09

Chapter 7

I spent a week wallowing in my guilt and angst as I fought off depression. I'll spare you the dirty details - lots of reliving moments, feeling sorry for Amanda, anger, yada yada. But there were two important parts to that week that I should bring up.

The first is that

no one cared

. Well ok, that's not 100% accurate - they noticed I was depressed and going through a rough time, and my parents and even my sister asked me about it, and were solicitous. But normally, if someone suddenly changes like I had - gone from one extreme to another in a day - they would want to know

why

. The suddenness would be important - they would ask me what had happened, and they'd be more worried because of it. But that didn't happen. They treated my near suicidal depression as if it was just a slight mood swing, and it took me a few days to realize that my power was responsible. It didn't prevent them from noticing my depression, and they reacted accordingly. But it prevented them from viewing my depression as being unusual or exceptional, so they just took it in stride. And it was irrational, but it made me angry at them as well - couldn't they see or feel my pain? Even when I realized it wasn't their fault - that my power sometimes had downsides - I still felt disappointed and let down. It contributed to my bleak mood, making me feel completely isolated and alone.

The second important part of that week is that even though I knew it was wrong, none of my desires were dead. I would remember a scene with Amanda - pounding her from behind in front of her friends in the shower, making her blow me during a school assembly (oh, you know you would too - those things are incredibly boring), or even that day in the cafeteria that had brought it all crashing down. And of course I would feel the guilt, the anguish at my behavior, but I would also get horny. I wanted to do it all again, even after everything, to own her in every way and make her mine. And those thoughts would send me into a new cycle of guilt - it felt like an unending loop. I just had to hope that I would be able to control myself in the future.

I had a good relationship with my parents, and they'd taught me to be better than this. But I couldn't think of a way to fix it. If my dad hadn't been impacted by my power and I was able to explain things, I knew what he would tell me - apologize, make amends, take responsibility, and don't do it again.

But what was the point of apologizing to someone who literally can't understand that what you did was wrong? I could see Amanda's face in my mind as she tried to comprehend why I was apologizing for using her as my personal public fuck toy - she wouldn't be able to comprehend what I was talking about. And no one had cared about what I was doing - despite my actions I hadn't actually humiliated Amanda with public sex. Her friends, even her boyfriend, they all took it in stride. So how to make amends for something only I cared about? I had knocked her up, sure, but that was such a big event that I couldn't even begin to think of how I should handle it. Should I offer to marry Amanda? Should I quit school and get a job to help support her? Fatherhood (Motherhood? Hermahood? My life is weird) was so outside my expectations and experience that I didn't know where to start. And as for taking responsibility, at the least that would mean jail time. But could I even convince the police that I'd committed a crime? The only thing I had left was not doing it again, and I resolved to have the willpower to keep my appetites in check.

Unfortunately, one day back at school was enough to show me that wasn't going to happen.

* * *

It was that time of year where summer gave up and fall took hold with a vengeance, with colder weather and beautiful colors. I loathed it. Fall, to me, marks that time of year when all the bountiful, lovely, and most of all

exposed

cleavage of summer gets covered up in sweatshirts and jackets, hidden from my appreciative eyes. I know some people say that hiding things enhances the experience, but you'll never convince me of it - give me low cut, tight shirts any day. But this time I thought that maybe it would help - that less temptation would give me a chance to get better control. And I guess it helped a little.

But I'd gotten too used to constant sex, to near instant gratification of any of my desires. I couldn't concentrate in school - my eyes would constantly be looking at other girls. Mostly at their chests, of course, but sex with Amanda had increased my appreciation for the rest of a woman's body as well, and I found myself drawn to asses and legs, the clean line of a neck, the shapely curve of hips. And I could feel my lust building throughout the day. Masturbating offered temporary relief, and I used the bathroom three times, but it wasn't enough and I knew it.

