“Jasmine! You are going to be late if you don’t get moving!” My mom shouts from the kitchen.
Pulling my hair into a high pony, I double-check that I have everything I need: pencils, pens, my phone, and my backpack, all check. I sling my backpack on my shoulder and rush to where she is standing. I take the glass of orange juice and a piece of toast from her. Thank goodness, I need something to settle the nerves in my stomach, and carbs will do the trick. "Thanks, Mom," I yell as the screen door slams behind me. It's my first day at this school. My parents' thought it would benefit us all. We didn't last two months here before we figured out why Dad wanted to be closer to the city. It was so he wouldn't be far away from his other family. His other family is his mistress and their two sons. It's all kinds of complicated, but it's too expensive to move home since our old house sold. Walking the few blocks to my school, I do a sweep of my hair for flyaways and straighten my skirt. Private school means uniforms, and the starched material feels like sandpaper against my skin.
Walking into the building, I take in a calming breath, I can do this. I pull out the worn copy of my schedule and the building class-map, yes, this place is big enough for a map to show you the way. The day passes in a blur. No one acknowledged I existed, and no one bothered to take pity on the quiet girl. My last class of the day is Filmography and Photography. It seemed like a decent elective when they offered. I needed something other than Art 101 to shine on my scholarship applications. I find the classroom and walk inside just before the bell finishes sounding. I look around at the empty seats, worried that I'm in the wrong place when someone crashes into my back. I tense when I feel rough hands grasping my hips in an effort not to push me over.
"Oh, wow, I'm sorry. I haven't had any students ever make it here before me," the voice sounds from behind me. His voice warms my body, as his hands loosen from their hold on my hips, I instantly feel the loss. Clearing his throat, he's voice drops an octave, "Are you going to take a seat, or should I teach from the doorway?"
My cheeks warm as my blushing covers my body from my face down to my chest. Not answering, I rush to a seat near the middle of the room, I don't want to seem like I'm not eager to be here, however sitting at the back would make me look like a slacker. The clock ticks as time passes without anyone else coming in. It's hard to believe I'll be the one in this class, and surely they have a required quota to fill to teach. The door finally clicks as it opens to the typical teenage wet dream, broad shoulders and thick thighs tell me he has to be a football player or is it field hockey? I'm not sure what they have here. Winking at me, he hands the teacher a scrap of paper and takes a seat next to me.
“You must be new. I’m Taylor, what’s your name, gorgeous?”
I’ve never been called gorgeous before, pretty, and hot were the extent of vocabulary used at my old school. Smiling, I whisper, “Jasmine.”
Opening his mouth to speak, the teacher's voice booms across the room, "Wonderful, you two know each other now. I'm Mr. Allen. I'll be your teacher for this class, and I expect both of you to follow directions."
Mr. Allen's eyes never leave mine as he speaks, they are blue, almost the shade of the sky, and the way he commands the room with just his words makes me want to do as he instructs. Listening to him go over the syllabus and the expectations of the class, I try to pay attention as Taylor slides a note to me. I glance at the paper and notice his number written down with an invitation to grab something to eat after school. It's innocent, almost pure in the scheme of how my dating life was in the past. My throat goes dry at the thought of how unprepared I was for this. At my last school, I was deemed the school slut. I'm smiling to myself when his shadow blocks my light.
"Is there something you would like to share with me? Apparently, Mr. Walker and yourself are privy to whatever it may be," there's a hint of anger lacing his words.
“No, sir,” I quietly respond, his eyes dilating at my words. My nipples pebble under his gaze. It’s been far too long since I had sex, far too long since I felt the heat of another person. The bell sounds, breaking the trance he has on me. I gather my bag and follow Taylor to the door and feel his hand on my lower back as he motions me ahead of him. It ignites something in me, something I thought I had contained since moving away from our home. We sat at the local pizza place for hours talking about our lives, him mostly while I sat and daydreamed of Mr. Allen.
