In Detention

*All sexual activity takes place with consenting adults over the age of 18

*Scenes of unprotected sex are displayed and should not be used as guidelines for safe sex practices. This work is merely fiction.

Thank you for reading!

---

"Can anyone tell me why the Axis Powers decided to become allies during World War II?" Mr. Marcos asks, his hands threaded behind his back while he awaits a response. He stands at the front of the class, panning his eyes over students trying their best not to be called upon. My eyes meet his briefly and I could have sworn they flash with something before he looks casually away to focus on someone else.

That was a challenge if I ever saw one.

Pulling myself out of my slouched position in the back row, I lean across the aisle and catch the attention of Georgie. Judging by the shit eating grin on my face, and the resigned look on hers, I can tell she knows exactly what I want. She rolls her eyes before flicking her long, red hair behind her back but she leans toward me, reluctantly accepting her position as the receiver of my joke.

"It's so they can access this dick," I whisper loudly, fully appreciating the eye roll from Georgie that one got me. Pissing her off is almost as fun the other reaction my joke causes. Smiling widely, reveling in the confrontation about to go down, I miss when Mr. Marcos walks up to my chair and stands quietly behind me.

If making Georgie roll her eyes at my lame jokes is the second best way I spend my time in class, then fucking with Mr. Marcos is the ultimate means to get my kicks. And judging by Georgie's wide, yet unsurprised eyes, I can tell he's right on time.

Spinning around in my chair, I look up and up to finally settle on Mr. Marcos face. Despite the cliché button down, vest, khakis combo he's always rocking, the man is fucking gorgeous. Tan skin holds the background for a sculpted jaw, full lips and deep brown eyes. His chocolate brown curls fall forward across his forehead though the sides remain shaved. His hair is the only indication that Mr. Marcos is less of a stuck up ass than his outfit conveys he is. He likes to throw his weight around but as the youngest teacher in the building, everyone knows he holds no real power. Which makes it all the more tempting to tease him.

"So," Mr. Marcos drawls, his arms crossed against his chest, "what was the joke this time? Everyone is waiting with baited breath to hear the latest from our resident comedian."

Mr. Marcos punctuates his shade by uncrossing his arms and gesturing to the rest of my peers, must of which have bored, annoyed expressions.

Thankfully for me, I don't give a shit about their reactions. I do this all for him. And he fucking knows it.

"Well, I could answer, but it wouldn't be the same if you don't ask your question first," I reason, slouching back in my chair.

Mr. Marcos' face remains impassive so it surprises me when he jerks down, slamming his hands on my desk and coming farther into my bubble than he's ever been. Since I started pushing him at the beginning of the semester, telling snide jokes and making a genuine ass out of myself, Mr. Marcos has made it his mission to jump down my throat every time I so much as think about causing a scene.

Unfortunately for him, causing a scene is what I do best.

When his face is inches from mine, he leers at me, as if challenging me to say something. My breath is ragged at this point, the only thing harder than breathing is my cock in my skinny jeans.

Without moving from his position, he growls, "Sure, I'll repeat the question."

Shuffling mere inches closer, the rest of the class falls away as only my attention is on Mr. Marcos. If he thinks I'm going to be intimidated by his bold reaction, he's got another thing coming.

Sensing my response, Mr. Marcos asks stiffly, "Why did the Axis Powers become allies during World War II?"

His eyes harden, daring me to do it. He wants everyone else to believe that this is all a scare tactic. A ploy to encourage me to follow the rules. But he and I both know what this really is and he knows exactly what I'm going to do before I open my mouth.

"To get access to this dick," I shout into his face, going as far to cup my hands around my mouth for emphasis.

I hear gasps, giggles, and even an annoyed huff from the desk beside me but my attention isn't on my peers or Georgie. It's on the man in front of me.

Like clockwork, Mr. Marcos face breaks into a large, terrifying grin. Clenching his hands harder around my desk, he seethes, "Looks like I'll be seeing you again in after school detention this evening, Maxwell."

Smirking up at home, I taunt," What's another detention? I'll look forward to seeing you there

Mr. Marcos."

