Dear Sir bywabbit_season©

In January 1988, Gemma had only recently turned 18. She was in the final year of her studies before University at an exclusive all-girls school in a well-to-do rural area in the west of England. The school was traditional – strict, expensive, school uniform, the works – but the formality and discipline payed dividends: the majority of girls who graduated secured places at some of the country's top universities. And Gemma was on course to follow that expectation. Her command of maths, chemistry and biology – and a keen interest in medical sciences – meant that one her applications for physiology and pharmacology at the most prestigious leaning centres in the UK would almost certainly be accepted. As long as she got the grades that were predicted for her.
This is why the unexpected retirement of her biology teacher Mrs Raybourne before Christmas was such a cause for concern. She was an excellent tutor, and Gemma feared her sudden replacement due to ill health would disrupt continuity in such a way that might harm her chances of mastering the curriculum.
As it turns out, her studies were impeded, but not for the reasons that initially concerned her.
Mr Grant was just as able a teacher – if not more so. He was incredibly smart, very engaging, and – rather distractingly for a male staff member at an all-girls school – rather good-looking too. All the girls said as much, but for Gemma the attraction was rather more potent. The very first day she stepped foot in his class upon returning from winter holidays, she had an almost physiological reaction to her new educator. He was short, non-threatening, boyishly handsome, cheeky, good-humoured, kind... and she thought he was absolutely GORGEOUS. So much so, that Gemma often realised that she hadn't been listening to his teachings for minutes at a time, so hypnotised was she by his demeanour and appearance. She would get flushed whenever he picked her out to answer a question, lose the capacity to speak coherently when called upon to offer an explanation, and generally became flustered whenever he paid her the most fleeting of attention. There were no two ways about it – she was besotted.
As time passed, she slowly gained more control over her almost instinctive responses to him, and started to channel her growing devotion into subtle displays of affection and admiration. Her blushes were replaced by beaming smiles, her stammers by coquettish giggles, and her glances towards him became loaded with amorous intent.
She had been told on numerous occasions that she was a beautiful young woman, but her modesty and lack of confidence stopped her believing it. But she hoped this seemingly universal opinion was shared by her new tutor. She took to applying a little more make-up on days when she knew she'd be attending one of his classes – not too much (the school had strict rules about such things) – but enough to highlight her big grey eyes and her pouty bow lips. Not that she needed it – her flawless pale skin made her the envy of her acne-ridden peers. She even curled her long dirty blonde hair every once in a while, but less so once her classmates began suspecting a pattern.
It wasn't always clear whether the signals she was sending were being received, but the morning he glanced – albeit fleetingly – down her blouse was tantamount to an unspoken reciprocation of her desire, as far as she was concerned.
Gemma was well aware that her generous bust was a source of much fascination and fondness for the male contingent, and the glances and comments she had received from complete strangers – to a girl in school uniform, no less – was a cause of great consternation. But for the first time a man paying attention to her breasts, sneaking a peek as she leaned forward, taking in the sight of her laden bra for less than a second, was the most joyous and welcome violation.
From that day forth, whenever she had a scheduled biology lesson, she ensured she was wearing one of her 'best' bras. Not the nasty sports number Mr Grant would be picturing if ever he revisited the flashbulb memory of his glimpse at Gemma's cleavage. It was hard to do it too frequently given the inclement weather and the suspicions of her classmates, but she would undo the top buttons of her blouse and lean over her desk to entrap her tutor into another ogle. She was torn between sitting at the back of the class, where her peers would be less likely to see what she was up to, and at the front, where her machinations were most open to scrutiny but where Mr Grant couldn't help but notice her.
She gained most success when positioned at the back of the room – she surmised because when patrolling the rear of the classroom he was less likely to be caught peeking by the other students. It amounted to no more than a few furtive glances, but each and every time his eyes drifted south, Gemma felt a frisson of electricity run through her. The hairs on her arms stood on end, her mouth went dry, and she felt a deep and potent throb emanating from her loins. Who knows – maybe he was looking a lot more often than Gemma realised – timing his assessments of her generous bust for when she wasn't looking? Whenever she caught him looking, she tried to communicate to him that she didn't mind with her eyes, or with a reassuring smile, but he would disengage completely and sidle off to another part of the classroom, ignoring her completely for the next 10 minutes or so. Through shame? Embarrassment? Lack of professionalism? It was hard to ascertain.
She desperately wanted to let him know how she felt. She wanted him to know that his attention – his subtle voyeurism – was the most exhilarating thing to ever happen to her. That she welcomed – craved, even – the interest he was showing.
It was around that time that she hit upon an idea. One that could get her into an awful lot of trouble; but one that she felt compelled to follow through. She had to share her feelings. And she devised a way to do so that could be ignored or dismissed as having never happened, should Mr Grant so choose. She would write a note to him, hidden within a handwritten essay.
He assigned written essays every week as homework. It was perfect: Gemma would write an essay as normal – 4 or 5 pages of A4 was typical – but within the text she would slip a page that began and ended as if on-topic, but would contain a personal message for her teacher hidden in the middle paragraphs.
The first opportunity came when the class was asked to write an essay on the functions of the liver. Gemma wrote and re-wrote the illicit page several times over, but eventually settled on something she hoped was forward, but not too 'bunny boiler' – to coin a phrase from a recently-watched movie.
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Excerpt from essay submitted Friday Feb 5th:
[...] The liver also plays an important role in the digestive process in that it produces bile. Bile travels through the bile ducts and is released into a part of the gut called the duodenum where it 'emulsifies' large masses of fat into smaller, more easily digestible pieces. Hello Mr Grant. I suppose this is the part where I discover if you actually read through all our essays or just skim them? I appreciate this is a very unusual thing for a student to do – to communicate with their teacher via essay – but there are some things I want you to know, and this felt like the only way I could do it.
I want you to know that you are, simply put, the best teacher I've ever had. Truly. I think you're amazing. My interest in biology has only deepened since you took over, and you communicate the science so effortlessly and engagingly that I can think of no better person to help get me the grades I need.
But beyond being a great teacher you are also a really lovely guy. I'd go further, and say that I think you're drop-dead gorgeous. God, that sounds cheesy, but it's true! You're probably used to crushes from your students, but I can't write how much I appreciate your tutoring skills without also letting you know how much I appreciate you as... how do I put this without getting really corny? I appreciate you in a way that I can't imagine any other woman could possibly appreciate you. From the moment I saw you, it was visceral. I'm not going to scare you with a phrase like 'love at first sight' but I felt something powerful – something real. I'm devastated by the fact that when I first met you I was sitting in your classroom and not bumping into you at the local pub. Because if that's how we had met, I guarantee our relationship would be quite different to how it is now. Not least because you would have seen me dressed as a young woman and not a schoolgirl.
I know there are all sorts of rules about teachers and students, but as far as I know there's nothing wrong about an 18-year old hooking up with an older man. Hey, I can dream, can't I?
I've wanted to make it clear how I feel, but it's tricky in a classroom environment to flirt – not without every girl crucifying me for it. The best I've come up with is undoing a few buttons on my blouse and giving you the opportunity to look upon the only attributes that get me much attention outside of my academic achievements. Every time I've caught you looking you get shy and move away. But I want you to know: not only don't I mind you looking – I WANT you to look. It may sound silly, but it's the only way I can show my appreciation of you. And I want you to appreciate me back.
Just so you know, I've written this essay so that you can remove this page and it still makes sense. So, feel free to keep or dispose of this message as you see fit before returning the work back to me on Tuesday (with a good grade I hope – I really researched this topic!).
I don't know what I expect from telling you all of this – but I would have burst if I hadn't. So, thank you for indulging the musings of a silly besotted girl.
If you want to take this page to the headmistress and report me, then I guess you could do that. But as you can imagine, I would much rather you simply removed and threw away this page and carried on like nothing happened. I'll get the message!
The liver provides storage of many essential nutrients, vitamins, and minerals obtained from blood passing through the hepatic portal system...
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Handing it in was fraught, but waiting for the marked essay to be handed back to her on Tuesday was positively nerve-wracking – especially because Mr Grant did so near the end of the lesson instead of at the beginning, which was unusual for him.
The fact she hadn't been called in to see the headmistress suggested that at the very least, she wasn't in trouble. Maybe Mr Grant didn't read all those essays he had to mark all the way through? Maybe he did, but was going to ignore the outpouring and pretend it never happened – the 'get-out clause' that Gemma had placed within her secret message.
She couldn't bear to make eye contact as her teacher placed the essay on her desk in case his demeanour betrayed disappointment, embarrassment, disgust... she honestly didn't know what to expect. She hurriedly flicked through the sheets and noticed immediately that the page containing her note had been removed. Her heart skipped a beat. He knew. But he hadn't reported her. Or mentioned it. What did this mean? A glance at her grade and the customary appraisal of her work provided the answer:
A –
A delightful read – your efforts are very much appreciated; I look forward to seeing more.
From skipping a beat to pounding inside her chest, that single sentence made her heart do somersaults. It was subtle enough that anyone seeing the comment without the context of her message would be none the wiser – but the intention was clear. Almost instinctively, Gemma unfastened the top two buttons of her blouse – subtly, but quickly – and lifted her collar to create a gape in her top. She was sat at the back of the room, so felt hidden enough to glance down her front to ensure that her cleavage – adorned with one of her favourite white lacy bras – was easily visible to anyone taking the effort to look down it. And sure enough, Mr Grant soon approached. And after a knowing look and a cheeky smile, he stared directly down into the window Gemma had created. He stared intently and didn't look away, his ogling shielded from the rest of the class by their respective positions.
"That was a great essay, Gemma. I enjoyed it. Good research."
Even as he spoke, he didn't divert his gaze from Gemma's chest. And the longer he stared, the more Gemma tingled. She pulled in her elbows to create even more of a cleavage, and took a deep breath to heave her bosom.
"Thanks," she replied, as nonchalantly as possible. "I was worried you wouldn't like it."
"No, it was great," he said, finally abandoning his visual molestation and fixing her with a genial smile. "More of the same, please."
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Her next two biology lessons that week were joyous affairs. Free from their respective hesitancy – and limited only by what they needed to do to hide their intentions from the rest of the class – Gemma spent the duration of each period contorting herself into as many positions as she could conceive that would present her ample cleavage for her teacher's seemingly grateful assessment. As per Tuesday's encounter, he only hid his examination of her chest from her other classmates, happy to let Gemma watch him as he scrutinised her lace-clad breasts. In fact, he barely made eye-contact at all, using every opportunity when in close proximity to peek down her blouse instead. Gemma didn't mind – indeed, she was thrilled. Every glance validated her, every subtle smile excited her, every response to her changes in posture sent waves of bliss flowing through her.
