Bimbo Builder Academy Ch 03

"Harrison!"

There was the sound of a ringing slap as Miss St. John slapped her father across the face.

I winced, my eyes flicking to Principal Joseph Clayton where he sat at his desk next to me. Somehow, instead of watching the father-daughter fiasco, his eyes were on me. So, somehow, I managed to keep the calm expression on my face.

I remembered the principal's orders:

For now, you are here to observe, nothing more. You will speak only if spoken to.

I wondered why my student was calling her father by his first name. I wondered why he didn't react to her slap except to grin foolishly and shift in his seat, even as a red blush stained his cheek. I wondered how a man so dumpy and plain-looking could have such a stunningly gorgeous daughter.

The hand he had placed on her thigh, which had prompted the slap, remained in place.

Principal Clayton watched me.

I wondered whether this was normal.

I felt so calm. It must be normal.

I didn't say anything.

* * *

If my first few days at the Brighton Barnsworth Academy had been slow, torturous and intimidating, my second week had flown by with unbelievable speed.

I wasn't sure what it was, but I'd hit a groove in the classroom. Every day I came in with my lesson plans, and every evening at home I had to adapt them. We were covering so much material in class that I worried we'd finish the textbook halfway through the term. The days were like a blur, things moving so fast that I felt like I arrived at the Academy, blinked, and the day was already past. The kinks of the first few days seemed to have worked themselves out. In fact, I'd almost forgotten that there had been any kinks whatsoever.

I felt no hesitation now when my students filed into the room in all their stunning beauty. I just waited for them to sit down and then fell into the math, letting my experience and curiosity carry me through the lesson like I was just a man on a river, exploring the conceptual currents for the first time.

There were no interruptions. No questions. Just the sounds of my voice, and the marker on the white board, and my students' pencils on their papers. It wasn't just Natalie now. It seemed as if all of my students were embracing the subject.

It filled me with a glow of satisfaction.

And, of course, there was the low

hummm

, more of a sensation than a sound, that seemed to fill the air in the classroom. I never quite heard it, and when the soft

gong

sounded to end each lesson the sensation vanished.

Whatever it was, though, I'm sure it wasn't too important. Anyway, I was probably just imagining it.

I didn't feel the urge to explore the Academy again. I stayed in my office and my classroom, like Principal Clayton had suggested.

You never know when a student might need help,

I reminded myself.

And then it was Friday again. The week had gone by and I was walking into the Academy on autopilot, walking across the quad and up the stairs and I was halfway into my office when I realized that the principal was sitting behind my desk.

I stopped.

My hand was still on the knob.

"Good morning, sir..." My voice was deferential and a little hesitant. I hadn't seen the man all week. I hadn't even thought of him. Was that odd?

"Professor Sands," he said, his voice as deep and pleasant as I remembered. "Mitchell. How are you?" He rose, with a smile and an outstretched hand.

I shook it, relaxing. "Well. And you, sir?"

"A good week?" He ignored my question, but his smile was so easy that I couldn't take offense.

"Very good, sir. We're continuing on, ahead of schedule, and I may need to extend the subject matter of the course in order to keep up with us. If you approve?"

"That's very good, Mitchell. Of course I approve. I'm pleased you're forging ahead with so much enthusiasm." His eyes seemed, suddenly, almost too innocent and discerning. "No problems with your students, then?" It was almost as if he'd been waiting in my office before the start of my lessons just so he could ask

that

particular question.

I shook my head, ignoring the prickling sensation down the back of my neck.

There's nothing wrong.

"No, sir."

And I was, in fact, telling the truth. Since last week I had had no trouble from Miss St. John, and I'd been so focused on teaching that I hadn't had the energy or headspace to worry about Natalie. In fact, neither student had said more than a few words to me. Like all the others, they filed into the classroom, bent over their notes, and filed out.

It was almost uncanny.

But no, it was all quite standard. I was sure of that.

Everything is normal here.

"Was there anything else you needed?" I felt like I was breaking a long silence, but I knew that the principal had been speaking only a moment ago. Hadn't he?

The man raised his eyebrows and nodded. "Yes, yes indeed." He rubbed his chin and looked me up and down. "I like you, Mitchell. I don't mind saying it. You were a good hire. In spite of... you know."

