Inappropriate Guidance

A grunt escaped Brie's lips, before she clamped them shut, breathing hard through her nose instead. Her eyes darted between the doorway across the room and the laptop in front of her. Her body was rigid, back straight, neck held high. The only part of her hinting at the sensations she was feeling was her hand, stuffed down the front of her pants, and the pant of her breath.

With each prolonged look at her screen, the puff of her breath grew quicker and the flush in her cheeks grew redder. With every sound from outside the room, her hand froze, her eyes darted up, and she let out a ragged breath. Brie was not attempting to edge herself, but given the natural sounds of the suburb intruding on her rapidly darkening living room, that was the natural effect.

Her brown eyes fixated on the screen, just long enough to grow glazed, the thrusting of her hand inside her jeans reaching a frenetic pace. She felt the flush reach down from her cheeks to her chest, and was nearly there when there came the crash of a door in the house. To Brie, it was loud as a gun. With a gasp and a squeak her hand was free, her fingers flashing to the track pad, and as her husband strolled into the room she was once again poised behind the laptop screen, posture perfect, a welcoming smile plastered on her face. Beneath the desk, her fingers wiped against her jean pants.

"Hey, what are you up to?" Martin asked, barely glancing at his wife.

"Prepping for tomorrow," Brie answered. And that was the end of it.

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You would be correct to think that Brie Madison was a lustful but repressed suburban wife. Though you might be mistaken about some of the particulars. I imagine you suspect the uptight wife had opened a porn video on her laptop, and her husband had caught her bringing herself off to some explicit video unlike anything she had ever experienced, or dreamt of. Would it surprise you to know that in fact Brie had been telling her husband the truth? What she had open on her laptop, as she rubbed her clit and swollen lips, was in fact work. It was work that had nearly gotten the woman off, in a way her husband never had.

Let me explain her situation. When we join her story, Brie Madison is 34 years old, married for 12 years already, and working as a high school guidance counselor. Those facts can tell you a lot. Yes, she was married directly after college, to her college sweetheart. It won't shock you to hear they went to a Christian college. Yes, she believes in setting students on the right path. Yes, she has a big place in her heart for them all.

And yes, she just made herself cum (nearly!) while looking over her notes from work.

________________________________________

Jason Pollard was a senior student assigned to Ms. Madison. He shouldn't have been - she covered students with last names E through K - but Ms. Madison was respected by the administration and her colleagues for being able to connect with the difficult students. Jason was not only difficult behaviorally, he also was not going to graduate. And none of the counselors who had worked with him in the first three years had been able to get through his flat facade. Brie had hoped she could.

Jason simply did not care. He did not care about school. Did not seem to care about anything out of school. Did not care to share his thoughts and feelings when he was signed up for weekly counseling with Ms. Madison. Did not care what his peers thought of him. Did not care about his parents. Did not care to attend to his dress or his hygiene or how he presented to others. Did not care.

Brie Madison did. The more Jason refused to give her anything, the more she needed him to. As senior year crept on, and Jason's chances of graduating grew ever slimmer, Brie only increased her attempts at engagement, connection, and encouragement.

None of what happened next would have happened if not for this perfect storm: Brie's dogged devotion to the most recalcitrant students, a lifetime of sheltered naivete, Jason's utter indifference to the efforts of caring adults in his life, and last but not least, his truly, utterly, filthy mind.

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Jason was an odd kid. And not really interested in counseling. Brie quickly abandoned the usual tactics and tools. He wasn't going to talk about his anxieties, and he certainly wasn't going to play Jenga. In the end she had to rely on the basics: exhibiting care, interest, and unconditional regard. He might not know what use he could make of their meetings, school, or life. But she'd give him a place to talk.

Jason would sit in the cheap wooden armchair the school supplied her with, and Brie come out from behind her desk and sit in the matching chair opposite from him. He was so against the authority figures at school and at home, she knew she had to connect more as a peer, an equal, despite their ages. And it began to work. He relaxed, grew less wary. He talked.