At one stage, she was even convinced that a bulge was forming in his trousers. Could it be? Was this gorgeous, oh-so handsome man actually having a sexual response to her body? Did she really please him this much?
Gemma was fairly inexperienced in such matters, but not completely naive. Still a virgin, she had fooled around with a few boys at various parties, watched a bootlegged hardcore porn film with her girlfriends during a hysterical slumber party and read some of her mum's 'naughty' novels. She had even administered a tentative hand job outside a pub to a grateful nerd from the local university who lasted about 5 seconds and exploded – to her horror – over her arm. But the attention her blossoming body had received caused her to retreat into her shell long before such encounters. She rarely wore clothes to show off her curves, and consciously erred towards the conservative when making herself up for a night out.
This is what made her current behaviour towards Mr Grant all the more unusual; taking on the role of a temptress – a barely legal sexpot – was so out of character. But it was instinctive. The moment she laid eyes on him, she wanted him to notice her. And she was now discovering how useful her body was in garnering his attention.
The explorations of her sexuality weren't limited to its effects on the object of her desire, either. Not usually one for masturbation – it usually took her too long to reach a state of arousal, let alone climax – the week of displaying her wares to Mr Grant coincided with a sudden interest in self-pleasure. Suddenly, simply by picturing her teacher staring down her blouse and feeling that frisson pass through her, she was able to orgasm in nearly no time at all. A lack of natural lubrication – the main reason she used to find fingering herself so tedious and uncomfortable – was no longer an issue, her moistness almost causing alarm it was so forthcoming.
Indeed, within just a few days she became somewhat obsessed with pleasuring herself, finding any opportunity to satisfy her growing need in the girls' toilets at school – especially after a biology lesson. She orgasmed more times that week than she had her entire life so far. It simply reinforced what she already knew: Mr Grant was 'the one'.
Friday's essay was kidney function. In her hidden message, Gemma decided to share even more. While writing she realised that her elicit prose was less for Mr Grant's benefit than for her own: each lewd reference, every erotic suggestion, any mention of her body and the effect it might be having on her tutor... It all gave her such a thrill that by the time she had completed it, her knickers were sodden with pleasure. Sat at the desk in her bedroom at home, she checked her door was closed, clicked on the lid of the chunky fountain pen with which she had written the message, reached up her red pleated school skirt, pulled aside her damp undergarment and plunged the pen into her grateful, moist cunt. She came within minutes, the rubber grip on the shaft working marvels on her swollen clit. It was the best orgasm she had ever had. So far.
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Excerpt from essay submitted Friday Feb 12th:
[...] Kidney disease usually affects both kidneys. If the kidneys' ability to filter the blood is seriously damaged by disease, wastes and excess fluid may build up in the body. Hello again, Sir. I can't tell you how excited I was not only that you had read my message and didn't report me for it, but that you actually responded to the words I wrote.
Being in your classes this week, having you admire me in the way you have, has been the most wonderful thrill. Until now I've been rather embarrassed about my boobs – they always got me attention I didn't want, always got in my way. The bigger they got, the more I resented them. But seeing how much you appreciate them, watching you admire them, I couldn't be happier that they're there.
I wonder what you're thinking when you stare at them so intently. Are they so different from any tits you've seen in the past? I guess they're big for a girl my age and size. They're 34D if that means anything to you. I used to want to hide them away, but with you I'm happy to flaunt them. My mum calls them my "assets", but I've never really thought of them as such until now. I'm glad I have something that makes me special in your eyes; that makes me attractive to you. Because you are so very attractive to me.
To give you an idea, I've been touching myself a lot lately, and it's always because I'm thinking about you. God, I've overshared, haven't I? Don't judge me... Although many forms of kidney disease do not produce symptoms until late in the course of the disease, there are six warning signs of kidney disease: [...]
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When receiving her marked essay this time she made sure to keep eye contact, and her sultry look garnered a suppressed smirk from her teacher, and was that a hint of blushing?
The compromising page had again been removed, but a barely cryptic message hidden in Mr Grant's assessment made it clear that this game was to continue:
B++
Another good essay. I notice a reliance on supporting quotes from literature. Use these sparingly. Your writing and understanding are excellent and
it would be great to see those assets without support
of this kind.
Again, without the context of her incriminating message, this appeared completely innocent, but it was anything but. Given how Gemma had referred to her breasts in her last message, it was obvious he was keen to see more of them, but the "support" bit flummoxed her momentarily until she realised what he was referring to, especially given the way he had formatted the line. He wanted to see her "assets" without support. Without her bra! He wanted to look at her naked tits!
This made her positively wet with anticipation – it would be a crossed line that would forever cement their unspoken affection for each other. If he was requesting that she expose her breasts to him, then he might as well be asking her out, or inviting her home after a night out drinking. He couldn't, of course – he was her teacher; there were rules about such things – but this was proof, if proof were needed, that were circumstances different Mr Grant would be taking any and every opportunity to be with her. To ravish her with his eyes. And then his hands. And then... hmmmm... she wondered what his cock would be like. Inexperience be damned, she'd wank him off for hours if he wanted her to. She'd let him explode in her hands as much as he wanted. On her face, even. Or her tits. Or she'd let him push it inside her, and it would feel just like it did with her pen the other night. But warmer, bigger...
 It was at that point that Gemma let out a guttural moan that echoed around the classroom and caused Mr Grant to freeze halfway through handing another student her essay. Everyone turned to face her, most with incredulous looks on their faces. She had got so caught up in her fantasy that she had briefly forgotten her surroundings, and the noise she just made was unmistakable sexual. She tried to style it out by holding her stomach and pulling a face like she was nauseous.
"Are you OK Gemma?" Mt Grant asked.
"I'm sooo sorry, I've got really bad stomach cramps. In fact, I think I might be sick."
"OK, off you go then. See the nurse if you need to. Come back when you're feeling better."
The explanation satisfied the majority of the class but some girls eyed her with suspicion as she fled the classroom, especially given she didn't have the time or opportunity to do up the top of her blouse.
Gemma was mortified and sought refuge in the cubicle of the nearest toilets. Once she calmed herself over the embarrassment, she turned her thoughts to how she was going to satisfy Mr Grant's request. As she did so she fingered herself gently, opening the floodgates to the free-flowing lubrication that her teacher's message had triggered. By the time she had formulated a plan, she had cum twice.
–––––-
For her next biology lesson, she forwent one of her 'best' bras for an old undergarment she hardly ever wore, but that had one useful distinction: it fastened at the front. She had considered not wearing anything at all – possibly removing the restrictive item in the toilets immediately prior to the class – but she feared her lack of support would be noticed by more than just her teacher. Instead, she took a back-seat row as normal, popped the top couple of buttons of her blouse as nonchalantly as possible, and waited until the eyes of every single one of her classmates were pointing forward.
It was several minutes into the lesson before she felt the circumstances were right, but confident that everyone's attention was elsewhere she subtly reached through a gap between the few buttons that were actually done up, and unclipped her front-fastening bra. Frustratingly, her breasts weren't freed. Her clothing, loose as it was, was keeping everything in place. As carefully and slowly as she could, she started to wriggle her arms and torso to encourage her boobs to escape from the cups.
Mr Grant noticed the movement, and tried to hide his interest lest he rouse the curiosity of any of Gemma's classmates. However, several quick glances towards his amenable student showed how interested he was in her progress. When she felt she had extricated herself sufficiently, she finally relaxed into stillness, and looked up at her teacher to signal her readiness. As he met her gaze she bit her bottom lip and flicked her eyes downwards before giving him a filthy smile.
She felt so naughty. Freed by the dismantled bra under her blouse, she could feel the classroom's cool air around her breasts. Her nipples, hard as bullets, scratching against the white cotton mix. She was getting tingly just appreciating her state of clandestine semi-nudity in this packed classroom. The thought of Mr Grant approaching to look down her top at her willingly-presented knockers was making her moist.
He waited – picking his moment so that the class were busy staring at their desks, trying to complete a task he had set. He meandered towards Gemma's area in the classroom, trying to look as interested in the efforts of every girl he approached, even offering some advice to some after reading their efforts. But Gemma was pretty sure he was just trying to make his eventual presence around her desk seem completely natural and unassuming.
Her heart beat harder and faster as he slowly made his way towards her – every diversion or change in direction maddening her. But when he finally approached her, she swooned inside as he looked straight down her blouse and pulled an expression with his eyes and mouth that she could only be translated as "wow".
"How are you getting on?" he said, composing himself.
"Yeah, ok I think," she said, as matter-of-factly as she could muster. "Do these look alright?"
She rotated the paper she was scribbling on 180 degrees, giving Mr Grant the excuse to lean in over her desk. But he wasn't looking at the barely coherent answers she had scrawled. Gemma pushed her shoulders forward and her bum into the back of her seat, and leaned forward as much as she could without it looking too blatant. In doing so she gave her teacher a clear and uninterrupted view of her naked, goose fleshed tits, the open sides of her bra merely framing rather than obscuring them.
"They look great," said Mr Grant, who audibly gulped before offering his assessment.
Gemma studied his reaction and felt a surge of pride as he gawped at her. She would do anything for him – this display was the least she could do to make him happy. She noticed him putting a hand in his pocket and was delighted to realise that he was adjusting himself, no doubt to disguise a forming erection from the rest of the class. Indeed, that seemed to be his cue to wander to another part of the room.
"Keep it up," he chirped as he left her.
Gemma watched his perfect tight arse as he shuffled away and had to suppress another audible moan as she felt the sexual energy build up inside of her. She had made him hard! Just by letting him look at her.
He avoided her for the rest of the lesson – Gemma hoped it was because his reaction to the sights on offer would be too obvious to hide – but at the end of the period he surprised her.
"Sarah, Fiona and Gemma, can you stay behind for a bit, everyone else you can go."
The other two girls looked around, slightly bewildered as the rest of the class left. Gemma suddenly felt a little exposed and held her blouse together at the collar with her fingers.
"Don't worry," Mr Grant continued, sitting at his desk at the front. "You're not in trouble. Quite the opposite, you're all doing really well and I want to make some reading suggestions for each of you. Some advanced learning. Up to you if you want to put the extra work in, but it could be the difference between an A and an A* come exam time. Sarah, up you come first..."
Gemma and Fiona sat in silence as Mr Grant quietly talked Sarah through a list of recommended texts as she listened intently, watching as he scribbled down the titles and authors. Gemma knew what was coming. She would be called last, after the others had left the room. She would be alone, bending over his desk. It was a way of getting them alone without arousing too much suspicion. Sure enough, Sarah was dismissed and left the room and then Fiona received her reading list. Gemma was out of her seat and slinking towards Mr Grant's desk before she was called, making sure Fiona was out the door and out of earshot before leaning over and whispering: "Alone at last."
