Chapter 1

Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Heterosexual, Fiction, Spanking, First, Slow, .

Desc: Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Tania had a crush on her mathematics teacher in school, and six years after leaving she bumps into him again. But she's very drunk... He remembers an attractive but annoying girl who could have worked much harder and was constantly in detention. Should he risk his reputation and career to help her?

When you're a teacher, and I've been one for a few years now, you deal with a lot of youngsters; you learn their names. If you don't, you're going to have problems. But there are so many of them, you don't remember their names once they've moved on. Speaking personally, it's always a struggle to learn their names and I tend to forget them as soon as they leave.

At least, I forget most of them. There are always the ones that stand out. The occasional brilliant student. The one that tries hard, but struggles. The tease ... and the joker. Sometimes combined in the same person. I never minded giving a little extra time to the gifted student, or rather more time to the struggler. I managed to deal with the tease without getting in a compromising position, or crushing her self-esteem. But the occasional one spent a lot of time in detention, like Tania, who was both tease and joker. Actually, she was also very bright, which was frustrating given that she wasn't achieving her potential.

I have to say, for all the trouble she gave me, I liked the girl. When the time came for her to leave, I had mixed feelings; relief I wouldn't have the disruption to deal with, yes, but just a little sadness I wouldn't have her ... life ... vigour ... joie de vivre. But she left and while I knew her name would be engraved on my memory, the memory faded into the background displaced by the current crop of mixed characters.

Several years after Tania left, nearing the end of term, a colleague was to be married as soon as we broke for the summer, but his fiancée lived a considerable distance away, and most of us wouldn't be travelling to the ceremony. So the staff group decided to throw a shindig in a local club on the evening of the last Friday of term. I went along, wondering if perhaps I might end a longish dry spell without a girlfriend. Not that I was in the habit of picking up girls in clubs; being rather sedate and reserved, I was unlikely to find someone with similar interests that way.

So we all drank and ate snack foods, danced a little or a lot depending on personality, and drank some more. It was getting late, by my standards. Okay, I know that the night is just beginning at eleven, but I'm an early bird, not an owl. I made my apologies, put up with the 'old man' jibes (I was thirty-four at the time) and made my way to the exit.

The air outside was fresh, despite the time of year, and I'd drunk a little more than usual, so I stood for a moment to let my head settle. The door behind me banged again and I looked round to see a girl – young woman, I suppose – stagger out, totter, and lean against a wall. I argued with myself for a few seconds, but capitulated to my 'white knight' alter ego, and went over to her.

"You okay, Lass?"

"Ahm ... pissed as a newt. Snockered. Drunk as a skunk. Legless." Please note, I can't convey the slurred, barely comprehensible way she was talking, but I could just make it out. "Hey! I kn ... n ... now y ... y ... you! Sir! It's ... sir! Mister ... W ... Woodford ... sir! Sir..." She pushed herself off the wall and tottered a few steps. I caught her, without thinking, before she crashed to the ground. "Oh, sir ... thank you. Ah ... need to get home..."

I was painfully aware I was in a quite compromising position. What I should do is call for help, but that would probably mean Tania – yes, it was Tania – spending the night in a Police cell as 'drunk and disorderly'.

"Do you still live in Ecclesall, Tania?"

"Y ... y ... yer remem ... mem ... ber me?"

"Oh, yes. But do you still live in Ecclesall?"

"If I can get home and in the house without the parents noticing..." Again, this is a paraphrase of the slurred mumbling I had to interpret.

I wasn't at all sure I even could get her home, but foolishly I decided to try. "Come along then." I wrapped an arm round her, realising too late that the soft mound in my hand was her left breast. I shifted my grip as both her arms wrapped round me. We set off, unevenly and slowly. I rapidly realised it was not going to be possible to walk with her all the way to Hunter's Bar. When it was apparent that some of the excess alcohol was going to be vomited, possibly on me, I got her to the gutter and held her as her body attempted to rid itself of the poison. At which point she was limp.

