6 comments/ 44970 views/ 14 favorites Late for Class Ch. 01 By: Inksplat All characters mentioned in the story are over 18 years of age. ************ I jog down the corridor, my heavy backpack banging painfully against my hipbone. It's eight fifteen. Late. Again. Why am I always late? I ask myself as I approach the door to the classroom and hastily swing it open. Still out of breath, I am greeted by the calm face of my English teacher Mr. Madson, and the vaguely spiteful silent mass of students curious of the late newcomer. "Ah, good morning Sara. I see you still do not think it necessary to be on time to my class. If I didn't know better, I'd start taking it rather personally." He says, raising his eyebrows. "I'm sorry, sir, my alarm was-" "No, that's fine. Just sit down. I've been teaching high school students for twenty years now. I've heard it all. However, I am giving you detention this afternoon to give you a chance to make up for the time you lost." "But-" He turned back to the class and continued with his lecture, completely ignoring me. "As I was saying, the Elizabethan age was arguably..." No chance. I sigh inwardly and try to make myself as small as possible while taking my seat. For the first two weeks of the new school year, I had always been late to this class. Every tuesday, I'd hear my alarm (surprise surprise: it's not the problem), look at my schedule and remember. English class. And I would try, I would really try not to, but I just had to think about those eyes, piercing me with their intelligent gaze, those sharp cheekbones, and god, that voice... And I'd think: I'm going to be late to class if I masturbate. And then I'd think: What if I was leaning against my locker and he suddenly pressed his chest against my chest and I could smell his cologne and feel his warmth through his starched shirt and then, what if he kissed me and I would tilt my head upwards to meet his urgent lips and run my hands through his hair... And then, well, I would be late. Right now I am in my seat, feeling the lingering moisture in my underwear. I get out my schoolbooks, one by one. My pen. Notebook. I concentrate on placing each item quietly and neatly on my desk. I try to occupy my entire consciousness with that task. Otherwise, I would be left to wonder. Detention?This afternoon? I keep my eyes glued to my desk. Eye contact at this stage would be fatal. I've never seen him wear a wedding ring. At the front of the class, Mr. Madson going on and on about Shakespeare. "...has proved to be one of the most significant literary influences to this very day. So significant, in fact..." I'd shake your spear, sir. Wow, I need to stop. Another problem about my morning routine on tuesdays was getting dressed. I would take ages to pick out the most basic outfit. I'd also half-subconsciously started wearing more and more revealing clothing. One week into the new school year I'd gone shopping. Mini-skirts, tight button down blouses, tank tops, skin-tight everything. Hey, these boobs had to be good for something, right? One day even my friend Kate had widened her eyes in a "I'm-not-going-to-say-anything-but-you-look-like-a-slut-dear" kind of look when I'd met up with her in font of the school building. "You trying to impress someone?" She had asked me. "Just you." I'd said with a wink. "Well then drop the blouses, they definitely don't live up to my buff-kickboxing-lesbian-fantasy." She'd laughed. I'd jokingly half kick-boxed a passing kid in my mini-skirt, which, if this were a cheesy manga, would have given the group of freshmen standing him behind a massive collective nosebleed. Kate and I high-fived. I smile at the memory, scribbling circles into my notebook. This is notably something Mr. Madson hates but which I can get away with due to my strategic positioning of my arm and the fact that my seat is in the last row. All that dressing up, and for what? Not a glance had ever betrayed even the most miniscule bit of interest from him. But now there was the detention. The more I think about it, the more the minutes seem to drag. It is, unfortunately, perfect fantasy material. Him, me, an empty classroom, and so many desks. Mmm... About three millenia later, the bell rings. With the ever-surprising sudden speed and energy similar to a herd of gazelles being startled into a stampede my classmates grab their stuff and and scramble out of the room. Me, I'm in the last row, and daydreaming, of course. Books back into bag. Get up. Mr. Madson is busy packing up as well. Okay, he doesn't see me. I imitate a sports commentator's voice in my head. Sara Friedman, making her way past the last desk between her and the door, Marcus Madson not looking, she takes one more step, and another, she's almost out, and- "Sara, could you wait a moment?" fail. I try to calm myself and turn around. "Yes?" I ask shakily. "Your detention will be held here this afternoon. You will be analyzing "A Midsummer night's dream. And please," he looks me in the eye. "Don't be