Sam & Teach

Note: All characters engaging in sexual activities are 18 years or older.

This is part 2 of 3.

*****

I wake up before she does and sneak out of the covers, doing my best not to wake her. The sun has just risen. My bedroom - which is mostly all windows, facing out on a thick forest - has begun to glow orange. In the soft light, Sam looks angelic, except for her dyed blonde hair crunched up against the pillow. The covers have fallen slightly, revealing her small breasts, her naked neck, her delicate feminine shoulders. A master sculptor could not have shaped a more perfect body, and at the ripe age of eighteen, she is youth incarnate, possessing a beauty so fresh I can almost taste it. It will fade and be replaced by a more mature, more durable beauty - and there is much to be said for that. But for now, at this exact moment, her girlish beauty is the stuff of poetry.

The thought disquiets me. The peace of last night has fled from the light of the rising sun. I don't know how I feel about my student being in my bed. The first two times I fucked her were one thing - they were pleasure. Actions of lust. But last night, no. I could not pretend there wasn't something more, mixed in with the lust. I go downstairs to make breakfast.

I crack open six eggs, add a dash of paprika and a cup of milk, and beat them together. Then as I'm heating the butter in a pan, I get out a sausage and cut it into slices. The eggs and sausage are well under way by the time I hear Sam give me a sleepy, "Hey teach."

I look back. She's wearing her white shirt, and very clearly no bra underneath, with a pair of red underwear.

"Good morning," I say.

"What's cookin'?"

"Sausage and eggs."

She hugs me from behind and presses her face against my back. "Mmm, I do like sausage." Her hand drifts down my front, slips inside my shorts, and grabs hold of my cock. I respond - of course - growing hard, but I gently reach down and disengage her hand.

"Not now," I say.

Based on our past experiences, I expect her to get angry. She doesn't. Instead, she gives me a minx smile and says, "Your loss."

She sits back at the table and proceeds to ogle my kitchen. I like to cook, and so I keep my kitchen in good-working order, well-stocked. Marble counter-top, refrigerator with a glass front, an old oaken rough-hewn table. Flowers sprouting from vases wherever possible, a decorative ode to a long lost girlfriend. As Sam explores my domestic side, her face takes on a look of wonder, reminiscent of some ancient European sailor seeing America after a long journey. Her eyes widen and narrow, as if she is judging my décor. But she says nothing, and I don't ask.

I finish the breakfast, and we sit down and eat.

"About last night..." I begin, after a bite of egg.

Sam forestalls me with a raised hand. "No, teach. It is what it is. I don't want to ruin it by talking it to death."

"Leave the dissecting to the scientists."

"Yea." She takes a bite out of a sausage, and juice runs down her chin. I hand her a napkin, and she wipes it away.

"What about your parents?" I ask.

"It's cool," she says. "They sent me a text. They're very worried and just want me to come home." She pauses. "By the way, thanks for ratting me out, jerk."

I sigh. "I don't think you left me any choice."

"Spare me that bullshit. Fatalism is la la la."

I don't have any response to that, so we eat in silence. I get up and pour myself a glass of orange juice. Lots of pulp, just the way I like it. I gesture with it toward Sam, and she nods. I pour her a glass too and bring them both back to the table.

"Won't they ask where you were last night?" I say.

"I'll tell them I was at a friend's. They won't ask which. They're not really concerned about me," she says. "They're more concerned about appearing to be concerned. About seeming like 'good parents' to their friends and to society, because that's what's expected of them."

"That's a little harsh," I say. "I'm sure they—"

"You don't know them."

That's true. We finish our breakfast in silence. When we do, I begin to stand up with my plate. "No, no," says Sam. "'He who does not cook must clean.'" She grabs our plates and glasses and silverware and carries them to the sink. I can't help but take the opportunity to check out her cute butt in her red underwear. How could I not? But she catches me when she looks over her shoulder. She smiles and says, "By the way, teach. What'd I get on last week's test?"

"You failed. A 67."

"Two more points for a 69," she says. "Maybe I can earn a little extra credit?" she gives me a lascivious wink.

"No," I say. "Be serious, Sam. Grades are important. Knowledge is important. Be more than an empty head."

She shuts off the water and turns around to look at me.

"Is that what you think of me? Just a body and an empty head?"

"No," I say. "You have potential. You're very bright. But you refuse to let yourself shine."

