peering at the cover, he said, "I don't find this particular interpretation of China's 1911 Revolution to be all that fascinating myself, but still I wouldn't expect you to fall asleep over it."

At a little over 6' (my estimate), he towered over my petite frame as I sat curled up in the armchair. Unsure of whether he was chastising me, I was about to mumble some excuse about being tired when he continued, "So you're here on a Thursday night, and it's just the start of semester, which means you work far too hard. I should reward you for such diligence-can I buy you a cup of coffee?"

Still disoriented from having fallen asleep only to be awakened by a professor, I was now distracted by his physical proximity, and found myself staring into his hazel eyes. "Umm-I... The only thing that would help me these days is if I had an IV drip of expresso," was the feeble joke I finally came up with.

Professor Jameson smiled, "Well I can't help you there, but I think that--" but before he could finish his statement, one of his colleagues, a visiting scholar I'd seen around the department, came up to him. "Well I must get going. See you in class Monday." Professor Jameson handed the book back to me, and turned and left.

I was left with my no less diminished stack of books, wondering whether the light brush of his fingers across my hand as he handed back the book was accidental...

* * *

As usual, the weekend passed far too quickly. I groaned as I reached to hit the snooze on the alarm clock. God, Mondays. Dragging myself out of bed, I pulled on my robe and headed for the shower. With the hot water running over my body, I closed my eyes and breathed in the steam, thinking about the day ahead. 

Monday meant seminar with Professor Jameson... the one class I always looked forward to. He was a good professor, energetic and passionate about his work, and quite young as tenured professors go-in his mid- or late-thirties. This was the second class I'd taken with him, and I guess he noticed that I worked especially hard in his class, because he singled me out with challenging questions in class, and always had a smile and a few words for me whenever I bumped into him on campus.

I pictured him, his tall frame with a hint of muscularity under the jacket and tie he always wore, his brown hair that looked so soft... what would it feel like, I wondered, to run my hands through it? And his touch, warm and light as he brushed my hand back in the library... Putting down the soap, I ran my fingers across my body, caressing my breasts and pinching my nipples to make them hard. I wondered what it would feel like, his hands on my body... I'm petite, at 5'5'' 110... would he like the feel of my tight young body pressed against his tall frame? Moving my hand down between my legs, I slowly slipped a finger in my pussy... I thought about his lips pressed against mine... his fingers wrapped in my dark, silky hair as he kissed me... daydreaming, I fingered myself faster and harder until I climaxed, gasping and leaning against the shower wall.

When I'd finally gotten out of the shower and dried my hair, I only had five minutes to dress and run to class. Opening my closet, my glance settled on my pleated plaid skirt, the one I only wore when I felt like being provocative, as it was a bit of the obscenely short variety... Oh well, why the hell not? I thought to myself. I put on the skirt, with just a thong underneath, and a preppy polo shirt, and slipped on my shoes, grabbed my bookbag and jacket and ran out the door.

I arrived in class a little late, but thankfully Professor Jameson was only going over announcements about the paper requirements. Slipping into my normal seat in the front row, I shrugged off my jacket and pulled out a notebook and pen.

As he launched into his lecture, I scribbled away furiously, drawn in by his always-brilliant historical analysis. Turning a page, I accidentally dropped my pen, and uncrossed my legs to bend down and retrieve it. At that moment, Professor Jameson stuttered and stopped his lecture mid-sentence--

Looking up, I noticed that he looked a little flushed, but he glanced down at his notes and picked back up in the lecture.

"Hmmm, I wonder what that was all about" I thought to myself... I slipped down in my seat a little, and spread my legs just enough that from the front of the room, he could catch a glimpse... His eyes, moving across the room as he spoke, settled on me and he stammered again. Sucking on the tip of my pen, I stared right back at him...

For the rest of the class, I noticed that Professor Jameson, normally dynamic and moving around the class during lecture, stayed put behind the podium.

I didn't take very good notes the rest of class. When the clock hands pointed 11 o'clock, the rest of the class pulled on jackets and backpacks and headed out the door. I lingered, deliberately taking my time putting my notebook up, thankful that nobody had stayed after to ask questions.

"Um, Professor Jameson-I have some concerns about this class...can I talk to you?"

Professor Jameson frowned slightly, but the expression in his eyes was more hesitant than irritated. "Sure-I have no appointments today, why don't you come with me, I'm headed to my office," he replied.

Walking the three flights up to his office, we exchanged the usual pleasantries, with him asking how my other classes were going, and what my post-graduation plans were. I noticed that his glance kept on drifting down and sideways-I've been told by guys that I have nice legs and a cute ass, so I took that as a good sign. When we got to his office, he unlocked the door and entered it first, and I shut the door behind me-something I would normally never do, but he didn't say anything about it.

Professor Jameson gestured for me to take the seat across from his desk. He sat down and began, "You got the only A in my class last semester, and you're doing well so far this semester. What is it that you are concerned about?"

I took a deep breath, and said, "Oh well I'm not here about my grade exactly. I was actually wondering if you needed a research assistant, because I really like your classes and find your area of research to be fascinating and if you needed someone to help--" I knew I was speaking fast, but my heart was pounding, and I could feel myself getting wet, just thinking about how much I wanted him.

"Well, normally I don't take on undergraduates as assistants, but in your case I think the department might be able to offer you a position." Professor Jameson said, smiling slightly. He pulled a thick manuscript from the pile of papers strewn across his desk. "Why don't you look over some of what I've been working on thus far, and you can tell me if you're still interested."

I walked around to his side of the desk, and leaned close to him, perusing the document. I was close enough now that I could vaguely sense his cologne... and just as I was wondering what to say, Professor Jameson placed his hand softly on my arm. I looked over at him, and he was biting his lip, watching me a bit warily for my reaction. He said quietly "Look, about what you were doing in class today...I've had students offer themselves to me, in exchange for a passing grade. I've always turned them down-I place high value on the ideals of education. My colleagues and I think you're one of the brightest we've seen in a while, so I hope you don't feel like you need to do this, for a recommendation letter or a job or anything..."

I shook my head. "No, it's not that at all. I just...I just think you're really attractive..." I stared down at the desk, unsure of how to continue. But Professor Jameson took my hand, and pulled me into his lap. I was dizzy with my desire and confused, but he answered my doubts by pressing his lips to mine-at first softly, then more insistently, as I returned his kiss hungrily.

"I've never done... We shouldn't be..." Professor Jameson whispered, but his actions betrayed his desire, as his hands slipped under my shirt, and finding that I hadn't worn a bra, he groaned softly as he cupped my breasts in his hands. Soon he had my shirt off and on his desk, and was kissing my breasts and biting at my nipples. Overtaken by my own desire, I grinded my pussy into his crotch, feeling his heat and hardness.

After teasing each other for a few minutes, I pushed his chair away from the desk so I could drop down on my knees, unzipping his slacks and releasing his hard cock from the confines of his boxers. I couldn't believe what I was doing, but with his hard pole just inches away from my mouth, the ethics of higher education was not the first thing on my mind. Licking the tip of his cock to taste the precum leaking out, I heard him moan and looked up. His eyes were fixed on me, his chest heaving slightly with his need. "Suck me-" he begged hoarsely. I needed no more encouragement, and slid the entire length of his shaft into my mouth. Bobbing my head up and down, swirling my tongue around, I savored the taste and feel of my professor's cock.

I could feel his legs tensing as he placed his hand on the back of my head. "You've got to stop," he groaned "Stop-I want to fuck you. Sit on the desk."

I planted myself at the edge of the desk, and he pushed up my skirt, tore off my thong panties, and I watched, as if in a dream, as he let them fall to the floor next to a stack of books. Still sitting, he placed his hands on my legs, spreading them apart, and started licking my pussy. His warm, wet tongue darted around, flicking over my most sensitive spot, making me gasp and moan. I lifted my hips up, entreating him to fuck me with his tongue, but he pulled away and stood up, positioning his cock at the entrance of my pussy. It was my turn to beg-"Please, fuck me...please..."

"Please who?" Professor Jameson smirked, enjoying my role as the slutty college student.

"Please, Professor...please fuck me!" I whimpered, trying to pull him onto me.

In one swift motion, he thrust his hard cock into my wet and waiting pussy. "Do you like that?" he growled, his eyes boring into mine.

"Yes, yes, please don't stop" I gasped.

"Is this what you do? Is this why my colleagues tell me you're such a good student? Do you fuck all the guys in the department?" Professor Jameson continued.

"No, yes, I don't know, whatever you want, please just fuck me, fuck me hard, please..." I whispered incoherently.

He answered my pleas with swift, hard thrusts, pinning me to the desk, his hand covering my mouth to prevent my moans from being heard. I couldn't believe how good his cock felt, hot and throbbing and filling my pussy so well...

After all the weeks of wanting him, it wasn't long before I was cumming, my juices dripping onto his desk, and my pussy clenching around his cock. At this, with one more insistent thrust, my professor filled me with a load of hot cum, throwing his head back in a silent scream.

Lightheaded and breathing hard, I sat back up on the desk and rested my head against him, as he held me close until our breathing returned to normal.

"God...that was incredible" he said to me. I pulled him close to kiss him, my body still quivering with pleasure.

A knock at the door brought us back to our senses. "Professor Jameson, you've got a call from Cambridge." I recognized the voice as that of Peter, the department secretary.

"I really need to get going--" I grinned guiltily at my professor.

I reached for a tissue to clean up his cum, threw it in the wastebasket, and grabbed my books and bag. Glancing back to make sure he had his clothes in order, I opened the door.

Trying to act natural, I said, "Thanks for going over that article with me, Professor Jameson. I'd better run or I'll be late for my class--"

He nodded, saying "No problem, see you Wednesday."

It was only until I was out of the building that I realized I'd left my panties lying on the floor underneath his desk... 



History Lessons Ch. 02



As is self-evident, this is the second chapter of a story, and I would suggest that you read chapter one first. In response to some questions I've gotten, yes, I'm a college student (just graduated) and this story is partly fiction, and partly not. Hope you enjoy.

***

The rest of the week passed in a blur. Between classes, studying with friends, and well, just about all the time, my thoughts would flash back to what happened Monday afternoon in Professor Jameson's office. I wasn't sure what to think of it... it wasn't typical for me to be aggressive like that, and I had certainly never just "fucked and parted" in such a seemingly casual way--let alone done it with a professor. I couldn't deny that I had wanted him for a while now... and it was consensual, after all. But at the same time, I was terrified of the potential consequences. What if someone found out? Would he be fired? And what must he think of me now?

