Violets Are Blue

On that wild Thursday in the middle of April, when her life changed for the better, Violet Graves woke up with a violent headache, accidentally knocked over an entire shelf of medicine while searching for the aspirin, washed down the last two aspirin in the bottle with warm, bitter water, took out the trash, stepped in a pile of squishy dog crap, tripped over her little brother’s bike, breaking a fingernail, then returned to the house to clean out the cat’s litter box, do the dishes, sweep the floor and prepare bacon, eggs, sausage and cinnamon rolls for breakfast. All this before the clock struck 7:00 AM.

She remained positive during the entire stretch of bad luck and cruel manual labor, knowing deep down it could be a hell of a lot worse. At nineteen, Violet could’ve been in college and should’ve been out of the house, but bad luck and low test scores had her singing a different tune. Her parents were delighted to have her home, under the conditions that she get a job and work hard around the house. Trapped in the house she grew up in while old friends discovered the wild side of freedom. Violent suddenly felt like a sad, lonely prisoner.

After convincing her hopeless mind that things could only get better from this point, Violet set the table, prepared four plates, poured two cups of orange juice, one cup of milk and prepared one mug of coffee, cream and two table spoons of sugar. She woke her little brother up first, then her parents, who hadn’t been dragged out of sleep by the radio’s alarm for the third straight morning. Breakfast, despite all the bad things happening in her life, was successful as usual.

Twenty minutes after breakfast, Violet watched her mother and father leave for work. Her dad was a pretty successful lawyer working in a three man firm, her mom was a great third grade teacher. Violet kissed them both good-bye, wished them very successful days, promised her dad she wouldn’t give her brother a hard time and watched them pull away in their brand new black Jaguar. Her little brother retired to his bedroom, once there he’d go on the Internet, download porn and screw around in a chat room until it was time for school. To be a thirteen year old boy. Oh so gross! Violet found her first smile of the day.

After finishing the breakfast dishes, Violet went to the cabinet below the sink and pulled out a big bag of cat food. She filled two bowls with awful smelling stuff, then poured water into a third bowl. The two house cats were greedy when it came to food and honestly hated one another. They’d fight to the death for the water. Melanie and Blossom were upon the food in moments, growling frantically as they crunched away. “Breakfast is served,” she told the cats. Violet quickly left the kitchen because she didn’t care much for the eating habits of these freaky pets.

Violet checked around the house, looking for chores that may have slipped her mind. After thoroughly checking each room, she found no errors. The house was entirely clean. She’d earned her twenty minutes of peace in the shower.

In her bedroom, Violet went to her closet, pulled out a faded pair of denim jeans and a black tee shirt with a shattered pink heart featured in the center. Above the heart in big red words read: NAUGHTY GIRL AT WORK!!! She took a pair of black panties from the top bureau drawer, thought about grabbing a bra, but decided to spend the rest of the day braless.

Moments later she was in the bathroom, setting her clothes on the closed lip of the toilet bowl. She had closed the shades of the window, found the perfect water temperature for her shower, and pulled yesterday’s shirt over her head when the telephone rang downstairs.

“Shit,” she yelled out in frustration, and immediately put the shirt back on.

Running down the stairs and into the kitchen at half speed, Violet was able to answer the phone on the eighth ring. Out of breath, pulling out a chair from under the kitchen table to sit, Violet uttered an exhausted, “Hello.”

“Hello,” the called said. “I’m looking for a Violet Graves.”

“Speaking.” The voice sound vaguely familiar, however, she could quite put a face to the deep voice.

“This is Mr. Moore. Your old Creative Writing teacher.”

Images of sitting in Mr. Moore’s class flooded through her mind. She remembered this teacher well. Violet found herself excited to hear from him again.

“Oh my God! Wow! Mr. Moore! It’s been almost a year.”

“I hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time. You sound absolutely out of breath.”

“I was in the shower. I had to run down the stairs, but its okay. It’s nice to be talking to you again.”

She had so many questions to ask her old teacher, but she knew if Mr. Moore stayed on the line long enough, he’d explain himself.

“So what’s up?” Violet asked.

“Well I was driving by the old school and I start thinking of my old students. Mrs. Rogers tells me you’re still living at home.”

Mrs. Rogers had been her nosy counselor in high school. Violet truly loathed that skinny, short, bitter lady. “She speaks the truth. Things haven’t been going my way.”

