by Penny Wylder
The first day she walked into my classroom I knew I was in trouble. All the typical things played into it: A sexy mane of thick dark hair, silky pale skin, eyes like bright blue planets that suck you into their world. But it was more than that. I’ve seen plenty of beautiful women in my life—been with plenty of beautiful women. With Georgia it was different. It was chemistry.
Part of it was her looks. On more than one occasion I pictured brushing my fingers through her locks. The full lips I’d love to kiss, and the curvy body I want to taste every inch of. It’s everything about her. Looks, yes, but her personality too. The inquisitiveness. That might not be all that of an attractive feature for most men, but for a teacher there’s nothing better. And the fact that she devours my every word, eyes stalking me as I cross the room. I’m used to students’ glazed-over stares as they watch the clock above my head ticking by, waiting for the hour to be over.
Not Georgia. She acts as though I’ve hung the moon, never questioning anything I teach. I have her in my grasp. If she’s as quick of a study in bed as she is in the classroom, she may just be the girl of my dreams. When it comes to sex, I could bend her to my will, dominate her, and she would love every minute of it.
But the distracted girl in my classroom is not the same girl I’m used to seeing on a daily basis. I’ve never seen her talk to Serena and Chad. Normally the Rockefeller wannabes talking in the corner don’t rattle her a bit. For some reason they have been for the last two days. And what was that, when she looked right at my dick yesterday? Not that I’m complaining, of course. It just took me off my guard, and I don’t like to be surprised in the middle of a lesson when I’m trying to get these thick-headed students familiar with chemicals that could easily poison them or burn their skin if they’re not careful.
In the months Georgia’s been in my class, she’s always looked me right in the eye. Yesterday it was as if my cock was giving the lecture. After class I even checked the front of my pants to make sure my zipper wasn’t down and that I hadn’t spilled my lunch down the front of me. Seeing her look at me like that, I’d struggled to keep from getting a hard-on in class. Struggle is putting it mildly. I had to force Mrs. Chambers, the cook in the cafeteria—the one with the mustache and blackheads the size of pennies—into my thoughts to keep my dragon down. Because trust me, when I’m hard, there’s no hiding it.
Every time I look at Georgia, she’s looking back at me with bare curiosity, as if I’ve done something so outrageous, so entertaining that it warrants all her attention in case I do it again. I try to hold her gaze but she keeps averting her eyes. Maybe I’m reading her wrong and she just needs help with the assignment, but I don’t think so. I’m not sure what she wants and it’s driving me crazy.
The entire period is a struggle to keep my focus. When the class is finally over, I sit at my desk and take papers from my students as they leave the room. When the last student is gone and the door shuts, I get up to lock it. When I turn around, I realize Georgia is still at her desk and she has yet to clean out her flasks and beakers.
I stand up, not sure what to do with my hands, so I shove them in my pockets. She’s looking down at the paper in front of her as if she’s really struggling. She’s my best student. She should’ve breezed through this assignment. It’s stuff we’ve already covered throughout the school year. I’ve never known her to struggle with anything since starting this class, especially things this easy.
Making my way across the room, I see last night’s assignment on her desk. Though I’m looking at it upside down, from this angle it looks complete. In fact, it looks more than complete. It looks as though she wrote out each of her answers and explained why in the margins for good measure. She’s always doing things like that, going above and beyond what I ask her to do when most students struggle to write two words. I even had a student once answer a question with “just because.” Not to name names, but his name sounds like Brad and he sits next to Serena . . .
“Georgia? Do you need help with something?” I ask her.
She startles at the sound of my voice, knocking over a flask full of blue liquid that splashes onto my pants and shirt.
I back away instantly, sucking in a worried breath. Working with chemicals, I know just how dangerous they can be. I once had a professor in college blow up a classroom. Luckily no one was seriously injured in the accident. But that’s one cautionary tale you don’t forget in this business.
Though we’re not working with anything explosive or particularly dangerous at the moment, there are chemicals in this room that could cause nasty rashes and first-degree burns. I don’t want to take any chances. As I strip off my clothes, down to nothing but my boxer-briefs and socks, the area around me fills with the scent of peppermint.
Georgia jumps out of her seat with a towel in hand, wiping off my bare chest, and spending an exorbitant amount of time on the front of my boxers. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she was trying to open the flap and see inside. I stop her by grabbing onto her wrist before the effect she’s having on me becomes impossible to hide. After she calms down, I let go of her. She apologizes for being so clumsy. She is not a clumsy girl. Not in the slightest. And she’s not one to startle easily, either. There have been plenty of times when I’ve stood over her while she was deep in thought, and not once when I said her name did she flail her arms and dump chemicals on me.
“God, I am so sorry, Mr. Johnson, it’s not a chemical, it’s just mouthwash.”
I pause with my thumbs in the waistband of my boxers. I was starting to think I was better safe than sorry and should strip down to nothing at all and wash off.
I let out a sigh of relief.
“Mouthwash?” I say, confused.
Her beautiful porcelain skin floods with color. “The bottle broke in my backpack so I dumped it in the flask so it wouldn’t get all over my homework.