The trouble began with what he wanted to talk about. Their first breakthrough, the first sign that he would reveal anything to Ms. Madison came with the subject of porn. She finally got him to describe what he spent his time doing, and she immediately regretted it. Brie carefully trained her face to remain nonjudgmental. She couldn't afford to scare the boy off when he was finally talking for the first time. But it took almost everything in her.

He described it eagerly, at length, the porn he liked to watch. Brie didn't even understand the terms he would use, but she stopped asking for clarification after he explained to her in lurid detail what a DP was. He had her scent though, Jason could smell her naivete, and soon he was offering detailed explanations even as she tried to pretend she didn't need them.

She tried to change the subject, of course. Brie was a professional, an adult, an accomplished counselor. But Jason was not like any of her other students.

It was the only thing he would talk about. If she insisted on asking about something else, or gave him no response to work with, he clammed up. If the session ended with that stony silence, he would not show up the next meeting. Her supervisor would ask about him, Brie would awkwardly talk about the difficulty of engagement, and she would be encouraged to reach out again.

And when she did, he would smile and tell her about his sexual fantasies.

Brie pressed on, carefully controlling her reaction, giving him space to talk, affirming that it was normal to have sexual interests, constantly suggesting other topics, but not resisting where he steered. But the conversations began to build up inside of her. Session after session of shocking, provocative, disturbing content she couldn't share with anyone. She tried to hint at the problem with her supervisor, but between her own embarrassment and Marjorie's impatience with the "Jason problem" she gave up.

Instead she kept it inside. Inside her thoughts. Inside her daydreams. Inside her notes. An increasingly dense and baroque compendium of twisted fantasies by an undersexed overly aroused teen boy with unlimited access to the internet. Her own twisted erotica series waiting for her on her laptop, day after day, night after night.

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There were a couple of weeks when Brie thought she had found her way out. She noted the corner of a sketchbook in Jason's bag, and inquired about it. He sheepishly admitted he liked to draw. Brie had felt an explosion of hope inside at the uncertain expression on his face, the sense that she'd finally found something real, something carefully hidden in Jason. She invited him to share some of his art work, and he did.

It became part of their ritual, looking at what he had drawn that week. Brie was careful to show nothing but encouragement, positive feedback, often very genuinely. She couldn't draw at all, so she was truly amazed at his talent, even if he often had to explain the subject matter. She took a breath, finally, imagining what her coworkers and supervisor would say at the end of the year when Jason, inspired by her unwavering support, took all his misplaced energy and aggression and funneled it into a new career in the arts.

On the day it went south again, on that day Brie realized that Jason knew the journey he was taking her on. She knew it when she saw the small smile on his face as he flipped the page in his sketchbook and showed her a dirty picture, a buxom woman posing half-naked in pen and ink. He knew she'd thought she'd found a way out of this and he had let the line play out before he reeled her back in. Brie could not remember what sort of halfwit reply she'd sputtered out, she only remembered his smug smile as he waited it out. Knowing she would put up with this, just as she'd put up with everything else.

And if wasn't clear where this was going, it then got worse.

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"Wh- what is that?"

Jason glanced down at his sketch, smiled, and then met Brie's eyes again. "It's cum, Ms. Madison. She's drenched in cum."

Brie's eyes shied away from Jason's amused gaze, landing again on his sketchbook. The boy was holding it open for her, letting her gaze on the lewd image he'd created. The first few pages today had been innocent, good drawings, appropriate topics for conversation and a means for Brie to encourage the student to spend his energy in a worthwhile direction. But once again, things had gone too far.

The sketch was of a young woman, kneeling, exhausted on a nondescript floor. There was only vague strokes suggesting a background, a room. But there was quite a bit of detail in her figure. The curves of her thighs, her open shirt revealing a swell of cleavage. And the cum. Brie had honestly not been sure what he had drawn, the thick liquid coating the young woman's face in the image, hanging in long drips from her chin and nose, almost blinding her eyes. She wasn't a complete fool, she could imagine that a man might cum on a woman's face, but she'd never seen or imagined something as outrageous as this. The volume, the thickness, the way he had made it almost gleam with just the stroke of a pencil.

