Published by Stroker Chase at Smashwords
Copyright 2012 by Stroker Chase
Cover Model: Laurie Foster
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The bus came to a halt, the doors screeched open, and I got up out of my seat.
“Look at that ass!”
I turned and glanced at the kid who had said it. He was a jock type, definitely not my type, unless it came with some intelligence, which this unfortunately did not. They always gave the best looking guys the dumbest brains. Nature’s cruel trick.
I hoped my glance would be enough, but from another seat came another holler. “Yeah, baby!”
I sighed, pressing my books closer to my breasts, and headed out the door. My bus driver just gave me a look that said, “Sorry.”
That was the typical mating call of guys my age. What they didn’t realize is that a girl wants to be romanced. Sure, I’d love to be degraded and controlled, but there would be all the time in the world for that with someone I liked.
It was a cool autumn day and my path was down a winding street that lead to my house. It was quite beautiful, yet I still felt so lonely. While all the other girls in my grade were busy with their boyfriends, I was left alone.
It wasn’t because of my looks. It’s just the way I chose to remain. There just wasn’t anyone that had my heart. Except, maybe, for Mr. Thompson. You already know. I’m hot for teacher.
I’m sure there’s a lot of people out there who can relate to my situation. Being surrounded by people you’re supposed to like, but being interested in that one person you’re not supposed to be interested in.
Mr. Thompson was tall, sexy, and what turned me on the most, intelligent. He was the perfect package, only he wasn’t born in the right generation. Maybe that just made it hotter.
I was soon to my house. I rushed through the open door. My mind was on my teacher. It turned out that those scumbags on the bus were good for something. They let me know just what type of man Mr. Thompson was. He would treat a lady right.
But my thoughts were mostly on the ways he’d treat me badly now. I shut my door, and threw open my dresser door. My pink vibrator was lying there waiting for me.
I took it out, thinking about what Mr. Thompson would tell me to do, and how I’d obey his every word. His naughty, slut of a schoolgirl.
I was wet already. The thoughts of him always made me wet like no other. The vibrator buzzed. I put it up to my wet panties, and fell onto my bed.
***
Mr. Thompson went on about the Soviet Union, and I watched, watched more than I listened. He was a good teacher, the best that I’d ever had, but I knew all the information already, and my mind wandered back to one subject constantly: sex.
He was a tall, handsome teacher in his 30s. It didn't even seem like he should be teaching, instead doing some hard work with the muscles he had. He was built more like a construction worker. But he dressed well, and formally, so that's what made him look like a teacher.
Back to fucking. Sucking. Cocks. My pussy wet under my panties. Hands running down my back. And a strong man to hold me. I was always like this. But more so in Mr. Thompson’s class. He had a way of making me always horny. Uncontrollably so.
I was a good student. He continued on about history. I was doing well. Before I was straight As. Maybe I just got tired of that. Or maybe Mr. Thompson was more of a disruption than a help when it came to learning. Either way, I was 18 and horny. I tried not to let it out that I was hornier than the boys..