Miss Simpson Tries To Resist Pt 01

Chapter 1

Miss Simpson was every teenage boy's dream. She turned up at Harry's all boys school on the first day of summer term dressed in a smart grey suit and heels. In Harry's small, rural school she was nothing short of a phenomenon. Her heels were patent black, they clicked as she walked down the crowded corridor, and the sound drew a hushed silence as she walked through the hordes of sixth formers loitering by their lockers. She seemed to sway as she walked, and her long blonde hair coupled with her small frame made her appear almost like one of the schoolchildren.

Maybe that was why she had dressed the way she had - thought Harry as she walked towards him up the corridor. The heavy-framed glasses gave her academic authority, and the somber grays, whites and blacks did the rest. It was as though she were dressing up as a teacher rather than anything, and Harry was correct in guessing that this was her first job - she couldn't be more than twenty three or four.

The students parted before her like they were being visited by royalty, and as she reached Harry at the end of the corridor, he could have sworn she allowed herself a smile as she turned into her new classroom. Only Harry saw it, and he knew right from that moment that he wanted her - there was something about the smile, its sultry confidence bordering on arrogance that flipped a switch in his adolescent brain. Miss Simpson knew she was sexy as hell, and Harry the virgin knew that no matter what else happened in his life, he had to have her.

By the time the headmaster introduced her in the school assembly, he needn't have bothered, by then everyone knew who she was. Miss Simpson was a maternity replacement, she would be with them for two terms teaching English and (heaven be thanked) Physical Education. Miss Simpson, stood as the headmaster introduced her and Harry found himself catching his breath as he studied her for the second time that day. Her blonde hair was pulled back, almost girlishly so, but her face was young enough to carry it well. Her cheekbones were fine and her lips full, and as Harry sat looking at her, his mind hatched the beginnings of a plan.

Harry was a virgin not because he was ugly, or a nerd, far from it - he was perfectly attractive, reasonably tall, played sports, did drama, and when you got to know him, quite personable for an 18 year old, teenage boy. Harry's problem was that he blushed. It made of him terrified of talking to girls, had done since he'd first realized that girls were worth talking to at all.

Harry was bright, his father was an engineer and he seemed to have inherited his dad's ability with anything mechanical or electrical. A lot of the stuff he did as a kid had been a bit geeky, but now he was older it was becoming increasingly useful. His motorbike for one thing. He'd restored it himself, using his own money, and when his mum had argued that he was too young to ride a bike, this fact had worked in his favour. It was a big bike, over 500cc's and old. A Kawasaki from the 1980's, that throbbed and purred like a thoroughbred. If anything was going to cure him of his virginity it was going to be his bike - and standing there in the school hall he suddenly realized just how it could happen.

The helmet was the thing. If he could get the helmet right then she'd be trapped, she'd be his. By the time the final bell rang he had all the details worked out, and he could barely wait to get to get started. The noise-cancelling headphones were stolen from his dad. The inside of his spare crash helmet had plenty of padding and there was ample room for the stripped down headpieces to fit. Next he worked on the visor. He knew quite a bit about photovoltaic cells and it was straightforward to replace the visor with one he could control from a remote unit. The air vent at the front of the helmet was the next thing he worked on, it took him some time to research on the internet, and he had to wait a few days for the ketamine to arrive, but soon the helmet was ready.

He put it on his own head and tested it. The music on his stereo disappeared instantly. He reached out to turn up the volume but not even a whisper reached his ears. Then, with a flick of the remote, the visor went completely black. He changed the setting, and saw the visor first go back to clear, only to gradually grow dimmer. That was the setting he would use for Miss Simpson. He had set it to take five minutes, so slow that on a dark rainy evening she'd never notice it happen. After a few minutes he felt himself feeling dizzy from breathing in the powdered ketamine, disorientated. He took the helmet off and breathed in some fresh air, soon feeling better. He made a note to lower the dosage in the breathing vent.

