Prison School Ch 03

After reading Ms. Rogers' little diary, I felt more bold. I wanted to keep her on her toes,but my reasons were changing. Knowing she wanted my attention, instead of lessening the appeal, fueled my fire.

Because of shakedown we missed a few days of class. I thought I would lose my mind. It was like seeing a Coke billboard and getting a craving flung on you, but then you get to a machine... Cokes are a dollar, but you've only got ninety cents.

Over those days for some reason I didn't really think about fucking her. Now... God did I ever still want to split that hot little pussy wide open, and something told me it would be oh so tight like her pouty mouth got when she disapproved of something we said or did. I drew picture after picture... I was trying to preserve my memories of her in case, for some crazy reason, I never saw her again. I drew her face then a drawing of just her green eyes then her full lips, parting slightly as if she had something important to say.

I had to admit I missed her annoying voice a little and her quick comebacks. Then I heard her voice and it woke me out of my daydream. At least it sounded like her, and she was screaming.

"No, I most certainly will not 'calm down!' I have never been anything but respectful to those bunch of ignorant fools in there, and there ain't no man in this WORLD I will stand by and let insult and degrade me like that without standing my ground. Fire me if you want, but I be damned if I will step another foot in there."

I got up from my bunk and walked to the door. I could see her back from the window,but she was much farther down the hall than I'd expected. She was visibly shaken, so angry her entire body shivered. Somewhere between breaking down in tears and exploding with rage.

She was standing with a guard, the principal and the warden. What an audience. I felt a knot form deep in my abdomen. Please, don't let her get canned over this, I almost prayed. I tried reading their lips. It looked like the warden told her to go home for the day. Not fired? I sure hoped I was right.

When she turned to leave, for some reason I stayed where I was, looking at her through the glass. She walked past, and I thought she wouldn't see me. Part of me really wanted her to see me, just in case I'd never see her again. Then at the last moment, she glanced up; our eyes met. Hers were wet with tears. I grimaced and fucking waved at her like a damn fool. How... comforting and supportive.

...

We did have school the next day, and she was there, but some of her usual spark was absent. I sat in the front and openly drew her but just her face. The corners of her mouth were pinched and turned downward.

She didn't look at me once, even when I answered her questions. She taught like a robot. Her heart was not in it. She told us what words meant, wrote it on the board, and then she sat at her desk and told us to write one page using all the words. I did it even though it was the kind of thing I hated doing. She was putting me in a box. Use THESE words!

I wrote something straightforward and boring, but I tagged on the end, "Where is your FIRE today, Ms. Rogers?"

I wanted to know what had happened. I mean, I had an idea, but exactly what had happened the day before. I wasn't sure how, when or where to ask her, just knew I HAD to.

As usual my best chance was as we turned in papers and left for lunch. I waited until last. She glanced at my paper. I'd underlined the question at the end three times. "I left it at home today, Mr. Watson. It seems I have too much fire in me for this place." She grimaced but never looked up.

I puzzled for a second over what to do. I looked around. The principal was in the hallway chatting with another teacher, but she hadn't noticed I was still in the classroom yet. I thought fast, walked around the corner of Ms. Rogers' desk and squatted behind it where I was completely shielded from any prying eyes. NOW she looked at me, straight into my searing blue eyes, and she hissed through clenched teeth, "What the hell are you doing?!"

My tongue quit working. Suddenly I was twelve and awkward. "Uh.." I stammered. "I was just checking on you is all."

The right corner of her frown lifted a little. "Do you have to do that squatting behind my desk?"

I raised up and peered toward the window at the back. "Well... Yeah..."

"Right..." she responded slowly as realization set in. For a second I thought I'd get her to confide in me easily, but then she glanced at the windows, then back down at me and said, "Mr. Watson, please go to lunch."

I didn't move a muscle. She had to stop looking at me to avoid arousing suspicion. She swiveled her old-fashioned, wooden chair so that she faced the wall. "What do you want, Mr. Watson?"

She'd set herself up again, and I knew I should, but I couldn't resist. "I want you... I want you..." I paused less for dramatic effect and more this time because my brain stopped functioning.

My God she turned so red! She was starting to really look angry... Not quite the fire I was trying to revive, but I'd take it. She tapped her nails impatiently on the arm of her chair and stared down at me.

I thought I might blush. Where was my fucking brain?! "I want you to tell me what happened yesterday." I finally spit it out.

She quit tapping. "Nothing you need to worry about... I'm fine. Everything is just peachy."

