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Teacher Training Ch 04 1

Teacher Training Ch 04 1

by dogoldfishdreamofelectricfish
19 min read
4.49 (8700 views)
adultfiction

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.

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"I wanna see if you can help me push past it, teach."

"Oh! Er, oh! Yes Marcus, yes, I'm sure you can push past it!"

He fed another finger into her, smiling to himself as he felt her push back onto him, allowing his big digits to reach deeper inside her pussy.

Perhaps it was time to see just how ready this latest recruit was? Could she truly embrace her new self? She wasn't a teacher anymore, she wasn't some rich white girl, able to use her money and privilege to bend the world to her will. She was a black man's woman, and that meant she existed solely to please him. Consequences were not something she should be worrying her pretty little head with - she'd do what she had done to her.

He leaned his head into her ear, whispering, "Now you're gonna cum for me, you horny little slut."

His index finger reached down between her lips, spreading her. He found the hot little button he was after and went to work, rubbing it in a little circle of eight as he felt her clamp down on his fingers.

"Marcus," she rasped, looking into his eyes as he went to town on her sopping pussy, the rest of the class carrying on with their work, "perhaps we should look into this after class?"

She was close, he could see that. Her brow was bunched, her jaw clenching and unclenching. She didn't want him to tip her over, not here, not in the classroom. But that was just something she'd have to learn. A black man's woman would cum when and where the black man wanted.

"Nah, teach," he smiled at her, "we gonna sort this right now."

Damn, the girl said no, but she was leaking all down her thighs, her wet pussy dribbling her juices each time he pushed his fingers back in, just a little deeper. If it weren't for the tinny music playing on the phones, the whole class would've been able to hear the wet squelching sound of their teacher's tight cunt being thoroughly finger-fucked.

"Right NOW," he said, louder, working his fingers for all they were worth. He was going to get what was his, what this hot little bitch wanted to give him, he was going to make his teacher cum for him in the middle of her own class.

The girl could barely keep it together. She desperately picked up a pencil and bit down on the length, only just able to stop herself screaming. She just stared at him - fuck, it was adorable! - those big doe eyes of hers all wide and shocked, pleading for him to stop, but not to stop, all at the same time. Her fingers were gripping onto the edge of his desk for dear life.

He loved this, loved the power he had over fine white women like this. It felt like payback, payback for that shithole prison he'd been sent to, all because that bitch had been too damned afraid to admit who she really was. He wasn't going to allow that to happen again; this little thing was going to know she was his.

He was rocking her world, he could see that, hear the suppressed little whimpers, feel her pussy clamping down tight on his fingers. She was nodding her head now, quickly up and down, begging him to make her cum. Fuck, he couldn't wait to get this fine piece into the club, into one of those rooms, and stuff her full of his fat black cock.

"Yeah, you can help me with this problem after class, right teach?" he gently laughed as Emma's hips bucked, her legs shaking as she stared into his eyes.

"'Esh!" she just about managed as he pushed down hard on her pierced hood, the orgasm exploding through her.

****

Even with her freshly gained experience, it still wasn't easy. But that was a big part of the thrill of it, the challenge, pushing yourself. It helped when you had someone pushing with you. And Marcus was very happy to oblige.

"That's right you little slut, you're a black man's bitch now! You gotta work for your reward!"

Damn, she was good! She'd only been on the path for a matter of a few weeks, yet here she was, kneeling on the floor in front of him, pulling herself onto him, into her. She had her hands on the backs of his thighs, trying to get the last inch of two of his thick meat down her throat.

"Fuck girl, you were born to suck black dick!"

He held her head in place, savouring the sensation only a hot new trick's throat could give you. The compliment clearly worked too - she moaned and managed to pull another half inch into her mouth.

"Nah, girl, eyes up!"

Talented she may have been, but she clearly still had a few things to learn. It didn't matter to a black man that the girl was struggling with his girth, the tears running down her face. A white slut always had to keep those eyes up, eyes on the man she was pleasing. She was a black man's bitch, and that meant she had to think of his pleasure. And there were few things more pleasurable than gazing down into those doe eyes as you fed the girl your meat.

He let go of her head, hands reaching down to put a finger through each hooped nipple ring. Those things were fantastic, had so many uses. As soon as the class had emptied, he'd torn the girl's shirt open, pulling her by them to the seat he was sat in. Now he could use them to make sure she did exactly what she was meant to be doing. He gave a quick yank on each, eliciting a shrill little garbled squeak from the woman. She got the message, quickly swivelling her eyes up to look at him.

"That's right, girl. Work that tongue, lick my balls."

She really was good, lapping away at his nuts with his cock buried in her mouth; he was close.

Her phone rang, the chime echoing off the harsh plastic surfaces. Her eyes snapped away from his for a second, looking up at the desk to the side.

Now that wouldn't do; a white girl on her knees in front of her black man should have one sole focus. Those rings really were good for just this sort of thing - one little sharp pull again and she was back to gazing up at him.

"You gotta learn, girl. When you're with a black man, there's only one thing you should be thinking about. And it ain't your phone."

He picked the thing up from the desk, "I'll take care of this - you keep working that cock. Get my balls in your mouth."

A little wet 'pop' and his dick was free. Marcus knew she'd been worked over by Zeek already, and the man had clearly done a good job training her.

"I'm sorry, sir," she purred, making a show of licking his fat bell end, "let me make it up to you."

Emma held the fat dick in both hands, making it stand like a flag pole, working her small hands up and down the shaft. She was still amazed at just how much the contrast turned her on, her delicate white fingers wrapped around the dark meat. All she wanted to do was worship it, to show her man just how much she loved this, to show him just how much she loved being a black man's bitch. Just saying the words in her head sent a little shock of arousal coursing through her.