I glance over at the sink attached to table right beside her, and the trashcan just below it. She had two options of easy disposal, but decided to dump it in a flask instead—for which she would have had to use a funnel in order to sift it through the small opening. This is a smart girl with excellent problem-solving skills, not whatever this character is she’s playing—who reminds me more of the ditzy Serena she’s been sitting behind who barely squeezes through life on a C average.
I start to wonder if this has anything to do with the reason those two have been talking in class the last couple of days.
“Can I see your paper, please?” I ask. I want to see if she really did need help with her assignment or if this is some game she’s playing that I have yet to figure out the objective of.
Her jaw clinches, and she takes the paper in her hand, hesitating as though she might not give it to me.
“Georgia? If you don’t turn it in today, you don’t get credit.”
“Can’t I turn it in late?” she asks, looking up at me with those big innocent eyes. The way she bites her bottom lip has me itching to grab her by the sides of her face and bring those lips to mine. If she were anyone else but my favorite student, I would have.
My voice stays firm even though I’d probably cave if she asked me for an extension. “Highest grade you can get when turning something in late is a C.”
Her eyes go bright with fear, and I fight the smile bubbling up. Little Miss Overachiever. I knew that would get her attention. She hands me the piece of paper. Even with the smell of mint still lingering in the air, the scent on her paper fills my head. I’m stunned at first, and glance over at Georgia who stares down at her desk, chin bobbing as if she’s either about to cry or scream, or maybe both.
With the page to my nose, I fill my lungs with the sweet, earthy scent of female cum. I want to close my eyes and live in this moment, stick my tongue out and taste her. I would know this smell anywhere. Hairs stand up all over my body and my dick strains against my boxers. Reluctantly, I put the paper down in front of me to hide my arousal.
When I finally break the hold her scent has on me, I look at
the page and realize her work is flawless—like usual. So why had she been sitting there acting as if she were in need of help, unless she meant all of this to happen? I have a sinking suspicion that she was trying to get me out of my clothes on purpose, and that she had every intention of having me smell her cum on these pages. The only question that remains: is this brilliant student trying to start something with me?
I don’t know her well enough to say for sure that she’s not the kind of girl who would carelessly try to hook up with a teacher and risk losing her scholarship, but she definitely doesn’t seem like it. I would never try to do anything to ruin the limitless options of her future, only I’m really struggling not to give in to her.
“Georgia, what’s this about?” I say, trying to mask the lust-heavy undertones of my voice with authority. I don’t know how successful I am at it, but I’m giving it one hell of an effort. “I know this wasn’t an accident. Does this have something to do with Serena and Chad?”
She looks at me, but she can’t seem to hold eye contact. Her eyes start to wander over my body, stopping at my hip. Her gaze lingers on the small birthmark shaped like California, and her mouth drops open.
“What . . .” she says, her voice trailing off as if her mind is somewhere else.
I snap my fingers in front of her face to get her attention. “What is going on with you?”
She hesitates. Whatever it is bears a heavy weight that makes her shoulders droop.
“I can’t help you unless you tell me,” I say.
Taking a deep breath, she lets her head fall into her hands. “I’m so sorry.” She looks up at the acoustic tiles on the ceiling and winces. I’m actually a little afraid of what she’s about to say. With as much twisting and turning as she’s doing in her seat, it can’t be good. “I was sitting behind Serena and Chad and they were watching this video . . .”
She’d mentioned them watching videos before, but the way she says it now leaves no doubt as to which video she’s talking about. Squeezing my lips together, I stand straight as if my vertebrae has been soldered together. It was only a matter of time before someone found the old movie. I hoped it would be long after I’d retired, but luck doesn’t seem to be on my side. At the time, when the porno was first made, it seemed like a needle in a haystack that someone I knew would come across it. It was made in a tiny back-alley studio. The company was professional enough to test for STDs prior to production and it paid well, but as these types of companies go, it was like a mom-and-pop thing. The director wrote the script, did the lighting himself, and ran cameras, while his wife and brother ran the others. I had no idea they’d have the kind of distribution to keep videos out in the world after all these years.
Now it has finally come back to bite me in the ass.
“Who all knows about the video?” I ask, sounding angrier than I should. It’s not like it’s her fault that the students in my class found it, and I can’t blame her for being curious enough to watch it. If the shoe were on the other foot and I found a video of Georgia, I would definitely check it out.
“As far as I know, just us,” she says. “They were hesitant to even show me, but I’d already seen enough to realize what they were watching. I don’t think they’ll tell anyone.”
“No,” I say, resigned. Looking out the window at the clear sky, I see my entire career—all those years of late-night study sessions and horrible part-time jobs in greasy fast-food joints to earn tuition flash before my eyes.
