% A Town Called Lucky
*Caveat lector: All sexual activity or interest is between 18 year olds and older.*
# Prologue
It was lunch time on the first day of the new school year.
I beat a retreat to the office and just as I did my assistant, Miss Colston, came into the office behind me and started to tell me about something or or other. I leant behind her and pushed the door shut and locked it and manoeuvred her further into the room towards the desk.
"Oh no," she said, spinning around and putting her hands on my chest. "No. I know that look. No, we can't, not during hours any more we said, we're not even four hours into the year and... wait... not duri--- ohhh, fuck, you bastard, you can't *do* this, even if you do have magic fingers, ohh---"
After a digital warm up I pushed her over the desk, lifted up her skirt and went to it, one hand pressed into the small of her back, the other in a firm hold on her hair, keeping her head up. It was a pose she was used to by now, though usually I waited until 4PM.
"Fuck. Yes," I muttered through gritted teeth as I tried to push her clean through the pine with each thrust. "Don't. Fucking. Move. Fuck... you and your cunt are just what I fucking needed."
I couldn't really see her expression because she couldn't turn her head, what with her hair being used as my handle to pull myself into her. I couldn't see it but I could image she was smirking.
"Ohh, I guess... I guess I should be flattered, huh? But, ugh... But I know its not me that got you all worked up."
"Jesus, Jess. Those fucking seniors."
"You're always like this."
"Not like this. I swear they're doing it on purpose."
"Of course, ugh, of course they're doing it on purpose. They're --- ahh, fuck, not so deep, fuck --- they're just a bunch of randy, ugh, hormonal, ugh! 12th Graders."
I didn't pay much attention to the 'not so deep' comment. Well, not other than angling down a little and trying to push in harder.
"Ahh--!" he yelped.
I moved my hand from her hair to cover her mouth, which, happily, arched her back towards me even move.
"Their hair, Jess. Fuck. At least two of them were actually twirling their hair at me, like a 90s porno or something. And the little bitches getting every. Fucking. Chance." I was punctuating with thrusts. "To show me. Their gorgeous. Long. Fucking. Legs. Bending over to pick up bags. Walking right up to the desk at the end of the lesson then sauntering off. Wriggling. Their tight. Asses. Its unbearable... ugh..."
I was sweating and felt my blood pumping in my temples. Jess was making slightly worrying little squeaks through my fingers and had gone limp on me. So I eased up and let her head down gently onto the desk surface and moved my hand to the back of her neck as a carried on at a more survivable pace.
"... There must be something in the water this year," I continued. "Normally its a couple weeks before the little tarts get any ideas. I'm fucking stern enough with them. That used to work, for a while at least."
Jess had recovered and said, in that odd, breathless, reverberating tone that women get when you have their cheek held firmly to a wooden desk while you fuck them from behind, "Maybe you're getting a reputation as a man-whore. How many did you have last year?"
"Cheeky bitch," I replied, lightly swiping her ass without stopping. "Last year, I'll have you know, there was only the two."
She gave me a look. *Now* I could see the smirk.
"OK. Only the two that actually went anywhere. Obviously I might have had a one time thing with one or two of the others."
"Or a three or four time thing with three or four of the others," she retorted. "You know, a normal girl might be upset that her boss used her, ahh... used her to take his sexual frustration out on, ugh... whilst he carried on with a... ahh bunch of.. bunch of hot, ahh, teenage sluts."
"I should warn your husband you're not normal then. He'll be devastated. He must have thought he'd married such a normal cock hungry bitch."
She rolled her eyes.
----
It was four years ago that I moved to Lucky. A big, sprawling, run down industrial town in the middle of nowhere, US-of-A. Why? We'll save that story later. I've got Jess to fuck right now. Eye on the prize, boy, as my old PE teacher used to say.
For now, all you need to know is that five years ago I was passing through for work, on a modestly paid research trip about post-industrial decline, a fair old way from home, which was Dublin, where I worked at Trinity College.
I noticed Lucky presented certain opportunities and freedoms. I hated my stuffy little life in Dublin in any case. And so a year later I moved my wife and myself out there. To hell with the academy and career progression, for a few years at least.
From Trinity College to teaching advanced courses in English, History and Biology to 12th Graders in fuck knows where; my friends thought I was mad. My wife was surprisingly open to the whole thing, probably because I told her we'd move on to California some point, and she'd always wanted to live in California.
I got the job easily, as you might expect. Very excited to have you, sign here, tell us if you need anything, and that was almost the last I heard from the Principle in a year.
It was mostly girls in my classes. Half the boys dropped out to work in the remaining manufacturing plants over in the next county, along with the menfolk, most of whom only came back for the weekends. The remaining boys were those without the wits or drive to work, and few of them got into the advanced courses or wanted in.
The girls were better, kind of, but hardly a hotbed of academic ambition. Those who did find employment after graduation would mostly be in hair dressing or waiting. Or, if they'd won the genetic lottery, 'waiting' at one of the better tipping and more scantily dressed venues on the outskirts of town, where the men and boys would stop on their way back into Lucky on Fridays after working at the plants all week.
Yeah. Lucky was one of those kinds of places. The left behind places without a train line, where the Greyhounds came every other day, maybe. To say I loved it, and loved the people, would be pushing it. But there was a rawness to everything, to live where no-one else in the state, let alone the country, gave a fuck about who you were or what you did or if you even existed.
On to those freedoms I was talking about...
There was only one high school left in Lucky and --- having swallowed the the older --- failing schools into one convenient single point of failure, it was seriously huge. Huge and dysfunctional.
I didn't even have a department head. I'm not sure I was actually in a department.
The amount of sex going around was, well, there wasn't fucking in every corridor but there was plenty of it about and no-one cared so long as you kept it to yourself. I happened to know the Principle was having an affair with the father of a 10th Grader, and at least two of the male teachers I was friendly with had admitted to regular flings with their students.
As the exotic foreigner ("are you from Australia, sir?") --- a tall dark rugged looking Celt in his mid thirties, who only taught seniors, kept himself to himself, and maintained a mysterious air by the simple expedient of having a hard to understand accent --- I had plenty of opportunities to indulge every year.