The worst part was she recognized the figure. Jenny Overstreet was one of Jason's classmates. Cute and gregarious and Brie was sure not engaging in whatever this drawing was suggesting.

"If you let it build up, and eat and drink right, take some supplements, you can make your load bigger and thicker. Did you know that?" Brie glanced back at Jason in horror, knowing that once again she had let him walk her down a conversational path they did not belong on. "Not that much, of course, but if a bunch of guys do it, they could coat her whole face."

"Is that supposed to be Jenny, Jason?" Brie did what she'd been doing for weeks now. Pretending Jason wasn't saying something completely outrageous and inappropriate, and trying to find the teachable moment. As if that would save her. "It's not appropriate to be drawing someone you know, like this. How would she feel if she knew? Horrified!"

Jason kept his eyes on his counselor. He did not look contrite. "Who knows. I don't know how slutty she might really be. Maybe she dreams of the same thing. Or maybe she sucks cock every weekend. Not everyone is how they seem. You said that about me. And look at you. Would any of your friends believe how much you like looking at my pictures?"

Brie swallowed, losing ground again. He liked to return it to this, this idea that she liked what he confronted her with. "Jason, I'm trying to understand you, and your art means a lot to you. That doesn't mean I like looking at things like this. I understand you have fantasies, desires. That's normal for a young man." She assumed it was. Brie had gone to an all-girls school for high school, but she'd always been warned what boys were like. "But there have to be boundaries."

Jason gave a sarcastic smile at her denial of interest but didn't argue it. She knew he could not know what she did when she went home. Yet sometimes she wondered if it was somehow written on her face. "You told me you were here for me to talk to," he said instead. "This is what I want to talk about." Jason turned his sketchbook so he could look at it, seeming to ponder the image. "I couldn't decide what I liked better, this, or this..."

He flipped the page to the next drawing. It was clearly Jenny again, drawn uncannily, even an outfit she often wore, though askew to show a lot of skin. This time though the girl wasn't coated in cum. Her mouth was open, tongue out, drooling, her eyes rolled back like so many of the girls he drew. But Jenny's belly was strangely swollen.

"How much cum do you think Jenny Overstreet could swallow, Ms. Madison?" Jason asked, holding the drawing for her to see better. "I've seen a porn star swallow like 90 loads online. But I don't think Jenny could. I'd like to see her try though. Even if she ended up puking."

Brie had a moment of keen awareness, knowing that this was what she would be thinking about tonight, at home, as she pretended to work on her computer, or as she hid in the bathroom after Martin went to bed. The words, the intense image, the sensation of her own stomach filling up, it was so visceral it lodged into her and she knew it wouldn't leave.

"I'm serious, Jason. I am happy to be here for you and be a source of support, but we'll have to stop meeting if you're going to have these sort of fantasies about your classmates. They are my students too, just like you, and as much as I want to help you, it can't come at their expense."

She wasn't sure where she found the spine. But she knew as far into the mud as she was, she wasn't willing to drag Jenny, and whoever else he had in his sketches and his sick fantasies, down with her.

At first he gave her a sullen glare back, the kind he'd originally walked into this office with. The reason Jason had been foisted off on Brie. She thought maybe she'd lost him and maybe that was for the best. She'd tried, tried too hard probably, but maybe she just had to let go.

But the glare broke, and the smile was back, somehow more confident than before. "I understand, Ms. Madison. I get it. I want to have someone to share with, so I'll keep Jenny and her friends out of it." He smiled agreeably, but Brie knew there was more. "Like you said, it's normal to have fantasies though, and that it's important for me to talk."

"So, Ms. Madison, let me ask... how much cum do you think you could swallow?"

________________________________________

Jason was true to his word. He no longer told her fantasies about other students. Every story, ever drawing, every musing was now about her.