late." I nod. "I won't." When my classes are finally over I make my way the english classroom with shaking legs and some underwear which is decidedly not dry. I have no illusions about my current capability to analyze shakespearean drama. In front of the door, I hesitate. Should I knock? For some reason it seems appropriate. I wonder what he's doing in there all alone. I mean, he could be touching himself... I imagine my teacher unzipping his pants to take out his hard member, and gently closing his hand around it to stroke it. His eyes drifting shut to imagine he's thrusting into me while moving his hand faster and faster, until he comes with a shudder, releasing his glistening semen onto his desk. I shake my head free of the mental image and knock on the door. "Come in." His low voice sends shivers down my spine. I enter the room and see him sitting behind his desk, his back straight, a mild smile on his lips. "Ah, Sara. Do sit down." I close the door behind me softly, hearing it click into place heavily. I instinctively head for my regular desk at the back of the room, but when Mr. Madson sees me head that way, he stops me. "No need to sit all the way back there. After all, it's just the two of us." The words echo in my head. Just the two of us. And I turn around to sit at the desk directly opposite his own. I take out my battered school-issued copy of "A midsummer night's dream" and cast a furtive glance at the man sitting in front of me. In the late afternoon sun, his tousled hair has a golden touch. He sits leaning on one elbow over some papers, concentration furrowing his brow slightly. His white shirt is wrinkled around his elbows but apart from that precisely ironed. A row of buttons traces a line down his broad chest. I can see the sunlight emphasize his square jawline, the stern turn of his lips. I keep looking at him until he looks up from his work, completely unfazed by my obvious staring. "Oh, why haven't you started Sara? I already told you what your exercise is, didn't I?" I feel the blood rush to my face. "Uh yeah, yes you did, sir. I'm sorry. I'm just a bit tired after trying to concentrate in my classes all day. I'll get started." "Good." I clumsily get out the rest of my things and start paging absent-mindedly through my book. Oh my god I AM SUCH AN IDIOT. I want to hit myself in the face with the book. I scrawl a couple of sentences and stare at the clock over the blackboard. Tick. Tick. Tick. The longer I sit there, not working, just sitting there alone with him, the more I can feel the heat and the wetness in my underwear. Tick. Tick. Tick. I can feel myself pulsating with need. I check to see if he is looking. He seems to be completely absorbed in his work. I slip one of my hands under the desk. Another glance. No change. I slowly press my two forefingers down between my thighs to touch myself through my skirt. I am terrified of what will happen if he were to look up right now. I would die. Or worse, be expelled. I think and then suppress a sigh of pleasure as I start slowly moving my fingers over my clit. I bite my lip and spread my legs apart a little so I can reach under my skirt. I realize now. I want him to see. If he would only look up... I rub my hand back and forth over my mound and use my other hand to lightly rub my nipple through my shirt. The thrill of knowing I could be caught at any second, and, what's more, half wanting to be caught is enormously arousing. I shudder slightly at the feelings I'm causing myself with my hands. I rock my abdomen backwards and forwards slightly, increasing the friction. With my other hand, I pinch my nipple lightly and continue to rub my fingers back and forth over it quickly. I have to bite my lip hard not to let out a moan right then and there. Just then I realize my eyes have drifted shut. I open then, alarmed, only to be staring directly into the eyes of my teacher. I freeze, stunned, terrified of his reaction. I can only imagine what I must have looked like to him at that moment. A young girl, flushed with arousal, one hand shoved between her legs and the other fingering her nipple. There was no doubt he could see exactly what was going on under the desk. My soaked underwear, he could probably even smell the scent of my vagina where he was sitting. "Sara...what are you doing?" he asks with apparent difficulty. My mind seems to race yet is blank at the same time. "I...I can't help it...sir." I manage to say hoarsely. "I want you." Late for Class Ch. 02 All characters mentioned in the story are over 18 years of age. *********** Chapter two An awful silence stretches out between us, broken only by the ticking of the clock. Finally Mr. Madson clears his throat. "I don't think I heard you correctly." He states with a slightly pained expression. "You did." I whisper. "Ah." He says. We continue to stare at each other for another unbearable moment. "Sara you know-" "ugh, I KNOW, OKAY?" I shout, suddenly angry. Angry at him for being so dammed emotionless, so