Bad Teacher (Erotic Collection) (Erotic Lessons) (5 page)

“You come on
my
dick,” he growls, and he yanks me up off the desk, one hand on my shoulder,
one
hand gripping the bottom of my ass. He pushes me,
tottering on my heels, to the middle of the room, and bends me over the back of
his red leather couch.

“Legs apart.” He orders.

I spread them, as much as I can, bent over the high back of
that couch, and he shoves his hands underneath them and lifts me further,
spreading my legs as far as they will go. I can’t move in this position, my
feet are in the air, I can barely balance myself on the leather seats of the
couch, and I had no idea he was this strong. He lifts and positions me however
he wants. I am totally, totally exposed, open as far as I will go, completely
vulnerable. As if he hadn’t already driven me crazy enough, now I’m out of my
mind. He’s just lifting me there, leaving me guessing, and I’m about to beg
when suddenly he yanks me back onto his dick, and plunges fully inside me.
 

“Mr. Griffin!” I scream out. I can’t help it.

He doesn’t say anything, he just slams into me, again, and
again, and again, and the sting on my ass spikes the sweet feel of his dick
filling me, pounding me, and I’m intensely drunk on all of it. I’ve
experimented with a lot of things, and this is the most powerful drug I’ve ever
been on. I feel possessed by it, like there’s a raging sex demon inside me,
bouncing around, looking for a way out, and my orgasm rushes in to my pussy.
It’s so quick and so intense it hits me like a truck, like that demon screaming
for release through my cunt, and I scream, God do I scream, because the tension
filling my whole body actually
hurts
.
I buck and writhe, and my legs kick back and then slam straight, and as I push
into the couch below me with strength I’ve never had before, lifting my torso
up, my pussy slams down on his dick with a final, shuddering, scream.

And then it’s fully on me, in waves, and I’m beyond gone. I
milk him – I know I milk him – and I think I hear him scream my
name, but I’m so far gone it’s like I’m floating above my body, somewhere close
to nirvana.

When I come back down, Mr. Griffin is slumped over me, and
my face is pressed into the couch. I’m drooling a little, and my body feels
limp and deliciously used. My brain isn’t fully working yet. This is what it
felt like when I woke up after having my wisdom teeth pulled, after being fully
under.

Holy shit, can Mr. Griffin fuck.

He recovers first, the second time today – the second
time this afternoon –
that
a guy has fucked me
so hard that I can barely move. It almost makes sense with a younger guy, but
damn, Mr. Griffin is fifty years old. The man is just a force of nature.

It’s cold where he was lying on my body, and I hear him tie
off the condom and throw it in the trash. I hear him zipper up, and mess about
over at the desk before coming back to me.

I still haven’t moved.

His hand rests lightly on my tender ass, and he caresses it,
gently now.

“Come on, Erica,” he says kindly, and slips
an arm under my stomach, helping me get
off the couch. I
still feel kind of weak, and I put at hand out to steady myself. He holds me
up, and I see that he’s brought my clothes over to the couch.

“Get dressed.” He orders, and gently pats my bottom before
walking back to his desk.

I do, slowly. There’s no way I’m going to look presentable,
having just been fucked to oblivion, again, and I’m grateful I only have to go
down the hall to my locker in the teacher’s lounge. I just pray I don’t run
into anyone else.

As if reading my mind, he chuckles.

“I think everyone else is safely out on the football field,
celebrating.” He says, and pours himself another glass of tequila.

Oh my God, is that
the
bottle?

Again as if reading my mind, he pauses with the drink at his
lips, looks at me, and winks.

“Run along, Erica.” He says. “But I’ll be keeping my eye on
you. In case you misbehave.”

I give him a sly grin as I head for the door.

“I might just have to do that.” I say.

“What?”

“Misbehave.”

I give him my own wink, and run out the door.

THE END

Teacher Gets
Bought

(Erotic Lessons: Double Penetration)

“Next up on the block...Miss Erica Bennett!”