Mr Grant looked genuinely annoyed.
"I beg your pardon?!" he snapped.
Gemma was startled, and momentarily upset. She stood bolt upright and held her blouse together at the top again, like a defence mechanism. She genuinely didn't know what she had done to provoke such a strong reaction – especially considering what had transpired earlier in the lesson.
"I... I'm sorry, I..."
"Gemma, that kind of manner and language is completely unacceptable. Do you understand?"
He was still speaking harshly, and the tone actually caused tears to well in her eyes, which seemed to trigger a softer approach from her tutor.
"Gemma, I'm your teacher – not a mate down the pub. You can't get that familiar with me like that, ok? There are very strict rules about teacher–student relationships, and I could get into LOTS of trouble if there was any suggestion of... impropriety. Do you understand?"
"But I thought... you know... my messages..."
"What messages?"
There was a pregnant pause as Gemma tried to process what was happening, but she was helped in her assessment by a loaded raise of Mr Grant's eyebrows. She had been stupid. She got it. She absolutely got it. For the sake of his career and professional reputation, there had to be full plausible deniability regarding these exchanges.
"I'm sorry," she said, now calmer and more relaxed. "I completely understand. I'll be more careful... in how I speak to you. And stuff."
"Good," Mr Grant said with a smile. "Now, shall I talk you through these suggestions?"
He indicated towards a note book on his desk. Gemma let go of her blouse and slowly, tentatively leaned in, worried she was making another mistake. But Mr Grant merely made room for her to stoop over his desk, and made no attempt to disguise his examination of the contents of her blouse.
Her breasts were now hanging just inches from his face, the loose material and open bra doing little to obscure their majesty. Anyone viewing the scene from the doorway would have been none-the-wiser, but this was a blatant and intimate exposure of her tits.
"So you like them?" Gemma said.
"What?" Mr Grant snapped, flicking his eyes towards Gemma's petulant face, annoyed that his warnings had seemingly gone unheeded.
"My essays," she clarified. "You've been giving me good grades lately, so I was just assuming... that you really like them."
Mr Grant relaxed and smirked, taking another long look down Gemma's gaping blouse, and the large, firm 18-year-old tits that were presented within.
"Yes, I like them very much. They're... substantial. Well rounded. I enjoy them very much."
"Did you... want to touch upon any of them?"
That made Mr Grant chuckle.
"Not right now. Let me give you this list and... we'll see how things go."
"OK, thank you. Shall I just...?"
Gemma, still leaning over, reached down and slowly, very deliberately, pulled the page from the notebook. Each exaggerated tear of the paper from the wire binder had the desired effect of making her breasts jiggle inside her blouse – a sight she thought Mr Grant might appreciate.
"Is there anything else?" she sighed, looking back it him with a dirty look on her face. It was at this point that she noticed one of his hands was under his desk, and it was clearly on the move. He was touching himself through his trousers! She knew it!
"Er, not for now," he said, clearly flustered, swivelling his chair away from her display and dismissing his student. "Thank you, Gemma."
"No, thank YOU sir," she responded, before slowly heading to the exit, checking the coast was clear so she could re-fasten her bra.
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That encounter provided wank fuel like nothing else. Nearly twice a day Gemma found herself exploring her pussy, charged with thoughts of Mr Grant's appreciation of her tits. She wanted so much more than this, though.
God, life was cruel... Why did their relationship have to be limited to these brief illicit exposures of flesh? Why couldn't she just ask him to take her back to his place where she'd happily strip for him and let him do whatever the fuck he wanted to her? She addressed this in her next hidden message.
Excerpt from essay submitted Friday Feb 12th:
[...] Other functions of the spleen are less prominent, especially in the healthy adult. Spleen produces all types of blood cells during foetal life. It also stores red blood cells and lymphocytes. Hello Mr Grant. Apologies for overstepping the mark the other day – I'm still getting used to the 'rules'. I guess anything we say to each other in school has to be completely innocent in case of eavesdroppers and prying eyes? But given how much you enjoyed looking at my tits, I'm assuming you don't want me to stop my little displays? You just need... 'plausible deniability' – is that the phrase?
I'm glad you liked looking at them. My tits, I mean. I might be mistaken, but when I was leaning over your desk and they were jiggling in your face, I could have sworn you were reaching under your desk. Were you touching yourself? The thought of me making your cock so hard that it needed to be touched makes me so happy.
I completely understand the urge. Since I've been letting you sneak peeks at my body I've been touching myself almost every day. Does that make you feel good? That the thought of you ogling me makes me cum? And I cum so hard.
I understand we have to be careful in school, but why don't we meet outside of school hours? There's a local pub called The White Lion that I can be at during half term? You could buy me a drink. Invite me back to your place. I'll show you a lot more than you've seen so far. And I'll let you do anything you want. Absolutely anything. I'm yours.
Enlargement of the spleen is known as splenomegaly, and may be caused by a number of illnesses and diseases...
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Gemma was sure that this was the message to end this initial stage of tentative flirtation and usher in her fantasy of her cherry being popped by her dream man late one Friday night. But it didn't turn out that way...
At the start of the next biology lesson, Mr Grant made a quick announcement.
"Girls, I just wanted to clarify something with you all. Now I know a lot of you have birthdays coming up, and it's traditional on your 18th to go to the pub to celebrate – legally for once."
That provoked some knowing giggles.
"And I won't embarrass anyone," he continued. "But I've had some very kind invitations to join some of you at the bar and wish you well. Please don't think I don't appreciate this, because I really do, but as you can imagine fraternising with students is a BIG no-no, as innocent as your invitations are, so... thank you to those who have asked but... you will not be seeing me at any local haunts, I'm afraid."
The girls in the class groaned with disappointment and faux sympathy. Gemma had no idea if these invitations were real or not, but she was in no doubt that this declaration was aimed solely at her – a gentle rebuke to her proposition.
Her deflation was eased somewhat by the assessment on her essay – again returned with the controversial page removed:
A
Your efforts aren't going unnoticed. I'm pleased to see that you appear to be taking as much pleasure from writing these essays as I am in reading them. Keep exploring ways to improve. I think you still have more to show.
'Oh, I do' Gemma thought to herself, buoyed by the encouragement. 'But you're making it really fucking hard.'
Of course, she understood. In the school's long history there were several stories and rumours about teachers getting into trouble for inappropriate behaviour with or towards students. And not just male culprits, either. It was evidently an occupational hazard for any teacher with an appreciation of the female form to be surrounded by a whole school of naïve, inexperienced, sex-starved girls entering adulthood. The uniforms probably didn't help.
Hell, it was an open secret that an athletics coach had to be let go because he took advantage of the ancient architecture in the south shower blocks. The slapdash patch-job in the wall of the far cubicle evidence that the rumours in that case were probably true...
It was then that Gemma realised she had the opportunity to show Mr Grant 'more'. This school – which had so far limited the extent to which she could fraternise with Mr Grant – might just provide the means to take their relationship further. And with 'plausible deniability' left intact.
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Excerpt from essay submitted Friday Feb 19th:
[...] The adrenal cortex produces three main types of hormone: glucocorticoids, androgens and mineralocorticoids. Hello Mr Grant. Sorry I haven't been giving you much to look at this week. I'm worried the other girls are getting suspicious, and I don't want to get you into trouble. But you'll be pleased to hear I have a great idea!
The school once fired a sports coach because he was peeping at some girls showering in the south shower blocks by the pool. It's an old building... they had taken a single block with about a dozen stone cubicles, and created a male shower room by blocking off a few of the showers, putting in a new wall and a new door. ANYWAY, the partition wasn't exactly the sturdiest thing, and rumour has it this coach made a hole so that from inside the cubicle at the end of the male block, he could see into the far cubicle of the girls' block. The story goes that when he was found out, he was sacked and they tiled things up on the girls' side to cover the hole. But a lot of those tiles are loose now. I can't imagine why, but if a girl in that cubicle removed the right tile, that hole would be open again, and someone locked in the male cubicle on the other side would probably get a great view.
In unrelated news, I'm going out on Wednesday night and figured I'd freshen myself up after school and leave straight from there. Those shower blocks are always really quiet that evening, so I might even get them all to myself. I was thinking 7.00 p.m. on the dot.
The production of steroid hormones is called steroidogenesis, and involves a number of reactions and processes that take place in cortical cells [...]
Mr Grant's cryptic reply was exactly as she had hoped:
B++
Another good report. You continue to impress even though this term must be sapping your energy. The upcoming half-term will do you the world of good. I'm looking forward to seeing what you deliver when refreshed and reinvigorated.
Gemma had become quite adept at reading between the lines, and was in no doubt that 'refreshed and reinvigorated' was code for tomorrow's planned shower. And he was looking forward to seeing what she 'delivered' during it. 'Oh, don't you worry, Mr Grant,' she thought to herself. 'I'm gonna deliver. BIG time...'
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Gemma didn't want to leave any room for error or missed timings. She arrived at the shower block at 6.30 and they were still in use by some stragglers from the 4th form swim team. Gemma was well aware of the patterns and timings though – once they were done it was unlikely anyone else would be using the facilities tonight.
The end cubicle she needed was in use, so she pretended to adjust her make-up in the mirror until it was vacant. When she finally occupied it, she was still early – it was only 6.40. But it gave her time to prepare things. The cubicle was fairly archaic – mostly stone with a rickety stall door. A wooden slatted bench positioned against a side wall away from the shower head provided a seat and somewhere to place items of clothing and toiletries. Gemma dropped her towel and toiletries bag on to it. The bench also faced the large tiled wall that separated the female shower block from the hastily partitioned male block on the other side. Many of the tiles were cracked and worn from age. Some had even fallen out due to crumbling grouting and placed in a neat pile in the corner by students.
Gemma was looking for one tile in particular – she had been shown it before by a friend eager to prove that the apocryphal tale of the pervy sports teacher was true. And after a few false starts she found it, held in place by what looked like soft putty rather than cement – a temporary measure that no one had ever got around to making permanent.
The hole underneath was subtle, especially given the lack of light in the male block, but unmistakable upon closer inspection. Gemma took a chance that Mr Grant wasn't there yet, and peeked through the hole herself – the fact no lights had yet been turned on giving her the confidence it was safe to do so. It was clear from her rudimentary examination that most of the excavation had been done on the other side. The tiny opening into the girl's side would have made any covert surveillance quite hard to discover for any unsuspecting occupant, but the partition had been dug into to such an extent on the other side that the small hole would afford a panoramic view of the entire cubicle – not just a narrow tunnel of vision. It was perfect!