"Because I don't do well in physics? Why do I need to know about projectile motion and forces and apples falling on people's heads to be a model? How will that help my career?"

"Oh?" I say. "So you only learn if there's money involved? Science is about more than that. It's about taking control of the world around you, about understanding why things are the way they are. Understanding the ballet of atoms and electrons and forces, the way they touch and untouch, and keep the universe ticking and turning like some giant clock. Having knowledge is like..." I search for a more modern metaphor "...it is like the difference between low-quality video and high-definition. Having knowledge - be it science or fashion - makes the world a richer place, with every breath, and every thought."

She shakes her head, half-laughing. "Oh my god, Teach. You are so fucking sexy."

"Speak for yourself," I say.

"How about this?" she says. "We make a little wager. Give a girl some more tangible motivation. If I get a B or better on your next test, you have to give me the best head I've ever had."

"And if you don't?"

"Then I give

you

the best head

you

have ever had."

I open my mouth to say no, but then she cuts me off, "Before you answer, let me put up these dishes." She turns around and dries them and as she does so, she curves her back, her cute bottom thrust out on display. I am reminded of the first two times I fucked her, which reminds me of last night's love-making, which reminds me of her green eyes flecked with gold, like distant stars and galaxies glowing in a night sky. She stands up on her tip-toes to put the two plates in my cupboard, and when she turns around, she runs her hands up her body, over her flat stomach and the curve of her breasts. She ends by stretching her arms above her head. The motion pulls her shirt up, revealing her red underwear, her long shapely legs. Then she says, "You were saying?" pointedly looking at my visible bulge.

I shake my head. "It's a deal, you bloody little minx."

"Good," she says brightly. "Then I best get changed and head on home. Wouldn't want the parentals to get a bad rep with their society friends."

The next test is on two-dimensional kinematics, a comparatively easy topic. She takes it exactly four days after we make the bet, on the same day her parents scheduled a meeting with me. I have mixed feelings obviously. I've been on the receiving end of her oral skills and they were wonderful. But in the end, my desire for her success outweighs my desire for her body. Of course, being 'required' to go down on her wouldn't exactly be torture.

As soon as my last class of the day is over, I find her test and grade it. She gets a 77, a low C. Frustrating. I know she worked hard at it. A knock sounds on my office door, and I glance at the clock. It's twenty minutes before Sam's parents are supposed to be here.

"Come in," I say.

It's Sam. She's dressed in a knee-high plaid skirt and a white blouse with frills. A purer look than I'm used to. She's the image of a schoolgirl, except for the black stockings covering her long legs.

"Hey," I say.

"What'd I get?" she says excitedly.

"I... haven't graded it yet."

"Bullshit." She slings her bag on the ground and reclines sideways in one of my chairs, her legs dangling over the arm. "Did I fail then, huh? What'd I get? Tell me."

"A 77."

She jumps up. "No way!"

I show her the test. "Sorry. But it's a big improvement. Don't beat yourself up over it."

It's like telling water not to be wet. When she puts her mind to something, she really does go all out. Her downcast look is real.

"You know, about our bet..." I begin. "You don't have to—"

Her head snaps up. "Oh no you don't. A deal's a deal, teach. I promised the best blowjob you've ever had. If I can't deliver on my test grade, at least you can let me deliver that." She begins to scoot around the desk.

"Whoa, whoa, what are you doing?"

"Delivering?"

"Sam, your parents will be here in twenty minutes."

She glances at the clock. "More like thirty minutes. They're always late." In one motion, she lifts up her white shirt and pulls it over the top of her head. She's wearing a green push-up bra that gives her more cleavage than usual. She tosses the shirt in my face.

"Sam! Put your clothes back on." I toss her top back to her.

But she lets it fall. "No." She pushes me back in my chair and unzips my pants and fishes out my cock. Before I can further protest, she slides her mouth over me. Checkmate in two.

"Fuck," I say and glance at the clock. Fifteen minutes. And as good as she is - there's no way I can last that long. I let her continue.

But she refuses to go hard at me. She teases me. Barely moving her lips up and down on the tip. Using only her tongue, a light touch that drives me wild but doesn't give me the satisfaction I need. Desperate, I place my hands on the back of her head and begin to push her down.

She resists and pulls off me, my hardness slipping out of her mouth with an audible pop. "You have to let me work up to that, teach, remember?"

