***Author’s Note***: *There is a bit more world building going on here, and a little tease. The next chapter gets serious, like the first.*
***
I felt a profound sense of worry coming into class Monday morning. Even though I was reasonably sure I wasn’t going to see Heather until the next day, I was still uneasy. After nearly four straight hours teaching two separate periods, I was drained. It had been a constant challenge for me to focus on the lesson. We were discussing Milton’s *Paradise Lost* in my first class*,* and I felt that Satan’s rebellious and treacherous nature suited Heather.
I was distracted and on edge in each course, waiting for it to end. It was clear that the students knew it too, as they were disjointed also. I had spent the morning failing to ignite their curiosity, and felt bad because of it, though I knew that not every lesson could be exciting to them. Finally returning to my office, I opened the door, paranoid over the possibility that Heather might be waiting in my seat.
Despite the fact I was being blackmailed, dreams of her waiting, ready for me in my own chair had excited me. I had barely slept, my hand on and off my cock all night. I had it bad for her. I wanted to feel her creamy skin, and luscious breasts. I wished I had licked the candy from her nipples. I wanted grope her firm ass and legs, and so help me, I was willing to risk everything for another chance at her perfect body. Part of me wanted to call my lawyer, and the other, less rational part of me wanted to see what I could get out of Heather by waiting for her again, instead of just going to the Dean or the police and ending it now.
My office, however, was empty. I felt disappointed. Leaving campus early, I swam laps at the gym, trying to exhaust myself, and work out my frustrations. Lap after lap dragged new fantasies through my brain instead. No matter how I tried to distract myself, I found myself thinking like a teenager instead of a grown man. Images of Heather and, occasionally, Chelsea cropped up, and soon I decided there was nothing I could do except go home and relieve myself. Again.
At least the exercise had worn me out. My muscles were loose, and my mind almost clear as I collapsed on the bed. I knew what was wrong. My tryst with Heather had ended a significant dry-spell, and I wanted more. I craved more. I fell into a deep, lustful sleep.
In my dreams I pictured Heather and Chelsea giggling and touching each other. I watched them changing together into swimsuits at the school pool. I pictured them kissing me, then each other. In my sleep addled brain, they compared breasts and mounds, exploring each new discovery with fingers and tongues. Locker room lesbian fantasies stayed with me until the morning.
Monday’s worries came crawling back with reinforcements on Tuesday. My stomach was a mess of butterflies at the thought of seeing her again. In my first class of the day, we were focusing on a graphic novel called *Maüs*, where the Nazis were represented by cats. Heather had moved her seat to the front row, forcing herself into my line of sight. She was dressed plainly today, in jeans and a maroon varsity jacket with a football pin, most likely Josh’s. After my dreams the night before, I had expected a scene, though thankfully none came during class.
Still, I managed to find myself disappointed. Fantasies of her teasing me surreptitiously or flashing her panties at me had played out in the back of my head for days. I was involuntarily hard for her again. So, per usual I sat at my desk, once more unable to stand in front of the class.
*Had I let her use me, simply because I wanted to be needed? And what if she told Amanda? Had she told Amanda? Wait…would she know* how *to tell Amanda?* I wondered.
“Mr. Rikes?” she asked.
“Yes, Heather?”
“We’re two minutes over.”
Since my cell phone was in my office, I checked my watch. We didn’t have bells here. Not because of any liberal nonsense, but because different classes ended at varied intervals. My students were always instructed to let me know if I rambled on too long, lest they be late for their next course.
“Whoops!” I exclaimed. Thumbing at the board behind me I reminded the students: “I’ll see you Thursday. Remember, I want two pages, typed, *double spaced*, on the use of mice as the Jews and how that played into Hitler’s references that the Jews themselves were rats and vermin. Source the internet if you must, but only reputable sites! And no wikis!”
As they began to rise I said: “Ms. Winston, can I see you for a minute?” There were a few chuckles, and some asshole in the back intoned ‘*Ooooooooh*.’ I ignored him and sat at my desk collecting the previous assignment as the students dropped in my box. Her hands empty, Heather walked up last. She had unbuttoned her boyfriend’s jacket, and her shirt was deliciously low-cut. I estimated we had less than five minutes before the next group started filing in. She placed her hands on my desk, looking down at me. I tried hard not to stare at the cleft between her breasts.
