Teacher's pet

TEACHER’S PET (part 5)

My heart races as I ring the doorbell of the apartment. I hear footsteps inside: after checking one more time if I have the right door number, I put the piece of paper in the back pocket of my jeans and clear my throat. She opens the door, wearing a light blue dressing gown. Her long black hair is hanging loose: she’s not wearing her glasses. Looking less like a teacher and more like a girl my age, she smiles briefly and lets me in.

The apartmes sms smaller than I had imagined. It doesn’t look like a place where a family would live, which is a relief. The place is a bit of a mess: her coat is hanging over the couch, papers are spread everywhere. I wonder why, since she invited me here, she didn’t take the time to clean up.

“Hi, Lucy. I’m glad you came.”

I nod, still examining the apartment, looking for traces of another person. I don’t know why I’m so jealous: we’ve only been intimate once, twice if you count the incident in front of the class two days ago. I don’t even know where this relationship is going, if indeed, there’s a relationship at all.

“I’m sorry about the mess. I’ve been busy all day.”

I look her over. She’s a long way from being the Ms Brahms I know from class. There’s something servile about her, eager to please. She seems somewhat absent-minded, lacking the authority she exudes in class. The only thing that hasn’t changed is her breath-taking beauty. I want to walk up to her, take off her dressing gown, kiss her breasts, make her swoon with pleasure, but I don’t. She has to make the first move.

“I’ve brought my notes.”

I point at the small stack of papers under my right arm, which contain the few annotations I made during her classes. She looks confused. Then her eyes become wider, and she nods.

“Yes, of course. Let’s take a look at them, shall we?”

We sit down next to each other on the couch, at a safe distance. I put my notes on the drawing table and start looking through them. Finding the page I was looking for, I slide it towards her.

“You said here, Ms Brahms, that the poet equates dancing with sex. Could you explain that to me, please?”

She slides closer to me. I see her eyes wander off to the little thumbnail drawings of naked women I made in the margin. There’s one I did with a woman sucking another woman’s nipple: the other woman wears glasses and has her black hair tied back in a ponytail. She puts her finger on it and gently follows the outline of the breast, down the stomach, towards the softly scribbled down of her vagina. I smile.

“Well, Lucy, it’s really not that hard. Let’s say you and I are dancing…”

“Like we did in class?”

“Exactly. That was a sexual experience, wasn’t it?”

I nod, enthusiastically. I can see the teacher in Ms Brahms coming back to the surface. She’s making her dressing gown fall open, so that her wonderful left breast comes peeking out. She takes my hand and directs it to her breast. I respond by softly squeezing it, feeling her nipple harden against the palm of my hand. I draw my hand back. I realize I’m making this too easy on her: as much as I long to be her obedient student, there are some things I have to teach her, as well. After all, it’s Saturday, and this isn’t school: we’re on equal grounds now, and I’m not exactly her pupil anymore.

“What’s your first name?”

“Carol.”

“Take off your dressing gown, Carol.”

She obeys, without saying a word. Throwing aside the dressing gown, she turns to me, sitting naked on the sofa. I slide away from her, as far as the sofa will allow. She motions to move towards me.

“Stay there.”

She stops, looking confused. I feel myself getting hornier by the second.

“Touch your breasts.”

She hesitates for a minute, and then brings her hands to her magnificent, full breasts. Leaning slightly back on the couch, she starts circling her hard nipples with her fingers, alternating between large and small circles. Grabbing the undersides of her firm breasts with both hands, she pushes them up, releases them, pushes them up again. She starts kneading, squeezing her nipples between her thumb and forefinger, as she continues pushing up her breasts. I can tell she’s starting to enjoy this. Good.

“Put one hand between your legs. Feel yours”
”

She slides her left hand down to her pussy, pressing it against her sex. Her mouth opens, and her eyes become wider.

“Are you wet, Carol?”

“Yes.”

“Very good. Do you know what to do next?”

She’s about to say “yes”, but she stops just before saying it, her lips parted, halfway through the first sound. We both know where this is going, where we want this to go. We’re on neutral ground: the rules are different here.

She shakes her head.

I lean closer, but not too close. I purse my lips, trying to give myself an examining, evaluating look.

“Don’t worry. I will teach you.”

Her hand lies still between her legs, waiting for instructions. I let the moment drag for a minute, stalling, building up anticipation.

“Slide your hand a bit higher and extend your index finger. That’s all you’ll be needing for now.”

She nods, and follows my instructions.

“Let it run along your folds, gently. Does it get wet?”

She slides her finger along her pussy, up and down, panting. She takes her hand away and shows it to me: her fingertip is glistening, covered in sweet juices, like honey. I nod approvingly.

“Excellent. Now do that again, only press harder this time.”

She puts her hand back between her legs, and continues sliding it up and down along her folds. She has her eyes closed now, and her chest is moving up and down rhythmically, her right hand still playing with her right breast. I watch, mesmerized, yet still firmly in control.

“Push deeper, in between the folds. You’ll feel how far you can go.”

She does so, breathing heavily: I see her finger disappear into her beautiful pussy, reappearing again, disappearing. I watch the slow rhythm, the fluids coating her finger.

“That’s it. Just keep it slow at first. You might want to add a second finger, to see how that feels.”

Her middle finger slips in. She’s massaging her breast more thoroughly now, digging her fingers into the flesh. Her luscious lips are slightly parted: she runs her tongue over them, moistening them, while she moans softly. I feel the desire burning in my loins.

“Now, I want you to feel with your thumb just above the place where you’re touching yourself. Do you feel something hard there?”

She nods.

“That’s your clit. It’ll get this hard every time you’re aroused. Try brushing over it with your thumb, and see how that feels.”