The seat was the other part he needed to get right. It was the original well-worn leather and he worried about tearing it as he carefully took the stuffing out. But he needn't have worried, the leather was accommodating, and after fitting a hydraulic piston within the body of the seat, he watched as the device rose and fell in response to his remote control unit. With the flick of a switch, the rear seat formed a high ridge and he thought of Miss Simpson sitting naked on it, her pussy pushing down on to the leather as the engines' vibrations shot into her exposed body. Just the thought of it made his heart stutter.

Chapter 2

Harry's plan needed everything to be in place and it took four weeks for all the planets to align. He waited with increasing desperation. Miss Simpson took him for both English and Sports, and neither was easy. She took her jacket off to teach, and Harry became used to the sight of her full breasts straining against the white cotton of her well-fitted shirts. And if that wasn't enough to convince him that she was trying to rile up the boys - there was the sight of her dressed for games. She took them for hockey, something Harry was good at, but Miss Simpson in a short hockey shirt and a tight t-shirt was so utterly distracting that he could barely function.

The planets did align, eventually. His parents were going away for a long weekend on the same Friday the team had a late hockey practice. Miss Simpson had worn her usual hockey outfit, and Harry had spent another happy hour staring at her athletic legs as she sprinted up and down the touchline. More than once did Harry think about those thighs wrapped round him as she sat on the back of his bike.

Despite being early May the air was getting chill and it was raining hard by the time they finished practice. Miss Simpson, looking hotter than ever in a wet t-shirt had run back to the school building to get changed. Harry didn't bother changing out of his hockey kit. He put on his leather bike jacket and waited under the shed by his motorbike, cheerfully waving his friends away as they made their way home.

He knew something they didn't. He knew that Miss Simpson had returned to her changing room to find her bag missing. Her clothes had disappeared with it, and the only thing to be found were her car keys. The rain grew heavier and Harry waited patiently under the bike shed, looking over at the school car park - it was empty but for Miss Simpson's, classic MG. The car had been surprisingly easy to sabotage and if it didn't start there was no-one to give her a lift home, apart from Harry. The planets were aligning.

It was raining even harder by the time Miss Simpson ran to her car. Harry was sitting on his motorbike, pretending to put his helmet on, and he smiled at her as she ran passed. True to the plan she was still wearing her sports kit, and he sat there watching her fumble with her keys and finally jump inside. He waited patiently, pretending to be adjusting something on his bike in case she looked round, but sure enough the sound of the starter motor turning over was quickly apparent. She tried the ignition three times, each time producing a feeble electrical churn, before he decided it was time to go to her rescue.

He knocked on the passenger window and she wasted more battery power winding down the window.

"Hello Miss, do you need a hand?" The rain was lashing against his upturned helmet visor, but he made his eyes smile.

"Oh, hello Harry. I think there's a problem. Do you know anything about cars?"

Harry spent three minutes under the bonnet, he played with things knowingly and asked her to try again. The ignition, if anything was even feebler.

"I think the spark plugs might be dirty. They look a bit old. If I had some tools I could get them out and give them a clean."

Miss Simpson pulled a face and squinted up at the sky.

"It might be alright if it's dry tomorrow, Miss, old cars like these sometimes don't like starting in the wet." So far the plan was proceeding well, but this was the critical point. The critical question.

"I could give you a lift if you like? Where do you live?"

"Oh no, Harry I couldn't ask that. I'll go back in and phone for a taxi."

"Ok Miss, but it's no problem, I've got a spare helmet."

It must have been at that point that she remembered her bag. It had been stolen, she had no money. Miss Simpson looked at Harry's smiling eyes as he crouched against the pelting rain and realized she didn't have much of an option. There was no way she would be able to walk home, it was miles away. She looked down at her short hockey skirt and wet t-shirt and realized how embarrassing it would be to seen on the back of a student's bike wearing her sports kit -- but there was no one around, to either give her a lift or to see her get on the bike. It would only be a twenty minute ride, and she'd have a helmet on...

"Ok Harry, that would be great. If you're sure you don't mind. I'm twenty minutes away just off the A30."