I was almost successful.
“What’s up, Mark?” she asked. I ignored her use of my first name; there wasn’t time for this. I handed her a stack of papers instead. She read the first of them, and then the second. Each was about a paragraph long. “Seriously? Essays? Extra credit essays? Are you for real?”
“Very,” I answered
“What the fuck? I did all my extra credit last week…”
Her tone was aggressive, and I paused for a second, looking for the calmest way to explain this. Unwilling to escalate any potential confrontation, I remained seated, grateful we were alone.
“Listen to me very carefully, Heather. Look. There are ten of these. Each is worth fifty points. Even if I correct and bump your grades on every assignment from here to winter break, I can’t justify the change in your average you need without these. Too many failures or missing papers are already recorded in the computer. I can’t change grades that are in the school system without explaining myself to someone.”
She spoke slowly and carefully, her voice lowered, “Then why did I suck your dick if I was just going to do the work anyway?” I let her question hang in the air between us for a moment before deflecting.
“You don’t have to do well on these, just complete them. I’ll bump the grades on all of them anyway, even the stuff for the rest of the semester,” I growled; “but neither of us want your grades investigated. When your average shoots up this high, this fast, there will be questions. Questions that neither of us want to answer. I don’t know how else to get away with this. You have to work with me here. There’s five *hundred* points available. That’s half a semester’s worth, and it’s easy shit.” I paused again for deliberate effect.
I continued,” I have never done this for another student. Ever. This will let me justify your ‘A’ and keep us both here. Work with me, Heather, not against me, please? Or, maybe you’d like to watch cheer from the sidelines next semester. As a dropout. ” Her shoulders, previously defiant, sagged now. It appeared I had won.
“Ugh. Fine. I’ll do this shit. But this is supposed to be on my terms, remember? You’d better pass me.” She was practically muttering and I had to struggle to hear her, but there was an obvious *’or else.’*
Heather started stuffing the papers in her backpack, setting it on top of my lecture notes, scattering them across my desk and onto the floor. The beginnings of the next class were starting to take their seats. Perhaps it was the time constraints that let me get out of this unscathed. I had expected more argument, but she had chosen temperance. A wry look came over her face suddenly, and she leaned closer, her forearms on my desk. I had a direct line down her shirt again and she was once again without bra, her nipples shadows outlined through her shirt. “I have an idea,” she said, “You’re good with words, this’ll be easy for you,” she smirked.
*So much for unscathed,* I thought*.*
“What are you talking about?” I was careful to keep my voice down.
Standing, she robbed me of the view and flipped her hair with a practiced motion. “You’ll see,” was all she said before walking out the door. I stared behind her lustily. Those jeans were tight. She had a blue button on her bag with a digital thumbs-up. It read: *’you like this.’*
I certainly did.
The next ninety minutes went smooth. Relieved that things had gone almost as well as I could hope, I gave the same lecture, anticipated similar questions from the previous class would be asked, and generally forgot that there had even been a student named Heather for the rest of the period. I fell into in a comfortable groove and the session ended without incident. It had gone much better than yesterday, and definitely better than the end of the earlier period, though Heather’s comment concerned me.
Since there were only two periods on any given day, I was done lecturing. I was ready to start grading, eager to distract myself again. I was doubly thankful that I didn’t encounter any of my colleagues.
Apprehensive, yet slightly relieved, I walked down the hall to my office and opened the door. I must have forgotten to lock it. Nothing looked out of place until I went to sit down. As I came to my chair I noticed a flash of blue laying on a sheet of notebook paper. Excited, I picked up a pair of tiny G-string panties. They looked just like the ones from the other day.
They were see through, and where there would normally be a panel of cloth in the back there was instead a little silver heart charm, dangling in an empty triangle. There was a note in purple ink; difficult to read on the white paper.
