Betrayal of Trust

I think it must have been some kind of temporary insanity. What other way is there to explain where I found myself that day? Driving in my car, naked from the waist down, not knowing exactly what was going to happen when I reached the address that was written on the paper lying on the seat between my bare legs.

One thing I was sure about—the arousal was just leaking out of me and pooling on the cool leather seat. Then there was the fact that each time I stopped for a traffic light, I got this amazing tingling deep in my belly, wondering whether someone would pull up along side in a tall SUV and be able to look inside my compact car. Or what if I got stopped by a cop for a warning about a faulty brake light? I was not really sure whether the tingling came from dread or anticipation.

Here I was. Susan Robertson, respected school teacher. I'd been teaching senior English at Kennedy High School for almost 15 years—ever since I graduated from college. Teaching was what I'd always wanted to do. When I was six years old, I would line all my dolls up on my bed and read them stories. In one way or another, I'd been teaching ever since.

I love words, I love language, I love literature, and I love sharing my passion with my students. And if I do say so myself, I'm pretty good at it. I'd been nominated as our district's teacher of the year twice and had the respect of my colleagues. I wondered what the people I have coffee with every day in the teachers' lounge would think if they could see me now?

I'm sure they would think that I'd gone crazy. That's what I thought, too.

And I really wondered what my husband would think! I'd been married to the same man—Dave—since one month after we graduated college. We'd met our freshman year and were each other's first serious relationship. We'd been generally happy for the past 14 years. But my state of partial undress in a semipublic place made me think that perhaps I should have experimented just a bit more before settling down to a pretty vanilla sex life.

Just then, a van pulled up beside me at a red light. "Shit!" I thought to myself, "The driver's looking over this way." I was certain he could see that I was only wearing a little crop top that exposed a good deal of my stomach. But that was not the worst of it. Today it exposed a good deal more since I didn't have another stitch on. Instinctively, I tried to pull the short top down a little bit, but it did absolutely no good.

"Oh god!" I thought, "He's looking over at me." His eyes were playing over my breasts. Of course, that always happens. I have a nice pair—36C—and the little red top clung to them nicely. I looked over at him and smiled weakly, thinking that might distract him a bit. I hoped he would focus on my dark brown eyes and my full mane of dark brown hair that everyone compliments me on.

The distraction seemed to be working for a moment. But then his eyes slid lower. "Oh shit!" I thought. "There's the double-take. He's seen me."

His eyes locked on my pussy. And as they did, I began to leak even more. By then, the paper that contained the address was all wet with my juices.

Finally, the light turned green, and I mashed down on the gas. Mine wasn't a powerful sports car—it was a little compact that Dave and I could afford on two teachers' salaries (Dave teaches math at the middle school). But I made a fast left at the end of the next block and Mr. Van Man flew past on the right, his head hanging out of the driver's window trying for one final peek.

All right, more about how I got myself into this situation. Almost every school year, there's one student who really gets to you. My rookie year as a teacher, there was Sean Anderson. This kid was always causing trouble, talking, telling jokes and generally testing my ability as a new teacher to control my class. But every time he'd push me right to the edge and I was ready to march him down to the principal's office, Sean would flash this wonderful "who me?" smile and I'd just have to smile back at him.

He really knew how to manipulate me. And I enjoyed it. I hear he's a lawyer now. It figures.

Then a few years later, there was Jenny Scott, a pretty little girl who hardly ever opened her mouth in class. I knew there was a lot going on behind those blue eyes of hers and I wanted so badly to draw it out of her. About halfway through the year, I managed to develop a nice rapport with her, and she would stay behind after class and we'd talk. I learned she had a lot of trouble at home with her step-father, and I found her some help with that. She still sends me an email every now and then from the high school where she now teaches . . . English.

This year, there was another one of those kids. Her name is Julie Wright, and believe it or not, she's the reason I was driving my car in a state of full sexual arousal, trying with all my might to keep from reaching down and playing with myself after almost cumming when Mr. Van Man saw me.