“It’s sad to hear that,” he said. He managed to make his heavy, serious voice ooze with concern. “You were on of my better students.”

Violet found herself uncharacteristically blushing. She’d always had a crush on Mr. Moore, even though he was almost fifty. He had a Sean Connery or Michael Douglas kind of old man charm. She often found herself fantasizing about while he lectured the class. She wondered what his naked body would feel like pressed against her, what it would feel like to have him inside her, and many more fantasies that could fill an entire book of erotic stories.

“Listen,” he said, “I have a day off and since I’m the neighborhood, I thought maybe we could grab some lunch, have a little chat.”

The blush became even brighter. An entire afternoon with Mr. Moore. There was nothing she’d rather do. “Sure,” she said a little too fast. Violet was sure she’d just made a fool out of herself.

“That’s great,” Mr. Moore said as if he hadn’t heard anything wrong. She gave him the address, then told him bye. By the time Violet hung up the phone, her heart was hammering so hard she thought it might explode. Even her legs felt shaky and weak. She felt completely juvenile letting herself get like this, but she couldn’t help herself. After three minutes, Violet found the strength to walk up the stairs and step into the shower. The erotic thoughts were assaulting her mind in a fury.

She undressed slowly and looked at herself in the mirror, wondering what she had to offer Mr. Moore. Violet’s face is heart shaped, with cute little ears, small button nose, a generous chin, high cheek bones. Her has shoulder length black hair with red and blond streaks, sparkling emerald green walnut shaped eyes, full pink lips, perfect white teeth, though there’s a minor gap between her two front teeth.

Her body is coated by a perfect bronze tan, which shined in the bathroom light. Her skin was smooth like silk. Her breasts are small and full. The surface of her nipples are the size of half dollars and going up they form perfect little cones. She has a nice ass, long legs, a flat stomach and ugly little feet. She remained pimple and blackhead free all her life and never surrendered to the urge of make up. Her face was better off without it, her mother said once, and Violet believed every word. She stood at five foot six and weighed about one hundred and ten pounds.

Violet wanted to make some changes before leaving the house with Mr. Moore. She looked exactly the same as she did the day she left his classroom. She smiled at the mirror, thinking naughty thoughts, like the reflection she saw. Violet could only hope Mr. Moore and had more on his mind than lunch and a chat. And if he did-

This thought scared and excited Violet at the same time. What would she do? It was easy to have fantasies, but when reality showed its face, it became a different situation. Violet set the uncomfortable thoughts out of her mind. She wasn’t a virgin, she’d taken care of that when she was sixteen. If things did become wild, she would act normal and let things play out naturally. With that in mind, she stepped in the shower. The world no longer seemed very dark.

The warm water erupted over her exquisite body. She ducked her head under the wonderful water, letting to soak her sweaty face. Her hair became soaked immediately. She turned around and let the water spray against her back. Water leaked down the crack over ass, over her ass and down her legs. She washed her hair first, scrubbing it as clean as possible three times.

In three minutes she was completely clean, but Violet didn’t feel like rejoining the outside world quite yet. She couldn’t stop thinking about her fantasies. In many of the fantasies, Mr. Moore would ask her to stay after class. Sometimes he would punish her for not doing her best. Other times she would punish him for being a naughty teacher. In one fantasy, Violet punished her teacher for misspelling a word. The punishment was a simple, fair one. He was to eat her pussy until he made up for being a bad teacher.

Without quite realizing it, Violet’s hands were moving down her body. They went from her breasts, down to her stomach, and continued to move further down. Her nipples were hard with passion. Not even the water was going keep Violet from burning in desire.

In the fantasy she was spread eagle on Mr. Moore’s desk. Mr. Moore’s head was between her legs, vigorously fingering her clit while his tongue worked its magic. Violet is screaming out in passion, unable to control herself, on the verge of drawing attention, but unable to do anything.

“Lick my pussy,” she tells the shower. Her fingers move gently up and down over the trimmed pubic hair. Even the slightest movement of her fingers cause passion to build inside her. She could sense her pussy becoming damp, despite the falling water all around her.

The fantasy plays on. His head is completely buried in her pussy. Mr. Moore’s lips and chin are soaked with her pussy juices. She squeals louder, urging him to move his tongue faster.