I tried not to grimace at his reference to Denton. The injustice of it suddenly rose, hot and thick, in my throat. I wanted to scream. Forever judged by something I didn't even do. Well, something I didn't

really

do. And certainly not how they had portrayed it.

My expression of polite attentiveness stayed on my face.

But Joseph Clayton was already continuing on. His mouth was smiling but his eyes seemed almost hesitant. "We've recently been approached by several media outlets. They've heard about our little university and are intrigued by our high levels of discretion. So, naturally, they've asked if we'd be willing to give interviews..."

As he trailed off I raised my eyebrows. I supposed it made sense. Even an institute as private as the Academy had to be well-known in certain circles. Otherwise how would they get clients? But if it was free advertising, why did the idea seem to make the principal ill at ease? "And is there something I can do to help?"

The man pursed his lips and gave me another once over. "I think that hearing from the principal of the school would be one thing," he said after a short pause. "But to hear from the teacher, the man who is interacting with our students on a day to day basis, would be far more interesting and valuable."

I nodded. I supposed that made sense.

"Excellent!" Principal Clayton clapped his hands and rubbed them together. He suddenly seemed much more dynamic, and pleased — like I'd passed a test of some sort, or agreed to a task that would take a heavy weight off his mind. "I'm so glad that you'd be willing to do that for me."

Did I say that?

I wondered.

Well... I did ask if I could help.

Again, as I was thinking, the other man rolled onward. "How about we do a practice run today?" he suggested. "We have a visit from one of our clients... The... father, of course, of one of our girls."

I nodded.

I guess if I've already agreed to do some interviews, it makes sense to get practice.

"Okay. What do you need me to—?"

"Perfect." The man clapped me on the shoulder. "This won't be an interview, per se, of course. But I think that Mr. St. John will have some questions for you about school life and studies, as they pertain to his daughter."

Joseph Clayton sidled past me. "Just swing by my office after your classes, eh? He'll be here for a tour of the facilities and I'll save us some time at the end for him to meet you."

"Wait..." I suddenly felt a sinking sensation in my stomach as my mind caught up to his words. "Did you say St. John?"

The principal stopped in the doorway. He half-turned back and gave me a look. "Is something wrong, Professor Sands?"

I swallowed. I thought about the glowing green eyes and the straight blonde hair and the elegant figure of my least favorite student. I knew her eyes hadn't really been burning with angry emerald fire the last time we'd spoken, here in my office. But in my memory of our confrontation it suddenly felt as though they had been. They were bright and sharp in my mind's eye.

"No, sir. No problem."

The principal gave me a measured look, then a nod. "Good man," he said. Then he turned and strode away.

I wondered if Mr. St. John's tour would be as useless as mine had been.

* * *

"So how is Lena's progress? In the... ahem, classroom."

I blinked, realized that I was walking alongside Mr. Harrison St. John in the hallway outside of the principal's office, and shook my head. "Lena?" I asked.

Weird...

I thought.

Weren't we just inside...?

The short man gave me a glance. Then his watery blue eyes seemed to register the confusion in my face. "Lena St. John. My... daughter?" He shrugged his shoulders as he said it, the suit jacket bunching. I could tell that the buttons were straining across his ample stomach.

"Oh! Of course." I shook my head apologetically. "Of course. I'm sorry, sir. I'm not on a first name basis with any of the students. We prefer to keep things at a more professional distance, here."

The man nodded, his chins wobbling. "Joseph says you're the new professor."

"Yes, yes." I bobbed my head in agreement. We had been introduced already, of course, but now I wondered why I'd even been a part of the meeting with Principal Clayton. It mostly been the principal and his client speaking, with me and the man's daughter sitting silently and waiting.

I sat silently next to the principal. She sat primly next to her father. What a model pair they'd been.

The principal and the father spoke.

What did they talk about, again?

The details were hazy. Most of it had gone over my head.

No matter.

I supposed I must have lost concentration partway into the conversation and had simply been nodding along on autopilot.

"So, what do you think of the facility?" The man had moved on from the question about his daughter, acting almost as if it hadn't really mattered.

