Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/3953365.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Original_Work
  Relationship:
      Dr._Richard_Foster/Emma_White
  Additional Tags:
      Mildly_Dubious_Consent, Teacher-Student_Relationship, Manipulative
      Relationship, Age_Difference, Power_Dynamics, Power_Imbalance, Spanking,
      Creepy_Fluff, Sexual_Coercion, Smutlet, Smut, Possessive_Behavior
  Series:
      Part 1 of The_Physics_Teacher
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-05-17 Words: 3890
****** Extra Credit in Physics ******
by Professional_Creeper
Summary
     She used to fantasize about her nerdy physics teacher. When he
     started showing an intimidating level of interest in her, her crush
     turned to dread. What if he tries to go after her? Or worse still-
     - what if he doesn't?
Notes
     Underage warning to be safe. I'm being very clear that she's a
     senior, and therefore at least 17 years old, which is the age of
     consent in most states.
     (If you want help picturing Dr. Foster, look up Brad Dourif in
     Nightwatch, Alien Resurrection, or Senseless.)
     This is essentially a story about a teacher trying to be a
     manipulative creep and failing. And then sex.
 
In a way, I was looking for trouble when it found me.
My footsteps clapped on the floor, echoing against the walls. After school
clubs had long been let out, so I had no real reason to still be here. I just
didn't want to go home to another screaming match with my mother, while she
slowly drank herself to sleep. Could you blame me? So I liked to stick around,
until one by one, each buzzing fluorescent light went out.
The doors only locked from the outside, so I could stay as late as I wanted
without getting stuck as long as I wasn't caught. I knew by now which corridors
to take to avoid being seen by janitors or late-working teachers. Except today,
someone was following me.
I felt his eyes on me before I saw him. I know, it's not possible to
feelsomeone's eyes burning into your back, but I swear, somehow I did. Perhaps
I heard the echoing of his soft footsteps against the poured marble floor, so
quiet only my subconscious recognized it. Or perhaps his piercing blue eyes
truly held some magic that could be felt.
I didn't look behind me, but I knew he was there and I knew who he was. There
was only one man who could be in the school this late, tailing me with
footsteps as silent as a cat hunting a mouse.
I lengthened my stride, trying to put some distance between us. A voice in my
head repeated hopefully, “he can't really be following me”. It was my
imagination. It was all a dark, morbid fantasy, and the fluttering of my heart
behind my sternum like moths trapped inside a light fixture was only the result
of watching too many crime dramas.
As soon as I got some distance between us, I would see that he wasn't trying to
keep pace with me. It was only coincidence that he was taking the same path as
me. This couldn't really be happening.
But it wasreally happening.
No matter which empty corridor I picked, I could feel him, at a distance,
always just behind the last corner, always casually there, as if he wasn't
following me at all and just happened to end up where he was. Except there was
no reason for a science teacher to be stalking a circuitous route around the
school after nearly everyone else had gone home. No reason, except for the one
I had both feared and desired for months.
Dr. Foster always stared at me in class. It made me feel stupid. “He must think
I'm not paying attention,” I thought when it first started. Sometimes I
doodled, it was true, but it didn't mean I wasn't listening. I did not want to
feel stupid in front of him. I wanted him to know how brilliant I thought he
was.
For one thing, he was way too smart to be teaching. Most high school teachers,
even for advanced placement senior classes, don't have doctorates. I thought it
was just good luck that I had a teacher so qualified, but now I have to wonder
if the reason he doesn't have a better job has something to do with his
personality.
The rest of the class liked to laugh and joke about him in the hall, after the
bell rang for next period. He was too serious about the subject and often
tangented off into stuff that was too advanced for the high school level. I was
excited to hear about the interesting high-level stuff.
A boy named Tyler, was held back from graduating thanks to a failing grade from
Dr. Foster last year. I was spitefully happy to hear about that, until I
realized it meant he'd be in my class senior year. Tyler is the kind of stupid
that blames the teacher, and not the fact that he never did any homework, for
failing. He would mock the way Dr. Foster got excited about experiments, and
loved to point out that he was taller than him and could “kick his ass” or
something. So fucking crass.
I felt so bad for Dr. Foster having to put up with that, especially when I
thought it was sweet the way he got so wrapped up in the science. I wanted him
to see that I was different.
He was detail-oriented, and this showed up in every aspect of him, from his
lectures to his appearance. Under a crisp white lab coat, he wore a freshly
pressed shirt and tie. His hair, like dark steel with hints of silver, was
always neatly slicked back. I had never found a teacher handsome before, but he
was. He looked like the brilliant but misunderstood genius running some
futuristic fusion reactor in a sci-fi movie.