 Gemma sat on the bench and waited. In truth, she could have touched herself and cum a dozen times in anticipation, but she wanted to 'save herself' for the performance she was about to give. She wondered if Mr Grant would even be there at 7.00. Would he indicate his presence? Would she have to shower never actually knowing if her teacher was watching? Her fixed stare at the space where she had removed the tile yielded an answer at 6.57, when a sliver of light illuminated the subtle peephole. It would have been imperceptible to anyone not concentrating on it, but it signalled that the lights next door had been turned on. The block was empty, and outside noise almost non-existent, so Gemma was able to hear footsteps on the other side of the partition. She could hear a cubicle door being opened and shut. She could hear what sounded like a belt buckle being unfastened and a zipper being pulled. But most importantly, she didn't hear any running water – the occupant was not taking a shower. Then the pinprick of light emanating from the peephole disappeared, blocked by something on the other side.
Gemma smiled and tried to hide her nerves as she nonchalantly looked at her watch and confirmed the time. Her heart was racing, her mouth was dry, she felt giddy... and monumentally turned on. She stood from the bench and took a deep breath, steeling herself for what she was about to do. Not because she didn't want to do it, but because of how momentous an occasion it seemed to her.
She faced the wall and fixed the missing tile with a mischievous smile as she removed her red school blazer and rested it on the bench. Next, she lifted a foot onto the bench, making sure that her red pleated shirt rode up to show as much thigh as possible, and unlaced her trainers. Her shoes and socks safely stowed she moved towards the centre of the cubicle, the damp stone floor feeling cold underfoot. It was cold in the shower block anyway, and her butterflies were exacerbating her physical response – she visibly shivered as she started to unfasten the buttons on her blouse.
She did so slowly and purposefully, revealing her cleavage in stages before heaving her chest forward as she pulled the blouse off her shoulders and threw it onto the bench over her footwear. God it was cold – but it just made her feel more alive.
The white lacy bra she had elected to wear was tight, squeezing her boobs into unnaturally firm half-spheres. Gemma bit her lip and ran a finger across the tops of her swollen breasts, triggering a barely audible grunt from the other side of the wall. Was he wanking already? She had assumed that given the privacy he was afforded, he would take the opportunity to pleasure himself whilst she exposed herself to him – the sound of the belt and zipper only confirmed it – but she didn't want him to peak too early.
She accelerated her performance, turning around and unfastening her skirt before letting it fall around her ankles. She deftly kicked it onto the bench too. This was the first time Mr Grant would have seen her arse, and she wore a thong for the occasion that was a close enough match for her bra. She turned her head to the side and grabbed both her buttocks, giving them a firm squeeze, before slapping one of them – just like she had seen in a film recently.
She turned again to face the wall and reached behind her to unfasten her bra strap – the sudden disappearance of cleavage showed how tightly it had been gripping her breasts. Freed from their constraints, her youthful but sizable assets took on a more natural shape, the smooth, round undersides peeking through underneath the cups that still obscured her chest.
"These are for you," she whispered as she let the shoulder straps lose their purchase, and the bra fall to the floor.
Completely topless – her upper body naked for him for the first time – she felt a well of pride and eroticism build up inside her. She stood motionless for several seconds, allowing both Mr Grant to take in the sight, and herself to take in the blissful feeling of being coveted.
That pang of self-consciousness was still there – were her breasts pleasing enough for him? Unobscured by the fabric of her blouse, did they still titillate him? Were they too small? Too big? Did he like her nipples, and the large pink areoles that surrounded them? The quiet sigh from the other side of the wall suggested he wasn't displeased.
Gemma stooped down, keeping her legs entirely straight, to retrieve her bra. Being able to touch her toes used to strike her as an entirely pointless skill, but its utility in showing the limited effects of gravity on her firm hanging tits made her grateful for it.
The bra now safely flung onto the bench, it was time for her knickers to be discarded. Another significant milestone: the exposure of her pussy. She thread her thumbs inside the elasticated band below her hips and, keeping her back perfectly straight, pulled the panties down to her thighs – as far as her straight arms would allow. Initially she was mortified as she realised the juices seeping from her ripe cunt had soaked into her gusset, and a sticky residue was evident as she prised the fabric off her wet labia. But then she reminded herself that this was just more proof for Mr Grant – if more proof were needed – that this was as much a turn on for her as she was hoping it was for him.
Again, she stooped down with her legs straight, pulling her sodden underwear down to her ankles before stepping out of them and twirling them on her finger. She let them flick onto the bench, all the while fixing that hole in the wall with a sultry gaze. She revelled in her nakedness, felling empowered rather than exposed. The heat between her legs was in stark contrast to the coolness she felt elsewhere, and her swollen breasts and proud nipples were as much a symptom of the cool air as her innate horniness. Time to warm things up.
The initial stream of water was ice cold, and the girly squeal she let out made her mentally chastise herself for not letting the shower water run a bit first, but it soon warmed up and made the heat even more welcome when it eventually arrived. The cubicle very quickly filled with steam, and Gemma's body subtly changed to reflect the new environment. The goose bumps covering her entire body subsided and her flesh turned from pale white to pink. The skin around her firm breasts relaxed, and she could feel them become suppler as she began to rub soap into them. Once she had warmed up sufficiently, she turned away from the shower head and back towards the wall, letting her observer study the handling of her pliant knockers as she massaged them with suds.
She attended to them with almost scientific rigour, as if offering a demonstration of the various ways her tits could be manipulated. Lifting them, separating them with her palms, squashing them together with her fists, jiggling them, sending ripples through their flesh by tapping them with her fingertips. It was all for him, but the moment she pressed her thumbs into her nipples, it very much became about her too. It felt nice to touch her boobs when masturbating, but not enough to divert too much attention away from between her legs. But right now, her nipples felt as intimately sensitive as they ever had before. She flicked one with her thumb and let out an unrestrained moan, such was the pleasure it caused. Momentarily distracted by her body's response to this display of sexuality, she turned to face the stream of water again, and was delighted to discover that the powerful jets hitting her super-sensitised nipples had a similar effect to her own manipulations.
Instinctively, she plunged two fingers into her cunt. This was supposed to be the grand finale for Mr Grant – she would sit on the bench, still dripping from her shower, spread her legs, and gradually infiltrate her pussy, before circling her clit in slow-motion. But she couldn't wait. The sensations were already starting to overwhelm her, and she needed to touch herself as soon as possible. The hot needles of water still stimulating her breasts, Gemma started to furiously finger herself, groaning and moaning as she felt the orgasm quickly build.
It was as she brought herself to the cusp that she remembered she had someone witnessing all this. She quickly reverted back to her plan and evacuated the shower's stream, slumping onto the slatted bench and immediately resumed fingering herself, spreading her legs as wide as was comfortable.
"Cum for me. I'm gonna cum for you. Cum for me."
She wasn't sure to what extent she should be acknowledging his presence, but frankly she didn't care. He could still deny the whole thing if anyone was listening – the noise of the shower meant that anyone could have come in since the whole performance started. Still, she tried her very best to stifle the noise she so desperately wanted to make when the strongest orgasm she had ever experienced took hold.
It was almost transcendental. The waves of pleasure were so acute that it was as if her whole body become erogenous, and not just her loins. She had no idea if it was normal, but fluid squirted from her cunt as she came. Later she would wonder if it would have disgusted Mr Grant – seeing jets of pleasure erupting from her – but in the moment she didn't care. Immediately after the orgasm hit, her pussy became too sensitive to be touched. A brush of her arm against the sides of her tits revealed her breasts to be hypersensitised too, but not enough to stop Gemma squeezing them forcefully to wring the last ounce of pleasure out of her spent body.
"Oh my GOD," she exclaimed, as the potency of her climax dawned on her. She knew why it had been so powerful – Mr Grant was watching. His interest, his presence, his appreciation just ratcheted up her pleasure to exponential degrees.
The noise of the shower, which Gemma wished she had turned off before retreating to the bench, would have masked any orgasmic noises comes from the other side of the wall, but surely there was no way he could have shared this experience with her and NOT ejaculated?
She felt the sticky mess on the insides of her thighs that her excursions had produced and used the shower to clean it off. Whilst doing so she noticed a glint of light emanating from the peephole again. He was no longer watching, and probably getting ready to leave. Should she rush to get ready and confront him outside? No, that'd be pointless. It might scare him into never doing anything like this again. And she desperately wanted to do something like this again...
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Excerpt from essay submitted Friday Feb 26th:
[...] The pituitary gland is a small pea-sized gland that plays a major role in regulating vital body functions and general wellbeing. Hello Mr Grant. That was the most amazing evening of my entire life. I had the most amazing orgasm I've ever felt – and it was all because you were watching. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. I hope you were stroking your hard cock whilst you watched me undress. I hope you were wanking whilst I played with my tits. I hope you spunked all over the cubicle when you saw me cum. This is maddening. I want more. It's crazy that we can't do this – and much more besides – outside of school. I want you. I want to touch you. I want to take your cock into my mouth. I want to swallow your cum. I want you to fuck me. I want you to push your cock so far into me that I scream. I want to feel you inside me. Can't we find a way to make it happen? The thyroid gland is located at the front of the neck and is shaped like a butterfly. Thyroid hormones increase the rate of cellular metabolism, and include thyroxine [...]
The wait for the coded reply was made doubly tortuous by the fact that Gemma had to endure half-term – a week long break – before returning to school. She spent the vast majority of her free time trying to imagine propositions that her risk-averse tutor might entertain, and the rest of it masturbating. She predicted that any attempt to move to a physical relationship would be resisted on the grounds that she would no longer be a student at the school in a few months anyway. Why would Mr Grant jeopardise his career when he could take Gemma up on any indecent proposals when they were both free of teacher–student protocol?
But the truth was that she was simply impatient. This obsession was consuming her, and was now starting to impact on her studies – her grades in everything except biology were on a downward trajectory. She spent all her time thinking about him. Thinking about BEING with him. Gemma couldn't wait. She wanted him now.
The response, when it was finally received on her first Tuesday back at least gave her hope that their next encounter – while similar to their last – would be taken up a notch.
A
This was excellent. Same again this week, please. Although you might try expanding upon the opening a little. I find that establishing a good narrative is key – it can be hard, but a more substantial opening helps push it through.
Another clever bit of wordplay that seemed unremarkable in relation to the introduction of an essay, but took on filthy connotations when applied to a peephole in a shower. Mr Grant seemed to be suggesting that Gemma adapt it into something more like... what did her friends describe once? A 'glory hole'?
The implications salved some of her frustrations. It took some mental gymnastics to ascertain how poking his cock into her cubicle would allow for 'plausible deniability', but she realised that the owner of said erection would still be shielded by the wall – Mr Grant could deny he was the guilty party. She could never identify him from his dick, after all.
