I have a confession to make: I think about sex all the time. It is always on my mind and who can blame me; sex is everywhere. I see those looks that men give me when I walk past them in the street: the eyes that linger on my breasts, and that follow my ass when I walk away.


These looks used to make me nervous, I’d feel exposed and vulnerable having older men leer at me on the street. But one day I decided not to allow those fools to make me feel that way; these days I feel excited when I see a man stiffen from the sight of me (and no I don’t mean in that way!).


I find it empowering seeing these silly men acting like school boys at the sight of me in my school uniform. My tight shirt a size too small for me, highlighting the curve of my hips and waist. The tight cotton stretched to its limits against my breasts which are just bursting to be free of their restraints.  Long brown hair that brushes my waist, leading the eye effortlessly downwards to the curve of my pert little bottom, which is easily visible through my pleated skirt. My legs, which are covered by my white knee high socks, are lengthened by the three inch heel that seniors like myself are permitted to wear. I like my cute heels. Yes, they allow me to stand tall and confident above my younger peers, but they also make my skirt sway as I walk, cheekily exposing the tops of my thighs for the pleasure of those men who enjoy to watch me walk away.


One day I am sitting on the train that I take to school everyday deeply engrossed in my book when I suddenly get that all too familiar feeling that I am being watched. I look up from my book and there he is, a thirty-something-year-old handsome business man, dressed in a sharp suit, staring straight at me. I catch his eye and immediately he looks away. I chuckle to myself and continue reading my book but for the rest of the journey our eyes flicker back and forth, the third time we make eye contact I decide to hold his gaze. I can sense he is becoming uncomfortable and this is all the encouragement I need to make my next move. Not breaking eye contact I close my book and ever so slowly I uncross my legs. I raise my right foot up as high as I can and let it fall to the ground a meter from my left so that my knees are spread wide apart suggestively exposing my white cotton knickers beneath my school skirt. All the while I am looking directly at this sexy stranger and I see his gaze slowly lower so that he is looking directly at my crotch. I feel on fire, my heart is racing, a throbbing pulse that is mirrored deep within those exposed knickers. My sexy stranger is mesmerised by me, slowly his eyes move from my crotch back up to my face, lingering on my breasts. He takes a deep breath as he meets my gaze once more and I wonder if this is one of those rare moments where the stranger does more than stare at the seductive girl.


Suddenly I see his eyes move past me and focus out of the window, and in a hurry he jumps out of his seat and knocks into a crowd of people at the door. “Cardiff Central” I hear the conductor announce, I stand up and head for the door, this is also my stop. I spot the stranger leaving the train and I want so bad to call out for him to wait, our eyes meet through the window before he disappears into the crowd. Lost forever.


Ten minutes later I walk through the school gates feeling frustrated, I can’t get this stranger off my mind. I spend all of my morning classes in a daze and pay no attention to the teachers. In Math my daydreaming doesn’t go unnoticed and Mrs. Peters has me stay behind, she is concerned for my failing grades. “Why do you never pay attention Jordan? I know you have the potential to do well, but you don’t apply yourself.” I look to the ground, unsure what to say. How can I pay attention in school when all I can think about is sex? I can’t tell my teacher this, she will not understand my obsession.


“You are failing this semester and if your grades don’t pick up you won’t be able to graduate.  Do you realise this, Jordan?” This catches my attention and I look up at my teacher with fear, I simply cannot fail — I guess I hadn’t realised how far behind I was. “What can I do to make this right, Mrs. Peters?” I ask desperately. Mrs Peters tells me that if I commit to private tutoring after school she will allow me to retake the tests I have failed this semester. I appreciate her concern and ask her when does she want to see me. “Unfortunately Jordan I just don’t have the time to give you these lessons. However our new teacher Mr. Roberts will be able to help you. Come back at 3.30 and he will be here. And remember Jordan: Mr. Roberts is giving up his own free time to help you. You had better understand this and listen to what he has to teach you.” I thank Mrs. Peters for her time and leave. Resolved to be a better student, I decide I will no longer think about sex. I am going to be a model student and pay attention in my classes.


At 3.45 I go to Mrs. Peters classroom: the door is closed, and through the glass I see she is at her desk. There is a man sitting with his back to the door, “this must be Mr. Roberts,” I think to myself, and I knock the door. “Come in!” I hear Mrs. Peters shout through the door. I know I am fifteen minutes late and I sense my teacher is very unhappy. But it really isn’t my fault I am late. I was walking to Mrs. Peters’ class, passing through the sports hall on my way from science. The boys locker room door was wide open and I couldn’t help but stop; there they were, the rugby boys changing for their after-school practice. Nearly all were topless, some just in their boxers. I stood mesmerised for ten minutes, carefully studying each body before I am noticed.


