The rhythmic pounding of the drums from downstairs invaded the air in my little classroom, causing the sterile white walls to vibrate ever so slightly. It destroyed my concentration; I shook my head and tucked a long lock of brown hair behind my ear as I stared down at the exam I was grading. Eventually I realized that I had been reading the same line over and over again without once comprehending the meaning of it. Sighing, I capped my pen, placed it upon my desk, and leaned down to retrieve my emergency chocolate bar from my lower desk drawer. That thing was always more for mild frustrations than emergencies, anyway.
Sinking my teeth into the soft caramel, I closed my eyes and emitted a noise of simple pleasure, my mood almost restored. But, as I leaned my head down to take the second bite, it happened to me again. My hand shook, my mouth watered. It was all I could do to keep myself from squeezing the candy bar for all the world like it was a nice hard cock.
I should probably explain. At that point, it had been a while since I had had ANY sex or even done anything sexual at all... quite a while. It didn't take long before it began to bother me. At first, it was nothing worse than hearing an opportunity to say, 'that's what she said' after almost ANY phrase. I simply found the sexuality in everything. Eventually, though, it got much more intense.
You see, I've always been a very... oral... person, and after a while it became hard to eat anything remotely phallic in shape without craving, well, a cock in my mouth. Even wrapping my lips around a fork got me reminiscing about past flings; it was pathetic.
So there I was with my head in my hands, swallowing copious amounts of saliva, a barely eaten chocolate bar lying innocently on the stack of exams before me, when there was a knock at my classroom door. "Come in," I called, exasperated. I didn't think too much of the knock at this time.
It was Sameer. Those black eyes, those pensive lips... in my current state, it was impossible to see him as just a student. He silently grabbed a chair, nonchalantly sitting across from me, and his smile broke the stoic line of his mouth and brightened his face in a way that made my stomach lurch.
I cleared my throat invitingly. "Hey," he said, jerking his head upwards once.
"Hey."
We chatted as usual, and for quite some time, nothing out of the ordinary happened. We talked about grades, his peers (although I know it was quite immoral to have been gossiping about my own students), the weather, and eventually...
"Those stupid pep rallies annoy the crap out of me," I pouted as I swiveled to and fro in my desk chair.
"Why? It's not like you have to actually go to them... like me."
"It's those damn drums," I grumbled. "They get on my nerves."
"...the drums stopped."
"Oh," I looked around the room as if that would give me any indication as to whether or not the sound was still going on. "What time is it?"
"2:50," he said. "We've been chatting for, like, forty minutes."
"Oh," I said again, blinking, adding "It's quiet," dumbly.
"Yeah," said Sameer. "No one is around."
I stared at him a little. It was sort of an odd thing to say, and I felt a strange mix of anxiety and anticipation swirling in my gut. "Yeah," I responded, making sure to keep my tone light and casual.
He leaned forward, putting his elbow on the desk and gazing at me. I waited. Finally he asked, "How old are you again?"
I giggled, my cheeks growing warm. "32. Why?"
"No reason," he said quickly, breaking eye contact with me and looking down at his shoes. Several seconds passed. Then, he said: "I just turned 18."
"Oh, that's cool," I chirped nervously, picking up my pen and tracing lines across the desk with the wrong end of it. I stopped trying to look Sameer in the face, and instead gazed down at my test papers. Part of me wanted to make any excuse to leave and rush him out of there before anything 'bad' happened... but a much larger part of me wanted to stay, and let Sameer show his hand. I wanted so badly to be absolved of the responsibility to keep my distance, but there was no sense in risking anything before he had made it crystal clear that he wanted something to happen between us, so I remained silent and played with my pen.
"You seem nervous," he said. I looked up at him; his brow was furrowed. Before I could speak he went on: "You should know that I would never say anything to anybody that made it seem like we were... anything but teacher and student," he said firmly. My eyes met his. "I know it might be a little weird that we're good friends like we are... but, please, don't feel bad about it. Especially because I'm 18 now!" he added gladly. "It's totally okay for us to be friends... right?"
"Actually... it probably would be looked down upon if we hung out as peers at all... even If it was after you graduated," I responded, looking away, although I tried to sound reluctant, so he would know that I was sensitive about it. I could feel the heat rising in my face again and I resented it this time. "I'm sorry. I don't mean anything by it. You're certainly not doing anything wrong, now, by sitting here with me," I added in an awkward rush.
He chuckled, waving his hand at me dismissively. "Please," he said comfortingly. "I understand." Something funny happened in his face then. His smile remained present, but it somehow changed. His eyes darkened, and began to bore into me, unwavering. I wanted to look away, but felt locked to his gaze; something was brewing behind that expression, and I wanted to know what it was. I didn't have to wait long; he leaned back in his chair, and examined me for a couple of moments, as if sizing me up. We were playing a risky game, teacher and student flirting like this, and I was making him move first. I couldn't afford to have it any other way. I felt bad, but he seemed up to the challenge. He sniffed, averted his intense stare, and said, "It's just too bad, that's all."
I practically felt my own pupils dilate as I straightened my posture, crossing my legs and arms and lifting my head. I wondered whether this polite display of interest was enough to mask the fact that I was actually experiencing much emotional turmoil. The problem was that I hoped with all of my heart both that he would come onto me and that he wouldn't. I wanted the excuse to misbehave, but also the ability not to... and the excuse, I knew, would destroy the ability. "Why's that?" I murmured distractedly. My voice trembled, though I badly wanted it not to, and I felt cool goosebumps spread across my chest, breasts and arms.
He still didn't look back up at me as he said, so quietly that I could barely hear him, "Because I really like you." Then he laughed disdainfully. "I thought turning 18 would be my chance... to finally seduce you," he sighed resignedly, gesturing outwards with his hand and then letting it fall onto his leg with a light slapping sound. My eye was drawn there, to that dark hand sprawled across that slim, bright blue denim-clad thigh. I hadn't yet fully absorbed his words, but I was already absently responding to them, reaching up to the nape of my neck and releasing the clip there, allowing my wavy locks to fall to my shoulders. I dropped the device to the desk with a light, plastic clatter, reaching both of my hands up to run my fingers through my hair, shaking it out a little.
Needless to say, Sameer looked up then. I smiled mischievously, crossed my legs the other way, and picked up my pen again, sticking the wrong end of it between my lips and nibbling on it as my smirk grew wider. "How did you think you were going to do that?" I asked, shrugging. I was unable to keep the insidious curiosity from my voice.
"What?" he blurted, surprised.
I just raised an eyebrow and continued to smile.
"L-like how?" he stammered.
"Like, how." I repeated gently, indicating my agreement. My tone was sultry, confident. Now that my ability not to misbehave had been taken away... I was unstoppable. I could already feel the heat in my pussy growing as I stared at his innocent, shocked face. Yes, he was young... but I didn't feel wrong in what I was doing because I knew he wanted me.
He reached up to the back of his head and scratched there again. I laughed; he was so cute when he did that because I knew it meant that he was feeling awkward. "Just tell me," I cooed softly, tilting my head at him. "I won't tell anyone."
