Detention for Im

Chapter Two: Driver's Ed

"So does it still hurt?" Dad asked me, glancing over from the driver's side part of the car. I just turned my head and gave him an expressionless, flat look, letting him know that I wasn't at all amused by the implication that it no longer did. It was a Monday morning and we were on the way to drop me off at class, on a day that, in all honesty, I didn't feel like I should have been forced to attend.

"I guess it does." My Dad responded with a fatherly chuckle, shaking his head back and forth. "Dentist said that the weekend would be long enough, though, and you want that perfect attendance during graduation, don't you?"

"I guess." My murmur was a small response, after to open my mouth too wide. On Saturday evening I had been put into braces to fix a misalignment with my teeth, and between the trauma of having them installed and simply getting used to the feel, my mouth was sore as I ever remembered it being. Beyond that, I wasn't thrilled with the idea of heading back to class fit with visible braces, which made the most embarrassingly little combination with my glasses. It felt like with every passing day, my appearance was becoming mousier, nerdier, and even less likely to draw any positive attention. Seriously, braces at eighteen years old? It was humiliating. As if the embarrassment and the pain weren't reason enough to want to avoid class, there was one other big reason I didn't want to go into school that day.

Mr. Poln. It had been a full school week since he had made me work off my delinquency with him, and every passing day it felt like I was working off future missteps. He had taken my mouth every day after school during the last week, surely milking catching me with a note for all it was worth. Even in my naivety, I knew I wasn't merely keeping him quiet about a little innocent note passing anymore; I was trapped. Trapped by the situation itself, and trapped by a budding curiosity that was starting to infuriate me. Most of our encounters had been simple, short affairs in his office after class, where he'd lock the door, unzip his fly, and force me to take him until he released on my face. He never tried to undress me, never tried to make me swallow his cream, and given the situation he made it feel almost gentlemanly. Either he was genuinely concerned about pushing me too fast, or he just liked the idea of a cringing Asian girl with cum on her glasses, afraid of getting it into her eyes or nose.

Looking back, probably both. While I sat there expressionless with my Dad on the way to work, my mind continued to wander. I was a little afraid of how Mr. Poln would take it, when I would meekly tell him after class that my mouth hurt too much to service him. Would he be angry? Sad? Would he tell my parents? I was worried about getting in trouble, but beyond that, I was worried about disappointing him. Mr. Poln's opinion of me was important; as my history teacher it had always been, but in the past week something else had started to bud inside of me.

Friday had been the day I realized it. There weren't any late busses on Friday and so Mr. Poln had to drive me home, and on the way he pulled his vehicle into a rural section with plenty of long, isolated roads in a primarily forested area. Most of the other students that went to fuck away from prying eyes picked one of these lonely patches where other cars never wandered, and while we were going there Mr. Poln revealed to me that it was the same during high school when he was in it.

"My wife and I had our first time here," he advised me once we had parked, and I was bent over from the passenger side, working free his cock. In the past school week I had grown more confident, and more capable, and needed little more than a nod from my history teacher to get to my duties. My delicate hands had already begun to unzip his trousers, but I paused just an instant to grab my glasses off my face and set them on the dashboard. Since it was the first time I wasn't on my knees with him standing, it felt like it'd be difficult to keep them up if Mr. Poln grew energetic, as he sometimes did.

"Yeah, those were the days," my teacher continued, even as the schoolgirl in full attire wrapped her fingers around his growing rod. While I stuck out my tongue and began to tease his head, trying to avoid the drop of pre that I knew, at some point, I'd have to taste full on, he gave a wistful sigh and gazed out the window. "Kim, don't ever have kids. Once you do, your life becomes work, and your marriage is just nothing but keeping them in line." In order to keep one young woman in line just then, one of his hands rested on the back of my head, and I responded by licking the side of his cockhead. One of my fingers slid over the top, nabbing the precum and sliding it off his head, tucking it against his lap where I couldn't taste it fully. I was still new to things, after all, and still skittish about all the things his cock did when it was near my mouth.

