Office Hours: Prom Night

Annabelle burst through the door. She slipped into the nearest stall, careful not to get her red dress caught on the lock, and as she did so she caught a glimpse of her figure on the mirror; hair disheveled, mascara running down the sides of her cheeks like a circus clown. She dropped onto the toilet then hiked her legs up, cradling them in a fetal position. As she did so she heard the sprinting of three or four others, each wearing platform heels or stilettos, outside in the hall.

"Annabelle? Babe?" said Stace as the group charged in, the door swinging and clanging off the tiles. Through the thin cracks of the bathroom stall she could tell that they were scanning under the stall doors. As quietly as she could, she pulled every part of her legs and her dress high up above the seat and hid.

"Fuck, I told you she ran down the hall," said Yoriko, pulling the bathroom door open. "Come on, before she does something stupid."

She'd already done exactly that. Her mistake was being born, believing that she was actually pretty and worth something. The gals were amazing for trying to help, but their efforts were wasted on someone as useless as her. It was for the best that they slipped out without noticing her, they'd probably try to comfort her and reinforce the lie that she was special.

Once she was sure they were gone, she exhaled a shuddering sigh and slipped off the toilet seat to rattle open the lock on the door, greeted to the face of a mascara-stained, frizzy haired girl with snot dripping under her nose. Absolutely horrible. This was supposed to be a celebration, a commencement of the fact that she'd come of age and reached the end of her high school career while entering adulthood, but all that's happened tonight is that she realized she's still a child who's learned nothing for the past eighteen years.

Leaned over, she pressed her knuckles into the granite countertop to the point that it started to hurt. But, she wasn't really mad at him for what he chose to do. Weren't his actions justified? All he really did was make a logical, reasonable decision, choosing the better girl. If anything, the fault lay entirely on her for being inadequate; the shier, quieter girl too embarrassed to simply kiss out in public.

Yes, it only makes sense that he'd choose someone more experienced, knew how to take and give love at the same time, and not to mention a pair of exceptional melons, as opposed to her, the girl with the B cup muffin top rack who had illicit sex with a dirty teacher in a small office then thought she was on top of the universe. But it's just not fair. She really thought she'd made it somewhere, figured it out then, how to be an adult. Turns out, just when she thought she was going to cross the finish line and score first place, did she realize she'd already been lapped. It was so unfair. She thought she deserved to be loved.

She splashed water onto her face and wiped off the muck with cheap paper towels from the dispenser; horribly rough on your skin, but fuck it. She was clean now, but all that she saw then was her ugly, cosmeticless mug with bags under her eyes, stray hairs falling from her forehead. It was then that she decided--she was going to go see him again.

...

"Hey, Annabelle, how are you-- what are you doing?" said Ms. Christine, standing in the middle of the hall to the teacher's offices. She was wearing her hair down, but was still wearing her square glasses. She was trying to conceal a six-pack of beer behind her back but Annabelle caught sight of it, and didn't pay it a second thought.

"Prom's outside sweetheart, out in the quad," said Ms. Christine.

"Where is he?" Annabelle asked her.

"Who?"

"Mister Grayson. He's not in his office, so where is he?"

Ms. Christine sighed, then set the six-pack on top of a wooden bench. "Sweetheart, we talked about this. You aren't supposed to talk to him, that was a part of our deal. Remember?"

"I don't give a fuck anymore. Just tell me where he is."

Ms. Christine looked into her face, drawn to the dark circles under her eyes and the strays over her forehead, then sighed again. "Bill's in the teacher's lounge. I'm only letting you go because it's the weekend but, don't do anything you'll regret. Please?"

Without saying another word, Annabelle slipped past Ms. Christine and marched her way down to the teacher's lounge. It was near his office, one of the rooms she had to check nobody was in, else risk getting caught that time they did it about a month ago. They haven't spoken to each other since that day; each time she had his class she tactfully avoided conversing with him, sitting in the back and leaving the classroom as soon as possible. All she could remember was how much he hurted her, and he'd probably end up doing it again. But at least she'd be feeling something other than sorry for herself.

