Trapped With My Teacher

by Penny Wylder

  “Far more,” he answers, seemingly without thinking. Then his jaw clamps tight. He’s clearly annoyed with himself for revealing anything, again. His shoulders tense, and he’s about to turn, to leave.

  I snap my legs closed and relent, shuffling up so I’m sitting upright on the far end of the tub. “You can join, if you want. I won’t torment you anymore.” I grin a little at that.

  To my surprise, he does too. “It’s a tight fit,” he says, eying the tub.

  “We’ve made those work before,” I point out. “Besides, the warmth will do you good.”

  There’s another pause. Another hesitation, as he works through whatever it is eating at him. Then, just before I give him up for a lost cause and lie back again, he grabs his shirt and tugs it up off his head.

  I won’t lie. I enjoy the hell out of watching him undress. The sharp lines of his chest and abs. The way his biceps flex as he undoes his jeans, then locks eyes with me before he pushes them off. He steps out of them before he tugs his boxers off next. I can see why. The moment he pulls his boxers down, his cock springs out, already hard as a rock and flushed with desire.

  I force myself to tear my eyes away, focus on his face instead, as he climbs into the bath across from me. Unlike the couch or the bed in the main cabin, we actually have plenty of space in here. Not enough that we aren’t touching—our legs tangle the moment he slips into the tub— but enough that we could stay on opposite ends of this tub until the heat dies down. If we wanted to.

  “I’d apologize,” he says, with half a glance at his crotch. At his hard cock, still visible beneath the steamy surface of the water. “But this is clearly your fault.”

  I smirk. “My fault, huh?”

  “You did bring up some rather evocative memories. And then you spread those sexy legs of yours to show off that tight little pussy. Makes it hard for a man to keep his blood in the right head.”

  “Or maybe that’s your right head,” I reply, sliding my foot along his inner thigh. Up, up, up, past his knee, closer and closer to his crotch. I stop just before my toes reach his cock. “You seem to think a lot more highly of me with this than you do in class.”

  He sighs and reaches down. Cups my foot in one hand, his thumb massaging the sole of my foot for a moment, before he gently shifts it to one side, away from his leg. “Corina, I told you, I’m hard on you because I think you can do better than the work you’ve done so far. No, in fact, I know you can.”

  “I see. So you’re prejudiced in my favor, that’s why I have such a bad grade, is that it?” I smirk.

  “Well I certainly can’t give you extra credit for a move like this.” He strokes his hand up my foot, along my ankle, my calf. I shiver, and slide an inch closer to him across the tub.

  “No?” I tilt my head, eyes alight with mischief. “Would that be very naughty of you, Professor? Handing out extra credit for how much you enjoyed putting your cock inside me?”

  Now it’s his turn to turn red, though his eyes seem to spark at the same time, white-hot desire flaring in them. “Corina, I’m serious. We can’t do this.”

  “Funny.” I push up off the tub into a kneeling position now, bending over him. His face is inches from my chest, my nipples already hardening in the cold air outside the bath. “It seems to me like we already are.”

  “Don’t tempt me,” he warns. There’s a warning in his gaze. A fierce, hungry look.

  Too bad, I fucking love that look. I run my hands through his hair. Tighten one fist in his hair and tug his head back, so we’re nose to nose now, me still kneeling over him. “What happens if I tempt you, Professor?” I whisper. Without waiting for a reply, I crush my lips to his.

  He kisses me back, hard. His mouth parts, and I mirror him, feel his tongue slip between my lips and invade my mouth. He wrestles with mine, even as his hands reach down to grab my thighs, tug me onto his lap. Soon I’m kneeling across him, legs on either side, and I can feel his cock, hard and pulsing with need, positioned right between my thighs.

  He tears himself out of our kiss, but I lean down and start to kiss and lick and suck along his neck, loving the sensation of his harsh stubble scratching my cheek. Loving the scent of him, mingled with the wood smoke in this sauna, and the hot, desperate way his hands roam over my back, my hips, down to my ass, which he grips tight.

  “Corina.”