Her clit was slippery wet with cunt juice and water, and as she rolled it between her fingers, waves of pleasure washed over her body. She slid three fingers deep inside her cunt and gently moved them back and forth. Her eyes rolled. She licked her lips. With free hand she moved around her breasts and stomach.

In the fantasy the fingers belonged to Mr. Moore, and the gently spraying water acted out the roll of tongue. She was screaming with her eyes closed, begging Mr. Moore not to stop, telling him how good it felt.

The fingers began pumping into her vagina with more fury. Her soft, tough fingers triggered an intense climax, with a violent release. The shaking was furious that Violet almost fell down.

“Now I want to fuck you,” Mr. Moore said. She could see his eyes peaking from between her legs. He slowly stood up, unzipping his pants. He reached into the slit left by the open zipper. He begins to pull something out.

“VIOLET,” came a shout from behind the bathroom door. All at once the fantasy dissolved into nothingness.

“What?” she shouted back, feeling angry and deprived.

“You’ve been in there forever. I’ve got to wash up and go to school.” Her brother’s voice sounded more annoying and squeaky than ever. She was furious. Violet wanted to live in this fantasy.

“I’ll be out in a minute.”

Bereft, Violet turned off the water and stepped out the shower, longing for Mr. Moore’s soft, wet tongue between her legs. The tingle between her legs would drive her insane if it wasn’t soothed.

***

As soon as she felt prepared to leave, Violet went to the front door and was just in time to see the rusted, beat down, beige station wagon pull to the curb in front of her house. She stepped outside, gently closed the door behind her, and hurried down the walkway.

A single raindrop fell on her nose. The clouds were dark gray. The chance for rain was excellent. She could hear December, the family dog, barking in the backyard.

She hadn’t bothered with an umbrella or a jacket. She couldn’t remember where she placed the umbrella or the jacket the last time she used them, and looking would only waste time. Besides, Violet and Mr. Moore weren’t going anywhere.

The driver’s door of the travesty of a beige station wagon opened up and tall man in his late forties to early fifties stepped out. His salt and pepper hair and goatee reminded Violet of their age difference, but she refused to be turned away. Mr. Moore was more handsome than she remembered. He was tall at six one, weighed about one eighty. As she got closer she saw his enchanting hazel eyes, his big ears and thick nose. He wore a simple white shirt and jeans. Very casual.

“Nice to see you again,” Violet said.

Mr. Moore walked around the car. He surprised her with a friendly a hug and a peck on the cheek. He did neither while she attended high school at Rhodes High. Although, Mr. Moore now taught at Plummer High, in a town ten miles from where they stood.

“The pleasures all mine,” he said.

“How’ve you been, Mr. Moore.”

“The names Chuck. Mr. Moore’s my schoolyard name.”

She giggled. He had his charm. Nobody said anything for a few moments. They stood there like a couple of jackasses. Finally, Violet broke the silence.

“Would you like to come inside for a while?”

“Sure.”

“Just follow me.” Mr. Moore followed Violet inside the house. Out the corner of her eye, to her delight, she saw Mr. Moore checking out her ass.

Once inside, Violet stopped playing games. She told Mr. Moore to have a seat on the sofa. It took her a few moments to tell him how she felt. By the time she was done, Mr. Moore was in awe.

“Well,” she began, paused, then searched for the right words. “What do you think?”

Violet sat down beside him. She couldn’t read his face. Mr. Moore was true poker player. He was like a book written in French, she couldn’t read him.

“Are you serious?” he finally asked.

“One hundred percent. I’ve had a crush on you since the first day I saw you.”

“Think about the age difference.”

“I have.”

“This could never work out. I was your teacher for crying out loud. I wanted to have lunch. This has totally caught me off guard.”

“But are you disappointed?”

For this question, Mr. Moore had no answer. There was more silence.

“I think you want me,” she teased. Her big, sparkling eyes gazed into his soul. He couldn’t hide the truth. “Come on, Mr. Moore, let’s be naughty.” She showed him the motto on her shirt.

“Call me Chuck,” he corrected her.

Seeing the look in her eyes, he moved closer beside her, leaning back as he wrapped his strong hands around her waist and began to bite her ear. After a few seconds, Mr. Moore began to relax, and Violet melted into his body. He began to move his hands over her belly, slipping them up and underneath her shirt.