"Pretty soon, your wife's cheating on you with one of your neighbors," Mr. Poln continued, though when I looked up at him with concern on my brow, he didn't seem particularly sad about that fact. In fact, he even gave a shrug of casual non-committance. "And you end up taking advantage of your students, because they're so much sweeter than you ever remember her being."

I blinked, holding his shaft in my palm, my lips connected to his cockhead with a thin bead of spit. Unsure of how to proceed, I just paused for a moment, as if awaiting Mr. Poln's instructions. Thankfully my teacher didn't keep me in that awkward moment for long, and after a momentary look of thought crossed his features, he quickly seemed to remember just what his current situation was. He gazed down at me and gave a laugh, shaking his head to dismiss whatever thoughts were in his mind, and letting his fingers entwine into the black hair at the back of my head. He offered me an encouraging smile, and despite myself in the awkward situation, I smiled back. It made me happy to know that I was taking his mind off of things, and I quickly turned back to my work. My lips parted and I moved my mouth over the top of his cockhead; closing my eyes as I sealed my lips, and let my tongue tease against the head.

"You're getting so good at this." Mr. Poln praised me, and in response I let my body get into a slightly better position, so that I could earn even more sweet words from my teacher. I moved so that my knees rested on the passenger side seat, and my rump was up in the air, nearly pressed to the window. It allowed me to service him better; my tiny frame contently fitting across both sides, with my head face down against my teacher's lap. My uniform was the standard school garb; a pleated skirt, knee-high socks ending in simple black shoes, and a white dress shirt that was starting to feel hot and itchy inside the car after a long day of class. I ignored the discomfort and continued, moving my head up and down, taking one of Mr. Poln's many inches into my mouth, past my lips.

In the past few days I had improved my technique, both through practice and a bit of study. I doubt I'm the only girl that's gone online to study how to perform oral sex better, but I'm likely the only one that did it fastidiously and with quite the same nerdy flare. On Wednesday I had even scribbled a note or two on the inside of my wrist; peeking at them while I serviced him. There were no notes on Friday night though, and for the first time since our adventures had began, I felt like I didn't need them.

Mr. Poln's hand controlled my head fluidly as I continued to service him, moving my head down is slow, steady thrusts while one of my hands cupped its fingers near the base of his shaft. I was taking him easier now; only tending to cough and sputter if he got particularly rough, something he was still hesitant to do with his student. As it was, Mr. Poln's seven inches turned out to be a good fit for me, easy enough to take a fair bit of, and yet long and thick enough for me to earn praise for extending myself, for going the extra mile. For being the honor student that was so very much in my nature. I went for that extra credit there in the car as we got started, and I let my mouth slide down his shaft, taking it to the very hilt. It was uncomfortable and for a moment I was worried I'd cough or choke, but Mr. Poln's light grip on my head was enough to pull me back up before that happened. After only a week, he knew his student's limits, knew what she was capable of. It was why he was such a good teacher.

He pulled my head up after the brief deepthroat, and with fingers curled in my hair tilted my head back, making me look up at him. Spit coated my lips and dribbled onto his cockhead, but he smiled, leaned in, and pressed a faint kiss to the top of my forehead in praise of my action. Despite how uncomfortable I was in these situations at times, I beamed like I had just been given a high honor, and turned my head down to return to work. I didn't dare deepthroat him again for fear of ruining my good credit, but I worked as well as I ever had on his member at that point. My hand gripped his spit-slickened shaft, my tongue dances across his cockhead, and I started to savor a flavor I had found distasteful no more than a week ago. The car started to fill with sounds of my content slurping, but also with the pleased half-grunts of the forty year old I was tending to.