I don't want to give you the impression that this is one of those stories where it just so happens that every single girl is an amazing looker, that every teacher and mom is a milf. I was (ok, still am) pretty shallow - I knew what I liked, and I had no reason not to be picky. Out of the hundred or so girls in my class, only about ten or so met my standards. And at that point none of my teachers were sexy enough that I'd be interested. But that was still enough that I had someone to stare at, to be tempted by, almost the entire day. And Amanda was the worst, and I had two classes with her. I know it was my imagination, but I swear I could see her glow from her pregnancy, and I wanted her so badly, to take her again and use that body that I knew so well.

I wouldn't be able to resist forever. It was too tempting, knowing that nothing would stop me, to not take advantage. I'd like to think that most other people, put in my position, would act the same, and maybe that's true. Sometimes it helps me sleep better at night.

I was going to have to compromise my decision to avoid sex.

* * *

I couldn't believe how good it felt to have Amanda in my arms again, naked, after a week apart. To penetrate her again, to cup her breasts, to have her milk my cock with her pussy and take my seed. And for the first time, to my surprise, I understood the term "making love".

Last night I had sat down and thought. I knew I couldn't resist forever, that I would start having sex again. And there was an obvious target - Amanda. Anyone else I had sex with, I'd have to worry about getting them pregnant. I'd have to be careful, and use protection. But Amanda was already knocked up, so I didn't have to worry about that. And it felt better to restrict my attentions to just her. But even with those reasons, it was a tough sell - I still felt horrible at what I had done to Amanda, and this would just add to it. But I convinced myself that she had enjoyed parts of it - that she liked the orgasms, the sex - and I would do better this time. I would make rules. No more public sex, no humiliation, even if she didn't care. I would make sure she was comfortable, and I would stop interfering with her classes.

I had pulled her back into the computer room that morning, and I was relieved that she didn't seem upset with me. She even asked about my week off, and I gave her a non answer, and was shocked when she hugged me and said she was glad I was ok. We stripped, and laid down on the floor - I pulled out some blankets, and I could immediately tell she was more comfortable on those then when I just fucked her on the floor or tables. And then we made love.

Up to that point, I don't think I'd understood the difference. Fucking, making love, sex - it all seemed like different words for the same act to me. But now I wanted Amanda to feel good because I wanted her to feel good, not just for my own pleasure (I know that's a subtle distinction, but it was an important one). And I could feel her respond to me more, to my attentions, and it made everything sweeter, more intimate. I've said before that Amanda liked it rough, but I found a difference that day between rough sex for my pleasure, and rough for hers, and the end result was better for both of us. For the first time, it felt like Amanda was actually into it, not just going through the motions, and that drove my passions to new heights.

I fucked her twice, slow and comfortable, and then helped her up. The surprise on her face when she realized we were finished before class made me feel guilty again - every time she'd acted surprise at me treating her well made me feel guilty - but I shoved that aside, as something I could deal with later. I gave her a kiss and sent her off, unmarked with my seed, to class and her boyfriend. And then I sat and thought.

Today had opened up new dimensions of sexuality to me. I'd loved sex with Amanda today as a mutual activity, not just me making her respond mechanically. It was new, it was good, and I'd loved that I could tell Amanda had enjoyed it more. But I could still feel that dark part of me stirring, and it was unsatisfied. I had spent almost two months feeding it with my possessive urges, reveling in my dominance of Amanda, and nothing I'd done today had helped that part. And I wondered how long I could hold it back.

Chapter 8

The first time I saw Ms. Miller, she didn't leave much of an impression. It was at another bullshit school assembly, this time to announce a new teacher. The previous English teacher had left - some sort of family emergency, the kind you get a lot of rumors about but never hear the truth - and they'd finally found a replacement. But I wasn't taking English this year, so I mostly ignored it.

I had, regretfully, decided I couldn't make Amanda blow me in the back this time. It was against my new rules. But there was nothing stopping me from doing actions on my own, so I found a spot in the back and spent the entire time fantasizing and masturbating, which made it less of an ordeal. Our principal has some sort of masters or doctorate or something in oratory or whateverthefuck, and she always gives these long, amazingly boring speeches that are full of literary references. I'm sure they were masterpieces of speech-craft, but she has no feel for delivery at all, and spending the time whacking off was a lot more enjoyable than paying attention. And therefore I only caught a glimpse of Ms. Miller - the new teacher - after the principal had announced her, and she got up to say that she was glad to be here, and looked forward to the rest of the year, and all the rest of the things you say when you have to give a speech but probably don't actually mean.