She gave Harry the directions as she got out the car, locked it and ran over to cover of the bike shed. The rain was unrelenting and even that short journey seemed to have re-soaked her t-shirt and skirt. They were as wet as ever and Harry couldn't help looking down at her hard nipples as they pushed out from the tight cotton. She looked small standing in front of him in her sports kit. He handed her a helmet, the helmet, and she looked suddenly nervous - as if she was about to change her mind.

"Don't worry miss, I won't go fast."

This last reassurance was enough to persuade her, and with a smile and a nod she pulled back her hair with one hand, tipping the helmet on with the other. And as easily as that she was his. She didn't know it yet, but she was trapped.

All he needed to do now was let the plan take its course. He mounted the bike and nodded to her to do the same. Comforted by the anonymity of the crash-helmet she didn't hesitate - lifting her leg and almost having to jump as she got onto the big bike. It was only as she adjusted herself on the seat that she became painfully aware that the only thing between her crotch and the leather seat was the thin, cotton fabric of underwear. Beneath the short skirt, her naked inner thighs felt cold against the wet seat, and as she put her arms around the eighteen year old she suddenly felt terribly exposed.

Inside the helmet Miss Simpson felt uneasy. The helmet seemed to cut out the noise from the outside world completely, and despite the cold on her body, her head felt oddly warm and detached. She wasn't to know that the helmet had been fitted with noise-cancelling earphones. The visor was tinted and she couldn't see much, even when she first put it on, but almost imperceptibly it began to dim even from that first moment. The dizziness as she breathed in the drugged air wouldn't become apparent until much later.

The shock for Miss Simpson was when he kick-started the engine. She'd known it was a big bike, just from looking at it, but nothing had prepared her for the feel of the engine. It was a throb as much as a vibration, and only now that she was clamped in place, her thighs spread so they could grip onto the boy in front of her, did she realize that her crotch was pressing into a ridge in the saddle. Harry twisted the throttle and the sensation in her clitoris was so intense that she immediately edged back.

She couldn't have said why she felt so disoriented as Harry pulled away, but the power of the bike made her grip hard with fear and she found herself clutching onto Harry's sides. The rain was still heavy and despite her fear she felt it hit her back as they pulled out from the shelter of the bike rack. She felt the soft leather of Harry's jacket against her chest and arms, and cursed herself for not asking to borrow it. But it was too late now, the motorbike was getting up to speed.

Once she was used to the acceleration, she relaxed a little, but she could hear her heart beating as they stopped and she anxiously tried to get a look at where they were. The visor was now so dim that it was all but impossible to see anything - and besides - the throbbing in her clitoris was back, somehow the ridge on her seat seemed to settle on her vagina no matter how far back she rode. She daren't risk sliding back any further, already it felt like she was slipping off the back of the bike.

The teacher thought about tapping him on the shoulder, but even as she had the thought the engine was revving and the bike lurched forward. The throb in clitoris made her catch her breath. It was so intense it was almost painful, and she felt panicked into gripping Harry's torso tighter. The twenty minute journey suddenly felt as though it would take a lifetime.

They rode for a while then, the rain was lashing at her bare knees, her arms were quickly numb with cold and she gripped onto Harry in fear. She more than once thought about getting his attention, asking him to stop, but every time she did, the intense growl from her seat seemed to send her gasping for breath. It was coming in pulses know, as though he were tweaking the throttle to a rhythm, and her thoughts were becoming disjointed. At one point she seemed to feel a ridge rise up from the center of her seat, as though it was pressing into her perineum, but the next all she could feel was a deep vibration at the back as it seemed to push up and press the fabric of her panties into her ass. It was as though the seat were alive, but she dismissed the thought, her mind oddly detached as it sat in the silent, black world of the helmet.

The lack of visual and aural sensation seemed to be playing tricks on her body - elevating the slightest acceleration of the motorbike until it felt like the ravaging of a massive vibrator. She squeezed her chest onto Harry's torso and felt sexual warmth from the embrace for the first time. She squeezed him tight, finding the grip reassuring, and decided to give in to the sensations that coursed into her body. It was only for twenty minutes, she told herself.

