Cast of characters:
Selena Fernandez, Female, 16
- Sophomore in high school
- 5’11, 150lbs, light-brown skin, silky back-length black hair
Mr. Donovan, Male, early-40s
- High school History teacher
- 5’8, 150lbs, pale white skin, cropped blonde hair
For every story you read about a teacher being caught having sex with a student, there are a hundred you never see. Those involved rarely get caught. That’s my theory, at least. Male teachers probably do it more often than their female counterparts, but they are not the only ones. Why do I think this? Well, my anecdote is one of those stories where those who took part didn’t tell and were never caught.
My name is Selena Fernandez. My parents are from Argentina, but I was born in New Mexico and have lived there all my life. New Mexico is where my story takes place, and it occurred when I was sixteen.
I won’t say I think what I did, or what my teacher did, was right in whatever sense of that word you prefer. But my only regret, looking back, is that the risk to Mr. Donovan’s career and freedom was extreme. Mr. Donovan was the teacher I spent an intimate moment with when I was sixteen. I didn’t consider any of that risk at the time, and if he did, he never showed it or said so. Besides that, while I wouldn’t say I was proud of what I did, I’m not ashamed of it, either.
Still, as a parent now myself, my own daughter almost the age I was when this happened, I understand the fear one might have to hear such things. I certainly don’t want my daughter to do what I did, or ever to be placed in a situation where she might be coerced into it. I wasn’t coerced. No one forced me. I know that is not the typical way this plays out.
Anyway, let me tell you what took place when I was sixteen.
I was tall and slender at the time. Like many of my Latina friends, I had long, silky black hair. I liked to keep it loose unless I was playing basketball or tennis. I was athletic, somewhat muscular. My breasts were pert and round, maybe an average size for a girl my age. I suppose I was somewhat popular, all things considered. I had a lot of friends, no serious enemies, and I was generally invited to whatever parties or events a classmate was putting on. Unlike many of my friends, I mostly enjoyed my first year and a half of high school.
My performance in school was pretty decent. While I was never in the top few in my class, I got a lot of As and Bs and never failed a subject. I took some advanced courses and tried to prepare myself for college. I dreamed of being a doctor one day, and most of the time, I was good at getting ahead on my classwork.
But during the last months of my sophomore year, I was in an odd spot. I’d just broken up with a boyfriend who I really liked. Loved, honestly. He called it off and it felt so personal. It invalidated my blossoming confidence. Like many teen girls, I overthought things to the point of serious self-doubt. As a result, I lagged in my school work. I got Ds and Fs on a few tests and failed to turn in assignments.
While most of my classes were still decent enough that I wasn’t afraid of failing, my World History course was not so mediocre. I was well in the almost-failing zone and I was having a hard time catching back up on what I was supposed to be learning. It would all come down to the final test. At best, I could scratch out a D, but anything less than a B+ would be a fail. I wasn’t prepared. I knew I couldn’t do as well as I needed to, and that just made it harder to try anyway. And so, an opportunity presented itself that I could not pass up in order to, well, pass.
I suppose it makes sense to describe my sexual mindset on that day. I was sixteen, my birthday only a couple of months earlier. I’d lost my virginity at fourteen to a boy I liked but never ended up dating. It was a party moment. Decent, too. I enjoyed it and wanted more. I had two other lovers before my first serious boyfriend, both classmates. Enjoyable, as well. I can’t say why neither of those turned into more serious relationships, but I fucked one of the boys several times that year.
I liked sex. I’d been masturbating since I was twelve, and I admit I often grew wet over the most fleeting of sexual thoughts. I had fantasies of taking more than one boy to bed with me, though it would be many years before that finally happened in college. I wondered what it might be like to taste another girl’s pussy. I certainly enjoyed tasting mine on my fingers. I wanted to fuck a black boy. I wanted to fuck a white boy. All my partners to that point, including my one true boyfriend, were all Latinos like me. Not that I was unsatisfied, I just had a very explorative imagination and I thought often about what might be different in having sex with other races.
During my low period leading up to finals, I masturbated only rarely. More of a release than a pleasure. I didn’t think about sex as much, though my hormones certainly kept it from being never.
