Mr. Brady

It started with small gestures. Mr. Brady would say something funny to the class, but when everyone had turned their heads down to write notes, he'd slip me a sly wink. "You look happy today!" was replaced with "Are you sure that skirt is long enough?" said with feigned concern, tinkling laugher, and always that secret wink. He would brush part me, and momentarily our hands would touch. One day, I was the last to leave class and his friendly voice floated out the door with me: "bye babe!"

It all seemed so innocuous, coming from my teacher. Sometimes, I would feel uncomfortable, or the hair on my arms might raise at whatever new thing he contrived to say to me that no one else ever seemed to hear ("Looks like you're not wearing a bra today!"), but each new thing became the new normal until I was blowing kisses after each "bye babe" and leaving class later and later, kept by some task or another that he gave me at the last moment of class.

We became Facebook friends. He grabbed my arm one day after class and told me my essay was "fascinating," still holding my arm gently as I thanked him, moving his thumb in small and reassuring circles.

"Looks like you had a fun time at the beach," he whispered while he passed out papers another day. I blushed. Was he was referring to a rather risqué bikini pic I had posted on Facebook the night before? "Your skin has a healthy glow." I relaxed. He didn't know about the picture after all! He just noticed my tan. He was so warm, and his eyes so kind, it was easy to brush off. Mr. Brady was the cool teacher, if a little nerdy. The one everyone wanted a smile from or wanted to impress. I wanted those things too.

Summer was nearing and everyone was excited for the end of school. I was wrapped up in the excitement too: gossiping with my best friend Cynthia, making plans with people left and right for beach trips and summer fun, finishing up the last big projects and essays and tests for my class. It was nice to have an ally in Mr. Brady, a calm friend in the raging storm of high school drama.

The year was a lightning bolt, passing in no time at all. Suddenly, it was May 1st, I had just turned 18, and the end of senior year was only one month away.

"He sounds like a real gentleman." Mr. Brady's voice floated above the class's chuckles, snapping me out of a daydream. We were taking about Genghis Khan. I snorted. A real gentleman indeed.

Mr. Brady snapped the textbook shut in his hands. "Looks like we only have a few minutes left in class, so why don't you all leave a little early and just enjoy the nice weather?" The immediate scraping of chairs and zipping backpacks indicated that none of the class wanted to give him time to take back his offer. In less than a minute, I was leaving last as usual when I heard his familiar voice: "Abby, would you mind staying a moment to help me straighten up?"

"Of course!" I said cheerfully. After all, who would mind staying a few minutes to talk with a friend? He looked somewhat apologetic, so I gave him a beaming smile to show I didn't mind. As I walked around picking up stray papers, he went over to close the door against the din in the hallway.

"The last day of class is only a month away, are you excited?"

"Of course, Mr. Brady!"

"Oh Abby, I'm wounded!" he playacted, "You're so excited to be rid of me." A secret wink.

I backtracked. "Well, I'll miss coming in class and seeing you too!" He nodded solemnly. "But I think I'm ready for summer, for free time you know?"

"For beach time?" I blushed thinking back to the picture of me in the bikini. Had he seen it? No, he couldn't have. I put it on private. He gave a friendly chuckle before continuing the conversation wistfully, "I remember my beach days. We used to do beach week after the end of the year. Is that still a thing?"

I nodded eagerly. "Oh yes, and I've got loads of plans. I'm going to go up with Courtney and Cynthia..."

We had moved to his desk by the time I finished telling him my plans. He was sitting at the desk, and me across as usual. I felt utterly comfortable; after all, I had stayed after class to chat with Mr. Brady loads of times. He was my friend.

When I finished, Mr. Brady looked suddenly serious. He reached over to clasp my hands, sending my hair prickling on end. But he looked concerned, and I was curious, so I leaned in and asked him what was the matter.

"Abby, I consider you one of my closest students, and I like to think that I'm a pretty good teacher."

"Oh you are! Of course you ar-" But he squeezed my hands to silence me.

"You know, you are one of the only students that I am friends with on Facebook. I think you're really mature, and a good student. But I was so disappointed by the beach picture you posted recently. I feel it's my duty to talk to you about it."

My face reddened. I new exactly what picture he was talking about: I was sitting on the beach, laughing. Cynthia had taken the picture at the exact moment that Courtney undid the back of my bikini and my hands had shot up to grab the cups to keep from flashing everyone. It was a cute picture, one of the rare ones of me with a candid smile. And looking hot in my bikini was just a cherry on top. But I had set it to private: only friends could see that I had uploaded the picture minus family and Mr. Brady.

I felt suddenly aware of the quiet stillness of the room. With the door closed, we felt like the only two people in the world. I didn't want there to be any awkwardness between us, and it was so embarrassing that he had seen my bikini picture. It was really only meant for my friends. He was a friend, but my other friends. My high school friends.

I started babbling incoherently, trying to explain that he shouldn't be able to see the picture without making it sound too hurtful, but he squeezed my hands and cut me off again.

"Abby, you're my favorite student. So I've been looking out for you. If I can find pictures like these, then you can bet that college recruiters can find them. I'm just looking out for you."

He looked genuinely concerned, and the whole conversation was so mortifying, I was at a loss for what to say. He stood up from the desk and walked around to my side, putting his hands on my shoulders.

"I know this is probably very embarrassing for you. I noticed that you tried to hide the picture from me." His hands began kneading my shoulders. It was reassuring that he wanted to help me and that he was trying to calm me down. "But really Abby, you're a smart girl. Some things are meant to be private. Like this conversation for instance. Aren't you glad that I'm talking to you about this now, with the door closed and locked so no one can barge in, instead of in front of the whole class?"