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"What's the PIN?"

"5523, sir," she said, before dropping down on her knees a little further, her tongue reaching out to slurp his balls into her mouth. God, she could feel her pussy practically gushing as she stared up at the man. It felt good, it felt right. She was here for one purpose, and one purpose alone. And she was damned sure going to make it clear just how much she understood her purpose.

She folded her hands behind her back. Mr Clayton had certainly liked that, that submissiveness; judging by the way Marcus's grin got even wider, so did he. Which was the way it should be, she thought. She was his, his little white bitch to use as he pleased. She needed to show him that, to make him know she was intent only on pleasing that big black cock.

She used her tongue to dance around his sack, licking, worshipping it. She smiled inwardly as she felt a little jerk in his cock as she hit just the right spot, zoning in on the very bottom of his nuts. She'd always been top of her class at whatever she'd turned her mind to. Now she had something she really enjoyed, and she was damned sure going to be the best big black cock drainer she could be.

"Who's this 'Steve'?" said Marcus, looking at the phone. "Your little white boyfriend?" he chuckled.

Fuck Steve. Fuck white men. How could they possibly compare to this, to men like this? Black men with fat black cocks: confident, powerful; in charge. No, there was no comparison.

"He's my ex," she managed, before sucking his balls back into her mouth.

Judging from the desperate pleas from the man, the girl had a white boy still pining after her. That was good, real good. After all, the club was about making a change in the world. Sure, this girl was a convert, there was no doubting that. But the world didn't change if you only concerned yourself with half the population. Besides, it wasn't a cheap endeavour - the pledges helped make it happen.

It made him laugh whenever he thought about it. All those white losers, desperate to get their rocks off to hot white girls getting fucked by thick black dicks. They'd spend whatever was asked of them. And where did it get them? In their bedrooms, jacking off, their wallets considerably lightened and another white girl permanently taken off the menu for them. What was it Sean had said? "Like turkeys voting for Christmas." Shit, that made him chuckle.

More than that, it made him feel powerful, like he was taking back the control that had been stolen away from him.

When he closed his eyes, he imagined the faces of that all-white, all-male jury - and especially that fucking prosecutor, the lying shit - all of them tossing themselves off, watching black men like him dominate white girls he imagined being their sisters, their wives and girlfriends, their daughters. Tammy wanted payback? Hell, so did he. But you didn't get angry - you got even.

"You might not wanna drop that white boy just yet, girl. They have their uses, you know? They make damn good pledges."

He could see the curiosity in her eyes as she worked his sack over.

"The club is funded by white boys." he explained, "They pledge money to watch the shows, watch as black men use white girls in ways they could only dream of."

Shit, maybe she was one of those ones that really got off on the politics? Judging by the way she picked up the pace, frantically slurping at his balls, she certainly seemed happy with the idea. Maybe he could tell her a bit more - see just what this little smokestack could do if you really amped her up.

"Besides, if you get a white boy - a boyfriend, husband, whatever - if you get one of them signed up to be a card carrying member of the pledges, you can go deeper in the club. Earn yourself some real fine gold studs."

"Maaah!"

Damn, it really did fire her up! She'd worked her tongue lower, licking his gooch, then pushed it lower still, lovingly licking round his asshole. This girl really was the bomb.

"Oh, fuck yeah bitch!" he shouted, scooting himself forward on the plastic chair, allowing the little hottie better access to his hole.

She'd really got him going now. He wished he had Jodie with them, so he could finish himself off in her mouth while blondie rimmed him. But needs must, he thought, grabbing a handful of her hair, pulling her up so he could feed her his cum.

"Get your mouth round that dick, girl. You're gonna get what you need!"

She swallowed him down to the hilt just in time. He shot three strong ropes into the pretty little teacher's wet mouth, the girl making a real messy show of cleaning his dick.

"Why don't you give that white boy a call back?" he said, looking down at her as she lovingly licked the last drop of cum from the end of his cock, "I wanna meet him."

****

The Ex

"Here you go girl."

Now that was what you called a cocktail. The stuff they'd managed to plonk into the glass made it look like it should have a countdown to go along with it, as if it were a mini Cape Canaveral. Not really what you expected in what was, to all intents and purposes, a plain, old fashioned boozer, all Sky sports and footie posters on the walls.

She moved the glass closer in, reaching out to take a sip through the big straw. It was not weak.

Marcus let out a little chuckle as she coughed, "They don't skimp on the tequila here, girl. 'Specially not when I tell old Ike there you're with me."

She turned to look at the barman, a heavy-set older man with a touch of grey showing through in his close-cropped hair and beard. He gave her a little wave from behind the wooden counter; she smiled and waved back.

Marcus sat himself down on the upholstered bench next to her, shuffling himself up close, putting a big arm around her waist and pulling her closer into him. She was with him as his girl, his hot young white girl. It felt good, good to be so wanted and desired. And good to have a chaperone.

The pub wasn't one she'd ever been to before. Nor, in all likelihood, one she'd ever have gone to. She felt a little ashamed, admitting that to herself, but it was the truth. The neighbourhood was majority black, as were most the clientele. For all her social justice pretensions, she knew she'd never have come here; hell, she'd probably have crossed the street if she'd walked past it.

But that was the old Emma, 'BBC' Emma - 'Before Black Cock' Emma. Jodie had coined that one, the pair chucking to themselves as she'd cleaned herself up in the staff bathroom. It was exactly right; her life had neatly split into a before and after.

Not only would she have never have come here, 'BBC', she would most certainly not have dressed how she was now. Gone were the slightly oversized jumpers and jeans, the slacks and the cardigans. Jodie had been very clear about how she should dress now, how she wasn't just dressing for herself, but for black men.

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