Clearly nothing was peachy. "Unacceptable answer." I raised my brows and assaulted her green eyes with my best pleading look. I'll admit I am not naturally good at pleading. I realized quickly that it wasn't working.

Fuck. I wasn't going to back away from this. "I want to fucking know why you went home and who the fuck in this fucking prison thinks he has any fucking right fucking with you."

"Apparently a whole fucking lot of fucking people. But it's nothing you need to worry about. You're here to learn. I'm here to teach you." She met my gaze evenly.

I tightened my lips. "Get the stick out of your ass... I'm already worried about it. Too late. Now what the FUCK happened?"

She bristled. "Don't talk to me like that." She looked away from me as if to say she was done, but I was not done. I'd been worrying over this woman all day and night.

I reached for her chair and spun her to face me. I reached up and grabbed her jaw between my rough fingers. Her skin felt like silk against mine. Damn it... I tilted her head down to force her to look at me.

She closed her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. It was like reasoning with a toddler. "One more time..." I squeezed her jaw, just a little. I was used to getting what I wanted much more easily. I opened my mouth to ask her one more time and the bitch (I didn't really think of her that way anymore, but it applies here) fucking BIT me. Right between my thumb and forefinger, bent down on that bit of skin in that sensitive spot.

I wanted to backhand her. Common sense screamed for me to back off.

Instead I put a palm on each side of her face, turned it back down toward me, and said, "You open your eyes or I open them for you."

"And just how do you intend..." Before she could finish I had an index finger against each eyelid ready to pry those suckers open. Her eyes flew open. "You want to know what happened? Something kind of like this. I was threatened!"

"I'm not threatening you..." I relinquished my hold on her face. Her eyes slammed back shut, and I groaned in protest but waited for her to continue. Why was I bothering with this woman when she just bit me?

She turned her chair back toward the wall, opened her eyes, and then she began to tell me how one of the lesser gang leaders, an Asian/black kid no more than 5'-6" who was in this class before the incident the previous day, had masturbated openly while he threatened her - to rape her, to kill her family, to kill her and rape her corpse - in very graffic, disturbing terms, while she searched his locker and bed for contraband. He ruled by fear, and he'd attempted to use fear against her, in retaliation I guess. MANY of them had heckled her, but he was the only one who had taken it beyond insults to direct, personal threats.

She'd snapped and yelled back at him, threatened him in return. She'd used up all her fire the day before telling him she'd bite off his balls and force them down his throat. Why was that scum allowed to get away with that? She said he was in SIG, but... he'd probably be back in here when he got out. That was how they did things here. They'd figure they'd broken him and send him right back.

By the end of her story, she was again visibly shaken, seething and worried. I wasn't sure what to do. I reached up and began stroking the soft skin of her left forearm, which rested on the chair arm beside me. I traced the veins on the back of her hand. She tensed and stopped breathing.

"Hey," I said calmly. "I'm not trying to hurt you. Relax. I'm going to take care of this, okay? I'll figure something out."

"I don't want to have to face that sack of shit again. I shouldn't have to!" She squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her fists like that would make it go away.

"I'm telling you... I'll take care of it. And if they put that 'sack of shit' back in here with you, if he looks at you wrong, if he looks at you at all, if he even thinks about laying one of his stubby fucking hands on you, I will FUCK. HIM. UP. Okay?" Honestly, how much I could fuck him up would depend on how many men jumped to his defense. I was big, I was strong, but I was not invincible. I just knew... if he came back, if he wanted to get to her in any way, he'd have to go through me.

"Thanks," she mumbled. She stood up from her chair. It was time for people to start filing back in from lunch. She straightened her clothes, smoothed her hair. Then she surveyed the area and said, "Get up. It's safe."

My eyes were level with her round, juicy ass, and for a second I felt less protective and more aggressive. It was all I could do not to press my palm against her flesh and squeeze. Her pants were so tight against it.

I sucked in my breath and held it. I got up. I looked around. I cupped her right cheek in my left hand. "I'm sorry I was so rough with you... Just... you're so fucking stubborn, so proud!" I didn't say anything else, though I wanted to. I stroked my thumb against her cheek twice and let my hand fall away.

It was a couple of minutes before anyone came back into the room. I sat in my desk and waited, saying nothing.

Ms. Rogers tidied her desk. Apparently this was my reward for showing her kindness. Maybe she'd noticed my reaction to her pants stretched across that curvy, pretty ass.