Of course she should have ended things as soon as he said such a thing to her. But she didn't, just as she hadn't any of the other times. Brie was confused at first, why she let it continue. But Jason provided her with an explanation, a narrative to explain it all, amidst the stories, his angry ramblings about his family, his grumblings about school that he increasingly shared. And just as she let him push the envelope a bit further every day, it seemed she also let him convince her why she did it.

"You're just as much a pervert as me, deep down, Ms. Madison."

Jason was sitting in the chair in her office, she was sitting in the matching chair, turned at an angle. His sketchbook was tucked in the chair next to him.

"I guess that school you went to, and your family and everything, they didn't allow it, so you pretended you weren't. That's the only difference between us. My parents never cared what I did."

Brie realized their sessions together had become more about him analyzing her than her guiding him. He had an explanation for that too.

"We know that's why I come here, even though I think this school shit is stupid. You listen to me. Well, you're just the same, you keep showing up every week. Because you like sex too, even if you hardly know anything about it. But more than that, you like the attention. You like the way I talk about you. Why else would you let me say it?"

She had argued at first that she didn't want to let him say it, but that it seemed it was all he had to talk about. But he'd scoffed at that. And rightfully so. Brie was smart enough, aware enough, to know that any other staff member in school would have kicked Jason out weeks and weeks ago. She did let him say it, the things he increasingly said, not just about his fantasies, but about her. And if it wasn't because she liked it, what else could it be? Why else had she gone from a proper, chaste, Christian wife, to somebody who touched herself each and every night, thinking about their conversations?

"You like to hide behind those boring clothes, pretend you're some good girl Christian. You practically dress like a guy." This was Jason's favorite topic lately, how she dressed. In words and in sketches, he fantasized about what she must look like under it all, urged her to dress sexier. "Maybe you fool people, but not me. You've got the mind of a slut. I bet you have the body of one."

________________________________________

His sketches of her grew increasingly risque. So did his pressure on her. One day, Brie undid the top button of her blouse at his encouragement. She told herself she was just trying to move him along to another topic, to demonstrate her willingness to meet him part way in their counseling relationship. What did one button matter? If it kept him engaged, it kept him engaged. Indeed, he'd started doing his school work, his teachers all praised her work with him.

It made it even harder to argue, what harm was one more?

________________________________________

"How many guys do you think tried to see your tits today?"

As he said it, Jason's eyes were plastered on her chest. The blouse she was wearing had three buttons undone. Completely professional, but offering the possibility to glimpse something inside. It was also a slimmer cut than anything she'd worn until two weeks ago. Her husband, Martin, had noticed. She had to imagine others had.

"Mr. Osborne maybe. Mr. Revere," Jason mused, listing male staff members who worked near Brie's office. She felt goosebumps at the thought. "If you stay late, Chester will probably stare. Girls say he is always staring at them." Chester was the custodian, a white man in his sixties with a thick pair of glasses who Brie could certainly imagine creeping on a woman, young or old. She couldn't tell if she felt sick or aroused at the thought. That was how confused Jason had her these days.

"But mostly the students. How many guys did you have in this office today? As you leaned over your desk, showing them a schedule or something, they all looked down your shirt. You made so many hardons today, Ms. Madison." Brie pretended to ignore the way Jason grabbed at his own crotch briefly as he talked. She pretended a lot these days, pretended these sessions were therapeutic. Pretended she was doing her job.

"I want to see what they saw. Sit over there."

It was better to put a little distance between them. She should have inserted some more professionalism into their relationship a long time ago. This was a good excuse to start. These were the types of thoughts one part of Brie's brain trotted out, but even it did it halfheartedly. The gig was all but up, but she tried to go through the motions.

She knew his eyes were on her ass as she stood from the armchair, rounded her desk. She knew that he knew she was wearing a tighter skirt because of him, but she pretended it was not, and he let her. So far. Just as she'd once carefully pushed only so far so that he wouldn't run, he was now carefully monitoring that line.

Brie sat her in chair behind her desk, pretending, pretending she didn't know what he wanted next. Jason pulled his chair forward and stared at her chest.