Bad Teacher (Erotic Collection) (Erotic Lessons)

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BAD TEACHER

The collected exploits of Erica Bennett, high school
teacher, secret sex researcher, and happy submissive.

Teacher Gets Taught

(Erotic Lessons: Student Teacher)

Teacher Gets Caught

(Erotic Lessons: Spanking and Discipline)

Teacher Gets Bought

(Erotic Lessons: Double Penetration)

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Teacher Gets
Taught

(Erotic Lessons: Student Teacher)

I’ve fucked
thirty two
men in the
past four months, and thirteen women, and it’s not nearly enough.

But I’m starting to run out of time: today is the last day
of the semester. I just ducked out of the graduation assembly to jot down some
notes on my latest conquest, one Mr. Paul Donovan, and I’ve quickly gotten
distracted reviewing my notes on the rest of my subjects. I can hear the
marching band play outside, the sounds of the assembly drifting in through the
half open windows in my big, airy classroom, and the contrast between the
light, innocent sounds and the things I’ve done makes me feel a little tingly.
The case files strewn about my desk are like trophies only I know about. It’s
kinda
dirty, and I love it.

That part’s been a surprise to me – how much I’ve
enjoyed having a secret agenda as a sex researcher while playing the role of
substitute English teacher.

Well, not entirely playing. I’m a damn good teacher. And my
students know it.

Especially Danny Donovan, Paul’s son. Danny, and his unique
combination of arrogance, athleticism, and occasional sweetness, is actually
how Paul came to my attention. Where Danny is still a boy, I figured Paul might
be a man. Besides, Danny, obviously, is off limits.

That boy was trouble from the start – a total smartass
– but I grin when I reflect that his father more than made up for it. Paul
fucked like a champ. It’s hard not to wonder if Danny Donovan takes after his
father.

God, that’s so wrong.

I sigh and lean back in my surprisingly expensive chair (the
Chippewa Valley School District spares no expense), and reflect on what I can’t
have. Danny Donovan is a grown man, physically, and he’s one of those naturally
sexy guys – not pretty, but just...there’s something. The way he moves,
you can tell he knows how to move his body, that he enjoys the feel of it. Just
like his dad.
Large hands, an athlete’s physique, and with
his dad’s confidence, too.
But he’s a student, even if he is a
graduating senior, and there’s that occasional reminder that he’s an immature
jackass. Not that that makes him any different from most of the
forty year old
men I’ve slept with, but it’s harder to
dismiss coming from an eighteen year old.

Let me tell you, I was overjoyed the day Danny turned
eighteen. At last I could stop feeling like a total
perv
,
and just feel a little...naughty. He’d stumbled into class wearing dark
sunglasses and a grimace of pain that somehow still managed to be smug.
Evidently he’d partied hard.

I gave him extra shit that day. Called on him just for the
hell of it. I guess I was harder on him than I would have been, otherwise. If I
didn’t find him so...

Something.

But he’d have no idea what he was doing anyway, all awkward
groping and thirty seconds of jackhammering. And I have some serious fucking to
do if I’m going to finish my book proposal on time: The Secret Sexual Habits of
the 1%. I’m going to make a fortune, by the way, just as soon as I write it up.
The advance will be killer, and I’ll work a few more semesters to get more
material.

I have it all planned out.

But I haven’t planned for what happens next. There’s a brief
knock on my door, and before I can
say
“go away” it
opens and in slips Danny Donovan. He closes the door behind him and locks it.

Speak of the devil.

Danny turns and leans against the door, looking at me. He’s
in his uniform, but his shirt is
untucked
, and the
top button is undone. I’m surprised to see a little bit of chest hair peaking
over the top. His jacket is nowhere to be seen, and a thin sheen of sweat
covers his brow, a few strands of dark hair stuck to his forehead. His eyes are
dark, and he doesn’t say anything. For a second I wonder if he’s on something.

“Danny, what’s going on?” I say.

And he smiles. It’s that same knowing, smug smile, and
that’s when I know he’s in full control.

“I have a couple of questions for you, Miss Bennett.”

He strolls over to my desk, one hand in his pocket.
Sometimes his arrogance makes him seem so young, and other times...I can’t
decide which it is this time. I consider taking my legs off the desk when I see
him eyeing them – they’re incredible legs, and I’m not wearing any stockings
today, it’s too hot for that bullshit – but I decide that would be an
admission of sorts. Let him look. It won’t change anything.

“You often do.” I answer wryly.

“They’re questions I thought you’d want to answer
privately.” He says, and damn if he’s not condescending. He sits on my desk,
facing me, his hand gripping the edge about an inch from my leg, and his grin
widens. “Questions of a personal nature.”

I try not to betray any anxiety, but I’m sure a hint of it
flashes across my face. I bury the impulse to hide my notes, because that would
reveal that I have something to hide.

Shit.

“Really?” I say.

“Really.” He says.

And then he lets me squirm, not saying anything at all. Just
smiling.

