The Senior [m/F, teacher/student, high school, size fetish, rough, exhibitionism, oral] I’m the literary author who is (losing) her bet to win $100 by writing erotica. A few people asked for something like this, so here you go.

The Senior [m/F, teacher/student, high school, size fetish, rough, exhibitionism, oral] I’m the literary author who is (losing) her bet to win $100 by writing erotica. A few people asked for something like this, so here you go.

My first post, with my first story.

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The Senior

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The bathroom on the far side of the gym was dark. Little-used. Pipes drooled on cracked tile and the irregular porcelain mouth of an ancient sink boiled with brown water. I looked at my reflection in a jagged splinter of mirror, resolving a general impression of rain-flattened red hair and big green eyes.

I made a face at myself. Pulled a brush out of my purse.

“Get on your knees.”

I stopped. Turned. I was usually alone in the back of the school, especially during homeroom. It wasn’t unusual for teachers to drift here in search of a cigarette and a moment alone, but I normally had the beginning of the day to myself.

None of the other teachers could get away in the morning.

I loved teaching art.

“Give me your hand.”

I was barely old enough to drink, but the voice just sounded… young. An edge of boyish hormones that drained away after graduation.

I slipped the brush back in my purse.

“You’re shaking,” the voice said. Then: “Good.”

So. Kind of a freak, then.

I walked along the bank of red metal stalls and searched for feet under the doors.

At the end of the row I saw two huge sneakers flat on the ground, black and skater-styled, with a couple of small purple Nikes between them. The Nike girl was obviously on her knees, the tread of her shoes pointed out of the stall.

Matching purple socks hugged her tanned little ankles.

“You feel that?” he asked.

The Nikes shuffled. The little bump of a perfect calf hooked the door, toe pointed like a ballerina.

I pushed the door open, making my best Angry Teacher Face, even though I kind of just wanted to laugh. It takes a special kind of boy to talk a girl into a blow job at school, but to get someone before first period?

This guy wasn’t just a freak, he was a freak of nature.

The door swung on broken hinges and caught. The girl looked up at me with huge blue eyes and screamed. Hid her face.

She was pretty. Blonde. Tanned to the gold color of dirty sand.

She had her hands on a cock you could play baseball with, throbbing under the face of an equally pretty male senior.

He smirked. Looked me up and down. He made no attempt to cover his enormous penis.

In fact, he kind of leaned back to make it stick up even more.

Jesus.

I swallowed and looked away from him.

“Hey,” I said. I pushed the door with a palm. It jumped and swung dangerously through my personal space. I sighed. “In defiance of all reasonable evidence, this is a toilet. I’m given to understand that penises are often involved in what goes on here, but if you’re enjoying it, you’re probably doing something wrong.”

The senior gave me a broad smile. His cock ticked slowly. Beating with the slow pulse of his athletic heart. It was mechanical, like the movement of a toy. He poked the inside of his mouth with his tongue and scratched a cheek on the shoulder of his letterman’s jacket.

The pretty blonde covered her face with her hands—thin, white nails—and whispered to herself that it was okay.

I grabbed her.

“It is also,” I said, pulling the girl up by a thin, trembling arm, “not a group activity.”

I slid the girl out of the stall, and pushed her toward the door. “Go to class and use your mouth powers for good. You’ll have like four years of college to spend on your knees.”

Then, I considered her. “Well. Two years at least,” I amended.

The senior laughed behind me as the pretty girl ran for the door. She kicked it open and swung out into the hallway.

“You’re kind of a jerk,” he said. “I like that.” He put a lazy hand on his big dick and it bobbed forward. It looked as hard as a rebar pipe.

I forced my eyes to look above his head.

“And you’re kind of naked,” I sighed. “As for what I like-” I began, but my eyes drifted down and snapped sharply away when he pulled his shirt up over abs you could grate cheese with. I took a deep breath. “Well. I don’t have any feelings not mandated by the state of California or the Sonoma County Public School District,” I added, pointedly failing to look at his huge member.

The senior shrugged. He had spikey teenager hair and a sharp, comic book jaw. I did not feel myself melt.

“I’m completely dressed,” he laughed. “In fact,” he said, pointing at my skirt, which stopped precisely two inches above my soft, bare kneecaps, “I’m a lot more dressed than you are.”

I groaned.

“Oh and he’s witty,” I said, turning to an imaginary audience. “No wonder all the pretty Juniors get on their knees.”

“PSEO advisor,” he corrected.

I stared. “Really?” She’d looked like a freshman.

