5 comments/ 18862 views/ 3 favorites Last Lesson Ch. 01 By: Kamashastra Out here in the hallway by the case of trophies and pennants, the sound from the gymnasium was less music than it was simply a heavy beat that made the walls rumble. The school hadn't hired the best dj in the world for the dance, but he did have one hell of a speaker system. Felicia would have liked to have been in the gym, dancing, instead of out here playing the same damn game with her boyfriend that they played every time they saw each other these days – a game called "Can I get in her pants?" She fielded yet another foray by Brian's thick, tanned fingers up under the side of her skirt and attempted to distract him by sliding his hand up onto her left breast. It was a tactic that had worked well in the past, but this time Brian broke off their kiss with a frustrated sigh, and shoved away from her. He turned away, that familiar petulant look on his face, and Felicia bit back her own sigh. They'd been here before. She could already hear every word that they were about to say, and she was just so damn tired of saying them… "I want to break up." Felicia blinked. That was not in the script. "What? Why?" "Why? This is why, 'Licia. I'm getting tired of all the cockblocking. I mean, we're been together what, four months? And you won't let me past your panties. You're obviously not into me." Brian shoved his big hands through his hair, making it stand on end. "That's not true." It sounded weak, even to her. She had been losing interest in Brian recently, but it was mostly because of the frequent maulings and his ever increasing dissatisfaction with what she was willing to give. "So, what is it then?" Brian spread his arms out, giving her the full view of his tight, muscled body in the clinging T-shirt and slim cut jeans. "What is it that I don't got?" "How about some patience?" Felicia pushed off the wall and came toward him. "I just want to wait. Why is that so hard?" "You're hot, okay? But there are lots of hot girls in that very gym, and all of them, given the chance, would get with me. So make up your mind. Do we leave together, or do I go back in there alone?" He folded his arms. "You're – breaking up with me?" Felicia felt like she'd been punched in the gut. "Is that what it's gonna be?" Brian demanded. "You're breaking up with me at Prom?" Her voice rose to a shriek. "The hell with this," he said. "You know what your problem is, 'Licia? You think you're special. You think you're so fucking special." He leaned into her and she drew back against the wall, suddenly afraid of him. "I've got news for you, princess. You're not. Keep your precious pussy. There's a hundred more out there I could get easy, so fuck you." He walked off down the hallway. Hot tears sprang up in her eyes. "You prick!" she screamed at him. He flung open the gym doors just as a gaggle of girls came out and stormed past them into the dark, discoball spangled interior. The girls looked after him, wide eyed, and then down the hall at Felicia. She turned her back and walked away. There was no way in hell she was going to let any of them see her cry. The girl's bathroom came up on her left but as she neared it a girl in a pink gown exited, a cloud of fragrant smoke about her. Great, the potheads have taken up residence. Felicia cast about frantically, feeling the sobs building in her throat, and blindly tried the door of the first classroom she came to. It opened, she nearly fell through it, and then leaned back on it to close it again as the tears rose up hot and swimming, spangling her vision. She slid down the door to sit untidily on the floor and just gave up finally and cried. "Felicia?" She started, and began to desperately scrub at her face. It was just her fucking luck that the room had someone in it… "Are you alright?" Oh, god, Felicia thought, as he came nearer. The dim light revealed Mr. Adams, her physics teacher. Could this night possibly get any worse? Kyle Adams was thirty-two, dark haired and tall and broad shouldered and completely cute. He bent over her, his hazel eyes concerned behind his glasses. "I'm okay," Felicia said, or tried to. It came out as a dry, hoarse sort of croak. Better and better. She shoved herself back up the door, ignoring his outstretched hand, and groped for the doorknob. She cleared her throat. "Really, I'm – " "He broke up with her?" "Right outside the gym. Omigod, you should have heard it, Felicia was screaming like some crazy crack ho." The voices were right outside the door. Felicia sucked in a breath, feeling as though her entire body had been dipped in ice water and then into lava. She couldn't meet Mr. Adams's eyes. She couldn't stay here. She couldn't leave. She was going to die, right here, of embarrassment, and at her funeral, all that anyone would be able to talk about was how she'd been screaming like a crack ho on the last night of her life. "Why don't you sit down for a minute?" Mr. Adams took her arm gently. "I've got tea." Felicia looked across to where he was pointing and saw his desk, a small beacon of light in the dim room, with an electric kettle steaming beside the desk lamp. She nodded dumbly. "I'll just turn on the light," he said. "No!" Felicia grabbed his arm. "Please. I don't want anyone to know I'm here." "Alright," he said after a pause. His arm was warm and solid under his shirt. As he lowered his hand away from the light switch, his muscles flexed smoothly under her fingers. Felicia snatched her