After a while she lost track of time, her eyes were open but she couldn't see, the cold on her body was excruciating, and the easiest thing seemed to be to lose herself to the throb of the engine. The vibration seemed to be everywhere now, her mind snapped in and out of focus as she felt it pulse from front to back - first her clitoris, then her ass, and then back again. The rainwater was everywhere too, she could feel the dampness on the seat as she slid about. It was damper than when she'd first mounted the bike, and now it was warm. Some of the moisture was her own as her vagina rubbed against the seat through the wet cotton of her underwear. She thought about that for a moment, thought about how improper it was to be wetting the seat of her pupil's bike, but before she could feel any shame another pulse of the engine took her attention.

With a sudden rush of fear she realized that much more of this would and there would be nothing she could do to stop herself from cumming.

She squeezed onto the boy almost to squeeze the sensation out of her, but if anything it made it worse. The buzzing in her ass and clitoris seemed to alternate in her head, and just as she seemed to be in control of one sensation the other took over. The warmth between her legs was spreading up into her stomach, her legs felt numb, her arms cold and useless. Her head was floating, detached. Miss Simpson could hear her breaths getting shorter and louder and shorter. The realization that she was about to cum seemed to turn her legs to jelly.

She'd never cum like this before, unwilling and at the mercy of a huge vibrator. For that's what she thought of the bike now - a huge juddering vibrator that she clung onto for dear life. It seemed to press up into her crotch and violate her ass. She felt herself surrendering to the machine, her only solace seemed to be the human touch of the boy through his stiff leather jacket and she longed to feel his warmth. She knew that she had to be squeezing him rhythmically with her thighs, but for some reason it didn't seem to matter.

Then, just as the first wave of an orgasm was beginning to rise, the bike stopped. She felt a hand reaching back, and in her dark silent shell she struggled to make sense of it. It seemed to be reaching down to the front of her waist - and in her shame she found herself wishing that his hand would reach down into the crease of her labia and rub against her pulsing clitoris. But it didn't. Instead she felt him dab the throttle of the bike and the sudden vibration of the engine sent her mind reeling. The bike accelerated forward and she found herself thankful for the promise of release.

Again the pulsing from the seat threatened to tip her into orgasm, but again the bike stopped just as she felt the familiar short breaths and the rising, sinking sensation in her tummy. Her head felt dizzy, as if from lack of air and she felt her head swooping even though the bike was still. The engine ran in neutral and she pressed her crotch into the seat, desperate for the vibration to bring her to orgasm. She felt him turn in his seat, and reluctantly released her grip. His hands were helping her sit upright and with a sudden panicked realization she realized they had arrived. Her arms and body were numb from the cold, and she found herself struggling with the buckle on her crash-helmet. Its sensory deprivation made her feel horribly vulnerable, but her hands seemed ineffectual, the buckle was too tight. His hands were on her waist and she thought he was helping her to stand when another penetrating vibration came from the engine. There was a sudden fear that she was being undressed but her head was dizzy and after another throb of the engine it didn't seem to matter.

There was cold and warmth all over her body, one moment her breasts tingled with heat the next with the cold, driving rain. The ridge of the seat seemed higher than ever, so high that it seemed impossible to resist its throb. His hands were on her buttocks at one point, she was sure of it, but the next moment the buzzing in her head and clit seemed to tell her it was just a lie. When the orgasm came she couldn't help but cry out into the silence of her crash helmet -- it was as if the motorbike was ripping the soul out of her. The pulsing bike dragged waves of convulsions out of her small body and left her grunting like an animal. She didn't remember what happened next.

When she watched the video footage later, in Harry's bedroom after he had carried her into the house, she was astonished to see that she had been virtually naked by the time they had arrived at his parents' house. On the ride, somehow, he had undone the Velcro on her hockey skirt without her noticing. Her t-shirt had gone at some point and she watched the video in disbelief as he flicked the catch on her sports bra and her breasts came jutting out - wet and cold, they looked like perfect specimens on the small screen. She blushed as she watched herself grinding down onto the bike seat, naked but for the white crash helmet, anonymous and as sexy as hell. The rain was lashing onto her naked, tan body and she seemed to be riding Harry's hand as he reached down to pull the panties away from her crotch.