"I carn ... I carn ... I can't go home like this..."

That was quite apparent. I called a taxi, and took her home with me. Knowing it was possibly the stupidest thing I'd done since College. In my kitchen I got her to drink a large glass of water with a couple of aspirin.

"Nee ... nee ... need ter pee..."

It was clear she wasn't capable of helping herself, and that I was deep enough that a little more wasn't going to make a big difference, so I got her in the small wc downstairs, my face glowing red, I'm sure, as I got her skirt up and her panties down. The sound of her letting loose convinced me I'd done the right thing in one respect at least.

I finally got her laid out on the settee with a blanket over and a plastic bucket by her head. She was out like a light. Me? I lay awake for some time wondering if I'd torpedoed my career.

I was vaguely aware of movement in the wee small hours, but was too tired to do anything about it, and awoke properly myself about nine in the morning.

I was on my second cup of coffee when Tania appeared, looking rather the worse for wear, hair a tangled mess, eyes half shut.

"Good morning, Tania."

She winced, and whispered, "Please, sir, don't shout."

I steered her to a chair at the table and placed a large glass of water in front of her before finding the aspirin bottle.

"Thank you, sir," she whispered. "I may, just, live. Though I'm not sure I want to."

I didn't say anything to that, but went back to my coffee. Having emptied the cup, I got up and ran another batch through. When it was ready, Tania having washed down several aspirin with the whole glass of water, I asked, "Coffee, Tania?"

"Ab-so-lute-ly. Yes, please."

"Milk? Sugar?"

"Normally, milk. Today ... just black, please."

"Want anything to eat?"

"Um ... toast?"


"Mister Woodford, I don't remember much. I guess I need to thank you ... a lot. I must have been totally sloshed."

"You were. I wondered where your friends were."

"I'll ask when I see them. But I probably left them for a reason."

She drank her coffee and when the toaster popped, nibbled her way through the toast slowly. "I suppose I ought to be getting home..."

"Your parents will be worried?"

"They'll be furious ... I've been out all night and they don't know where."

"You're an adult, Tania. Surely you don't have to account for your whereabouts all the time?"

"They're ... strict. If I'm to be living in their house, I have to obey the rules. I'm in trouble this morning." I considered asking if she wanted to leave home, but decided against just as she went on, "I'm a student, and so are my friends. My parents won't hear of me taking a student loan, but all they'll pay for is tuition. I work part time in a shop for spending money."

"What are you studying?"

"Foundation course. I messed about too much at school ... as you know."

"But you're back in further education, anyway. That's good."

"Thanks. I ... I don't know how you put up with me in school, and now you're being kind to me."

"I confess ... there were a number of occasions when I longed to be able to put you over my knee."

She looked at me with a strange expression. "I could wish you had."

"How's the course going, though?"

"Okay. It's pretty easy, really, for the most part."

"Well, if I can help..."

"Oh, sir ... Mister Woodford ... would you? I know how you always tried to help..."

"I'd be happy to ... if you're going to work this time round. What do you want to do?"

She blushed, and looked down. "I ... er ... want to teach."

"That's great! It can be tough, you know."

"I know. But I'd like to be like you, if I can."

I could feel the heat in my face as I blushed, something I've never got over. I couldn't think of anything more to say. After a pause, I saw she'd finished her toast and coffee. "Would you like me to give you a lift home?"

She actually thought about that. "I think I would, if you don't mind."

Her clubbing outfit wasn't too outré; short mini, skimpy top giving tantalising glimpses of her tummy and nice, medium sized tits ... sandals with a moderate heel, but perhaps it was just as well she didn't have to walk along Ecclesall Road. I let her out in a side road, where she could walk along a gennel* and get to the back gate of her home. I didn't wait.

(*Gennel – narrow passageway permitting a pedestrian or cyclist a short cut, or access. Northern English dialect word, I think.)