She straightened every single thing on her desk with her back to me. The desk was probably about 3' x 5', so the way she did this made NO sense unless she was doing it... for me. Her desk was parallel to the front wall, in front of the board, and the place she sat behind it faced the room. She leaned across her desk and straightened her calendar. She moved her coffee cup about five inches and turned the handle parallel with the front of her desk.

She was purposely giving me a show, and it drove me up the wall. She LAY down on the desk and reached for her chair. She had to kick her feet up off the floor and really strain to reach it. Her ass wiggled and strained against the fabric of her pants. I thought the seam might split! I felt my dick start to stiffed and strain against my pants. I sucked in my breath, which was louder than I intended, and I held it while I watched.

She pulled the chair under her desk and righted herself. She straightened her shirt, which had ridden up above her hips when she stretched across the desk.

Do that one more time... I silently begged. I folded my hands in my lap because I knew my erection was prominent, and I tried to conceal it. It was important to me then, after what had happened the day before, not to make her feel threatened. Then again, she didn't seem to feel threatened at all. She seemed to be enjoying putting on a show.

I thought she was done. I looked around to see if anyone was coming yet. I looked down at my hands folded in my lap. I wasn't sure what to do or if I should do anything. My thoughts were interrupted by a grunt followed by a groan. I looked up to find her stretched out across the desk again, her ass directly in front of my desk. She seemed to be trying to open a drawer at the front of the desk. The more she struggled to reach the drawer, the more her ass gyrated up and down. She was basically humping the edge of the desk.

I wasn't sure she even had any interest in reaching that drawer. The paper clips she held in her hand fell to the desk, but she still strained toward the drawer and bobbed her supple ass up and down in my face.

I decided, split-second, that she was asking for it. She was... asking for my help. I quietly rose from my seat. I looked around, checking to make sure I could get away with this. I positioned myself behind her, my throbbing cock perfectly aligned with the stressed seam running down her ass.

One of her legs lifted and caught me in the shin. She stopped wiggling and stiffened, lay flat on the desk, as if she wasn't quite sure what to do when her show became up close and personal. Before she could stop me, I grabbed her hips, one hand firm on each side of her body, and I pressed my rock hard erection roughly against the crack of her ass. Her head turned slightly toward me. I think she could see me out of the corner of her eye. I saw her bite her lip. She moaned a little and so very subtly wiggled her warm ass against me.

She wanted this. God, she really wanted this! I looked around once more. I couldn't believe no one was around to catch us, but I wasn't complaining. I might never get this opportunity again, so I took full advantage.

"Do you need help with that?" I played her game - reached across her, grabbed the paper clips, opened the drawer and dropped them inside. I closed the drawer again. The whole time, my body pressed hers firmly against the wooden desk. When I'd finished "helping," I didn't pull away. Instead I moved both hands to her hips again and began to thrust against her ass. She groaned loudly this time. Her hips started keeping rhythm with mine.

Her legs spread further apart like she was trying to find a way to rub her clit against the desk. I could only guess her reasoning, but the movement prompted me to 'help her' again. I reached around her and wedged my arm between her and the desk, lifted her up off of the desk and stood her upright in front of me. I kept grinding against her, but I moved my hands - one reached up her shirt and the other went down between her legs, searching for her clit through her pants.

I kneaded her breasts through her bra. They were small but round, firm and, I'd wager, beautiful. I wanted to see those tits so badly, but there was no way... I couldn't believe I was getting away with this much!

I rubbed two fingers against her erect little button, fast and firm but not too hard. Her breath came faster and faster. I looked around anxiously. God, don't let anybody interrupt this! She was going to cum against my hand. I could feel it building as her body tightened against me.

It was more than I could take. The feel of the fabric sliding against my cock, the pressure from her ass pushing back against me, the smell of her hair so close to my face - like flowers and sunshine, everything from the experience combined and melted together until I exploded with her.

She reached behind and grabbed for my ass, my thighs, pulling me closer to her as she came. I shot streams of hot cum inside my pants. I didn't care. I would happily sit through the rest of the day in my own sticky cum, remembering this.

We straightened ourselves, sat down, didn't even look at each other the rest of the day. I drew her, just quick sketches. I drew her leaning across her desk. I drew her with my body pressing her down onto the desk. I drew her standing with her back to me, her body pressed against mine and my hand between her legs. I didn't take these drawings with me, and I knew she couldn't leave them behind in the room. She'd have to take them with her...