That last bit should tell you something about how realistic I thought an actual
relationship with him would be.He was too old for me, and a teacher besides. I
was content with fantasizing. Still, I couldn't help noticing little
things,like how his eyes were a maelstrom on the ocean, the way my heart
skipped a beat when his fingers brushed mine handing back a test, or how on
those fingers that brushed against mine, there was no sign of a ring.
These things I pondered on.
Then I noticed he was observing me, too. His eyes would linger on me longer
than was comfortable, and I could see his glance trail down my chest. It made
my skin crawl. Suddenly my innocent little fantasy was too real. A crush on a
teacher was one thing, but his prurient, demanding stares implied something I
was not ready for.
Maybe he was angry that I never returned his salacious gazes, because he began
to call on me in class often, and seemingly only for questions he knewI
couldn't answer. I could swear he took pleasure in humiliating me.
I knew he wanted me, badly, and he was just messed up enough that he might act
on it. I shouldn't have stayed at school after dark. But teachers always seemed
magically tethered to their classrooms. I had never considered that he might
actually come after me. Now, here I was, alone in an empty hallway, and behind
me two cold blue eyes bore into my back. Dr. Foster had no reason to be there
except to corner me and finally take what he wanted.
Heart racing, I paused.
Maybe that was what I had wanted all along. I imagined his hands caressing my
skin, his lips on my lips…
I pivoted on my heel and caught his blue eyes in mine as they peeked around the
corner. Screw it. This was happening.
“Dr. Foster” I began, striding up to face him, “what are you doing around the
school so late?”
For a second, he was caught completely off balance, as if he never expected I
would whip around and acknowledge him. The mouse turning on the cat. Cats,
however, always land on their feet.
“I'm a teacher, miss White, and I have every right to be here.” he bristled.
“You, on the other hand, do not. What are you doing here so late? I can only
assume delinquent behavior. I was hoping to catch you in the act, but I'm
afraid sending you home now will have to do.”
My breath caught in my throat. Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid!My god, I thought
he was predating on me, but really he just thinks I'm some stupid asshole like
those kids who don't take his class seriously. How can he really think that
about me?
I was about to cry and run home and never look him in the eye ever again, but
then I noticed. The corners of his lips were turned up just slightly in a
sadistic grin. It was more than just the smug triumph of a teacher
condescending to a “bad” student. I knew plenty of those. He saw how his words
stung me, and he liked it. His eyes were tracing invisible, unwanted fingers up
and down my flesh, pausing unsubtly on my breasts.
Every muscle in my body tensed as understanding dawned on me. I didn't want
them to, but I couldn't stop my hands from shaking.
Why should they shake like that? I wasn't scared. I swear, I wasn't scared.
“Are you sure you want me to go home?” I scarcely more than muttered.
“Excuse me?” he retorted, trying to sound confused, yet his sudden intake of
breath betrayed him.
I continued, voice shaking despite my utmost confidence in my words, “I thought
you were following me so you could trap me in some dark corner where nobody
would see us...”
There was no disguising the terror in his eyes, the mortified fury of a wolf
who's sheepskin had been ripped away. He stammered some excuses, tried to say
he didn't know what I could mean, yet he couldn't deny the accusation with the
true indignation of an innocent man.
Gotcha.
Yet my heart still pounded furiously in my chest, and my face felt so hot. My
mind was completely calm, really it was. It was just that my body was a flood
of adrenaline and hormones outside of my control. My hands still shook. My
throat felt tight. My face was feverishly hot with a blush red as a poison
apple.
“Do...” I began tentatively, “do you want to go somewhere nobody will see?”
He froze. Icy eyes stared at me with incredulity as if trying to figure out if
I'd really meant to say what he thought I said. He was so panicked right now,
like he had never expected things to get this far. It was adorable. I had spent
so long being scared of his intentions, but now his fear gave me confidence.
This was how easily the predator became tangled up in his own trap.
He was not a very tall man. His lips were easy to capture in mine, just by
leaning forward slightly, before he could think what was happening.
He tensed, and for a moment, I thought he would push me off of him and scream
at me for overstepping a line. But then his lips parted and yielded themselves
to me. His hands lightly traced my back, barely touching, as if unbelieving the
that I had surrendered myself so easily to his desires. That the lamb he had
merely fantasized about devouring laid itself willingly into his jaws.
Our blissful, trembling first kiss didn't last. He pulled back, looking
suspiciously over both shoulders. The halls were clear. Yet, they weren't safe.
Even a passing janitor could ruin them. He turned back to me with the
determined set to his face of a man about to jump from a plane. In an
authoritative voice that brokered no refusal, he said, “Follow me to the lab.”
 
**
 
Inside Dr. Foster's lab classroom, there was a science supply closet. It was a
large walk-in with cabinets full of various chemicals, and shelves packed with
boxes. There was a floor cabinet with a black table top to it, and this was
what he roughly pushed me on to after closing the door behind us.