Without another word, Mr. Marcos straightens, spins around, and stomps his Italian leather shoes back to the front of the class. While he looks unperturbed, the picture of casual, I know he's internalizing everything I'm feeling. I sink against my chair, the adrenaline from our confrontation finally catching up to me.

I can't believe he got in my face like that. Of all the times I've pushed him, he's never once pushed me back like that in front of the whole class. Feeling Georgie's stare on me, I glance over and catch a worried look on her face. She's been my closet friend from the time we were eating paste in kindergarten until now, two 18 year old baddies in their last year of high school. She pretends to barely put up with my shit but I know she truly cares about me under all her eye rolls.

Giving her a reassuring smirk back, I focus my attention on the front of the room. Mr. Marcos is back to teaching as if I never interrupted. Probably because he's as used to the game as I am at this point. I push, he pushes back, I receive my punishment and the day goes on.

Until we're reunited in detention.

---

The bell signals the end of class, resulting in the 20 odd students jumping to their feet and exiting the classroom.

Georgie and I are content to wait until they leave, letting several minutes go by before we even attempt to pack up. My mind is lost in detention tonight. This will be the 8th consecutive week I've earned a detention from Mr. Marcos. Without meaning to, my eyes flick to his but he looks away quickly, busy speaking to other students.

When most of the students have left, Georgie turns to me with an expression of concern painted on her full, freckled face.

"Maxie, I don't think you should push him anymore. Mr. Marcos looked really mad this time," she cautions, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. As she speaks, she casts casual glances in his direction but Mr. Marcos is oblivious as he speaks to a few students by the door.

Sighing, I lift up my backpack onto my shoulder and say, "I know what I'm doing, George. Don't worry about me."

She rolls her eyes but this time it gives me no joy. I hate it when she worries about me but she really has no reason to. I really do know what I'm doing.

Together we walk to the front of the class and I think she's going to drop it when she says "One of these days you're going to push him too far, Maxie."

We're nearly at the door, the last students to leave. Looking up before we exit the classroom, I catch Mr. Marcos eye. Since I'm the last one to leave, he lets a small smirk fill his lips. He must have heard what Georgie said.

Remaining eye contact, I finish the few steps out the door and throw behind me, "Maybe that's what I want."

---

The door rattles as my back is shoved against it, the force causing the items lining the shelves on the wall to rattle and shift the dust that partially covers them. I see the dust float in the air through the only light in the room coming from the windows, partially concealed by blinds.

Thank god he remembered to close them this time. Last week I could have sworn the track coach saw my whole ass.

My mind is erased of the track coach when my shirt is pulled off, the fabric sliding up and over my arms, exposing my pale skin to his admiring eyes. As it slides across my arms, it's thrown behind us to join the pile of clothing already accumulating on the linoleum. When the drafty air of the classroom reaches my bare skin, I don't even feel it. His body is pressed into mine, his hands everywhere. And oh god,

his hands

.

One is wrapped around my throat, not enough to hurt but just enough to make my cock throb. It clenches and unclenches, a reminder of who controls me now. Though the feeling of losing control is heavenly via his tightening grip on my neck, I'm more interested in the wanderings of his other hand. It plays around my waistband, teasing the skin there, as if wondering when it should plunge into my jeans and put us both out of our misery.

My attention is pulled away from his hands dancing on my waist when his hand on my throat is pulled away to be replaced with his teeth sinking into the skin below my ear. My head bangs back against the door to give him access. Panting, my eyes roll back in my head from the pleasure while I wrap my arms around his back. They snake up his naked torso until they reach his neck, sinking my fingers into his curls. I pull his hair but the fucker just grounds his teeth harder, no doubt leaving marks under my ear.

My mind is a mess, completely controlled by the pleasure he gives me. I feel myself falling too far as his hands tighten everywhere. So, I do the one thing to keep myself rooted in the moment.

I open my damn mouth.

"So I guess you didn't like my joke this time?"

Chuckling, his hand returns to my throat, causing my eyes to roll back in my head with pleasure. The hand at my waist stills but his mouth continues to nurse my neck for a few moments before murmuring through my skin.

"'Access this dick'? Really, Maxie? That's all you got?" He teases.

Huffing, I reply, "Well, my fucking cock was harder than a rock. How do you expect me to come up with something better when just looking at you keeps me on edge?"

