My life as a schoolteacher had become quite complicated in recent months. First an 18-year old pupil wanked me out of the blue on a field trip to France. Then she and a couple of her friends chained me up in a shed on the school grounds and took turns fucking me. And as a result of that, I'd started a very passionate, but very dangerous, affair with one of the girls involved. It wasn't just the risk of being caught 'abusing' the pupil-teacher relationship that worried me. Inderjit's dad is this big, muscular local Sikh politician, who wears a ceremonial sword on civic occasions that looks as if it could cut me in half with a single swipe. Indy and I could only see each other once a week outside school to avoid her parents getting suspicious, and when we did we barely wasted time on talking, we just sucked and screwed each other's brains out. She's a big, meaty girl, with the most gorgeous pillowy bum I've ever had the pleasure of licking.
My other problem had been our French teacher, Yvette Mouthillon. I was more or less sure she knew about the wanking incident, and she had started making rather barbed comments about Indy, which made me think she was onto that as well. Whatever else I could say about her, the woman was as sharp as a cut-throat razor. The problem was, she had this deep, girlish crush on me. We're the same age -- 26 -- but she just wasn't my type. I saw her as a little simpering girl, with dark hair, dark eyes, a skinny body, rounded shoulders and big ugly spectacles, not to mention a burgeoning moustache most unbecoming on someone of her age. Like most of my colleagues, I had been polite and friendly towards her when she first joined the school staff, but in my case she had chosen to read entirely too much into it.
I did my best to stay out of her way -- I teach geography, so there wasn't too much connection between our subjects -- but every morning she was in my face in the staff room with a sunny "Good morning Robert", pronounced the French way, 'Robaire'. All my other colleagues call me Rob or Robbie, and I generally just grunted in response and hunched down in a corner with a coffee and the morning paper.
One afternoon, towards the end of the school day, I found a note in my pigeonhole in the staff room: 'Robert, I need to speak to you about something -- in private. This is most urgent. Yvette.' I cursed under my breath. Ever since the French trip I'd been worried she might tell someone about her suspicions as to what happened there, but I was sure she didn't have any proof, and I was counting on her attraction to me stopping her from squealing on me anyway. I screwed the note up and dropped it in a bin, then turned -- and walked straight into la Mouthillon. I manufactured a smile from somewhere, and told her I was sorry but I just didn't have time to meet with her. Her face darkened in anger and she hissed, "Well you'd better find the time, Monsieur Peters. You'd just better, that's all." Then she stalked off.
I'd never seen that side of her before, and something in her voice alarmed me. Surely she couldn't have anything on me, could she? But I thought I'd better make sure, so after school, sighing with reluctance, I made my way up the stairs to the language lab. Yvette was sitting there having a coffee and a laugh with her Spanish counterpart, but the moment I arrived the Spaniard seemed to pick up that there was an atmosphere between us and scuttled off. I closed the door behind her and, just to be on the safe side, turned the key in the lock. Then, adopting a world-weary tone, I said, "Okay Yvette, what is it that's so bloody important that I'm missing my first pint of the day for it?"
She refused to meet my eyes, but said, "I have something I think you need to see Robert", and started laying out some rectangular cards on her desk. I wandered over and felt the blood drain from my face. They were a series of photographs. The first showed me lying on my back, a naked sixth former called Jeanette Adams sprawled on top of me, my prick buried to the hilt in her cunt. At the same time Inderjit, subsequently my lover, was squatting over my face while I licked her out. A conniving little witch called Charlotte Evans had taken the photo. She was the one who'd started the whole thing by tossing me off, and the picture had been taken during the kidnapping of me that she'd organised. My hands were cuffed to shelves on either side of me at the time, but you couldn't see that in the photo, so it just looked like I was having it away quite voluntarily with a couple of pupils.
The next two pictures had been taken that evening too, and showed me kneeling behind Inderjit, who was on all fours as I rammed my cock into her. At that moment I could have killed Charlotte bloody Evans -- she and I had a very brief fling after the evening captured in the photos, and she'd sworn to me that she'd destroyed the pictures. The final two snaps shook me though. They weren't very well taken, and were from quite a distance, but the subject matter was quite clear. The first showed me opening my front door to Inderjit. The second showed Inderjit, framed by my bedroom light, staring out of the bedroom window, topless, her enormous tits clearly visible. Jesus Christ, I thought, what the hell had Indy been doing standing at the window like that? Obviously Yvette had been busy with her camera too, the sneaky little bitch.
Furiously I snatched at the pictures, but Yvette managed to get to them before me. "It's okay, I've got them all set up on my computer at home. I just press one button and, poof, they go to the headmistress, the board of school governors, the local newspaper, Inderjit's papa...."
Sullenly I slumped into the chair behind Yvette's desk. "How the fuck did you get them?" I snarled. "The first three, I mean. Obviously you did your own dirty work for the others."
Yvette pulled a chair out from behind one of the pupils' desks and sat beside me. "Charlotte Evans is a very nice, kind girl. She knew I admired you and she saw how unhappy it was making me. So one day she, erm, what is the term, tipped me the wink as to how I could attract your attention."
