All characters involved in this story are of at least 18 years of age. All characters involved in this story are original creations of the author. Any resemblance to any real person, place, or event is purely coincidental. Please do not post anywhere else without author permission. Thank you!
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I thought it best to call in sick the next day. No matter what my next move would be concerning the three temptresses in my class, it needed to be thought out and going back to that room would only fog my perception of things. As wrong as it was, as surreal and downright sinful (and I'm not even a religious man), I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy it. Perhaps I had just been without a girlfriend for too long; too wrapped up in my work that I had forgotten to have a social life and seek out relationships with women my own age. True or not, that was no excuse. There was no good way out of that situation that would have let me keep my job, of course, but morally I should have stopped it all the same. Was losing my job what was holding me back? No. It was something more primal, feral even, that kept me locked in that chair as Val gave me a lap dance and Van treated me to her cleavage.
Then there was what Viv said. She didn't seem the type to say something just to rile me up, but rather chose her words deliberately and with care. That's not to say it didn't rile me up, and I'm sure that was part of her intention, but still I couldn't fathom what she said didn't have some truth behind it. I'm sure, in time, she would reveal her hand, but never all at once and never unless it suited her needs. There was something frightening about her, too powerful for a person, let alone a student, to be, and yet all she had done was flash me some knowing glances and stand idly by while her friends pleasured me.
All were thoughts that plagued me when I stayed home that day. Usually a school doesn't like it when you call in sick the day before, as it leaves little time to round up a substitute, but with my class they just needed a warm body in the room to keep them from eating each other alive. I knew I needed a clearer head before I could plot my next move, to figure out how best to remove these girls from my life without raising suspicion from anyone. Sipping my coffee, I sat and watched The Price is Right, feeling like a child home sick from school, and lost myself in the mindless bidding on items.
In the midst of lost time, there came a knock at my door. Snapping back to reality, I checked the time and realized it was almost 3 o'clock. I suppose game shows and peoples' court are great ways to lose yourself and ignore your troubles. I adjusted myself, ensuring I looked presentable even in my PJs, and answered the door. As quickly as I had freed myself from the snare of morning to mid-afternoon television, I was thrust back into my pending woes.
Standing at the door was Vanessa, the blonde member of the triumvirate of my dilemma. "Hey there, Mr. Harper!" she exclaimed, bordering on the sweet school girl stereotype with her exuberance. "I saw you weren't in class today, and when I heard you were sick I decided to bring over something to make you feel better," she detailed, smiling brightly when she handed me a Tupperware container of unknown goods.
I half expected to open the box and find nothing but condoms and sex toys, but they were just cookies. Sugar, it seemed, with frosting of various colors, some with sprinkles and others not so lucky. After examining the cookies, I turned my attention back to her, and wasn't sure how to proceed. Here was a student who had my face buried in her breasts, who had texted me a photo of those same tits, and she was acting like there was nothing amiss. This must have thrown me, as I treated the visit like it was as banal as she was pretending it was.
"Uh, thank you, Ms. Smithfield," I replied. "That's very kind of you." A few awkward seconds went by, as she said nothing and I did the same. She must have been expecting me to say something else, but nothing came, so I decided to end it before it could grow more tense. "I'll...see you on Monday," I departed with, backing up into my home and closing the door - but that was not to be when she stretched her long, knee-high sock-clad, leg into the door way and caused me to stop abruptly, not wanting to harm such a delicate feature.
"Wait, Mr. Harper! Aren't you going to invite me in?" she asked, again treating the situation like I was being the odd one, but as fogged as my judgment was, I knew it would be inappropriate to have a student alone with me in my house, let alone one who had overstepped her bounds twice in the past. Her hand gripped the door, pushing back a bit so she could peek her head inside, offering me a smile to weaken my resolve.
"I don't think that would be appropriate, Ms. Smithfield," I insisted.
"Van," she replied sternly, yet losing none of the youthful innocence she was exhibiting. "And please, Mr. Harper? I just...I wanted to talk to you about...well about what happened." She pleaded, her motive shattering any remaining hope I had that the past few days were just a dream I took to be far too real. Having no other plan in mind, wasting that time watching TV and drinking coffee, I could think of no immediate reason why it would be a bad idea to talk to her, to hopefully put an end to this amicably so I wouldn't have to risk my job and reputation finding my own way out of it. Saying nothing, I offered only a nod and then backed away, pulling the door with me to allow her access to my home.
She graciously accepted, sparing no time lest I change my mind about this undoubtedly bad idea. As she passed, I noticed she was wearing some Mary Janes to go with her tall, white, stockings, going well together. Her school girl attire changed somewhat up and past her knees, where the stockings ended. As tradition dictated, she wore a plaid skirt, but this one was black and pink, and she wore a loose fitting black studded belt, purely for decoration as it rested low on one hip, supported only by her curves of her ass and hips. The rest of the stereotypical outfit was disregarded, opting out of a white blouse and instead wearing a black, frayed, t-shirt. Several sizes too small, it exposed much of her back, and when she turned as I closed the door, much of her flat stomach as well - at the center of which was a cute belly button piercing of a short chain with three charms hanging from it.
When she spun around, her ponytail flipped back over her shoulder, now resting between her big, inviting, tits. The t-shirt was already too small to cover her torso completely, and she had obviously modified it to stay snug around her breasts as well. A deep cut was made at the collar, plunging downward and parting in a v-shape thanks to the strain her chest put on the fabric. A faded logo from a metal band was on the shirt, but much of it had been lost to time, washing, and her modification of the shirt. Of course, it wasn't the logo that drew eyes to her shirt. I commended myself on my strength for not staring down her shirt before when she was on the other side of my door, but then realized I was merely being foolish to have not noticed how she was dressed before I let her in. I had to remain strong, and promised myself I would end this surprise meeting as soon as it grew inappropriate (more so than it was already).
"Have a seat in the living room," I instructed, eager to get her to turn back around and hide those amazing assets from my vision again. "I'm just going to put these away." As she left for the living room, I departed for the kitchen and placed the cookies on the island. I used the time mainly to catch my breath, to gain some composure before speaking to her again. I decided to enjoy one of the cookies she made while I thought of my next move. Thankfully I had not remained in my boxer briefs and nothing else that day, and instead opted for some comfy PJs that allowed me to remain warm and appropriate for impromptu guests. Admittedly the cookie was very good, so I decided to take another, and then one more for Van (and possibly myself if she turned down the offer).
When I returned to the living room, Van was seated comfortably in the love seat opposite the couch where I decided to sit, but not before handing her one of her own cookies to enjoy. Perhaps not the most mature of food to have when discussing sexual misconduct between a teacher and student, but then what food was appropriate for such a talk? "So, you've come to talk about what happened?" I opened with, eager to get the discussion started lest she shy away from her decision to fess up her involvement.