That’s why I’d resulted to porn, because there were no part-time jobs that paid enough. I was going through the job section of the newspaper one day when I saw the ad for porn actors. I was young and thought, fuck for money? Hell yeah, I can do that. But it wasn’t at all how I thought it would be. I showed up at the studio and met my co-star, who, at the time, was smoking a joint because she couldn’t bear to have sex with me sober. She was twenty-six years old and had already starred in over fifty movies, some of them so extreme, according to her, that they had to have a medic on set just in case. After that I was afraid, to say the least. There was nothing sexy about any of it. She immediately went into the rules, what she was willing and not willing to do. I was then instructed to lie on a bed with all eyes on me. With the heat from the lights blazing down on me, and the cold mechanics of the whole thing, I struggled to stay hard. They made me pop a little blue pill and threated to kick me out and not pay me if I couldn’t perform. Somehow I managed, but despite my hard cock, I wasn’t turned on one bit. Once I came, I was so glad it was over I decided never to do it again, even after receiving a nice paycheck. It just wasn’t worth it. And now, everything I’ve worked for, all of it could be gone because I had sex for money on camera ten years ago.
Exhaling a long, exhausted breath, I say, “I don’t think they’ll tell anyone as long as I give them something in return. Their parents are wealthy, so I doubt they’ll want money, but I’m sure they will want As in this class. But you already have a perfect grade in my class, so what will you want?”
I have a hard time keeping the irritation back. I thought Georgia was different. Stupid me, I was actually starting to feel a connection between me and her. I thought she liked me. Now that I realize she did all of this to blackmail me because of the video, I realize how dumb I’ve been.
“I don’t want anything,” she says.
I watch her, trying to read her face. I’ve been teaching long enough to spot a liar from a mile away. So why am I not picking up on anything? I want to believe her. Those big blue eyes look sincere, and so does the shocked expression on her face, but the way she continues to twist the straps of her backpack tells me she’s not being entirely honest.
“You’re lying,” I say.
She bites her bottom lip, her eyes bouncing between my face and my dick, which has finally settled down in the face of my ruin.
“Well, there’s one thing,” she says.
It’s probably money. Scholarship kids are always scraping by. But how much will she want and how much is this job really worth to me?
“How much?” I ask.
She tilts her head to the side, confused. “How much?”
“Yeah,” I say, getting irritated with this innocent act of hers while she’s committing extortion. “How much money will it take to keep you quiet about the video?”
She leans away from me. Irritation warps her face. On anyone else, it would be ugly, but I think it’s physically impossible for her to be unattractive. “I don’t want your money,” she says, spitting out the words as if they’ve left a bad taste in her mouth.
“Then what do you want from me,” I say, lifting my hands in surrender.
Shaking her head, she says, “I wasn’t trying to get money from you, I just wanted to see your cock!” She slaps her hands against her mouth, eyes wide, as if she’d spilled a secret she’d meant to keep.
A short burst of laughter escapes my lips. I can’t believe what she’s telling me. “In exchange for your silence, you want to see my cock?”
I’ve never seen anyone’s face turn as red as Georgia’s is now. Seriously, is there any blood left in the rest of her body?
“No,” she insists. “Not in exchange for my silence. I never planned to tell anyone. You’re my favorite teacher. I would never do anything like that. I was just . . . I bought the video and now I’m curious. It’s not blackmail. If you don’t show me, it’s not a big deal.” She scrambles for her backpack. It’s adorable the way she keeps dropping her books when she tries to shove them inside. “Never mind,” she says, anxious to escape. “Just forget I said anything,”
When she tries to leave I grab her arm to stop her. “Sit,” I tell her. She stares at my hand connected to her arm. At first I think she’s going to demand that I let her go, or get pissed that I’m physically detaining her, but instead, she obediently sits back in her chair without a word or even a hint of reluctance.
I take another step toward her so her face is right at the opening of my legs, just inches from
my boxer-clad dick. “You stayed to see it, so take a look,” I say.
She starts to fidget. “Maybe it was a bad idea—” she starts to say, but I cut her off.
“Look at it.”
Her eyes shoot upward to meet mine, a look of stunned disbelief making her look younger than she is, and somewhat nervous.
Her next words come out slow and methodical, as if she’s thinking really hard about what to say next. “Okay . . . aren’t you going to take off your boxers?”
“No, you’re going to do it for me,” I say, my words curt, leaving no room for her to argue.
I watch her, wondering if she’ll actually go through with it. She looks scared to death.
She starts to laugh, as if I’m joking, but when my lips don’t budge, her laughter trails off. “You’re serious.”
“If you want to see it bad enough, you get to do all the work. Now pull down my boxers and look at my cock.”
I move closer so that the flap on my boxers is just a hair’s breadth from her trembling mouth.
It will definitely be work trying to get these boxers off now that I’m getting hard. The fabric starts to gouge at the skin of my waist and becomes uncomfortable.
She visibly swallows and reaches for the elastic waistband. Holy shit, she’s actually going to do it, I realize, and I become harder still. Honestly, I thought she would chicken out; she seems so innocent, so virginal, but this girl is determined. I fight the smile wrestling my lips while she struggles to get my boxers over the head of my growing prick. When that approach doesn’t work at first, she reaches behind and slides them down my ass first. Always the little problem-solver.
Once my boxers are down in the back, she’s able to easily get them down in the front. I wait for her to say something, but she doesn’t. She doesn’t really need to, though. The look on her face speaks volumes.
3
Georgia
Mr. Johnson has the most beautiful dick I’ve ever seen. Straight with a slight arch toward his belly button, everything proportioned nicely. And big.