"Hey Carrie," said Mr. Grayson as the door swung open. He was leaning back on the arm of a black leather couch, not looking at the door, holding a glass bottle that was nearly empty. Several more empty bottles were lined up on the coffee table. His necktie was pulled loose, and his collared shirt was undone by the first two buttons.

"Mister Grayson," said Annabelle, shutting the door behind her. Without the lights from out in the hall pouring in, the room was dim.

"Annabelle? What are you doing here?" said Mr. Grayson, sitting up.

Without hesitation, Annabelle grabbed the frilled hem of her red dress and pulled. Out from under, lacey black panties and a matching bra covering her slim form slipped out. She stepped closer, right in front of him, right between his legs, and he reached his hands out to cup her waist. The familiar warmth from his hands set the memories flowing, and chills began to run down her spine.

"Woah, Annabelle, what's this about? Does Carrie know you're here?" he asked. His hands slipped behind her to grasp her butt, and her goosebumps flared. Just like before, he wasn't looking at her face, but rather at her body. She must have been stupid to have found herself in the same situation as before, but it didn't matter. She deserved the pain.

"Mister Grayson, am I pretty?" she asked.

"What?"

"Do you think I'm pretty?" she asked again.

He paused his kneading hands to look her in the face. Her heart accelerated and she looked away. He was looking at her with hungry eyes again. He was going to pounce on her like last time. Any second, he was going to rip her panties off and lift her by her thighs and ream her again. With her eyes closed she could sense him standing up, and could smell the alcohol from his breath as he drew near. He was going to punish her. She deserved it.

She felt something soft against her forehead which made her open her eyes in surprise. He was kissing her, not the rough latch he did to keep her from shouting out like he did before, but more like a parent would do for their child. As he did so, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, broad as ever, but gentle and warm.

"Annabelle, you're so beautiful."

"I... I don't believe you," she replied.

"Would I do this to you if I were lying?"

He kissed her again on the forehead, and then again. As he did so he trailed his kisses down over her cheek, down the side of her neck, and only then did she realize how much she was shivering. He reached behind her back to unclasp her bra. The soft thumping of music going on out the window was subtly audible in the quiet room, nearly drowned out by the sound of her own heartbeat.

He slipped the straps of her bra out from around her shoulders, and the cold air surrounded her breasts. Her B-cups had always been a pain point for her, she knew she hadn't developed nearly as much as any of her friends or the other girls at her school. But he didn't seem to mind. He continued his trail of kisses, across her collar, across the pillowy flesh of her boobs, and along the edge of her small areola. He gently cupped the other breast in his palm, a perfect handful.

"Don't let anyone let you think you're not beautiful," he said, as he latched his mouth around her nipple.

"Ah, Mister Grayson..."

He nibbled and played with her breasts, his facial hair tickling her skin, and she squirmed from the sensation. She was shivering and her goosebumps were flaring but she let it happen, soaking in the warmth from his mouth and the cool wetness from his tongue as it flicked her nipple to a hard erection, a glowing pink gemstone. She ran her fingers through his hair; with his head so close to her chest like this, it was almost like he was transferring energy directly into her beating heart, making it run faster. Her head was tilted away and her eyes were closed, too embarrassed to watch but too excited to even consider stopping him as she puffed her chest outward, writhing in pleasure.

With one last tight suck, he pulled off her nipple with a suctioned pop. It was almost disappointing when he stopped, rising to lead her by her hand to sit on the couch. But her heart sped back up when she realized where this was going. He towered over her imposingly, his khaki pants about a foot away from her face. Something was tenting inside, and she looked up at him with worry.

He looked her in the eyes. "Take it out."

"What? I... I can't," she replied.

"Yes you can. You're a big girl now."

Her face was flushed, burning. It took a monumental effort to muster the courage, but slowly she reached up with shaky hands to slide the leather out from its latch, the metal jangling against itself as it flopped down on the sides. The silver button was pulled taut against his hardness, and she drew her eyes away from the bulge pretending it didn't exist. She was clumsy, unfamiliar with undoing a button from the front perspective like this. Eventually she got it loose, and his pants loosened against his waist. As her trembling hands reached up to the hem of his pants, she choked up and froze from fear. She looked up to her teacher for instruction. He said nothing, just staring at her, waiting. After a long period of trepidation, she swallowed her spit and tugged, pants and boxers and all.

