Read the other chapters first for best results. This will do it for Natalie and Mr Herrick; they’re just not suited for each other. But I’m sure they’ll both be back sometime.
Thanks for reading.
* * *
By December, Natalie and I had turned into a sick, twisted version of a couple.
Having thoroughly dominated me in my own classroom, then gone on to overwhelm me in my own bed and to manipulate my own wife, Natalie was in firm control of my life. She had what she craved, what got her off: power. I could see it every time she looked into my defeated eyes, feel it every time she clutched my body between her slender thighs as she rode me: the reminder of who was in charge. She never had to speak of it, never had to threaten me, but it was a slap in the face each time her vagina tightened around my cock. And I knew she only came because she had power over me. It was her sickness, her addiction.
We lay there in my bed one Sunday afternoon; my wife had taken the kids to some sort of event while I was “tutoring” Natalie, the poor innocent waif with nonexistent family issues my wife had taken a shine to. It had even been my wife who insisted we move the tutoring sessions from the school to our home; Natalie had demurely agreed.
She always insisted on showering before sex, and we’d done so, Natalie gamely taking to her knees to give me a powerful blowjob as the water came down; she said she liked to start with a clean slate so that she could be filthy in our bed, making sure her sweat and our cum were spattered where my wife slept. This afternoon she lay there, leaking my semen into the sheets while she sucked moodily at the glass of wine she’d asked for. Turning her head absently, she wiped her forehead on my wife’s pillow. “You should give Chloe an A on her next test,” she said suddenly. “She needs better grades, and you know what an idiot she is.”
I coughed tactfully. “Chloe does no work and fails half her tests, getting Ds on the other half,” I pointed out. “An A or two now isn’t going to help this semester.”
“Oh. Well, then just change her whole grade. Maybe give her a C+. It was her birthday last week.” She drained the wine, held out her glass for another pour. Sitting up in bed, I twisted to get the bottle. “She’s 18 now, just like me.”
“You shouldn’t be drinking, Natalie.”
“You shouldn’t be fucking me, Scott,” she shot back. “Just go ahead and stop pouring if you want to. I’ll withhold sex for a couple weeks, and then where will you be? Back to trying to fire your cum into your fat hog of a wife.” She sipped precisely. “You need me now, Mr Herrick. I’ve gotten you addicted to my body, to my cunt. You’ll never be able to go back to screwing her. But,” she added viciously, “you can feel free to imagine me naked as you jack off. Just stop pouring, and all that can be yours!” She set the glass carefully down on the bedside table, then calmly moved over to squat above my ribs. She pushed her vagina lewdly toward my face while she ran her palms up and down her long, lithe body. “Go ahead. Turn me down. Tell me you don’t want to fuck me anymore.”
I closed my eyes.
“Good. Then keep pouring and give Chloe a passing grade.” Her eyes took on a faraway expression, then, as she felt something poking softly at her ass. “Well now. I think I’ve made you hard again. Imagine that.” She twisted to glance over her shoulder, then came back around and patted my cheek. “Shit, Mr Herrick, that’s three erections today. I think you really, really like me.” She chortled. “I guess we’ve got time for one more…”
* * *
Chloe Bishop stayed in her desk when the bell rang a couple days later. This was rare enough that I figured I should go buy a lottery ticket later and wish on a blue moon. I started putting my stuff into my backpack, smiling pleasantly at her. “This is an unexpected surprise, Chloe. Are you staying for extra help?”
“Something like that,” she said absently, toying with her hair. She was looking at me sideways with a crafty gleam in her eye. I’d put her in the front row to keep her from chatting during class, and she sat there now with a little smile. “I actually need some… some advice, I guess. About a little situation I’m having.”
There was something in her tone that warned me, and I stopped putting my stuff away to look down at her. Short, very short; Chloe needed heels to clear five feet, but she stuffed a powerful cheerleader’s body into that small package. Her legs were muscular and very well-defined in the black yoga pants she was wearing, her waist narrow but solid with years of sit-ups; strong arms now spun lazily in her hair. She was, I’m ashamed to say, a young lady whom male teachers were always gazing at, furtively, in the halls as she walked away: her ass was famous among the whispered conversations of the staff room, a thing of wonder that undulated and jiggled in a most delightfully sexy way. Her face was fine: not particularly beautiful, and spoiled by a slightly crooked nose, and, most often, a scowl, but all the same she looked as fresh and lovely as most Gürpınar Escort 18-year-old girls. Her hair was short, straight, colored an indeterminate shade of dirty blonde.