hand away and wrapped her arms around herself. Away from the hot noisy press of the gym and without Brian's body heat to warm her, her thin spangled backless gown seemed like less of a good idea than it had at the store. "Here." Mr. Adams settled her into his chair and then took his leather jacket off the back and wrapped it around her. It was warm, and smelled faintly of aftershave and ever so slightly of clean male sweat. He poured hot water over a teabag in a chipped mug that stated 'Physicists do it at the speed of light.' "Er. Not quite school approved," he admitted, noticing her glance. "But I didn't figure on entertaining any students tonight." He turned to set the kettle on the floor against the wall, and his pants stretched tightly over his butt as he did so. Felicia watched him flex, her lips parting. The man was so fine… Then gloom descended again and she set the tea mug back on the desk before she dropped it. Tears gathered on her lower lashes and she wiped futilely at them. "You want to talk about it?" Mr. Adams asked her gently, sitting on the edge of the desk. "Brian – Brian broke up with me." She leaned both elbows on the desk and covered her face with her hands. Her makeup had to be a complete mess by now. "At prom?" Mr. Adams's voice held exactly the right amount of surprise and outrage, and Felicia dropped her hands in surprise. "I'm old, but I'm not that old," he told her with a rueful smile. "I remember some stuff. That must really suck." "Yeah. It sucks. And now I can't go back in there. You heard – you heard those girls. They'll all be talking about it by now. I just can't face them." "Well, you'll have to do it as some point," he said. "No I don't," Felicia said stubbornly. "The year is over. I'll just hide in my room for the whole summer and then go off to college without ever seeing any of their stupid, jerk faces again. Especially him. What an assh – uh, jerk." She finished weakly, aware of her slip of the tongue. "We are after regular school hours, you know," he said, grinning a little. "I can't actually discipline you at the moment." Felicia looked up at him for a minute, and then her lips twitched in a small answering smile. "He is, you know. An asshole." Emboldened by Mr. Adams's snort of laughter, she went on. "I called him a prick. He deserved it. Macho jerk. Loser. Testosterone-ridden male chauvinist pig!" Suddenly she was crying again, sobbing so hard her body shook. "Hey, hey." Mr. Adams knelt beside her chair and patted her shoulder awkwardly. "It's my fault," she choked. "I wasn't – I didn't – he wanted to have sex. He said, any girl would want to, and that I was – a princess and I thought I was special." Part of her was appalled that she was telling all this to a teacher – to a young, cute teacher – but she couldn't seem to stop. "He told me – he told me to keep my p- precious pussy. But I didn't! I don't think I'm special!" She hit the desk once with her fist. "I just wanted – I wanted it to be special." "Oh sweetie." There was some embarrassment in Mr. Adams's voice, but mostly chagrin and sympathy and a touch of amusement. "You're expecting a lot from the average high school kid. Wait til you get to college." "Yeah, well, my sister says that the guys are twice as bad there. It's all frats and parties and date rape drugs." "Yes, well…" "Why do guys have to be in such a damn hurry all the time? It's not too much to ask, is it? A little romance, a little tenderness?" She turned suddenly toward him. "Aren't I worth waiting for?" she asked, articulating finally the thing that had hurt the most. Their faces were inches apart. Mr. Adams's breath was warm and soft against her mouth. She inhaled, smelling peppermint, a hint of tea, and some indefinable scent that seemed to be just – him. They stared at one another, caught by the moment like ants in honey. His gaze dropped to her lips and she parted them, leaned toward him… "Felicia." He put his hands on her shoulders, and then snatched them away again. "Stop." He looked away from her. In every woman's life, there comes a point when the full realization of their power hits them. With some it is a gradual coming of knowledge, built of a hundred glances, brushes of skin, with a thousand smiles and winks and turning of heads, a buildup of every single drop of a man's eyes into their cleavage. With others, it is a lightning bolt from the blue, a moment of pure and immediate understanding that links them in kinship with Cleopatra, Helen of Troy and Jezebel. For Felicia, that moment came as her physics teacher averted his gaze as though he couldn't stand to look at her a second longer. She paused, trembling with sudden and awful understanding, and nearly drew back in fear from the edge. Then the memory of Brian walking away, so secure in his arrogant, male superiority came back to her, and, tossing Mr. Adams's jacket off her shoulders, she leaned forward, put out her left hand, and turned his face back to hers. And then kissed him. Felicia had been kissed before, by several different boys of varying skill and confidence, and none of them had been like this. His mouth, at first stiff and surprised beneath hers, softened and then opened in devouring, searing passion. He drove her back into the chair, his hands coming to the armrests, his shoulders bunching beneath her hands. He kissed her as though his life depended on it. His smell was dizzying, his mouth tasted of honey. She made small, desperate sounds against his lips, and he