"Such a good girl." More praise came, and I responded to it by lowering my other hand, and scooping them underneath my teacher's sack. I let my mouth retreat from his shaft so I could pay attention to his undercarriage, suckling and teasing at them like I had learned to do. When I was finished playing with them with my tongue I pursed my lips, and let a long line of spit drizzle from my mouth over his sack, like I was gingerly icing a cake. Before I was able to return to servicing his member Mr. Poln took things to a new level, and I felt the hand leave my hair, leaving me, for a moment, vacant from his touch and whimpering at the loss of it.

It was a touch I wouldn't be left missing for long, though. With a gasp of surprise I felt the back of my skirt flipped up, and the cool air of the car struck my rear, exposed now save for the plain white panties I had worn to school that day. In all of our interactions Mr. Poln hadn't once touched me sexually or stripped me down, but it was there in the car that had decided to break that first boundary. His hand moved over the slope of my rear and down along one of my legs, his strong fingers spooning the inside of my thigh. He didn't touch my sex directly just then, but for the reaction it had on my body he might as well have. My knee buckled and I dipped forward, losing control for the briefest of seconds. The motion forced my head to bob forward, and the result was his spit covered shaft smearing across my face from chin to brow, leaving a trail of wetness across half of my face. I was left with my head there for a second, his cock flat up against my cheek, the head positioned above one of my eyes, and the bridge of my nose serving as the only boundary to prevent it from wiping all the way across my features. My lips were parted, and I gave a heavy, heady breath into the car, shuddering as my teacher's fingers teased at the inside flesh of my pale, teenage thigh.

He said nothing; no dominating, deriding words, no confident and casual comments. He likely knew I had embarrassment in that moment defeated only by my curious arousal, and in his gentlemanly kindness decided not to shame me for it. Instead, the reward came through his touch, moving down my leg further, caressing me to the crook of my knee where it rested on the passenger seat. I wasn't servicing him any more so much as clinging to him, one hand wrapped around his shaft, the other digging nails against the side of his knee, mouth open and agape, and cock wedged to the side my nose. He stunned me with the intense arousal I had in that moment, and most remarkable of all he did it without suddenly thrusting his fingers to my sex. Instead, I was left helpless my a tease of fingers down my thigh, and then a playful dance across my calf. He even hooked a finger against the inside of my white kneesock, and tugged it up, as if he had to make sure his schoolgirl was perfectly in uniform. When he was done teasing his hand trailed up once more, and there his palm rested against the side of my rear, only the tips of his fingers near the edge of my panties. It was stimulating but the hand didn't move just yet, and it was still something I could recover from to continue my duties. To help me in my struggle Mr. Poln threaded the fingers of his other hand back into my hair, and guided my mouth to take his cockhead anew.

I groaned around his member, my lips sealing, and my neck working to allow his flesh to thread against my tongue with delightful ease. The stimulation of his hand possessively on my rear only forced my young body to respond with growing passion, and before too long, I found myself taking him quicker than I would have without that encouragement. The hand at his shaft began to work in time with my mouth, and before long I had pressed my lips against the edge of my fist, making sure that no part of Mr. Poln's precious cock would go ungraced by his student's touch for too long. With my head and fist working in unison, I began to service Mr. Poln so well that he gave a loud grunt, clearly having to force back a climax he wasn't prepared to lose just yet.

Something was starting inside of me, a feeling that I had only briefly experienced in my time with Mr. Poln before that day. A feeling of arousal beyond a teenage girl's mild curiosity, something that felt very feminine, very strong, very...adult. Something that, perhaps, I wasn't meant to feel in high school, and yet was driven there by the feel of my teacher's fingers at the edge of my panties, and the slope of his hard shaft moving past the reach of my tongue. I was wet, and undeniably so, I could feel it against the garment of my thin panties, and I could feel a heat below my sex that was altogether new to me. Aside from a few nights in which I had explored my body in the past, my experiences in my own blossoming arousal was fairly minimal, and never had I ever experienced anything even close to what I was feeling now.

I was ashamed of what came out of my mouth, yes, but by the same token there was no way I could resist saying it. The words were offered in between heavy strokes of Mr. Poln's cock with my mouth and fist, and as my sloppy deliverance of my services continued, my teacher was treated to two messy, slurred words from a very horny young woman.