  There’s a strain in his voice now. Pleading and hungry and desperate all at once. I can’t tell if it’s because he wants me to stop or wants me to keep going. Probably both.

  I lean back just far enough to meet his eye. I expect something. More denials, perhaps. Or more assertions that this is wrong. That, or I expect the man from last night to return. The one who fucked me mercilessly over that couch.

  Instead, he just presses his lips together in a tight line. “I don’t have a condom,” he says.

  I almost laugh, breathless from the combination of desire and the heat in this tight room. “I’m on the pill,” I reassure him.

  With that, I lower myself on to his lap.

  That seems to do it. Shred any last remnants of his self-control. He grabs my hips with one hand, tugs me down onto him. With the other, he grabs a fistful of my hair and crushes my lips to his in another hard, breathless kiss. I’m helpless to pull away—not that I’d want to—as he tugs me against him. I moan into his mouth when he thrusts up, and the head of his cock digs into my pussy.

  “Fuck, Corina, you are so fucking tight,” he hisses through that kiss. Just the tip enters me at first, but he positions his hips, pulls me down against him until he’s pressing in further, deeper, inch by inch. Only once he’s fully inside me does he release the kiss, turn to bite and suck at my neck now, his teeth leaving marks, he’s so rough. I don’t care.

  “Yes, Tony, fuck me.” I dig my nails into his back and arch my neck, crying out as he pushes me up off him, then pulls me down again, thrusting deeper into me.

  “You like that, Corina? You like my thick cock stretching out your tight little pussy?”

  All I can do is moan in response.

  We find our rhythm, him bucking up beneath me, me spreading my knees wide and bouncing in his lap. Soon he’s fucking me completely, desperately, wild abandon in both of our movements. He stops kissing my neck, grabs both my hips, and I grab the side of the bath to hold myself steady as he pistons into me again and again.

  Then he drops one hand to press against my mound, his thumb hard against my clit. I scream through gritted teeth, pleasure spiking inside me. “That’s it,” he growls. “Come for me, Corina. Come for me, dirty girl.” My belly clenches tight, and when he begins to circle his thumb against my clit, I can’t take it anymore. I come with a wild cry, lights sparking behind my closed eyes.

  He just keeps going, keeps fucking me and thumbing my clit at the same time. “Again. I want to hear you scream.” The dual sensation of his thick cock stretching my pussy and his thumb teasing my already sensitive clit is too much. Before long the pressure builds once more.

  This time I scream his name as I finish, bucking wildly against him. My pussy clenches and releases around his cock, spasming with the force of my orgasm. That seems to do it. He groans.

  “God, fuck, Corina…” He grips my hips so hard I know it will bruise. Tugs me against him, thrusts deep into me, and comes. I can feel the hot rush of his cum coating my walls, and I squeeze my pussy as hard as I can, milking every drop from him as he keeps fucking me, slower and slower as he reaches the finish.

  Finally, when we’re both lying against the edge of the tub, chests heaving as we catch our breath, I shift back. Peel myself off him, and gasp at the rush of his hot cum trickling out of my pussy and into the warm water of the tub.

  “That was…” I shake my head. Catch his eye.

  He’s gazing at me with more in his eyes than just lust now. There’s real desire there. Want. He shakes his head too, and reaches out. Catches the back of my neck with one hand and tugs me gently forward into another kiss. A s
lower one this time. Soft and sweet. When we break apart, he leaves his forehead pressed to mine, and locks his eyes on me. “I know.”

  We both smile, still breathless. Then I cast a sideways glance at our clothes, piled around the narrow room. “Crap,” I say, belatedly realizing.

  His forehead contracts against mine in a frown. “What?”

  I lock eyes with him, breathless with laughter. “Towels.”

  He laughs, too, and the tension between us finally seems to break, if only for now. If only for a little while.

  “How do you know all this?” he’s asking me, back in the safety of the main cabin. We stood around the sauna drip-drying as long as we could—until the heat in the stove warming the tub faded, and we began to shiver with the onset of chill. Then we dressed again, in mostly dry clothes, and hurried through the snow back into the cabin. Along the way, I stopped to fill a bucket with snow for the sink. Our small supply of bottled water is already running low.

