It all began when she saw a thirty-something tall and lanky man with moppish hair.
Although Marianne was sitting in the last row, his simple act of entering her classroom made her eighteen-year-old heart miss a beat, and her palms began sweating. She was transfixed by his big dark eyes, sharp nose, and broad shoulders.
All through the lecture, Marianne kept admiring everything about him, including the way he was moving his hands, his well-ironed trousers, and even his polished brown shoes.
With all the boys she had fooled around with and the men who had undressed her with their eyes, she had never felt anything like she was feeling right now.
At that time, Marianne didn't know, but she had fallen in love at first sight with her teacher, Jeff Clayton.
From the next day onwards, she began sitting in the first row, right in front of his desk and discovered emotions that would change her life forever.
Marianne was only eighteen, but boys had already touched and squeezed her ripe breasts, and a couple of them had even put their fingers inside her panties. She, in turn, had amply displayed that she was a good sport by touching their cocks and even allowing two boys to shove their raging hard-ons into her mouth.
With the experience, Marianne had gained with the boys and the fact that she secretly admired when grown-up men looked at her well-proportioned boobs and her tight ass, she set in motion her plan to win Jeff's heart.
On the third day, she came to school wearing a nose ring and a dash of kohl to highlight her green eyes. When she sat down on her chair in front of Jeff, she undid the top two buttons of her shirt and leaned on her desk to provide him with a good view. His eyes, of course, went deep into her ample cleavage, tracing the blue veins running down her valley and then disappearing behind the desk.
Where once Marianne spent most of her time thinking about shopping, movie stars, boys, and their bulges, she was now always looking for any excuse to talk to Jeff and to stand as close to him as possible.
Whenever she found him alone she would slide next to him and bending forward on her elbows ask him meaningless questions as his gaze admired the assets on display.
Sometimes she would come in a short skirt and watch Jeff sneak a peek at the soft skin of her thighs.
Before her eyes fell on his rugged, handsome frame, Marianne was reluctant to carry out even the simplest of requests.
But now every wish of Jeff became an order, a command that had to be carried out without question.
If he told the class to finish an essay in five days, she did it in three. If he told them to reference one book, she went over four.
Marianne began hanging on to his every request, treating it as an order that she had to obey no matter what.
One day she found out that he lived alone near the school, so she went to his place in the evening and knocked on the door.
"Yes?"
"Have brought pancakes that I baked myself."
"Why?"
"For you."
He stepped out, took the pancakes, and closed the door without saying thank you.
Marianne stood there for more than five minutes hoping that he might open the door again but it remained shut.
When she went to bed at night, all she could think about was Jeff. He hadn't invited her in, hadn't talked to her, and hadn't even said thank you. But the sight of him standing there in front of her in shorts and a T-shirt, his masculine legs, his smell, and his rugged arms made her rub her young legs together, made her toss and turn, and made her squeeze her pillow tightly. She continued to play his voice in her head and the way he took the pancakes from her the whole night.
The next evening she again went to his house and knocked.
"What now?"
"Lasagne," she said, extending her hands.
"Did you make them?"
"No, Mom did," she replied, which was a lie as she had bought them from a shop.
He stepped outside, looked around, and waved her in.
Marianne was putting the lasagne on the table when she heard his baritone voice.
"Did I ask you to put them there?"
"No," she replied, turning around in surprise.
"Tell me, Marianne, you're always trying to please me, aren't you?"
She just stood there with her eyes lowered.
"Do you want to make me happy? Answer me."
"Yes," she whispered.
"OK. Put lasagne in the kitchen and then arrange the books that are lying in the other room."
After dusting and arranging the books alphabetically she came back to the living room and stood near the couch he was sitting on.
He didn't even look at her and kept watching the game on the TV, while she stood there for more than fifteen minutes looking at his long legs and his black hair as she waited for his next command.
Finally, he got up and told her that he was going to sleep, so she better go home. With that, he went to his room and closed the door.
The next day was a Sunday, so she went to his place early.
Jeff opened the door and, without even saying hello, told her to go to the kitchen and wash the dishes.
She removed the scarf, revealing her cleavage that was bursting out from the tight top, and tried to make eye contact with him to draw his attention to her well-developed breasts, but he didn't even look at her.
After washing the dishes and noticing that he had finished the lasagne she had brought a day ago, she came to the living room.
Jeff, who was sitting on the couch, asked her to stand in front of him.
"I'll take care of you if you make me happy. Understood?"
"Yes."
"Don't talk to me in school. We'll talk here only. Don't tell your friends about us. Was looking at your file. Your pa works in a bank and ma is a swimming coach. Don't tell them either. Got it?"
"Yes."
"Good. Now go."
With that, Jeff got up and went to his bedroom.