So my impression of her from that is just a few minutes, at a distance. She had a nice voice, but I could tell she was petite - she needed something to stand on to see easily over the podium - and I didn't see an incredible bust or anything, so I immediately lost interest and forgot about her. It would be a couple of months before I'd see her in a new light.

* * *

It bothered me that sex with Amanda wasn't enough for me, but I guess you can't control your kinks and desires. At that point we were fucking - making love - three times a morning. I'd found that if we started by 69ing (which I highly recommend), I could blow a load down Amanda's throat while I got her in the mood and ready for my cock. And getting a blowjob/titjob while I was eating her out felt a lot less like taking advantage of her, and it gave me just enough time to fuck her twice afterwards and get her to class before the bell rang. I mostly stuck with missionary so I could make sure she was enjoying herself, but occasionally we did other positions as well to keep things from getting stale. And like that first day, I could tell we both enjoyed it more, that we were connecting on an almost spiritual level. Amanda almost never bitched to me now, and she even started initiating occasionally when we were alone - she never started sex, but sometimes she would give a preference for a position, or ask me to do something, and I took delight in giving her what she wanted.

And yet. I could feel myself growing increasingly desperate for more. The urge to take Amanda in public was overpowering - a physical presence that I would have to physically restrain. I wanted to take her up on stage at the next assembly and take her in front of the entire school. I wanted to go to her house and plow her at the dining room table, in front of her parents. Nancy would also occasionally trigger me as well - I would glimpse Nancy walking down the hallway in one of her stained blouses, and I had to go masturbate in the bathroom to keep myself from shoving my cock down her throat right then and there. The first time I had an event on a girl who barely met my standards, and who I'd never done anything with, I knew I was going to have to do something else, to do something to take the edge off of this lust.

* * *

I felt horrible about it, but I compromised my rules with Amanda. All my arguments for avoiding fucking other girls still applied, and we were already having sex in the morning, so what was a little more? And I told myself that if I was careful it wouldn't be bad. I picked the least public of our locations, a stairwell that sees a lot of traffic between classes, and the next day I took her there about halfway through lunch. I had brought my bottle of lube, and it was the work of less than a minute to bend her against the wall and start fucking her. We were out of sight around a corner, but still out in the open, and it was an amazing rush to have public sex again after so long. The stairwell is good because almost everyone moving through it has no reason to stop, so even if we made some noise we'd never had anyone actually come investigate. I pounded her hard, letting myself be rougher than before, losing myself in the pleasure of owning Amanda where someone could walk around the corner at any time and see us. I timed it so we finished just as lunch went out, and her scream of pleasure as she came echoed through the stairs and into the cafeteria. I helped her back into her clothes, gave her a kiss, and we both went to our fourth period classes.

To my intense relief, it didn't' seem to impact our morning sex. That was still just as good - I had thought that Amanda might object subconsciously to our return to fucking where people could see and hear her, and knowing she didn't care was like a rock removed from my chest. Looking back it was silly - my power had never

let

Amanda care about things like that - but I still worried about it, and I was especially tender with her the next day.

It helped a lot, and for the first time I thought maybe I had reached a point I could live with and not go any further. I would expend most of my lusts into Amanda in the morning, and two or three times a week we'd go to the stairwell and I would take her during lunch. I varied things a bit - the timing, or the position - and it was enough. It took the edge off, and let me control myself around other girls by imaging what I would do next time to my lover. And who knows, maybe I was right, but the universe never let me find out.