His mouth leaves the base of my throat and travels upwards, leaving wet kisses on a trail to my ear. He nips the sensitive skin on my ear lobe before replying over my whimpers, "The same way I teach an entire hour long class rock hard. Wear a jock next time."

Giggling, I pull his head away from my neck so I can look him in the eye. Smirking, I respond, "If I wear a jock, how can I give you the easy access you want?"

"Oh, good point," he says casually, while his eyes harden with lust.

As if reminded of what awaits him below my jeans, he finally plunges the hand he has on my waist down into my pants, palming my cock thanks to the fact that I have no underwear on. Moaning, my eyelids flutter but I yank them open again, not wanting to miss the grin on his face. I love his faux angry expressions when we play in class but Emilio's smile is like nothing I've ever seen. Since his eyes are usually so dark, its hard to garner any emotion from them. But when he smiles, it's like they brighten, and I can understand everything he's not saying out loud.

I can still remember the first time he pulled the full force of his genuine smile on me. It was during the third week in a row I'd landed myself in detention. I don't know why I kept antagonizing him in class but it gave me such a rush every time that I couldn't stop myself.

For the first two weeks of detentions, Mr. Marcos had me clean his classroom top to bottom. He watched me the entire time, my blood boiling with want as I felt his eyes train my ass everywhere I went in the classroom.

During that third week of detentions, I decided that cleaning wasn't an accurate punishment for what I deserved. What Marcos wanted was to take back the control that I stole from him during class. He thought that just making me clean was good enough but it was nothing near what I deserved. That third week I got so fed up with our sexual tension and our longing looks that instead of giving him what he wanted, I gave him what he needed.

That was the first time he fucking ravaged me.

He protested at first but it was apparent that was just a game. All of this was just a game. Well most of it. When I went down on my knees for him for the first time, he smiled at me, a true smile, and his eyes told me everything he refused to admit about me. About himself. And about how well we fused together in his empty classroom.

By the fifth week, we were fucking regularly and to me he became Emilio, if only for an hour in his classroom afterschool. Since he couldn't assign me detention every day without suspicion, we've been trying to be sneaky about our liaisons. Sans accidentally maybe showing the track coach my bare ass.

Now, here in the present, I continue to look into Emilio's eyes, feeling all of his emotions as he plunges his hand further down my pants. Giving my smallish yet hard cock a few spine melting touches, he bypasses it, sliding his thick fingers across my skin and deep between my legs.

I watch his eyes as he searches, trying to find the spot that makes my knees weak and my eyes flutter every fucking time he touches it. Spreading my legs as far as our current position allows, I whimper in anticipation of the moment he-

"Oh fuck, Leo!"

And there it is. When I do exactly what I thought I would, knees and eyes and all, Emilio's grin widens, his fingers

scratching

at the skin right before my asshole. I don't know why but it feels so fucking good every time. His blunt fingernails caress the sensitive skin, causing goosebumps and shivers to rock my spine.

I shake against the door, lost in the please his talented fingers are doing to me. I throw my hands on his chest, using them to keep myself up but it's no use. My knees are about to give out and all he's done is rub my perineum a little.

I can't take any more of this. Reaching for his hand in my pants, I pull it out, already mourning the loss but ready for something else.

Quickly, I step forward away from the door and throw my arms around his neck, standing on tip toe so I can lean forward and descend my lips down onto his. He doesn't mind, in fact he quickens the pace, throwing me back against the door and fusing our lips together, grunting into my mouth.

God, can the fucker kiss.

As his lips claim me, stealing my breath, spit, and soul, he threads one of his hands through my hair while the other comes around to hike one of my legs up on his hips. With my legs spread, he's able to get impossibly close to me. Since I'm practically dangling in the air, our heights are aligned. Our clothed cocks press against each other, Leo thrusting his hips roughly into me, making the door shake on its hinges. As he humps me violently, the rattle of the door sounds so loud in the empty room.

We're going to have to move this thing eventually. According to experience, the minute his cock gets unleashed, I'll be fucked with it no matter where we are in the classroom. And usually I have no complaint against that but since last week when he fucked me balanced against the window sill, I really don't want to risk another close call.

