Trapped With My Teacher

by Penny Wylder

  “How long have you wanted my cock?” he replies. But he’s moving up against me again, and there’s his thick girth between my thighs, and I relax back into him, relieved that he’s giving in, that he’s grabbing my hips again, reaching down to stroke my clit with one finger.

  “Ever since the first day of class,” I whisper. My voice is so low, he must hardly be able to hear me. I hope, anyway.

  No such luck.

  “That’s what I thought.” Suddenly, he positions his cock directly at my entrance. I barely have time to grab the edge of the couch before he thrusts forward, driving into me. That first thrust pushes his cock halfway into me, stretching my tight walls so that I shout. He’s already pulling back, pinning my hips hard against the couch, and thrusting back into me, deeper this time. I spread my legs wider. One more thrust and I can feel his balls slap against my pussy lips, his cock buried fully inside me, stretching me so wide it almost hurts. Almost.

  But more than that, it feels fucking amazing.

  “You like this Corina? Getting what you’ve always wanted?” He draws back, thrusts into me again. I cry out louder now, bucking back against him. “How often have you sat in my classroom fantasizing about me, hmm?” He thrusts again, and I have to grab the couch with both hands to hold on as he starts to build up momentum. “Do you think about me fucking you there? Bending you over my desk and having my way with you?”

  “Y-yes,” I cry. He speeds up, fucking me harder now, faster. “I…I… dream about… you fucking me,” I gasp.

  “Good.” His voice has dropped to a growl now. “Because I think about fucking you too, Corina.” He grips my hair, turns my head to the side, pulling just hard enough to make it sting in a good way.

  I gasp and glance over my shoulder at him, my belly tight, my whole body on fire with his fury. “Yeah?” I ask, trying to make my voice as steady as I can. That’s nearly impossible now, as he pounds into me again and again, his cock stretching my walls.

  He angles his hips to let the head of his cock drag along my inner wall, right over my G-spot. I buck and twist under him. He pins me against the couch with his other hand, continues to fuck me without stopping, merciless, hard. “Yes,” he practically growls. “I think about fucking you right in that front desk you sit in. I think about tearing off your cute little skirts and shoving my thick cock in your tight little pussy. Just.” He slams his hips against mine. “Like.” He thrusts again, and I scream, already on the brink of orgasm, my vision spotting with color at the edges. “This.”

  That last thrust does it. My cry turns wordless, desperate, as his cock drives along my G-spot, sending me over the edge. I come hard, thrusting against him, desperate, feral.

  He loosens his grip on my hair, grabs my hips with both hands and moves faster, harder, his eyes glazed, mouth open as he nears his own finish. I clench my pussy as hard as I can, and he groans so loud I’m sure anyone outside could hear it for miles—if there was anyone around. He growls my name as he finishes, coming hard inside me, and he keeps going, keeps pumping into me as his cock starts to soften.

  Only then does he pull out and step back, breathless, eyes glazed, an almost stunned look in his eyes.

  It takes me a moment to catch my breath, stop my heart from pounding wildly inside my chest.

  For his part, Tony avoids my eye and unrolls the condom. He ties it expertly, pulling his jeans back into place at the same time. I’m still spread across the couch, wet pussy exposed, when he zips his jeans and brushes past me, slamming the door into the tiny kitchen behind him.

  What the hell just happened?

  6

  The Morning After

  The next time we speak is to argue about the bed.

  “I told you, you take it.” Tony leans against the doorway into the bedroom, gaze narrowed at the single, tight-quartered mattress.

  “We can both fit,” I protest. “Look, if we sleep on our sides…”

  “I know we both can fit. You take it.” He steps back, toward the living room. I glare after him while he stokes the fire for a moment.

  Then I raise my voice. “What were you saying earlier tonight about conservation? We need to conserve our body heat most of all. We can’t do that from two different rooms.” I gesture at the couch. “And you barely fit on that anyway.”

  He narrows his eyes and shoves another piece of wood into the fire.