She gasps. I smile. The look of surprise and innocent lust on her face is priceless. She is masturbating before my eyes, playing the eager student. Already, I can smell her arousal. Or is it mine?

“When you feel ready, you can start to move faster, if you want. You’ll need to find the rhythm you’re most comfortable with.”

She reacts immediately, doubling her speed, while her moans become more high-pitched. I sigh: I’m literally soaking through my panties, and my nipples feel like they could tear through my shirt. I see tiny beads of sweat forming on her perfect skin. She’s working herself into a frenzy, grinding away at her clit with throcirocity of a wild animal discovering its instincts for the first time. In a minute, there’ll be no turning back.

“That’s enough. Stop it right there.”

She whimpers, but she obeys, pulling back her hand with the dripping wet index and middle finger. She’s writhing, frustrated, but she doesn’t say a word: instead, she rubs her buttocks against the slightly rough fabric of the couch and arches her back, moaning.

I swing my leg over, positioning myself on my knees above her, my hands against the back of the couch. She stares up at me as I take off my grey T-shirt and reveal my naked breasts underneath.

“First the lesson, then the reward.”

She nods again, and touches my breasts, first gently, then more firmly, pushing them up and releasing them like she did to her own. Her fingertips brush over my hard nipples, sending shockwaves to my lower body. I lean in closer above her.

“Suck.”

She draws my left nipple into her mouth. At the same time, I feel her hand sliding between my legs, feeling me up through my jeans. I could pass out with lust. I her her wrist and direct her hand to the button of my jeans. She undoes them, unzips them, and pulls them over my hips, revealing my pink lace panties. She grabs the fabric: I push her hand away.

“Leave them on for a minute. Some things have to be taken slow.”

I squirm out of my jeans, while she’s still sucking away at my nipple. As a favour to her, I leave on my socks. I can’t resist the temptation to run my hand across my panties, to feel how wet I really am. My fingers make contact with the soaked fabric: I’m drenched. Almost immediately, I feel her hand between my legs again. She doesn’t try to remove my panties, obeying my command, but instead rubs her hand back and forth over the full length of my pussy: I can feel the warmth of her hand through the wet lace.

“Very good. Take your time. Now, lick my nipple.”

I feel her tongue on it, wet and soft and warm: she flicks at the nipple with short, quick strokes, enough to make me squirm. She pushes deeper against my crotch, pushing the lace between my folds, her finger following it: I feel the soft fabric against the inner walls of my pussy. My head spins. I realize I must still look like the servile student, in my girlish pink panties and short white socks, but it doesn’t matter. I call the shots in this round.

“That’s good. Come in deeper
Sh
She pushes up: I can feel her entering me, going in deeper. My panties are still forming a wall between her fingers and my pussy. I throw my head back and moan loudly. She responds by adding another finger and licking my sensitive nipple with long, thorough strokes. She is fucking me: Ms Brahms. Carol. Ms Brahms. I start moving my lower body in time with her hand, pushing down hard, groaning. In between two groans I manage to say something.

“You can take off my panties now, Carol.”

She grabs the elastic and pulls it down: I help her get the panties of me, but I keep them in my hand. As Carol continues to assault my pussy, I press my panties to my face and inhale my sweet juices. She’s looking up at me with begging eyes. I smile, and gently hold the panties under her nose. Closing her eyes, she sniffs at them, taking in my excitement, and moans appreciatively. She’s added a third finger to invade my pussy: I can hear sopping noises as she pushes in and out of me. My opening offers just the right amount of resistance to her probing fingers, making me feel very full, but wanting more nonetheless. I buck my hips wildly, as she curls her fingers at the tip, stretching my pussy. I feel her fingertips brushing against my inner walls as she pumps in and out of me, my juices trickling over her hand freely. She puts the panties away, and I lean in to kiss her: pressing our open lips together, we find each other’s tongues immediately, rubbing them together in a desperate dance. Our saliva mixes as we probe each other’s mouths, sharing our wet tongues. We pull back slightly, until our lips are parted, but our tongues still touching, circling each other, tasting, dripping. She’s writhing under me again, as she speeds up her activities on me. My pussy starts to pulsate, indicating my nearing orgasm. I push myself down as hard as I can, causing her to fill me as deep as possible. I let out a roar of satisfaction, and I cum. My pussy contracts around her wonderful fingers, gushing juices over her hand and arm. I scream again, louder. Blindly, I find Carol’s mouth again, and we resume our kiss, as my orgasm surges through my body. It subsides, and I let myself fall on top of her, still kissing.

We position ourselves so we can lie on the couch: without a word, I push my left leg against her sex. She gasps, and immediately starts rubbing her wet pussy against it: I feel the trail of wetness she leaves behind. Obviously, her pussy is still worked up over what she did to herself not ten minutes ago, and I know she’ll cum hard and fast. I start kissing her neck, her shoulders, her breasts: she squirms under me like crazy. I lick her breasts: long, slow, feral licks. She pushes harder against my leg: I can feel her swollen folds press into me. I encourage her.

“C’mon, baby, you can do it. Cum for me.”

She cums: my leg is washed with her juices. Her entire body shakes as she surrenders to the overpowering orgasm. She goes limp, spent; I lie on top of her, equally tired. We breathe in unison, wet with ourselves, wet with each other. Two naked bodies on the couch, melted into each other. Carol is the first to speak. Wow.Wow.”

I giggle, softly.

“Did you like that?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

We don’t move, lying as one on the couch, feeling each other’s warmth. My mind wanders, and I think about how we haven’t quite figured out this teacher-pupil thing yet. I want to say something about that, but I don’t. No sense in spoiling the moment.