pulled away abruptly, leaving her gasping. "Tell me to stop," he said, grinding his hands against the armrests of the chair. "You can't know – you don't know how I've dreamed about this. So tell me this is a huge mistake and we're ruining our lives by even considering doing anything more." His eyes were huge and swimming in the lamplight. Felicia was panting as though she'd run fifty laps. He'd dreamed – about her? The wood creaked under his grip. She was terrified – and exalted. Her body was on fire. The place between her legs throbbed, hot and liquid. This – this was what it was supposed to be, not the fumbling caresses in cars and theatre seats, not the perfunctory grunting and creaking she heard at night in her parents' room, this, this! She seized his lapels and kissed him again, dragging his glasses off with one impatient hand. A near despairing groan came out of him, and he let go of the chair to cup her face. It was even hotter this time, deeper, wetter, and then he was trailing kisses down her neck and shoulder. She grasped his shoulders like a drowning woman. He pulled her forward, bent her back over his arm and gently, almost reverently, cupped her right breast through her dress. When he drew his thumb across her nipple, she threw her head back and closed her eyes. He lifted her and, clearing all the papers and pens to the floor with one sweep of his arm, set her on the edge of the desk. Her slit skirt rode up as he pressed in between her thighs, so that when he cupped his hands around her buttocks and pulled her against him, only the thin, damp material of her panties separated her from the feel of his cock, hard and straining inside his pants. He kissed her again. She found herself dragging impatiently at his button down shirt, thrusting her hands under his belt and searching frantically for skin. When she ran her fingers up his spine, dragging her fingernails against his smooth, warm back, he shivered. She slid her legs around his, twining her feet around his inner thighs, drawing him closer. A delicious itch grew as she bumped her clit against his zipper and that hard, thick mass behind it, and she moved faster against him, her back undulating, until they were panting into each other's mouths, clutching and grabbing, sweat starting in the hollow between her breasts and the small of her back. He broke free of her at last, eyes and hair wild. He wrenched his shirt off. A button spun away into a corner, and his undershirt rode up, revealing a taut and gleaming stomach. She bent and licked it, lifting the white cotton as she moved upward, until it too went over his head and onto the floor, and he was shirtless in front of her. Her breath caught. He wasn't as cut as Brian, but he was lean and sculpted in the yellow lamplight. Felicia forgot the frantic hunger of a few moments before and just reached out and laid a hand on his chest. He was watching her, the wildness dying from his eyes as well. His skin was warm and smooth. Some scant hairs trailed between his pecs down into the waistband of his pants, but he was hardly more hirsute than the teenaged boys she was used to. He was beautiful. Her heart was pounding in her throat. "Touch me," she said. "Oh my god," he said. He dragged at the zipper of her dress, forced the material down to expose her white lace strapless bra, her breasts quivering above the cups with the force of her breath. His blunt fingers curled into the cups, spilling her soft flesh free. He made a sound somewhere between a gasp and a groan and then bent his head to her. She threw her head back as his tongue roused her nipples to puckered, aching hardness, and when his teeth grazed her lightly, she let out a strange sound of her own, clutching at his hair. "Like that, do you?" he growled against her, and then bit her again, harder. Stars burst behind her shut eyelids. The sensation was almost too much, and yet not enough. She had both fists clenched in his hair, and wasn't sure if she was holding his head to her, or trying to drag him away. Her bra had gone at some point. Her skirt was up to her waist. When he released her at last from the tormenting, teasing grip of his teeth, she collapsed to the desk, her face red with exertion, her nipples redder still. He reached for his belt, but she beat him to it, wanting him to know that this was her choice, her desire. She unbuckled him slowly, watching his face as she did it, watching how his eye darkened as she drew the leather from the loops and tossed it aside. His button and zip were next, and then she reached in, feeling the heat of his flesh even before she laid her palm against it, stroking him gently through the cotton of his briefs. This she had done before. When she wrapped her hand around his cock and tugged upward, sliding her thumb up and over that tender tag of skin, he clenched his jaw and drew in a breath through his teeth. Freed from his clothing, he was straight and fine, a little longer than her hand. He was thicker than Brian, she noticed right away, and had the very first shiver of not-quite-fear when she imagined how it would be when he put it inside her. Then again, some of the girls said that it didn't hurt – and even if it did – she thought about his teeth and shivered again. Maybe it would be okay if it did. "Stop," he panted, "stop." He pulled her hands away, kissed her devouringly. They were fumbling with her underwear, desire making their fingers clumsy and stupid when they heard the voices and froze. Male