It was 8th period… the end of the day. I was sitting in Mr. Drake’s English class… my favorite, and I was being bad. Of course no one knew this. You see I am the type of girl who doesn’t stand out. I was sitting on the side of the classroom, closer to the windows, two rows from the back. I was supposed to be writing a short story… well, I was writing a short story, but not the kind I was supposed to be…
Do you see me? Ignore all the bright and shiny girls with their glossy lips and too-tight blouses. I am the girl in two French braids, the one studiously bent over her work. The cuff of my white blouse is wrinkled over my black sweater… my pleated skirt is slightly askew. There is a rip in my tights, a long narrow run, but it is up by my thigh… so no one will see. As I said, I am bent over my work, my pen flies across my page. My lips are parted slightly as I write. I am so engrossed that I do not notice that Mr. Drake… Oh, Mr. Drake! ….he has stopped by my desk… he is reaching for my paper.
I try to cover it, to rescue it… but it is too late. It is in his hands. I flush as he reads:
It was the hottest day of the summer. Too hot for amusement park rides. Too hot
for the little white dress Donna was wearing, for sweat and sunlight were beginning
to mingle and now the thin faint line of her areola was just apparent through the light. Donna noticed but didn’t mind. She was hoping that it would be just enough to entice him: her lover… her secret lover.
On the ferris wheel with her lover, while the other students ambled about. Donna
was alone with the divine Mr. Drake, who had indeed noticed the dark circles that were becoming more and more obvious under the damp, sweaty fabric. Donna leaned forward eagerly, maybe too eagerly, for she was much younger, much less experienced
than Mr. Drake… too ready to please. Slowly, gently, Mr. Drake touched Donna’s arm,
pushing her gently to a recumbent position. Letting his hand linger, while his other hand inched up the loose folds of her dress… then touching, pressing her dark hair to her head,he bends over, and as their car begins to ascend, he bows his head and kisses the top of her breasts. First one, then the other.
Donna exhales with the force of bottled up anticipation and in her panty-less nether
regions, she can no longer distinguish her sweat from other juices. Mr. Drake is caressing Donna’s body which lays reclined. His hands are flat, running down the length of her body, and now, up and under the folds of her skirt. Donna’s head tilts back and there is a gasp as Mr. Drake’s cool hands enter her. Slipping in and out… rubbing her own juices up and down her girlish thighs.
Mr. Drake looks at Donna, and she knows what he wants. Disregarding park regulations,
Donna slips out of her safety harness and bends down on the hot metal floor of the car. Unzipping her teacher’s pants, Donna parts her mouth, inhales, and plunges downward.
As the ferris wheel begins to spin, Donna’s mouth moves up and down Mr. Drake’s
long, hard cock. Perspiration breaks out on his brow as her warm, soft mouth embraces
him…. Up and down…. Around and around… Her saliva, moist… her tongue firm, her
teeth, gently grazing the ridges of his cock. Mr. Drake wants it faster though. Now he grabs Donna’s head, one hand on each side; he is pushing her, harder and harder. She is beginning to retch, to gag and convulse. The wheel is spinning faster… Donna’s world is going in circles…. Mr. Drake is grabbing her hair, forcing her down, further and further… his palms are sweaty… as the ride begins to slow, Donna emits a guttural cry, a rasp as Mr. Drake fills her mouth with his frothy white cum. Donna is sucking, licking as….
I look up. My face red. I cannot read Mr. Drake’s reaction. All I know is that my secret is out. My fantasy, long harbored, of fucking my English teacher, is no longer a secret. The bell rings, I am ready to run out of the classroom, but as I stand. He is there. Oh God, his hand is on my arm. I look up at him, for he is quite taller than me. My eyes are watering so I can barely see…
“Stay after class a minute, Donna” he says… barely audibly.
I sicken, in the pit of my stomach. I want the ground to swallow me whole, but somewhere, inside of me, I am excited too. My clit. I can feel it stiffen… I try to ignore… the wetness between my thighs… the familiar stirring… longing.
“Donna” he says…. He is sitting at his desk now. I am standing on other side, my head still bowed in shame. The other students have left, the door is closed.
“Donna….” He repeats my name. I try to quench the inner desires rushing up on me… act like the flush of my face is just embarrassment… a tear… I can’t make it stop… rolls down my cheek…
In a flash he is beside me, cupping my chin in his hands. Forcing me to look up at him. And as I watch, his head lowers, and then, he is fondling my mouth with his. Gently at first, then harder, he is pushing his tongue into my mouth. My arms flail in surprise, I drop my books which clatter to the floor unnoticed. He lets me go. My eyes meet his. He is smiling.