My heart skips a beat, and once again I get those intense
flutters of nerves deep in the pit of my stomach. So many things have made me
feel like that since I started sleeping with Headmaster Griffin. Master
Griffin, as I’m supposed to call him.

He’s my first Dom. Which I guess makes me his sub? There’s
been so much to learn, ever since he first found out that I’d been lying to
everyone, that I’m really a sex researcher, not a high school English teacher,
and that I’ve fucked my way through the Chippewa Valley Parent Teacher
Association for the sake of my book.

Oh, and he caught me fucking a student.

After that, he spanked and fucked me into submission, right
there in his office, and he’s been dominating me ever since. It’s been an
incredible rush.

But his latest order was to put myself on the auction block
here at the final PTA charity fundraiser of the year. And this makes me a
little nervous, for good reason. Out there, in the audience, are about a
million guys I’ve fucked this year.
And their wives.

But it’s what he wants. I take a deep breath, linger a
little on the new thrill of obedience that shivers up and down my spine, and
walk out on stage.

“Miss Erica Bennett!” The announcer coos. She’s one of those
helmet-haired women who I think hates me for being hot. I try not to let my
nervousness show. “Miss Bennett is offering dinner for two at Gaston’s.”

I totter on my high heels – another of Master
Griffin’s demands – out to the center of the stage, and
do
an awkward little twirl. There
aren’t
that many lights, and I can’t help but look out into the audience. Immediately
I find Master Griffin, tall, distinguished, imposing, and the sight of him
calms me. He’s standing next to a man that I don’t recognize, which is weird. I
recognize almost everyone else here.

They recognize me, too. I suddenly feel totally exposed,
breasts straining in my tight white tube dress.
Totally
inappropriate, but not my choice, of course.
It was his.

“We’ll start the bidding at one hundred. Do I hear one
hundred?”

Too late, I wonder what happens if I don’t sell, or if I
sell for some cheapo price. Aside from the crushed ego – I mean, I’ve
literally fucked half the men out there – I can only imagine how
displeased
Griff
would be.

Whoops. Master Griffin.

“One fifty!”

I guess my relief is obvious, because a little wave of
laughter trickles through the crowd.

“One seventy five!”

“Two!”

“Two fifty!”

I try to remain bashful, and innocent, as per instructions,
but the heat of the lights, and now the reality of men actually bidding on me,
is starting to turn me on. I have no idea how visible my nipples are in this
dress, or under these lights, but I bet Master Griffin does.

I bet he knew it would do this to me.

“Four hundred!”

I love these people, with their money. I try not to smile,
thinking about how many wives are wondering about their husbands right now. And
then I see Master
Griffin,
his eyes locked calmly on
me, lean over and whisper to the man at his side. The man I don’t recognize. I
can’t see him particularly well, but that’s at least a little bit because he’s
fiddling with his fucking phone. Like he’s bored.

“One thousand.”

He doesn’t even look up from his phone as he says it, but
his voice rings out over the crowd anyway. There’s a murmur of curiosity, and a
few heads turn to try to get a good look at him. Looks like no one else knows
who he is either.

“Do I hear eleven hundred?”

Silence. Master Griffin is making that face he makes when he
tries to suppress a grin.
He’s loving
my confusion
right now. My unease. I have no idea what’s going on.

“Sold!”

But that doesn’t matter. I’ve been sold.

There’s an explosion of applause, and quickly some young
thing herds me off the stage to make way for the next charity date. My mind is
reeling. I should have known this wouldn’t just be about the charity auction. I
should have known
Griff
would have something planned.
I just have no idea what.

I’m lost in thought, trying to get my bearings in a quiet
corner backstage, when suddenly there’s a hand on my arm. It’s
Griff
. He’s smiling.

“You’ve been sold, my dear.”

“I noticed.”