and female. Outside the door. The girl giggled, and then gasped. A body hit the door softly. She giggled again, and the boy said something, low and eager. Felicia looked into Kyle's eyes, aware that hers had gone huge with trepidation. He looked back at her, and laid a finger against her lips. The other hand he slid into the crotch of her underwear, knuckles brushing her other lips. She bit his finger, hard, as he balled that hand into a fist, and pulled. Her lace panties, damp and stretched, resisted for a moment and then tore. "What was that?" The girl's voice was muted, but clear. "What? Nothing." The boy silenced her further protests with more kissing. Kyle pulled his finger from Felicia's mouth and then clamped his whole hand over it. He tossed her panties aside and leaned into her. Without his prompting, she reached out to him, and guided his cock toward her. Everything was ratcheted to a fine, excruciating intensity by the need for silence. Felicia felt the velvet smoothness of his skin against her palm, the dampness and heat of her own pubic curls as she pulled him inward, and when the head of his cock brushed her clit, she closed her eyes and bit her tongue. She moved her hand to his hip to urge him forward. "Open your eyes," he breathed. Without taking his hand from her mouth, he began to push into her, their eyes locked together. Her lips parted beneath his palm. She was wet. He slid forward easily, smoothly, without effort. There was an abrupt resistance, and he stopped, took his hand from her mouth and then bent his body over hers, gathering her to his chest. His whole body was shaking now, muscles trembling with restraint. He buried his face against her shoulder, trying to regain control. Outside, the boy made some comment, and the girl laughed breathlessly. "Do it," Felicia said in a whispered gasp. "Oh, do it." He grasped her ass in both hands and did two things at once – bit down into the thick muscle between her shoulder and neck, and thrust forward, breaking her hymen and burying himself to the hilt in her cunt. It hurt. And oh, it felt so good. She turned her face into his neck, pressing her mouth and nose to his sweaty, salty skin to keep her scream in. "Okay?" he was asking. "Are you okay?" "Mmm-hmm," she managed, and then had to put her face back, because he started to move. "Good. Ah, good." He put one hand into her hair, cradling her against him, holding her still as he began a slow, silky rocking back and forth that gradually opened her a little more, and a little more. The feel of him in her, the stark fact of his cock inside her, was as much a turn on as the way that he was working it, the way that he kept her back bowed to allow as much contact as possible with her swollen, pulsing clit. She couldn't keep silent altogether. A small whimper escaped her as he pushed forward again, and he answered her with a gasp. "Someone's in there," the girl outside whispered. "Let's get out of here," her boyfriend answered. Their footsteps faded away, but Felicia hardly cared by that point. Last Lesson Ch. 01 She'd come before, of course. Usually alone in her bed, fingers twisting, or in the shower, the shower nozzle locked between her thighs. Once, rocking against Brian's leg in the back of his car, she'd come so very close…and then he'd shifted away, and it had all been lost. But this, this insistent, slow building was something new. Kyle's control was like iron, patient, terrible iron that she flung herself against, gasping. She heard her voice, pleading. "Please. Oh, god. Please." "Not yet." He pushed her down onto the desk, one hand between her breasts, and held her there. The other hand went down her stomach, and his thumb pressed gently down on her clit. Felicia rose up off the desk, straining, gasping for air, and he drove her back down again with both hands. "Stay," he said reprovingly, and carried on fucking her, that thumb rubbing gently in small circles in time with his thrusts. She was going to come. She was going to come like an express train, she could feel it racing toward her, building low in her belly, hot waves rippling out to all her extremities. She could hardly see. His thumb abruptly ceased circling, and pushed firmly downward, driving her clit into her pubic bone, grinding and shoving. She came so hard she couldn't even make a sound, her mouth stretched silently, her hands clutching the desk, her spine bowing, her whole body vibrating like a struck harp string, red and black explosions behind her eyelids. It went on forever. It was over in a minute. When at last she collapsed again to the desk, she felt filled with white noise, loose and light as a feather, every limb trembling gently. Kyle had ceased to thrust. He bent over her, hands on either side of her shoulders, looking at her. She felt like she should be embarrassed, but she felt far too glorious. "Beautiful," he said. "That was beautiful." She blushed like a sunset. "Oh, my god," she said. "I'm going to make you do that again," he told her. "Oh, my god," said Felicia. He took her right leg, lifted it, leaned back, and turned her over. Her breasts pressed nakedly into the wood of his desk. She could smell her sweat on the surface, could feel it slick beneath her. "You have a beautiful ass," said Kyle, caressing that portion of her anatomy. He started to fuck her again, slowly. "You have this pair of jeans – they're kind of faded, with one pocket half off – and they fit your ass so perfectly, it's like they