But that rationalisation came later. In the first instance, all she could focus on was that this week she would finally get to see Mr Grant's cock. More than that, she'd be able to touch it. To taste it. She might even be able to make it cum – make it explode in her hands, or her mouth, or over her face. Oh God, tomorrow couldn't come soon enough. And neither could she...
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Gemma arrived at the shower blocks even earlier that the previous occasion, this time armed with a pen knife and a metal file she had borrowed from her father's workshop. Fortuitously, there was only one other occupied cubicle, and that was at the other end of the block, so Gemma felt comfortable getting to work even though she wasn't yet completely alone.
She removed the tile she had carefully replaced a couple week's back, and assessed how she was going to enlarge the hole underneath. Her assumption was that Mr Grant wanted as little to do with this piece of mini-vandalism as possible, but she would have preferred some guidance on how big to make this aperture. It couldn't be so big as to create a too obvious window in the partition, but it needed to accommodate the infiltration of her tutor's hopefully substantial erection. She wasn't so naïve as to think it would be as big as the monstrous phalluses featured in that porn video she had watched with her friends – and indeed was hoping Mr Grant wasn't packing anything as intimidating as that – but her hope was that it was a little more impressive than the paltry specimen she wanked off behind the pub in what had to this point been her only ever encounter with an erect penis.
She started just picking at the gap with her fingertips. The material making up the partition was a hotchpotch of seemingly ancient building materials, and much of it crumbled under pressure from her fingertips. The bits that didn't just needed some encouragement from her pen knife to come free, and judicious use of her file not only smoothed the edges, but created a nice neat circle. She was glad she came prepared! During her excavation, the last remaining occupant of the shower block left, giving her license to be a little more vigorous with her filing.
After a while, she took a step back to judge her progress, and was a little worried that the hole she had created was too obvious. She double-checked that replacing the tile obscured her handiwork, and was relieved to find it did. Removing the tile again she considered to what extent this newly enlarged opening would obscure the identity of her prospective voyeur. It was just below chest height, so a casual glance from a standing position under the shower wouldn't offer a view into the male cubicle on the other side. If Gemma couldn't see him, then she assumed he would still be comfortable taking up a position to peek at her. At any rate, if he decided to infiltrate her space in the way she was hoping, all that would be moot. She calculated that by standing on his bench, he would be positioned perfectly to pop something through.
At that point she was surprised by the lights turning on next door. She checked her watch, and sure enough it was very close to 7.00. The obvious illumination from the male block made the hole very obvious, and she was afraid Mr Grant would deem the new viewing channel too risky. His footsteps were louder that they had been before – Gemma had scraped away even more soundproofing after all – and she rushed to prepare herself, the clack of his shoes acting as a countdown. Tools under the bench, blazer and watch on top of it. She froze as the light shining through the hole was obscured and then swiftly returned.
After a pause, more footsteps and the lights next door were turned off. Had she scared him off? To her relief, the footsteps returned and she heard the cubicle door on the other side of the partition close and lock, and the familiar sound of a belt being unbuckled and trousers removed. He was simply taking steps to protect his identity. Satisfied that he was ready, and after a few deep breathes to calm her, she began her performance.
Given the wider aperture and its height, Gemma mixed things up by getting close to the wall instead of affording her peeping tom a head-to-toe view. While she stared at a cracked tile just inches from her face, she knew that her admirer would be staring directly at her chest.
She unfastened her buttons in double-quick time, keen to stimulate her teacher as soon as possible, but paused after discarding her blouse to caress the tops of her breasts, gratefully noting their sensitivity. As she reached behind her back and disengaged her bra strap, she heard an unmistakable intake of breath as her boobs lost support, and the deliberately slow lifting of the cups to expose her large, teenaged tits was met with audibly grateful sigh.
Gemma threw her bra to her bench, moved towards the centre of the cubicle and promptly discarded her skirt and knickers too. Naked before him again, she sneaked a look at the hole to see if she could make out anything. Her admirer was mainly obscured in darkness, but the light coming from her own cubicle couldn't help but highlight a wide-open eye peeking from the other side.
She grinned a Cheshire cat grin and half bowed towards the hole, blowing her clandestine observer a kiss, before turning on the shower. As before she massaged soap into her big firm breasts, encouraging the nipples to harden with occasional pinches between her fingers. She offered Mr Grant more of a profile view this time, alternating between pointing her butt cheeks towards him and then her tits with the daintiest of pivots. Recalling how quickly her fingering had triggered a climax last time, she resisted the urge to delve into her folds with too much vigour, but occasional explorations between her thighs were signposted with bites of the bottom lip, her head thrown back, and theatrical moans.
She adopted positions that no woman would naturally strike under the shower unless performing – and this was very much a performance. At one point she leaned as far forward as she could, chest pushed out, so that only her boobs were caught in the shower's stream. She held her prized assets up towards the downpour, washing away all the suds she had accumulated with her breast play. She was struck by how her manipulations had brought her tits so close to her face, and leaned back out of the shower's funnel of water to try something she thought Mr Grant might enjoy. Head down, neck stretched, tongue out as far as she could muster, she lifted her left breast to her mouth and was delighted to discover she could lick her own nipple. 
 It felt fantastic; why had she never tried this before? She guessed because touching her clit was easier and arguably a nicer sensation – but this was pretty good too. She even managed to get the tip into her mouth and give it a good suck, her teat escaping the vacuum of her mouth with a satisfying pop. An approving grunt from the other side of the partition signalled that this part of the performance was particularly appreciated, so she took a few steps towards the hole and repeated it with her other breast. It felt so naughty, so dirty and illicit. If only Mr Grant was the one molesting her like this.
But hang on – given the positioning of the hole... Gemma couldn't believe she hadn't thought of this earlier, but better late than never. She got as close to the wall as possible, bent her knees slightly, and pressed one of her boobs hard up against it, right where the hole was. She had no idea to what extent her supple flesh was infiltrating the shallow tunnel, but it was evidently enough for her nipple to feel the flick of Mr Grant's tongue. She gasped at the contact – the first time she had been touched by her fantasy man – at least sexually.
"Lick my tit," she gasped, breathy with desire. "Oh, I love it... lick my nipples..."
Anyone viewing this from afar would have been struck by the absurdity of a naked, stooping girl pressing her chest against the shower wall, and moaning as if being fucked, but Gemma didn't care how it looked – only how it felt.
She disengaged to swap boobs, and briefly caught sight of a flicking tongue inside the hole before pressing her other tit hard against it. More penetration this time meant a more thorough licking, and she couldn't help but start fingering herself as the probing exploration of her hard nipple and raised areola continued. The thick, unctuous juices emanating from her pussy contrasted with the moistness left by the still-running shower, and facilitated a deep and joyous penetration. She would have gladly cum there and then, and didn't stop her self-pleasure even when the licking stopped. Even when the screeching, scraping sound of him moving the bench across his cubicle filled the block, Gemma stayed in position, chest pressed up against the wall, caught up in her own masturbatory frenzy.
It was when the next sensation felt on her tit was less a flick and more a gentle stab that she withdrew her fingers and moved away from the wall. Slowly but surely, the end of a large, glistening phallus emerged from the hole. Gemma gasped again, and continued coo as this fleshy intrusion pushed its way into her cubicle. Alas, he couldn't get much more of it through – despite audible contortions, only a little more than his swollen glans was making to her side. But it was enough for now.
Gemma studied it first: the way it throbbed in time to his clearly raised heartbeat; the clear liquid that was starting to collect at the meatus, and the smooth shape it formed at the back of the glans... no wonder they called it a "helmet". It looked elegant but purposeful, red and urgent, pulsing like it was demanding to be dealt with. So, she leaned forward, took the tip of her teacher's cock into her mouth, and gave it a gentle suck.
She found the sensation hard to process, given how little frame of reference she had, but was struck by both the taste and the warmth. Salty, tangy almost, with a briny quality. Having something so organic in her mouth, alive and throbbing, was an incredible sensation – and the dirtiness of it all was just delicious. This, she thought, must be what sex tastes like.
The hum of pleasure on the other side of the wall suggested she was applying the perfect amount of pressure. She felt subtle pushes from his side, as if he was trying to fill her mouth with more of his eager cock, but the set-up wouldn't allow it. The sighs of frustration from inside the neighbouring cubicle evidence of its occupant's annoyance.
Inexperienced as she was, Gemma tried to compensate by ravishing the very end of his cock as best she could. She swirled her tongue around it, spreading that weirdly slippery fluid he was oozing all around. She sucked a little harder and moaned with appreciation as it popped out from between her lips. She admired it again, noting how her manipulations were causing even more of that unctuous clear liquid to exude from him. With almost childlike glee she tried to apply it like lipstick, his involuntary contractions forcing her to hold it between her thumb and finger while she spread the tip across her pout.
'I wish I could have this inside me,' she thought to herself, and would have gladly shared her wish out loud had the noise of her shower not made it necessary to shout it. Then it dawned on her. If Mr Grant could get his dick through this hole by standing on a bench, then...
She left the hole momentarily, the end of Mr Grant's cock left twitching in anticipation of more stimulation. Gemma turned off the shower and swept everything on her bench onto the floor, not caring for the noise or the risk of dampening her clothes, before pulling the slatted wood to the other side of the cubicle.
"Hang on," she called, eager for her tutor not to disengage just yet. Positioning it underneath the glory hole, Gemma tentatively stood on the bench – mindful that her wet feet and the varnished wood might make it slippery. The height seemed perfect, but she could only tell for sure by trying. Facing away from the glory hole and into the cubicle, she pushed her wet ass cheeks against the tiled wall, and bent her knees slightly, trying to find the right position. After a few failed attempts, she finally felt the tip of Mr Grant's erection pressing into the sensitive flesh of her pussy.
"That's my cunt," she whispered loudly, the silence of the shower now facilitating her communication. "You've got your dick pressed against my pussy. Do you feel how wet it is? That's not the shower... That's all me. I'm dripping wet for you."
Her frustration at the lack of penetration was balanced by the pure pleasure of feeling the tip of his lubricated cock parting the folds of her labia. She squirmed around, circling the wall with her buttocks, trying to maximise the sensation with what little she had to work with. And it was gorgeous. As precariously balanced as she was, it didn't stop her writhing her butt – twerking a good few decades before such a term was coined – all to maximise the contact between teacher's eager cock and pupil's wet pussy.
She gathered her tits in her hands and squeezed them hard. She wasn't quite losing her virginity, but this was close enough, and she wanted to make the most of the complex sensations coursing through her body. Touching her boobs augmented the pleasure, but she knew that another plunge into her cunt with her bow fingers would tip her over the edge in no time.
But what did Mr Grant want? Was this superficial intercourse doing anything for him? Given how little of himself was being stimulated right now, Gemma suddenly felt a bit selfish. But he was never going to confirm his identity by instructing her, was he? So how could she ask him?
