Dr. Greg Clark gritted his teeth and tried to focus on Ms. Bristol's words. It wasn't that she was boring; he was genuinely interested in how Shelly was adjusting to life as a kindergarten student. Mallory, however, was making it damn hard to concentrate on anything but how hard he was and how good her hand felt— slipped through his open fly and unbuttoned boxers—stroking him slowly, but persistently.
This was supposed to be parent-teacher day where parents arrived en masse to drink weak punch, eat weak store bought cookies, meet one another, and have brief meetings with their children's teachers. Gina could not make it due to a work commitment but she suggested Greg bring Mallory along. He objected but she argued that since, as the kids' babysitter, she also would be checking to make sure Shelly was doing what she should for school when they weren't around, Mallory needed the information too. Under normal circumstances, it would be a perfectly appropriate suggestion. Everything involving Mallory these days didn't seem quite appropriate anymore.
Greg had fought off Mallory's advances long enough to get to the school, but the moment they sat down in Ms. Bristol's room, there had been no stopping her. At first it was just a hand on his thigh, then the hand was, occasionally, brushing his crotch. Next, a more definite fondling, on top of the pants. Finally, Mallory realized that Greg was too concerned about not being noticed to actually stop her and decided to be as inappropriate as she could manage. Hence, the firm slow motion handjob under the juice stained conference table.
"I'm sorry...umm...Dr. Clark?" a voice in the hallway floated in. Greg drew his eyes towards, feeling as though he was trying to move his head through jello.
"Yes?" he managed, surprised by how dry his mouth was.
"Your son is experiencing a bit of a...meltdown in our daycare room. We were wondering if you might come and take him?"
"Oh, sure," he agreed, turning to Ms. Bristol, "Is that ok?"
"Well, we were almost done so I suppose that—" she began, her voice betraying her feeling that it was, in fact, not ok.
Mallory interrupted, quickly zipping Greg's pants, "I can go, Doctor Clark. You finish here and then come and find us."
"Could you do that?" Ms. Bristol asked, face brightening.
"Of course. Happy to," the babysitter reassured.
Ms. Bristol gushed, "That's just so helpful."
"See you later, Doc," Mallory called out cheekily as she left.
Ten minutes later, Ms. Bristol was drawing to a close. Greg had gotten more out of it since Mallory left, but not as much as he would've liked. One of the unexpected consequences of his affair with the coed was how sex crazy he had gotten. He found himself inspecting women more than ever before and, unfortunately for his attention, Ms. Bristol was a young attractive woman. So he spent a great deal of time taking her in with his eyes.
She was a new teacher in her third year so the doctor estimated she was about 25 or 26. She was confident in herself, he could tell, and had therefore not made an effort to conceal who she was. She had an asymmetric haircut dyed a deep red color and left the multiple piercings in each ear and a stud in her nose in. Today she was wearing a pink button down v-neck sweater that was appropriate but allowed for a bit of cleavage when she was seated because of the height difference between her and Greg and her tendency to lean forward as she spoke. Her dark grey pencil skirt nicely highlighted her thin waist and shapely legs while still suggesting a certain seriousness about her job. On her feet, she had a simple pair of black kitten heel mid-calf boots that were no doubt comfortable, and therefore a rational choice for a teacher on her feet all day, but still sexy and fashionable. So, even without Mallory there to tease him, Greg had remained stiff as the wing of a tropical storm.
She spoke with her hands, using highly animated motions to convey her excitement. As she reached the end of her spiel about Shelly, she failed to notice the punch cup Mallory left behind on the table and set it tumbling, half full, into Greg's lap. Without waiting for permission, she was on him with a napkin and numerous, rapidly spoken apologies.
"Oh! So sorry. I can't believe I...So sorry. Should come out, but...Oh man, sir I mean...so embarrassed," she rambled.
Greg repeatedly let her off the hook and tried to force her off him before she could feel him straining against his flat front navy pants. And for one hopeful moment, it seemed he had. Then she noticed another spot of pink and was dabbing away.
"Just one more spot there," she said aloud, ignoring his protests, "Let me get it. Again I am so sorry. I can be so clumsy and...Ooooooo."
She said it like that, all exaggerated and slow. She had found his cock.
"Doctor Clark," she looked into his eyes, voice taking on a scolding tone, "Is this what I think it is?"
His mouth went dry, his tongue got fat. Every muscle in his body froze. Even his brain seemed to grind to a halt.
"Verrrrrrrrrrrrry nice," she continued, cracking a naughty smile, releasing all the tension in the room in a rush. Then, Greg realized what she called very nice and got stressed all over again.
