Author's Note: All characters, events, and places described in this narrative are products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. All characters involved in sexual activities in this story are over 18 years of age. Obviously, this type of behaviour from a teacher is not condoned in real life.
I have introduced two new characters in this story in response to a request from a reader. I'm planning on writing a spin-off series based on them next year.
As this is my last story for the year, I'd like to acknowledge and thank 'Firsttimewriting' and 'Henry Hungwell' for all the feedback, support and encouragement that they have given me this year.
Finally, I would like to thank all the readers of my stories for the feedback and interest in my writing -- I hope that you continue to enjoy my writing into the future.
As always, all comments and feedback are welcomed.
HF
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"Good morning, Mrs Lancaster," the class chorused in response to Emily's arrival at the classroom door. Despite the students in the Lower Sixth Form English class being either 17 and 18 years old, the Prestwood School maintained some traditions that other schools thought quaint or belonged in the junior years. One of these traditions was the ritual greeting of their teacher at the beginning of the class.
"Good morning, class," Emily replied as she moved around her desk at the front of her classroom, her polished leather heels tapping lightly against the wooden floor. She placed her tablet and several books down on the desk as the students prepared themselves for the class -- one of Emily's favourites, Othello.
It was Monday morning and uncharacteristically sunny outside, or at least what passed for sunny in Surrey in December, the dull, winter sunlight streaming through the tall Victorian windows of the classroom, illuminating the lined-up desks and the eager -- or in some cases, indifferent -- faces of her students. Emily's shoulder-length chestnut brown hair was pulled back in a neat bun, and her fitted navy pencil skirt and white blouse gave her an air of professional poise -- perfect for her role as the Deputy Head of English at the school.
Yet beneath the polished exterior, and the smiling face, Emily's mind flickered with unbidden memories of the Saturday just past. Every one of the students in the class would have been stunned and shocked if they knew what had transpired between their beloved English teacher and one of their fellow students in the Upper Sixth Form, Darius Okoro, at the highly anticipated final football game of the year between Prestwood and their arch rivals, St. Mark's School.
His hands gripped her hips as he stood behind her in the cramped storage room. The sound of his breathing, the weight of him against her, the unrelenting need in his touch. The feeling of him entering her from behind, his black cock burrowing into her married pussy. Her soft, passionate moans, muffled by her hand, lest his nearby teammates realise what was happening. The warm, wet rush of his potent African seed flooding her English womb.
Emily shook herself inwardly, doing her best to keep her expression calm. Focus, Emily. Focus.
"Right," she began, her voice steady despite the turmoil churning in her mind. She had to stay focused; no one could know about what she and Darius had been doing. It had been a risk, the first time that had taken such a risk at school. Deep down, though, she felt an illicit twinge of excitement from what they had done as if the risk had been a drug... and she wanted more. She pushed this disconcerting realisation aside. "This morning, we'll be starting work on a group assignment to explore the themes of power and manipulation in Shakespeare's Othello. By the end of the period, you need to present an outline of your approach. The final presentation will be done when we return after the break in January." She paused, looking around the class for any questions. There were none, yet and she continued. "I've decided to pair you up randomly, so listen carefully for your partner."
The class exchanged glances, some groaning softly at the prospect of being paired with someone they wouldn't have chosen. Despite the conflicting thoughts in her mind about her ongoing affair with Darius, Emily suppressed a smile. Group work was always a wildcard.
As she started randomly pairing students, her eyes landed on Genevieve Fairfax, sitting at the back. Genevieve, with her neat brunette ponytail and a pair of glasses perched on her nose, always seemed content to keep to herself. The slim, willowy girl was bright but reserved, rarely speaking unless called upon.
"Genevieve Fairfax," Emily called, her gaze sweeping the room. Who to pick for her? "You'll be working with..." She paused, her eyes flicking to a boy two rows ahead. "Matthew Odinga."
Matthew looked up, startled. Tall and broad-shouldered, with close-cropped black hair, dark brown skin and an easy smile, he was the son of a Kenyan diplomat stationed in London. He was confident, articulate, and well-liked, though his natural charm often made it easy for him to coast through assignments without much effort.
Genevieve blinked, clearly surprised, while Matthew raised an eyebrow, his expression mildly amused.
"You two haven't worked together before," Emily said smoothly, addressing the class as much as them, "but I think this will be an excellent opportunity to challenge each other and bring out some fresh perspectives. Matthew, I expect you to take this seriously. Genevieve, I know you'll keep him on track."
A few snickers rippled through the class, and Matthew gave a mock salute, drawing a faint smile from Genevieve. Or was it a grimace, Emily thought to herself? No matter, she needs to come out of her shell more, this will help her.
Emily's lips twitched in approval as she moved on to assign the next pair. Outwardly, she remained composed, but her thoughts wandered again, this time to the two students she had just paired. An unlikely pairing, much like her and Darius.