From the first day of school, I had a hard time taking my eyes off Julie. She was not the prettiest girl in the class. But she had this... this presence about her. Oh, she was pretty, all right, with shining black hair cascading just below her shoulders. And these soulful dark brown eyes. They just seemed to lock onto me and draw me in from that first day.

Julie was shorter than the average high school girl, a little over five feet tall, so she had to look up at me when we stood together, since I am 5-8. But there were times when she would look at me and I felt like the smaller one. Despite her short stature, she had a very nice little figure. Her hips were full and nicely rounded, accented by a narrow waist. At the first of the school year, her breasts seemed not all that remarkable. But with just about a month of school remaining, I noticed that she seemed to have filled out more as the year went on. Since it was rather unusual for an 18-year-old to bloom so late, I wondered whether she might have joined the ranks of high school and college girls who had had breast augmentation surgery. However, what little I knew about Julie's rather modest circumstances, I concluded that her nicely-developed curves were all natural.

She was quite popular with the boys. As a matter of fact, she developed quite a reputation during the course of the year. Occasionally, I'd catch little snippets of conversations as I walked by the tight bunches of girls huddled together in the halls between classes and after school.

"Did you hear what Julie did...?"

"Oh my god, she didn't do that!"

"She's such a slut..."

It made me want to grab one or two and shake them and tell them to quit gossiping, but Julie didn't seem to mind at all. She had this inner confidence that just let her go on her way, seemingly not concerned at all about what her peers were saying about her. But it did seem clear that she was quite sexually adventurous. I guess that's why I started thinking about her like that.

I know exactly when I started thinking of Julie that way. One afternoon in October, she was sitting there on the front row, wearing this short little denim skirt that was riding way up. She was wearing a white tank top that allowed her bra straps to peek out from underneath, and a pair of blue flip flops.

The class was working on a written assignment and I was sitting at my desk grading papers. I happened to glance down at Julie's feet and noticed that her toes were painted a bright red. I remember thinking how cute they looked. My eyes sort of drifted upward along her legs until I caught a brief glimpse of her panties peeking out from under her very short skirt.

It was not unusual for me to see something like that from my vantage point at the front of the room, and I'd learned to ignore it unless it was too blatant or happened too often. If it did, I'd ask the offending young lady to stay a minute after class so I could remind her of the virtues of modesty.

But this time, for some reason, I felt that familiar little fluttering in my stomach—the one that signals the early stages of sexual arousal. Unfortunately, I hadn't felt it much at home lately, since Dave had been busy teaching at the middle school and taking classes toward his master's degree in the evening.

It was something I was not used to feeling while I was concentrating on teaching, and it made me uncomfortable. Nevertheless, my eyes lingered as I tried to see a bit more of what might be there between Julie's firm young thighs. I could feel my pulse quicken a little, and I knew I was beginning to lubricate. My mind began to wander back to some of the stories I'd heard about this sexy senior, who was supposedly giving blow jobs to college guys at weekend frat parties at the local university. There was even one rumor involving a male teacher, but I refused to believe it.

Regardless, my mind drifted to thoughts of Julie's pretty young lips enveloping the straining cock of some horny frat boy, pumping it up and down, grasping it tightly with her hand, and soon eliciting an explosion of semen, which she was not quite able to contain in her mouth. The vision of her with liquid pearls of the hot, sticky goo dripping from her chin actually made my pussy spasm.

Just then a dropped book at the back of the class brought me back from my daydream. Or was it a fantasy? At any rate, when I looked up, Julie's piercing brown eyes were locked on mine. She obviously knew I had been staring at her, and she knew exactly where I was staring.

I know my face must have given me away because I could feel the heat of my embarrassment rise up from my neck and envelop my face. Even my ears got hot. But, rather than share in my shame, Julie just smiled this enigmatic little smile and shifted her weight in her chair. If anything, her dress rode even higher than before and her thighs may have parted just a little further.

