History Lesson

When I turned 18 the dreams started. I would wake up slick with sweat, panting, exhausted. He was in everyone, haunting me from my pillow. I stopped going to high school, I saw my friends post pictures in cap and gown, and truly I was happy for them. I couldn't tell my dad, I just faked sick, until finally, as classes resumed after a long summer in a house all by myself, I forced myself to go.

I went straight to Mr. L's classroom, and he looked up at me with the same smile he always had. Nothing had changed, he was still here, at his desk, and I was still here, his pupil. I had done the paperwork to drop out over summer though, I was not his student anymore. I'd pulled on the old uniform to get in without question or issue, a familiar face in a crowd.

"Good to see you Kimmy." He said. Kimmy. I hadn't heard anyone call me Kimmy since...well since I dropped off with everyone. My dad called me Kim or Kimberly, it felt so comfortable, like slipping into your favorite sweater.

"I kept dreaming about you." I say, tone light, I strolled into his empty classroom, tracing a finger along one of the desks, eyes anywhere but his face. "You know what they say. If someone's in your dreams it means they're thinking about you."

"I heard you were sick; your classmates and I were all worried about you." He said. "I'm glad to see you're feeling better-"

"But they weren't in my dreams, only you were." I turned to him, moving to sit on the desk just in front of his. I studied him, his flop of honey hair, his stubble speckled chin, his gleaming wedding band. Forbidden. He had a wife, two kids, a life. Why was I here? What did I want from him?

The bell would ring soon, I should just go, how did I expect this to go? Hey, you're my old history teacher, I had sex dreams about you, please make them come true? I looked away from him, unable to bear his expression. No longer a smile, he looked at me like I was endearing, concerned, and comforting and painfully paternal. He stood, and I watched as he moved to the window and pushed it open. He produced a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and tapped one free of its case.

"Don't tell." He smirked as he flicked a little blue lighter into action. He took a long slow breath, closing his eyes and blowing the smoke out the open window. "I know you're not enrolled anymore, did you just come for a visit?" He asked, watching me with a curious smile. I winced when the clanging bell rang, but he didn't move an inch. Students moved through the halls, but none came into his classroom. I waited, nearly forgetting to breathe as all the feet and books and learning settled.

"A visit." I replied weakly, allowing my eyes to slip down from his face once more. I felt like a child, like I'd done something and was afraid of being scolded for it.

"No." He ground out the cigarette half-finished on the windowsill and returned it to the box for future consumption. Slowly, he walked towards me, catching my chin between his index finger and thumb and forcing me to look up at him. To face him. To admit the truth. He would never put his hands on a student, but that shield no longer protected me. Or no longer stopped him.

I opened my mouth but closed it to swallow hard against the vice clenching my chest. His eyes bore into mine, waiting for an answer, demanding, forcing an answer to produce itself from my dumbstruck lips.

"To see you." I said in a weak voice. The right corner of his lips quirked up for half a second, but I saw it. Almost a smile, the beginnings of a smile, from me. He held me in place still, unfinished with me. His breath burned my nose, the smell of cigarettes and stale coffee. I wanted to live there in that moment, under his eyes. But he let go, closing the door before returning to his desk.

"Then your mission is complete." He opened a book, propping his feet up on his desk.

"No." I said, urgently, almost desperately. He smirked again, looking at me over his book. I bit my lip.

"No? Then what else did you hope to accomplish while here?" He closed his book, marking the page before depositing it on his desk. I stared at the book, unable or unwilling to answer him. "If you're not going to elaborate-" He picked up the book again.

"I can't." I murmured.

"You have-" he checked his watch. The clock that hung in the back of his classroom had never read the correct time. The idiom about a broken clock being right twice a day did not count for the possibility that it just moved separately from our time. Innovative students attempted to fix it over the years but somehow it was always just wrong. "Forty-nine minutes." My heart started beating faster, he set a time limit. His classroom would be full next period, I could escape then. But I didn't want to escape.

"I just kept having dreams about you." I said in an uncomfortable tone. I didn't want to sound like that. I wanted to sound confident. I wanted this plan to work, not that any of this had been planned. I fiddled with the hem of my plaid school uniform skirt. "And I wanted to come see you about them."

"I'm not a dream interpreter, Kimmy, I'm a history teacher." He was teasing me. "Well tell me then, what was I doing in these dreams of yours?" He watched, keen eyes, I knew he saw the blush as it flamed across my skin. Another hint of a smile that he quickly stifled. He stood, walking around his desk, moving slow, deliberate, and stopped in front of me, looking down at me. "What was I doing in your dreams Kimmy?" He hung on the last word, letting my name fill the air between us. My name, but when he said it wasn't mine anymore. Nothing was mine; nothing had ever been mine. I was just living in his world, an object in his solar system, a passing shadow.

