NOTE: This is a 23K+ word story that doesn't start heating up until halfway through. I respect the value of a quick stroke story, which is why I'm warning you to keep looking if that's what you're after. If you're down for a long read with a hot payoff, though, then pour yourself a glass of your favorite little something-something and pull up a seat.
This story has been updated to correct typos, add some small scenes, better flow into potential future chapters. Check the comments for a changelog. Yes, this erotic novella has a fucking changelog. Kids, if you're lucky enough to have an editor, tell him/her how much he/she is loved every day.
As you'd expect, all characters involved in sexual activity are at least 18 years of age.
* * * * *
As the name implied, Silver Spoons was used to catering to a clientele old enough to be called "clientele." Years of serving people who looked 35, 45, 55 left them rusty on the art of spotting a fake ID, which suited the teenagers of Westbrook Heights just fine. At first it was just one or two seniors rolling the dice on their new cards. Afterwards, they carefully passed the tip on to other seniors and select junior-aged friends that could pass for 21, people that wouldn't spin so far out of control that it would encourage Management to revise their ID-checking policies.
It shocked a few Westbrook High students to learn that Caleb Bradstreet was one of those people; they expected the scene of a high school team's tailback to involve kegs and backyard bonfires, not an old man's bar on a Thursday night. But History had always been his weakest subject, and after two weeks of studying non-stop for a final that he just cleared that afternoon, Caleb needed a beer and some ambiance.
He sat at the bar and drank slow, relishing what little there was to relish of his Bud Light. He thought about endings: Thought about how weird it felt to know he had taken his last-ever high school test. Thought about his impending graduation on Sunday afternoon, and the blowout that was happening Saturday night after next. Thought about the signatures he still wanted in his yearbook. Thought about the teachers he never wanted to see again (like Mrs. Warner, the sadistic bitch who knocked him down to a B- for holding his pencil incorrectly). And he thought about the teachers he really wished he could take with him to college, like—
"Caleb." The bartender, Drew, was making a point of keeping his voice down, motioning Caleb to look behind him, "You know that chick? Seems like she knows you."
Caleb turned around and almost dropped his beer.
Miss Piper stared back at him, wearing that orange dress he loved so much, the one that fit her upper body like a glove and had its neckline cut just low enough for him to know that his cock would fit comfortably between her tits. She was bug-eyed behind her round, frameless glasses; her jaw was slack, a glass of dark liquid frozen in her hand.
What the fuck was she doing here? Did she hear about this place and decide to troll for underage drinkers? Why was that her business, days away from graduation?
Fuck!
Caleb knew none of those questions mattered; either way, he was screwed. Caught off guard, he could only raise his beer in a slow, befuddled toast to Miss Piper, and wait for her assuredly absurd, possibly violent response. Not that she wasn't a collected individual, but how can your reaction to running into your under-the-drinking-age student at a bar be anything other than "What the FUCK?"
Well, Miss Piper's reaction was absurd, all right: She returned Caleb's toast with equal speed and befuddlement, then literally looked the other way.
Huh.
Caleb turned back to try and embrace his relief, if only he could stop asking himself why she wasn't dragging him out of this bar by his ear.
* * * * *
Perhaps years, or maybe even months down the road, Penny was going to look at the latest in the steady stream of engagement announcements or baby photos from her old classmates on Facebook, she was going to decide that she was she was tired of being on her own, and she would find a veterinarian who liked rock climbing and fine wine and had access to a trust fund and a ranch up in the country. And after they got married at a beautiful destination wedding in Venice, he would let her keep her awesome name.
"Penny Piper" was a name fit for the plucky sidekicks she idolized in her youth. It had a musical way of rolling off the tongue, and it suggested someone intelligent, caring, and -- in certain situations -- innocently sexy, all qualities she aspired to in her adult life. Befitting of the first two qualities, Penny had been teaching for seven years now, working at the same high school she graduated from. The job left her with little opportunity to affirm the third quality; she contented herself with pornography and a semi-occasional Tinder hookup, but they were practically interchangeable with visits to the spa. Few regrets, but fewer connections.
Then September happened.
The outfit certainly had something to do with how things changed. She never liked wearing her belted sunset orange dress to school; she preferred blouses and jeans to minimize her top hourglass figure, maybe an occasional pencil skirt. But her laundry backlog had snuck up on her, leaving the dress as the most appropriate thing she could have worn that day. It wasn't scandalous, but it was cut just low enough and fit her bust well enough for people to recognize that she had won the genetic lottery. It wouldn't be the end of the world for the guys in her class to know that she had big boobs, but it wasn't the way Penny liked to present herself -- especially on her first day. She dreaded the day-long fight to keep everyone's gaze pointed upward, preemptively resenting herself for allowing her students to see her as a kind of sex object because she couldn't be bothered to do her damn laundry.
He was the first, arriving at least a full minute before the bulk of her first period class filed inside. Early-comers tended to be bookish types like herself, having few friends to slow them down on the way to class. "Miss Piper?" he asked from the door, drawing her bespectacled brown eyes to his bare, shocking blues.
With his clean face, sharp blonde hair, and game-for-everything grin, Caleb Bradstreet did not look like the bookish type. It was a hot day, and the loose, light clothes that Caleb wore did him favor after favor. He had a lean yet sturdy frame, with arms and legs that looked like they were precision-sculpted by lasers in the same hot dude laboratory that blessed the earth with Channing Tatum. (Okay, he wasn't as developed as
those
guys, but for a high school senior, he was pretty cut.)
She remembered introducing herself. She remembered Caleb taking a seat at the front row, just across from her desk, which ended up being where he'd always try to sit for the rest of the school year. And she remembered thinking that she probably would have written him off if it wasn't for that damn dress, because all throughout the period she could feel his eyes searching her. She always got looks whenever she was in that dress, but his particular gaze had a specific heat signature associated with it, melting her insides and sending the runoff down her thighs.
Penny had never thought of a student like that before. There were a few guys she taught over the years whom she wouldn't have kicked out of bed if they were older. However, they weren't older, nor were they really "guys" to her. To say that her sense of duty as a teacher always won out over her respect for a healthy male body implied that there was even a struggle to begin with.
Maybe all her frustrations with dating were finally catching up to her. Maybe some repressed part of her psyche that wished she was Prom Queen material broke free and stormed her control center, taking hostages and making demands. Penny was far from homely and not quite plain, but aside from the regular gym visits that kept her in shape, she always put more effort into what was in front of her than herself. Even in her orange dress, even on her occasional dates -- hell,
hookups
-- she never felt noticed, at least not beyond "Gee, that looks like a fun amount of boob on her chest."