cup it, it's like they love it. When you wore those to class, I couldn't even look at you, you were so gorgeous. I'd have to spend fifteen minutes waiting for my erection to go down after class was over. And now…" He ran his hands over her again, and he began to speed up. "And now," his voice went lower, "now it's right here, in front of me. Your beautiful, rounded, ass." His fingers bit into her, and she gasped, her fingers curling. She was starting to warm up again, her much-abused clitoris twitching. He thrust harder now, lifting her hips up to meet him. He was going deep, she could feel him right up to the very end of her cunt, and it hurt, but it hurt in a good way. She gasped again as he tilted her pelvis and went even deeper. She clawed at the desk. He pulled back, bent over her. "Is it good?" he whispered. "Is that okay?" "Yes," she said. "Yes." "You like it," he said, his mouth right next her ear. "You like that it hurts a little, is that how it is, Felicia?" "Yes," she said. She didn't seem capable of saying anything else. He bit gently at her ear. "I can hurt you, if that's what you want. A little, or a lot. It's up to you." She felt dizzy, she was so turned on. Her whole body felt like it was on fire. "Yes," she said. "Okay," he said. "Okay." His weight left her back, and then he started to fuck her again, dragging her back against him, forcing her ass in the air. She went up on her tiptoes, and he put one hand on the back on her neck and the other on her left breast and began twisting the nipple. Deep. He was deep. Her face was pressed sideways against the desk, his hand gripping the nape of her neck heavily. His fingers pinched her nipple cruelly. He was gasping now as well, and the force of his thrusts were driving the desk across the floor. He staggered, swore, and then pulled out. She whimpered in protest. He pulled her off the desk and pushed her against the wall, facing him. He kissed her again, teeth and tongues clashing, and took her left leg under the knee and lifted it. His thrust drove her against the wall. He'd gathered her hands together in one of his, and now he pulled them above her head, pinning them there. His breath steepened, she could feel him near the brink, and it was driving her crazy. She strained, trying to get more of him, trying to get back to that shining edge. "Please, please, please," she whispered frantically. He turned his head into the side of her neck and bit her, hard, beneath the ear. She came again, again, whimpering, pulling desperately at her arms until he let her go. She wrapped herself around him like a vine as her orgasm subsided, her body rocking with his thrusting. She kissed his neck, his ear, his temple, let her hands slip down to his ass and feel the clenching muscles there. His breath was ragged. She felt possessive all of a sudden. "Kyle," she whispered, saying his name for the first time. "Kyle." At the sound of his name, he shuddered, put his mouth against her neck to smother a moan, and came. He collapsed forward against her, his forehead on her shoulder. They were both breathing heavily, both covered in sweat. Felicia became aware of her dress crumpled uncomfortably around her waist, of his pants tangling at their feet. Her panties were draped on the ledge of the chalkboard. The contents of his desktop were sprayed halfway across the floor. "Oh my god," he said suddenly. "We didn't use a condom." She patted his shoulder. "I'm on the pill," she said. "Jesus," he said. "What a thing to forget." "It's okay – " Felicia began. "It was stupid," he said, and then pulled away from her. He backed away and half tripped over his pants. He bent to pull them up, and Felicia, suddenly embarrassed, tugged urgently at her dress, trying to realign it. Her bra had disappeared somewhere, and her panties, when she retrieved them, were no more than rags. They sufficed, however, to catch the seepage between her legs. Another reason to remember the condom, she thought, partially horrified, and partially amused. There was traces of blood on the cloth when she inspected it. Oh. Right. Her virginity. "I'm sorry," he said. She looked at him. His face had closed down completely. He looked – angry, and ashamed. "Don't worry about it," she said quickly, flippantly. She felt suddenly sick. "I won't tell." "Felicia…" "It was my fault, anyway," she went on. "I kissed you. I'm the one who should be sorry." She turned away, tears spangling her vision. What had she thought would happen? He was an adult, he was a teacher, and she was just a stupid kid. "It was just sex," she said. "Stop that," he said, and grabbed her arm. "Oh, jesus christ, look at you." "What?" she said, wiping at her face. All the sweating and now tears – her face must be a Picasso painting by now. He touched her neck gently, where he'd bit her at the end. She winced a little and drew away and then put her own hand to it. It was going to be the mother of all hickeys, she could tell. A clump of hair fell down from her destroyed up-do. "Oh my god, I'm a wreck," she said, trying to pull away from him. "You aren't," he said. "You look – ravished." His voice had gone low and intimate again. "Are you really sorry?" she asked. She wanted to take back the words as soon as they were out. This could ruin his career, send him to jail, of course he – "Oh, hell. I should be," he said. "But I'm not." "Oh," she said. "Listen," he said. "You graduated today. Technically, there isn't any reason why we can't – why we