  “That won’t stay lit all night,” I say. “Sooner or later it will go out. And you’ve seen how cold the kitchen already is. You can’t sleep out there in that.”

  He doesn’t reply. But when I finally roll my eyes and curl up on the bed, facing the wall, under the blanket, I hear him sigh. A few moments later, I feel the heavy weight of the couch blanket being draped over me. Then the bed shifts as Tony climbs in beside me. His back digs into mine, curled in the opposite direction. Not the most comfortable way to sleep, but I ignore it. I close my eyes and try to drift off.

  All I can hear is his voice. I think about fucking you too, Corina. I think about fucking you right in that front desk you sit in. My heartbeat speeds up just thinking about that. Tony Lakewood, Professor Hardass, my biggest pain in the ass this whole year. He’s been daydreaming about fucking me.

  Same way I’ve been fantasizing about him. Ever since the first day I laid eyes on him in class, his perfect body and his sculpted chest and steady, piercing gaze.

  I squeeze my eyes tighter.

  We did just fuck. He fucked me so hard that if I clench my pussy, I can still feel his cock inside me, the shadow of him there. The sweet, deep ache he left inside me.

  The burning throb of my clit, which wants more. I want him to do that again.

  In frustration, I pull the pillow up over my eyes and try to slow my breathing. It’s going to be a long night.

  I wake up to the feeling of warm arms wrapped around my waist, and a strong, muscular body curled around mine, holding me close. For a few breaths, I listen to the soft breathing behind me, feel the rise and fall of a chest against my back, and savor the warm, cozy sensation of being tucked under blankets with this warm body, when outside, on my cheek and face, I can tell how cold the ambient air has become.

  So warm, so snug… I could almost drift right back to sleep.

  Almost.

  Until I remember where I am. Until I realize who is wrapped around me in bed.

  I startle and roll over. Sure enough, I didn’t dream any of that. Professor Tony Lakewood is curled up beside me in bed, one arm around my waist like a lover’s embrace, eyelids fluttering slightly as he dreams about something. About fucking me again? asks the unhelpful part of my brain.

  This is dangerous. My professor isn’t someone I can start hooking up with. And I certainly can’t wake up cuddling him, as if this…

  I shake myself internally. As if this is anything more than a freak circumstance. I lever myself up on one elbow and untangle myself from his arm.

  He sighs in his sleep, rolls over. I use that momentum to climb across him out of the bed. When I glance back, guilty at how much I made the whole small bed shift, he cracks one eyelid to look at me. For a brief second, our eyes meet. Then he rolls back over under the blankets, and I force myself to walk out of the bedroom. No more talking about that.

  The living room is freezing already. I stoke the fire back up—it died down over night. That finished, I dig into my suitcase and pull out a change of clothes. Luckily I packed for the slopes, so I have plenty of warm, long-sleeved clothing. I step into the kitchen to change, since Tony and I both slept in our jeans.

  It’s freezing inside the kitchen. So cold I hop from foot to foot, reaching over to turn on the stove just to warm things up a tiny bit. I hop into a pair of long sweatpants, a long-sleeved shirt, then fresh socks and a jacket over top. My breath mists in the air as I set about making some breakfast.

  Outside, the snow has stopped, but my eyes widen when I peer across the yard—across several yards of blinding white snow, that is—at the shed. Becaus
e it’s almost completely buried.

  In fact, when I lean forward to check below the window, my mouth drops. The snow reaches all the way up to the kitchen windowsill. If I open the little door beside the kitchen now, I’ll be staring down a chest-high pile of snow.

  Great.

  I drop the pan onto the stove rather more forcefully than necessary. All the clattering must wake up Tony. I hear shuffling in the other room and feel the cabin creak with his weight as he putters around. A few minutes later, he steps into the kitchen, yawning and stretching, his hair sticking straight up from sleep.

  Some wild impulse in me wants to reach out and flatten that hair for him. I tamp it down, and serve him a helping of the same chicken we ate last night for breakfast, along with a side bowl of, you guessed it, mushy porridge.

