Time for his last class of the day, 5B, one which Mark Taylor always approached with trepidation. It wasn't a large group (around twenty) but they were far from straightforward.
Sure enough, reprehensible activities were going on as he walked in. Some of them were in their seats but a sizeable and noisy group were gathered around something at the back of the room. The accompanying jeers and guffaws were what he'd heard as he was approaching down the corridor. 'Hey, no looking up her skirt, ' came over loud and clear, as Mark was entering, followed by 'Bet he's getting a hard-on!' and raucous laughter.
Mark went over to see what the fuss was. What he found, surprise surprise, was Keith Trotter, the school's quintessential nerdy fat kid, being tormented.
Almost every time Mark taught 5B he first had to deal with a situation like this. Last time he'd had to let Keith out of a locked cupboard. Time before that Keith was being forced to scamper around the room going 'woof woof'. Time before that he was cowering under his desk because a couple of boys were threatening to punch his lights out. And so on and so forth. Really quite tedious from Mark's point of view. Although a damn sight worse for Keith, obviously.
Persecutor-in-chief was Greg Bryant, a nasty piece of work who loved to bully unfortunates like Keith Trotter. Plenty of the others got involved too but Greg Bryant was the undisputed leader of the pack. He and his gang, Jerry Zimmerman and Todd Walker and the rest of the motley crew, they made Keith's life at school a living hell. Today's variant Mark hadn't seen before: Keith was prostrate on the ground and being made to grovel to one of the girls. He was down on his belly kissing the girl's feet and telling her how sexy she was. Those watching were finding this spectacle hilarious, needless to say. The girl herself, Melissa Miller, was in hysterics.
Mark waded in to break it up. 'What the hell is going on here?'
Greg Bryant looked at him, no trace of fear or remorse. His father was a major donor to the school. He was bullet-proof. 'Hello Sir. Keith was just worshiping the Empress.' Keith, red-faced and humiliated, had lumbered to his feet and was staring down at the floor. 'The Empress?' said Mark, conscious of showing a little too much interest. 'That's me, Mr Taylor, ' grinned Melissa. 'I'm an Empress. Didn't you know?'
In a manner of speaking this was true: Melissa Miller was a beauty, a luscious brunette with a devastatingly pretty face and the sort of figure that wet dreams are made of, easily the hottest girl in school, which meant she definitely had the power of an Empress when it came to the boys, she had them all (including big bad Greg Bryant and his gang) infatuated and wrapped around her finger. As far as Mark was aware no boy in school had gotten anywhere with Melissa but this didn't stop them forever panting after her. Gluttons for punishment because all Melissa did was flaunt what they yearned for but couldn't have. The girl was a world class prick tease.
'No, Melissa, I can't say I did.' As always Mark felt a little weak around Melissa Miller. It wasn't only the boys who were in thrall to her.
'It was only a bit of fun, Sir. You're not mad, are you?' Melissa was pouting prettily at him, knowing she wasn't in any trouble. 'Um, well, let's just get started, shall we?' mumbled Mark, his gaze lingering longer than a teacher's should on various parts of Melissa's anatomy, something her outfit did absolutely nothing to discourage. She was in full 'teenage goddess' mode: short clingy skirt to show off her stunning legs, skimpy spaghetti top (no bra) which offered up oodles of mouth-watering cleavage, beautifully pedicured feet in open-toed sandals - jesus, it was enough to induce a coronary.
His attention hadn't gone unnoticed. A smug smile fleeted across Melissa's lovely features. She knew how alluring she was, the effect she had on the male of the species, and she lapped up the adoration. She revelled in being an object of lust around school, basked in the power it gave her, a power she abused quite shamelessly. Melissa liked to toy with the poor saps who lusted after her, loved to manipulate and tease them. She was merciless: the more her hapless victims drooled over her, the more hoops they jumped in their frantic efforts to impress, the more she enjoyed torturing them.