I glance at the clock. Ten minutes to go. I roll back in my chair. "Sam, you need to go, your—"

There's a hard knock on the door and it begins to open. I react. I push Sam forward, hidden underneath my closed-front desk, and roll forward as close as I can - my stomach pressed against the edge of the desk. Sam's parents walk in.

Her mother is, to no surprise, beautiful. Cold, almost, in her beauty, with soft features that have been made more severe by expertly applied make-up. Her black hair practically shines in the light. Her dad is tall and Nordic and reminds me of Thor. He exudes an aura of success and comes at me with hand outstretched, clearly expecting me to rise and shake it.

I'd love to do just that, but my cock happens to be hanging out. Instead I offer my hand and stay seated. "Excuse me for keeping my seat," I say. "I pulled a muscle when I was playing football. Trying to keep my weight off it."

Her dad nods knowingly. "Ah a good ol' pigskin wound. I experienced my share of those in my day. Back when I was QBing for the Bruins, you know? They called me the rocket," he adds at the same time that his daughter reapplies her mouth to my rocket. She begins bobbing her head up and down, applying just enough pressure so that I can feel her soft lips dragging over me.

I try not to let it show on my face.

"So," says Sam's mother. "About our daughter. You said there were 'behavioral issues.'"

"Ah, yes, I—" Sam bobs her head a little faster, her lips pressing a little tighter. "I, um, I caught her selling drugs."

"Drugs? What kind of drugs? Hard stuff?" Sam takes her mouth off me, leaving my cock, wet and warm from her saliva, to cool in the open air.

"No, no," I say. "Just marijuana." As if to reward me for my answer she takes me back into her mouth and begins doing something with her tongue, this little twist right around the underside that drives me wild. "I, uh -"

"Are you okay?" says her mother.

"Give the man a break," says her father. "A pulled hamstring hurts like a bitch, right?'

"Yeah," I say. "Hurts like a bitch. Well, I, uh, I know I should have reported your daughter, but I've appreciated the efforts—" Sam chooses the moment to take me down her throat "—the, um, the uh efforts that your daughter has made in my class."

They look between themselves. "We were under the impression that she was failing physics?"

"Yes," I say. "But she has begun to improve." I gesture toward her test.

Her father glances it over and nods, unimpressed. "We appreciate your discretion," and looks over at his wife who begins to pull out her checkbook. Their daughter releases me from her mouth and instead begins to swirl her tongue around the tip of my cock while stroking me gently with her hand.

If I weren't so morally compromised myself, I might have had room to get angry at their bribery. Instead I wave my hand. "No, no. That won't be necessary. I spoke with Samantha, and we made a deal. She promised to behave—" at these words she immediately stops what she was doing "—that is, to cease selling drugs—" she resumes her ministrations "—and to improve her grades, in exchange for keeping this between we four."

"Thank you so much," says her mother. "She's always made a mess of things, even from a young age, she was always breaking things. She's a lot of trouble."

"Yeah," I say. "I can imagine." Sam bites me very gently, so I add, "But she has a lot of potential." She returns to lovingly sucking me off, doing that thing with her tongue, and I can feel my orgasm coming. I try to pull my hips back, but she doesn't let me go.

Stop

, I telepathically transmit to her,

you're going to make me come

. When she fails to get that message, I change it to:

I'm going to come. Don't gag. Please don't gag.

"Glad you think so. That makes one of us," he says and adds more but I can no longer hear him. His daughter's lips, her tongue, her mouth making love to my cock - the sensation crowds out all other sensations. I'm so hard, my cock is practically straining inside of Sam's mouth as she slowly, deliberately slides me down her throat, all the way down, until her lips are against my root. She holds me there, massaging the tip with her throat. The pleasure is intense. It's a struggle to even keep my eyes open. It's so good I can't even come. It's not until she pulls back and gives me a bob or two that I'm finally able to unleash the torrents of semen that I tried to hold back. I exhale very evenly and steadily and keep myself completely still. "—hope your injury heals quickly." Sam's Viking-esque father stands up and offers his hand. "No need to get up. And thank you again for your discretion."

"Yes," I say weakly. "Thank you. I will keep you appraised of Samantha's progress."

"No need," says her father. "Just let us know if she fucks up again." The two leave and shut the door behind them. Fifteen seconds after it closes, I slide back and let Sam up from the floor.