patronizing. Angry at myself for hoping for some sort of sexual advance from my own teacher. Angry I got caught and then got rejected. Angry at how much I wanted him while still wanting him, wanting him, wanting him. I take a deep breath. "Listen. I know it's wrong. I know I'm just some dumb, desperate, hormonal teenager who has an idealized image of an older authority figure. I know you would never even consider taking advantage of one of one of your students, that you could lose your job, your reputation. I know I'm too young for someone your age. I really do know all of it, sir. But...it really doesn't change anything." I finish with a sigh. And there, for the first time since I met him, my eloquent, quick-witted english teacher, that master of language, seems to be lost for words. I stare him directly in the eyes, defiantly. "I see." He says, slightly taken aback. With one hand he slowly strokes his chin, as if contemplating a mildly interesting article in a magazine. "Is that seriously all you have to say?" I ask, my voice rising without me noticing. "You just don't give a fuck, do you?" I shout, the curse word hanging in the air between us like a knife. At least that made him look slightly uncomfortable. "Us students, we're just all the same to you, aren't we?" I go on. "Just cattle in a herd. One never-ending mass of pimply, lazy, spoiled kids." I spit at him and get up from my seat, angrily pulling my skirt down and stomping around the desks to stand in front of him. "No matter what I do-" I sit down on his lap, straddling him. "-It's just another-" I start unbuttoning my blouse. "-crazy-" three more buttons open "-teenager thing. isn't it, Mr. Madson?"I open the last couple of buttons and fling off my blouse. He stares at me, wide-eyed, shocked at the sudden intrusion of his lap and the view presented to him. "What do you think you're-" "No matter what happens, you always have to keep your distance from us." I lean my upper body towards him, my cleavage inches from his face. "Emotionally-" I slowly unclasp my bra. "And...physically." I say, as my bra drops to the ground and my teacher stares, awe-struck, at my naked breasts, the nipples sticking out pink and hard, almost touching his cheek. Almost. I lower my head to look him in the eye. "Tell me right here and right now you don't want want to fuck my brains out right here in this classroom." He swallows. "Tell me..." I start slowly, ever so so slowly, to rub my crotch against his. "...you're not gonna take this chance." And through our clothes, I notice he's noticed. I rub myself against him a little faster, a little harder. "Oh...god! You feel so good." I moan, my wet mound rubbing against the stiffness in his pants. "Tell me you want me to stop...oh!" I yell softly, a jolt of pleasure sending a shudder up my spine. The whole time Mr. Madson is looking at me, not touching me actively but not stopping me either. A painfully aroused expression is on his face. "Tell me you don't want to shove your hard cock into my pussy." I whisper into his ear, bucking my hips faster against him. "Sara, we..can't..." He moans, but he's moving his hips against me. I stop. Get up from his lap. "Oh. Well, if that's your answer." I say, stiffly, and move to pick up my clothes. "Sara, wait!" But I'm already pulling on my clothes again. "No, no. You're right. Really. Well it looks like my hour is up anyway, so.." I head for the door. Just as I'm about to turn the handle, I see a hand stemmed against the door, blocking my way. I can feel his presence behind me, tall, strong, breathing heavily. I turn around slowly. And this is what I hear him tell me: "I just want to say...you're not all the same to me." And then he's pressing me against the wall. And my head, my head is spinning so fast, I don't know what is happening. Did that really just happen? Have I actually understood...? And his lips, the lips I've fantasized about, are pressing against mine with an intensity and need stronger than I ever could have imagined. And then I feel a hand brushing the inside of my naked thigh, brushing my skin lightly right up under my skirt to the edge of my underwear, and I moan as the hand starts rubbing my clit a couple of times before slipping two fingers along the edge and pushing the fabric out of the way. The eyes of my teacher are piercing as he pulls away from our kiss to look me straight in the face as he slips two of his fingers into my wet pussy, thrusting them in further and further as my wetness starts slowly running down my leg. He curls his fingers I gasp and moan as my knees almost give way at the unexpected pleasure of his fingers deep inside me. "Fuck...yes...ohhhh..." I throw my head back and wrap my arms around his shoulders in my ecstasy. Finally he stops to open his pants, pulling out his erect member, the tip already glistening with pre-cum. "I'm going to fuck you until you scream my name." He murmurs huskily into my hear. "But first I want you to suck my cock, you little slut." Attracted