Chapter Two
Oliver
I shouldn't be this interested in my students. It's wrong, and I know better, but that doesn't stop me from wanting her and watching her long legs cross under the desk. I mentally give myself a shake and look away as she leans into Taylor. They would be ideal together, and maybe it would stop my lustful gaze, perhaps not since I know he won't waste time before he fucks her, and that thought would be on repeat in my mind.
I move to stand, and think better of it when I look down at my erection. It’s not suitable for school, not when it’s her causing it. Sliding my chair under the desk as far as I can, I tap my fingers on the wood to get their attention, “Okay your next assignment is to capture black and white images in order to tell a story. I don’t care what the story is, just be sure that it can be told without words.”
I hate this school, I only teach photography to a few students, and the pay is shit. I only moved here because of Julia, my fiance, who doesn't believe in sex before marriage or even living together. It's been hell, and I've been a moody fucker. The bell sounds as the class dismisses, and I watch as Taylor puts his hand on Jasmine again. A low growl escapes me before I can tame it down. His eyes meet mine at the sound. A smirk plays on his lips at my obvious jealousy, "Later teach."
Grabbing my things, I escape to my car as the students mingle in the parking lot. That's when I see her. She's standing just outside of the crowd, studying them while she tries to talk to the other girls. I rush to my car, sliding inside and putting the stack of papers in the seat next to me. My cock is rock hard, and it's almost painful to be this stiff. Unbuttoning my pants, I pull it free from the confines of my slacks and briefs, I lean my head back on the headrest as I stroke myself. The heat of my hand and the blood rushing to the tip cause me to hiss, gripping my cock at the base, I imagine Jasmine's lips wrapped around me as I stroke faster and faster. My mind goes crazy with thoughts of her. The vision of Jasmine's perfect face as the tears run down her cheeks while she takes all of me running through my mind. Groaning, I feel the pressure building of my release. It's cut short when I hear voices near my car. Other teachers are leaving now, and any of them could see what's going on. Shoving myself into my pants, I look across the parking lot to where she was, now Jasmine's eyes seem as if she's watching me. Grinning, I wink as I pass by where she is.
Driving home, I call Julia and listen to her go on and on about the wedding plans. Anything to distract me from what I want to do to a teenager. "Babe! Did you hear me?" comes across the speaker, and I'm ashamed to say I didn't. "Sorry, Julia. What was it again?" I ask, hoping she won't ask why I didn't hear the first time.
"I asked if you were free Sunday for brunch with my new boss and his family," she repeats. I hate brunch, and she knows this since I've told her before. Honestly, I don't see why someone can't decide if they want breakfast or lunch by eleven in the morning. "Sure," I answer, already knowing I would rather be anywhere else.
Chapter Three
Jasmine
Days went by, routines were made by both my mom and me, and soon I was left alone in the tiny house she bought after the divorce. Flicking through the movie selection on tv, I tossed my hair into a bun and picked up my phone. I scrolled until I found my best friend’s social media page, it was filled with experiences I didn’t have since she cut me out of her life when she found out about her dad and me.
Taking a chance, I search for Mr. Allen's profile and find him quickly enough when I finally figure out his first name is Oliver. He's engaged, and she's gorgeous. I picture myself in her spot, slowly falling into a daydream of w
hat it would be like to be with him. He doesn't know me, not outside of class; however, I feel like if we were to have met years in the future, we would share something. My fingers toy with the hem of my crop top as I think of a future with the man I don't know. I listen for sounds to be sure I'm alone before I open my favorite porn site on my phone, the first video is one of a schoolgirl and her teacher. She's in a cheap plaid outfit while he's sitting at his desk, pretending he's not going to spank her. Touching myself over the jeans I'm wearing, I grind against the friction it's causing. I could come like this, it's been so long since I've had an orgasm. I watch as the storyline progresses, applying more and more pressure against the stiff fabric as he swats her with the ruler. Unzipping my jeans, I moan when she wraps his dick with her lips. This girl is a pro, and she barely gags as he shoves it down her throat. Pushing my fingers inside when Mr. Teacher drives into her, I keep his tempo while imaging them as Mr. Allen and me while Taylor watches us. Crying out, I cover my mouth with my hand as I hear the front door slam closed.