His penis sprung out with vigor, as girthy and imposing as she remembered it. She reached up and wrapped her fingers around its base. It was stiff, yet more malleable than she remembered; the soft skin slid across the shaft as she moved her hand back and forth. His warmth and heartbeat transferred into her fingertips; the internet memes about penises being their own living things with a sentience made sense now. Slowly, she stroked his shaft, and looked up to him for approval.

"Put your mouth on it," he said.

"My mouth?"

"You'll have to get spit on it. So that I don't hurt you again."

Taking a deep breath, she wrapped her mouth around his head and sucked. She could taste his slight saltiness, smell his musty aromas as she worked her mouth around him. When working his penis entirely on her own volition, she realized that it wasn't nearly as imposing as she remembered it. In fact, it was strangely satisfying to hear his moans as she drew him in deeper, his glans well past her lips and into her mouth.

She tasted him, used her tongue to coat his spongy head with saliva as instructed. The more confident she grew the more adventurous she became, running her tongue along the side of his veiny shaft and gently fondling his hanging sack. After a while of superficial oral action, she thought of attempting the classic porno deepthroat move. She bobbed, leading the entire shaft down her gullet, and got about a third of the way down before choking and having to pull off, but he seemed to enjoy it, letting out a great groan as she sucked her saliva on the way back. Those pornstars made it look so easy. She remembered a tip Yoriko gave her over the lunch table one time, planted a deep smooch with her lips just under his head and, twitch twitch! His penis fluttered under her fingertips, gooey substance oozed out the head and he planted a hand on top of her head to push her away slightly.

"Wooah okay, easy," he said, panting.

"How's that?" she asked.

"Good. Now, lean back."

With newfound confidence she laid back onto the couch, head against the armrest with her legs slightly apart. He climbed onto the couch in front of her, knees on the cushions with his hands wrapped around her waist. His member glistened off the illuminating lights pouring in through the cracks of the shaded windowsill.

"Sorry I was so crazy last time. Sometimes I forget what it was like being young," he said.

"Can you keep giving me kisses? Like, on my belly?"

He obliged, leaning over to deliver soft, bristly puckers along her abdomen, and she mewled in response. He rolled his tongue into her navel which, again, hit an erogenous zone she didn't know she had, causing her to spasm. As his kisses trailed down her abdomen and his hands slid under the hem of her panties she realized, this was it. She could feel it, the buzz in her head, the burning in her chest. The delicate caresses across her body. This is what it felt like to be loved.

He slid her panties down her legs. "Ooh, nice trim."

"Thanks," she replied. Her cheeks burned at the compliment.

"Are you cold?" he asked.

"...Yeah."

She was too embarrassed to watch, but she could feel warm air against her groin, right over her slit. Stealing a glance, she saw how close his face was, maybe an inch away, and her heart drummed. She felt a sudden kiss and she jumped, but it was just against her thigh. Just like before, he trailed his kisses up her thigh, encroaching, drawing nearer and nearer, against her mons, until, finally.

"Aaauh!!" she screamed, as he planted a kiss directly onto her folds. He slid his tongue between her flower, lapping it from bottom to top sending electricity through her body. She arched her back and grabbed his hair with her hands, but rather than push him away, she kept him in place. She could sense every inch of herself down there as his tongue dipped into her corners and crevices. Like a hummingbird, he stuck his tongue into her down-there to drink her sweet nectar, and she bucked her hips with fury. With each lick, she spread her knees a little bit wider, felt her wetness grow wetter to the point it started to leak out onto her perineum. This continued on for a while, and to be honest, she would have been satisfied if this just lasted throughout the night. But evidently, this just made him hungrier for the main course.

After one last kiss and some tugging needed to pull out of her grip he sat up, pulled off his necktie and slid his buttoned shirt over his head, and tossed them off to the side. Now with them both fully nude, he climbed over her body, supporting himself with his arm which arched well above her head, and again she was reminded just how much bigger, how much stronger he was than her.

"Take it easy this time..."

"I will."