I had three days to the end of term, not that we did much good with them. I saved up some mathematical curiosities, like Fibonacci numbers, with illustrations from nature. Finally it was over, and I had the summer stretching ahead with no summer school that year, just some preparation for next term. So Thursday morning, I woke late, for me, hearing someone hammering on the front door, grabbed a dressing-gown and made my way downstairs. I expected some sort of delivery, probably in error, since I couldn't think of anything I'd ordered. I opened the door, to be confronted with a very distressed Tania Benton.

In modest jeans and jacket, she had a large rucksack on her back and a holdall in her right hand. She had, clearly, been crying.

"Mister Woodford ... sir ... I'm sorry, but you did say you'd help..."

"Certainly, if I can. You'd better come in, Tania. Dump your stuff in the hall. D'you want coffee?"

She obeyed as I was speaking and the holdall and rucksack hit the floor. I opened the lounge door and waved her in. "Milk with your coffee?"

"Oh ... yes, please."

In the kitchen, I busied myself with the making of coffee. Breakfast would have to wait. I heated and frothed milk – I don't care for it myself, but I like making fancy coffee – and took her latte and my black coffee on a tray with some biscuits into the lounge. She was perched, as if ready to flee, on the edge of one of the chairs. Putting the tray on the coffee table in front of her, I seated myself in an adjacent chair. "Relax!" I ordered, as she picked up her mug. "There's nothing so broke it can't be fixed." (My apologies for that. My verbal grammar slips from time to time – deliberately.)

She looked at me with such an expression of devastation I was shocked. "You think?"

"I know," I said, with more assurance than I felt.

"When I got in Saturday, Mum and Dad went spare. They wouldn't listen to anything I tried to say, and even if they had, I don't think it would have made any difference. A couple of days of that, and I was ready to leave anyway, but they said if I was going to, as they put it, 'act the slut', I should get out and find somewhere to live where I wouldn't embarrass them. I crashed at my friend's – Ashley's – house, but her parents didn't want me there more than a couple of nights, and the others ... I think Mum and Dad must have been talking to them. So I'm on my own. I've got a little money, but I can't afford a flat of my own; actually, the deposit would almost clean me out. So I didn't know what to do. I've ... I'm on the homeless list, but..."

"But you're not a priority, and the bed-and-breakfast provision isn't very attractive." I thought about it as she was nodding in agreement. The social welfare structure in Britain has become increasingly threadbare over the years, and with the rise of expectations and the uncovering of unsavoury stories, homelessness is an increasing problem. I confess, I felt more sympathy toward someone like Tania than the faceless masses I'd never met, or only seen begging in the city centre. "Have you had breakfast?"

She shook her head. "No. I felt bad about imposing myself on Ashley's family, and came straight here this morning."

"Well, neither have I – you got me out of bed!"

I thought she was going to cry. "I'm so sorry! I didn't know what to do..."

"Relax!" Perhaps I was a little sharp, but I was feeling quite uncomfortable. "Tania, I don't know what I can do, but I'll help as I can. Right now, let's have some breakfast ... as soon as we've finished this coffee, anyway."

Breakfast. Scrambled eggs on toast, as I felt I needed more than my usual cereal. Coffee, apple juice. Tania very solemn and subdued.

"Okay, then. Come with me." I led her upstairs, tempted to look back and see if I could divine what she was thinking. Opened the spare bedroom door. Sparse furnishing – I hadn't really needed the room much. A double bed (unmade, of course), tallboy (chest of drawers) wardrobe. Bedside cabinet. "What do you think?"

She looked at me, looked round the room. Shrugged. "What should I think?" Perplexity had mostly replaced the dullness in her expression.

"Could you live here? It's almost never used – just when my parents visit. But mostly, I go to them anyway."

"You're offering me somewhere to live?" It came out as more of a squeak than anything else.

"I'm offering you somewhere to live."

I was unprepared for the impact of her body on me and staggered back against the tallboy. Her arms were round my neck and her lips hard on mine as she kissed me. "Thank you!" She loosened her grip, but didn't let go altogether. "Do you really want me to have this room? I don't know how I can pay for it ... and won't you want it if you have visitors?"