We’re still and silent for a moment, and it’s like the whole
world is just waiting. Even the bits of swirling dust that normally dance in
the sun, streaming in from those big windows, even the dust has stopped.
Everything is holding its breath. He’s forcing me to make the first move.

“So what are they?” I finally ask, and shift my seat, about
to move my legs off the desk.

His hand darts out and rests on my ankle, exerting a firm
downward pressure. Keeping my legs where they are.
In full
view.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I demand.

“Relax, Miss Bennett,” he says gently, his grip tightening.
“Just...relax. Hear me out, and then decide what you want to do.”

I don’t like the sound of that.

Well, part of me does. But most of me
is
freaking the hell out. But I can’t show weakness, not to him, and not to
myself. I have to at least pretend to be calm and in control.

“What do you want, Danny?”

He hasn’t moved his hand from my ankle. His palm is rougher
on my skin than I would have thought, and I remember he’s supposed to be a
champion lacrosse player.

“So you fucked my dad.” He says simply.

Shiiiiit
.

“I don’t think that’s appropriate to discuss with you.”

“I’m not done.”

I suck in my breath. My mind has shifted into high gear, and
the wheels are spinning at about 5000 rpm: I could be seriously fucked here. My
job, my book,
my
career...Nothing to do but quietly
wait it out, and see how bad it is.

“Sorry,” I say, all honeyed, submissive tones. “Please
continue.”

He arches an eyebrow. He detected my deliberate shift in
demeanor, the way I addressed him as an equal. Fuck. He knows I’m trying to
manipulate him, to placate him.

“So you fucked my dad.” He goes on, gently squeezing my
ankle. “Which, in and of itself isn’t that big of a deal.”

Now it’s my turn to arch an eyebrow.

“I mean, I was jealous.” He smiles. “Don’t get me wrong. But
not that big of a deal.”

“So why are we having this conversation?”

Now his thumb is tracing the curves of my
ankle
bone
, down to the arch of my foot. As though he knew how sensitive that
area was. I have to suppress a little shiver. I try to focus on his stupid
grinning face instead.

“You don’t take me seriously.” He says, still grinning.

It’s a child’s complaint, but he doesn’t say it like a
child. His voice is calm and composed. It’s just a statement of fact. And it’s
true – of course I don’t take him seriously, he’s only eighteen.
And a student, for
Chrissake
.

In fact, I’m trying very hard to remember all the reasons I
don’t take him seriously, but his thumb, working in small, light circles on my
hot skin, is making it difficult.

“What makes you say that?” I ask, and my voice cracks a
little.

He laughs softly,
then
he lifts my
leg by the ankle and puts it down next to my other leg, so they’re resting next
to each other on the desk, rather than crossed. Slowly he starts to slide his
hand up my shin, letting his fingers dance lightly on the inside of my calf.
Each touch releases a little shock that echoes throughout my nervous system,
until all of me – all of me –
is
hyperaware.

This is really bad.

“Because you fucked my dad, and not me.” He says, and looks
directly into my eyes.

“You’re a kid, Danny.” I try to say it as gently as I can.

“Bullshit. I’m not stupid. I know you want to fuck me just
as much as I want to fuck you.”

I’m speechless. For the first time I can ever remember, I’m
genuinely speechless.

He’s staring at me, hard. His hand is still on my shin, and
he starts to slide it further, keeping his eyes on mine. I’m still trying to
work out what to say when his fingers lightly brush the back of my knee, and I
can’t keep my eyes from fluttering slightly. Fuck me, he found a sweet spot,
and when I can focus my eyes again I can tell he knows it.

This has gone too far.

“That’s enough,” I rasp, and I swing my legs off of the
desk, determined to get some distance between
me and Danny
.
I put my hands on the desk to push away, but he grabs me by the wrist and pulls
me up out of my chair, spinning me around and seating me on the edge of the
desk before I can say a word. Another beat and he’s standing right in front of
me, hands on either side, pinning me in.

“No it’s not.” He grins.

“My sex life is none of your business, Danny.”

I am trying so hard to remain calm. I don’t know if I’m
freaked out or turned on or both.

“I wouldn’t say that, exactly.”

His hand is still on my wrist. He’s close enough that I can
see the sweat in the hollow in the middle of his collarbone, that I can feel
his breathing, that I can smell his musk. I can’t help but wonder what he
tastes like. He leans in and for a moment I’m afraid he’s going to kiss me, but
he brings his mouth to my ear instead.

“I hacked your computer.” He whispers.

Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit.

“I know about the book. I read your notes.”

He pulls back so I can see his triumphant smile. Smug
bastard.

“So?” I say defiantly. I don’t even convince myself. I’m
pretty sure I haven’t broken any laws in this municipality, but I really don’t
want to find out. I wasn’t planning on the exact location of my research ever
becoming public, either.
Or my real name.

Apparently I don’t convince him, either. He places a casual
hand on my left breast, on top of my thin blouse. Doesn’t move it or
anything,
just rests it there, gently cupping my tit. My
whole body burns.