"Goddamnit Samantha, you said they were always late."

She opens her mouth to show her pink tongue covered in my white semen which she proceeds to swallow. After she wipes her chin, she says, "Did I say that? I meant they are always early."

"Sam, that isn't funny. We're in dangerous territory here. I could get fired." I begin to stand up.

She pushes me back into my chair. "Shut the fuck up." She lifts herself up, to sit on the edge of my desk, and places one stockinged foot on my chest. "The only thing I want coming out of your mouth is your tongue." She hikes her plaid skirt up her thighs, revealing almost exaggeratedly girly underwear, pink with rainbows and unicorns and god knows what else.

"Nice underwear," I say. "But you lost the bet."

"Do I give a fuck about the bet?" she says. She snaps off her bra, and tosses it aside. She reaches down and pulls her underwear aside, revealing her completely bare pussy. "Start eating."

I lean forward and kiss her thighs.

"Don't fuck around," she says. "I want your tongue in my pussy

now

." I do as she says; she's wet and she tastes like the earth, like rain-water dripping from wild berries. "That's more like it," she says. "Fuck my slit with your tongue." I do my best and just when my tongue grows tired, she says, "Now, my clit." It takes me half-a-second to find it nestled in its little hood, but that's too long. "Fuck teach, do I need to draw you a map?" She grabs my head and holds my mouth where she wants it to be, easing up when I'm doing things she likes, forcing me down I'm not. I suck on her clit, and flick it with my tongue, drawing abstract paintings on the canvas of her pearl. After I do this for a few minutes, she scoots up even more and it's clear what she wants: for me to stick my tongue in her asshole. I've never done it before. I don't hesitate now. She likes it. She uses her grip on me to alternate between her asshole and her clit and after two switches, she comes, her thrusts against my face synchronized with the waves of her pleasure.

When she finally stops jerking, I pull away and use my sleeve to wipe her juices off my face.

She smirks. "Now you know how I feel. You came rivers. It's a good thing I know how to swim." She licks her lips. "You liked me blowing you in front of my parents, didn't you?"

I don't deny it.

"Ah," she says, leaning back in post-orgasmic bliss, playfully tugging on her hard nipples. "Honestly, teach, that was the best head I've ever given. I'm a fucking blowjob artist. You too. You made me cum so hard." She leans back still further and then suddenly says, "Ow!" and springs up.

I catch her before she falls. She searches for the source of her injury and finds her test on the desk. One of the staples had poked her in the shoulder. She lets it fall back to the desk, and her mood is immediately dampened. She climbs into my lap and curls up. My pants are around my ankles, my cock is out, and her panties are still pushed to the side, revealing her cunt. But her gesture isn't sexual.

"I'm sorry," she says. "About the test."

"It's alright. Just do better next time."

"I can't."

"Of course you can."

"What do you know about it?" she says. "You're a frikkin' genius. It's all so easy for you. It just doesn't make sense. I hate math. Do you have any idea how much I studied? Can't you just pass me?"

"No."

"Please? Pretty please with a cherry on top?" She rubs her head against my chest.

"Stop that," I say. "I'm not going to pass you unless you earn it."

"You're more than willing to fuck me, though."

"What does that have to do with it?"

She uncoils herself from my lap, stands up, and adjusts her underwear and her skirt. "I dunno. Maybe if I weren't spending all my time fucking you, I'd have more time to study."

I shrug. "We don't fuck

that

much."

"Okay, well, whenever you're lecturing in class, that's all I can think about it. Maybe physics is just stupid." She locates her bra, puts it on backwards, and then rotates it around after hooking the catch. "My brain isn't wired for it. Where's my shirt?"

I find it and toss it to her. She pulls it over her head. "Study harder," I say, as she adjusts her hair.

She gives me a sort of euuughh-you-don't-get-it look. "Blow me," she says. "Better yet, blow yourself." With those final words, she hefts up her bag and strolls out the door, shaking her cute behind.

The next day, as I'm lecturing on forces and circular motion and Newtonian mechanics, she squirms in her seat. I can tell something's on her mind and, sure enough, after everyone has left, she approaches me.

"I have an idea," she says.

"Great," I say, looking out into the hallway. It's empty, but this still makes me anxious. There's no telling what will come out of this girl's mouth, but it's unlikely to be sugar or spice or anything nice.