| Straight: Serial Stories: Teacher: Teacher: Part I |
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She must have been at least forty. I didn’t get a close look at her face because of the dim lighting and overactive smoke machine, but I saw enough to know. Bleached blonde hair fell onto her tanned shoulders and back that wore dark freckles from sun-damage. Her long neck showed the familiar signs too, but her petite body was tight and attractive in her short, black, silky dress and the way she threw herself about told me she was fit enough. Three or four of the lads from the stag party I was with were fooling around with her on the dance floor and I could see they were getting drawn in by her antics. The guys were of varying ages, shapes and sizes, but were all dressed like me: shirts and ties, some still in jackets… and all with a noticeable bulge in their trousers. She backed into their crotches as she wiggled her arse, wrapped a lithe leg around another’s waist as she hung from his neck and then pulled his face into her plunging cleavage. Then she did a limbo and sank back onto the flashing coloured-glass squares that made up the floor, edged slowly, rhythmically through the legs of a very tall guy, dragged her tongue across the tight material of his trousered balls as she did so. The black dress was almost around her waist and only a slender black thong hid the sweet prize between her taut, bronzed thighs. She had a crowd now and was loving it: groups of women were nudging and laughing, pointing and shouting; blokes were leering and hurling obscenities between swigs of lager. I wriggled forwards, elbowed a couple of people out of the way till I was part of the dense perimeter that now hemmed the dancers in. A thought struck me: a cell, an animal cell. We, on the edge of the crowd, are the cell wall; the guys, smoke and flashing lights of the dance floor are the protoplasm within; she is the nucleus - writhing, gyrating, feeding off everything around her. She is the reason for our being here, our focus. It felt good to surrender, to be merely a small part of someone else’s greater reality and to know, at that moment, that is all I was; so I stood smiling and transfixed, happy to play my part. Then I caught her face in profile and suddenly understood where the analogy of the cell came from, shook my head in wonder at the power of the human brain to make connections. Mrs Cheetham. Biology teacher from my old school. Her hair was never bleached back then and her clothes had always been more conservative, but there was no doubt. She’d seemed taller at school too, but I’d obviously grown since then and when she did a walkover right in front of me, I remembered that she also taught gym. She eased into a headstand, held herself there and did the splits. The thong disappeared into her crack, displaying her shaved privates for all the world to see. A guy leaned forwards, poured a short over her crotch. The golden liquid poured down her belly, dribbled over her arse, like she was pissing herself. Her face was euphoric. Guys whooped and cheered, girls screamed with laughter. I was red with embarrassment for her, which was amazing because it felt like most of my blood was actually pumping elsewhere. This wasn’t the first time she’d made me hard. ‘The male’s penis enters the female’s vagina and deposits the sperm.’ Her husky tones – she always sounded like she was either about to cum or lose her voice – turned me on anyway, but I was bursting out of my school uniform on hearing her rasp those forbidden sexual words. Later, quietly as the class worked, she put an arm around my shoulder as she congratulated me for the highest mark in the latest biology test. I couldn’t speak without displaying my aroused condition, merely nodded my head. Her perfume lingered after she stepped away and I breathed it in deeply, eyes closed, imagining depositing my own seed inside her. She left the school soon afterwards in sudden, mysterious circumstances. Rumour was she’d had an affair with an ex-pupil, and her husband - a PE teacher at the same school - had found out, beat the lad up and forced her to quit her job. It was great, juicy gossip, but it was never confirmed. That story had me lying in bed night after night, imagining I was the student, conjuring up sexy scenarios in which she was always the star. The arm around my shoulders slowly slid into my groin and her sweet perfume filled my head as I exploded onto the sheets. I had such a crush on her that for a while I couldn’t consider messing with the ‘silly little girls’ that were my contemporaries, preferring instead to surround myself with fantasies of that very attractive and intelligent woman. What she saw in that sadistic gorilla I couldn’t imagine. Now, here she was, the object of my teenage desire, reduced to a laughing stock. From respected teacher to silly whore; a sad middle-aged woman, parading and making a fool of herself in front of a drunken mob. I couldn’t stand it anymore. I stepped into the seething fluid, grabbed the nucleus by the wrist and tore her from her cell, transplanting her into the mass of anonymous bodies that filled the darker sections of the club. Other women, spurred on by her display, stepped into the flashing void, began cavorting just as wildly and she was quickly forgotten. ‘Get off my fucking arm. Who the fuck do you think you are?’ I could hear her, but couldn’t look into her face, just dragged her into a secluded corner. ‘Fucking let go of me!’ ‘My mum!’ I explained to a couple of concerned-looking bouncers who just laughed and shook their heads. ‘Get off!’ she screamed and finally tore her arm from my grasp. She took back her hand to slap me, but her wild eyes were suddenly filled with shock rather than anger, and the spread palm moved slowly inwards to cover her mouth. ‘Alex? Is it? Oh, my God.’ Her voice barely cut through the banging music, but I read her beautiful lips. Then both her hands clamped to her face and she slumped onto the leather couch behind her. I moved closer, put an arm around her shoulders and yelled into her ear. ‘It’s cool. Yeah, it’s me… How are you, Miss?’ realising that my question was a little unimaginative. She opened her fingers and looked at me and a smile began to spread across her face. ‘Christ, what must you think of me? I…’ A plump, dark-haired woman tapped me on the shoulder, motioned with her heavily made-up eyes for me to go away. Mrs Cheetham looked at her in a very particular way and they smiled knowingly at each other. The plump woman gave Miss a wink then handed her a small black handbag and a tall glass of clear liquid and vanished. ‘Friend of yours?’ I yelled again. Mrs Cheetham nodded as she quickly checked through the bag’s contents then looked at me closely, touched my goatee, ruffled my hair. ‘Yeah. Alicia. Sister-in-law, always looking out for me.’ She pointed to a guffawing gaggle of women who’d all seen better days. ‘Fiftieth birthday party of a colleague… Oh! She’s much older than me!’ I nodded in a way that said it went without saying, though I noticed her face was finely lined and the backs of her hands were mapped by a couple of thick blue veins. The glass kissed her lips and she swallowed then winced at the taste. Alcohol was dilating her pupils, disturbing her vision, and her thoughts and speech were just a little out of sync. She took another large swig of her drink. ‘You look very well, Alex. All growed up! What are you up to? What brings you here?’ I told her about my job in the lab, how her influence had pushed me towards both exam success and my choice of degree. My tutor had insisted I specialised in English, my parents wanted that too, but I had my own ideas. I embellished my history a bit – I didn’t, for example, tell her how mind-numbingly repetitive lab work can be – because, to be honest, I could still picture her in the headstand, imagined freeing the thong from between those nether lips to deposit copious seed into her uterus with my very erect penis. There was lots of truth in what I’d said, about her influence on me at school, but I would have said anything to ingratiate myself with her in my current sexually aroused state. More than anything, I wanted to be alone with her. I didn’t go out that night looking to get laid and I wasn’t unhappy with my lot at home, but she was a very potent combination of the familiar old and the exotic new - and she was obviously, incredibly, enthralled by me too. We struggled through a few more sentences, but the noise was too much to fight against. She finished her drink with several improbably large gulps, banged the glass on the table then stood, pulled me up with her and dragged me to the door. My erection was very uncomfortable, had grown awkwardly and was trapped in a position it did not want to be, but I followed, shuffling painfully behind her. The comparative coolness and quiet of the square was a blessed relief. The taxi rank was a couple of hundred yards away and we walked arm in arm, ears still ringing in the neon darkness of the city. She was leading, knew where we were going and I was certain I would soon be hearing her dulcet hoarseness in my ear as I slowly fucked her naked body to orgasm. A bustling gang of guys spilt from the club exit behind us and they shouted up the road towards us. I realised it was the people I’d come with. ‘Oi, look! It’s her! Dancing Queen!’ and they drunkenly sang the Abba classic. ‘Hey, it’s Alex! Alex has pulled! Fucking hell, Alex, give the old bitch one for me!’ ‘Show us yer cunt again, sweetheart.’ ‘Come on, baby, dump him! We could show you a real good time!’ followed by much jeering and hilarity. I tried to hurry on, but she stopped and slurred: ‘Friends of yours?’ ‘I came with ‘em, but they’re not really friends… people from work. Stag do. Come on, Miss… Mrs Cheetham… let’s get out of here.’ ‘It’s Anna, not fucking “Miss”.’ The fresh air and the short walk had conspired to flood her bloodstream with alcohol. Her light mood turned quickly dark and she suddenly seemed to lose control. ‘Fucking wait here!’ She stuffed her handbag into my hand and started to walk unsteadily back towards the club. The gang stopped jeering and started murmuring uneasily between themselves. Her heel clicks echoed on the tall buildings of the square as she sashayed provocatively towards them. ‘You wanted to see my cunt? Here…’ and she lifted her dress. I was behind her, but I could tell what she was doing. She pulled aside the front of her thong and parted her lips for them. It was reflected in their faces, sharply focussed, as plain as in a mirror. ‘Now, who wants to taste it?’ The guys were frozen for a spell, but soon they pushed Dave, the reason for tonight’s celebration, out of the crowd towards her. ‘Go on, Dave. Give her a good seeing to…’ ‘Yeah, get some practice in for Saturday!’ ‘Come on, boy.’ The word ‘boy’ was spat contemptuously into the gutter. ‘What are you waiting for?’ She spoke like a teacher and her tone humiliated him, challenged him. He suddenly rushed drunkenly towards her as if to attack, but she never flinched. At the last moment he fell to his knees, buried his face into her crotch. Miss Cheetham held his tie like a leash, placed a sharp-heeled stiletto on his back, opened herself up for his tongue. His friends were stunned at first then they slapped backs, high-fived, whooped and hollered into the warm night air. Dave was lost in her bald pussy, lapping like a dog on a lead in the middle of the street. Miss threw her head back and laughed, looked over her shoulder at me and winked then drew air in through pursed lips, shuddering and moaning deeply as she exhaled. Dave’s tongue was definitely doing the business. After a few moments, Miss pushed his head away and started to walk purposefully towards the other end of the square, pulling Dave with her, still on his hands and knees. The noisy gang followed and, at a distance, so did I. She stopped by the fountain amid the neat formal gardens that adorn that part of the city centre and turned to face the baying mob. The lights weren’t so bright here and leafy shrubs offered us some cover. ‘Silence!’ Her slurred voice rang above the tinkling waters and the boys obeyed her command. ‘Right. Line up! I want your cum. In my mouth, in my hair, on my tits, belly… in my cunt. Who’s first? Dave? Spunk on me… or in me… your fucking choice, Dave. Help him, boys. He seems a little confused.’ She pulled her dress over her head, stood before them in just the thong and high, black, strappy shoes. Her tits were pert, like two large oranges in a pair of pop socks and were tanned the same shade as the rest of her. Her arse was rounded and firm and was made to look bigger by her tiny waist. She obviously looked after herself because her body was quite stunning and belied the lines on her face. The guys helped Dave to strip, which wasn’t easy because he was so drunk – a fact outlined by his shrivelled cock. His mates pointed and laughed. ‘My, my, David – aren’t we a fucking disappointment,’ she rasped, then fell to her knees and sucked his flaccid member so hard her cheeks were drawn in. His burgeoning cock filled her mouth and her eyes opened wide with glee as she spat it out to size it up. Then she sucked harder, wanked him too. His breathing became very laboured as gobbets of cum spattered her face, dripped from her chin - I was hoping he’d last longer for his new bride in a couple of days’ time. She rubbed the thick cream gleefully into her dangling tits, making her dark nipples spring erect, then lay on her back on the cool grass. ‘Fuck me, somebody… one of you, all of you. I really don’t give a shit.’ Dave staggered away, collapsed in a heap, but no-one noticed. There was a pause and then, like dominoes, one toppled and the rest followed: Phil, a tall, smug, well-built lab technician unbuckled his belt, lowered his trousers. He took out his hardening tool and started to slowly masturbate, all the while sneering into Mrs Cheetham’s unreadable face. The others looked at him in disbelief, then at each other as smiles and then lust spread around the group. A few of them glanced nervously around then nodded at each other. A couple of murmurs fell onto the flagstoned path, followed by several pairs of trousers; old guys, young guys, tall and short, lean and fat… all exposed themselves and worked themselves to hardness. She looked up into the night sky, the stars eclipsed by an array of erections and pumping fists poised over her. A short, muscular bloke called Frank fell onto her, pulled her thong aside, penetrated her sopping