Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/ft, ft/ft, Mult, Consensual, BiSexual, Fiction, Orgy, First, Teacher/Student, School, .
Desc: Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Natural victim Faye Perkins comes to my attention with being bullied. At thirty I'm developing more authority as a teacher, so I step in to save her. She's not used to people paying attention to her, however, and she's remarkably suggestible anyway...
Faye Perkins is a quiet girl. She’s not one to get into trouble and she nearly always has her homework done on time, albeit it isn’t the highest quality. She tries her best though, so I was slightly surprised when I had to call her to my office to ask where her essay was, two days overdue.
“I’m sorry Sir,” she stood in front of my desk, head down.
“What went wrong?” I asked gently.
“My laptop ... broke,” she said nervously.
“I dropped it.”
“Oh dear, where was that?” I smiled sympathetically.
“On the way home.”
“Out of your bag?” She carries a big shoulder bag that things can’t easily fall out of.
She stood, not meeting my gaze, not saying anything.
I sighed. Faye had been bullied. It’s one of those things. She’s a good five foot five, not lightly built, and there’s nothing wrong with her looks - she’s not pretty enough to make other girls jealous and there are no blemishes for kids to pick on. It’s just that she’s not very clever, and she is very meek.
She has no status. And her few friends haven’t got much either. It’s enough to make her a target. Someone had broken her laptop, and she didn’t dare tell on them.
“Have you still got it?”
“Yes,” she murmured, “at home.”
“Alright bring it to me and I’ll see what I can do. Have you got some of the essay done?”
“Is it on your Google Drive?”
She nodded again.
“Alright I know it’s hard to concentrate in the computer lab. Just login and send it to me and I’ll give you a provisional mark to be going on with. Don’t worry what it’s like now, you can finish it when you’ve got a laptop again.”
“Thank you,” she smiled gratefully at me and left.
The next day she brought in her laptop. It had a broken screen, from being stamped on by the look of it. Whoever had done that, it was especially mean: her parents don’t appear to care too much about her, and I don’t think they have much money. What little they have goes on her brother, I suspect, who’s at the school in Year 12 but doesn’t seem to spend any time with her. This cheap laptop probably wouldn’t get replaced.
I went and showed it to the IT tech. He’s a nice guy, and quiet himself. He helped me search for a replacement screen on eBay, and offered to fit it when it came.
Faye faded into her usual obscurity for the rest of the week, apart from one class of mine where a girl who I know can be a bit of a bully sat next to her, rather deliberately, and immediately took her pen. I retrieved the pen and moved the bully to another desk, and then moved the boy sitting behind when he flicked something into Faye’s hair.
At the end of the class I kept the two bullies behind and gave them a talking to. I told them that bullies don’t like themselves and have feelings of inadequacy, and don’t realise how devastating it can be for their victims. I said being it was being nice to people that makes you feel better about yourself; they should try it. They seemed suitably abashed, though how long that would last I wasn’t too sure.
I had a word with the Head, and reluctantly she gave me permission to address the school in Assembly, on the subject of bullying. She’s inclined to rely on the fact that there is an anti-bullying policy, rather than face the problem itself with its risk of denial and confrontation.
So on the Thursday I held court to the school about how it’s a weakness on the part of the bullies, how badly it affects the victims, and how wrong it is for other kids to do nothing or even watch and start to join in. It was hard to tell if I was having any effect, but at least they listened.
I’d done something, anyway, and that’s always better than doing nothing. Now I’m thirty and have been at the school for seven years I suppose I’m beginning to feel more confident about such performances.
On the Friday morning the new laptop screen came and I took it to the IT tech to fit it, then after classes were over I collected it and called Faye in to give it to her.
“Thank you,” she stood in front of my desk, gazing at me for a moment or two. She looked down at her feet. “You’re so kind to me,” she mumbled.
“It’s no more than you deserve,” I said. It wasn’t quite an appropriate thing to say, but then I registered that the reason I’d said it was that she really seemed to feel she did not deserve it.
She lifted her head part-way and was gazing at me again. There was something in that gaze. Something she needed, but couldn’t ask for. And anything I asked her to do, she just would.
Faye isn’t especially pretty, as I said. She’s not plain either though. It’s a face you could call ‘okay’. Brown eyes, brown hair, and no standout features one way or the other. It looks dull because generally there’s not much expression in it, as though she doesn’t interact with people that much and her life is just something she has to get through.
Her clothes tend not to coordinate or fit very well, being cheap or even second-hand, and she’s broad-shouldered for her height. Broadish in the hip these days as well. She’s not a standard fit, and it shows. Clearly nobody’s given her any help with it.
What did she look like underneath?
She was still gazing at me as the words “take off your jacket” slipped out of my mouth. Christ! I was about to add “if you’re a bit too warm”, in horror, when she put her bag down and began to ease her jacket off. It looked like a small man’s, with no space for her tits.
I watched as the fifteen-year-old held it in her hands, waiting to be told what to do with it. She wasn’t worried about being told to take it off, just about what I wanted next.
“On the chair,” I smiled towards the visitor’s wooden chair.
She draped the jacket over the back, and turned round waiting for her next instruction. As I’d slightly suspected the jacket had been hiding her waist, which was small in huge contrast to her shoulders and hips. I’d bet kids had said something about it, so she’d hidden it.
The blouse was tight across her shoulders, so it didn’t hang properly. Her brown skirt looked badly cut and made for a taller, older woman, and fell past her knees. Below it were those thick black tights that I can’t stand. I have fantasies about one day being Head Teacher and banning them. With the flat black shoes they finished off the frumpy look.