Probably realizing the same thing as the door rattles behind me, Emilio pulls his lips off mine, his tongue reaching out to lick his lips. His eyes are bright with our passion.

"So, where do you want it this time?" He questions, his breath ragged. Lowering his voice and eyebrows, he continues. "We've already tried my desk, the chair, the windowsill..."

The last one is said with a smirk as he remembers nearly getting caught. Although our relationship could literally get him fired, I think that adds to the hotness factor for him. The fact that we have to sneak around like this, on the verge of being caught daily is part of the allure our relationship.

Throwing my arms around his neck, I pretend to think about it. In actuality, I already have a least 10 potential spots I want to try out. All ideas I came up with the first day of class. Before I realized fucking Mr. Marcos was a reality, he was always in my fantasies.

"Hmmm," I murmur, my voice lowering to match his. "What about old fashioned wall sex?"

"Yeah, I think I could be in to that. With one little addition," Marcos grins before leaving me at door. I unwind my arms from his neck, pouting as I watch him walk towards his desk.

However, I shudder instantly when he pulls a ruler out of the top desk drawer. My hole clenches in anticipation when I watch him smack the wooden stick into his hand a few times.

"I'll fuck you, but first I wanna turn your ass redder than your checks right now."

He's right. My cheeks are blood red with anticipation and a little embarrassment. The idea of spanking turns me on but allowing Marcos to have that much control over me is a daunting thought.

Sensing my apprehension, he walks forward and places a hand on my cheek.

"If you don't want to, we don't have to. It's all up to you," Emilio says in a gentle voice. Though his eyes are dark, I can see them soften as he searches my eyes, looking for an answer.

Nodding, I reply, "I wanna try it. But I want a safe word."

"Of course," he replies. His serious expression morphs into a grin. "How about Axis Powers?"

Laughing, I throw my head back and hit his shoulder.

"Of course, Mr. Marcos. Whatever you say," I tease, though I allow some heat to sink into my voice as I say his name.

At his official title, Emilio's playful demeanor vanishes in an instant. Instead it's replaced with a beast of a man, with one goal in his eyes. Fucking me into the fucking wall. Right. Now.

With a squeak, I'm thrown over his shoulder as he hustles to a blank area of wall near the back of the classroom. Between a poster of a panda with glasses suggesting I try my best and a map of Europe, Marcos deposits my lithe body, immediately yanking my skinny jeans to the ground.

My chest is shoved into the wall as I feel my pants slide all the way down my legs to rest on my shoes still on my feet. I slide my arms up to brace against the off white cinderblocks. I stand there, nearly naked with my ass out, legs spread as much as possible, waiting for Emilio to start. Since my forehead is resting against the wall, I can't see him, the anticipation nearly killing me.

"Are you gonna be good for me, Maxwell?" Emilio growls. He punctuates his question with a gentle slide of the ruler down my bare ass. At the sound of my full name, I know he wants to revel in the student/teacher fantasy for my punishment. And I'm all too willing to play along.

"Yes Mr. Marcos, I promise!" I whimper.

Emilio's breath haunts my ear as he leans into me before whispering, "You remember your safe word?"

I can't speak, but I moan lowly. I guess he takes this as conformation because after a sweet pat to my ass from his hand and not the ruler, a hit so sharp and painful rocks my body back against the cold cement.

"Fuck!"

My body slams into the wall, my knees barely giving out as the ruler slams again into my exposed ass cheek. Tears spring to my eyes but my cock stiffens, pre cum painting itself onto my stomach.

My whimpers and the spaced out sounds of the ruler spanking against my ass are punctuated by the grunts of Leo. As he hits me with one hand, I also hear the slickening sound that can only be a hand sliding up and down on a cock. We've done some pretty kinky stuff but just the thought of him jerking off will spanking me with a ruler makes me nearly cum all over the wall. I didn't even hear him unzip his pants either. He must be as worked up as I am.

Emilio's hits never waver though. They come inconsistently but always with the same amount of force. Never enough to truly hurt but just enough pain to keep me wanting. When I can barely see the wall in front me through the tears in my eyes, I break the silence we've fallen into and beg for relief.