As if confirming my fears, Professor Jameson never even looked in my direction during Wednesday's class. Unsure of what was going through his mind, I certainly wasn't going to take the initiative in approaching him. As the weeks stretched on, I was becoming more and more miserable--my other classes were tedious, my thesis writing wasn't going well, and to top it all off, it was turning out to be the worst winter yet since I'd moved to the east coast. I had stopped going to Professor Jameson's office hours, and frankly, I missed the intellectual stimulation. His lectures were still great, but I sat in the back of the class and avoided asking questions or making eye contact with my history professor.

Two days of rain had turned the most recent snowfall into dirty gray slush, transforming the cobblestone walkways of campus into barely navigable rivers. As if our ever-increasing stacks of readings and papers weren't bad enough, nature had to have a go at us during midterms time. A misstep on the way to class landed me ankle-deep in an icy puddle, and I cursed as the freezing water seeped into my shoes. 

Damp socks weren't my only concern though, as I walked into Professor Jameson's class. The paper proposals we had turned in the previous week were being distributed back, with comments. I had taken great care in choosing my topic--gender and sexuality in early 20th century urban China--because the subject interested me, and for more pragmatic reasons, because I needed a good recommendation from the professor to get into graduate school. "Though you might have blown it already, what with that fucking on his office desk," I grimly reminded myself.

Professor Jameson was just inside the door, handing our proposals back to us as we walked into the classroom. I kept my eyes down as I took the piece of paper from him, and didn't look at it until I was safe in my seat at the back of the class. There was only one sentence written at the bottom of the paper--"Please see me in my office after class."

My face flushed hot with the prospect of having to face him. Was he angry that he had allowed me to seduce him? He seduced me just as much, I thought. But he probably regretted it... and probably wanted to make sure I wasn't babbling about our sexual encounter with other students. But he did write "please"--so maybe he just had some comments about my paper topic that would take too long to write down. Maybe. I clung on to that thought as the minutes of class ticked away.

It really wasn't that I regretted the incident, I admitted to myself as class ended and I trailed behind the other students as we filed out of the room. After all, I did "accidentally" let him see up my skirt when I was sitting at the front of class... and when I got down on my knees in his office and sucked his cock, and then he took me over his desk--well, it was damn hot sex, and I didn't regret one minute of it. No, it wasn't regret that made me avoid him...it was the fear that I had ruined a perfectly good academic relationship.

While I mulled these thoughts over, my feet had carried me automatically to his office door. As was customary during office hours, the door was cracked open, so I knocked and, hearing a "Come in!" entered, closing the door behind me. Professor Jameson was making a note in a book, and without looking up, waved me into the seat. I sat down quietly, and pulled my notebook out. Marking his place, Professor Jameson closed his book and looked up.

"Well," he said without preamble, "I thought you'd stopped caring about my class, until I saw from your paper proposal that you are still working hard."

When I didn't speak, Professor Jameson continued. "From your lack of participation in class the last few weeks, I thought something was wrong. But I figured if you had any concerns, you'd see me in office hours. Except you stopped coming to those a few weeks ago. And--why is that? Been busy with other... classes?"

The raised eyebrow and tone of voice that accompanied his last sentence clearly insinuated something, and that goaded me into speech.

"Yes, professor, I've been busy with classes," I delivered the words rather forcefully. "I'm always busy with classes--I'm a student. Perhaps I don't understand your question. Maybe you'd like to be more explicit?" I knew I was verging on insolence, but his suggestion that I had been sleeping with other professors... well, he had no right to say such a thing.

Professor Jameson crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, fixing me with his intense gaze. Even now, when I was experiencing a mixture of anger and uncertainty, I couldn't help but admire how intelligent and attractive he looked, with his chiseled features and hazel eyes framed by dark-rimmed glasses.

Then he said, "I was merely wondering why you might be having--issues--with my class. Oh, and you left something last time you were in office hours." With that, he pulled open one of his desk drawers, fished out a red thong, and tossed it across the desk so that it landed on my open notebook.

I'd been wondering what he did with it. I had worn a skirt that day, so many weeks ago, and in my daze, only realized after I had left the building that I'd left my thong lying next to his desk. I had felt far too foolish to go back to retrieve it. "Well, if there's one way to bring up a subject, this is it," I thought, staring down at the memento of my tryst with the professor.

The situation possessed enough of the surreal that I couldn't help smiling. "Yes, Professor Jameson, I do have some issues. Not that you need reminding, but I'm your student. And hopefully you don't need reminding, but you fucked me, right over this desk. And now, you expect me to continue coming to your office to talk about the May Fourth Movement, or early Communist propaganda, or whatever? Maybe you do this sort of thing a lot. But I don't know what to do."

At this, Professor Jameson smirked. "What to do? Well that's not too difficult to figure out..."

He stood up and walked over to my side of the desk, and leaned over my shoulder, as if looking at my notes. He spoke in a whisper, but deliberately so that I wouldn't miss a single word. "You want me. And I want you. Not everything is so complicated. Now... do you want this? Or shall we go back to discussing gender and sexuality in the purely academic sense?"

While speaking, Professor Jameson had unzipped his slacks, and pulled his hard cock out of his boxers. It stood there at full attention, the tip glistening with precum, for me to admire.

Despite the impropriety of the situation and my momentary flare of indignation at his presumptuousness, I was unable to fight my own desire. And so in answer to his whispered taunt, I half-turned my chair to face him, and took his waiting cock into my mouth.

Almost instantly, my head was swimming, and I couldn't think of anything except for how hot and throbbing his cock felt in my mouth, and how good he tasted as I alternately swirled my tongue teasingly around the shaft and sucked his cock deep into my throat.

I heard Professor Jameson give a soft moan as he wove his fingers through my long black hair, using this as leverage so that he could fuck my mouth even harder and faster. "Yes..." he groaned through gritted teeth, "suck my cock, you little whore... suck me off."

I didn't need the encouragement. It's one thing to discuss the evolution of gender norms and sexual taboos on a theoretical level with your professor. It's quite another having your mouth fucked by said professor, and half-noticing, in a state of dizzying pleasure, that your lipstick is rubbing off onto his slacks. I sucked and licked his cock for all I was worth, and Professor Jameson's legs tensed up, his hand on my head gripped almost painfully as he thrust his cock forcefully into my mouth, almost making me gag on its thickness. With a warning grunt, he spewed a thick load of cum into my mouth, and I swallowed eagerly, not wanting to spill a drop. This wasn't an easy task, as his cum came in hot spurts again and again, and I smiled inwardly, thinking that perhaps he didn't have sex all that often after all, or else he wouldn't build up such a nice big load.

After I sucked him dry, I gently licked his cock clean, and then leaned back in the chair, feeling lightheaded, as I watched my professor put his softening cock back into his boxers and zip up his slacks.

Professor Jameson returned to his seat, giving me one of his inscrutable half-smiles, so that I wasn't sure if he was merely pleased with the oral sex, or in on some little secret that I didn't know.

He straightened his glasses and said to me, "Now about your paper proposal, there are some internal linkages within your thesis that need clarifying. I think it will be helpful if we talk through some of these ideas together."

I was taken aback by this quick change of gear. "Um...talk through some ideas?" I repeated faintly.

"Oh yes," Professor Jameson definitely gave me a smirk this time. "Unless you're still distracted by other issues? On second thought... let's do it this way. I want you to play with yourself. Right here, right now--while I watch."

"What?" I said, not believing what I was hearing. "Or you won't discuss my paper proposal with me?"

My confusion was greeted with another devilish smile. "No, it's nothing like that," Professor Jameson said, in a would-be reassuring tone. "But," and here his tone turned wickedly playful, "we can't have you distracted. It wouldn't make for a very productive discussion, now would it?"

Power has always been very sexy to me... and I don't mean wielding power, I mean being... well, dominated. To hear such lewd commands on the lips of a professor I respected and admired... even if my pussy hadn't been wet with excitement from just having sucked him off, it would certainly be wet now.

"I'm waiting," my professor growled. Then, "Mmmm, nice" he murmured appreciatively, as I stood up and in one swift motion unbuttoned my jeans, and wriggled out of jeans and panties. And then another command was issued--"Sit down. Spread your legs wide, dangle them over the arms of the chair."

I hesitated, feeling exposed and self-conscious.

Professor Jameson sensed my hesitation. "Do you think for a moment that any student can get into the PhD program here without my support? Do what I say NOW," he ordered, though the subversive, mischievous glint in his eye did not escape me.

I obeyed, imagining what I must look like to my professor, with my notebook sitting open on the desk, and the moist, pink lips of my pussy spread open for him to see. "Fuck yourself with your fingers," he said.

Abandoning myself to his power and our shared lust, I licked my finger to moisten it, and then slipped it slowly inside my pussy, while rubbing on my clit with my other hand. As I warmed up, I slipped another finger inside, and fucked myself more vigorously as my professor smirked and nodded his approval. I could hear the wetness of my pussy as I continued to finger-fuck myself, building up to a climax, when Professor Jameson interrupted--"That's enough. Come here."

I whimpered, feeling the heat of my pussy as I was so close to cumming, and desperate for that release. But the power game meant that I should be obedient... at least this time around. So I walked over to his side of the desk.

"Lie down over my lap," ordered the professor. I obeyed, and was surprised to feel the hardness of his cock pressing into my crotch as I stretched out across his lap.

"You hesitated when I asked you to show off your pussy for me," Professor Jameson said almost conversationally, as if he were used to talking with students dangled over his lap. "Do I need to remind you who is in charge here?"

The smacks on my bare ass came swiftly, and with a force that caught me by surprise. But with his free hand covering my mouth, Professor Jameson guaranteed that my whimpered protest could not be heard by his colleagues in the adjacent offices. I counted maybe ten smacks, and felt the heat of the welts he left on my ass. I never imagined that being spanked by hand could smart this much. Then it occurred to me that the heat and wetness in my crotch was not just from me, but also from his arousal, and I thought that I could feel his cock throbbing, waiting to be released from the confines of his slacks.

Sure enough, when he lifted me off of his lap, I could see the lust burning in his eyes. "This time, I'm hoping you won't be so slow to obey me," he said softly but sternly. "Now... I want you to fuck me."

The rain and wind that pounded at his office window seemed to match the intensity of our desire. I didn't hesitate, but unzipped his slacks and fished inside his boxers to reveal his hard cock. I was secretly pleased at his quick recovery time, given that I'd just sucked him off ten minutes ago. And then, climbing up on his chair so that I straddled him, legs on either side of his, I lowered my wet snatch down onto my professor's cock.