“Let’s lose those tights,” I suggested, feeling disconnected as though someone else were saying it.
Without any hesitation she bent down, took off her shoes, stood up again, lifted her skirt, slid her thumbs into the waistband of her tights, and pushed down. In a moment they were on the chair, with the black shoes tucked neatly underneath, and my student was looking expectantly at me. Expectantly, not anxiously. It was weird, but that’s how she is.
I contemplated the full calves and perfect feet clad in flawless teen skin. She’s not a girl who wears heels, which would be too assertive, and that’s good for her at least.
“Panties,” I decided. There’d been a glimpse of big white panties with seams, that, typically for Faye, weren’t at all attractive. I didn’t want her standing there in them.
This time there was a moment’s hesitation before she made her decision. Her face reflected a trace of doubt, then cleared. She hadn’t so much decided to take her panties off, I sensed, as that she just wanted to do whatever it was I wanted; whatever would keep me interested in her.
She reached under the sides of her skirt, which annoyingly hung down at the front while she pulled her panties off. She stood up and added them to the chair. They were so big and ugly that my main focus became covering them up.
“Blouse,” I smiled. She really didn’t mind. In a few seconds the panties were covered and her upper body was there in a bra. I noticed her shoulders more than her tits, which looked unremarkable.
Without the too-small blouse her shoulders were remarkable. They’re wide, as I mentioned, and very straight and square at the ends. They look even wider with her neck, which is a good length and narrower than one might expect. Her head is quite large and round, which adds to the effect.
Her chest tapers strongly to her narrow waist. I just sat looking at her, while she waited patiently, seeming content but a bit mystified that I was interested in her.
Her arms carry quite a lot of muscle. They’re not ‘slender’, but they are lean. Her tummy is flat. You can see where her ribs are, but she’s not ribby. Her skin is that fine, pale kind that you can see little veins in, with a few light freckles on her face, arms and shoulders.
She was looking strong, physically. Her hands are broad too. If it had occurred to her to throw a punch her bullies would have been in trouble, but she never would.
She wasn’t afraid when I got up and went over to the door to lock it. I took care not to go too close to her, and to go back behind my desk so she had it between me and her half-dressed body.
“I should take some things off too?” I phrased it as a question. It could make things more equal, or more scary; I wasn’t sure.
“I don’t mind,” she said quietly. That was so typical of her I almost laughed, but it might have sounded unkind.
I smiled as I stripped to my briefs, not hastily and not teasingly either, but casually. She looked at my bulge, which was growing but not fully hard. Perhaps she was seeing that I’m not that big, which was fine by me: I’ve found that schoolgirls can be reassured by my slim five-and-a-quarter inches.
Anyway what matters most to girls is your attitude to them. Perhaps older women like big cocks? To be honest I’m not sure, but at this stage in my life I don’t really care. Faye wasn’t looking disappointed, which was the point.
“You next,” I said.
She looked at me, unsure whether to take off her bra or her skirt. I’ve never known a girl with less initiative.
“Bra,” I smiled. Predictably it wasn’t quite the right size - tight round her ribcage and loose over her tits.
She pulled the straps off her impressive shoulders, lowered the bra off her tits and pulled her arms through, before tugging the whole thing round to undo the clasp from the front. She added it to the pile of clothing on the chair, then stood again, facing me across the desk. Like pretty much every girl she was anxious about what I’d think of her breasts.
“Lovely,” I said, making sure my look was admiring. It didn’t take any effort, because they are nice and firm. They’re perhaps a B cup, attached over a large area of her chest so they don’t really project too obviously. That’s why they don’t look so special under a bra and clothing, but in the nude they looked perfect on her. Her nipples are small, and more brown than pink. Not erect at that moment, of course.
“Let’s do the last bit together,” I smiled as I started to pull down my briefs, and she dutifully undid her skirt and lowered it, as though quite unaware that she was making herself fully nude in front of a man; or simply not caring, because something else was more important.
She added it to the pile and stood back in front of my desk, still concentrating on what I wanted. Her eyes finally noticed my erect cock, while mine locked onto her relatively thin but slightly unruly brown bush. It conveyed a tantalising freshly-developed sexual body, that she wasn’t really tuned into yet.
My gaze began to rove over her entire nude form, while my cock and balls tingled. She has the most sexy pelvis I have ever seen. It’s hard to describe exactly why. Well it looks strong, for one thing. Not too tall. Her hips are curved from her waist all the way down, so there’s a smooth curve in to her waist then a smooth curve out again.
Her thighs carry quite a lot of muscle and so does her ass, and her abdomen looks kind of muscular too even though her narrow waist hints that her back might be supple rather than super strong. She’s an amazing shape, altogether. Feminine, in the most exciting way.
I took a pace round to the side of my desk and held my hand out to her. “Come on,” I told her with a smile, and she came to me. I’ve found that the most encouraging place for my hands is in a girl’s hair, so that’s where I started. Up to now my girls had always been positively asking for it, confident characters, but it felt right for Faye too.
I stroked through her medium-length straight brown hair as I stepped into her, so that our bodies came into contact all the way down.
My cock pressed into her abdomen, and she didn’t mind. I let my hands stroke down through her hair, onto her shoulder blades, then onto the bare skin of her lower back, gently nudging us together. She leaned into me and sighed, as my arms enclosed her.