"Jas! I'm home, and I have dinner." Leave it to my mom to ruin my orgasm high. I grab my jeans and run to the bathroom to clean up before she comes in. The fabric caresses my clit through my underwear, causing me to shiver. Opening the bathroom door, I'm met with my mom's face looking into my room at the laptop and ruffed bedding. She doesn't say anything, but I can tell she's not pleased that I'm "sinning" again. Following her to the kitchen, I grab plates and utensils for us. Holding the dishes, I don't notice I grabbed three out of habit until she walks out. Even when dad isn't here, he's still here the way a ghost would be. Sitting at the small table, I let her cool off alone. She's like me that way. If she walks away, it's for the best; otherwise, she could go off like a bomb and take everyone down with her.
When she comes back in, I can see the glassiness of her eyes, letting me know she was crying. I pretend I don't notice, I said something the first time, and she was mad about it then. We eat in silence; both of us lost in our own thoughts. "How is school?" she finally questions, as if she has a real interest and not just for conversation's sake.
Pulling my backpack closer, I reach in for my camera, “Well, we have an assignment to do. I started mine, but I’m not sure it’s what Mr. Allen wants.” Clicking through the memory, I find the pictures of the old part of town. The buildings and train station that no one uses anymore. Smiling, mom listens as I ramble about how I’ve started to fit in with some of the girls. It’s all a lie, none of them speak to me. Taylor might be my only friend out there, and he wants to get in my pants.
Finishing dinner, I retreat to my room to work on my other homework, but the camera keeps calling my name. Adjusting the settings, I accidentally click the button and capture an image of my thighs. I grab my camera tripod and set it up near the edge of my bed. I've seen boudoir sessions online before, and I was always interested in how sensual they seemed. Click, I give my best sexy look as the camera clicks again. Lying back, I spread my legs as it clicks again. I look over to be sure my door is locked before I start to undress. Click, another shot of me in less clothing than before, I slide my shorts down my legs and turn over, giving the lens a chance to capture an image of my bare ass. Wrapping my arms around my chest, I look at the camera as it clicks, and then I move my hands lower. I finger my clit as the camera continues to sound with each captured moment. It feels freeing to let go and be watched at the same time. I just need to be sure I remove the memory card before I turn in my assignment.
Chapter Four
Taylor
It’s odd how often Mr. Allen looks at Jasmine. It causes my blood to heat, but not from anger as much as it is lust. Watching her work silently on her classwork, I reach for her camera to see what she takes pictures of. Jasmine’s hand reaches out and stops me from pulling it back. Worry flashes across her face, biting her lip she shakes her head in order to tell me not to.
"Is there a problem here?" comes his voice. He's nearly in front of us when I look up. Shaking her head, Jasmine looks to me as if she needs someone to step in. "Not at all, Teach. We were just comparing notes on our assignments so far."
Nodding, he comes closer, "Turn in your cameras. I want to see what you've got so far." He waits as I pull it from my bag, and Jasmine holds hers close. I don't understand why she's worried, I've seen her work before, and it's great. Pausing, he reaches out his hand for the strap, his fingers coming close to touching her. All of us hold our breath, the classroom dead silent as she finally gives in. Her face turns pink from her blushing as he sits on the edge of the desk in front of us. Turning my camera on, he quickly flicks through the pictures. He doesn't offer feedback as he moves on to hers. I watch her as he powers it on; her body is shaking as she watches him. His sudden intake of breath causes her to whimper. Looking at him, I wonder what is going on.
"Excuse me a moment," he croaks all but running towards the supply closet door at the back of the room. I catch a glimpse of the tiny screen as he passes, the picture is of Jasmine masturbating, her mouth open and her eyes squeezed shut in ecstasy. My eyes find hers. Jasmine offers me a forced smile, her voice barely above a whisper, "Do you think I'll be forced to leave the school?"