The day before my final, a Thursday, I was in that World History class I felt certain I would fail, and my mind was somewhat numb. I couldn’t catch up to what was required for the test. Even though we’d had most of that week’s hour-long classes to study and prepare, I knew the truth of it. I felt dreadful.
I’d worn a loose green blouse and tight, faded blue-jeans. Like I said, I was slender, and though I knew my ass was somewhat round and very firm, I had no hips to speak of despite my age and height. From the chest down, I held no significant curves. The blue jeans, I thought, looked great on me despite that. They were tight at the waist, and though they sometimes pinched a bit, I liked the way they made me feel. When you’re down like I was, every little positive counts.
World History was the final class of the day for me. If it had not been, this story never would have happened. I’d worked up a sweat in the gym class just before, and I hadn’t had an opportunity to shower and change panties. I usually did so, but the class had run long and I’d had to rush back to my locker for my almost-forgotten history book.
My hair was still pulled back and held together with a thrice-twisted hair braid near my crown, the long strands then free to hang down past my shoulders. My hair was sticky, I knew, from dried sweat and the remains of the morning’s hair spray.
The end-of-day bell rang and I moved slowly out of my seat. Classmates rushed off to their cars and the buses, and I shuffled slowly, the last heading for the door.
“Selena, a moment please?”
I turned to see Mr. Donovan looking my way, his hands held together on his desk, his slacks-covered legs tossed to one side and closed tightly. I suppose I’d considered his features before, but I’d not much thought about older men, really. Sure, he may have been attractive, and I certainly had looked at his ass a time or two, but he wasn’t the object of my attention when I masturbated.
He was in his early-40s, I’d guess. Pale white skin like most of the teachers, despite the high school population being 90% Hispanics and Latinos. He was average height, say, five-foot-eight. Light, blonde hair was closely cropped on his head, and his face was clean shaven. An older me, looking back, would describe him as appearing Scandinavian.
I walked to his desk, dragging my feet. “Yeah?” I said.
Mr. Donovan asked if I would like to I sit down and I declined. Then he asked me, “Are you having trouble, Selena? I can’t help noticing you’ve not been very talkative this week. And this has not been a very good year for you in this course. I suspect you are deeply worried about doing well tomorrow.”
“I’m worried I won’t do well,” I corrected him. “I need something like a B+ to pass...”
He looked down at an open notebook in front of him, saying, “That sounds about right. Are you having trouble preparing? I won’t ask personal questions often, Selena, but are things okay at home? You’ve essentially blown me off when I’ve asked previously, the times you didn’t turn in assignments or failed a test, but I must again ask this question.”
I shook my head, “It’s not that ... just been a hard few months ... I ... I haven’t been very focused, and now ... now’s too late to do anything.” My mind was a concrete block. I knew, no matter how much more I tried to prepare, nothing was going to push through and stick.
“It’s not too late. The test is not until tomorrow. You still have time. Can I help you? I’ve got the whole afternoon and evening free. I can tutor you if you’d like. The school will be open until eight-thirty or so, at least until then.”
I shrugged. “It won’t matter. All week, no matter what I studied, when I tested myself the next day ... it was gone. I just can’t absorb anything right now.” I shifted on the balls of my feet, feeling nervous and a little vulnerable. I spun one way slowly, then the other. Thinking back on it, I probably looked rather enticing the way my slim, bubble ass rounded into view from each turn. I wasn’t feeling particularly sexy at that moment, though.
“Look ... I want you to pass this course. I really do. And I’m willing to help you right now. I promise, if you’ll give it a try, we’ll get you through that test tomorrow with enough to pass.”
Whatever sparked the question I voiced next, I have no idea. The words just spilled out of my mouth. I didn’t think it through, and I’m not even sure I meant them how they would be taken. “Isn’t there anything else I can do to pass?”
Mr. Donovan’s face was a stone. I watched his eyes from the corner of my glance and I saw them narrow slightly. “Ms. Fernandez ... I do not know what you mean.”
That’s when it occurred to me what he thought I was hinting. I went with it. A gut decision. “Something I could do, you know, for you? So that you’ll pass me?”