"The Academy, you mean?" I chuckled easily. "Mr. St. John, you say

facility

like this is some sort of government research center."

"Ahem, of course. Silly of me." The man looked suddenly uncomfortable, like he'd just remembered something he was supposed to do. Or supposed not to do. "What do you think of the... school?"

I didn't really wonder at his hesitation, though. "Oh, it's most definitely a high quality institution, sir." I wondered how much the principal wanted me to be a hype man and how much he wanted me to be a candid confessor. "I was actually surprised, to tell you the truth, by how devoted the students are to their studies. It's quite remarkable."

"Good, good..." The man seemed distracted, though, and when I followed his eyes I saw why.

We were just passing the doors to the quad, propped open to allow a cool afternoon breeze into the empty hallways. Through the doors, I could see that a familiar figure was hunched over a nearby table.

It was Natalie. She was facing half-away from us, so that we could see her in profile. Somehow I'd not even noticed in class, but she was wearing an outfit that left little to the imagination. Her jean shorts were cut dangerously high up her thighs and the tube top, in a mellow shade of purple, clung to her big, round, mouthwatering tits.

I blinked and felt the beginnings of a heat in my chest. There was a reason I shouldn't be looking at my student that way, but at the moment it was hard to remember.

Oh, yes... Julia.

"And who's that fine piece of ass?"

I shook my head and turned abruptly. "Mr. St. John!" I said. My tone was suddenly very dry and sharp, and my mind felt like it had snapped into focus. I glared at him.

The man nudged me with his elbow. "Come on, Professor Sands." He watched me carefully as he spoke, his eyes on my face. "Just a little guy talk."

I took a deep breath and felt the calm of it wash over me. "That's Natalie," I muttered. "One of your daughter's classmates."

He gave a low whistle of appreciation. "I wouldn't mind teaching her a thing or two, Professor Sands." He winked at me.

I shrugged, feeling myself relax.

It's just a little guy talk,

I told myself. "I wouldn't know," I thought. I felt my throat go dry as I remembered the feeling of her body, the heat between us. I swallowed.

"Ah well," he said, shrugging. But his eyes gleamed as he glanced her way again.

"Are you married, Mr. St. John?" I asked. I wasn't sure why the question leapt to my mind. I knew it couldn't be because I disliked the attention he was paying to Natalie.

That can't be it,

I told myself.

I knew there was a reason that I couldn't be jealous or possessive of my student.

Right. Girlfriend.

The man gave me a strange look. Thoughtful. It had a quality of surprise, like I'd seen on the faces of other professors when a student had asked a good question mostly by accident. "Not yet," he said, with a slowly widening smile. "Not yet..."

* * *

The father of my student nemesis drifted away and I returned to my office.

Strolling to the window and glancing out, I could see that he had gone back in the quad. His round body was squashed onto the bench across from Natalie, who had looked up from her studies. Her hair was tucked back behind her ears, and I could see the discarded earphones on the table. From this angle, just one floor up, I could see that she had been watching another video on her laptop, taking notes.

I couldn't understand why the other professors at the Academy used so many video lessons. First the astronomy class, or whatever

that

had been. And now it was twice I'd seen Natalie in the quad, studying over her laptop.

Lazy,

I thought.

At a place this elite the students should be getting personalized attention. Their teachers should know better.

Who could I would talk to, if I wanted to make a complaint? It didn't seem fair for me to be putting in so much effort for the girls while the other professors just YouTube'd their lessons. But going to Principal Clayton about it seemed like an extreme measure. Maybe I should just talk to the other teachers directly, ask them why they weren't doing their jobs.

Strange...

I thought suddenly. I wondered why Mr. St. John had called me

the

new professor instead of

a

new professor.

There are so many of us.

But as I started to call to mind the faces of my colleagues I found my mind was starting to wander.

Then, I recalled my conversation with Principal Clayton earlier in the morning.

To hear from

the

teacher,

he had said. The

man who is interacting with our students...

Hmm...

...

I shook my head. I'd been trying figure out something important, I knew.

No... Not that important.

I glanced out the window again.

Lena's father was leaning forward, smiling eagerly, but Natalie was sitting with a prim uprightness that conveyed a sense of distance.