I relished every inch of his hardness, and lifted myself up and down on his cock, building up speed as I adjusted to his size. My pussy was so wet that I knew I must be staining his pants, but Professor Jameson didn't seem to care. His eyes were fixed on my face, and as my body thrashed wish pleasure against his, he pressed his lips to mine, sending jolts of electricity through me. Then, he unbuttoned my shirt and commented, "Mmm, no bra again," before taking a nipple in his mouth, licking and biting softly at it. With this added stimulation, and the pleasure of my professor's cock filling me so completely, I moaned softly as I climaxed, fucking him hard and fast, my clenching pussy milking his cock.

As I moaned, Professor Jameson released my nipple from his mouth, and growled into my ear, "Yesss, yessss, you've got a nice tight pussy... fuck me, that's it, ride me..." and for the second time that day, my professor rewarded my efforts with a load of creamy cum.

I lay in his arms as our breathing returned to normal, scarcely aware of the pool of cum that was now trickling out of my pussy and onto the chair, leaving a dark stain in the fabric. Professor Jameson whispered, "Good girl, good girl..." in my ear while softly stroking my hair.

And then he abruptly pushed me off of his lap. "We've been in here too long," my professor said, putting his clothes back in order. "Come over to my place tonight--at seven?" I nodded mutely in response. "And we'll pick up where we left off," he said as he scribbled his address down on a page in my notebook, and then closed it and put it back into my bookbag.

He then gave me scarcely five minutes to dress and collect myself, before he opened the door and exited ahead of me, without even a glance back to acknowledge what had just transpired in his office.

When I left the building to go to my next class, the winter rain was still coming down hard. But I didn't feel it at all, as I smiled, thinking about the meaning of "picking up where we left off," and anticipating the evening that lay ahead. 



History Lessons Ch. 03



My last class of the day ended at 5pm. The weather was wretched enough that nobody stayed behind to ask the professor questions--no doubt a relief to her, as she looked anxious to get home too. My mind was wandering, and as I packed up my bag I scarcely heard one of my classmates talking to me. "Hey...hello...earth to Vivian--" she tapped me on my shoulder. "I was trying to ask you if you wanted to grab a quick bite with us at the cafe?"

I forced myself back to the present, and gave my friend a quick smile. "Nah, not tonight Liz. I'm swamped with readings, plus I've got a paper for my China class..." my voice trailed off as my thoughts sped along, unbidden, from the paper to the class to the professor who taught the class.

Liz, perhaps noticing my not-quite-finished sentence, peered at my face and said, "You look a little off, are you feeling sick or something?" I shook my head and forced another smile. "Just a little tired, that's all. You girls go along without me."

Liz shrugged, saying, "Ok, suit yourself!" and headed out with everyone else. As the classroom emptied out, I took my time putting on my jacket, scarf and gloves before heading out the building. I needed the time to think.

Picking my way around icy patches on the way back to the dorms, I thought about the folded piece of paper resting in my pocket. I had torn the page out of my notebook--the page where Professor Jameson had written down his address earlier today before instructing me to go to his apartment tonight.

His apartment was about 30 blocks south of campus, a 15-minute subway ride, which meant I had time to change into something more appropriate for the evening and to drop off the books from my other classes of the day. Reaching my room, I changed out of my rain-splashed jeans and damp socks and shoes, and upon reflection, also shed the boring grey sweater and shirt I had on, thinking I should wear something a little nicer for the evening. Catching my reflection in the mirror, it occurred to me that my panties were stained from my morning meeting--correction, morning _sex_ --with my professor. "Probably should change that too," I muttered to myself, and took off my panties.

All the while, my thoughts flashed back to this morning's "office hours" with Professor Jameson. We never got around to talking much about academic stuff... And as the events replayed in my head for the millionth time today, I found myself getting really wet again. It was 5:30, and I didn't need to be at his place 'til 7pm. So I slipped my naked body under the bedcovers, shivering a little, closed my eyes, and sliding my hand down between my legs, touched myself and fantasized about my professor. I thought about his lips against mine, his hands travelling over my petite frame, his mouth travelling down and covering my nipple, licking and teasing and biting softly. Pinching my nipples with my other hand, I alternately rubbed on my clit and fingered myself until I climaxed, moaning his name into my pillow.

When my breathing returned to normal, I got up, slipped on my bathrobe, and headed for the shower. I had showered this morning, but I'd been quite a 'dirty girl' in between then and now--screwing my professor during office hours qualifies me for that label, I think. I still had at least an hour before I needed to leave, so I took the time to shave my pussy, getting it all nice and smooth.

After drying my hair and rubbing some lotion over my body, I put on a black lacy bra-and-panties set, short skirt, knee-high boots and my favourite burgundy sweater, which wore slightly off-the-shoulder and was a cashmere blend, soft enough to wear against my bare skin. I grabbed my bag, now emptied of everything except for wallet, cell phone, and notebook, put my jacket on, and headed out the door.

Down on the subway platform waiting for the train to arrive, I had some time for reflection. I conjured up an image of Professor Jameson and held him there in my mind's eye, recalling the hazel-green tint of his eyes and the defined angles of his cheekbones and nose, a face that would give someone the impression of a stern, intractable personality, were it not for the softness of his lips. His chest was toned, strong...I remembered how he felt, as he held me against his body and kissed me gently, stroking my hair as I lay in his arms earlier today... In his arms, straddling him, in his office chair, in his office, at school... "Oh god," I shook my head, thinking and smiling wryly at myself. "What the hell do you think you're getting yourself into, sleeping with your professor?"

That the mutual attraction existed was undeniable. Of course, I had really made the first move, wearing a miniskirt to class that day early in the semester (when the weather was actually warm!--so long ago), and sitting in the front row, showing off my legs and accidentally letting him catch a glimpse of more.

But what _was_ I getting myself into? There was a hint of some sort of power game unfolding. After our first tryst earlier in the semester, I had avoided him, not knowing what to expect after such a seemingly irresponsible act. He had also paid no attention to me, at least not until he called me into his office this morning to discuss my paper proposal. Not wanting to bring up what had happened between us, I squirmed uncomfortably under his gaze, until he broached the subject by tossing onto the desk the pair of panties I had accidentally left behind in his office after our first sexual encounter. Things snowballed from there--I sucked him off, he demanded that I play with myself for him to watch--or else he wouldn't discuss my paper with me!--and we concluded with some pretty hot fucking in his office chair.

There was still something slightly unnerving about this morning's encounter, though--something darkly mysterious about the glint in his eye when he asked if I wanted to suck his cock, something commanding and presumptuous about his tone of voice when he ordered me to put my legs over the arms of the chair and finger myself.

And yet, what was it that Foucault said? It was in the readings on gender and sexuality that we had been assigned in class... It is an acting out of power structures by a strategic game that is able to give sexual pleasure or bodily pleasure. Of course this wasn't s/m we were talking about here, but wasn't there something about power relations, and the acting out and transgression of those boundaries, those rules, implicit in this, a professor and his student? I wanted to act out the role of the wanton yet submissive student, and at the same time relished the power of controlling his pleasure... And my professor...what did he want? Strategic games, indeed...

The metallic clanking of the train as it roared into the station jarred me out of my thoughts. I shook my head again, thinking to myself, "You're always trying to rationalise and intellectualise these things... Maybe it's sex, nothing more--and if it's good, why overanalyse it?"

It was still early in the evening and the subway car was packed with rush-hour commuters. I quickly grew tired of the young man whose bicycle handlebar was poking into my ribs, and decided to get off the subway a stop earlier than necessary. Walking out of the station and back up into the cold windy night, I noticed simultaneously that the snow had started up again, and that I had left Professor Jameson's directions in my jeans pocket back in the dorm. No matter, though--I had read it over enough times during the day to memorize the address. I walked briskly down Broadway and then turned onto a street of charming old brownstones, my heart beating faster as each step brought me closer to my professor's home.

It was three minutes to seven when I arrived at number 265. I walked up the steps, raised a gloved finger and rang the doorbell. A soft chime sounded from within, followed by footsteps and the sound of a lock turning. Professor Jameson stood in the doorway, his tall frame silhouetted against the flickering flames of a fireplace on the far side of the living room. He quickly glanced up and down the street, and then, smiling faintly, stepped back to let me enter.

He had changed since this morning, exchanging the tweed jacket, shirt and tie for a sweater and pair of jeans. A more casual look, for sure, but still refined and attractive. He locked the door behind us and left me in the entryway, saying back over his shoulder, "Take off your jacket and make yourself comfortable. I'll be back."

I shed my winter outerwear, hanging my coat on a peg by the door. Not wanting to track melting snow all over the hardwood floors, I bent over to unzip my tall leather boots, making my skirt ride up in the back. An appreciative sound came from across the room, and I turned around to see Professor Jameson leaning against the open doorway to his kitchen, staring at me. Blushing from the unspoken compliment, I walked across the room towards the welcoming fire.

I took a seat on the small sofa and surveyed my surroundings. A decorative vase (Ming dynasty style?) offset a row of books on the mantle. A few scrolls of Chinese calligraphy hung next to the bookcases lining the wall. From my vantage point, I could just make out the titles--mostly academic but including classic and contemporary fiction and a few travel books.  A thick rug lay invitingly in front of the fireplace, and the sounds of glasses clinking in the kitchen mingled with soft jazz from the stereo.

Professor Jameson soon returned with two glasses and a bottle of wine. "You _are_ old enough to drink, aren't you?" he asked teasingly, and without waiting for my answer, proceeded to pour two glasses of chardonnay, and handed one to me. I took the proffered drink with a small smile of thanks, and was about to raise it to my lips, when something about the way he was looking at me made me stop. "Wait..." I said, setting the glass down on the coffee table. "Professor-- Look, I don't know what to say. We still have a semester of class to finish out, so really, I probably shouldn't be sitting here at your home, should I?"

He took a sip of wine before answering. "Whether you should be or not, you remain sitting here, so that seems to make your query a moot point. And seeing as how you are in my house, we might as well dispense with the formalities. Call me Ian. Now drink--it will warm you up from your trek down here."

Still wary and slightly unnerved by my own seeming rashness in coming here tonight, I took a small sip and surveyed him carefully. "You wouldn't be trying to take advantage of me, would you?" His hazel eyes met my dark brown ones. Arching an eyebrow, he said back evenly, "We both know I don't need to get you drunk to have my way with you."

There it was again--the matter-of-factness, the assertion of power. Having no good response, I took another sip of wine. Perhaps sensing that I had resigned myself to staying there at least for a while, Professor Jameson settled into the armchair across from me.