He nodded.

I shook my head. Focus.

“Well, listen.” I turned and leaned against a concrete pillar. “This, as I pointed out, is a bathroom. So I’m not going to tell you to put… that… away.” I gestured vaguely over my shoulder at the third arm growing from his crotch. “However, I am going to tell you to use it or get lost.”

He chuckled. The dented surface of a tissue dispenser cast the speckled shadow of his incredible erection onto the wall in front of me as he stood. His cock was a huge, pulsing bar pointed straight at the ceiling. I remembered eighth grade health and learning about penises filling with displaced blood. I wondered if it made him dizzy.

It certainly had that effect on me.

“‘Use it,’ huh?” he asked. He closed a huge, frypan fist over the shaft and pumped like someone churning butter.

I closed my eyes, feeling the red flame of embarrassment lick my face.

“Get on your knees,” he said. Completely serious. When I looked at his face, it was the deadly anger of barely contained male arousal. He scooped at the V between my breasts with laser-like focus, tracing them under my blouse as I breathed just a little too hard.

I wanted to say something. To be a jerk to him.

It had been so long since I’d rejected a high school boy.

But all I felt was a rush of impulse so idiotic I walked away.

My heels clacked with each step.

I pulled my tan coat off a hook by the sinks and ran all way to my empty classroom, folded it over my face, and cried for like ten minutes.

Hey, I’d been a student at that school less than three years ago. And now I was… what? The hot art teacher? That no one touched?

It’s not like you magically lose your attraction to powerful, big-dicked High Schoolers the day you turn eighteen, but you’re definitely expected to stop fucking them. Especially if you become a teacher.

I’d spent three years in art school, surrounded by soft and sensitive men. Feminine hands. Soft, pleading voices. And it filled me with a deep and vibrating need for something hard and forceful.

For selfish, clumsy strength.

I punched my coat and promised myself I would strangle my vibrator to death the second I got home. I imagined cracking it like a walnut between my legs.

I’d bring home a yearbook, and crack the spine at the athletic photos.

Fantasies are okay, right?

I sighed. Hung my coat over the back of my chair. Took a deep breath with my hands over my face.

The period bell rang.

I retouched my makeup using my phone’s selfie view and tried to remember how teaching worked. By the time my class got there, I had just enough of my shit together to show them a movie.

“CGI is totally an art form,” I said. “Practiced by artists. Who do art.”

My class looked at me. I was usually more eloquent.

I shrugged. “What do you people want, the time hasn’t even reached double-digits.”

There was a smattering of chuckles and a few nods. A girl in a brown silk turtleneck offered me her coffee. I grabbed it out of her hands and took a drink.

It was like the liquid version of a diabetic coma.

Christ, I love High School.

I drank the rest and hopped with sudden uncontrollable energy.

Okay, I thought, I got this.

I pushed the DVD of a Hollywood blockbuster I hoped had decent CGI into the side of my laptop and handed back the borrowed coffee. It was empty. I shrugged at the girl and wrote her name down in my notebook.

I’d give her an A or something.

I hit the lights, dimming the huge art room to a cluttered blackness illuminated only by the Paramount logo. I stretched out the scratched yellow screen. Stood behind the class in darkness. Sighed in relief.

And a huge hand closed over my mouth.

My shocked scream didn’t get past my teeth. The muffled noise of it vanished under the upbeat brass of loud movie music.

“I’m kind of a jerk too,” a voice said into my ear.

I twisted under his hand, and saw the hard grin of the bathroom senior staring down into my startled face. He waved and smiled.

I reached up and pulled his big hand off my face.

“You don’t belong in this class,” I said, whisper-shouting over the sound of space things blowing up in the movie.

A boy with a tight blonde bowl-cut and glasses twisted and shushed me.

“You’re not very good at teaching,” he said, chuckling.

I grunted. “I’m very popular,” I said. It was true. My class had a waiting list.

“So am I,” he laughed, “but it doesn’t make me a good art teacher.”

He stepped behind me and put his other hand on my stomach. He poked his thumb through the buttons of my blouse and brushed at my ribs.

It tickled, and I laughed until he covered my face again.

“I’m also eighteen,” he whispered into my ear. “In case that matters to you.”

It did. I stared.

He nodded. “As of this morning. That’s what the blow job you ruined was all about.”

“Sorry,” I said, feeling desperately sheepish. His body had this smell like a clean locker room shower. It made me want to collapse against his chest and breathe him in while he held me.