"Well, if I do ... which happens rarely, as I say ... perhaps you won't mind using the third bedroom. It's really just a box-room, but there's a single bed in there. As for payment – let's talk about that." I led the way to the little bedroom over the front door. It's about ten feet by seven, single bed, chest of drawers, small ... very small ... wardrobe. Space in front of the window. White paint.

She looked round. "Could I have a desk under the window?"


"And redecorate?"

"If you like."

"This room would be fine, if that's okay with you. I'd just like a desk to work at, and maybe some colour to the walls."


"But I still don't know how I'd pay for it unless I just go and work full time."

"Let's go and talk about that."

I took her to the lounge. "Would you like another drink?"

"I don't think so, just now."

"Okay, then. You were really annoying at school, you know. I saw your potential, but all you ever did was play the fool. Now, I'm delighted you're trying to make up for lost time, and I don't want you to waste your time. What about fees?"

"If that were the only problem, I'd get student loans."

"Right, then. If you were renting a room, it'd be forty pounds or more a week..."

"I haven't seen anything under fifty. At least, not as nice as yours."

"Okay, but let's say forty. Plus food and bills. Say ... fifty-five. What I'll do is keep a record and you can owe me fifty-five pounds a week as an interest-free loan, due when you earn enough to start paying off your student loans, paying back at a rate you can afford."


"As well as that, if you'd like to do some housework, we'll set that off against the debt. Say ... ten pounds an hour."

"But ... that's a lot more than I get in the shop. I..."

"I want to see you succeed, girl."

She sniffed, head down, but then looked up, eyes glistening. "Thank you. I accept."

Once I'd got properly dressed, we went out and fetched a flat-pack desk and office chair from Staples, and she selected an emulsion paint from Dulux. When we got home, I set her on to painting the walls of the room while I thought about lunch. When I went to fetch her to eat, she'd got the first coat on. "Those curtains don't really work with that colour paint, do they?"

"Not really."

"Well, I've made sandwiches for lunch. When we've had them, we'll pop along to Moonlight to see what they've got in the way of curtains that will do, okay?"

And that is what we did. The curtains – in a flowery pattern that would not have been my choice, though pretty – had to be made up and would be several days. We assembled the desk and chair with no more than the usual blue smoke. Tania cooked our supper. Considering the limited selection of ingredients, she produced a most acceptable sauce to go with pasta. I praised her efforts, and we sat in the lounge, reading, until it was time for bed. Separately, of course.

She was up first and had washed up before I got downstairs. Coffee was just finishing dripping through as I walked in the kitchen.

"What do you usually have for breakfast?"

"Depends," I responded, "this morning, toast, I think."

"Thick, or thin?"

"Fairly thick..."

She had bread on a breadboard on the worktop, cut a couple of fairly even slices, and popped them in the toaster.

"You managed to cut that bread pretty well..." I'd seen some very ham-fisted slices in the past from people unused to bread that hadn't been pre-sliced.

"Mum never let us buy sliced bread." She had butter and marmalade on the table. "Do you need anything else out? Jam?"

"This is fine."

With breakfast out of the way, it didn't take long to get her laptop talking to my router. Getting the printer to respond took rather longer. By the time I'd achieved that, it was time for lunch, after which I decided to go out for a walk. Tania insisted she stay behind to clean. By the time – a couple of hours later – I got home she had a load of washing hung out and was vacuuming the lounge. I got my laptop and settled at the dining-room table with it. Reading, I hasten to add, not working.

Which is where we stuck for a couple of weeks. Tania was a pleasant enough housemate. She was definitely putting in around six to seven hours a week cleaning, doing laundry, cooking ... and still working in the shop at weekends. The house, never actually dirty, became sparkling, bright and welcoming. I didn't give any thought to how much of that was due to the presence (as against the activity) of my housemate. I also gave no thought to how long the situation might endure.

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Story tagged with:
Ma/Fa / Consensual / Heterosexual / Fiction / Spanking / First / Slow /