“No.” Suddenly he grips my arm, and pulls me toward him.
“You’ve been
sold
. You belong to your
buyer for the evening. You are theirs. You will obey them as you obey me. Do
you understand?”

Gulping, I nod.

“They know your
safeword
. Do not
keep them waiting.”

And with that he spins me toward the side entrance, where I
can see the man who bought me, still idly playing with his phone. He’s in a
charcoal gray suit, and he’s sort of pretty, with styled hair and good skin.

“Did he really buy me?” I ask doubtfully.

Griff’s
grip tightens. He doesn’t
like questions.

“Run along.” He says, and then he pats me on the ass and
pushes me forward.

The man with the phone looks up briefly, sees me coming and
doesn’t wait. He’s off through the double doors, and I have to trot along to
keep up and figure out where I’m supposed to be going, which is harder than it
sounds in
four inch
heels. At least my dress is short
enough that I can take longish strides.

I’m just happy I haven’t snapped an ankle by the time the
man with the phone disappears through the front doors. Everyone else is still
at the auction, taking advantage of the open bar and the flirtatious
atmosphere, and for a moment I’m completely alone, heels clattering on the
polished floor, breasts heaving, starting to sweat a little in the early summer
heat.

What the hell am I doing?

I don’t have an answer, but from the way my body comes alive
at the thought of
Griff’s
little games, I don’t
really care. He has something planned. I have to obey.

I push open the double doors, and immediately the humidity
sticks to me like a glaze. The pretty man with the phone is standing by a gray
Mercedes with an annoyed expression on his face. He sees me emerge from the
doors and, rolling his eyes, walks around to the passenger side and gets in the
front seat.

Uh, I guess I’m a back seat kind of girl, then.

And I would be correct. There’s a driver, some non-descript,
neckless
grunt. The car is cool, elegant,
obviously
incredibly expensive. The only sign that either
the driver or the pretty
boy acknowledge
my presence
is that the driver starts the car as soon as I close the door.

I clear my throat as the car pulls smoothly away from the
curb. No response.

“Where are we going?” I venture.

Nothing.

“So how do you know
Griff
?” I try
once more.

I can’t see his face in the rearview mirror, but pretty boy
tilts his head like he’s briefly rolling his eyes before going back to his
fascinating phone.

Ok, I get it. I’m supposed to be dumb and virginal. I squirm
a little in my white dress, and wish I could take my heels off, but I know
Griff
wouldn’t like it.

The car turns into one of those private, gated communities,
where it’s not really a community because the properties are so large that each
house is like an island. The security guard at the front gate seems to make a
point of not looking at my face.

I admit it, I’m a little afraid. But that’s probably the
point.
Griff
knows the fear will just heighten my arousal,
make me super sensitive to everything. And it is. I
am
. My nipples are already getting semi-hard, and the lights up
ahead are so bright that they’re fractured, which means my pupils must be
dilated.

The car slows to a stop in front of those lights, which hang
like little modern Japanese lanterns at the beginning of what looks like a long
stone walk. To the side there’s a drive that descends into darkness.
An underground garage?
That is sort of
supervillain-ish
.

I’m still taking in my surroundings when I realize that not
only has my escort, the phone fucker, gotten out of the car, but he appears to
be waiting for me to do so, too. Overcome with impatience, he opens my
passenger door, and stands there.

This is when I realize how nervous I actually am.

This is sort of the point of no return.

I haven’t moved, except to press my thighs together, and try
to pull down my suddenly very short dress. The phone fucker leans down in a
darting motion, an amused expression on his face. He can tell I’m scared.

One of his hands snakes forward, too fast for me to pull
back, and he grips my chin.

“Hush.” He says, and one finger curls under my chin, pulling
me forward. There’s something suddenly hypnotic about him, like he knows
exactly what’s happening, exactly what will happen, and that’s why he’s so
bored.

I get out of the car, and as soon as I do he closes the door
behind me, and the car descends down that spooky drive.