“Do you have a name?” I asked.

“Yep,” he said, nodding.

I rolled my eyes.

“Good to know,” I said.

There was a scream from the movie up front. He tore my shirt open, ripping down the middle with one hand.

---

I gasped. Buttons pinged off desks and the back of the Bowl Haired Boy’s head. He shushed me again without turning around. A slack expression and pupils like black quarters drank in the kaleidoscope of fire and metal on the screen. I relaxed, thanking God for expensive movie spectacles and cheap ADHD meds.

He pulled one of my arms away from my body as though pealing a large fruit, casually stopping me from covering my pale torso and holding me arms wide. When I took a step back, he lifted me casually, and I swung back into the space between him and the door.

“Keep those lights off and stay quiet,” he said, “unless you want your students doing a nude study of you.”

“Clever,” I said.

“I’m witty,” he shrugged, stepping up to me and snaking a couple big fingers under the frilly edges of my bra. I felt a huge fingertip against my nipple. “It’s why all the pretty teachers get on their knees for me.”

I felt a rush of attraction, impossibly strong, sink through me and settle between my legs. My thighs tensed.

“You are not going to fuck me in front of my class,” I said. More to myself than to him.

He shook his head. Grinned at me. The movie light gave him a smile like a jack-o-lantern.

“I’m going to go put on my coat, and we’re going to get you back to wherever you belong,” I said.

He shook his head again. Lost his smile. His hand came up and stroked my neck.

“Your skin is all red,” he whispered.

“I don’t even know your name,” I whined.

He stepped so close to me that I felt the air get warmer. He laced the fingers of his left hand into my hair, and reached past my breasts with his other hand, unhooking the back of my bra with a gentle movement.

“Would it matter?” he asked.

I curled my hand into a fist and tapped it against his chest, the way you would knock at a big door. The body under his blue sweater was so hard I was surprised it didn’t make a noise.

“What if your name was really stupid?” I asked.

“It isn’t,” he said.

“Or really hot?” I asked.

He laughed silently. It shook his whole body. He reached down and pulled his shirt up, setting my hand on the hard lumps of his perfect muscles.

“You’re so fucking sexy,” he said. He snapped my head back by my hair and kissed me, cupping my face in a palm of his hand.

His lips were smooth and Chapsticked, soft against my mouth. He kissed me off center, twisting to touch me at an angle, and slid his cheek over mine as he spoke into my ear.

“Touch me,” he said.

I could feel the sharp little spines of an uneven shave cut into my face. I moaned, then bit my lip to stay quiet. He kissed the bite open, slitting my mouth with a thin blade of tongue.

I slid my hand down his stomach, tracing the huge swollen hills of his body until I felt the thudding cables of veins pour over the V of his waist into something hard and thick between his legs.

“I can’t do this,” I said, unhooking the button of his jeans. “Everything about this is wrong.”

“Is it?” He asked. “Is this wrong?” He closed his teeth on my neck and sucked just hard enough to leave a mark.

I let out an explosive moan that he cut off with a hand, shoving me against the door with his body as he flattened me.

“Try to stay quiet, Ma’am,” he told me, and kneeled so my breasts were at either side of his head. He pulled my bra loose with his teeth, sliding the straps around my shoulders. They caught on my arms. He left me that way, half disassembled. Bra hung under my nipples, useless.

Naked with my fucking clothes on.

The Ma’am made me shudder with excitement. I fumbled with the big zipper, feeling something under my fingertips that was as thick as a bottle.

And I’m not a Ma’am. I’m barely even a Ms.

He tickled the sprinkling of freckles on my breasts and grinned up at me from his knees. It was a little kid grin. A smile of pure joy.

It broke the spell.

Looking down at this, I remembered that he was a student, and that if I got caught with him, it would more than end my career.

It would ruin my life.

I shoved him, pushing off with a palm.

He grabbed me under my breasts and put a palm over my stomach. He lifted me off my feet and I closed my mouth on a scream. My class stared at the screen without noticing.

“No,” I whispered, “no, no, no, we can’t do this. I’ll see you later, I promise, but we-”

His hand tugged at my skirt. I squeaked.

“Please,” the Bowl Haired Boy barked over a shoulder. “I’m learning.”

The Senior put his mouth up to my ear from behind my head. He kept me from turning. On the screen, a robot the size of a skyscraper punched the moon out of the sky.

“You want to see me later?” he asked. “Then you’ll need to do this now.”

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Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/2m9ec4/the_senior_mf_teacherstudent_high_school_size