Cucked In My Classroom Ch 01

Cucked in my Classroom

High school teachers aren't supposed to have favorites.

Or crushes....

But god help me, I did like Amber.

A little too much.

Ok, maybe crush was too strong a word. Attraction, infatuation, desire, whatever I wanted to call it. I hadn't wished for it. I tried to will it away. Probably the same line every creepy old man gave about the teenage girl that got him stiff daily. Not from doing anything, just by existing in the presence of another creepy lecher.

Oh sure, there were days Amber wore shorts that weren't fingertip length, the kind that made me stare at her alabaster skin, so perfect with those dainty freckles. Or how she didn't even notice her breasts; they were smaller, only a little bigger than budding, but more than a sight most days when she didn't bother with a bra.

And worse, it was all so innocent.

She was the mousy, petite, still innocent looking people pleaser. Amber was the only senior I had with braces, or at least the only one I noticed. She had long chestnut hair, recently dyed with blonde tips, which I guess was fashionable. Who knows anymore? I'm 36, married with a baby girl, and long past my frosted tip phase.

Far too old to be staring gawk-mouthed at some eighteen-year old's boobs as she adjusted the hem of her top.

I made myself look up.

Then caught myself looking again, leaned over her test like that, the cleavage she had almost burst out of her blouse. Another inch, and I'd see her nipples.

I swallowed hard and stopped, peeling my eyes away from the lacy white strap of her bra. She adjusted absent-mindedly, tits rubbing together as she leaned over the exam.

God, I had to stop.

I walked around the classroom, pretending to focus on the other students, who were mostly finished with the exam.

AP English is dull and hard. Lots of students were just avoiding the rowdy on-level students, Amber included. It wasn't quite discrimination; anyone could ask to be placed in AP regardless of ability. But seniors took the class to avoid getting teased or beaten up, without much hope of college credit. By March, most were checked out, including Amber, who for the first time hoovered near failing.

It explained why she leaned over, breasts smushed against the desk, forehead furrowed in absent concentration as she scribbled into the blue book. Everytime she switched lines, her tits pressed firmly against the wood, the cleavage just about to pop out of the thin piece of fabric.

I was staring again...

Then the bell rang.

At once, every other student rushed from class, so ready to end the day that one kid left his exam on his desk for me to fetch. Grateful for the distraction, I grabbed the scantron and blue book, then looked back.

Amber was still writing, one hand suspiciously cupped at the top of her paper.

I moved a little closer, and watched her adjust awkwardly.

"Amber, what's in your hand?"

She placed her palm flat on the desk.

"Nothing... nothing Mr. Macron."

"Amber...."

I let the silence do the rest.

Slowly, she lifted her hand, revealing the crib sheet.

She looked down, slouching, again showing more cleavage than intended.

"I'm so sorry Mr Mac! I tried to read Wuthering Heights, but it was so long, and boring. And I can't, like, fail your class and run. Could you just...."

Her shoulders shrugged, and again I peeked down at those perfect, petite little curves.

"Amber..."

I kept glancing at the white cups of her bra, a little too big to conceal everything.

"You're already near failing..."

She leaned forward a little.

I struggled to make eye contact.

"I know! But I'm trying, and it won't happen again. I'll read the book. Just let me take a make-up test. Give me some time!"

"That would hardly be fair..."

"I'll do anything! I'll do something extra, I'll..."

She adjusted her bra strap a little, and my eyes lingered a little too long.

"I'll let you look."

Her eyes narrowed, one hand pulling down on the plain white cups of her bra. I swallowed hard, sure I could see the pink outline of her nipple.

"Amber, stop..."

I choked out the words without any intent. She stood up slowly, arching her back, letting me see straight down her shirt.

"It doesn't look like you want me to stop."

She pointed down at the bulge in my pants, smiling through a blush before looking shyly away

It wasn't completely my fault.

Since Stacy had been born, I'd had sex maybe a dozen times in three years. Most days, I was lucky to get a half-hearted handjob. Still, I shouldn't have been staring. And in the back of my head, I knew it had more to do with me being a lonely, awkward nerd in high school than anything I missed.

She pressed her breasts together, the creamy white flesh threatening to burst out at any second. I strained against my pants, frozen, barely able to look at the open door to my classroom.