Grabbing the backs of her knees, he spread her legs further apart, and she felt like a flower in bloom. He lined himself up with her little hole, and she braced herself. He was going to fuck her again. He was going to hurt her again, but this time she didn't feel scared. She grabbed onto the arm of the couch above her and held her breath as she felt the familiar poking sensation.

"Haau!!" she exhaled as he thrust inside. She enveloped him with her tight folds; the pressure, the stretching sensation was back, but this time it wasn't nearly as painful; it helped a ton that she was sopping wet from his previous oral exhibition. He barely worked the head inside and slid it back and forth, in and out of her opening very slowly, and it actually felt good. It felt amazing. It felt the same as when masturbating, only richer, deeper. Like scratching an itch she didn't know she even had. As she grew more and more comfortable, she started wanting more.

"Ngh, a little faster," she asked him. He obliged, accelerating his pace while working the entirety of his head and the first inch of his shaft inside, and she could feel her muscles contracting around him with each thrust. Subconsciously, she reached over her head to grab onto his hand, gripping hard. Her insides were involuntarily twitching like crazy, moreso the faster he went.

"Ugh, God," he said. "You have no idea how bad I wanted this again, every time I saw you in my class."

"Me too," she gasped. "Faster!"

He was over halfway inside her, driving his length back-and-forth all the way from the tip, and the pressure was immense. She was gasping short, shallow breaths, keeping nearly a full amount of air in her lungs at all times. Sweat started to bead on her skin despite how chilly it was in the room. When she closed her eyes, she felt like she was soaring through the air. The longer they did it, the more she understood. This was what it meant. To give and take pleasure. This was what it meant to love.

"Hauu! I love you, Mister Grayson!"

"Haha, I love you too, Annabelle."

She reached her hands above his head to pull him in for a kiss. Just like before, he entered her mouth, but this time it felt more like they were dancing their tongues together. After some time like this, he sped up his hips. She felt the familiar pulsating sensation coming from him, something building up to explode, but something was different. The sensation wasn't just coming from him, it was coming from her too. She wrapped her legs around him, arching her back and contracting every muscle in her body, bracing herself. He was almost entirely inside her now, working his hips faster, faster, deeper, until.

"Hooaaa!!" she screamed. A bolt of pleasure shot through her body making her hips spasm, but he stayed fully connected, sending pulses of energy deep inside her. He kissed at her exposed neck as she recoiled, amplifying the pleasure she received, and she dug her nails deeply into his back. Her heart hammered against her chest, and she gasped for air despite already hyperventilating.

With each groan and throb from him she felt it, splashing against a deep internal wall she didn't know she had. Pulse after pulse of energy fired inside of her, to the point that it was overwhelming. Her eyes lost the ability to focus and she could barely think anymore thoughts. She started to lose control of her muscles, arms and legs slipping off his body. She stared up at the ceiling and the world began to spin. She closed her eyes, and the last sensation she felt was him sliding himself out while groaning before she fainted.

...

The nap that ensued was some of the best sleep that Annabelle had ever gotten in her life. When she came into consciousness, she found herself still on the same couch as before, still lying down, naked and in the dark, but covered with a fuzzy blanket with a pillow behind her head. Her groin felt a little sticky but was otherwise fine. She couldn't tell how long she'd slept but the thumping music from outside had ceased. The party had seemingly ended, though the room wasn't entirely quiet; there were others there with her, shuffling around and whispering to each other.

"Some more," a woman's voice whispered. The popping of a cap, the squirting sound of a bottle squeezing out a gooey substance, like shampoo or lotion. Then, after a moment, skin started slapping against skin, along with a wet squelching sound. The groans of a man which Annabelle recognized as Mr. Grayson, and another woman.

"Oooh yeah, oh fuck that's good..."

Annabelle looked around in the room, careful not to make a sound. It was dark, but she could make out two bodies on the floor in the middle of the room, both nude. They were kneeling on pillows, one in front of the other, and they were having sex. But not the gentle cuddles Mr. Grayson was doing to Annabelle earlier. Rather, Mr. Grayson was pounding the woman from behind, using her shoulders as leverage to drive his hips into her.