"Since our office hours do not seem to be terribly productive, and since I had no other engagements tonight, I thought we might meet here--it's more comfortable than the office anyways. Let's talk about your work. Do you have the proposal on you?"

I silently took my notebook out of my backpack, and started to hand it to him, when he shook his head "no." Giving me one of his inscrutable half-smiles, he said, "Come here and sit on the armrest so we can look at it together."

As much as I hate deferring to authority, especially when it that very deference that is expected of me, there was something intoxicating about his presence, his ability to make me want to please his every wish and whim. Maybe this is what drew me to him to begin with, though I was not aware of it. I complied with his request (or was it an instruction?).

Holding my notebook and proposal page so that we could both read it, Professor Jameson was silent for a few minutes, reading and muttering comments to himself under his breath. "Ok, I think this will work alright, but I have some questions for you. Are you proposing that the causal arrow points one way, from increasing international influence to changing gender and sexual norms, or is it more of an interdependent process? What I mean is, maybe you should think about it like this. In the cultural milieu of places like Shanghai in the 1920s, the intellectuals and elites are redefining..."

We continued in this vein for about 20 minutes or so, with him making comments, challenging me with questions, and me nodding, following his arguments, making counter-arguments--the sort of intellectual parry and riposte that I so enjoyed.

During this time, I had emptied my glass of wine and was halfway through another glass he had poured. I probably hadn't realized how thirsty I was, from my two-hour class earlier in the evening and the trip over here, and then being so close to the man who so excited me... Though my 21st birthday wasn't for another month, I won't pretend I hadn't gone out drinking before, and I suppose I held my alcohol about as well as any other Asian girl my age (aren't Asians notorious for having low alcohol tolerance? Something about the way our bodies metabolise it--). Which was to say, I was still possessed of my senses, but was certainly more buzzed than I had planned to let myself get.

And what this all meant was that I had been so engrossed in the conversation, that I had scarcely noticed, or maybe I just didn't care, that my professor's hand had been sliding progressively further up my thigh as we spoke. When he was satisfied that I had absorbed his thoughts and comments about my paper proposal, Professor Jameson took my nearly-emptied glass and set it on the coffee table next to him. Then, in a gentle but swift motion, he pulled me into his lap, so that I sat facing him. I didn't protest, but sat there, skirt riding up, feet dangling slightly off the ground, head swimming slightly, drunk not so much on the wine but on his intelligence, his ability to quietly exert power over me, and of course his sexy body, which was cradling my petite frame.

I noticed his eyes travelling from my slightly damp (the moisture from the snow was still lingering), long dark hair, to my neck and shoulders, exposed by the sweater that hugged my body. With a soft touch, he traced the outline of my lips, then brushed his fingers lightly down my neck and along my collarbone. His tall, strong build contrasted so with my delicate frame, and it thrilled me to have him touch me like that--as if we both knew he could break me if he wanted to, and yet he was so gentle. He laced his fingers through my hair, tilting my head back to place a soft, lingering kiss on my lips, his tongue pushing into my slightly open mouth, as we sensuously explored each other through a kiss that seemed to stop time. Then, twisting me around in his lap so that I sat with my back against his chest, Professor Jameson encircled one arm around me, holding me firmly to him, and with the other hand, traced soft circles up my inner thigh, all the while kissing me softly on my earlobe and my neck and shoulders.

Pushing aside my panties, he growled in my ear--"spread your legs for me, slut"--and I complied, despite a mental somersault over his crude yet sexy command. He ran his fingers up and down my pussy lips, sighing a little as he felt the smooth softness of my shaved pussy. Exploring my wetness, getting his fingers wet, no doubt, he found the hard little nub of my clit and teased it lightly with the tip of his finger. I gasped, letting my legs fall even wider apart. After teasing my clit like that for a while, he slowly dipped a finger inside my pussy, sliding it in, and bending his finger to massage my g-spot--how he found it so quickly, I had no idea. After a few minutes, he was able to work a second finger into my tight hole, and started finger-fucking me vigorously, so that I couldn't conceal my soft moans, my head swimming from the wine and the physical pleasures washing over me. I let my head drop back softly against him, breathing in the intoxicating mixture of his warm flesh and cologne.

How long Professor Jameson had me in his lap, teasing me like this, I don't know. I lost all sense of time, my entire mind and being dissolved in a netherworld of pleasure. I could feel his hardness beneath me, bulging and straining through his jeans. I wanted him so badly, and yet we had an unspoken understanding that though I had initiated this lustful and forbidden relationship, tonight would proceed on his terms, at his pace. He seemed to delight in teasing me to the point where I was crying out for release, and he knew just how to touch me, from brushing his lips against the nape of my neck, sending shivers down my back, to biting me teasingly on my shoulder, to flicking his finger lightly over my clit, bringing me right to the brink of orgasm but not allowing me to have that full satisfaction.

Then, he gently pushed me off his lap so that he could stand. I swayed unbalanced, and he put out a hand to steady me, giving my ass a hard squeeze for good measure. I was gratified to see the lust burning in his eyes, an intensity that mirrored my own. Saying nothing, he pulled off my sweater and skirt, leaving me in just bra and panties. He stood there for a while, his gaze travelling over me. Standing in his living room filled with Chinese art, I wondered if he saw me as some sort of Asian artefact, too. He lightly caressed my breasts, teasing my nipples so that they were impossibly hard, poking through the lacy material of my bra.

Gently but firmly pushing me down onto the thick, soft rug in front of the fire, Professor Jameson then took off his own sweater and shirt. I lay there, my black hair fanned out across the soft yarns of the rug, chest heaving with desire and anticipation. "You want me bad, don't you?" he said in Chinese. I was taken aback--though his was an upper-level history class, there was no expectation of language skills, and so I had never really heard him speak the language before. For some reason, it was sexy, hearing the Chinese words formed on the lips of a white guy. I answered back softly, my voice husky with desire--"Yes. I want to make love to you."

"Who said anything about making love?" my professor retorted wickedly. Now he returned to speaking in English. "Since the first day you walked into my class, since your first question in office hours, your first paper, I've noticed you. And you know you wear those short skirts to class because you didn't want me to just notice your mind, because you want me to fuck that tight little body of yours. You're going to get it good tonight." He knelt down, straddling my face, and commanded coolly, "Open my fly, take out my cock, and suck it."

I reached up with my hands to comply, and he roughly grabbed my wrists and pinned them down, my arms stretched above me. "No--with your teeth."

What could I do but obey? I grabbed the tab of his jeans between my teeth and pulled with an out-and-down motion. The first button popped open... and then I realized he was wearing button-fly jeans. If my teeth had not been clenched around the denim, I would have grinned--it was unbelievably sexy. I could smell his sex, it was hard and bulging and actually adding to my difficulty unbuttoning his jeans. I kept on pulling downwards, button by button, until his fly was open. Then, gently, carefully, using my teeth still, I grabbed the waistband of his silky boxers and pulled them down, his rigid cock springing out. If his hands had not been pinning my arms down, I would have been rubbing furiously on myself right now, and probably have cum in just seconds. As it was, I eagerly took the length of his cock into my mouth, sucking for all I was worth. I was too lustful to hold back and tease him--I wanted to taste him.




History Lessons Ch. 03



I alternated licking around the sensitive head of his cock, and wrapping my lips firmly around the shaft, working it up and down. Instead of letting me have my way and suck him off, though, my professor controlled the speed and depth of my mouth-fucking, by pulling back at some points, and slamming his cock deep in my mouth at others. I relished his control over me. His thick cock would make me gag a little at times, and something about the noises of lust that I was making, and my helplessness in being pinned under him, must have turned him on, because instead of holding back, he started fucking my mouth in a swift, regular motion, and I could taste the salty liquid of his precum on my tongue. Releasing my arms, he grabbed my head roughly with both hands and started fucking my mouth in earnest, biting his lip and staring down possessively at me. I could sense his legs tightening, his grip on my head hurting a little, when he pulled out of my mouth, wrapped his hand around his thick cock and jerked twice, spewing his hot load onto my face. I kept my mouth open, hoping to catch a few wads on my tongue, and was not disappointed. By the time he was finished, my face was covered with his creamy cum. It was really fucking sexy.

He knelt above me, breathing hard for a while, staring into my eyes, staring at my cum-covered face. After a dizzying few minutes while we caught our breath, he grabbed a box of Kleenex from the table and offered them to me, so I could clean myself up a little. I did--not that I minded his cum, but it does sting if it gets into your eyes. When I was done, he slid down the length of my body, taking a moment to take his jeans and boxers off completely. Pulling my panties off, he propped himself up on his elbows and lifted my legs to drape them over his shoulders, and started licking at my pussy.

All that teasing from when I was sitting in his lap had already brought me so close that at the third stroke of his wet, warm tongue over my clit, I was cumming, crying out, my body shaking on the rug. He continued his assault on my wet pussy, lapping up my juices and exploring my depths with his hot tongue. I felt like every single nerve of my body was concentrated in the spots that he hit with his tongue, and I was moaning his name, my body still trembling under his talented oral ministrations.

I couldn't take it anymore--I had to have him inside me. "Ian," I whispered. "Ian--I want you so badly... please don't make me wait, please take me... Please fuck me..."

He crawled up so that his body was directly above mine, his cock, now hard again, positioned at the entrance of my pussy. "Who do you want to fuck you?" he queried.

I was confused by the question. "You--I want you to fuck me," I whimpered, raising my hips up, entreating him to enter me.

"No. I mean..." and here, he lowered his mouth to my ear, "do you want Ian to fuck you, or do you want Professor Jameson, you nasty little schoolgirl?"

I don't know how it was possible for me to be more aroused than I already was, but I could definitely feel my cunt getting wetter with my juices. I turned my head to the side, as his hot heavy breath was tickling my ear. Dizzy with desire, I moaned incoherently, "Fuck me... Professor, fuck me. You make me want to be such a bad girl..."

With a grunt, Professor Jameson thrust his rigid cock into my pussy, making me cry out with the force of it, with the way he stretched my tight hole. "Yesssss..." he said between clenched teeth, letting me adjust to his size. "You like being the teacher's pet, don't you...and my goodness you are a good little cunt--"

He continued talking dirty to me, his breath ragged as he started pounding my hot depths. "You -- just -- want -- to -- fuck -- your -- professors -- " he whispered cruelly, assaulting my pussy with hard, swift thrusts. I knew he would leave me sore, but it felt so good, I couldn't stop myself begging for more.

I clenched my pussy around his stiff cock, milking it, wanting to make him cum again. "Please... please don't stop... don't ever stop fucking me... oh god yesssssss that's so good, oh yes, fuck me, Professor..."