Amber followed my eyes, then slowly walked to the door. She tried to emphasize each cheek with every step, even sliding her hands down into her pockets. She pulled down her jeans just enough that I could see the band of her red panties. The strut was so inexpert that it almost seemed silly, like she was mocking me.

It didn't matter.

She shut the door and leaned over, her body blocking the window.

"Amber... uh..."

One hand went to her bra, pulling at the strap.

"Please..."

I almost begged, unable to stop.

My hand reached down, fondling myself through my pants.

"Mr. Mac, I know I was bad. But can I please have another chance?"

I swallowed hard as both hands rested on her bra straps.

"Please?"

Her eyebrows arched as slowly her bra and blouse pulled down.

"Amber! I... I can't!"

Her eyebrows, thick enough to add so much expression, raised in surprise, her tits halfway out, leaving only those nipples to my imagination.

I wanted to see the rest so bad.

"Pretty please, Mr. Mac. I'll try extra hard. I'll be a good girl for you. Whatever you want, just give me one more chance to... meet your expectations."

Expectations was the campus buzzword, and hearing her use it with a voice so timid, almost shaking with the attempt at being sultry, only made her innocence all the more appealing.

"I can't...."

I stammered, reaching for the first excuse.

"I have duty!"

"Oh..." Amber said,

She paused, stuck in thought, top nearly down.

"So come by your tutorials?"

Her hands clutched the clothing to her chest, so that her fingers seemed to be the only thing covering her.

"Yes.... yes, sure! Next week. Read the book, and you can retest."

"Oh God, thank you, thank you Mr. Mac!"

She let go of her bra, her hands clapping together, revealing a perfect pair of perky tits. Her nipples and areolas were tiny, like little dimes, the hardened tips pointing out and almost up. They were barely a handful, maybe a little more, round and firm, jutting straight up without the sag or stretch I had been accustomed to touching only now and then..

Amber stood there for a second while I stared gape-jawed, unable to look at anything other than those perfect points.

"Just... just wanted..."

But she couldn't finish before pulling up her top, then diving her hands back in between her boobs to make them fit right in her bra.

"To show I was serious... about... you know, about meeting your expectations. I'm sorry. I tried, I really tried to read it, I just-"

"I understand!"

I cut her off, not trusting myself.

"Read the book. Retake the exam. But don't tell anyone that you... that I... that you got a second chance."

"Of course, Mr. Mac. You're like my favorite teacher. I would never get you in trouble..."

I couldn't stand to hear the rest.

"I'm sorry Amber, I really have to go."

I very nearly pushed her out of the way in my rush to the restroom, grabbing a textbook to cover my erection like a junior high boy first noticing girls. I didn't stop until I reached the teacher's bathroom, checking the lock on the individual room three or four times.

Her bare breasts were seared in my head, as I stroked myself in front of the toilet. Alone, no longer afraid of things going too far, I imagined what might happen. I pictured her a week from now, bent over my desk, my hands pulling hard on pigtails or a ponytail as I pounded inside her virginal pussy.

I imagined giving her orgasm after orgasm, her face and body contorted in pleasure, my hand or her red panties stifling the screams.

My hands could explore every inch of her body. My mouth would be on those hardened nipples. My tongue would please that barely touched vagina. To her, I would be Casanova, an older stud still able to swing his dick around and even surprise her with a few moves.

I would pull out and spray my load all over her tight bubble butt.

I was so close.

I rushed it, needing to get to the line of dumbass parents in their cars. Or at least that's what I told myself. It must have only taken a minute, maybe less, before I felt the surge, my cock reaching that point of no return. I barely had time to aim, trying to land my load in the toilet.

Rope after rope shot out, my cum much more impressive than the source. Semen dripped everywhere, down the back of the seat, along the rim and base, some even ended up coating my boxers.

The moment of post nut clarity struck me hard.

Had I completely fucked up my life?

Would Amber get me fired?

My thoughts continued to spiral as I unspun a wad of toilet paper and started to clean, collecting streaks of cum and someone else's urine with each swipe. I hurried, doing my best not to gag, then tried flushing it all away.

It didn't work.

All I did was worry about next week.