cunt with ease and came within a minute. She wrapped her legs around him and pulled him in while reaching up and grabbing what hard flesh she could lay her hands on. Another took Frank’s place, a tall grey-haired guy I didn’t know, and he too was soon quivering and crying out. Steve, a young, fit bloke who worked along side me, dropped into a press-up position and entered her mouth. She gagged as he pushed down hard and nearly choked as he emptied his balls into her throat. I could tell, by their frenetic wrist actions, that two of the standing masturbators were getting close and they came almost simultaneously. One of them spouted like a fire hose, hitting the chap opposite with a thick rope of cream, the other dribbled lamely onto her tits and belly. She was writhing in ecstasy, lathering the cum into her body, her big, dark, frenzied eyes trying to take in the whole scene. In a brief moment of calm, Miss rose onto all fours. Eric from Accounts accepted her mute invitation and began fucking her from behind. His cock was the most impressive of the lot and it hurt her, but she seemed to thrive on it. The rest were spent, except for one, and he fucked her mouth then came hard into her face and long blonde hair. She panted like an animal as Eric gripped her slender waist and hammered into her. Guys were standing round looking dazed, rubbing their heads, rubbing their eyes, rubbing their glistening, shrivelling cocks. Eric pulled the thin, black string of her thong aside and smeared a handful of stray spunk into her arsehole. He withdrew from her cunt, worked his swollen tip into her anus and slid violently up there. She screamed as his balls slapped into her. He issued some very uncharacteristic language as he wrapped her lovely hair around his stubby fingers and pulled her head back hard. ‘Fucking take that, dirty bitch; whore…’ ‘Call me your bitch… call me… whore… slut… ooohhh.’ Her drunken cries were painfully humiliating, but there was something else subtly encoded within them… a cold, mocking, detached voice that said something like, ‘Think what the fuck you like, Eric, but you are my bitch. I’m in control here.’ The more he degraded her, the louder the voice became, but Eric and all the others were gloriously oblivious. ‘Bitch! You’re my bitch. Take it up the arse.’ ‘I’m your bitch. Fuck my arse like the slut I am… do it… Oh… God… fuck me… Aaaghhhh!’ ‘Miss? Mrs Cheetham?’ It was cold now. The dew on the grass soaked through my trousers. I’d rearranged her thong, thrown my jacket over her, waited with her till she came round. The guys had dispersed about twenty minutes ago, pulled up their trousers while mumbling to each other. They cajoled Dave into consciousness and redressed him before stumbling silently, incredulously, to the taxi rank. She’d fainted as she’d cum, hyperventilated, but I wasn’t surprised because she was gasping for air through most of it. I rested her head on my lap, stroked her hair and pretended, for the sake of the occasional passer-by, that we were having a romantic moment together. There was nothing in my experience to explain what I had just witnessed and I wondered how this once lovely young woman had been reduced to this. Hopelessly out of my depth, I felt like a little schoolboy in a class of worldly grown-ups. My fingers stroked her brow and she opened her eyes. She blinked, then squinted into my face. ‘Alex?’ ‘I’m here, Miss. Just me. They’ve all gone. You fainted as you… you…’ ‘God, did I… Thanks.’ She tried to focus on me, but it was beyond her current physical powers and her speech was so slurred I could barely tell what she was saying. ‘Thanks for staying with me.’ ‘As if I could have left you like that.’ A satisfied smile spread across her drowsy, inebriated face. ‘That was something else… fucking hell. Did you enjoy it? Hope you did… I fucking… loved it!’ ‘I… I was here, but… I didn’t take part, Miss… I… couldn’t do that to you. Not my style. Sex has always been more than just biology to me…’ She looked very hurt at that, then defiant, then confused. She rubbed her head then felt down her body, still sticky with cum, suddenly aware of her nakedness. ‘Your dress is here. Quick, put it on while there’s no-one about.’ Clumsily, shakily she knelt up and I slipped the dress over her head then placed my jacket around her shoulders. With my help, she stood awkwardly, walked as though in discomfort and I took her arm to steady her. She was still very drunk. ‘Fuck!’ She touched her arse tentatively. ‘That last bastard had a… er… was a big guy…’ and she winced, then smiled apologetically. ‘It’s running down my legs,’ and she bit her lip then giggled. I shook my head and smiled. ‘Let me get you to a cab, Miss.’ 'I told you before, Alex, it's Anna. Fucking Anna. Please, call me Anna...' |
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Mixed feelings.........