Her main feature, completely out of place on such a compact frame, were a pair of breasts that would have seemed large even on a woman two feet taller and about fifty pounds heavier. They loomed out of her tight, ribbed grey tanktop like two bullet trains, barely restrained by the heavy engineering of what must have been an expensive and well-made bra, today in sky-blue lace that peeked from her shoulders. Her cleavage seemed deep enough to cause an echo. They were responsive, too; a drop of just half a degree on any room’s thermostat seemed to cause nipple expansion to an alarming degree, myself among the many men in the building who had noticed. Who couldn’t help but notice, really.
Even now, I knew my eyes were dwelling on her massive tits, the top quarter of them tanned and visible, and she shifted proudly forward in her desk to accentuate them; Chloe was a girl who loved attention. I shook my head. “What’s on your mind?”
“It’s not me, really, it’s a situation with my friend Natalie Cross.” She narrowed her eyes, watching my face carefully, and if I hadn’t already, I now felt the ice cracking beneath my feet. “I think she’s lying to me, and I’m hurt by it. And the thing she’s lying about sort of involves you.” There was a definite, wicked gleam in her eye now; Chloe was speaking slowly and clearly.
“Sort of. I mean, it definitely involves this classroom,” she added, looking over my shoulder to where I’d laboriously cleaned the dried cum off the board, just under today’s date. She stared there long enough to make sure I knew where she was looking. “And it definitely involves Nat. And over the past few weeks or so,” she went on, planting her feet and standing up, “I’ve sort of concluded it involves you too.” She was grinning now, wickedly, her eyes sweeping down my body to land squarely on my dick. They lingered there as she said, “Do you know what I’m talking about, Mr H?”
My throat had gone very dry. I licked my lips. “Um. Maybe we should close the door, Chloe.”
The grin widened. “Ah. So you do know what I’m talking about.”
“No no no,” I protested, hastening over to shut it and draw the blinds; male teachers weren’t really supposed to be behind closed doors with female students, but people did it all the time. “It’s not that. I just don’t want you to feel nervous. About talking to me.”
“Oh!” She chuckled. “I’m certainly not nervous, Mr H. But thanks anyway; it wouldn’t hurt to have some privacy for the two of us this afternoon.” She winked at me as I came back over and sat behind my desk. She sauntered over, leaning over the front of the desk, pensively squashing her breasts between her arms. “Now then,” she began, eyeing me as I sat there, “let’s start at the beginning. I’m warning you, some of this may be shocking.” She gave a self-deprecating cough. “But I’ll rely on your discretion. I’m just an innocent schoolgirl with no idea how to handle this kind of situation.
“So, about a month or so ago,” she said, “Nat and I were reading an article. It was in one of those sex magazines, and it was all about male orgasms.”
I held up a hand, vainly trying to pretend this could stop. “Please, Chloe. Isn’t this more of a biology question? Why don’t you go ask Ms Griffiths?”
“Relax, Mr H. As the story unfolds, you’ll understand why I came to you. Just try to focus; besides, you’re married. I doubt you need a bio degree to know that men have orgasms.” She laughed, her head thrown back, her spectacular breasts stirring. “Girls are very interested in stuff like that. So we were reading this article about prostate massage and its effect on male ejaculation.”
I just gaped at her; I was distantly impressed that such an empty-headed little twit actually knew multisyllabic words, and could pronounce them properly. “I mean, we’ve all seen males ejaculate before,” she said dismissively, “but the article made it sound like you could make the semen go faster if you put your finger in, you know, the guy’s butt.
“Well, Nat got all pissy and said there was no way that would work. We argued back and forth, and she said she’d go prove it. A few days later she texted me a video she’d taken. A really weird and gross video.” Her blue eyes sparkled now as she reached a hand up alongside her left breast. “Wanna see?”
“No,” I said flatly.
“Aww,” she pouted, pulling her phone with effort from her bra. “Is that because you really don’t want to, or…” she pulled up the video, turning the phone so that I could see it, “because you already have?” Her grin was cruel now, more like her friend Natalie’s; the video wasn’t playing, but the opening scene was the one Natalie had shown me: my ass, my foreshortened dick bobbing beyond, and Natalie’s conquering face. “Recognize the classroom, Mr H?”
I tore my gaze away and glared up at her, trying to maintain some sort of authority. Gürpınar Escort Bayan “That’s it, Chloe. I’m taking this phone to Mr McCarron right now. If Natalie Cross is making porn in my classroom, that’s an extremely serious issue and I’ll take care of it. Thank you for coming forward.” I made a clumsy grab for the phone, but she yanked it out of reach.