I was saved by the bell, literally, and everyone jumped up and headed home for the weekend. I just sat there at my desk in the empty classroom, my heart pounding, and with a noticeable dampness in my conservative school teacher panties. I thought to myself, "What the hell just happened?"

And I remember hoping that Dave would be home long enough that evening to fuck my brains out. It was clear that I needed some sex.

********

From that day on, I couldn't keep my mind, or my eyes, off Julie. It was sort of like when someone tells you not to think about a pink elephant. After that, you can't think of anything else. It seemed no matter where I looked as I was standing in front of the class, my eyes always ended up on Julie. I knew exactly what she wore every day. How she fixed her hair. I noticed when her nipples pressed against the fabric of her tops. Most days, I knew what color panties she was wearing.

And there were a lot of nights, when Dave was away at school, that I would luxuriate in a hot bath before bedtime, while letting my mind drift to thoughts of this girl who had nearly taken me over. I'd picture what she must look like without her clothes on. Imagine what she looked like having sex with those boys. Wondering whether she really got any enjoyment out of it.

My hands would drift over my full breasts as they floated weightlessly in the soapy water. My nipples would harden as I thought of how I'd love to caress her, touch her, make sure she knew how good sex could be when someone took their time with her and wasn't just in it for themselves.

It wouldn't take long until one hand was between my legs while the other pinched first one nipple, then the other. I'd bring myself to orgasm night after night with the tight little body of Julie Wright as the last image in my mind before I plunged over the cliff and came.

Lying in bed alone one night after one of those wonderful orgasms, I first began to realize that I actually wanted something to happen between Julie and me. Up to that point, I'd never even thought of myself as bisexual. My only sexual experience with another female came in the aftermath of a drunken party in college my freshman year. It started with my roommate, Karen, and I playfully kissing each other on the dance floor as a way of turning our dates on. It worked! And it was fun, as best I can recall.

Later that night, when we were back in our dorm room, Karen, surprised the hell out of me when she said, "Did you like it when we were kissing?" Her speech betrayed the amount of alcohol we'd consumed that night.

"Yeah," I responded, trying very hard not to reveal the excitement that this conversation was beginning to generate.

"Do you wanna do it some more?" she asked, very matter-of-factly.

I swallowed hard and whispered, "I guess so... "

And with that, Karen walked across the room, and sat down beside me on my bed. I could smell the alcohol on her breath (as I'm sure she could on mine), as she leaned a little closer, closed her eyes and kissed me tentatively on the lips. I still remember the taste of her lip gloss and the wonderful smell of her light brown hair.

We kissed for quite a long time, very quietly so as not attract the attention of our other two suitemates who we thought might have been in their adjoining bedroom. We weren't sure they were around, but we were too involved to stop and check it out. It wasn't long before we managed to position our legs just right so we could grind our pussies on each other's thigh. We must have kissed and humped for an hour, all the while getting more and more aroused and less and less concerned about who else might be nearby.

Suddenly, I felt this familiar tingling deep in my belly—something I'd only experienced up to that time as I pleasured myself. Soon, the tingling developed into a throbbing that I couldn't control. Even though I tried to stop so as not to cry out and attract unwanted attention, I couldn't. It was too late. I'd had my first orgasm with another person—a girl--while I held tight to my roommate and ground my spasming pussy against her leg.

Quite often during my masturbation sessions in the bath tub, I would start off remembering this drunken, sexy episode with my college roommate. But by the time I came, it would be Julie that I was kissing. Julie's leg that I clutched tightly to my throbbing cunt.

This, I believe, was the beginning of my temporary insanity. I only wish I knew when it would end.

********

I can't even describe the guilt I was feeling at just the thought of having sex with one of my students. I'd read things in the newspaper and seen stories on television about teachers who get involved with their students. So I knew what I would be risking. Shame, humiliation, professional ostracism. Probably a criminal record, too. But when you're on fire with the craving for someone, all these things seem somehow unimportant. There is some rationalization process that makes you think you'll never get caught.