I looked up at him with the wide eyes of a deer. I started to think, maybe this
was a bad idea after all. But then, his face appeared in front of mine, eager
for me, with that graying hair I'd often dreamed of stroking. When I realized I
could simply reach out now and feel his smooth locks beneath my hands, and
taste the sweetness of his mouth as he responded to my touch, I nearly purred
with delight.
He knelt down in front of the table, between my legs, parting them with his
rough hands. I felt his palms run up my thighs, lifting my pleated skirt as
they went. Then he slid my underpants down. I gasped. “What… what are you
doing?” I shrilled.
“Quiet.” he ordered. Then, parting my thighs with his hands, he slipped his
tongue like a serpent into my warm, tender slit.
“Oh!” I cried out, gasping, as he slid his wet tongue back and forth over me,
taking long sensuous daughts, and then flicking the tip of his tongue rapidly
over just the small nub that sent electric fire surging through every part of
my body. I had seen this in porn before, but nothing could prepare me for the
real thing. The warm, wet, comfort of his mouth sucking and licking me hungrily
made my body explode with sensation. Blood coursed between my legs wherever his
tongue went, until I was dripping with wetness. I could do nothing but cry out
soft, helpless cries and grip the edge of the table, whimpering. I had to close
my eyes. It was like nothing else in the world existed except for the intense
feeling between my legs, driving tension through my whole body, my need growing
until all I cared about was reaching the point where I would break. He growled
into me, gripping my thighs, nibbling with his lips, circling his tongue over
my wet folds at a ravenous pace. Oh, I wanted him to devour me. I wrapped my
legs around his back, forcing him ever closer until his lips closed over my
clitoris, sucking it hard while still swirling his tongue around the glowing
center that controlled me. With a cry, I broke hard like waves crashing against
a levee. Wave after wave ravaged my whole body as the ocean smashed through my
walls, and I drowned in the tide as it washed over me.
The doctor was still between my weak and shaking legs as I came back to
reality, opening my eyes, gasping for air.
I felt done. He was just getting started.
I stared, unbelieving, as he freed his cock from his pants. It was full, and
hard, and the manic look to the doctor's eyes said there was no stopping the
eager penetration he had waited for. My body still trembled like weak gelatin.
I had no resistance left in me when he grabbed my arms and pinned them to the
desk, behind my back. The rounded pink head of his cock rubbed delicately
against my folds. My spent clitoris ached with the half-pleasure of over-
stimulation, and another wave shook me. Then he moved it over my opening, wet
and inviting, and pressed in to me. “Oh!” I cried, suddenly shocked awake
again, gripping my fingernails into his hand where they still held me firm to
the table as he filled me with his hard shaft. I enveloped him, reveling in the
pressure. This felt wonderful. I thought I was done after he made me come, but
the difference in sensation of being penetrated gave me a second wind.
Then all of a sudden, he stopped.
“This isn't your first time, is it?” he asked me, darkly.
Oh, god. No. Is that a problem? I could only stare in horror and shake my head.
Fucking Tyler. He was in the grade above me at the time, so I didn't know him
well. I mistook his glasses for brains, and his shaggy hair for a sensitive
spirit. We went on two dates, had lousy, painful sex, and then I caught him the
next week hitting on some other girl. The fact that he hated Dr. Foster was
probably what drew me to the doctor in the first place.
Now, he frowned like he realized I wasn't as perfect and innocent as he wanted.
I was dirty. I couldn't believe it. I felt so stupid for letting that boy ruin
me for someone who was really worth it.
“I'm sorry” I all but sobbed, “there's nothing I can do about it. I wish I
could change it. I wish you could have had my first time.” I wanted so
desperately for him to want me. Was this all going to be over now?
His expression collapsed at my plea, and I couldn't tell what it was he was
thinking; but he flipped me over and bent me over the table. He pulled my skirt
off entirely and let it pool around my ankles. His hand caressed the roundness
of my buttocks as they were embarrassingly presented. Then the hand lifted up
and flew down again like a switch, clapping against my skin.
“You're a bad girl.” he growled lowly. Then he was inside me, his hard cock
filling me from behind. I screamed with the surprise and pain of being so
suddenly penetrated. He thrust into me savagely, digging his fingers into my
hips as he gripped them, pulling me onto his hardness as far as it could go.
“Have you done it in this position before?” he demanded.
“N..no!” I shrieked. His cock bumped uncomfortably against my cervix from this
angle. It hurt a little bit, and stretched me in a way I wasn't used to, but it
also put pressure on new and interesting places. I felt completely helpless to
his will.
“Good.” he replied coldly, and began a merciless barrage into me, reveling in
the screams and cries I made on every stroke. His fingers gripped painfully
into my hips as he thrust uncontrollably, pulling me against him harder,
drawing me in deep.