"You know," she cooed in his ear, hand still firmly on his cock, "I always told myself when I became a teacher that I would do my best to establish a relationship between not only myself and the students, but take the care to go the extra mile for exceptional students and their parents. Your daughter seems to be exceptional and, you, Dr. Clark, sir, certainly feel the same way to me. Would you like me to go the extra mile for you?"
"Wha—what do you mean?" Greg managed.
"Well...let me put it this way. When I was younger, I really thought I should wait for marriage to have sex. I've since revised my position on the matter, but for a few years there, I was quite dedicated to that point of view. The problem was, and I am trying to put this delicately here, I still loved cock. I, frankly, craved it. So I developed quite a...talent for handjobs during those lean years. Do you understand?"
"Do I understand that you got good at handjobs?"
"Not good. Great. Legendarily great. And while I would like to see how you handle this monster when both of us are naked, this doesn't seem to be the place and certainly not the time. But a man with a dick this hard shouldn't go home with it...unattended."
"Ms. Bristol—"
"I have my hand on your cock, Dr. Clark, it only seems fair that you call me Claire. Unless, you know, calling me Ms. Bristol is a turn-on for you. Is it, sir? Is it a turn-on?"
"I—I don't know what to—"
"Just relax, Dr. Clark. Just tell me how you got so hard and let me do the work."
"This...please Ms—er—Claire. We shouldn't be doing this."
"Oh, I don't know...Young handsome parent with a nice cock. Even younger schoolteacher with a talent for handsex. Isolated classroom. Seems pretty right to me."
"I'm married."
"Yes, yes you are. But I don't see your wife anywhere here. And yet, here you are, long, thick, and stiff. Now what put you in this state?"
Silence. Claire pulled in him against her body and whispered, all hot breath and tongue, in his ear, "Tell Ms. Bristol what turns you on, sir." She began to rub him through his pants in tight concentric circles, keeping her body pressed tight against him. Greg gasped and tried to resist becoming further turned on, but made no move to push her away.
"Kiss me," she moaned, tipping her head upward. To Greg's own shock, he acquiesced without objection, merging his mouth with hers. Her mouth was oddly cold and bracingly fresh. She tasted vaguely of birch beer; sweet with that underlining sharp bite. Tongues sought out one another, twisting, joining, and separating again. They broke apart, Greg unconsciously having wrapped his arms around Claire.
She looked up at him, blue eyes ablaze. "I think that's what they call chemistry," she asserted, smiling wide.
Greg nodded, panic dancing across his face. He might have broken through a lot of his hesitance with Mallory but that did not mean he was ready to get jerked off by his daughter's kindergarten teacher during parent-teacher conference day. He began to speak in a tumble of words, searching for some handhold, some way to put the brakes on this situation, "It was a great kiss. You are good at kissing. Very good. I liked it. And your hand feels nice. It does. But, but...shouldn't...can't—"
Claire kissed him once more, silencing him. Again, Greg was surprised by his lack of effort at rebuking her. She fumbled with his belt, popping it loose with clumsy fingered manipulation. She bit his lip gently as she slid his zipper open.
"Claire," he gasped as she pulled him out of his boxers.
She bid him, drawing her left pointer finger to her mouth, "Shhh, let me make you feel good."
She started slow, agonizingly slow, lightly dragging her nails from base to head and back down again. Greg's breath hitched in his throat and he felt his knees go weak. He reached for the desk for support and groaned, "Oh. Ooooh. Uh. Uh."
"Feel good?"
"Y-y-yes," he hissed.
"Good. Now tell Ms. Bristol what made you so hard while she makes you feel even better."
Greg began to search for a response as he resolved himself to the inevitably of what was happening. He was dully aware of the ground he kept losing. Four months ago the line was: "I will not cheat on my wife," then "I will not fuck my babysitter," then "I will not fuck my babysitter while her roommate watches," before running right past, "I will not have sex in church during a service." Which brought him here, traipsing past the "I will not get a handjob from my kid's teacher," moral boundary.
"I can't hear you," she whispered, beginning to grip and massage him.
"Don't mention Mallory, don't mention Mallory, don't mention Mallory," he thought to himself over and over again, willing himself not to admit his affair with his babysitter to this heavy petting instructor.
"Your eyes," he croaked.
"I'm sorry?"
"Your eyes, they're beautiful."
She blushed and glanced away before returning eye contact. "That's sweet. But I have your dick in my hand. We are past the polite courting stage. Tell me what got you hard."
"Legs. Your legs."
"Mmmhmm..."
"They're just...couldn't stop peeking at them. Long. Skirt just a little too short. Sexy shoes."
"Oh, you like those, do you?"
"Ye-yeah."
