Read the other chapters first for best results. This will do it for Natalie and Mr Herrick; they're just not suited for each other. But I'm sure they'll both be back sometime.
Thanks for reading.
* * *
By December, Natalie and I had turned into a sick, twisted version of a couple.
Having thoroughly dominated me in my own classroom, then gone on to overwhelm me in my own bed and to manipulate my own wife, Natalie was in firm control of my life. She had what she craved, what got her off: power. I could see it every time she looked into my defeated eyes, feel it every time she clutched my body between her slender thighs as she rode me: the reminder of who was in charge. She never had to speak of it, never had to threaten me, but it was a slap in the face each time her vagina tightened around my cock. And I knew she only came because she had power over me. It was her sickness, her addiction.
We lay there in my bed one Sunday afternoon; my wife had taken the kids to some sort of event while I was "tutoring" Natalie, the poor innocent waif with nonexistent family issues my wife had taken a shine to. It had even been my wife who insisted we move the tutoring sessions from the school to our home; Natalie had demurely agreed.
She always insisted on showering before sex, and we'd done so, Natalie gamely taking to her knees to give me a powerful blowjob as the water came down; she said she liked to start with a clean slate so that she could be filthy in our bed, making sure her sweat and our cum were spattered where my wife slept. This afternoon she lay there, leaking my semen into the sheets while she sucked moodily at the glass of wine she'd asked for. Turning her head absently, she wiped her forehead on my wife's pillow. "You should give Chloe an A on her next test," she said suddenly. "She needs better grades, and you know what an idiot she is."
I coughed tactfully. "Chloe does no work and fails half her tests, getting Ds on the other half," I pointed out. "An A or two now isn't going to help this semester."
"Oh. Well, then just change her whole grade. Maybe give her a C+. It was her birthday last week." She drained the wine, held out her glass for another pour. Sitting up in bed, I twisted to get the bottle. "She's 18 now, just like me."
"You shouldn't be drinking, Natalie."
"You shouldn't be fucking me, Scott," she shot back. "Just go ahead and stop pouring if you want to. I'll withhold sex for a couple weeks, and then where will you be? Back to trying to fire your cum into your fat hog of a wife." She sipped precisely. "You need me now, Mr Herrick. I've gotten you addicted to my body, to my cunt. You'll never be able to go back to screwing her. But," she added viciously, "you can feel free to imagine me naked as you jack off. Just stop pouring, and all that can be yours!" She set the glass carefully down on the bedside table, then calmly moved over to squat above my ribs. She pushed her vagina lewdly toward my face while she ran her palms up and down her long, lithe body. "Go ahead. Turn me down. Tell me you don't want to fuck me anymore."
I closed my eyes.
"Good. Then keep pouring and give Chloe a passing grade." Her eyes took on a faraway expression, then, as she felt something poking softly at her ass. "Well now. I think I've made you hard again. Imagine that." She twisted to glance over her shoulder, then came back around and patted my cheek. "Shit, Mr Herrick, that's three erections today. I think you really, really like me." She chortled. "I guess we've got time for one more..."
* * *
Chloe Bishop stayed in her desk when the bell rang a couple days later. This was rare enough that I figured I should go buy a lottery ticket later and wish on a blue moon. I started putting my stuff into my backpack, smiling pleasantly at her. "This is an unexpected surprise, Chloe. Are you staying for extra help?"
"Something like that," she said absently, toying with her hair. She was looking at me sideways with a crafty gleam in her eye. I'd put her in the front row to keep her from chatting during class, and she sat there now with a little smile. "I actually need some... some advice, I guess. About a little situation I'm having."
There was something in her tone that warned me, and I stopped putting my stuff away to look down at her. Short, very short; Chloe needed heels to clear five feet, but she stuffed a powerful cheerleader's body into that small package. Her legs were muscular and very well-defined in the black yoga pants she was wearing, her waist narrow but solid with years of sit-ups; strong arms now spun lazily in her hair. She was, I'm ashamed to say, a young lady whom male teachers were always gazing at, furtively, in the halls as she walked away: her ass was famous among the whispered conversations of the staff room, a thing of wonder that undulated and jiggled in a most delightfully sexy way. Her face was fine: not particularly beautiful, and spoiled by a slightly crooked nose, and, most often, a scowl, but all the same she looked as fresh and lovely as most 18-year-old girls. Her hair was short, straight, colored an indeterminate shade of dirty blonde.
Her main feature, completely out of place on such a compact frame, were a pair of breasts that would have seemed large even on a woman two feet taller and about fifty pounds heavier. They loomed out of her tight, ribbed grey tanktop like two bullet trains, barely restrained by the heavy engineering of what must have been an expensive and well-made bra, today in sky-blue lace that peeked from her shoulders. Her cleavage seemed deep enough to cause an echo. They were responsive, too; a drop of just half a degree on any room's thermostat seemed to cause nipple expansion to an alarming degree, myself among the many men in the building who had noticed. Who couldn't help but notice, really.
Even now, I knew my eyes were dwelling on her massive tits, the top quarter of them tanned and visible, and she shifted proudly forward in her desk to accentuate them; Chloe was a girl who loved attention. I shook my head. "What's on your mind?"