Artfully, like he has done this a thousand times, he pulls off my cardigan, leaving my thin, white blouse with the wrinkled cuffs exposed… he guides me around to his side of the desk, sits down in his chair and gestures for me to do the same…. to sit with him… on him. As I awkwardly perch on his knee, I can imagine he can hear my heart beat. It’s almost like that man can read my mind because at that moment he pulls me, my body, close to his chest. But it’s not his heart beat I feel… no, it’s the stiff, hard, throb of his dick, poking me in the hip as he slides my body close to him. I can feel his breath on my neck, feel his hands as they untuck, unbutton my blouse and slide up my shirt. All the time he is whispering my name.
“I, I….” I don’t know what to say….
In a second, his hand is to my mouth, hushing me as he bows his head and begins to kiss my neck. He is not doing this at all gently. I do not know how I am going to explain the marks he will leave to my mother… I can feel him, his hands, they have reached back and unfastened my white bra. He is touching my nipples, rolling them around in his fingers and kneading my breasts. He pushes my head down with his chin, so that all I can do is watch. I am mesmerized as I see my large, pale breasts, my rosy nipples, soothed and plucked by his rough hands.
“Donna. How long have you …” his voice trails off as he turns me to face him, burying his face in between my two breasts. Pinching and squeezing… groping like a blind man, he continues… “how long have you been writing?”
“Writing?” I ask innocently, pulling away.
“Writing” he responds knowingly, pulling me back to him “about me.” I color, wondering how long he has known my secret… He has made short work of my blouse and bra which are lying in a heap on the floor. I feel his hands again, his mouth is still cupping my golden breasts, but his hands have moved downward. He is reaching between the waistband of my skirt, stretching the elastic of my tights, and pushing aside the flimsy material of my cotton panties. I feel his hands touch me. Touch my clitoris. It is electric. I stiffen. My nipples harden. He bites them. I am wiggling on his lap.
“I want to see the other stories, Donna” That’s what he says as he unbuttons the single button fastening my skirt. It too falls to the floor, a pleated puddle at my feet.
“I want you to bring them to my house”
“But aren’t you married?” I gasp.
“That’s not your concern” he responds.
With that he lifts me off of his lap, standing me up in just my tights and kitten pumps.
“or to my faculty meetings” he says as he pushes me to my knees.
“or even right here in the classroom” he grunts as he gestures for me to unfasten his belt.
I do as he says, clumsily. I fumble with the clasp of his buckle. He grasps the crown of my head in his hands and rises to his feet.
…his cock. There it is. What I had dreamed of, written about. It is long, longer than I had anticipated in my girlish inexperience, reddish-purple, veined and ridged, it has a life of its own. He doesn’t need to speak, I know what is expected of me. I am scared. I feel his warm hands on my scalp. I know I cannot get away. I lean in, I spread my lips, my teeth part… his dick fills my mouth. He does not tease or bother to ease me in. He pushes my head so that my nose is buried in his pubic hair. One loonnnggg awful-wonderful drag. The cords of saliva fall away as he releases, allows me to pull back for just a second… a second to just inhale before he pushes in again. Beads of sweat break out along the underbelly of my breasts, across my brow… he is rocking as he pushes me deeper. The words I had written come true. I am gagging as I feel the tip of his cock hit my throat. I stumble on all fours, my mouth slips off his cock. He lifts me up off of my hands and resumes. He is relentless. Over and over, his cock grazes my throat, my eyes are bulging out of my head, my small body is in spasms…. shaking and writhing… My head is tilted back, my nostrils flared, I have to remember to breathe…. He pushes the weight of his entire body against my face. The back of my head is pushed back against his desk… breathe…. It is too much… I feel a well of visceral pleasure and pain rage up inside me…. I try to push him away… but he is pushing me hard… harder… when suddenly, he stops. He lifts my chin, and caresses my face. He picks me up off of the floor. My black clad legs are dusty on the knees. The run in my tights looks like a scar. Mr. Drake tells me to strip. I do as he says. I peel away the hose, the little pink panties. I wait. Mr. Drake goes to the window. He looks out. He returns to his desk and takes a drink. He takes off his shirt and drapes it over his chair.
I stand, stark naked, next to him, but he ignores me… for more than ten minutes. My nipples are erect; I don’t know whether from the cold or the heat. My face is drenched in sweat and saliva. My cunt. My cunt is ready for what it knows is to come.
After a period, in which Mr. Drake reads his paper, calls his wife and eats a candy bar, he finally sits down. He tells me to pick my books up off the floor and set them out of the way. As I bend over, I feel his eyes linger on my tight, pink ass. I do as he says. Of course.