shouldn't…" "What?" she said. "Date?" He looked at her for a moment, and then his face shut up tight again. "No. It's stupid," he said, shaking his head and stepping away. The light from the windows played over his naked torso, still shiny with his sweat. "You're going to college, you're going to meet a hundred boys there who will fall head over heels for you, be young with you, do all the things you're supposed to do when you're 18 and away from home the first time." "There's the summer," she offered. Her heart was leaping in her chest as hard as when she'd leaned in to kiss him that first time. He shook his head. "I can't – I don't want just the summer. I don't think I could do that, wave goodbye to you and know that you – no. No." "Well, I see that you have it all worked out." She bit the inside of her cheek savagely to keep from crying again. Her throat was aching. "So, uh, thanks for the memories, I guess?" Her lips quivered. "It was really special." She shoved the remnants of her underwear into her tiny purse, and headed for the door. He could clean up the mess. Or not. She didn't give a fuck either way. There was the fire door with the broken alarm down by the science labs. It was the stoner's usual hangout, but since they were in the bathroom tonight, maybe she had a chance at getting away without anyone seeing her. Thank god I brought my own car, she thought. "Wait. Wait!" He grabbed her arm again as she was reaching for the door handle. "What?" she said furiously. She was crying for real now, she couldn't help it. She couldn't look at him. And she'd thought that being dumped by Brian had been humiliating. "What do you want? Di-didn't you get e-everything already?" "Oh, shit," he said, and then he kissed her. She was drowning, she could taste her tears on his mouth, his chest bare and slick beneath her hands. The smell of him filled the universe. He broke the kiss, and leaned his forehead against hers. "You win," he said. "For the summer, for a month, for a goddamn hour… I want you." She closed her eyes. "Okay," she said. "I'm going to take you home," he said. "Oh," she said. "My home," he clarified. "Oh," she said, happy. "You should probably put your shirt on then." "Shit," he said, and she giggled madly. He collected his undershirt and then his shirt, cursing again at the three missing buttons on it. He stuck his head out into the hall, looked both ways, and then pulled her out. "Wait, what about the – " she waved her hand back at the scattered papers and sundry other desk debris. "Hell with that," he said. "Let them assume a couple of kids broke in and trashed the place." He shut the door without locking it, and they hurried down the hall together. The fire exit was deserted. They made it to his car without seeing anyone other than a couple of tux-suited kids smoking across the parking lot, their backs to the school. "Are you sure you want to do this?" Kyle asked her as he started the engine. "You could go back, enjoy the rest of prom…" "No," she said. She looked at him and smiled. "I think I'm done with that now." Last Lesson Ch. 02 She didn't see the garage. She didn't see the living room, or the hall, or the bedroom. The minute they hit the door they were kissing, stumbling through his house on their way to – where? Kyle hit the lights and she saw they were in the bathroom. "I thought you might want to shower," he said. "Oh, god," she said. "I must smell like a linebacker." He began unbuttoning his shirt. "I'll make sure to scrub every crevice," he assured her. She nearly fell getting out of her shoes. The dress ended up in the sink. He dragged her into the shower stall while still trying to get out of his underwear and they hit the tiled wall, giggling helplessly. His hands roamed her back, up into her hair, to hold her still for another of those brain-melting kisses. He turned on the water one-handed, still kissing her, and the sudden spray of cold water made them jump apart. She made a shrieky, gasping noise. "Sorry, sorry," he muttered, desperately adjusting the tap. The cold had made his cock flag a bit, and she found herself staring, fascinated by the way the skin on his balls tightened and moved. Before she could think about it too much and lose her nerve, she went to her knees and took him in her mouth. "Oh, Jesus." She rolled her eyes upward, afraid she'd done something wrong, but he didn't look upset. Unless she was reading that wild-eyed look wrong. "Don't stop," he gasped, and she rolled his cock further in, using her tongue to feel along the ridge of flesh on the underside. He was faintly salty, and she wondered if it was him or herself she was tasting. Further, until she felt her gag reflex stirring, then out almost to the tip, then back in again, curling her tongue upward, pressing him against the roof of her mouth, trying to be careful of her teeth. Was she doing this right? One half-hysterical giggling conversation at Lyn's house during a sleepover two years ago suddenly seemed like not enough to go on. Suddenly, Kyle banged his head twice against the wall, and bit his arm. She drew back, alarmed. He looked down just as the tip of his cock came out, dragging her bottom lip down. "Jesus," he said again. "Ok, now stop. Holy shit." He pulled her upward. "Did I do it right?" she asked. "You looked…" "You did it – just right. I don't want to think what you'll be like with practice. I'll probably have a heart attack." She grinned, half embarrassed, half-proud. "God, you are adorable," he