  I expect a snarky comment about my lack of cooking skills. Or something, anything, to break this tension. But Tony only looks at me, then away, as though scared to meet my eye. He sits at the single person table in the kitchen and eats in silence. Then he rises and starts to wash the dishes, all without even acknowledging that I’m in the same room. I roll my eyes and finish my own food, then leave him to his own devices and open the back door.

  Sure enough, I was right. The snow glistens right at chest height. Good thing we brought in plenty of wood last night. I have a feeling we’re going to be spending more time in this cabin than either of us would like. We’ll be lucky if they clear the roads by tonight.

  Tony glances over at me, but if he’s going to tell me not to venture out there in the snow, he must think better of it when he catches a glimpse of the determined, narrow-eyed glare on my face. He just turns back to scrubbing the dishes with the minimal amount of bottled water we have left, because to judge by the lack of anything from the sink, the pipes are already frozen solid.

  As for me, I’m on a mission. Because I’ve been thinking about something all morning—anything, really, to distract myself from the awkward reality of being trapped in a cabin with the teacher I hate. The teacher I hate and who I just fucked.

  And the conclusion I’ve come to, in my search for a distraction, is this—where is the shower?

  There’s a tiny little water closet off the kitchen, little more than a toilet and a sink that no longer functions without the pipes working. But there’s no shower. No bath either. Which leads me to believe it must be elsewhere. And there’s only one elsewhere in this tiny little homestead.

  So I shoulder my way out the door into the chest-deep snow, grope around in it until I feel the handle of the shovel we brought over last night from the shed, and start digging.

  It takes me the better part of the morning to make a little path for myself from the back door all the way out to the shed. At least it gives me something to do beside stand around the cabin with Tony in awkward silence. And at least, while I’m doing it, I work up enough of a sweat that I’m not cold, despite not currently being curled up in the cozy little living room around the fireplace.

  The living room where he fucked me last night. The living room where I screamed my professor’s name while he came.

  My shoulders bunch with the dual effort of forcing out those thoughts and focusing on the task at hand.

  Finally, after what feels like a couple of hours—and probably was, come to think of it—I make it across the yard to the little shed. Once there, I open the door yet again and face down the far wall. The locked door is still there, and, to judge by the dimensions of this shed, it should lead to a much bigger space than it’s letting on.

  With the bright morning sun reflecting off all the freshly fallen snow outside, it’s plenty light in here. Light enough that it doesn’t take me long to find the fake rock stuck obtrusively in the corner of the shed, and then to work the fake bottom off it to grab the key to this mystery door. I stick the key into the lock, turn it, and grin with self-satisfaction when the door swings open wide to reveal exactly what I expected beyond it…

  7

  Cleaning Up

  It doesn’t take me long to prepare. I’ve been ready for this—had my mind focused on it the whole time I dug my path out here. Or at least, what part of my mind I could force away from memories of Tony’s hands on my hips, his thick cock inside my pussy, making me ache and cry out for release.

  Most cabins like these—cabins meant for ski holidays on the weekends, not equipped for living in full-time—come with these sorts of outer rooms. I’ve seen more than my fair share on outings with my family. Daddy always claims he’s going to build one in our backyard, though he never gets around to actually doing it. Classic for him.

  Me, I’m just feeling more grateful than ever to whomever built this little cabin all the way up here, as I fill up one last bucket of snow, then shoulder my way back through the little shed.

  In the back of it, through the locked door, I hit the jackpot. Not only is there a huge claw-footed porcelain bathtub, looking like it just walked into this wood-paneled shed’s hidden room out of an 18th century castle, but there’s also a huge stove in the corner, with iron piping underneath that cradles the tub, as though the stove is holding it in a tight lover’s embrace. I found the stove already stoked with wood, as if someone had been preparing a warm bath here when they were called away. All I needed to do was light it, coax those flames to life, like I’ve already done, and then fill up the bathtub with snow.