"Touch...me." It was a plead, a beg, maybe even a wish. My voice carried into the car very mildly, as a sweet, soft plea from a desperate young woman. Mr. Poln gave another noise of contentment, and as was the case with my kind teacher, didn't torment me for obeying the wishes of my own body. He obliged in simple fashion, moving his hand over some, more towards the center of my womanhood. He didn't touch me underneath my panties, but at that point, he hardly needed to. His strong touch moved against my sex through the slick frame of my underwear, and my voice cried out in a sudden, glorious noise. A noise I never thought I could make, but one that was rivalled in its heat and desperation only by the sheer and utter submission that it offered to my teacher. His fingers against my sex made me buckle and tremble, and all I could do was keep taking his cock into my mouth, sucking and stroking it while he showed me what arousal really was.

In all the years since, I've only been able to think of one true way to describe what he did to me in the car. Only one thing I could think of to compare me to. As silly as it sounds, I was like a chocolate chip cookie dipped into milk. I was strong and resolute, but when he put his fingers upon me and began getting me wet, the cream weakened my resolve. And with every dunk, with every dip, I became more fragile, more moist, and more delicious. By the time my climax came, I was like a cookie that had broken off in the drink, unable to stay together anymore, unable to do anything but break, and hope he could fish me from the bottom of the glass.

My vision went dark as I came, and I shook, trembled, and cried out into the confined space of the car. Distantly I could hear another passing car go by, but I had long since lost the ability to care if we were seen. In that moment, my world had become Mr. Poln's touch, as well as his member, and I was soaked in his training more than I had ever been focused on any of my studies. My body came with such desire from his fingers dancing over my panties that my head bobbed forward, and for instants, moments, I could scarcely tell where I was.

By the time I had recovered my senses, the car had the unmistakeable smell of sex and lust. Mr. Poln's member was underneath my chin now, hanging limp into his trousers, with a small pool of cream leaking from the tip of his head. As I gazed at it I quickly realized that my mouth was full, and a flavor was thick against my tongue. In my post-orgasmic bliss I tried to piece together the seconds that led up to this, but I could remember nothing but the blinding light of my teacher bringing me to orgasm. When I got into his car that Friday night I would have recoiled from the touch of his cum on my face, but in that heated moment I thought nothing of closing my eyes, tightening my throat, and swallowing the mouthful with a ready eagerness. The flavor delighted me, like a child that refused to try something they didn't like the look of, only to find it was delicious in a way she never knew.

Mr. Poln gave my head a warm pet as I swallowed, and guided me as my neck dropped forward, and I found myself pressing a kiss into the side of his shaft; tenderly licking at it while my trembling hands worked to tuck him back into his pants. After a moment I looked up at him, my hair a mess, my cheeks red, and cum still against the side of my lips. His strong finger guided past my cheek to collect that cream; pressing it into my mouth, where I cleaned the tip with my tongue, and closed my eyes in submissive, blissful delight.

"Thank you, Kim." Mr. Poln's voice finally came, and he helped me back into my seat. Patiently he waited while I caught my breath, straightened my hair, and secured my safety belt once again. My hands smoothed down the length of my bare knees, and I steadied myself, trying to regain any sort of composure.

"I'm looking forward to Monday." He offered with a smile, quirking a brow as the car's engine started. And despite myself, despite my shame, my headed eagerly nodded, and I gave my older teacher a bright, cheerful smile.

"Me too!"

Days later II pouted, with my chin in my hand, and my forehead pressed against the side of my Dad's passenger window. No more than three days ago I had enjoyed the most exciting moment of my life in a passenger seat in a car, but now it felt like a slogging funeral march. Mr. Poln adored my mouth, which was now sore, achey, and lined with metal against my teeth.

What would he do, now that he couldn't have it anymore?

-End of Chapter Two

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