Finally he takes my hand. My tiny hand in his much larger one. He leads me back to his desk. He tells me how smart and pretty I am. He kisses my breasts, touches my thighs. He lifts me up and sits me on his desk. I am facing him, my naked legs just barely spread. He sits at his chair. He strokes my calves. The hairs on my arms stand up. He runs his fingers across the inner ridge of my thighs. My muscles tense. Then Mr. Drake grabs each of my legs and slides them apart. I want to explain to you at this point, that I am not a virgin. I lost my virginity… like most girls my age do, to an under-experienced boy whose mouth was stuffed with pretty promises. I had not regretted it; although I had not really enjoyed it…. I had been 16. Since then I had had a boyfriend, well…. I have a boyfriend, I guess I should say… Bobby. He was… I mean, he is a nice boy. My parents like him ok. We had done it too… a few times. First time on a Sunday afternoon while Mom was still at the grocery and dad was downstairs watching the game. That was last year. But now we were getting ready for college… things are changing… and I had never had sex like this.
Mr. Drake is talking to me now. He is telling me that I am in danger of failing. I do not see how this is possible I say, as I have the highest average in his class. He smiles as he slips his fingers into my…. cunt. He says that I USED to have the highest average in his class, but due to my woeful job on the short story assignment I will require extra credit just to pass. He withdraws his fingers and proffers them to me. I am confused. He tells me to lick them. I do.
He continues. In order to pass he thinks, I must do some after school study sessions. With him. Once or twice a week, he thinks. Also, he says, I may need to do an independent study. Assignments tailored just for me. He slides his thumb and forefinger back into me, but this time is different. I feel his other fingers stretch… reach, his pinky just brushes my ass hole. I shiver. He leans forward. He is intent. Do I agree to his terms, he wants to know. He removes his fingers and after I lick, this time he places just his thumb inside my wet wet cunt. His index finger he puts up my ass. He pinches me together like a clamp as he waits for my response. I nod mutely. He asks me again.
“yes… yes. I agree to your terms.” I manage to croak.
“yes whom?” he asks me, applying more pressure.
“yes, master… I mean Mr. Drake” I am lying back on my elbows on top of his desk. His torso lowers over me. He laughs and tells me that I should indeed refer to him as Master… Master Drake during these after school sessions. He asks me what I want. I tell him to fuck me. He makes me say please.
“please Master Drake”
“please what, pet?”
“please fuck me and make me cum.”
Master Drake pulls me off his desk. I can see where my wet juices have left a moist imprint on his desk calendar. He lies my torso across his desk, my ass in the air. And he takes me. I can smell my own heat… my juices on the wet paper against which I lie. He takes me first in my cunt. He grabs my hands and holds them behind my back. He is pounding me, taking me so hard, my feet lift of the floor and push against his legs and chair. He is palming the cheeks of my ass now, pushing up against my writhing body. I am groaning. I can hear people pass in the hallway. If they notice what is going on in room 213, they do not say. My toes and fingers curl as I feel his rock hard cock glide through my tight pussy, hitting my cervix. Again and again. I am cumming… over and over. My muscles wrap around him, damp and smooth. His dick glistens with my wetness. I can hear his breath though I cannot see his face. I can feel his hands and fingernails leaving imprints on my ass. Back and forth, harder and harder. I am screaming. I reach up with my hand to try to muffle the sound, but he pulls it away. I let out a hoarse cry with each thrust. He is on the desk now himself. Pulling me up beside him, pushing my head down so that only the bottom half of my body is extended to him. He fingers the rim of my ass. He caresses it. He licks the sides. I am lying on my haunches. I am trembling. The juices of my body spill down his thighs. His dick is wet with it. Straddling my legs. He grabs my belly, forcing my ass closer. Master Drake. He pushes his cock, his stiff hard dick, right into my ass hole. I bellow from pain. He is immune to my struggles. I can feel the walls of my ass hole refuse to give way, but Master Drake does not give up. He doesn’t push so much as pull me closer, by my belly… by my will.
Soon he is in me, and his fingers are in me too. I can feel them rubbing against each other. My teeth are clenched. With his other hand he has grabbed my hair, entwined it through his fingers. He is riding me. The sides of my ass shake with each tremendous push. He is grunting with pleasure. My unpracticed holes are now opening wide for him. Wider and wider, harder and harder. The pain and pleasure wash over me in waves… with each push I am cumming. I can feel his cock begin to twitch inside of me. His great, veined dick. It seems like time stands still for a second. I can see the hands on the clock. They read: 6:22. Then he cums. It squirts all over my ass and down my thighs and pools in thick puddles on the now ravaged desk. Master Drake runs his hands through the puddles and lets me lick it off of him. He runs his sticky hands through my hair and over my breasts. He lets me clean and massage his tired cock with my pillowy lips. He sucks the last juices off my clitoris and then stands, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
I lay in a weak kneed heap. He lifts me gently to a standing position. He strokes my breasts and dresses me. My panties and bra. My gray little skirt and wrinkled white blouse, my ravaged tights and my girlish shoes… He whispers that I made him proud today; that I have a gift. He looks at me and tells me that gifts like mine are meant to be shared. He reminds me that I have promised to bring him more of my stories. He opens his classroom door and gently pushes me out. Wait for my instructions he whispers. I nod, look back, but he has already shut the door.
The End
Written for Master Drake
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