“No way you’re taking my phone, Mr H,” she spat, her usual poor behavior flaring a bit. “If I wanted Nat punished, I’d have taken this to McCarron myself. But that’s not why I’m here, why I need your advice. See, she lied to me about this video, which pissed me off.” She smiled again, hollowly. “She said the guy in the video was Joey Witherspoon. Wanna know why I’m pissed off, Mr H?”
“Do I, Miss Bishop?”
She scowled. “That bitch Natalie knew what would happen. She knew I couldn’t see a video like that without getting curious. She knew.” She put the phone back into her bra, reassembling herself like a jigsaw puzzle. “So as soon as I saw ‘Joey’s’ dick in the video, I had to go check it out. I mean, it’s really a pretty nice dick, you know, in the video. And the cum…” she shook her head, lost in the memory. “Phew.”
“Stop this, Chloe.”
“Aww, Mr H,” she whined, smiling once again, “I’m just getting to the good part.” She turned then, showing off that magnificent ass, and hoisted herself onto the front of my desk, twisting to keep me in her sights. Now I was treated to one of nature’s great miracles: Chloe Bishop seated in profile right in front of me, side views of her sublime ass, her straining breasts. The side of her bra gaped through her armhole, the jiggling flesh of the side of her boob oozing deliciously out above. “So a couple days later I kidnapped Joey. Not literally; I just showed up at his house in a crop top.” She laughed, playfully pulling up her tanktop to show me her six-pack, the glint of a stud in her navel. “I offered to take him out. Can you imagine?
“I drove him out to Sanderson Park and led him into the woods. Then I shoved him up against a tree, yanked down his pants, and went down on him.” Her eyes shine with delight. “And I think you know how this story ends, Mr H, don’t you?”
I shook my head dumbly.
“Well, a nice girl like me with a healthy sex drive, I’m pretty good at telling dicks apart. And I knew right away that Joey Witherspoon’s little string-bean dick wasn’t the same strong, capable one I’d seen in the video. Just to make sure, I made him turn around and looked at his bony ass: uh-uh. Not the same one.” She shrugged, setting off a seismic event inside her top. “But I felt bad about ruining his evening playing X-box, so I let him fuck me against the tree and then I took him home. So at least Joey Witherspoon isn’t a virgin anymore.” She peered thoughtfully at me; she seemed to want me to say something. I cleared my throat.
“Well, uh, I’m not sure what I can do for you, Chloe. This is not something I’m able to help you with. The school nurse, maybe, or…”
“Let me just stop you right there, Mr H. Because, see, the thing is,” she leaned in and went quieter, “I think you can help me. I think I’ve figured out whose dick that is in the video, getting sucked by Natalie Cross. I think I’ve figured out whose ass she’s poking her fingers into. I think I know whose monster load got plastered all over the whiteboard. And I think you know, too.”
“Do I?” There was a part of my brain that was extremely frightened now, but I couldn’t do anything about it but hope for the best. Chloe destroyed that hope with her next sentence.
“That video…” She shook her head. “Sexy. The guy in that video has a mole at the top of his asscrack. And that time, at the end of the carwash… when you leaned over at that table… wearing no shirt…” She smiled knowingly at me, once more glancing down to my penis. “And I think you and I now have a little secret.” I blinked. She gazed at me intently, challenging me. “So, how about it, Mr H? Do you want me to share your secret, or keep it?”
I was done, gone. I’d been playing with fire, and this was what it had led to. Damn Natalie! I’d known involving Chloe was a mistake. But there was nothing I could do; I lowered my head, defeated. “You need to keep the secret, Chloe.”
She smiled warmly, indulgently. “Oh, Mr H!” She leaned down, reached out, raised my head up. “Don’t feel sad. This doesn’t have to be a bad thing.” She shrugged. “Not for me, anyway.” Then she hopped off my desk and came around toward me. I watched her, fearful, as she stopped and faced me from a few feet away. “There is one thing, though, one little thing. Like, before? When you were wondering how you could help me? What you could do for me?” The smile grew wide, cold, excited. “I think I thought of something.” She stared at me, a hunter, a predator; like Natalie, and yet different. There was a heat to Chloe Bishop, a passion. This was not a planner; there was no precision in this brain.