"Knock once for yes, twice for no," she finally said. "Is this nice?"
One knock on the wall.
"Do you want to do something different?"
Another knock. Gemma stepped off the bench and looked at the tip of his erection, freshly covered in her juices.
"Do you want to watch me again?"
Two knocks.
"Do you want me to suck it again?"
One knock. Gemma smiled.
"Do you want me to suck it until you cum?"
A single, very deliberate knock.
She stooped down again to meet it, but this time touched it with her fingertips first, spreading the silky mess she had smeared over it with her pussy as far down the shaft as the narrow glory hole allowed. It twitched in response, and she used her thumb to massage the underside of the glans – something a friend had mentioned drives guys crazy – and sure enough the grunts and hums from the owner suggested it was a pleasing sensation. After a few minutes of gentle massage, she gathered what she could of his foreskin and tried to wank him off as best she could, but having barely a quarter of his member to hand, it was more like a gentle milking.
"Suck it," she heard, gently whispered from the other side. His hushed tone did little to disguise his voice, and he was clearly desperate for a release for him to break cover in such a manner. Gemma obeyed, and gorged as best she could. Given the positive noises she was hearing, she experimented with harder sucks, and was thrilled to hear the moans escalate in volume and frequency. It triggered something of a frenzy in her approach, her tongue flailing around inside her mouth as the end of his cock bounced around between her lips. She too began to whimper and grunt as she plunged her fingers inside her gushing cunt before rubbing her clit with increased ferocity. She let his dick escape her gob only to rub her tits against it instead, her hard nipples scraping along its tip and underside, transferring a mixture of precum and saliva onto her hypersensitive breasts. Then down for another suck... up for more contact between cock and tits... another suck, a lick and a filthy compliment... and repeat...
It was when Gemma broke the sequence with something more akin to a passionate kiss of his throbbing helmet, that the eruption occurred. She had seen cum shots in that porn film, but that didn't strike her as having been particularly normal – just like the size of those porn star dicks. That freshman she wanked off just kind of pumped his ejaculate weakly into her hand; she figured that's what usually happened. So, the high velocity jet of cum that hit the back of her throat and then filled her mouth was a shock. She fell backwards with alarm and a gurgled squeal, only to receive another jet full in the face. She gasped – not horrified, but delighted, like a child being surprised by a magic trick. She began laughing as spurt after spurt of white jism propelled out of the glory hole, marvelling at the amount as it landed on her prone body, the propulsions managing to reach her tits, before dissipating to leave trails across her stomach, then thighs, then finally her knees. The last few pumps simply landed with a splat on the cubicle floor.
Satisfied the orgasm had ended, Gemma took a second to admire her heavily decorated body, before moving the initial deposit around in her mouth with her tongue. It was weird – an indescribable flavour and texture – but it was his. His seed. His cum. And she gratefully swallowed it.
"You've made such a mess over me," she said. "Have a look."
Gemma rose to her feet as her hidden partner withdrew his member from the glory hole, and stood in the centre of the cubicle to show off how completely she had received his contribution. Addressing the hole, and the glint of an eye she now saw on the other side, she talked through the various deposits, starting by pointing at her lips.
"You got it in my mouth... I swallowed it, it was yummy. You got it on my legs, my tummy, my face as you can see. You got LOTS on my tits."
It was when smearing the lines of cum over her breasts that Gemma got back into the groove that Mr Grant's ejaculation had interrupted. Feeling her tits when close to orgasm was great at the best of times, but now that she had her teacher's seed smeared into her flesh, the sensation felt doubly dirty and satisfying.
"You came on my tits," she said, with fake incredulity, massaging the cum on her boobs into a claggy cream. "I sucked your cock, Mr Grant, and you came all over my tits. MY tits..."
One hand went down to her pussy, the other gathered up a sticky mammary so that she could both lick her nipple AND get another taste of her teacher's spunk. She didn't need to touch her clit for long before the orgasm took her, and she unashamedly called out – nearly screaming – as it hit.
When it finally abated, she stood in silence, just the catching of her breath echoing around the cubicle. Her tit was sore and red, she had squeezed it so hard; her stained skin was flushed; she was sweaty as hell; her pussy was dripping; and Mr Grant's cum was separating and sliding off her. She felt great.
Gemma had no idea if Mr Grant stayed to watch her shower away the filth, but she liked the idea of him admiring her body even after he was spent. She made sure to shake her ass and tits every once in a while, just in case. Tonight had been amazing. But there was only one place to go from here, and she wasn't sure she'd have the strength to wait until the end of her exams for it.
––––––
Excerpt from essay submitted Friday Mar 12th:
[...] Pancreatic juices help the body digest food, especially fats. The juices are made in cells called exocrine cells. Most cells in the pancreas are exocrine cells. Dear Mr Grant. Wednesday was amazing. You tasted delicious – not just your cock but the cum you fired into my mouth too. I hope you enjoyed looking at me afterwards – at my moist naked body covered in your semen.
I'm sorry we couldn't get more contact. I would have loved to feel your cock push all the way into me rather than just probe around the entrance of my pussy. But I hope you could feel how wet it was. I think we both know what has to happen next. I'd be so tight for you – so wet – that you would cum harder and faster than you did last time. I'm sure of it.
I'm expecting you to say we have to wait – that after my exams I'm not longer a student at this school, and we can do whatever we want – but I'm not sure I can wait that long. Let's do the same again next week – our regular date at the shower blocks. But this time let me come and visit you. I'll make sure no one sees me. Let me give myself to you properly this time. No barriers. The pancreatic juices travel through small tubes (ducts) in the pancreas into a larger duct. This larger duct is called the pancreatic duct [...]
She experienced a feeling dread when reading her latest appraisal.
C+
Disappointing. Please see me after class...
Gemma might as well have not attended the lesson, such was her preoccupation throughout its duration. What was going to happen? Normally a chat after class would be something to relish, but the grade and comment suggested she had done something wrong. Was she pushing too much? Was Mr Grant getting cold feet about this entire endeavour?
She sheepishly approached his desk after all the other girls had left, a look of concern on her face. Mr Grant adopted a chastening tone as he held up a piece of paper – the illicit part of the essay with Gemma's saucy ramblings.
"This is completely unacceptable," he said, sternly.
"What?" Gemma said, with a mixture of upset and incredulity.
"Gemma, you can't write things like this, it's completely unacceptable. This could get you expelled."
Her heart skipped a beat. She was momentarily dazed, like a boxer taking a punch. She drew a deep breath and steeled herself.
"Or YOU fired," Gemma shot back, her hurt giving way to indignation.
Mr Grant paused, choosing his words carefully.
"Why would it get me fired? It's all a fantasy. I've already let the headmistress know that you might have a bit of crush on me, and I think she would agree – if I brought this to her attention – that this is a case of student infatuation leading to erroneous accusations."
Gemma couldn't quite believe what she was hearing, and she could feel her blood boiling. She was calmed, somewhat, but a more conciliatory tone from her teacher, explaining his position.
"This has gone a bit too far," he said softly. "Let's nip it in the bud now, and no one else needs to get involved. I'll throw this away and it'll be like it never happened."
There was a long pause, and Gemma went from trembling with anger to shaking with distraught, tears forming in her eyes.
"But I want you," she offered weakly.
"Gemma, let me be clear. This ends now or I'll have no choice but to involve senior staff. And I'm positive they will see things from my point of view. Let's not do that. Let's not ruin your chances of leaving school with the grades we both know you can achieve."
"Why would they see things from your point of view?" she countered, petulantly. "I've got all the messages you sent me."
"If you mean my assessments of your essays? Go back and re-read them. I think you'll find that they're all perfectly innocent."
"Not when you read them as responses to my messages."
"What messages? This is the first message I've seen."
Gemma sniffed as she wiped away a tear. She felt deceived, abandoned... dumped. But looking at her teacher, she still felt incredibly attracted to him. How could he treat her like this and yet still engender this response? At that exact moment she knew what it was to hate and love someone at the same time. She sighed with resignation.
"Ok fine," she said. "I get it. Maybe we can continue this conversation after the exams are over in June. You can buy me a drink..."
"Gemma, I can't fraternise even with ex-students. It's not a good look."
That was the trigger. That's when she finally decided to play her trump card, even though she was loathe to use it. But if he was seriously going to deny her the dream cherry-popping she had fantasised about for the past couple months – even after offering the concession of halting things until graduation – then he was sorely mistaken.
"Sir, I think your first suggestion might have been the right one. Shall we go and see the headmistress about this?"
That gave Mr Grant pause.
"I really wouldn't recommend that, Gemma. It will get both of us into a big mess, and I guarantee: your side of the story will not be deemed credible."
"Because you threw away all my messages, you mean?"
"What do you mean? This is the first message of yours I've seen. There aren't any other messages."
"Because you disposed of the evidence. Smart. Because your 'assessments' only look innocent without them. So, it's a good job I made copies."
Mr Grant froze – the blood draining from his face.
"I mean, the library photocopier even put the date on them, so no one can accuse me of writing them after the fact," she continued. "Cost me 10p a copy, but worth it, I think. When you put those things I wrote next to your 'assessments' I think it's pretty clear that you're encouraging one of your students to show you her tits, to strip for you, to make a hole in her shower cubicle so you can stick your cock through it."
Mr Grant gulped.
"Yeah, I'll probably get into trouble. But I'm pretty sure it'll end your career."
Mr Grant slumped into his chair, utterly defeated. The look of horror on his face causing another massive U-turn in Gemma's feelings as she was overcome with concern and sympathy.
"Oh, but don't worry sir... I don't have to do that. I can give you the copies any time – no one will ever know. I promise."
"What do you want?" he croaked, meekly.
"I want you to fuck me," she replied, now brimming with confidence. "Tonight."
Mr Grant shook his head with regret, his eyes wide with despair. He sighed as he mentally weighed up his options. Gemma was happy to let him sweat. Eventually he offered his terms.
"Tomorrow," he said. "Stay behind after school. Meet me in room 4C at 6.30. Bring the copies with you. OK?"
Gemma smiled, and put a hand up to her chest, giving her breast a squeeze through the fabric of her blouse.
"Very much OK," she cooed as she watched her tutor unable to draw his eyes away from her impromptu grope. "I'll wear something nice."
"Keep in uniform," he called, as she strode out of his classroom.
"I'll wear something nice underneath," she said in an exaggerated whisper, before leaving him to consider the consequences of his hubris.
––––––
Gemma was true to her word. The next day her blouse was fully buttoned up all day to hide her choice of undergarment: a white lacy balcony bra that wasn't particularly practical in terms of containing her bust, but that presented them in an enticing way. An almost floss-like G-string completed the alluring look, the tiny triangle of sheer fabric at the front a throwaway gesture towards modesty given the poor job it did of obscuring her pussy, let alone the trimmed patch of hair sitting above it. Thank God it wasn't a windy day!