to the idea of feeling Mr. Madson's hard prick in my mouth, I quickly kneel down in front of him so that his cock is in front of my face. I admire its length, the foreskin pulled back to reveal the round, shiny tip; the base disappearing into a cloud of curly hair. I put my hand out eagerly and wrap it around the base, lightly at first, then with more pressure. I move it up and down a couple of times, feeling it twitch and pulsate in my hand. Then I lick my lips and push my mouth down around his cock, letting it part my lips to engulf his length. I feel his warm cock deep inside my mouth and start running my tongue over the tip, flicking it over the slit and twirling it around the sides. Mr. Madson groans and thrusts lightly with his hips. Feeling him inside my mouth and hearing him groan like that makes me need to run my fingers over the wet, slippery surface of my clit while still swirling my tongue over him. I start to bob my head up and down together with my hand and tighten my lips around him, causing him to moan. He is thrusting into my mouth more quickly now, pushing his cock deeper and deeper. I gag when it reaches my throat but try to control the reflex, hoping, -wanting- to make him come into my mouth. I am still rubbing myself frantically between my legs when he suddenly grabs the back of my head and pulls me with all force towards him, suddenly forcing his entire length down my throat. At that moment, I feel him shudder and shoot his warm sperm down my throat. After a few seconds, he pulls out slowly and I taste the last salty drops of his sperm. Greedily, I lick him clean, pumping my hand to make him hard again. "Ohh, Sara...can't you give me a minute's rest?" He protests, out of breath. In response I take his prick out out my mouth with a sucking noise and run the tip of my tongue along its entire length, licking it top to bottom before smothering it with my mouth again. "God!" he gasps, "I guess that's a no, then." I continue working him with my hand and sucking him off until he gently pulls me up to his face to plant a kiss on my lips. "You should stop now if you want some of me left for that hot cunt of yours." He murmurs against my lips, letting the tips of his fingers drift over my breasts, sending shocks of pleasure all the way to my core. "Did you like drinking up my cum, you dirty girl? Did you like the tasting my cock in your mouth?" "Yes." I whimper, desperate for him to fuck me. "Yes, sir." He intones. "Yes...sir!" I gasp, shocked, as grabs me by the ass and lifts me up onto a desk with him. He is sitting at the edge, me on his lap, and my wet slit is pressed against his cock. He meets my lust-crazed gaze. "There will be no going back from this." He says, quietly, intensely. I can barely think due to the feeling of this cock against my naked pussy. "Please," I somehow manage to say, panting. "Please just fuck me, Mr. Madson." His gaze never leaving mine, he guides the head of his cock into my slick entrance. I've lifted myself up onto my tip-toes and now slowly lower myself onto him while he helps by shifting his hips forwards. Inch by inch, his hot length pushes into me, stretching the walls of my pussy tightly around his rod and impaling me to the hilt. I let out a soft cry as I feel his whole cock hot and throbbing inside me. Mr. Madson...you're so...big." I whimper. He lets out a low chuckle. Then he takes me in his arms and lays me on the desk. He leans over me, one hand on each side of my face, then pulls out a little, only to ram himself inside me fully, making me cry out. He repeats this, once, twice, three times. I lose count after that. He's rubbing my clit while he's thrusting inside my hungry pussy and after a couple more strokes I'm gone, I'm shuddering, I'm arching my back, I'm digging my fingernails into his his back as I float on the wave of the orgasm caused by my teacher slamming his dick into my cunt. I didn't know I was making a sound but suddenly there's a hand on my mouth because I'm moaning, I'm screaming his name while Mr. Madson continues to pound me furiously without so much as a pause, the wooden desk quaking beneath us. But I have to bite that hand because I'm coming again -or still coming-, all over his dick pounding inside me, coming as he stops pounding to push himself all the way inside me and shoot his hot cum into my cunt with a shudder, coming with him, coming with an unrestrained cry as his dick fills me up. He's collapsed on top of me and we're panting on the wobbly desk, half naked and half delirious, and I leave my eyes closed and let my mind go blank, and I smell the familiar smell of the classroom with its chalk dust and its faint hint of generic lemon cleaning-agent, and closer the heavy, unmistakable smell of sex. And there we are, peaceful in our immorality. Two floating clouds, untouchable. But the thing we don't know, the thing that would change everything, is during summer vacation the principal had security cameras installed in every classroom.