  I add the last bucket I’m carrying and watch the snow dissolve into the already lukewarm water. It won’t take long now before it’s steaming. To judge by the walls of the room and the way the stove is vented, this whole hut was built as a sauna, and the bathtub was added later. Probably when whatever bachelor clearly built this cabin realized that he needed a spot to get clean if he ever wanted to bring a lady friend up here with him.

  That’s the story in my mind, anyway, as I stir the last bucket of snow into the water, then dip a finger into the bath to test it. Just a few more minutes until it’ll be hot enough.

  Eager to get started, I spin around, ready to shut the door into the shed.

  That’s when I find Tony leaning on the frame of the doorway, watching me with hooded eyes, his expression unreadable.

  “What?” I ask as I step past him to toss the snow bucket outside.

  He doesn’t answer. I brush back into the shed, bumping my shoulder against his hard enough that he’ll feel it.

  “At least get out of the doorway,” I say as I pick my way across the toolshed toward the little sauna bath. “You’re letting all this nice heat out.”

  He steps into the shed and lets the door click shut behind him. For a moment, that’s the only indication I get that he’s even listening to me. Then he clears his throat, eyes on the stove. “Shouldn’t we be conserving that wood?”

  “We have plenty,” I tell him without turning around. “This is just extra I found in here. But if you’re worried about it, you can bring in more from the pile outside. It’s buried under the kitchen window.”

  He locks eyes with me for a long moment. Then he sighs and shakes his head. “Where should I put it? The kitchen’s already full.”

  “Bring it in here. It’ll dry off in the shed.” I turn without waiting for another response. If I wait any longer, this bath I’ve worked for all morning is going to get cold.

  There’s a soft click as he opens the door, then another slam as it shuts behind him. I wait a moment, watching the outer door of the shed. Then I step into the sauna, and ease the door closed. I don’t shut it all the way. Not quite. I leave a sliver of a crack, and hesitate, debating. But I want somewhere for the steam to vent—a consideration the sauna builder doesn’t seem to have thought about when he constructed this little add-on room.

  That, and, I can’t deny that part of me wants to know what Tony will do. How he’ll react if he comes back in here and I’m already naked and sprawled in this bathtub.

  So, I leave the door partway open, and begin to strip. It doesn’t take me long to peel off the layers I donned th
is morning. By the time I do, the water next to me has wisps of steam rising from its surface. I step into it, and can’t help it. I let out a sigh of pleasure as the warmth wraps around my foot, my calf, my thigh. I add my other leg, sink slowly into the bath, and moan aloud as it envelops my whole body.

  I haven’t felt this warm since before my car started to skid yesterday afternoon.

  Was it only yesterday?

  Time flies when you’re trapped in a cabin on the edge of the world.

  I hear the creak of the shed door. Then a clatter as Tony drops off the wood in the shed. Next, footsteps. My heart flutters, and my belly tightens at the memory of the way he acted yesterday. How fierce he was when he grabbed me, took what he wanted.

  The door creaks open. “I’m not sure where you want—” Tony breaks off abruptly, eyes locked on my body, mouth still half open. He snaps it shut, and his gaze drifts up to mine. “The wood,” he finishes, eyes holding mine tight.

  I can’t look away. So I don’t bother. I just lean back in the bathtub and rest my neck along the marble sill, allowing myself a small, teasing smile as I gaze up at him. “Right here is fine,” I say, my voice thick with meaning. We both know I’m not talking about that wood anymore.

  Still, Tony hesitates on the threshold. Lets his gaze drip over me again, lingering, full of desire. I know how to read that longing expression in his eyes now. “Corina, what happened last night…”

  I spread my legs, really slowly, so he knows I’m doing this on purpose. I love how easy this is. How quickly his gaze drops to my belly, then my pussy, as I open my knees as wide as I can in the big bathtub. “What about last night?” I ask, my voice low. When he doesn’t reply, I lick my lips. Try my luck. “Was it everything you fantasized about, Professor?”