* * *

It was a Tuesday several weeks later. Winter had arrived in full, and only seeing Amanda's tits on a daily basis kept me from despair. Winter clothes are, in my opinion, the devil's work. Amanda was starting to show quite a bit at this point - you could tell it was no longer just a bit of fat - and to my delight her tits had also started to swell. And as her pregnancy started to show, I started feeling more and more protective over her. She'd broken up with Brad a few weeks ago when she caught him making out with Tina, and I loved that I had her entirely to myself. But there were downsides - she occasionally got moody, and I could tell that sometimes she just wasn't in the mood anymore, from hormones or mood sickness. But those were minor speedbumps, and I knew from my reading that eventually it would go away. The big problem was those protective feelings were also interfering with my sex life.

I couldn't make myself be as rough as I had before. And I was finding it harder and harder to let myself go and just plow her,

take

her, in our stairwell sessions. Her swelling belly and tits made me want to just bundle her up and keep herself from the evils of the world - to make love to her tenderly until she cried my name in passion and love - and that just didn't work with the public sex. The two desires conflicted and mixed, making me feel guilty again, and the end result is I was starting to feel unsatisfied again. It just wasn't working as well, and I knew my eyes were wandering more, and my fantasies started expanding again to the other girls in my class.

I was taking Amanda from behind again, and I had just managed to push my protectiveness away and was enjoying the moment. My hands on her hips, her grunts as I bottomed out into her, her gasps when I dug my nails into the curve of her ass - it was music to my ears, and I surrendered into the feeling of taking her, making her mine. The noise on the stairs as someone entered and came down toward us wasn't important - it happened all the time - and I continued fucking her. So it didn't surprise me when those footsteps faded away, because I was too out of it to realize they'd turned toward us instead of continuing out the door. But the words - "Oh my god." - those shocked me into stopping. I stood there, still buried in Amanda, and turned to look.

I wasn't surprised that someone had come over to us. It had happened a few times before - usually Amanda's friends - and in reaction to my new rules, I stopped fucking Amanda and let her have her conversation uninterrupted (I mean I didn't pull out - I wasn't crazy - and a part of me reveled just from just being sheathed in Amanda while she talked to people. But I'm losing my point). But no one had ever acted like us having sex was unusual before, so it brought me to a stop.

At first glance, I thought she was a student - probably a freshman. She was that tiny, maybe 4'9 if she stood totally straight and wore thick socks. But my second look took in the clothes - professional - and the makeup - tasteful - and I realized she must be a teacher. But it took me a few seconds to recognize her and connect her with that assembly, and come up with the name. It was my first close look at Ms. Miller.

With a name like that, you would probably assume whitebread middle-class American. But Ms. Miller had something exotic in her ancestry - some combination of asian and indian features mixed in with the white (India btw, not Native American) - and combined with her size and figure it made her look extremely delicate. She had fine features, and if her bust wasn't huge - maybe a B cup if you were generous - they fit her body perfectly. For me, size is important for tits, but it's not everything, and I was a lot more appreciative of Ms. Miller from ten feet away than I had been before.

As what was happening sunk into me, I was terrified at first. If Ms. Miller was immune to my power... I couldn't even begin to think of what that might mean. But as I looked more closely at her, as the tone of her voice sunk in, terror faded, to be replaced by wonder and anticipation. And most of all, lust. Because that's what I saw reflected on Ms. Miller's face. I replayed her voice in my mind - "Oh my god." and I could hear the desire. I could see it in her face, her cheeks flushed, her breath coming quick as she stared at us having sex. Ms. Miller didn't think what were doing was abnormal. She wasn't going to try and make us stop. She'd stopped, and reacted, because what she was seeing

turned her on

.

Experimentally, I started fucking Amanda again. Pull out. Grab her ass, roll the flesh in my hands. Push back in. The whole time, I kept staring at Ms. Miller. I saw her eyes focus on us fucking, like she couldn't look away. I saw her swallow heavily, and her breath got even faster. I smiled at her, and picked up the pace. Amanda's pussy enveloped my cock, pulsing around my length, and I could tell she was close. The bell rang, and I knew I had to finish this. I started pounding Amanda as hard as I could, leaned over and groped her, hitting the buttons that I knew would turn her on more. My last sight of Ms. Miller before my orgasm crashed over me was her rubbing her thighs together, staring at us as like we were the most erotic thing she'd ever seen.