Mr. Moore began to kiss her neck and shoulders as he moved his hands to her small firm breasts. When he first touched them, he discovered Violet wasn’t wearing a bra. When she let out a soft moan, he picked her up, and with her directions, carried Violet to her room.

“Until you called,” she lectured, “I was having a real bad day. I stepped in dog crap, I broke a nail, you would believe how awful it was.”

“This is like some kind of story,” he said.

“Let’s hope for a happy ending.”

He set her on the edge of the bed, slipped her shirt over her head, and removed his own shirt, revealing a finely tuned body with gray chest hair. They lay down together, side by side on the bed, facing each other. He pulled her tightly against him and they kissed passionately for the next few minutes. As their tongues teased, Mr. Moore became aware of the incredible sensation of Violet’s breasts and hard nipples as they pressed against his chest.

His mouth finally departed from Violet’s to bite and kiss her neck, then her shoulders, then further down, leaving a trail of wet, sloppy kissed between her breasts. He softly stroked her firm breasts with his strong hands and moved his lips over them, cruelly avoiding her sensitive nipples, causing Violet gasp in frustration.

“I knew seen you act like this,” she told her old teacher.

“You never saw one of my Shakespeare lectures.”

She took him by the head and guided his mouth over her body as she stroked her leg over him. At last he took her nipples into his mouth, sucking and biting and pinching them into even greater sizes. As Mr. Moore lightly grazed his teeth across them, Violet let out a loud moan and started squirming underneath him.

He was slowly stroking his hands over the smooth skin of her back, tracing lines from her shoulders down to her sides, just passing the edges of her breasts and moving down to her waist. Mr. Moore returned to her breasts soon after, stopping to pay extra attention to her breasts. He completely soaked them with his tongue, then carefully blew his hot breath across her rock hard nipples.

“Oh please, Mr. Moore,” Violet begged, “hurry! I want this so bad! I want you eat my pussy. Please! Please!”

The sparkle in her eyes drove Mr. Moore wild with lust. He yanked her denim pants and her panties off and buried his face into Violet’s perfect pussy. She had her pubic hair trimmed fairly short, and cut into a heart design that was dyed red, swollen her swollen labia. It was amazing, Violet discovered, when fantasy became reality.

Using both his hands, Mr. Moore gently tugged her pink lips apart while rapidly licking up and down between them. Violet was beginning to get wild. She humped her pelvis into his face and began gasping about how great it felt. A fantasy come true. Like a cat enthralled with its food, Violet swore she could hear him growl.

He looked up between her legs. She moved them further apart, lifting her clitoral hood as he licked and bit between, making her really gooey. “I never knew you were this much of a slut. I kind of like this version of you.”

Violet had never expected to be called a slut by a teacher before, but hearing it from Mr. Moore was like music to her ears.

“Do you wonna cum, slut?” he asked.

“Make me cum, Chuck.”

“Call me Mr. Moore.” he laughed out loud.

Just as she was about to cum, he pulled her pussy lips apart as far as they would stretch and focused all his tongue activity right on her clit. In moments her body began to jerk spastically as a powerful, intense orgasm washed over her bronze body. It was the greatest thrill in her life.

“That was incredible,” she barely managed.

Mr. Moore was licking his lips, enjoying her nineteen year old juices. “Now its my turn. Have you ever sucked a cock, Violet.”

She shook her head. “Good,” he responded. “Then sucking mine shouldn’t be a problem.”

“I’d love to suck your cock, Mr. Moore.”

Kneeling between his legs, Violet unzipped his pants, reached in, and pulled his cock through the slit in his boxers. Mr. Moore was so stiff with passion that it took real effort to bend his prick forward and down.

She grasped his cock with her hand, massaging it with palm and fingers. The thick, circular tip pushed and shuddered against the smooth skin of her palm. Violet listens to Mr. Moore’s gentle moaning. Completely hard, his cock his seven inches long. Violet has seen bigger, but none that she wanted more. Her mouth was level with his cock. She licked her lips.

Violet leaned forward and ran the tip of her tongue up and across his balls, along his prick’s length to the head. The fine taste of his cock caused ribbons of passion to flare through her body.

She licked up, over and around the whole head, relishing the salty hardness and the musky aroma of his body. She slurped the head into her mouth slowly, licking between the pisshole, then the V-shaped ridge under its head. Slowly she allowed more cock to enter her mouth, licking the underside of his shaft as it vanished between her lips.