The door was locked? I was about to question that, when his fingers brushed against my clavicle. I shivered, which he must have taken for a yes, because he continued. "And trying to hide the picture from me? It hurts my feelings that you don't feel you can be open with me Abby." I tried to open my mouth to say something, but at that moment, his hands slipped lower onto my chest. I felt frozen. Just a little lower and he would be touching my...

He kept talking, about the photo? About his feelings? His voice was a distant drone as his hands slipped down my shirt and into my bra. I was completely frozen as he first kneaded my breasts, then began pinching and twisting my hardening nipples between his fingers. My breaths were coming quicker and I felt lightheaded. Was this really happening? A few sentences floated through the drone, but I felt utterly frozen and unable to react. "...don't know how long I've wanted to..." "...so still, don't worry you won't be for long..." "...Has anyone ever touched you like this? Made you feel what I do?..."

His hands slid back up, but only to pull my shirt and bra up over my breasts. My arms wouldn't move to let him pull it all off over my head, but neither did they stop him as he furtively and mercilessly went back to playing with my breasts. His droning voice had stopped and was replaced with his mouth on my ear, tickling me with nibbling kisses. My breath was short and gasping now. I felt a sticky sweat building on my skin and sending chilling coolness down my spine whenever the air conditioning wafted over my hard nubs.

I felt a rising heat in my lower back, so I began to arch into his skillful fingers. The fog in my mind was replaced with need. Heat rose up my back sending prickling and urgent pleasure though my nerves. My chest shot out and I yelled into one of Mr. Brady's hands which shot up to muffle my scream of pleasure. My body shook as I gulped air. I thought back to something Mr. Brady had said as he had droned on before and wanted to tell him no, no one had ever made me feel this way before.

But before I could recover from what had happened—what was happening—his hands were slithering down my stomach to the buttons on my shorts. I pushed through the fog in my mind, and the situation began to form clarity. I squirmed, trying to wriggle away. "No, um, Mr. Brady, no I don't--"

"Shhhh, shhh, just relax," his voice was in my ear, followed by his tongue. I squirmed again, but as his fingers fumbled with the buttons of my shorts, it felt like a different kind of squirming. I tried to sort through what was happening. It was all so fast. I didn't want this... or did I? Was I squirming away from him, or into him? Shouldn't I try to get away? But as soon as the thought solidified, his fingers slid inside me and I let out an unexpected groan.

I felt him smile as he nibbled down my ear and neck. He pushed my shorts and panties down my thighs hurriedly before returning to my wet pussy. His fingers moved in and out of me, spreading my juices across my lower lips. His other hand slowly massaging my clit as the first moved in and out. I moaned again. I had never noticed before how thick his fingers were before. Each knuckle sent pleasure rippling through me as he pressed inside me.

My legs started shaking as sparks of pleasure shot up my back. I arched again and his mouth found my breast and began sucking on my tender nipples. It was too much. I moaned his name in agonizing pleasure as I felt the heat spreading through my body. Just as I finished, he lifted the chair and dumped me onto the desk. I was gasping for air, shuddering and reeling as I felt my shirt and bra lifted over my head. They were tangled in my arms and tied to a drawer knob, catching my wrists to the far edge of the desk. My breasts were pressed against the cold polished wood, and my ass was in the air.

My shorts fell down to my ankles, and he promptly stepped on them. For all my squirming, I could hardly move. I was pinned down. I felt more naked than ever, and shivered from the sudden cold as I heard his soft laugh tinkling above me.

I tried to protest again—"Please, I've never, I'm still a vvv—" but his hands immediately found my wet cunt, massaging my lips still aching from the pleasure of moments ago. I heard his unbelted trousers fall to the floor and felt him press against me, warm and hard. I sucked in my breath in anticipation.

In one fluid movement, his fingers were replaced with his hard cock. I gasped as it slid into my drenched pussy. I could feel him against my walls, the flare of his head ribbing through me. I could only stare at the blackboard ahead of me and moan once again into a hand covering my mouth. Why did I like this? Shouldn't I be fighting back?

But I found that my instincts had me thrusting back at him as he rammed deeper and deeper inside of me. His breathing matched my own now: gruff and grunting, quick breaths that matched his speeding thrusts.

I was standing on my tip toes, legs straining, as the orgasm crashed over me. He grabbed my pelvis and pulled himself as deep as possible into me. I cried out, pushing back against him, and my whole body began to shake. I felt him slump over me as his cum started to trickle down my thigh.

I was still gulping air as he slid off of me and came back with a roll of paper towels to clean up. First he cleaned himself and put his pants back on, then he focused on me. I shuddered as I wiped each tender part of me. He pulled up my panties and shorts, buttoning them back up with his crotch pressed up against me. His hand reached under my ass and gave my pussy one last slow and longing stroke over my clothes. He laughed gently when my back arched instinctively through my exhaustion.

Finally, he untied my hands and helped me pull my shirt back over my head. My bra was somehow missing—though I thought I saw him tuck it into a desk drawer from the corner of my eye—but I hardly cared.

In the calm aftermath, the reality of the situation was beginning to crash down on me. What had we done? I blushed furiously as his hand cupped my breast as he feigned helping me straighten my shirt.

Mr. Brady clasped my chin in his hand and brought my eyes up to look at his ever-jovial face. "Are you embarrassed?" His eyes were sparkling with a sly smile. I gulped. His eyes raked over my body, pausing at my nipples poking through my shirt. His smile widened.

"We should do this again. Soon."

I felt myself nodding, dazed. I grabbed my things and scrambled out the door, trying to piece everything together. As I scurried down the hall, his voice floated down to me. "Bye babe."

Instinctively, I turned to blow him a kiss, and had one last view of him leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, smile smug and satisfied, before I turned the corner.