He paused, and shifting so that he was kneeling to the side of me, grabbed my shoulder and made me flip over. "On your hands and knees, little bitch," he commanded.

He positioned himself behind me, smacking my ass and pushing my legs so that they were spread wider for him, and again, without warning, thrust hard into my pussy. With his free hand, he grabbed my hair and pulled my head up in such a way that I had to arch my back, giving him even better access to my pussy, or maybe it was just for leverage as he pounded away at my tight, wet cunt. "You are one hot little Asian girl," he picked up the stream of sexy talk. "You come into my office, batting your eyelashes and asking me all these questions about the readings, but really, you were working hard to get down your professor's pants--admit it, you're just a slut."

There was something about the doggie-style position that was making the sex extra-hot, maybe my inability to see who was doing the fucking made me truly feel like a dirty girl. My breath was uneven, his swift thrusts in and out of my pussy were leaving me breathless, but I did my best to answer. "Professor, I want to be your slut--I want you so badly, I had such a crush on you, and I sooo wanted you to take me over your office desk..."

"And you got what you want, didn't you?" he replied, unsnapping my bra so that it slipped off me, cupping one of my breasts in his hands, but never pausing in his pounding of my tight hole.

I was so close to orgasm, I could only respond by senselessly repeating, "Yes, yes fuck me... ohhh Professor..." and lost in our lust, or perhaps having no breath or energy to spare in his vigorous fucking, he only grunted in reply, stabbing his thick, hard pole in and out of my pussy.

His cock filled me up so well, and his steady fucking pushed me over the brink--"FUCK yes, Professor, I'm cumming...!" I screamed out in pleasure, my pussy contracting against his cock, pulling him deep into me, making him lose control, saying--"Beg for my cum, beg for it--!" and then he was moaning my name over and over again as he spent his load inside my slick, tight pussy. He continued thrusting, holding onto my hips, pulling me back against him, using me to milk his cock of every last drop of cum, and I continued cumming, my entire body feeling as if it were on fire. I was trembling so hard and seeing stars exploding, and I guess I must have blacked out.

When I regained my senses, we were both lying on our sides, spooning, his body cradling mine. The heat from the crackling fire enveloped us. I could feel his heart pounding impossibly fast, his breath hot on my shoulder, his hand caressing my breasts. After expending all that lustful energy, he seemed to have turned sweet and gentle, as his touch was soft, and he was again kissing me lightly on my neck and shoulders.

We were beyond words. He silently stood, picked me up in his arms, and walked with me into the bedroom. He deposited me gently on the bed and got in beside me, pulling the covers over us. "This is a change from the fucking-and-parting in his office--" I thought hazily to myself. And in his arms, I drifted off into sleep. 



History Lessons



Angelina

I put the card back in the envelope. I looked up at Angelina. She took my hand and squeezed it. There was a fire in her eyes.

"Thank you," I whispered.

We finished dessert and left. On the way out, the hostess passed me a pair of the pictures we had taken, which must have just come off a photo printer in the back. 

I asked Angelina if there was anything else she wanted to do while she was home.

"As long as it's with you, I don't care," she said gently.

We drove around for a little while. We held hands. I was stalling for time. There's not a lot to do that's close to where we live, especially if Angelina didn't want anyone in her family finding out that she was in town. I ended up driving home.

"Do you have a stereo?" she asked as we stepped through the door. She shed her coat and I watched her reach into her purse for a CD.

"It's over by the TV," I replied. 

I tried to clear my head.

You can't take advantage of her, a little voice told me.

She's really wants you, Marc. Don't let her go, said another.

Soft music started to play over the stereo.

Angelina stood expectantly in the middle of my living room. The lights were turned down low. She was beautiful. There was a combination of fear and hope in her eyes.

I couldn't stop myself from walking over and taking her in my arms. I didn't want to stop.

She pressed her body against mine, one hand taking my own and the other on my shoulder. I put my other hand on her waist.

We swayed back and forth to the music. I could feel her breathing softly on my neck.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked softly.

"I'm wondering when someone is going to wake me up."

"Do you really think this is a dream?"

"If it is," I looked her in the eyes. "It's the best dream I've ever had."

She smiled playfully and tilted her head back. "You're thinking something else, aren't you?"

"What would I be thinking?" I asked, my smile matching hers.

She licked her lips in anticipation. "You're thinking that you want to kiss me."

I didn't get a chance to reply.

The hand on my shoulder went to the back of my neck and she pulled me to her.

Our lips met.

Angelina was soft and warm. I felt like I was floating five feet above the ground.

Her tongue brushed my lips.

My eyes were closed. My fingertips brushed the small of her back.

She kissed me harder, almost desperately.

We finally broke our lips apart. She dropped my hand and embraced me. I had both arms around her slender waist.

Angelina pressed her cheek against mine. I inhaled her heavenly scent.

It had been so long since anyone had held me so close. So intimately.

Her fingers brushed my face. She turned me towards her and we kissed again. I was losing myself to her.

I felt the bare skin of her back.

Her breasts pressed against my chest. My cock was starting to get hard.

I felt her hands in the lapels of my jacket. She pushed it back over my shoulders and it fell to the floor.

My arms returned to her waist and I pulled her close to me.

We danced, our bodies moving slowly to the music. I lost track of time.

The two of us kissed, exploring each other with our lips.

She gazed into my eyes.

Our foreheads touched together. We rubbed noses before kissing again.

"Angelina . . . I—" My voice was hoarse.

"Shhhhhh." She put a finger on my lips. "Mr. Thompson—Marc—Don't . . . Don't think . . . Don't speak . . ."

Her lips brushed mine again, then she came back and bit softly on my lower lip.

I moaned softly. 

Angelina's arms were around my neck. She rested her head against my shoulder and we danced for a little while longer.

She had me right where she wanted me.

Letting go of a deep breath, she pulled back and took my hand. She turned and started back towards my bedroom. I followed, like a lamb being led to slaughter.

My eyes devoured her lithe form, her hips swaying gracefully, her hair waving behind her. She stopped at the edge of my unmade bed. With a quick pirouette, she was in my arms again.

There was something new in her kiss. Hunger.

I tried one more time to put the brakes on our passion, but that wasn't going to happen. Not now.

"Please . . ." I whispered. "What are we doing?"

"I'm hoping that you're falling in love with me," Angelina whispered, her teeth brushing my earlobe. She was not going to be denied. "Don't you want me?"

"Yes, Angelina." My voice was ragged. "I want you right now more than anything . . . But you have your whole life ahead of you . . . The world is yours for the taking. You don't want me. You can do so much better."

"Marc," she said quietly. "Do you remember our senior trip to DC? That was the first time I had seen you outside of a classroom. You were so animated. So funny. You showed us every museum and monument you could pack into four days and you made us enjoy it. Do you remember when we went out after dinner that night? I asked you to dance, but you wouldn't dance with me, even though you wanted to. That was the minute I knew I loved you."

My jaw dropped. On the last night, we had taken the kids out to a nice restaurant for dinner that had a dance floor in the lounge. They wanted to take in some of the big city's nightlife, but that wasn't going to happen, not on a school trip. We compromised by sticking around the lounge for a while and let the kids hang out and dance. 

I'm sure a few of the kids with good fake IDs were drinking when none of us were looking, but we knew where they all were and none of them were driving. The other chaperones and I made the kids leave before the crowd really picked up, and the next day we got on the bus back to Kentucky.

I had been so blind. Angelina had asked me to dance, but so did several of the other girls. I'm a bad dancer to begin with so I politely begged off. Angelina was the only one who came back and asked again. I remembered the hopeful look she had, and now recognised the glimmer in her eyes for what it was. Love.

"This has got to be some kind of schoolgirl crush," I said, trying again to talk some sense into her. I think I was talking more to myself. Trying not to get my hopes up.

"No, it's not, Marc," her voice was throaty, full of desire. "Every guy who asks me out . . . I compare him to you. You are the benchmark every man must meet for me. You're handsome. You're smart. You're funny. You're kind. You always do the right thing. You can bring out the best in anyone around you. All the others . . . They've all fallen short. I realised last year that there was no sense in trying to find a guy just like you . . . Not when I can have you . . ."

She kissed me again. 

"That's why I have been saving myself for you, Marc," she whispered. 

My eyes were wide when the impact of her words hit me. "Angelina . . . You're—?"

"Yes." She closed her eyes.

"You deserve so much better than this," I said, my voice shaking. This heavenly creature was offering herself to me. "I can't take—"

"You're not taking anything from me." She gave me a thoughtful smile. Her big brown eyes bored right into me. "I'm giving myself to you."

I felt her hands pulling the shirt out of my dress pants. I was powerless to stop her. She slipped the knot of my tie out and unbuttoned the dress shirt. My clothes fell to the floor.

The buckle on my belt came undone and soon I was standing there in my boxer briefs, my pants around my ankles, the rest of my clothes in a heap next to the bed.

Angelina pressed against me again. I could feel her nipples through the thin fabric of her dress against my chest.

Her hands brushed my shoulders, then she ran her fingertips over my chest.

"It was all I could do to keep my hands off of you on the drive back here," she whispered. "You put your hand on my knee and I thought I was going to burst . . ."

My cock leaped in my boxers. I'm sure she could feel it.

"Will you . . ." I could barely hear her voice. "Will you . . . touch me?"

I still had my hands around her waist. I kissed her again, this time more passionately. I nibbled my way over to her neck. She let out a gasp.

"Please."

At that point, I was too far gone to stop myself. I was hers. Body, mind and soul.

My hands went to her dress, I untied the sash around her waist, then pushed the dress off her shoulders and over her hips. She kicked it out of the way.

I bit her neck gently, and she cried out. Our bodies pressed together, her bare chest against mine. Her fingernails dug into my back as I kissed my way down to her collarbone.

Angelina's hands pushed my underwear down off my hips, her hands stopping to gently cup my buttocks. I stepped out of the rest of my clothes and kicked them across the room.

My hands went back to her waistline. I put a couple of fingers inside her black lace panties. They too fell to the floor. She wasn't wearing hose. She didn't need to. 

Her skin was perfectly toned. Perfectly smooth. Perfectly soft.

We stood there, our naked bodies pressed together. The only thing either of us had on was the black choker around Angelina's neck.

I put my hands under her tight, round ass and pulled her in to me. My erect cock brushed against the lips of her pussy.

She threw her head back and let out a moan.

My lips went to the soft underside of her throat and her hands grasped at the back of my head, putting my mouth on the most sensitive parts of her neck.

Angelina fell back on the bed and pulled me down on top of her.

We kissed again. My blood started to boil with desire.