She once again brought her hand to my chin. “Hmm,” she Escort Gürpınar said, pondering. “You’ve got a nice face. A nice mouth.” She stroked my stubble. “Scratchy, though.” She made a kissing face. “And I think I’ve got a little itch.” She reached down, hooked her fingers around her mound, and jacked herself crudely, like a ballplayer adjusting his cup. “I’ll bet you’re pretty good at scratching itches.” There was a smell now, a deep and vibrant smell as she grew excited. Her nipples were straining for the outside world. She kicked a pair of worn mocassins off her feet, jacked herself one last time, and then her hands crawled to her waistband and began to peel at her yoga pants.
Resigned, I looked into her triumphant eyes. “Just what kind of itch do you need me to scratch, Chloe?” I asked quietly. She just kept smiling wickedly, pushing her pants down; smooth, smooth legs, sleekly muscled, a lacy lavender thong waiting behind. Her quads were massive; she bent at the waist, reaching past her mighty knee and whipping the yoga pants past her feet; she stood there in her thong, her vagina puffy, her legs spread, and absently traced her hands across her abs.
“The kind you might just enjoy scratching,” she said, all throaty, drumming her fingers across the front of the thong. “But probably not as much as I will.” The breath caught in my throat as the thong came down; the skin beyond was pale and smooth, no hair at all. Her wide, long slit was already weeping. She stood there, proud of her body, then moved closer; I rolled the chair aside as she turned and climbed onto my desk. She regarded me coolly and brought her left foot up to rest on the desktop. “Go ahead, Mr H. Want me to keep your secret? Then get scratchin’.”
Her legs spread wide, her pelvic muscles like a solid wall in front of me, I slowly rolled the chair forward, parked myself, and leaned in. Her smell was intense: there was the expected odor of a long day spent sitting in school desks, then the very faint whiff of urine from an earlier bathroom trip; dominating everything, though, and reaching out to me like a cloud was the musky, peltlike smell of her arousal, so much earthier and more pungent than Natalie’s. But Natalie did not usually like me to eat her out; she had made very clear the fact that her interest extended mostly as far as my penis, though there had been that 69 on my desk. But in the back of my mind I was obscurely pleased that Chloe wanted something different. And I had never eaten out a woman who shaved. This was not an ideal situation, but if I had to be blackmailed into sexual activity with yet another of my students, I supposed I ought to make the most of it.
Her legs came lazily over my shoulders as I moved in, the concentrated scent much stronger now. “Motherfucker,” she marveled at the first feeling of my breath across her mound, “my history teacher is about to eat me out on his own desk.” She kicked her heel gently against my shoulder blade. “Eat that pussy, Mr H. Shove your face in there and make me cum.”
I made her wait, twining my hands slowly and gently up and around the tops of her thighs. I tipped my head up and gazed at her flaring nose, her narrowed eyes. “And if I refuse?”
She laughed aloud and ran teasing hands down across her breasts. “You won’t.” She was right, of course; clasping her thighs with a fierceness that surprised me, I steered my tongue toward her navel. I poked it in, moving the stud side to side for a few seconds before I flattened my tongue and dragged the underside slowly down across her mound. Her skin tasted like sweat tinged with body wash; above me, blotting out the light, her breasts heaved and shuddered with her breaths. My stubble clashed a moment with her stubble, and I was aware of her hand on the back of my head, holding me in place, but she needn’t have worried; my brain was by that time reacting to her smells and her flavors and her sighs, and I wasn’t about to stop.
The top of her slit announced itself with wetness on my chin as I moved lower, and at once my tongue found the sharp taste of her vagina, hot and coppery as, wasting no time, I made a missile out of my tongue and pushed it in to find her clit. I was startled by the lack of pubic hair, but it didn’t throw me off; in fact, it helped. A few seconds later she jerked her hips against my face, a delighted giggle from above telling me I’d found that clit. I sucked and gnawed at it steadily, finding it far longer and more responsive than Natalie’s or, for that matter, my wife’s; I was able to think of it as a tongue, and I French-kissed the top of her slit, making out with it as I exhaled hotly across her body.
“Motherfucker!” she said again. “You like that pussy, Mr H? You like sucking on your student’s clit?”
I nodded, having no time to respond. I kept it up, lapping with sure strokes; above me, I sent one of my bored hands brushing across her abs while the other one retreated, pulled south to join the main effort. She’d hunched herself to the very edge of the desk, and I figured I’d try to get a finger across her perineum to see what would happen. Meanwhile, I gave the top of her slit a rest; flattening my tongue again, I drove it into the cave of her vagina and moved it vaguely around inside. The taste intensified; in passing, I noticed that she was much less tight than her friend, or at least more relaxed. I wondered which.