said, and kissed her, turning her so that she was pressed up against the wall he'd been leaning on. The kiss was long, and deliberate, and his fingers did things in her hair, in the hollows behind her ears, down the nape of her neck, until she was near swooning, all her nerve endings abuzz with sensation. Her knees were wobbly. Her hands slid down his arms, feeble and lax. "Put your leg around me," he said into her right ear. She found the will somewhere to lift it, and he put a hand into the crook of her knee to support her. He bent a little and then he was sliding his cock up the inside of her leg. A small shift of her hips, and he was – there. She was swollen and sensitive, still, and slightly sore. But also wet. He came into her smoothly, slowly, and it was so intense that she lost track of the rest of her body. She was her cunt, nothing more, and he was scraping past her abused tissues in a maddening yet satisfying way that was driving her insane. It hurt. It was exactly what she needed. "Oh, jesus, still so tight," he groaned into her hair. "Tight, oh god, you tight little – ah!" Her hips jerked and he clamped his hands onto her hips and began to fuck her. Slowly. Frustrated, wanting, she racked her nails down his back. He hissed. "Do it," she said, low and rough. "Ah! Do it." "Who's in charge, here?" he asked breathlessly, but sped up. Not fast enough. She leaned into him and bit him, hard, right where he'd bitten her in the classroom, on his desk, on the teacher's desk. He let out a choked cry, and then he was pounding her against the wall, hard and fast, faster. "Bitch," he said gutterally. "Yes," she moaned. She ran her hands up into his hair and closed her fists in it, yanking. He was fucking her so hard now that he drove her punishingly against the wall with each thrust. It hurt. He was hurting her, and oh god it was so hot. She came, screaming. He came, all the tendons standing out on his neck, a vein pulsing frantically in his temple. They collapsed together to the shower floor. Last Lesson Ch. 03 When Felicia woke, it took her a moment to remember where she was. She was in a double bed, the sheets dark navy with pale blue pinstripes. The walls were a soft grey, the floors hardwood, with heavy, dark furniture accentuating the basic male nature of the room. Her eyes fell on the white shirt draped over a chair. The first three buttons were missing. Oh, right. She sat up abruptly, clutching the sheets to her naked chest. She was alone in the bed, and when she ran her hand over the other side, the sheets were cool. Where was Kyle? She swung her legs to the floor and then paused, wincing. However she had felt about it at the time, she was paying the price for two – no, three – bouts of hot, vigorous, sex now. Her cunt ached. Her labia felt stepped on. She dropped the sheet and looked down at nipples still red and swollen looking. She looked up again and saw herself in the mirror above his armoire. Her hair was a tangled mess, smashed flat on one side and poofed out on the other. Her makeup was entirely gone – the shower they'd taken together when they'd gotten here had finished that job – and her face looked bare and young. Her eyes were wide. Her lips were puffy with last night's kisses. She stood up, wincing again. She was in track and field, and did yoga every Saturday with her mom, but her butt and the inside of her thighs were sore and stiff. "I guess sex uses different muscles," she muttered to herself, and then had a fit of the giggles. Where the hell was Kyle? She retrieved the button-impaired shirt, spent two minutes grooming her terrible hair into a French braid, and went to the door. The hall smelled of coffee and bacon. She followed her nose. Kyle was in the kitchen, back to the door, scrambling eggs. He was shirtless. He was humming. She looked at him and had to smile. He was so cute and domestic. Nonetheless, this was the proverbial light of morning and she was seized with shyness. She suddenly recalled that she hadn't brushed her teeth. Just then he turned around, pan in hand. He saw her and stopped. They looked at one another for a moment and then he said, "Good morning." "Hi," she said and smiled hesitantly. "Hi," he said and smiled back at her. "How weird is this?" she asked with a nervous laugh, twisting the loose sleeves of the shirt in her fingers. He put the pan down and came towards her. She watched him come, watched how his muscles moved in his chest and stomach, and felt a wave of wanting come over her again. It was surreal, this was Mr. Adams, focus of many crushes at Verdale High, funny but tough, he'd given her a B+ three weeks ago on her final assignment, he'd written one of her college letters of recommendation, for God's sake. And he was walking toward her with his shirt off, a look in his eyes that could only be described as "hungry." He stopped in front of her. "It's a little weird," he agreed. "But I woke up next to you, and I had no regrets." He brushed a tendril of hair away from her forehead. "I guess I'm crazy." He grinned at her. She reached out and put her fingertips on his left pectoral. "I guess I am too," she said. He touched her cheek lightly. She looked up at him. It was stupid, how shy she was feeling, how unsure. He'd seen her naked and now she didn't know how to get him to kiss her. "Want some breakfast?" he asked, and turned away to the table. "Sure," she said, cursing inwardly. She took a seat at the small table in the corner. A jug of