He didn’t speak. His expression remained undecipherable.
I leaned forward and let my blouse fall open slightly in exactly the way I’d done when flirting with boys. I knew the angle and the gap from my neck gave Mr. Donovan an easy glimpse down my shirt where my breasts were hanging slightly, held up by a white bra. And yes, he looked straight at my tits.
Looking back, I sort of remember myself as one of those silly, overdone, seductive schoolgirl stereotypes, leading the teacher on to where I wanted him. But in reality, it wasn’t silly, and I don’t think it was overdone. “Anything?” I offered, pushing my butt out further.
When he finally spoke, Mr. Donovan’s voice was very crisp and firm. “You realize what it appears you are offering, Ms. Fernandez?”
To show him I did, I leaned forward just a bit more and pursed my lips. I knew how to look sexy. I’d practiced it a million times in the mirror. “I’ll do anything to pass, Mr. Donovan. Anything.”
His eyes shot quickly to the open door of the classroom, and when they returned to mine a second later, I knew he was hooked. “Meet me behind the gym in five minutes. Go down the English wing. Don’t let anyone follow you.”
I nodded and straightened up, then watched Mr. Donovan grab his briefcase and quickly stride out of the room. I felt excitement for the first time in weeks. Was I really going to fuck Mr. Donovan? Was I really going to fuck a teacher? An older man? A white guy?
My panties were soaked, and not just from the sweaty gym class. I knew I was creaming myself in anticipation.
I wasn’t sure I waited a full five minutes, but I did my best, soon leaving the room and going down the English wing. The school was hardly deserted. People milled around talking and laughing, both students and teachers. I wondered if anyone would notice me as I went out the building exit near the gym and slipped around back.
That area of the school yard was sort of abandoned. Behind the gym was a large yard with a tall, wooden fence. The building within it was the old workshop used to teach manual skills such as carpentry and welding and automobile repair, but those programs had been abandoned three years earlier. The high fence had been put in place because there were often old junkers in the yard to practice on, and the school didn’t want anyone jumping a fence to set one on fire. That had happened once. That’s why they put the fence in. As far as I knew, no one ever went inside the fence or the old building within any more.
When I got to the back of they gym I saw no one. It was rather quiet nearby, though I could hear the band practicing on the football field. I think they had a summer competition to prepare for. I looked around and considered calling out but thought better of it. I started to worry that Mr. Donovan had reconsidered and decided not to do anything with me. Or worse, he might have told somebody. Either way, I knew I was going to fail the class.
But then I saw him poke his head out from a partially-open gate door along the fence. He nodded my way, then glanced around to ensure no one was nearby. I followed quickly, then he closed and locked the gate from the inside. He led me quickly into the workshop, using a key to unlock the padlock and the door lock, then relocked the deadbolt from the inside.
It was quiet and dark in the room. I could hear his breathing behind me. I was ready for whatever came next.
“The deal is this,” he said in his commanding but soothing voice, “I accept your offer, and you get a grade on the final that’s good enough to pass the class. Nothing more, nothing less. Only this one time, and we never tell anyone about it. Ever. Deal, Selena?”
“Yes,” I answered, not turning back towards him, “I want an A.”
“We’ll see what you earn...”
And then the words stopped for a moment. A hand slid over my ass and I shuddered. His grip was firm when he squeezed, and I could tell he’d been wanting to do that since he’d first laid eyes on me. I could feel his breath on my neck as he moved in, strong fingers moving over my buttocks and sliding along the seam down between my legs.
His lips met my neck and I shivered, enjoying the feel of the man’s hot breath, his tongue soon tracing lines on my flesh. His hand popped lightly against my ass and I jumped. He did it again, then squeezed me once, twice more, holding tight when he told me, “Your ass is magnificent, Selena. I can’t wait to fuck it.”
I should probably say two things here. First, I’d never had anal sex before and really had thought little about it, and second, I didn’t realize he meant anal sex when he spoke those words. I’d soon find out the truth, though.
He moved behind me fully, his arms around mine, his hands cupping my breasts and squeezing them only slightly less firmly than he had my ass. Mr. Donovan ground his groin against my backside and I could feel his erection through his slacks. It felt quite large, honestly.