 The day seemed to crawl along – as it always does when you want the hours to pass as quickly as possible – and when the final bell of the day rang it elicited an almost Pavlovian response in Gemma as her mouth dried and her crotch started tingling.
As she approached room 4C after killing time in the library, she realised why Mr Grant had chosen it. It was at the back of the school in the quietest part of the building, down at the end of a corridor that was used to accommodate lessons for third-formers. And they were all on a school trip this week, so it was doubly quiet.
She knocked gently on the door, despite being 10 minutes early.
"Come in," responded a familiar voice.
Gemma entered and immediately noted that all the blinds were down. The only light in the room was a lamp on the front desk, illuminating Mr Grant.
"Lock the door behind you," he instructed, and Gemma duly complied. Again, not many of the rooms in this archaic building could be locked from the inside. Her teacher had made a very deliberate choice of venue.
Mr Grant rose to his feet and took a deep breath, eyeing his student up and down. She had loosened her blouse by several buttons, and her heaving bosom was more than hinted at.
"You have been a very naughty girl," Mr Grant said, with more than a hint of playfulness.
"Have I?" Gemma responded with faux innocence, approaching her tutor and taking his hand in hers.
"Have you got the copies?"
"In my locker. I'll give them to you afterwards."
"Very naughty, you are. Very. Do you know what I do with naughty girls?"
Gemma pouted with indifference.
"Do you fuck them?"
Mt Grant smirked and let go of Gemma's hand, sat back down on his chair and stared up at his naughty charge with a mischievous glare.
"First, I smack them."
"Oooo," said Gemma with a raise of her eyebrow. "Kinky."
Mr Grant patted his thighs. "I'm not kidding. Bend over."
Gemma was happy to play along. She'd get what she wanted one way or another, so there was no harm in giving Mr Grant what he wanted too. In fact, she was more than happy to fulfil any fantasies he might have. She bent over his lap, gripping onto an arm rest on one side and the edge of his desk on the other for support. As he lifted her red pleated skirt, she congratulated herself on wearing a thong, and sure enough the sight of her barely-clad arse caused her teacher to sigh with satisfaction. The sharp slap against her buttocks that followed was quicker and harsher than she was expecting, and elicited a squeal.
"Say you're sorry," he calmly demanded.
"I'm sorry," she said, breathlessly.
"Call me sir," he barked.
"I'm sorry sir!"
Another smack, this one thankfully a little less forceful.
"I'm sorry sir."
Then another, and another, and another, each one followed by an increasingly loaded apology that made it sound like she was encouraging him rather than atoning. As he continued the spanking, Gemma felt movement around her stomach, and ascertained that her tummy was pressing against a developing erection. The spanking was then replaced with a gentle squeeze of her ass.
"Hmmm, thank you sir," she cooed.
As he caressed her buttocks with one hand, he reached under her draped body and cupped a clad breast in the other. The firm squeeze represented the first time he had groped her tits after all those months of flashing and teasing, and Gemma responded to the belated handling with a long, satisfied sigh.
Mr Grant pulled off her thong, all the way down to her ankles, where they gathered around her white plimsolls and pop socks. Gemma wasn't sure if he had noticed, but the garment was saturated. More spanking ensued, this time complemented by squeezes of her breast, causing it to almost pop out of the loose confines of the bra.
"I'm SUCH a naughty girl, sir," she said, trying to remain coquettish and provocative, even as the blood started rushing to her head due to her prone position and rapidly elevating heart rate. "Feel how wet I am."
He obliged, stopping the smoothing of her soft butt cheeks and running his fingers between her thighs, across her crotch. The unctuous sounds his exploration created confirmed what she knew – she was literally gushing with anticipation. Mr Grant wiped his sticky fingers on the insides of her thighs to clean them.
"Filthy little girl," he whispered.
Gemma was getting woozy, bent over his lap for so long, but the significance of her tutor having just touched her pussy – albeit tentatively – was not lost on her.
"I'm sorry, sir," she simpered, taking the opportunity to extricate herself from her submissive position to take the initiative by kneeling between his legs. "Let me make it up to you."
Mr Grant leaned back and let her take control as the personification of his lack of professional integrity began to unbuckle his belt. She unfastened his trousers and pulled the zip down with deft efficiency, hastily pulling the garment from under him, and past his knees so that it gathered around his ankles. But when it came to dealing with his underpants she slowed right down, treating the pitched cotton like an envelope at an awards ceremony. With deliberate precision, she hooked her fingers underneath the elasticated waistband and gradually pulled his underwear down and over the large protrusion it was covering.
His full erection popped out to an appreciative gasp from Gemma. She had seen the tip before, of course – indeed, she had studied it at last week's shower block encounter with such scrutiny that the clear memory of it had fuelled her subsequent masturbatory sessions. But now she was seeing it in its entirety, and it was a lot longer than she had thought, the bottom half of the shaft thicker than she had any right to expect – no wonder he had trouble pushing more if it through the glory hole.
Gemma's appraisal was taking so long that it provoked some encouragement from her teacher.
"Is there something you want to do?" he asked, in a soft and gentle lilt.
Gemma looked up at him and nodded slowly.
"Tell me," he said, a little more firmly. "And ask nicely."
"Please sir," she simpered, trying to look as desperate as she felt. "Please may I suck your cock?"
"Show me your tits first."
Gemma grinned, grateful for the opportunity to strip for him again. Only this time she was able to see every tiny response – every twitch and throb of Mr Grant's eager manhood – as she revealed herself. She unbuttoned her blouse quickly, and pushed her chest out as she extricated it from her arms. All the discomfort of wearing her pretty but unsupportive bra all day was worth it for those few seconds when her teacher squirmed and moaned with delight at seeing the pushed-up display of her squashed boobs. She took a deep breath to accentuate her bust and traced her fingertips over the soft mounds, dipping one hand into a loosely-fitting cup to find an engorged nipple. She bit her lip as she found it.
"Show me all of them," he demanded.
She proudly reached behind her back and unclasped her bra, letting it fall onto her lap. Now completely topless before him, and able to see his reaction up close for the first time – she was in heaven. And judging by his dumbfounded expression, so was he.
"So beautiful," he whispered. "Tell me how old you are."
Gemma suspected her youth was a prime turn on for him, so embellished her reply with an innocent childish tone.
"I'm only 18-years old," she cooed, circling her pert nipples with her fingers. "Am I too young to suck your cock, sir?"
"No. No, you're just old enough. Why don't you try putting all of it in your mouth? I'll tell you what to do."
The thought of taking it ALL made her a little apprehensive, but Gemma wanted to please him, so after placing both her hands on his bare thighs, she leaned over his lap and took as much of his hot turgid flesh into her mouth as she could. The tip hit the back of her throat, and she gagged slightly. Her instinct was to withdraw immediately, but Mr Grant suddenly grabbed the back of her head and held it firmly in place, forcing her to accommodate him despite his size.
"Just relax," he said, trying to sound soothing, but clearly excited by the sensations he was feeling. "Get used to it touching the back of your throat. You'll adapt."
Gemma tried to resist the urge to panic, the involuntary contractions of her throat feeling akin to choking at first, and she was worried she might be sick. But her teacher was right... the longer she felt his cock stabbing her soft palette, the easier it became to resist the urge to retch. And after just half a minute or so, his oral intrusion no longer felt alien. In fact, it felt quite natural.
As her gurgles and retches subsided in volume and frequency, Mr Grant allowed her some freedom of movement, releasing his strong grip of her hair. Instead, he gently placed his palms on her flushed cheeks and encouraged her to move her head up and down over him.
"Now fuck me with your mouth," he said. "Up and down, nice and slow."
Gemma's urge to please him trumped any discomfort, and she followed his instructions to the letter, even as each downward movement came loaded with the dread of his cock again poking the back of her throat and making her gag. It did a few times, but with each occasion it felt less uncomfortable, until eventually she was giving head like a pro.
"Make your lips tighter," he said, breathlessly.
Again, Gemma complied, keeping the building reservoir of saliva and precum inside her mouth instead of letting it escape down his veiny shaft. The gentle instructions continued.
"Start sucking a little harder."
As she tried to make the vacuum in her mouth more powerful, her tutor signalled his satisfaction with her technique by completely letting go of her head and leaning back into his seat with a satisfied sigh. Gemma felt exhilarated – as if she were passing a difficult test – and dug her nails into his thigh as she slipped his member back and forth into her grateful maw.
Growing in confidence, and needing to concentrate less, she began to make appreciative moans and started to sway her torso as she sucked him off. This had the effect of drawing her breasts against his knees, and her nipples responded with an intense tingle as they grazed the hairy skin.
It prompted Mr Grant to take renewed interest in her boobs, and he reached down to grope them as Gemma continued her forensic blowjob. Feeling his warm hands on her bare, unencumbered tits for the first time was enough to break her out of the rhythm she had established, and she slowly raised her head up so that his stiff cock withdrew from her mouth with a wet pop. Afforded more access, he gratefully squeezed her melons and thumbed her nipples, which caused his pupil to throw her head back theatrically with a barely suppressed cry of gratitude.
That only encouraged him further, and he delighted her by getting just the right side of rough with them: pulling at her nipples, crushing her boobs against her ribcage, and swatting them with his fingertips to make them dance around her chest.
"Fuck me with your tits," he said.
"How?" she replied, genuinely unsure by what he meant – last time she checked, they didn't have any holes in them.
"Lean over me," he instructed, holding her breasts apart like an old-fashioned bra. "And squeeze your tits together around my cock."
He showed her how and she quickly got the idea, replacing his hands with her own and forcing her sensitive pillows of flesh to envelope his manhood, just the tip peeking out from the depths of her exaggerated cleavage.
"Make it wet," he continued. Gemma fulfilled the request by letting gobs of saliva fall from her mouth over his glans and down her cleavage.
"Now pump it, keeping your tits tight."
Gemma hadn't heard of this technique before, and delighted in learning something new that not only seemed to please Mr Grant, but – after just a few up-and-down movements – was pretty amazing for her too. The sensation of his wet cock forcing its way through her lubricated breasts... The way it disappeared and popped out of her cleavage just inches from her mouth... The way she could squeeze her own sensitive knockers, and even finger her bullet-hard nipples, as she wanked him off with her tits... It was bliss.
The only frustration was that she now desperately wanted to touch herself, but her hands were otherwise occupied. She tried to hurry her teacher onto the next phase of their encounter.
"I fucked you with my mouth," she purred. "I'm fucking you with my tits. Now I want to fuck you with my pussy."
Mr Grant tenderly brushed a lock of hair away from her forehead as she offered her request, her face pouting with expectation.