Natalie was looking good today.

I felt the heat growing in my chest, a heaviness in the pit of my stomach. I felt my cock swell, bulging against my slacks. I shook my head, gritted my teeth and walked back to my paper-strewn desk.

Didn't I have work to do? I knew there was a reason I couldn't think about Natalie that way.

Wasn't there...?

I picked up my glasses, slid them up my nose and then sniffed. Grading assignments.

Oh joy.

And why was I happy that Natalie seemed uninterested in the other man's obvious flirtation?

* * *

As usual, I was the only one leaving the building at the end of the day. The students had disappeared and hallway was empty as I strode out of my office, across the checkered tile, down the stairs and pulled at the door to the quad.

I stopped with the door halfway open.

Natalie was still out there, hunched forward and staring into her laptop. Her hand was moving, taking notes without looking away from the screen.

It was late. The sunlight that filtered down into the courtyard was turning orange. It indicated to me that we were approaching sunset, much later than I usually stayed. Had I just been focused on my work? Or had I secretly been hoping to bump into her?

Alone.

I walked out onto the grassy quad.

"Hello, Natalie. It's getting a bit late, isn't it?"

I experienced a strong sense of déjà vu as my favorite student jolted up at the sound of my voice. Her gaze jerked from the screen to my face, her bright blue eyes widening. "Professor Sands," she started to say.

I felt myself relax. There was nothing wrong here. Nothing wrong with this. There was nothing wrong with what I was feeling. No problem with the heat that was filling my body, tingling through all my nerves.

"I must have lost track of t—

Oh..."

Her voice cut off, her eyes staring up into my face. Her expression froze for an instant, a look of startled, sheepish surprise. Her lips were lush and pink and slightly parted.

I imagined what she could do with that mouth. Imagined parting those lips further so she could fit something between them.

The lips moved with a sensuous slowness. "Hello, Professor..." There was a purr in the words.

I could see her nipples hardening through the thin fabric of her tube top. She wasn't wearing a bra, her luscious tits defying gravity all on their own.

I remembered, then, how dangerous it was for her to be using my title. Dangerously hot. I glanced back up into her face, and realized she was coming to her feet.

There was no surprise in her expression now, as the girl stared into my eyes. Those blue orbs were bright, almost feverishly so. No surprise in her voice, either. Just a low resonance that reached right into my core and tugged at my most basic, animal desires.

She glanced down, gaze flicking to my mouth and then back up. Her eyes traced my face and I could almost feel it, like her fingers were brushing lightly across my jawline and cheekbones.

I breathed in a short, tight breath. I felt the tightness through my entire body, like I was a rubber band about to snap. About to break.

I tried to speak. "Natalie..." I said. But all non-essential functions, like speech, were shutting down. The heat was taking over. The heat that I hadn't consciously noticed, as it grew on the edge of my focus. The fire that had been building just beyond my ability to notice.

I was rock hard in my slacks. My cock pressed urgently against my zipper, begging to be released. My mouth moved again but no sound came out.

"Professor

...

" Natalie's voice caressed the word again, shaping it into something. Something more. She was sidling around the table now, and I felt rooted in place. Like there were cement blocks around my feet. The tension was building, a line drawing tight between us. "Mmm... Don't worry. You don't have to tell me. I know what to do."

The shortest distance between two points is a line. Geometry.

Natalie was around the table and following the line directly toward me. She was reaching up, touching my face.

There was a spark between us.

I gasped in a breath. Tried to pull back. My final effort.

Failed.

* * *

Her fingertips touched the frames of my glasses. Then my lips. And then she was on the tips of her toes, kissing me. Her hands were around my neck, pulling me into it. My hands were circling around her back, pulling her closer.

Her body pressed itself to mine. Her soft curves and my hard physique. My hard cock, painfully erect, tenting in my crotch and pressed to her tantalizing body. She ground against me, teasing me, her soft murmurs of desire against my lips fanning the overwhelming fire.

I couldn't think. It was more than lust. It was something stronger, something more subtle. I knew something was going on, but whatever it was had already ensnared me, beyond the edges of my ability to perceive. My mind was fuzzy, but focused. Focused entirely on one thing. On one need.