I grew wetter.
“Your breasts, Selena. I want them naked in my hands.” He started to unbutton my blouse and quickly tossed it aside. My bra was gone in a snap, falling to the floor. My tits came free, my nipples hard, pointed slightly up. Mr. Donovan’s cock pulsed against my ass when his warm fingers slid under my breasts and he cupped them.
I was putty in his hands and he knew it.
“God is good, Selena. He made your tits perfect.” He kneaded my flesh, teasing then lightly-pinching my nipples. “He made them for my hands.”
I could feel my clit pounding in my slit. I wanted to be touched there so badly.
I wouldn’t wait too long. Mr. Donovan soon slid his hands down to the waist of my jeans. “This is what I desire, Selena, your most carefully hidden flesh.” He moved a hand down the front of my jeans, pressing down on the fabric to push it against my Mons, and then moved further to pressure my pussy.
I moaned audibly for the first time.
“Yes, this. So much this.” He used his palm to stroke me there, and I felt my wet panties move against my skin. His words were velvet to my ears, every syllable carefully placed, each word carefully chosen. “I will fuck you here,” he said, pressing exactly in the spot where my vagina was leaking cream, “before I fuck you here.” His hips moved forward against me and, yet again, I didn’t understand that his desire to penetrate me was not limited to my pussy.
He flicked the button on my jeans and drew down the zipper, running a hand over my panties. I knew he felt my wetness. The odors of my sweat and arousal wafted up and I heard him inhale. “You are ripe like a peach, Selena. Your body tells me everything. You want this more than anything in the world.”
He wasn’t wrong.
His fingers slid firmly over my vulva and he pressed them into the fabric of my soaking panties. Mr. Donovan used his palm to push on my clit which throbbed against him much like his penis was pulsing against my ass.
I moaned again.
“I want you naked, Selena. I want to see all of you.” He pushed down my jeans and I stepped out of them. Then he drew down my panties and when they were free, he brought them slowly upwards, letting them slide deliberately across my left breast. I felt the moist fabric so clearly. Goosebumps exploded on my skin.
Somehow, he’d removed his own clothes without me noticing. When he stepped closer to me, I felt his hard penis slap against my thigh. Mr. Donovan moved it so that it rested, pointing upwards, in the crack of my ass. I shuddered in anticipation.
Further up he brought the panties along my neck, and he paused his hand just below my chin. “Smell yourself, Selena.”
Of course I did.
I inhaled and the familiar, arousing odors of my own body washed into me. Pussy and ass and hints of urine and copious amounts of pungent, rich arousal played through my nose. “Yes,” he said, “know your scents.”
He held it there for a long moment. Each breath I took was full of my personal aroma. I felt wetness slide down my inner thigh. I’d never been more turned on in my life.
Mr. Donovan finally pulled the panties to his own nose. He made it clear he was inhaling deeply behind me. His erection surged against my ass. “The scent of perfection. To smell your essence, Selena, is to be favored by God.” He inhaled again. Then again. Over and over, I heard him smelling my dirty panties, his cock pressed firmly against me.
He ran the panties down my back. More goosebumps. The panties were cool against my skin now, the wetness almost slippery. He swiped them slowly over my buttocks and thighs. Then, he pressed them into my cleft and wiped them down and then back up against my anus. I felt it twitch on its own.
He sniffed the underwear several more times. “All your scents, Selena, they are heroin to my brain.” Then the fabric was tossed on the floor nearby.
Mr. Donovan’s hands grasped my buttocks again, squeezing and kneading them roughly.
I was so fucking wet.
He pushed my shoulder with one hand, holding my waist with the other. I braced myself over the workshop bench in front of me. I knew all my secrets were bared for Mr. Donovan to see.
“Yesssss,” he hissed with lust, “yesssss...”
I felt his breath on my anus a second before I felt his tongue drag along my slit. My labia were parted and sticky, my cream a long streak down one thigh. My body tensed with his touch.
“Nectar of the Gods,” Mr. Donovan breathed, “succor for a starving man. The only true Fountain of Youth.”