  “Know all what?” I ask as I dump the snow into the large bottle beside the sink, packing it in so that when it melts, it’ll stay in this container and not flood the counter.

  “How to survive out here. How to melt snow for water, make fires, all that jazz.”

  “I told you,” I say, “I grew up in a house full of boys.” Then I hesitate, and shrug. “My father taught me.”

  “Are you and your father close?” he asks. There’s something tense in his voice, a question beyond that question. But when I turn to glance at him, he’s busy fussing with the meat we’ve laid aside for dinner tonight, not even looking at me.

  Maybe I imagined it.

  “Yeah,” I say with a shrug, as I finish refilling the water jug. “I mean, we used to go camping all the time. Me and him and my brothers.”

  “Used to?”

  I shake my head with a little sigh. “He got promoted at work. High-powered lawyer now, partner at his firm. He doesn’t really have time for goofing off anymore.” I clamp my mouth shut, then shrug. “Or much of anything, really.”

  “So he’s not around much anymore?” This time, when I glance at Tony, he’s watching me with a sorrowful, almost sympathetic expression on his face.

  “Not really,” I admit.

  To my surprise, Tony’s expression shifts from sympathy into something almost… angry. “Sounds like a poor father to me.”

  My eyebrows rise. I blink in surprise. “He’s not. I mean—I’m making him sound worse than he is.” Tony has a point, some small, traitor part of me admits. Daddy doesn’t sound like the best father on paper. Not anymore. “But he does all this work for us. For me and my brothers, to give us the best lives he can. He gave me a lot of privileges, a lot of legs up in life. I really can’t complain. Even if it means I don’t get to see him much.”

  Tony’s jaw clenches. But if he has any other thoughts or opinions on the matter, he doesn’t share them. He just hmphs and turns back to the stovetop to continue cooking.

  Something is up. I can tell by the line of his shoulders, the tense knot that wasn’t there a minute ago. But I know better by now than to press him on it. So, with a shrug, I leave him to it, and head into the living room to restock our main fire.

  8

  Time Flies

  Two days pass.

  Two days with no change in our cell phone service.

  Two more nights where it snows—not as heavily as the first night, but heavily enough to add a few more inches to the path I carved across the back garden to the shed. Heavy enough to bury both of our cars so deep that we need to dig a path out the front door and dig them out so if any rescue vehicles eventually finally come crawling up this mountainside, they’ll see the cars and realize there are people here.

  But I’m not really nervous. Not yet. We have enough food to last us another 4-5 days, and enough wood to last us that long as well. Not to mention, Daddy knows I’m here. Eventually he’ll reach the resort, or the ski resort will contact him to let him know I never checked in. He’ll send out a search party. He’ll find me.

  Until then, I’m in this strange, not-entirely-bad alternate reality.

  In fact, oddly, despite the storm outside and our own impending potential lack of supplies, Tony and I have found a way to enjoy this situation. More than enjoy it. I feel happier trapped in this cabin than I have in months of suffering through his classes at school. Safe in my dormitory every night, with visions of him glowering at me across the classroom in my head every time I close my eyes.

  In the meantime, we certainly find ways to keep ourselves busy… Turns out Tony has a mind as dirty as it is devious. The first night, he blindfolded me with his shirt, then teased my nipples rock-hard with handfuls of snow, alternating between that and warm water to make me hot and cold and wet all over. All that before he finally fucked me against the wall of the living room, my feet wrapped around his waist, my shoulder blades digging into the wood paneling as he drove his cock into me. We had sex again in the bedroom, and then again at three in the morning when I woke up to feel his cock stiff and hard and digging into the small of my back.

  In the morning, he woke me up with a long, teasing, and borderline torturous onslaught from his tongue, licking and nibbling my inner thighs until I was begging for him to suck my clit. Only then did he tongue me until I came so hard I saw sparks behind my closed eyelids.

  Then he made coffee.