Her question confuses me. The door opens, and Mr. Allen walks back in with the camera in his hand. His earlier composure back, he's back to himself no longer the man he was when he saw the picture. Placing the camera on her desk harder than he should have, Mr. Allen doesn't look at us as he says, "Class is over. Go home."
I glance at my watch and see that we should still have over an hour in our day, but I don’t bother to ask why. Jasmine nearly runs out of the door without another word to either of us. Pausing by the door, I turn to where he is sitting with his head in his hands, “Teach, you didn’t have to embarrass her that way.”
Nodding, he opens his mouth, but I don't expect him to agree so easily, "I know. Now leave."
I grip the shoulder strap of my backpack and look for Jasmine. I make it outside before I see her, she's sitting on the front steps. Tears brimming in her eyes, she smiles at me, trying her best to push past what happened. I don't think twice about grabbing her hand and pulling her up from the concrete step, "Ice cream?"
It's innocent and normal, which causes her to burst out laughing. Jasmine nods and starts for my car. She doesn't pull her hand away until she's sliding in the passenger seat. I close the door behind her and look at the school. There I see Mr. Allen watching from his classroom window, I can't tell if it's her or me that he's studying. I offer a salute and get a head nod in return. It's like an unspoken conversation, one where he knows I'll take care of her because he can't, even if he wants to.
Chapter Five
Jasmine
I can't believe that happened, I don't know if Taylor saw the photos, but even if he didn't, they have been seen by my teacher. It's only a matter of time before I'm made to leave this place before someone finds out about my past, or I ruin everything. I can fake a smile all day, eating ice cream with Taylor is a way to be normal, and right now it's exactly what I need in order to cope with what Mr. Allen saw. I didn't intend to leave the memory card in, but I fell asleep after my self-induced orgasm before I could. I was even late this morning because I didn't set my alarm before sleep overtook me.
The ice cream shop that Taylor takes me to is one I know, it's on the outskirts of town, and it's one I went to with my friends when we lived on the other side of it. Hesitating, I tell myself that I have nothing to fear, none of my old friends should be here at this time of day. I was wrong. We hadn't been there long before the door opened to a group of girls walked in, my best friend at the front.
“Can we leave?” I question quietly.
Gripping my hand in his, Taylor pulls me into him as we begin to leave. Without words, he understands my body language. He knows how to read the things I don't say. "Jasmine!" I hear her call out just before the door closes, and I know I'll have to explain my reluctance to stop later, but I don't care. I need for her to stay i
n my past, I don't want Taylor to know the person I was, the one I think I still am. When the car door closes, I reach for my phone needing to set up an appointment with my therapist. I send the email as Taylor drives us away from the ice cream shop back towards our side of town. He doesn't ask questions like I thought he would; instead, he rubs small circles on the soft flesh between my thumb and finger. It's soothing, comforting in a simple way; it makes staying away from him harder than ever. My phone chirps and I check to see when my appointment will be, but it's Rachel asking if we can meet up on Saturday. It's odd, yet I don't think twice. She's just trying to mend things, I tell myself.
My phone sounds breaking the quiet, answering the call, I wait as she rattles off dates and times. "Now?" I ask my voice hopeful that she can see me. Turning to Taylor, I try to figure out how to ask him without giving away where I'm going. "Can you take me to the pharmacy? I need to meet someone there, but don't worry. You don't have to wait for me."
I know he's confused about me, yet he agrees as he parks the car. I'm out of the vehicle before he can ask who or why I'm here. I go inside and wait for him to leave before I walk out and into another building, the one that holds my therapist's office. She meets me at her door with a kind smile, "Jasmine, what's going on? Are you having impulses again?" My therapist isn't a normal one, or at least that's not why I come to her. She's a sex therapist for sex addicted people like me, even though she listens to me talk about everything else too.
Forbidden: A Romance Anthology Page 22