"Touching me." I whispered, barely audibly. He heard; I knew he heard. Still, somehow, he remained even, calm, stoic. I licked my lips, staring into his chest, his button up, wondering what was underneath it.

"What?" His voice was soft, gentle, a temptation.

"You were touching me." I said, a bit louder. This time he inhaled, deeply, slowly, purposefully, a long silent moment filled with him.

"Show me." He held out his hands for me to use. I looked up at him, and finally he let the true smile bless his lips, the devious one, the one I had only seen in dreams. I let out a soft noise and he chuckled, but made no move to touch me. He was letting me 'show him' which meant I had to do it. I had to initiate. I had to make this thing between us, this sin, this betrayal, this dream come true. I took one hand and moved it to my throat, feeling his fingers curl around it instinctively. The other I pulled between my thighs. With this complete, he made a pleased noise and pushed me backwards against the cool concrete wall. His hand constricted around my neck, not enough to restrict my breathing but enough for the warning to be clear, do not make a noise. He used a knee to push my legs open as his fingers moved back and forth along my clit.

Of course, I wasn't wearing underwear, of course he knew what to do, of course he would finger me in his classroom, it felt like everything that was happening was obvious. Like it was going to happen whether I was aware or unwitting. He pushed his index finger slowly in. I bit my tongue to keep quiet. He was watching my face, he wanted to see what I looked like when I went over the edge, his hand left my neck, and for a moment I was wondering what he would do to me, what was next.

But next was nothing, next was darkness. He opened the classroom closet and pushed me inside. I heard the muffled sound of the class bell ringing. I sank to the floor, leaning against the cool wall and shut my eyes. I could hear his muffled voice through the heavy wooden door, it was utterly soothing.

Sometime later the bell rang, and the next class shuffled in, and he went on with them for some time before at last the lunch bell rang. The door opened and I winced at the light. He helped me to my feet. I'm not sure what I expected to happen, maybe an apology, maybe he would say never again, don't speak of this. Maybe he would condone the actions of adultery, our multitude of issues tricked through me. But of course, none of those came to be. He led me to his desk chair and sat me down. He pulled out his lunch and set it on his desk before me. I needed no more invitation and began to eat. He turned the chair to face him and pushed his face between my thighs. Looping his arms under my legs and over to hold onto my hips, he held me in place as he dove his tongue into and against me. I nearly choked on his food.

He pulled back for barely a moment, "Quiet." He said in a quiet chide before returning to his meal. I tried to eat but my hands were shaking. My whole body was trembling, I dropped the rest of the sandwich and grabbed fistfuls of his hair, thrusting desperately into him, biting my lip painfully to keep my noises quiet. Finally, the tremors subsided, and he released me. His hair was fully mussed, and his face was glistening with my juice.

"Mr. L..." I didn't know what to say. I didn't know if there was anything to say.

"Eat." He said simply, standing and leaving the room. He came back looking as he had before our, whatever it was we had together. Tirade? Trist? Rendezvous? I had finished most of his food, and vaguely wondered if his wife had packed it for him. He moved back to the window he'd left open, pulling out his half-finished cigarette. "I'll admit, this is not how I expected my day to go." He chuckled softly, I wondered if he was just thinking aloud or if it was directed at me. I moved to stand beside him, taking the cigarette from his hand and taking a slow drag from it. I let the smoke spill from my lips gently curling into the sky, passing it back to him.

"Not expected I guess, but this is what I'd hoped for." I said, looking at him. He smiled softly, turning to look at me, eyes flicking across my face, etching my features into his memory as if afraid I would disappear. Afraid this would all be a dream, just like it had been for me every night.

"I won't lie to you Kimmy; I love my wife." He said, smile fading as he looked back out the window. "Our kids, my life, I'm not going to leave anything behind."

"I understand." I said softly, feeling wounded but in a dull way, this was what I'd expected.

"That being said, I expect you to be available to me whenever I desire it." He flicked the ash out the window watching the little embers float down. I blinked, opened my mouth, looked at him. Shock, surprise. "You can go home if you want, or you can stay here at school. But during the hours I am here, you will be free to service me if and when I desire it." He looked at me, expecting an answer. I could say no, I could leave, but the thought of going home, the thought of not being his, I grinned.

"Yes." I breathed. "I can sleep on the bed in the nurse's office and get food in the cafeteria." I said. He smiled.

"Good." He finished his cigarette and ground out the butt, slipping it back into the carton. He went to sit at his desk looking over the bit of food I'd left. "Now get under the desk." He did not look at me, he didn't need to. I scurried over, hiding myself neatly under his large wooden desk. It would block me from view of anyone but him. I only existed for him.

