Turkeys Voting for Christmas
It was a thrill, no doubt about it. She felt just so... exposed. She'd never, ever have done this before, not even on the hottest of hot dates. Definitely not when teaching a class. But that was what made it so fun, the sheer illicit, naughtiness of it.
Each time she moved around the room, every time she leaned up to write something on the grubby whiteboard, she had to be oh so careful. Get it wrong, even by a centimetre, and she'd be exposed, the whole class able to see just what a slut she was turning into. It was all such a turn on and she absolutely loved it.
Then again, it was hard not to be turned on with her new piercings. The nipples were one thing, but the little bar pushing against her clit, that was a whole other level.
Teaching her class dressed only in the shortest little black skirt she could get away with, a tight white shirt that only did a passable job of hiding her rings, all topped off with black heels and stockings and suspenders - she'd never have believed that dressing like a tart could be so damned exciting.
She'd been skeptical, to say the least, when Jodie had told her. All the crazy things she'd done so far, they were all 'somewhere else', not here, not her place of work. But Jodie had made it quite clear - whilst the tasks were a prerequisite to joining, they weren't the only things expected of a recruit. It wasn't just something you did on and off, then forgot about, went back to normal. No; you had to commit, go all in. And dressing to please the black man was a big part of that. Not just when you were in the club - it was a vocation, not a part-time role.
"Imagine the look on Ms Adam's face!"
Jodie had been spot on - the woman had almost spat her coffee out when she'd seen Emma.
"Ms Tullingberry!" she'd exclaimed, "That is not the sort of dress code this college approves of!"
Well, she'd got that one wrong. The whispers, the looks, the cat calls - it seemed the student body very much approved of seeing so much of the faculty's fine, tight body.
Not long back, she'd have had no truck at all with it. Telling her, to her face, that she'd look good "bent over my desk with that lilly-white ass up in air" would have earned an instant reprimand, maybe even a suspension. Now it just got her soaking wet.
Maybe it didn't help with the actual teaching, though. She could hear the chatter, the not very subtle whispers, each time she turned around to write on the board.
"Looks like our teach's turning into a proper little hoe."
"Fuck, look at the ass on that bitch!"
It was crass, it was crude and it made her oh-so fucking horny.
"Yo, miss! I got a question!"
She turned, carefully adjusting the small skirt to make sure no one could see exactly what she wasn't wearing.
"Yes sir- sorry, Marcus?"
Damn, she'd gone bright red! The girl's mistake was out though; everyone had heard it. And dressed like that - well, it didn't take much to figure out what was up, what had changed about their teacher. He chuckled to himself as he looked around the small room, seeing the knowing looks on the faces of the other men sat behind their tattered desks. That big eastern European lug - Timos? Minos? - even he'd figured it out, crudely miming to Marcus an energetic suggestion for some post-curricular activities. Hell, even those two sisters parked in the corner were snickering. The cat was well and truly out of the bag, and everyone had seen its escape. She'd been made.
But blushing aside, she didn't let it phase her. She'd committed, one hundred percent. It wasn't something she'd be able to hide, so she was embracing it, owning her new self. She was proud, he could see that. Proud of who she was, proud of what she wanted, proud to show the world that she was, first and foremost, a black man's woman.
And those heels, they really did top it all off, making the blonde's hips sway out to the side with each click-clack step towards him. There was nothing quite like a fine white girl who was determined to use those natural assets of hers to please men like him. But damn, that ass...
"Yes, er, Marcus?"
He'd been right all along. He'd figured her as a smart cookie, a girl who'd quickly figure out just what it was she wanted, if only she got the chance to find out. Bending right over at the waist, next to his small desk, that firm white whooty sticking out all round and proud - she knew exactly what she wanted.
The girl was looking him dead in the eyes, and those eyes didn't leave any room for doubt - she was loving it, loving dressing like a slut. Loving dressing to please black men, men like Marcus.
"This is what I don't get, miss."
He couldn't quite keep the feral grin from his face as he watched her eyes first follow his finger, then grow wide with anticipation as he led them down to the paper on his desk. He heard her take a delightfully shocked breath in, reading what he'd scrawled - "Why haven't I seen you on your knees with my big black cock buried deep in your throat?"
"That's a tough one Marcus," she purred.
He reached out a big paw, placing it gently on the back of her thigh.
"Why don't I show you after class, Marcus? Perhaps we can work on the problem together?"
That big warm hand, insistently pushing up, first cupping her ass cheek, then reaching down, a finger brushing against her sex. If they weren't at the back of the room, the whole class would be getting an eyeful of the big man casually stroking their teacher's exposed wet snatch. She had to fight the desire to moan, to push back on him, to eat up his fingers with her hungry pussy.
"It's a tough one though, ain't it teach?"
He was ahead of the script. He knew she'd ditched her panties - white girls like her, on the path she was on, well, they were just an encumbrance. He pushed a big finger into her, down to the second knuckle. She was so wet, it just slid right in. She had to bite her lip to stop herself yelling out.
"Oh, er, yes, it is a BIG tough one."
He knew just where to press, able to seek out the exact spot that Steve had never quite managed to hit, right at the top of her pussy. She felt a little shock of electricity as the man started pushing down on it, rubbing it. She couldn't stop her hips from moving with his finger, gently gyrating them as he pushed round and down on her G-spot. She had to bite her lip harder.