And so it was that I decided to act on my impulses, my urges. I remember it being almost an out-of-body experience as I developed my plan. I seemed to be looking at this other woman as she went about putting on a sexy yellow sundress that Saturday morning. I watched her as she first slipped on a pair of sexy yellow panties to match, then as she slipped them off again leaving herself naked underneath.

I watched as she painted her full red lips even redder with her favorite "fuck me" lipstick, and as she let her long dark hair fall loose on her tanned shoulders that were displayed so nicely, barely covered by the thin yellow straps.

I had looked Julie's address up in the principal's office on Friday before I left school, and I knew about where the apartment she shared with her mother was located. I also knew, from casual conversations with Julie during the year, that her mother always worked Saturdays as an assistant manager at one of the department stores in the mall.

So I had a good idea she would be alone that Saturday, or at least without parental supervision. Who knew whether she would have some friends there at the apartment with her? I fantasized a bit about what they would probably be doing if she did have company, but I hoped she would be alone.

On the drive over there, my heart was pounding just about the way it did that night with my roommate Karen, when I finally found out how good it feels when someone pushes just the right buttons... even if by accident. But today was going to be no accident; I had planned every step very carefully.

If it all worked out, my fantasies about Julie Wright would become real. I would no longer dream about taking her nipples between my lips and sucking them, making them swell with arousal. I would do it! I would make her cum. I would show her how good it can feel when your whole body tenses with the delicious throbbing, tingling, pulsing feeling that courses through you when you climax.

By the time I pulled into the parking lot outside Julie's building, my legs were shaking so hard I was afraid I couldn't walk the short distance to the stairs that led to her second story apartment. Having little experience myself with Sapphic sex, I was not overly confident with my ability to pleasure Julie the way I had in my fantasies. However, I was so on fire with wanting her that any self-doubt was overcome by desire.

It turned out that my shaky legs would not have to make the climb to Julie's apartment, at least not yet. As I rounded the corner, I saw Julie sunning herself on a lawn chair that was sitting on a little patch of grass not far from the steps to her apartment. The early afternoon sun was baking her firm, young body, which looked especially ripe and delicious in a tiny black bikini. I marveled at how curvy her body had become. I no longer saw my English student. I saw an incredibly sexy young woman.

"Hello, Julie," I said, trying to sound as professional as possible, despite my voice catching in my dry throat.

"Mrs. Robertson? What are you doing here?"

"There's an issue from school that I need to discuss with you, Julie. Can we go inside for a minute? That is, if we won't be disturbing your mother."

"Oh, Mom's working today. She won't be home until around eight tonight."

Julie just looked at me through her dark sunglasses. It was hard to get a read on what she was thinking when I couldn't see those expressive eyes of hers. But she did seem happy to see me, though a little puzzled by why I would come to her home, rather than talking to her in school.

"Julie, dear," I asked again, "did you not hear what I said? She seemed to be staring at me with this strange look on her face, not hearing a thing I'd been saying. Of course, I'd taken the opportunity to admire her ripe young body as she lay there in the sun in that tiny bikini, her body glistening with a thin film of perspiration and suntan lotion.

My eyes lingered on her firm, round bottom that was almost completely exposed in her tiny string bikini, with just a very thin strip of black fabric nestled snugly between her cheeks.

"I asked if we could go inside for a minute. I want to talk with you about your final grade in my class," I repeated, finally seeming to get her attention.

"Oh, er, sure, I guess so," she finally responded haltingly. At the same time she let her sunglasses slip down her nose and I saw a look flash through her eyes as she stared back at me. It was a look I'd seen before, on those times when she'd caught me trying to peek between her firm thighs in class. It was the look that told me she was excited, rather than put off by my attentions. And it was exactly the same look I could see in her eyes right then.

I watched closely as she stood and picked up her towel, preparing to lead me into her apartment. Encouraged by the look I saw in her eyes, I allowed my gaze to take her all in, starting with her shiny black hair and ending at the tips of her toes, which were once again painted in that bright red color. It was the same color my mother used to call "whore red." Hmmmmm.