He ate idly as the bell rang and students began filling in after their lunch. He resumed teaching, and between classes would sit at his desk and grade papers, he paid no attention to me. I understood, I didn't want him to get in trouble. I didn't want him to leave his wife or kids, I didn't want to ruin his life, I just wanted to serve him, to obey him, to be consumed by him. I wanted to be his, and I wanted whatever we had, whatever this was, to be our little secret.

The final bell rang, and the students slowly filed out of the school. Mr. L move to the closet that I'd been hidden in and packed his bag to leave. When he was done, he plopped it on his desk and looked at me. I felt nervous for the first time, like a child in trouble.

"You were a good girl under my desk today, Kimmy." He patted the top of my head like a dog. It was degrading, dehumanizing, it was utterly erotic. I sucked in a breath, desperate for him to praise me more. Call me a good girl again. His hand slid down the side of my face, a gentle caress before coming to grip my throat. Firmly, tight fingers, squeezing softly. I gasped as he pulled me out from under his desk. He pulled me up to stand in front of him, I had to go on my tippy toes and reached forward to brace myself against him. He pushed my hands away, grip tightening on me.

"But before I put you under there, you were naughty." He leaned into whisper this in my ear. I whimpered, trying to grip his shirt again. He grabbed my wrists and roughly twisted my arms behind my back. "Coming here dressed like that, tempting me, seducing me." His lips were brushing against my ear as he spoke, and I trembled. "Naughty girls need to be taught a lesson." He let go of my throat, using his hold on my wrists to spin me around and bend me over his desk. He flipped my skirt up presenting my bare ass to him. "Beg me to punish you like the naughty little girl you are." His voice growled over me.

"Please punish me, please teach me not to be a bad girl. I was naughty, please spank me." I whimpered. His hand came down hard, the crack of palm to ass rang through me. I cried out, feeling my ass jiggle, but he did not stop, he spanked me, bringing his hand down again and again on my ass. I felt tears tracking their way down my cheeks as I sobbed.

"Please!" I tried to wiggle out of his grasp, desperate for the pain to stop. "Please Daddy!" I choked out. His hand stopped. I'd called him daddy. I tried to look over my shoulder at him, but he still had me pinned and my tear-filled eyes only offered a blurred sight. He let go of my wrists and I hopped up turning around and throwing my arms around him, sobbing onto his shoulder. He slid his arms around me, holding me tightly against him. When I had quieted, his hold slackened, and he leaned back, ducking his head to look me in the eyes. "Thank you." I murmured.

"You did so good." He smiled, wiping the tears off my face and kissing my forehead. "But your lesson isn't done yet." His voice was gentle, his hold on me was still fierce. He pushed me back down on his desk, this time onto my back, and lifted my legs, putting them over his shoulders. He unzipped his fly and pulled out his cock. It was more perfect than I'd dreamt. Long with a delicate curvature. He spat on his hand and stroked it a few times. "I've been hard all day thinking about you." He said softly. I blushed and he smiled, reaching forward to put two fingers in my mouth. "Suck." He ordered. I obeyed, and when they were nice and wet, he smeared my saliva on my pussy.

When we were both sufficiently wet, he pressed the head to my pussy, licking my juice off his fingers. The thought of our saliva and my juice mixing on his tongue made my breath quicken. He moved slowly, eyes on my face as he popped the head in. I moaned, he moved his hands to my hips, pulling me further onto him. I was panting, desperate. When his hips finally let my thighs, he paused. I grabbed his shirt, pulling him in to kiss me. I tasted all of it on him, dancing our tongues together, letting our drool drip from my lips, making me a messy tool for him to use and fill. He pulled back, pulling my shirt up to reveal my tits. He pinched my nipples making me cry out as he pumped in and out of me. I gripped the edge of his desk to pull myself against him, meeting his thrusts. His rough pulling and pinching on my nipples had my breath coming out in desperate huffs. He leaned forward, gripping my throat, his eyes wild, his other hand moved to my hips.

He growled, his thrusts sped to erratic rutting before he sunk deeper, and I felt him cum deep into me. He shot spurt after spurt into me, grunting with each rope, and finally pulled out.

"Good girl." He leaned in and kissed me, gently, tenderly.

"Thank you." I was in a haze.

"You called me daddy." He said as he wiped his cock off. I looked down, worrying he would scold me for it. "I expect you to use it from now on." He looked at me, that firm paternal look that left me feeling weak.

"Yes daddy." I purred. He smiled and nodded.

"Good girl." He grabbed his bag and with that he left. Of all ways I thought it would go, becoming my old history teacher's fuck toy free to him for use whenever he wanted, was not what I expected. I laid on his desk, content just to exist in his space, in our space, feeling his seed slowly leaking out of me. Lesson learned. The first of many.