I realized he was muttering something, a constant low mumble, barely audible. I
strained to hear the words. It was an aimless string- a some were guilty
confessions, some idolizing observations about my body. Some were so filthy I
blushed, despite already being bent over a desk with a teacher having his way
with me.
 
Then he called me a whore.
 
“Hey! No!” I cried indignantly and struggled against him. His arms clamped down
on me like steel, not allowing me to get away. He thrust into me with fevered
violence, now growling out his string of words uninhibited, “You whore. You
little slut. Making me do this to you. I could lose my job over this. Because
of you. You're a bad--” his hand came down hard on my ass, “--bad girl.” I
gasped, heart fluttering. Again, a loud smack filled the small closet, “a very
bag girl.” He repeated it over and over like a mantra, punctuating each “bad
girl” with a slap that stung my buttocks, spreading a pink glow across my skin
that tingled like a hundred pins and needles.
It's hard to explain, but somehow being spanked and called a bad girl makes you
feel like less of a bad girl. Maybe that's the whole basis of the Catholic
religion. Confess your sins and be purified. In that case, Dr. Foster was my
personal Jesus. I hoped he would never stop until all my past mistakes were
washed away, and replaced instead with this one.
Slowly, the spanking was replaced with extra hard, deeply penetrating thrusts
that made me cry out in pleasure and pain both. Leaning flush against my back,
his hands groped up my skin until they cupped and teased my soft quivering
breasts. He leaned into my hair, still gasping bad, bad girl to punctuate each
thrust. Suddenly,his tone changedto whispering adoration, repeating my name
over and over into my ear. His fingertips brushed lovingly over throat, up and
over my chin. I parted my lips for him, as his fingers delicately traced my
mouth. My heart beat wildly as his fingers began to explore the wetinside,
teasing my tongue. I sucked on them gently, surprised that something in my
mouth could spark a reaction in my hips, making me grind against him as he
penetrated me.
He crushed me to his chest, picked up speed, and repeated, “You're mine now.
Mine.” He buried his head in the side of my neck as his ragged breath broke,
and he whispered hoarsely, “mine.”With one final, deep thrust his hot seed
spilled inside me.
He stayed, cradling me in his arms, breathing steadily into my hair, for a long
time. I think we both knew, as soon as we moved from that position, it was
over. And we were both scared of what would happen then, when reality fell. My
fingers twined into his, and I felt them grip back, squeezing. His thumb made
tender circles across the back of my hand. I felt the rhythm of his heart beat
through my back.
Of course, my moody doctor couldn't fight off the pressing of doubts and
insecurity for very long, and this position was far too compromising in too
many ways to count. He pulled out, and began hastily re-doing his pants. With a
sniff, he looked back at me, and before I could say anything, commanded, “Go
clean yourself up and go home. Nobody finds out about this, do you understand?
This would ruin you, too. I know you're trying to get into college next year,
and I would hate if anything were to ruin your chances, like a scandal. Or poor
science grades.”
What the hell?He's threatening me?I felt sick. Used. What the hell did he think
this was? I was blindingly pissed off.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I snarled at him, “This would ruin my chances? Do
you know what happens if anyone find out about this? You go to jail. Do you
know what happens to me? Nothing. I bet they'd throw a party in honor of my
bravery. In fact, I'd probably get automatic A's, especially when I tell them
about the environment of fear you've created for me all year long. And you know
everyone in class would testify to that, too, the way you've been leering at
me. Go ahead-- tell the courts I wanted it. Do you know how much bigger a creep
you'll come off as? Oh, and so kind of you to leave your DNA evidence inside
me. Thanks for that. Let's not get confused for one second about who has all
the leverage here.”
I smiled victoriously as the blood drained from his face in abject horror. He
began to stammer and backpedal. Before he could have a heart attack, I
lightheartedly slapped his arm.
“Oh, look at you. You are too cute. I'm not going to turn you in. This was
great. I think we should do it again. --Only if you want to!” I quickly added,
“I'm not blackmailing you or anything. Nothing has to change. Just keep grading
me as normal. No special favors, and no threatening me. You can keep doing all
that dominant stuff during the sex, though. The spanking and calling me a
naughty seductress-- ooh that turned me on! Just don't try to pull any
manipulative bullshit with me.”
He was stunned into silence, his jaw flopping loosely as if trying and failing
to make words. “Seriously. Let's do this again.” I pecked him on the cheek and
skipped away home, more pleased with myself than I've ever been.
And that was how I ended up on my back, or bent over for my science teacher at
least once a week. A few times I even ended up at his house, waking up with him
still holding my waist and breathing evenly into my hair. Judge me if you want,
but this was the best senior year ever.
 
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