*’You get extra credit too, then,’* the paper read. *’Here’s a writing prompt. It’s worth 100 points. I forgot to wear panties to class today, so I left them with you instead. Write me a story about that, and I’ll turn in my extra credit like a good girl.’* She had colored in the little heart she drew at the end and written her phone number at the bottom. *’P.S. Text me when my story is done.’* There was a small memory card taped to the paper. *’P.P.S. I told you I’d get you a copy’*
Instinctively, I sniffed them, disappointed they only smelled like laundry and not her. Stuffing them in my pocket, I sat down at my desk and ignored the pile of submissions, suddenly disinterested in school altogether.
I don’t know why I had obeyed her so quickly, but I had no desire to make her wait, either. Perhaps I was trying to simply get it over with, or perhaps it was the perpetual state of arousal that both she and the situation had left me in. It probably didn’t matter. I was fucked good and proper, either way.
I closed my eyes and took a breath before firing up my laptop. Memories and fantasies about Heather blurred through my brain. I remembered her hair, auburn in the light of my office as she came to me for help. Thoughts of her pinning me to the bed or fingering her nipples swirled around my addled mind. She wanted a story? I was determined to give her the best damn story I could write. It took ages for the machine to boot so I could begin coaxing words out of the keyboard. I occasionally stopped to fondle my bulging cock as I typed. I didn’t need to watch Heather’s video, not yet. I had all the inspiration I needed in my head.
Hours passed. The story was finished, and I was so hard I could barely stand. With a sudden start, I realized my door was still unlocked. I had been lucky. Anyone could have walked in unannounced. I hurried across the office and turned the deadbolt with a solid click, grateful my writing had gone uninterrupted.
I wasn’t willing to wait until I got home. I needed to see her now. Peeling the tiny chip from the note, I plugged it into the laptop, turning the volume down. The glass in my door was clouded, but I drew the blinds anyway.
I wanted to watch her get fucked. I wanted to listen to her cries. And, so help me I wanted to hear her call me ‘daddy’ again.
On my laptop screen I viewed us from an elevated angle, which was a whole new experience. What there was of Heather’s skirt bounced in time to my thrusts. The camera was good enough that I could see smears of her lipstick rubbing off onto the white linens. I could see the look of pleasure on her face every time I slammed my cock home. The force of my pelvis shoved her face into the pillow over and over. I was desperate to relieve myself as I watched, fondling my cock while it strained against my boxers.
I went to unzip my pants and pull it out, but the sensation of rubbing fabric caused me to explode before I could pinch it off. An embarrassingly large surge of hot sticky cum filled my boxers, running down the inside of my thigh. I was simultaneously relieved, and ashamed. Heather straddled my face onscreen. I had no idea what I was going to do next. I was, however keenly aware that I didn’t have a change of clothes here. The thigh of my tan slacks was quickly darkening where my jism soaked through.
I slapped my laptop shut without even bothering to power it down and stuffed it in its bag along with all the papers I had intended to grade. Making my way to the men’s room, I used the bag as a cover for my desperation while the muffled sounds of my student’s orgasm softly preceded me. I had turned her down, but I guess not enough. Dan from the history department gave me an odd look as I brushed past him, but I didn’t stop to make conversation, hoping the video quietened before he figured it out. So far I had been fortunate not to get caught, but this had to stop. I needed to keep this sort of thing at home.
Cleaned up as best I could, I managed to make it the half mile down to my car. My face turned red when I had to wave to students and faculty, but I managed to not be stopped. My overcoat covered the worst of it, but my boxers were left in the trash of the second-floor bathroom. Bashful, I was hiding my evidence like a teenager. I was no better than my students, that was for sure. Finally, after what seemed like forever I made it home in my beat-up coupe and up to my apartment. A hot shower and a change of clothes were just the thing. I pulled her panties from my pocket and stuffed them in my dresser drawer, though I couldn’t have said why.
Scrubbed clean and dry, I freed the laptop from the bag, firing it back up. It had gone to sleep, and as it woke the screen sat paused on a picture of me pinned helpless by someone half my age and weight. I closed the video, connecting the laptop to my LaserJet to make a hard copy of Heather’s story, then deleted the original, I wanted the paper copy to be the sole piece of evidence. I looked at my watch, it was barely early evening.
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/8leqkg/writing_exercises_heathers_story_chapter_3