"Bend over the desk," he coolly instructed.
Gemma leapt up almost a little too eagerly, which she noticed made Mr Grant smile. Her tits were sticky with saliva and precum, but before the instinct to wipe them dry with her own hands kicked in, she bent over Mr Grant's chair and offered them to him.
"Suck them," she barked. And he did, taking each one in turn into his mouth with relish and slurping them clean. As he fondled and tasted her boobs, Gemma took the opportunity to establish how wet she was under her skirt, and the appraisal shocked even her. She was like a tap. Her cunt was filled to the brim with juices, and the intrusion of her fingers opened the floodgates, causing a cascade of silk to pour down the insides of her thighs. It prompted her to cut short the oral molestation of her tits – as lovely as it felt – and take up position bent over the side of Mr Grant's desk, as he had suggested.
Mr Grant rose from his seat and approached Gemma from behind, rendering her blind to his considered appreciation of her provocatively-positioned body. Only the skirt of her school uniform remained, but rather than removing it, Mr Grant simply lifted it to admire her pert buttocks, and her gloriously swollen labia.
"Are you a virgin?" he softly enquired.
"Yes," Gemma replied, her voice now trembling with both anticipation and the dawning realisation that she was about to be deflowered.
"Not. For. Much. Longer..." he deliberated responded, as he placed his hands on her hips and lined his hungry erection up with its target.
Gemma melted into bliss as she felt his helmet part her wet folds and probe around delicately for the entrance to her pussy. Her tight virginal passage required some exploration for Mr Grant to find, but a tentative push into her cunt revealed the exact angle he needed to find his way inside her. He did so gently at first, eliciting an extended moan from Gemma that increased in volume as he gradually filled her tight cunt, even more liquid oozing out of her as he displaced it with his sizable cock. Gemma then felt some resistance – something blocking his ability to push his entire length into her – and knew what was coming. She held her breath, anticipating the pain that she knew was to follow as Mr Grant began pushing with increased intent in order to tear her obstructive hymen. It took only a few thrusts before she felt the pain, but was relieved to find that the kick in endorphins that accompanied Mr Grant burying his cock into her compensated for any discomfort.
His initial tentative probes having achieved their intended aim, Mr Grant began pumping into her with more ferocity, and Gemma was overwhelmed by the myriad sensations she was feeling: her teacher's stiff manhood alternately escaping then filling her tight pussy; her ass cheeks rippling as he slammed his pelvis into them, the unmistakable feeling of his balls occasionally swinging up and flapping against her. It was all so glorious.
"Fuck me sir. Fuck my pussy sir. Oh God, I'm so wet for you sir. You're gonna make me cum, sir."
Her eyes were shut tight, so completely was she lost in the erotic energies flowing through her body. She added to them by squeezing her tits hard, which caused the muscles in the wall of her vagina to convulse even more than they already were.
"You are so tight," he gasped in response. "Such a tight pussy. I'm fucking your pussy, you naughty girl. You dirty, naughty girl."
He moved his hands from her hips to her arse, squeezing and prising apart her cheeks, no doubt to get a better look at his dick sliding in and out of her.
"Thank you, sir," she gasped between her cute little grunts. "Fuck me harder, sir. Make me cum, sir."
In truth, she didn't need any extra force to bring her to orgasm, but she wanted him think that it was the strength of his thrusts that was going to make her squeal with pleasure. And squeal she did.
She hoped that this room really was a private as she had assumed, because this one was her loudest yet. Normally, when pleasuring herself, she would slow down her manipulations as she felt herself reach the brink, as the sensitivity was such that she needed no further stimulation whilst riding the wave of her orgasm. But Mr Grant continued to fuck her hard even as her climax took hold. It made it impossible not to call out as he continued to infiltrate her cunt, even as her pelvic contractions fought to eject it.
"OH FUCK! FUCK ME!! OH FUUUUUUCK!!"
He rode her like a bucking mule, keeping his cock deep inside her even as she writhed around underneath him in pleasure. It was like being relentlessly tickled, but in a deep, sexual way. She wanted to squirm away from it despite the overwhelming pleasure, but her teacher refused to let her go, pumping into her ever more forcefully as she reached crescendo. When her body finally released her from the grip of the orgasm – when her muscles finally relaxed and her breathing normalised – only then did Mr Grant release his grasp of her bottom, and slide his manhood out of her.
After she had caught her breath, and taken in the significance of what had just happened, Gemma flipped over and hopped onto the desk, slightly perturbed to see a mixture of her juices and her blood slathered over Mr Grant's still turgid cock.
"Did you cum in me?" she said in alarm, momentarily concerned by the ramifications.
"You'd have felt it," her teacher replied, confirming what she had assumed, despite her inexperience.
Gemma sat up, letting her skirt cover the mess of stickiness and cherry-popping that was smeared on her thighs.
"You need to cum too," she whispered.
"Well," Mr Grant said, staring at his conquest's tits whilst rubbing his cock, "I take it you're not on the pill, so I can't cum in your pussy. So... you have a choice."
Gemma massaged her boobs, both to fuel his wanking, and because it was a pleasurable way for her to prolong the remnants of her gradually abating orgasm.
"What are my choices," she sighed.
"I cum in your mouth, and you swallow every last drop. Or I cum over your tits. Or I flip you back over that desk and fuck you in the arse."
Gemma gasped at the frankness, and covered her mouth like a shocked little girl. Her sex life was only minutes old – it was too soon to add anal to her experience. And given how sore her pussy was currently feeling, she didn't think her little asshole would be able to take a similar pummelling. Instead, she drew inspiration from the earlier technique Mr Grant had introduced to her.
"How about a combination of the first two?" she offered, pointing to the chair.
Mr Grant shuffled over, his trousers and briefs still around his ankles, and planted himself in the seat. Gemma knelt down between his legs and, without any instruction this time, wrapped her breasts around his slippery cock.
"Good girl," he whispered, as she started to pump him with her jugs. It was easier than last time – her tits were sweaty and his erection far more lubricated – and it took no effort to pop the tip of his penis into her mouth every now and then when it emerged from her greasy cleavage. As she jerked him off with her pliant knockers, she encouraged him with filthy gratitude.
 "Thank you for fucking me, sir. I loved it. Thank you for having sex with your student. Thank you for sucking my tits. Thank you for letting me wank you off with my tits..."
"I'm cumming!" he warned her; the list of thanks having its desired effect.
She took the tip of his penis into her mouth again and gently sucked it, limiting the manipulations of her breasts to keep it from popping out. The less vigorous titty-fucking was still enough to push him over the edge, though, and she could feel his shaft twitching as his balls emptied their load, filling her mouth within just a few ejaculations. Keeping his cock bolt upright between her tits, she lifted her head and allowed his remaining eruptions to adorn her chin and neck, before he fired what was left of his seed across her pushed-together breasts. Each jet of cum was accompanied by a triumphant grunt from her tutor. The final pumps of semen flowed down his still jerking member and collected in Gemma's cleavage.
Satisfied his orgasm was finally complete, she waited for him to look at her at which point she opened her mouth wide to show off how much of his seed she had collected. Her mouth was so full that parting her lips caused some of his cum to escape down her chin, where it added to the white decoration on her tits.
Her mouth now wide open, she moved her tongue around so Mr Grant could see the texture as it became coated, before swallowing and licking her lips with a satisfied hum. She leaned back, removing his cock from between her now sticky tits, and was surprised to note that as she smeared his seed around her breasts, the fire between her legs was returning.
"I think I could cum again," she said, surprising herself as much as her spent and enraptured partner.
She hopped back on the desk, facing Mr Grant now with her legs wide apart, affording him an unrestricted view under her skirt of her swollen pussy as she began fingering it.
"Watch me while I cum again," she said, as seductively as she could muster.
"I'll do better than that," his curt reply.
He surprised her by pulling her close, almost off the desk, but her buttocks were giving her just enough purchase on the edge to stop her falling. Then, much to her shock and delight, he leaned in, put his hands on her knees, and buried his face between her thighs.
Her initial embarrassment over the mixture of wetness and traces of blood still emanating from within her gave way to pure bliss as Mr Grant lapped at the entrance to her cunt, spreading the folds of her pussy with his tongue. With surprising ease, he found her clit and began alternating between flicking at it with the tip of his tongue, and gently sucking it with his lips.
Gemma pushed her claggy tits up to her mouth and feasted on her boobs as best she could, taking double pleasure from the taste of her teacher's cum, and the sensation of sucking her still-sensitive breasts. She carried on one-handed, holding the back of Mr Grant's head with the other, encouraging him to maintain his eager exploration.
"I love you," she kept repeating, breathlessly. "I love you so much."
He grunted as he switched from licking to gorging, moving his hands from her knees to just above her ass, pulling her pelvis towards his hungry face. It was so potent that Gemma needed to punish her tits to balance the intensity above and below her waist, gently biting the erect nipple currently in her mouth – as much to stop her screaming with desire as anything else.
Mr Grant looked up from his dining experience, his face still pushed deep into her pussy, and reached up to rescue Gemma's tits from the self-inflicted abuse. She gratefully leaned back on the desk, allowing him to blindly and clumsily grope her sore but tingly knockers. He crushed them in his hands as again found her clit and gave it another tongue lashing.
Her second orgasm wasn't as powerful as her first, but the intensity still surprised her. She almost suffocated poor Mr Grant as her thighs snapped shut, his kneading of her breasts throughout proof that he didn't mind too much. When she finally released him, his mouth and chin were a sticky mess – the subtle traces of blood making him look like a sexy vampire as he smiled at her.
They both sat in silence for a while, letting the natural fluids on their skin dry and dissipate, Mr Grant admiring Gemma's naked torso as she took in the enormity of what they had just done. But as much as she hoped it was the most amazing, romantic thing that he had ever experienced too – his first post-coital enquiry confirmed that other things were already on his mind.
"I need those copies now, Gemma," he said, gently but firmly.
"Sure," she replied, trying to hide her disappointment. "They're in my locker."
She dressed herself – despite still feeling sweaty and sticky, respite remnants of his ejaculate still present on her breasts – and began the long trek to the other side of the school to retrieve the incriminating documents.
"Wait here," she said, leaving Mr Grant to his unknowable thoughts.
In the locker room, she sat for a while, staring at the papers in her hand. If she gave all the copies to Mr Grant, that would be all her leverage gone. But that was fine, wasn't it? She got what she wanted. She had been deflowered by the man of her dreams in the most naughty and dirty of circumstances. She had gone as far as she could possibly go with him, hadn't she?
She sighed, and headed back to room 4C. She would give all her messages to him. It would make him feel better – safe. It was the right thing to do.
'Besides,' she thought to herself, 'I've got extra copies at home...