Isabella: A Fantasy [fM]

“Blood, sex, and death.” The holy trinity of every Gothic horror novel, according to Mr. Fitzgerald. He was the high school literature teacher I hopelessly crushed on, and I couldn’t help but notice his eyes lingering on me when he said that second word.

I was a senior back then, about to graduate. The spring when my classmates were perpetually tuned out during class, with only the summer ahead and college on their minds. But I still had unfinished business here, and this day in May he wore a light blue button-up and chinos just snug enough to drive my imagination wild. When he perched on the edge of his desk reading from The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, I let my eyes wander up and down his body, picturing his skin on mine. By then I’d dreamt up this sultry side to him, one he hid away at work, but which made him all the more irresistible . . .

He was the new cute teacher this year, fresh out of college, the one the girls whispered about between classes. For a while, I tried to pretend I wasn’t one of them – after all, how cliched is it to have the same crush as everyone else? Yet his charm was undeniable. Intimidating, even. And by God, who else could make the classics so sexy?

By the time we read Dracula, the temptation was becoming too hard to resist. And with graduation only a few weeks away, I suddenly felt bolder. In a short time, I’d be gone, so what’s the worst that could happen? Thus, I became consumed with the idea of seducing Mr. Fitzgerald.

My first moves were subtle. He certainly noticed whenever I wore something form-fitting or low-cut that barely met dress code. Once in tutorials he suggested I read Kushiel’s Dart with a little wink. Another time I leaned on his desk in such a way to accentuate my cleavage, and I could have sworn he groaned. But other than that, he did nothing more than cast lingering glances my way.

He’d get in too much trouble for making the first move, I reasoned. Time was slipping away – I would have to take the initiative, and present him with an opportunity he couldn’t say no to.

It so happened that the senior end-of-year dance was coming up. I inserted myself into the planning committee long enough to serve as an official liaison and ask Mr. Fitzgerald if he would be a chaperone, that we were in desperate need of one. A light flickered in his eyes as I enunciated “desperate,” holding his gaze a second too long. Maybe it was then that he realized my true agenda. He agreed to the task.

I bought new lingerie, black lace with a touch of blood red. I wore it under a loose-fitting white sundress, pure and virginal like a Gothic heroine, but which hid the carnal flames of desire underneath.

It was raining on the night of the dance. I’d painted my nails a lustrous black the day before – matching my toes too, for good measure, and picked out the perfect pair of heels for the occasion.

But as I stood in front of the mirror about to do my makeup, I suddenly began having second thoughts. What if he rejects my advances, and leaves in disgust? How could I bear even a day in his class if nothing comes of this? Thankfully, before I could seriously entertain those doubts, I shoved them out of my mind – I’d put in too much to simply turn away now. Everything leading up to this point made it clear this was something we both wanted. Something that happened once in a blue moon. And so as I darkened my eyelashes and painted my lips a succulent red, I imagined him on top of me, caressing my neck and breasts as I surrendered my body to his touch.

At the entrance, I added a note to the clipboard waiting for him as a chaperone. It was the regular list of rules to enforce and emergency contacts. My note was underneath, his room number along with a line from Dracula:

“No man knows till he experiences it, what it is like to feel his own life-blood drawn away into the woman he loves.”

I never went to the dance.

The gentle pit-pat of rain was the only sound as I made my way through the dark and empty corridors of the school. His classroom was on the second floor, and I let myself in. I lit the candle I brought and set it on a desk in the front row, flickering gold. Settling myself onto Mr. Fitzgerald’s armchair, I slid the straps of my dress down so the top of my lacy bra was revealed, crossed my ankles with my heels resting on the edge of his desk, and waited. The next ten minutes were so pleasurably agonizing. During a brief pause in the rain, I could have sworn he was approaching. I scarcely contained my imagination. Any moment now, I thought, reaching a hand under my dress and feeling the dampness. I didn’t even hear the door handle turn.

“Isabella.”

He entered the classroom. I could barely see his face in the dim light, but I had made sure the glow illuminated my bare legs. I was glad he expected it to be me.

“Mr. Fitzgerald,” I said, removing my legs from his desk and spreading them ever so slightly where he could see. “This note . . . what are you doing here? We shouldn’t . . .”

He said the words, but even to someone not engaging in wishful thinking, they sounded unconvincing – he didn’t want them to be true. Without answering, I stood up and brushed past him, locking the door.

“I’m sorry if you’re misunderstanding, Mr. Fitzgerald,” I said, fixing him with a lascivious gaze. “I just wanted to discuss Dracula more.”

He moved closer, a smile spreading across his face.

When he was near enough that I could touch him, I grabbed his tie and pulled his body onto mine. I could feel he was already hard as he pressed against the loose fabric separating us. “You’ve always been my favorite student, Isabella, but I could get in a lot of trouble for being here right now.”

Pulling harder on his tie, my lips found his neck. “I’ll just have to make it worth your while, then.”

He groaned and his hands found the undersides of my thighs, caressing them, pulling me closer and guiding us both back towards his desk, French kissing the whole way. Our tongues searched every inch of the other, yearning for more to consume. “Your perfume is divine,” he breathed.