Mark finally got the kids to their desks and the lesson started. It ought to have been an easy one (he had them sitting there attempting to write a short piece on Beckett) but within a few minutes he was losing focus on what he was meant to be doing (which was marking their last essay). The reason for this wasn't that he was on 'mission impossible' trying to teach this bunch much of anything about English Lit (though he was), or that it was a hotly humid day and the air conditioning wasn't working properly (though it was and it wasn't), no, the reason Mark was struggling was that he was being savagely distracted by Melissa Miller's glorious legs. This was the usual deal with this class: Keith Trotter getting picked on and Melissa Miller playing the temptress. If it weren't for these two things it'd be a breeze. Melissa's lovely legs were angled out into the aisle and she was continually crossing and re-crossing them, the performance choreographed so that her skirt rode ever further up her honeyed thighs. She was sat by the wall on his right, about halfway down, and it was a small room, so Mark had an excellent view from his desk at the front. And the view was tantalising in the extreme. How the fuck was he meant to concentrate?
Although actually he was concentrating: he was concentrating on feeding his fevered imagination, stealing as many burning glances as he could in Melissa's direction. He knew it was unprofessional to be ogling one of his female pupils, and a bit creepy too, he supposed, what with him being middle-aged and married. Trouble was, his wife was also middle-aged and married. Things weren't that 'exciting' at home. He was frustrated and susceptible. It wouldn't be quite so uncomfortable for Mark if Melissa didn't intuit the situation, didn't sense the lust rioting inside him, but of course she did. She knew that merely her presence in his class got him all flustered. She also knew she held all the cards. If 'Mr Taylor' so much as laid a finger on her, no matter the provocation, it'd be instant dismissal and maybe even the police. For a confirmed prick teaser like Melissa Miller there was only one way to play a scenario like that.
Mark sneaked another lech, risked a slightly longer one this time. Had her skirt moved up another half a centimetre since he last checked maybe thirty seconds ago? Mark believed it had. He wasn't a hundred per cent certain but he reckoned there was just a little more on display. At this point his study was interrupted by the subject itself because Melissa decided to tuck her legs back under her desk and out of sight. Mark caught her eye and wished that he hadn't. Melissa's gaze was triumphant and amused. He was being mocked. She was playing with him and wanted him to know it. He looked away, embarrassed, forced himself to think about other things, deeply unsexy stuff like what was for dinner later, but it was futile, he was aching with desire and the one and only thing he wanted to do was stride manfully across to little Miss Miller over there, rip her clothes off and drill her senseless. The challenge, as always, was to get through the hour without attempting that. Easier said than done on days like this when the girl was on a mission to drive him wild.
He tried another technique, looking instead at Eleanor Harris, a sadly unattractive girl sat in the middle of the front row, but that didn't work either because it only got him musing about the difference between the two girls; a physical contrast so complete that it was unfair to Eleanor them even being in the same room. He remembered the time a few weeks ago when Melissa and Eleanor had both been late, walking in together five minutes after the class started. 'Hey, look, it's Beauty and the Beast, ' was the loud and cruel jibe from one of the boys, Danny Burgess, and poor Eleanor's face had crumpled in dismay when she realised why people were snickering. And Melissa? Well the bitchy smile and the extra wiggle as she sauntered to her desk told the story.
There was some seriously phallic stuff going on now with Melissa's pencil. She kept fingering and stroking it, every so often slipping the fucking thing into her mouth and sucking on it. She wasn't looking at Mark but she knew damn well he was watching. Christ. Could you be murderously jealous of a pencil? Yes, yes you could.
Next she was toying with her spaghetti straps. They were prone to sliding down over her shoulders and Melissa had to keep pushing them back in place. She never seemed to quite manage it, for some reason, and they stayed kind of half up and half down. Finally she admitted defeat and decided the straps weren't needed. She pulled them down and wriggled her arms free, the scanty top now quite precariously positioned: it was just about barely in place, the only factor preventing total disclosure being that her boobs were large and firm enough to stop it falling all the way off. Fuck, she was driving him absolutely crazy!
.... There is more of this story ...
ft/ft / mt/mt / NonConsensual / Gay / Lesbian / Heterosexual / BDSM / MaleDom / FemaleDom / Spanking / Rough / Humiliation / Sadistic / Torture / White Male / White Female / Oriental Female / Oral Sex / Masturbation / Water Sports / Exhibitionism / Voyeurism / Leg Fetish / Teacher/Student / Violent / School /