I cupped her breasts in my hands. She cried out again when I pinched her erect nipples. 

Pulling myself up, I directed Angelina back so she was in the middle of the bed. Her head was propped up on a pillow, her magnificent hair splayed out behind her.

My eyes lingered on her in the soft light coming in from the other room. She smiled at me, kneeling before her. I bent over and kissed her, but when she tried to pull me closer, I pushed her hands away.

I walked to the door and turned out all the lights in the house. The soft romantic music was still playing on the stereo.

There were a couple of candles in the dining room so I retrieved them and a couple of other things from the bathroom. I set the candles on the nightstand by the bed and lit them. I could feel Angelina's eyes on me, watching me with barely contained desire.

I kissed her again and I felt her hands on my shoulders, bringing me down on top of her.

My hands ran all over her body. From her shoulders to her breasts to her hips. She parted her legs as my fingertips brushed the insides of her thighs.

"Touch me, Marc . . ." she asked again. "Please."

I could feel the heat radiating from her sex.

It had been so long for me.

Angelina arched her back when I touched her clit. Her labia were swollen and puffy. She let out a gasp. "OH! . . . Yes!"

I pressed down on her button and she bit my tongue.

My finger did a circle around her clit, pressing hard.

Her mouth fell open. Her entire body was quivering.

I felt a hand on my cock. She rubbed my length and squeezed the engorged head.

"Oh, god," she moaned. I dipped a finger inside her wet pussy, then two. "Oh, Marc . . ."

She rubbed my cock faster and harder.

"That feels so good." Her hips began to move in time with my hand. "I've wanted this for so long . . ."

I kissed her again. I put my other hand under her head and pressed against her. I could feel her breasts on my chest.

"I have a confession to make, Marc," she whispered, bucking her pussy against my hand. "Before I put my dress on . . . While you were at the store . . . I lay here in your bed . . . I was touching myself . . . just like you're doing now . . . I was imagining you making love to me."

"Did you cum?" I asked, unable to believe what I was hearing.

"Yes," she purred. I must have hit a sensitive spot because she pushed her hips forward onto my hand again. "I have wondered what it would be like to be with you for so long. Some nights at school . . . every night for a week . . . I touch myself while thinking about you . . . Marc . . . Marc, make love to me."

I didn't reply. Instead, I rubbed her clit faster. After a couple of passes, I pushed a finger inside her, then went back to playing with her clit. I was sure to use the juices from her pussy to coat her clit. 

Her hand continued to stroke my cock. I could feel it leaking precum.

Taking her hand in mine, I had her dip two fingers into her pussy, then I took them in my mouth. She tasted of nectar.

She moaned as I sucked on her fingertips, my teeth grazing the soft pads.

"Angelina . . ." A little part of me was thinking clearly. "Are you really a virgin?"

"Yes, Marc. I am."

"Are you sure you want me to be your first lover?"

"I've never been so sure of anything in my life . . ." Her voice trailed off as she brought my lips to hers once again.

"I want you to be my only lover," she whispered.

She continued to stroke my cock. I don't think I could get any harder.

"Please make love to me now," Angelina whispered.

I got on my knees between her legs, my cock pointed towards her. I reached for the condom on the nightstand.

"No," she said. "You don't need that, Marc. I'm on the pill."

Those were the words I wanted to hear. Surely she wouldn't be lying to me, would she? 

"You don't know who else I've been with."

"I know you have good taste, Mr. Thompson," she smiled as she called me that. "And I know how picky you are . . . The word around town is that the reason why you're so lonely is because no one around here meets your standards."

"Guess I should have picked a bigger town." We giggled together and pressed our bodies against one another.

She was soft and warm. Her hands ran down my side, exploring me.

"Please, Marc," her voice was soft.

I leaned in and kissed her again, harder. Our tongues met. I pushed her head to one side and kissed my way over to her ear. 

She gasped when my teeth bit the sensitive spot right behind her jaw, just under the ear.

Soft moans escaped her lips as my lips traced her neck. Down her collarbone. Across her shoulder.

I took one of her nipples between my teeth and she thrust her chest forward. 

Cupping one of her magnificent breasts in each hand, I paid both the same attention.

Angelina started to grind her pussy against me. 

If one of her nipples wasn't in my mouth, I was rolling it between my fingers. She cried out louder and louder.

Her eyes were closed. Her head thrashed about on my pillow. 

I kissed the valley in between her breasts, then started down her flat stomach, but she stopped me.

"No . . . Not now . . ." Angelina whispered, pulling me back on top of her. Our lips met again. "I'm yours, Marc . . ."

Her hand took a hold of my cock and she guided the head between her legs.

She rubbed it against her pussy. It was still slick with her juices.

I pushed her hand away and guided my cock to the entrance of her pussy. I wasn't thinking clearly. Lust clouded my mind.

For an instant, I paused. I wondered if I was a sexual predator, taking advantage of a former student. I wondered if I was just some pervert who had somehow led this lovely young girl on. I wondered if I would be able to live with myself the next morning after having slept with a child that the community had entrusted to my care.

Those thoughts were soon gone, burned away as my desire consumed me.

I pushed the tip of my cock forward and it entered Angelina's steaming sex. 

After the head was inside her, I felt my lover tense. She drew in a sharp breath. Her fingernails dug into my shoulders. She arched her back.

"Please . . ." Her voice was soft. Desperate.

Angelina's eyes were closed. Her head was thrown back, her chest pressed against mine. Her beautiful form lay under me. The look on her face was rapturous. She was gorgeous.

I pushed forward, thrusting my cock quickly through her maidenhead.

She cried out in pain and pulled me tight against her.

I didn't stop until I was all the way inside her, then I held it.

Tears streamed down her cheeks.

Still holding my cock inside her I leaned in and kissed her tenderly.

Angelina kissed me back, softly at first, then harder.

I pulled back. She was crying.

"Am I hurting you?" I asked.

"Yes—No—," she gasped. "It . . . it hurts a little . . . but it feels so good, too."

I waited until her tears stopped. Her pussy had adjusted to the penetration by my cock. She had stretched around me, still slick.

Very slowly, I began to pump my cock in and out. Never hard. Never fast.

Gently. Tenderly. Lovingly.

She brought my lips to hers and our bodies were connected, from head to toe.

I kissed away the lines left on her cheeks by her tears. She started to grind her hips against me.

Her pussy was tight. It fit my cock like a glove.

It had been a while for me; I wasn't going to last very long. 

We lost ourselves in our lovemaking. 

In. Out. Slowly. In. Out.

My breaths came faster. She bit her lip and her eyes rolled back in her head.

I felt a familiar twitching in my balls.

With one hand under her ass and the other on a breast, I thrust forward with one single hard stroke.

She bit my lip softly and I let out a moan.

My cock started to pulse inside Angelina. Her body tensed along with mine.

We kissed harder as my orgasm overpowered me. I never moved. I just held my cock inside her as it emptied my sperm into her womb.

When it was all done, I collapsed on top of her.

Our bodies were covered in sweet perspiration.

I gasped for breath. 

Angelina held me close to her, one hand behind my neck, the other on my ass, trying to pull me deeper inside her.

She kissed me lovingly.

"Thank you," she whispered in my ear. I could barely hear her with the blood pounding in my head.

I couldn't speak. I could barely breathe.

We lay like that for several minutes. I was still inside her.

Angelina's eyes were closed, as if she were lost in some distant reverie.

Worried that I might be too heavy for her, I tapped her on the leg softly. Her eyes fluttered open.

"Wrap you legs around me," I said gently.

I pulled up so I was on my knees. Putting my hands under her ass, I lifted Angelina with me, then spun around and fell back on to the bed.

She was now on top, straddling me. Her head rested against my chest. She straightened out her legs so they didn't cramp up. My cock never left her pussy.

Her breath tickled my collarbone. I put a hand under her chin and kissed her again.

Angelina's hair had fallen over her face. I brushed it out of the way.

In the candlelight, her face glowed with a satisfied warmth. She smiled dreamily. 

"What are you thinking?" she asked softly.

I took a moment before replying. "That you are a beautiful woman."

Her smile got even wider. Her big brown eyes twinkled in the flickering light. "I am a woman now, aren't I?"

All I could do was smile back. "Yes, you are, Angelina."

I held her against me for several more minutes in silence. The music still played in the other room, but all I wanted to hear was the soft sound of her breathing and our hearts beating together.

She ran her fingers along my arms. Her head was turned to the side. She seemed to be staring off into the distance.

"What are you thinking?" I asked.

Angelina giggled. "That my butt is out in the cold!"

I laughed with her and reached for the tangled top sheet. Pulling it over us, I cradled her in my arms.

"Marc," Angelina cuddled up to me. Her hair brushed against my chest. I was surrounded by her warmth. "That was wonderful."

"I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"No . . . no, not at all," she replied. I was still inside her.




History Lessons



"I'll bet we made a mess."

"Probably."

"We should get you cleaned up."

"In a minute."

There was no rush in her voice. No worries. 

"I guess this means you'll be my valentine," she said, a touch of laughter in her voice.

"I guess so," I replied. "And happy birthday, too."

"You are the best present a girl could have, Marc," she said. "Birthday or valentine."

We held each other for another long stretch of silence.

"Tell me something." She had a dreamy smile on her face.

"Anything."

"Tell me you love me."

"Angelina . . ." I stopped, not sure if I could give her what she wanted.

"Shhhh . . . It's okay." She closed her eyes and kissed me. "You don't have to mean it. I'll never hold you to any promise you make in bed, Marc. I just want to hear the words."

I took in a deep breath, trying to figure out a way not to break her heart. I kicked myself for not stopping this earlier.

"Angelina . . . I can't say that." A flash of sadness crossed her face. She still managed to smile meekly. "Listen to me, honey . . . you are a very special girl—woman, now. I care about you. I like you . . . a lot. I haven't felt this good in years. You don't know what it means to me for you to show up on my doorstep and treat me as well as you have. But I can't tell you something I don't mean."

She took a deep breath and then looked into my eyes again. "I understand, Marc. But I want you to know this: I love you. I have for years."

A subdued smile crossed her lips. "I've waited this long for you to love me. I can wait a little longer."

I pulled her close, kissed her tenderly, and held her, not wanting to be without her touch.

After several minutes, I rolled her off me, then got out of the bed and picked her up, one arm under her back, the other under her knees. She put her arms around my neck and nuzzled up against me as I carried her to the bathroom.

Angelina nibbled on my ear. I pushed the shower curtain aside and then stood her up in the tub. 

Her legs were a little wobbly at first. When I was satisfied that she wasn't going to fall over if I let go, I reached over, I turned on the light and the fan as she started the water running.

