Prologue

The class sniggered quietly as they filed out of the classroom. They all had a vague sense of what was going on but it wouldn’t do to make a fuss.

The break time bell had rung and the distant sound of laughter and footballs being kicked sang quietly in the background. Miss Driscoll closed the door and turned to face the room now empty of all but one student.

“Quite the artist aren’t you?” she observed sternly with her thin eyebrows raised. Her tone made her quintessentially English accent sound all the more precise.

Kevin was one of the quieter boys in her class. Slouched in his chair his ill fitting school blazer rode above his shoulders, his striped tie knotted so tight one might wonder how he ever took it off. Now 14 the happy, hard working demeanour of his childhood had been replaced by a miserable adolescence, consumed with self consciousness and frustration that he was neither the best looking boy, nor the smartest, nor the funniest, let alone the most successful on the sporting field. It was beginning to dawn on him that at a time when everyone was so desperate to be special, he was distinctly average.

“You hardly make a secret of it Miss”, he replied, muttering so quietly he could barely be heard.

Miss Driscoll smiled faintly but sympathetically. As the late morning sun burst through the windows she looked even more beautiful than normal. Her rich mahogany brown hair highlighted with a hint of blonde was tied up showing off every inch of her neck. Her fitted white blouse hugged her breasts and slim waistline, blending seamlessly with the slim cut pencil skirt that barely made it to her knees. She knew she was beautiful, at the age of 28 men and boys had been telling her ever since she could remember. But it was her graceful, elegant, English femininity that made her seem almost out of place in a provincial small town school. Her high cheekbones were the most obvious sign of her perfect, symmetrical bone structure, and she carried herself with an air of quiet confidence that suggested her family background was closer to Kate Middleton’s than that of a teacher in English Literature.

She walked to him, blushing slightly at his retort whilst she leaned forward to inspect the drawing inked onto the desk. An intricate, almost exquisite portrait looked back up at her. He had captured Miss Driscoll’s face perfectly, but her naked body was still unfinished - one of the other students had brought the drawing to the class’s attention before the art was complete. The word ‘slut’ was written simply in large letters across the desk.

“You are talented Kevin, but you do understand that this isn’t what school property is for? I know some may enjoy it, but not everyone is as open minded as the rest of us”.

She sat on the desk in front of him, her bottom covering half the drawing as she crossed her legs from the top of her thighs. He looked longingly up to her, her deep green eyes subtly dressed in mascara, blinking softly and slowly.

Miss Driscoll knew of course what was happening. He was far from the first boy to be jealous of his better looking classmates and all the privileges they enjoyed. It was a common belief in the playground that losing your virginity to her was a right of passage for every boy at school, something that was not strictly true. She didn’t take kindly to the boys who expected sex as though it was their God-given right. Nevertheless her urges were not just known across the school, they were positively encouraged.

“Enjoying sex does not make a woman a slut Kevin.”

“Fine” he replied, he was resigned to never having his opportunity, “but everyone calls you that”.

“I know”. She felt no sadness in hearing it. “But I’ve a class in ten minutes so you need to clean the desk”.

He looked up from his sulk, and through a gap in her buttoned blouse he could see her pink laced bra and just a hint of the flesh that it contained. He had seen what was beneath before of course, almost everyone at school had, but he’d never been physically this close.

Miss Driscoll smiled, her straight white teeth just showing as she looked down on him. She wasn’t especially attracted to Kevin, his youthful skin and boyish frame were cute enough but he wasn’t the type of boy that excited her. He was no George, the floppy haired sixth former who could easily have been in a boy band if he could sing (she had seen him perform in the school play, and he couldn’t). Nor was he anything like Alfie, the 14 year old who had sat behind Kevin in the previous class, with his brooding dark looks, tight six pack and well trained tongue.

But he wasn’t altogether unattractive. He was just a little too desperate for her attention and bitter that she’d never paid him any.

“So you’re a breast man, then?” She enquired, observing the direction of his gaze. “I had you down as more of an arse man”.

He nodded bashfully, knowing that it could not be denied. The thought of her breasts preoccupied his thoughts through everything from boring classes to long car journeys to lonely nights in his bedroom.

It wasn’t that she pitied him. But she had known enough boys to understand their sadness can soon turn to anger if it were not mitigated. Sometimes, so her theory went, it is better to give boys a little hope.

“I tell you what, clean the desk quickly and if you do a good job then I’ll take my blouse off for you.”

His childish slouch quickly straightened and his eyes locked on to hers.

“Seriously Miss?”

She giggled softly as she uncrossed her legs and stood from the desk, her right hand resting on her hip, enjoying the charged atmosphere that her offer had instantly created.

“Yes” she said, biting the corner of her bottom lip playfully, “but we haven’t got long so you had better hurry”.

Rarely had Kevin moved so quickly. Scrambling for a tissue he poured a drop of water onto the desk from the bottle in his rucksack, scrubbing hard as his drawing turned to grey smudge and, eventually was erased in full.

Miss Driscoll couldn’t help but laugh. She knew how the boys all felt about her, but without exception they at least attempted to play it cool. Desperation was not a quality she admired, but she felt wanted and desired, and they were always welcome feelings.

“Well a deal is a deal” she confirmed, as the boy stood before her not knowing what to say, what to do or where to look.

She reached behind her head and in one smooth action pulled a pin from her hair, which immediately fell beyond her shoulders and, with a simple shake, looked immaculate. The blonde highlights at the tip of each strand accentuated the rich shine of her natural brown colour in such a way that drew attention to her face.

Her hands were placed on his chest as she moved closer. At 5’9 he was only a few inches taller than his teacher, and he felt her breath on his chin. She had no intention of kissing him but as their eyes met she knew she had little choice. Their lips met, hers were soft and relaxed, his tight with nerves. The moment was over far too quickly for his liking.

Her hands moved to her own shirt, unbuttoning slowly and deliberately, her eyes still locked on his as she pulled the cotton over her shoulders and dropped it casually on the floor behind her.

Her bra was a subtle pink, laced in a floral design and clearly worn for the sole purpose of attracting sexual interest. Her slim frame was perfectly tight, her feminine shoulders showing just the right amount of bone, her stomach flat and toned without being muscular.

“Have you taken a bra off before?”

He shook his head, speechless to the point of being semi-conscious. She showed him how and their lips once again drew close enough to feel each other’s breath. He looked down as the lace fell away, her natural c-cup breasts so firm that they barely moved with the loss of support.

Chapter 1 »