  Our second day was another long bath, that only got us dirtier, then more of the same, neither of us able to keep our hands off one another, neither able to get enough. Even as we cooked dinner together (him in charge of seasoning and actually cooking everything this time, me just doing the prep work), he kept resting one hand on my hip, touching my shoulder, leaning in to rest his chin on top of my head or plant a slow, sultry kiss on my lips right before nearly burning the fish fillets we were making.

  Waking up this morning felt frighteningly normal. I stirred, and felt Tony’s arm tighten around my waist, listened to the soft, steady rhythm of his breathing. And I felt at home. Despite everything. Despite the snowdrifts outside, our total lack of connection to the outside world, our uncertainty about when someone will find us… I feel safe here with him. Relaxed. More at peace than I have in months.

  I stare at the wall, keeping my breathing slow and even so as not to disturb him. Not yet. I want to keep this moment going for as long as possible. Because I already know this won’t last. It can’t. It’s impossible.

  Your professor is not someone to fall for. Not long term.

  His arm tightens around my waist, almost subconsciously. I reach down and twine my fingers through his, grip his hand gently as I close my eyes and try to drift back off to sleep. We don’t need to be up—we have another couple of hours before we’ll need to stoke the fire and start thinking about breakfast. And beyond that, well… We don’t actually have anything we need to do at all, beside survive.

  But my movement must have awoken him, because Tony tightens his grip again, shifts against me, then leans in to kiss my neck gently, right at the sensitive spot where my ear meets my neck.

  “Awake already?” he murmurs. Dawn has barely begun to dust the curtains above our heads. I should still be fast asleep, he’s right.

  I sigh and squeeze his fingertips again. “Just thinking.”

  He’s silent for a moment, at that. We still haven’t talked. Not really. Not about whatever this is. We have a sort of silent, unspoken agreement between us. If we talk about this situation, examine it too closely, we both know it will shatter. So we don’t. We let the illusion live, for now. Enjoy this time while we have it.

  His lips brush against the nape of my neck now, the kiss even softer this time. “That’s a dangerous habit,” he whispers. His breath feels hot, hot enough to send a shiver down my spine.

  I lean back against him and let out another soft sigh. “Believe me, I know. This…” I glance down at our entwined fingers.

  “This is dangerous,” he finishes for me.

  “
Why, exactly?” I murmur.

  Another long silence. Only his breathing tells me he’s still awake. Then he sighs, too, and there’s that white-hot breath again, right on my sensitive skin. “It just is.”

  I close my eyes. Bite the inside of my cheek to keep from shedding a tear. He’s right. This is dangerous. Once the snow clears and we’re out of here, this will end. It has to. So, as impossible as it seems from where I’m lying now, I tell myself not to get attached. Not to get used to this. Enjoy the moment, but keep in mind always: This will end soon.

  Another three days. Another storm. This one buries the path I dug to the shed and completely obscures the windows. We have to clamber through the snow just to dig out the windows to let in light, and then re-tunnel our way out to the shed.

  We haven’t used the bath in the last two days. Not since we took a look at the wood supply, which once seemed excessive, and now seems startlingly small.

  This morning, Tony spent the better part of the day out front sticking flags made from spare clothes we have all over the lawn. Just in case. Just in case someone drives by and doesn’t notice the smoke coming out of the chimney or the cars out front we’ve dug out again. Just in case someone, anyone, happens by.

  We started up my car last night to listen to the news. The reception was patchy, but we got the latest update. The last storm on the radar should pass tonight. Then it looks like clear skies for the foreseeable future. We listen to the cheerful weather announcer describe the blizzard downtown. All the snow, all the houses buried, all the school cancellations and cars that skidded or crashed on the roads. Even a couple stories about skiers lost on slopes who were recovered after an overnight manhunt.

  It all feels so far away.

  If I’d been at school this weekend, I would be curled up in my dormitory chatting with my friends, probably complaining about Professor Lakewood as I grumbled my way through his latest assignment. And Tony, he talked about where he would’ve been too. He grinned at me as he said he’d probably be holed up in his house alone doing the same thing. Complaining about his students not living up to their potential, while he graded their papers.