"Be careful, honey," I said, getting an extra set of towels out from under the sink. "Those knobs are funny. You'll either freeze or scald yourself. There's not much in between."

"I think I've got it."

She yelped with surprise when the water came out of the shower head, piping hot. She laughed as she futzed with the dials, finally getting them just right after a lot of trial and error.

I watched her playing in the shower and could only wonder what alignment of the stars had brought her to me.

This was the first look I had gotten of her naked and in good light. 

Angelina was perfect in every way. 

She pulled her hair up and tied it in a knot with a scrunchy so it didn't get wet.

I reached for the soap and began washing the sweat off her body. My hands traced the outline of her breasts. Then around her back. And down to her shapely ass.

She caught my eyes staring at her. I looked away, embarrassed. She winked at me.

Maneuvering her around so her legs were spread slightly, I soaped up my hands and then touched her pussy.

Angelina jumped slightly at my touch.

I pulled back.

"Did that hurt?"

"No, Marc," she said, taking a deep breath. "I'm still a little tender, though."

"Just relax," I told her gently. 

My hand went back between her legs. I pushed her labia apart. There was a little bit of blood running down the drain.

Trying my best not to force anything, I did my best to wash her up.

She let out a little moan when my fingers brushed her clit.

I kissed her as the warm water cascaded over us. Angelina rinsed off and then pushed me under the shower head.

It was her turn to wash me. Her hands lingered on my chest and my shoulders.

Her touch was electric. Gentle.

She soaped up her hands and stroked my cock, washing the little bit of blood that was still on the tip. It sprang to life in her hands.

"Ready so soon?" There was a pernicious twinkle in her eye.

"Be careful," I warned her. "You may have unleashed a monster."

Angelina brought her mouth to mine and she kissed me eagerly. "We have all weekend, Marc."

The rest of the soap quickly disappeared as she rinsed me off. I shut the water down, stepped out of the tub and handed Angelina a towel.

We dried each other off, our hands lingering playfully on each other's bodies.

Angelina took her hair down and again all I could do was stare at her beautiful face.

I hung the towels up on a wall rack and led her back to the bedroom where we crawled under the covers. Still warm from the shower, we lay there for a long time, our naked bodies cuddled up against one another.

My fingertips ran over her shoulders and down her back. She smiled contentedly.

Soon, her breathing became regular and her body went limp.

I watched her sleep in the soft candlelight until they burned out. My mind raced. 

Was I setting her up for heartbreak? Did I deserve her trust and what she had given me? What was it that she saw in me? 

How much would I sacrifice for her? Could I give up the life I had spent the past six years building if she asked? Was I setting myself up for heartbreak?

My mind wandered for a while, but sleep soon came for me. 

The last thing I saw was her face, glowing even more radiantly as the candles flickered out. A gentle smile was on her lips, perhaps from some pleasant dream.

I held her close.

My love. My angel.

**********************

She stretched her arms and arched her back with a big yawn.

Angelina blinked her eyes a couple of times and then lazily rolled over into my embrace.

"Good morning," I said tenderly.

She kissed me. Our naked bodies pressed together. "Good morning yourself."

Her hand strayed down between my legs. My cock responded.

"You're a horny little minx," I smiled playfully.

"Only for you, Marc," she replied as I pushed her over on her back.

I gave her a wet, sloppy kiss. She ran her fingernails down my back and squeezed my ass.

My cock slipped into her easily. I wasn't fully erect and her pussy was slick with anticipation and desire.

"Oh, Marc," she whispered. "I love having you inside me."

Gently cupping a breast in my hands, I massaged her nipple until it was erect then I kissed my way down her neck. First to her collarbone, then down her chest. I took as much of her breast in my mouth as I could and bit the nipple softly.

She cried out and thrust her chest forward.

I began to slowly work my cock in and out of her pussy.

"You're getting hard inside me," she said. She threw her head back. "Oh, god, that feels so good!"

We were in no hurry. It was a cool Kentucky morning and the timer on the furnace hadn't kicked on yet, but we were warm enough together. I pulled the comforter up around my shoulders and leaned over to kiss my lover.

Her eyes were closed. She spread her legs wide so I could get as much of my cock inside her as possible.

Angelina started to grind her hips in time with my thrusts.

Soft. Deep. Loving.

I looked down at her as the soft morning light shone into the bedroom from behind the curtains.

She was so beautiful. 

With every thrust she let out a soft gasp.

Angelina's arms wrapped around my shoulders and she pulled me down to her. Her breasts pressed against me.

Her mouth went to my neck. A shiver ran down my spine as she bit along the nerve that runs down my shoulder.

"I love the way you fill me up," she said.

"You feel so good around me, Angelina," I whispered back. "You're so soft . . . so warm . . ."

She smiled tenderly.

I pulled back and when I thrust back in, I moved my hips a little to the side. 

Angelina let out a gasp.

"Do that again!" she squealed.

"Do this again?"

"Yes!"

I picked up my pace a little. My thrusts came a little harder.

Her breaths came faster. Her nails dug into my shoulders.

Soft grunts became moans.

Faster. Deeper. Harder.

Angelina brought her hips up to meet me, taking my whole cock every time.

Her head rolled back and forth as she thrashed about on the pillow.

I buried my cock inside her and held it for a second. Her eyes rolled back into her head.

"Oh, god!" she gasped. Then she said something Spanish that was totally incomprehensible to me. She may have been babbling, she may have been telling me what she needed from the store. I didn't care.

My hips rocked back and forth. I tried to go as deep as I could with every stroke.

Angelina's hands went to my face. She pulled me close to her and she stuck her tongue into my mouth.

She was desperate. Hungry. And not to be denied.

Her pussy contracted around the base of my cock.

I pushed in and held it again.

Angelina's jaw fell open, but no sound came out.

Warmth surrounded my cock as her pussy flooded with juices.

She shuddered, delirious with pleasure.

"Oh, Marc . . ." she whispered. 

I held it for a second longer, then began to pump in and out of her with a hard, steady pace.

Angelina arched her back and her arms began to flail about, looking for something to hold on to.

She let out a guttural moan.

Her hands finally managed to grasp a couple of pillows on the bed.

I gave my cock to her, harder with each thrust.

She absorbed every stroke.

Faster. Deeper. Harder.

Her pussy was like a vise, the orgasm only making her tighter.

"Yes!" she said in my ear. "Cum with me . . . Please, Marc . . . cum inside me . . ."

All I could do was moan. 

With one final thrust, I pushed all the way inside her. She pressed her body up against mine.

My cock twitched once, then the dam broke.

"Oh, Marc," she said. "I can feel you cumming inside me . . . Give it to me . . ."

The room started to spin. I pulled back and thrust in again, my cock still pulsing erratically.

I didn't think my orgasm would ever end.

When the room stopped moved and the spots in my eyes went away, I looked up to see Angelina gazing up at me. Her hair was a mess. We were both covered in sweat.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

We kissed gently.

"Angelina . . . We need to tal—"

"Mr. Thompson," she said, mimicking the voice I used on the kids when I knew they were stalling or feeding me a line of crap. "Now is not the time for that!"

We laughed together.

She smiled and all I could do was wonder how I could be so lucky.

Her eyes softened and she pulled me in for another kiss.

The night before, I was asking myself how I could go to bed with one of my former students. I was worried about her future. I was worried about my reputation. I was worried that her father would show up on my doorstep with a shotgun and a minister. I had wondered if I could live with myself the next day.

Now there was a new question in my mind. How could I live without having Angelina in my arms every morning?

**********************

We spent most of Saturday in bed. I finally got up and fixed her breakfast in bed. Nothing special; after all, I was living the full-on bachelor lifestyle so most of the contents of my fridge were condiments and frozen dinners.

Still, I managed to scrounge up enough to make french toast, bacon and some not-yet-stale Fruit Loops. Neither of us cared what there was to eat. We just wanted to be together.

The two of us took a morning shower, then got back in bed.

When we weren't making love, we talked. Mostly we talked about what we liked and what we were going to do to each other once our strength returned. 

We avoided any discussion about the future. We were in the moment. Seizing the day.

For dinner we ordered pizza. When the delivery driver showed up, I recognised the car as one of the kids in my American History class.

"Hello, Mr. Thompson," he said.

"Good evening, Josh." I handed him a check for the pizza plus a tip. He was trying to look past me to see who might be spending the weekend holed up with the history teacher. Angelina had smartly sequestered herself away in the bedroom.

"Are you going to get our papers back to us on Monday?" 

"We'll see," I smiled, happy to lead him on. Oh, I was going to catch hell for this at school.

"Okay," he smirked. "Have a good weekend, Mr. Thompson."

"You, too, Josh."

I closed the door and watched him linger at his car, trying to catch a glimpse of anyone else in my house. He finally drove off. Angelina stood at the doorway to my bedroom.

"Should I stand naked on the porch for the neighbours?" she giggled.

"That would ruin all the intrigue." I said, setting the pizza down on the kitchen table and then giving her a quick kiss. "You know we have to string this out for as long as we can, right?"

Angelina laughed, her face radiant. 

I caught myself staring into those big brown eyes. I was hers. And she knew it.

A short time later we sat on the couch together. I had my arms around her and she was cuddled up against me. We had devoured the pizza; the day's sex had left us famished.

Both of us were exhausted, so we were content just to hold one another. There was a movie on the TV, but we weren't really watching it. 

We knew that Sunday was coming, and that would be the end of our Valentine's Day tryst. Was one weekend of passionate lovemaking enough to be the foundation of a relationship? I didn't know. I didn't want to confront the reality of the situation.

"What are you thinking?" she asked me after a while, staring off into the distance.

"Nothing, my love."

"I like it when you call me that." She turned to me and smiled, pulling a blanket tight around us. "You know you're a lousy liar, don't you, Marc?" 

"Just something stupid, honey." Her face had a hopeful look on it. I knew at that moment, I could never again resist her. I had fallen in love.

"What is it?" she said.

"I was thinking . . ." I paused. To admit this would change our relationship. It would change our lives. It would send everything I had worked for over the last six years spinning out of control. 

There was no way I was going to allow her to come back to our little Kentucky town. She had too much to look forward to. She had too much to do in life. Angelina was destined for great things. For her to come home would be to turn her back on all the gifts she had been given. I would have to walk away from the kids I had loved and nurtured if anything was going to come of our relationship. Was that a price I was willing to pay?

"I was thinking . . ." My voice was barely audible. "That you and I would make beautiful children."

She blinked back tears. "Marc . . . Does that mean . . ."