“You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this,” I whispered back, stroking the growing bulge in his pants. "It'll be our little secret, but please – I need you to deflower me."

And at that moment, the young college graduate gave in to primal desire. The kisses resumed, but with far greater vigor than before, burning of pure fiery passion, every last ounce of restraint vanished. He ran a hand to the small of my back, arching my body until I lay upon his desk, the same one he’d read Dracula from in class this morning; here we were at the altar to draw his life-blood into me, the consummation of this fantasy.

He didn’t even bother removing my bra, instead pulling the cups down until my breasts hung free. His lips closed around my left nipple, hard as coral, sucking upon it with the tender gluttony of a baby. Not wasting a second, I kicked off my heels and wrapped my legs around him, letting the ecstasy of his touch wash over me.

I could nearly feel the wetness soaking through my panties at this point. Part of me wished he wouldn’t take his time and simply penetrate me there now, this instant, so I could feel him come with all the fury he could muster. Yet just the same I wanted the experience to last as long as it possibly could, for him to continue on in this current manner, gently caressing my thigh as his lips explored every inch of my breasts, then proceeded lower . . .

He slid my panties off and tossed them aside. Ever so delicately, I felt his tongue down where I needed it the most, kindling that fire. I’d stayed mostly silent up to now, but as the waves of pleasure intensified and my breath began to falter, I simply didn’t care anymore. A moan escaped my quivering lips, then another, and another . . . it was becoming unbearable, but for the love of God, I didn’t want him to stop. I squeezed my eyes shut and grabbed the sides of the desk to brace myself, squirming as I teetered over that point of no return . . .

My eyes shot open as I came. The lightning bolts of bliss shot from my loins all over my submitted body, to the tips of my fingers and the ends of my hair, that exquisite sensation mortals crave and which causes heroes and empires alike to fall. All the times before where I pleasured myself to this fantasy couldn’t come close to the real thing. The heat lingered for a while before gradually dissipating, leaving my breathless body trembling but far from satisfied.

I heard him unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants as I soaked in the fleeting ecstasy, almost desperate for more. He climbed on top of me, eyes glinting in the candlelight, and planted a kiss on my forehead, subtly guiding my hand to his swelling member. My heart leapt excitedly when I saw it, every bit as impressive as I’d imagined. I slowly moved my hand up and down its length, feeling its rock-hard girth, those pulsing veins almost aching for release. He brought it towards my face, a drop of moisture glistening at the tip. I gazed into his brooding eyes as I kissed the head.

“Shall I take you from behind?”

“Do what you like to me,” I whispered. “But I want to see your face when you’re inside.”

“As you wish.”

Mr. Fitzgerald unbuttoned his shirt and descended upon me again, as if we were under the covers together, our bare skin finally meeting. I guided his muscle between my legs, easily sliding it in. He let out a soft moan and began thrusting into the depths of my thirsting body – lightly at first, but quickly growing in force, in passion. The speed with which he poured himself into me belied his eagerness, how much he wanted me. I wished he would tell me more about sex and blood and death, but at the same time I’d rather just experience it with him – all the parts of being human, all the things worth writing about. His breathing quickened, and the fire in his loins only grew; I gasped in rhythm to his thrusts, moving my hips with his, hands placed on his buttocks. “Ride me until you come,” I panted. "Fuck me until I cry."

I couldn’t last much longer under his spell. Would he under mine?

I came again, digging my fingernails into his skin and crying out as those waves of pleasure radiated through my body once more, leaving no fiber untouched. But he still hadn’t, and it was making me restless. Lowering himself so his face was next to mine, a sheen of sweat on his forehead, he whispered, “Isabella, if you want to be a great student, you’re going to have to finish me with your mouth.”

A moment later, he was sunk back in the armchair, and I on my knees, my lips pressed apart as I worked my hand around his shaft in tandem; I forwent every nicety and sucked him off with loud, full slurps, my saliva mingling with his precum. He moaned softly as he guided my head up and down, up and down, increasing to a furious rhythm. His manhood throbbed from my twisting tongue, his seed yearning to burst. He was close. I could feel it.

“Here it comes,” he gasped.

I quickly removed him from my lips, continuing to stroke his length vigorously, my mouth wide open in anticipation. I was sweating, my makeup probably smeared, and didn’t have the faintest clue how I was going to clean up afterward, but right now I couldn’t have cared less. Suddenly, I felt him tense up and clench my hair. This is it. Bringing my head closer, he held me at his mercy and painted my face with his warm milk, emptying himself, that release I’d waited so long for, his delicious life-blood drawn into my begging mouth . . .

I licked around his shaft, teasing out the last drops and lapping them up. A fleeting thread of spittle connected us as I withdrew myself, tasting the saltiness on my lips. “That’s my good girl,” he said, breathing heavily in that state of post-orgasmic bliss. “To be continued at my place?”

I burst into tears. It was the perfect end to my senior year.

Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/2zcq4a/isabella_a_fantasy_fm