Student And Teacher Chapter 6

**Chapter 6: The Fall of Faithfulness**

The drive back from Pinewood Forest was a silent hell for Vanessa. Greg hummed off-key beside her, Tyler slept in the backseat, and her pussy ached--a sore, sticky reminder of Ethan's cock. Her neon pink thong clung to her, soaked with his cum and her shame, the green tank top and khaki shorts she'd worn all weekend now feeling like a slutty costume she couldn't shed. She'd been faithful for a decade--Greg's high school sweetheart, a virgin 'til him, a good wife, a good mom--and now her student had fucked her raw, over and over, her moans still echoing in her skull. *How did I let this happen?* she thought, gripping the wheel, her cunt twitching despite her guilt.

School resumed Monday, and Vanessa armored up--black blazer over a white blouse, unbuttoned to tease her lacy bra, a grey pencil skirt hugging her ass, stockings and heels clicking like a metronome of sin. Ethan sat in the back of her English class, quiet again, but his eyes burned through her, stripping her bare. She taught Macbeth, voice steady, but every time she turned to the board, she felt his smirk, imagining his dick splitting her open. After class, he lingered.

"Good weekend, Mrs. L?" he asked.

She snapped. "Get out," she said, but her pussy soaked her thong, betraying her fury.

Weeks crawled by, their dance a silent torture. He'd brush her in the hall.

"Miss your cunt," he'd whisper.

She'd shove him off. "Stop it," she hissed, but her nipples hardened every time.

Greg stayed oblivious, Tyler too, but Vanessa's guilt festered--nights spent lying awake, Greg snoring beside her, her hand slipping between her thighs to finish what Ethan started. She hated him, hated herself, but the craving grew, a dark itch only his cock could scratch. Then came the school talent show--mid-November, a Friday night in the gym, packed with students, parents, teachers. Vanessa chaperoned, Greg and Tyler in the crowd, her dressed to kill: a red satin dress, low-cut, hem barely past her ass, no bra, her tits jiggling with every step, a black thong cutting into her pussy lips, five-inch heels screaming *fuck me*. Ethan performed--some shitty guitar solo--but his eyes locked on her, a promise in every strum. After, Greg mingled, Tyler vanished with friends, and Vanessa slipped backstage to grab water, the gym's noise fading behind curtains.

Ethan found her there, alone, his jeans tight, bulge obvious. "Lookin' like a slut tonight, Mrs. L," he rizzed, stepping close.

She glared. "Fuck off, Ethan," she said.

But he grabbed her wrist, pulling her into a storage closet--dark, cramped, stacked with chairs and props. He locked the door, shoved her against a table, and kissed her--hard, sloppy, tongue fucking her mouth.

She bit his lip. "My husband's out there!" she protested.

But he yanked her dress up, thong down, her pussy dripping. "He doesn't fuck you like I do," he growled, unzipping, his cock springing free--thick, veiny, precum beading.

He bent her over the table, ass up, and rammed into her--doggy, raw, her tits bouncing free of the dress, nipples scraping wood. "Take this dick, you cheating bitch," he snarled, fucking her hard, 20 minutes of relentless thrusts, her pussy creaming, her screams muffled by his hand.

"Fuck--yes, ruin me!" she moaned, cumming twice, juices puddling on the floor, his cum blasting deep when he finished.

She sank, trembling, but he flipped her--missionary now, legs spread, heels in the air--and fucked her again, slow and deep, rizzing. "I love you, Vanessa--you're mine forever," he said.

She sobbed. "I'm married--stop!" she cried.

But she came again, pussy milking him, his load flooding her cunt. The door rattled--Greg's voice.

"Vanessa? You in there?" he called.

Panic hit. Ethan pulled out, cum dripping down her thighs, and ducked behind a stack of chairs. She yanked her dress down, thong up, wiping sweat and guilt off her face as Greg barged in.

"What the hell's taking so long?" he snapped, eyeing the mess--her flushed cheeks, the wet spot on the table.

"Dropped my phone," she lied, voice cracking, Ethan's cum leaking into her thong.

Greg frowned. "Smells weird in here," he said, but shrugged, dragging her out.

Ethan slipped away, smirking, leaving her wrecked. Back in the gym, she sat beside Greg, thighs clenched, pussy sore, his arm around her a cage. Ethan strutted by, winking, and she nearly choked--her faithful mask slipping. That night, home, Greg fucked her--routine, quick, nothing like Ethan--and she faked it, his cum a faint echo of her student's. She showered after, scrubbing 'til her skin stung, but the guilt stayed, her cunt aching for the wrong man.

Monday, it blew up. Ethan had recorded the closet--phone hidden on a shelf, catching every thrust, every moan. He didn't leak it, but showed her in class, cornering her after the bell. "Look at you, Mrs. L--screaming for my cock," he grinned, screen glowing with her disgrace.

She slapped him. "Delete it, you fuck!" she demanded.

But he rizzed. "Only if you fuck me again--right here," he said.

Her heart pounded--Greg, Tyler, her job, all at risk--but her pussy soaked her panties, craving him. She locked the classroom door, hiked her skirt--navy, tight, no thong today--and bent over her desk. He fucked her standing, 15 minutes of brutal slams, her tits bouncing free, her moans echoing off chalkboards.

"You're my slutty teacher--I'd kill for this pussy," he growled, cumming inside her, her orgasm shaking the desk.

She sank, cum dripping. "We're done," she rasped.

But he kissed her. "Never," he said, and left.

Days later, a staff meeting loomed--Greg out of town, Tyler at a friend's. Ethan showed up at her house, 1 a.m., banging the door. She answered in a sheer nightie--tits out, pussy bare.

"Go away!" she yelled.

But he pushed in, pinning her to the couch. "One last time," he begged, cock out.

She broke, straddling him, riding his dick 'til they came together, her screams waking the neighbors. He left at dawn, and she quit teaching the next week--moved towns, cut ties, Greg never wiser. Years passed. She rebuilt--new job, new life--but late at night, alone, her hand found her cunt, Ethan's name a whisper on her lips. He'd ruined her faithfulness, claimed her body, and she'd never escape the dark, horny ghost of his cock.