orange juice and plates of bacon and toast shared the small space with a water glass stuffed full of marigolds. He came over, pan in hand. "Do you like eggs?" "Sure," she said. I don't know how to do this, she thought, as she ate her breakfast and watched him eat his. I don't know how to be the girlfriend of a – a man, with his own house and who can make scrambled eggs with cheese and spices and who owns a coffeemaker. What the hell am I doing here? "How is everything?" he asked. "It's good," she said, and smiled brightly at him. "What's wrong?" he said. "Nothing," she told him. "Why would something be wrong?" "You're giving me a "nothing's wrong" smile," he said. She stared at her plate. He was more perceptive than a teenaged boy, too. "I just – this is kind of…I don't know how to be…this is like, I don't know, some episode of Sex in the City, and I'm not very experienced with, you know…" "The morning after," he said. "Yeah." She put down her fork. "The breakfast was too much," he said, and shoved a hand through his hair. "I deliberated over the scrambled eggs." "No, no, I liked the eggs. The eggs were good," she said. "I don't have a lot of experience either," he said. "I was married to my wife for six years, and I never really dated anyone else." Felicia knew about his wife – the whole school knew, it was one of the romantic things about him. His wife had died, and he quit his plushy teaching job in New York and moved back to the town where he'd grown up. "It's been a long time since I brought anyone home for – breakfast," he said. He put his fork down too. "I guess I'm not doing very well at it." "I liked the breakfast," said Felicia. She put her hand across the table and touched his fingers. He turned his hand and took hers. "I should have ditched the idea, and just made love to you again," he said, a smile tugging at his lips. She blushed but couldn't stop her own smile. "I don't know about that. I'm sort of – sore." Her blush grew fiercer. "Oh really?" he said. He looked unbearably smug all of a sudden. "I guess the third time I should have been a bit more careful." She remembered it, her hands clinging to his headboard, his grunting, pounding, heat draped across her back. It was a full-body flashback, and she let out a small, heated breath. He was watching her, his eyes filled with knowledge, and she couldn't look away from him, even as she flushed redder. He got up, and she watched him come around the table, helpless and docile as a rabbit gone tharn. He knelt down on the kitchen floor in front of her. "Sore, huh?" he said quietly, eyes intent. "Well, I only have one option, then." He slid his hands up under the shirt as he spoke, pushing it toward her waist. She caught at his wrists. "Wait, what are you doing?" She giggled nervously. "It's – broad daylight. In your kitchen. Don't…" She broke off with a gasp as he pushed his thumb between her thighs and parted her labial folds gently. "No one will see you but me," he told her, leaning in. Her thighs parted instinctively to admit his body. He kissed her slowly and thoroughly, his thumb working slowly and thoroughly down below, and by the time he pulled away again she was limp and quivering, her hips lifting slightly at every stroke. Her eyes were shut, and when he moved away she assumed it was to take off his pants. His hands tugged at her hips and she slid forward on the chair, eyes still shut, mind still swimming in the warm pink sea of arousal. When his tongue touched her, she nearly leapt off the seat. His hands clamped down, though, pinning her, and now his lips closed – oh, so gently, so deliberately – around her sensitive, much-abused clitoris, teasing and teasing. She was going to go insane. His delicacy, his soft, careful movements, his strong hands holding her still. Her spine bowed, she clutched at the table. She was making some kind of noise, she knew, a breathy almost-whine. "Ohh," she said, "ohhhhh." He plunged his tongue into her, curled it upward, drew it out and then up against her clit in a flat, muscular motion. She shuddered. He did it again, and then again, and then she came, long and slow like a wave breaking and breaking against a shore, the rush of the water, the hiss and coil of the foam, and then the gradual sinking drain back out to sea. "Oh, god," she said to the ceiling. She was sprawled in the chair, the slats digging uncomfortably into her back. One leg was draped over his shoulder. When had that happened? She looked down. He was resting his head against her thigh and smiling at her. His mouth and chin were wet. Unabashedly, he took a napkin off the table and wiped his face. She was sure that no one could blush this hard and live through it. Her head was going to explode. "Ok?" he asked her. "Um," she said, and shoved herself up into the chair again, tugging desperately at the shirt hem. "Are you embarrassed?" he asked her, sounding astonished. "Um," she said again. "Listen," he said, and leaned into her. She could smell herself, faintly, on his breath, and was undone by it. Shame and desire swept through her in equal portions, fighting for supremacy. "I don't ever want you to feel like you have to do anything," he told her seriously. "You can tell me to stop, it doesn't matter when. I will." He'd shaved that morning, she could see. He'd missed a spot near his ear. His eyes, in the morning light, were clear and grey and sincere. Desire won out. "Don't stop," she told him, and began to unbutton the shirt. "Don't stop."