"I don't know what it means," I pulled her close. "Yesterday, you turned my life upside down. I was living in my own little world and I was happy teaching history to your brother and his friends. Now . . ."

As my voice trailed off, her body tensed.

"Now . . . I don't ever want to let you go, Angelina. We've got a lot of think about. A lot to talk about. But I know that I don't want to wake up without you next to me ever again."

"Oh, Marc," she said, pressing her lips to mine. I tasted the tears that began to stream down her cheeks. And down mine, too. "I'll do anything for you."

"No, you won't," I said firmly. Unconsciously, my voice slipped into the tone I used on the kids that brokered no arguments, no discussion. "Here's what you're going to do: You're going to drive back to Lexington tomorrow and you're going to finish school. This semester and next year. You're going to be the first person in your family to graduate from college and then you've got your whole life ahead of you."

"What about us?" Her voice broke. Her body was trembling.

All I could do was smile gently. One of us had to approach this with at least a little bit of reason. "I don't know, honey. We'll figure something out. Not today. Not tomorrow. But we'll come up with something."

I cradled her against me.

Sobs wracked her body. "But, Marc . . . I . . . I don't want to be without you."

"You won't be without me, honey," I said tenderly. "I'm only three hours away. You can come see me, or, better yet, I should probably visit you so your dad doesn't show up on my doorstep with the brute squad."

We laughed at the thought.

"Angelina . . ." I brushed the hair out of her eyes. "You have made me the happiest man in the world. I still don't know why you're here. But I want to make 'us' work. I don't know how things will go, but as long as we want to be together, we'll find a way."

"Is that a promise?"

"Yes," I kissed her passionately and wiped the last of our tears away. "And since we're not in bed, you can hold me to it."

Her lips went to my ear. She nibbled behind my jawbone.

All the hair on my neck stood straight up.

"Marc," she whispered softly. "Take me to your bed. Let's practise making those beautiful babies . . ."

**********************

We made love well into the night. I fell asleep spooned up against her, my exhausted cock buried inside her.

The sweet smell of her body and her perfume lingered in the air and on my pillows.

When morning came, we held each other, knowing that our time was almost up.

I savoured the feel of her breath on my chest. The gentle touch of her fingertips. The softness of her skin. The sensual brushing of her hair.

Neither of us said a word.

After another improvised breakfast in bed, we made love desperately one more time.

We took a shower together. While she was drying her hair in the bathroom, I slipped a note into her suitcase for her to find later.

Mi Angelita,

 

You can't know how much your visit has meant to me this weekend. I didn't know how lonely I really was until you showed me how much you love me.

 

I miss you already. I don't know where we go from here, but I do know I don't want to be without you in my life.

 

 Love,

 Marc

She came out of the bathroom and began packing her things. Very carefully, she unpinned the corsage from her red dress. After rifling through my closet, Angelina found a hanger and hung the dress over the hook on the back of my bedroom door.

"I want you to think of me first thing every morning when you wake up," she said.

"Are you going to think of me every morning, too?" I asked taking her in my arms.

"Oh, Marc," she said, melting into my embrace. "I've been doing that for years."

We held each other for a long time, not wanting to let go.

Finally, I pulled away. "You have to get on the road."

She smiled, a look of sadness flashing across her eyes. "I know."

Angelina gathered up the rest of her things and set the corsage on top of her duffel bag.

"Not going to leave that with the dress?" I asked.

"What? And leave the first flowers you ever gave me? I don't think so," she smiled teasingly. "You may be a good guy, Marc, but you're still a guy. If I left flowers with you, they'd just wilt away and you'd throw them out."  

I snorted softly, pulled her close and swatted her playfully across the backside.

"Don't start something you're not going to finish," she warned.

My mouth went to hers and we shared a long passionate kiss.

"There's something I want you to have," I said, going over to a box on top of my dresser. I shuffled through some jewelry and found a small gold cross pendant hanging from a gold chain.

I pushed Angelina's hair out of the way and clasped it behind her neck. 

"This was my grandmother's," I said. "It belonged to her mother and her mother's mother. Grandma didn't have any daughters or granddaughters to pass it along to, so she gave it to me and told me to give it to the next generation of Thompson girls. I know she'd want you to have it."




History Lessons



Angelina choked back tears.

I pulled her close to me.

"Marc," she whispered. "I—"

"I know," I said quietly, barely able to see through my own watered eyes. My feelings overwhelmed me. The words came easily, almost naturally. "I love you, too, Angelina."

We finally managed to get to the garage and I loaded her things into the car. 

I didn't want to let her go, but I knew I had to. Each lingering touch was soft and warm.

With one final kiss, I closed her car door. She smiled at me, makeup running down her cheeks.

I opened the garage door and she backed out. Angelina waved as she pulled away. 

In the cold February air, I watched from the driveway as her car disappeared down the street. I went back inside and found myself still shivering. It wasn't just the cold; I felt lonelier now than I ever had in my life. 

I looked around the house and saw small traces of my lover, left behind for me. I found a magnet and put the Valentine's Day card Angelina had given me on the refrigerator. There was an empty frame in a closet, and I propped up the picture we had taken at the restaurant on top of my TV. Her perfume still hung in the air.

The house was suddenly quiet. Before, I enjoyed the solitude, the peace. Now my home—and my life—seemed barren, as if something were missing.

It was as if a part of me had driven off with Angelina.

**********************

I set the last of the boxes down. The place was a mess. But I couldn't dwaddle too long; I was due to pick Angelina up in a few minutes.

For the next four months we had seen precious little of each other. I had gone to visit her a few times. She came home twice, once to see just me and once to see her folks.

Sure enough, after her first visit, rumours began to swirl around school. The kids and other teachers said I had the "guess who just got some" look the following Monday. They tried to pump me for information, but I said nothing. A little part of me liked the intrigue of our tryst. I think a few people had an inkling of who had been in my home, but no one knew for sure.

Somehow, we had made it through the end of Angelina's spring semester, through prom and graduation for my kids, and it was summer time. She was taking some extra summer classes and trying to graduate in December. Then we were going to see where our relationship was headed. At least that was the plan as far as she knew.

I went to my car and drove to her apartment. Her roommate Molly answered the door with a smile. When I came to visit, we usually got a hotel room somewhere and disappeared from Friday afternoon until late Sunday night.

"Angelina's in the bathroom," Molly said. "Big plans this weekend?"

"Not really," I shrugged.

She gave me a sly grin, seeming to know that there was something I wasn't letting her in on.

Angelina came out of the bathroom and jumped into my arms. After a long kiss, I held her close to me. It had been about a month since we had last seen each other, although we talked just about every day. It was a good thing we were with the same cell phone company and had free mobile-to-mobile calling.

"I've missed you," she said.

I twirled her around in the living room and took in those deep brown eyes that I could never get enough of.

"How did I get so lucky?" I asked her for the millionth time.

"You, of all people, should know," she giggled. "Didn't I teach you anything in your class?"

"I guess not."

"You should listen to your own lessons more carefully, Mr. Thompson," she said with a laugh. "You taught me to believe in myself. That nothing was out of my reach. You gave me motivation. I wouldn't have gone to college if it weren't for you; I wouldn't have gotten the scholarship if you hadn't pushed me. You made me want it. So I went for it."

Her arms wrapped tighter around me.

"All those papers we wrote for you. All the extra work you made us do. You didn't want us to just pass a test. You wanted us to learn, and not just the facts. You wanted us to succeed at anything we put our minds to."

"Which you always did," I could only smile into my lover's eyes. 

"That's right, Mr. Thompson," She kissed me gently, although I could feel the passion in her lips. "And now I want you. And you know that when I want something, I always get it."

"You sure do," I stared into the eyes of my lover. "I guess I had forgotten."

"Oh, get a room!" Molly rolled her eyes. She swatted me across the rear with her magazine. "Now get her out of here before I jump you."

We laughed. Angelina got a small duffel bag and we headed out to my car.

"Are you hungry?" I asked.

"Not really," she said. "Where are you going to take me?"

"Someplace special."

"I hope it's not that sushi place where the fish was still moving. I like sushi, but that was a little too freaky for me." She got in the car after I opened the door for her.

"No, we're not going there tonight," I said with a grin.

I got in and started driving.

My handed rested on her leg. She had on a thin blouse and a pair of shorts that showed off her shapely legs. Her hair was pulled back. Like the first time we had gone out all those months ago, all I could do was stare at her beauty. It made driving a little difficult.

"Where are we?" she asked after a while, not recognising the roads. Instead of heading downtown or to any of the usual places where we stayed, we were in a small friendly neighbourhood.

"You'll see."

I pulled into the driveway of a one-level brick home. It wasn't much, but it was in pretty good shape and only needed a little bit of work. I had closed on it the month before.

There was a soft breeze blowing through the trees as we got out of the car. I took her hand and she followed me dumbly. I led her to the door and fumbled for the keys.

"Marc . . . What are you doing—" she gaped. I think it was finally sinking in. 

I wrapped my arms around her. "My love, I couldn't go another year living so far away from you, so I moved to be closer."

"You can't . . . You have a job . . . the school . . ." she stammered. 

"I found a job here. I start working in the county school board office next month." I pushed the door open. There were boxes of stuff everywhere.

"What about the high school?" Tears started to roll down her cheeks.

"I've already taken care of that. I gave my notice back in April," I clutched her close to me. Truly, I hated leaving the high school and my students, but I knew that my relationship with Angelina was a gift from the Heavens, and it would be crazy for me to let her go, even if it did throw my personal life for a loop. 

Sobs of joy wracked her body. "I can't believe you did this for me."

"I didn't do it for you, honey," I kissed her gently. "I did it for us."

She was trembling.

"Didn't I teach you anything?" I asked. "Don't you remember what I told you kids? I said it was the most important thing I could ever teach anyone. Life is like a game . . ."

"You can play, or you can watch," she completed the phrase I had drilled into them from the first day of class. "Life will pass you by if you let it."

"I still don't know what brought you back to me, my love," I said. "But I love you too much to watch you move back to the middle of nowhere just to be with me, and I'm sure as hell not going to let you pass me by. This was a chance to make 'us' work, so I went for it."

"Marc . . . I don't know what to say," her voice broke. I brushed the tears out of her eyes.

"Say you love me," I kissed her.

"I love you, Marc Thompson."

"I love you, too, Angelina. Now stop crying," I said with a grin. "I can't stand to see a pretty girl cry. Makes me horny."

Angelina threw her arms around me and laughed.

"Now let me show you around your new house," I whispered. Before she could respond, I threw her duffel bag through the doorway, picked her up and carried her over the threshold. "Welcome home."