Evan Williams — the captain of the rugby team — is stood before me only in his tight black boxer shorts, tall at 6-foot-4 with washboard abs and great big muscles. He is a true Adinos — all the girls want him. He glances at the door and spots me in my hiding place. When he catches my eye, he winks at me, flexes his muscles and grins his perfect white teeth shining bright. He doesn’t give away my secret, which I appreciate. I run off to Mrs. Peters class and here I am fifteen minutes late.


As I enter the classroom, Mrs. Peters is noticeably displeased. “You’re late” she barks as I open the door. She looks at me expectantly waiting for me to speak. I stand in the doorway, mouth open and speechless “I… I’m sorry… Mr Stephens kept me behind after science”.  I mumble as I make my way to the desk. “How strange, Mrs. Peters” says Mr. Roberts, his back still facing me “I could have sworn I just met Mr. Stephens fifteen minutes ago in the staff room”. And with this Mr. Roberts turns to look at me.


There are moments in our lives so utterly shocking that our heart skips a beat and we are transported outside of ourselves, left to watch the scene unfold: helpless, and merely a spectator. Mr. Roberts turns and faces me, but in front of me is the sexy stranger from the train. I blush when I see who the new Math teacher is and I look to the floor allowing my long hair to cover my face so that Mrs. Peters cannot see my red face. “Oh dear,” I think, “I am in deep shit”.


“Well, Jordan” I hear Mrs Peters continue, “don’t you have something to say to Mr Roberts?”. After an eternity I realise that I actually have to react. Slowly I raise my head and meet Mr Roberts’ gaze, and this time he holds it making no attempt to look away from me. He looks at me with a mean stare and I realise that he is very very angry. “I am so sorry Sir” I say with total sincerity, I hope he understands I am not apologising for my tardiness. I feel humiliated that the man I tried so foolishly to flirt with on the train turns out to be my teacher. What a stupid schoolgirl he must think I am. I want to cry and know that if I look up at Mr. Roberts again I will not be able to control my emotions. Instead I keep my eyes on the ground and wait for whatever punishment comes my way.


“Well,” begins Mrs. Peters — completely oblivious to the tension in the room — “Now that you have both been properly introduced I must dash — I am late for a meeting thanks to you, young lady” and with that Mrs Peters is gone and I am left standing alone in front of Mr. Roberts… the sexy stranger that I flashed my knickers to this morning.


“So Jordan, tell me why were you really late” says Mr Roberts. I can hear amusement in his question, is he enjoying this? I do not answer his question and keep my face hidden behind my hair. “Sit” he demands his patience clearly running thin. I sit down and look up at him. He really is irresistibly handsome. Thick black hair and dreamy blue eyes, his face framed by a stylish and oh so sexy beard. He is the man of my dreams, and this adds to my humiliation. I enjoy the feeling of power I have when men look at me with desire, it makes me feel sexy and in control. And hell did I relish in it this morning. But now I am paying for my boldness, Mr. Roberts is reminder of how foolishly inexpirienced I really am.


Suddenly my phone beeps with a text message Mr. Roberts leans in and tells me to read it. Nervously I obey, just to break up the awkward silence that is has been building since he had me sit next to him. It is Evan Williams “I think you need to thank me for keeping your little secret. Meet me at 5pm outside the school gates”. I read it and blush, of course Mr Roberts, still staring intently at me notices. “So, who is it?” he asks with a grin. I lie and tell him it is my mother. “Jordan…” his tone disappointed “this is the second time you have lied to me in just five minutes. What am I going to do with you?” Mr. Roberts takes my phone from my hand and reads the message. “Well, what secret is this, pray tell?” I cannot tell by his tone whether he is teasing but then he adds harshly “Do not lie to me Jordan” confirming he is not.


I think for a moment about what to say but I cannot think of a lie under that gaze so I admit that the reason I am late is because I was watching the rugby boys change, and Evan caught me but did not reveal that I was there. “That was very good of him to do that Jordan, I hope you thank him properly later” I can’t believe what I am hearing. “You really are a naughty girl Jordan”. I look at him shocked and embarrassed “No Mr. Roberts, I’m really not like that I swear”. Mr Roberts doesn’t even respond to my protests. And with that asks me to take out my book and we begin our lesson. At 4.50 he finishes up telling me that I better not be late to meet Evan, and with a suggestive wink he is gone.


That following Friday Mr Roberts spots me at lunch sat alone with my book, he walks up to me from behind and it takes me a while to register he is there. I am embarrassed by his presence, I have hidden my naughty book skillfully (or so I thought) under an inconspicuous cover. But Mr Roberts standing over my shoulder has seen the nature of my book. I quickly close it and look up at him blushing but it is too late “The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty, what an interesting choice Jordan, and I thought you said you weren’t a naughty girl?” Now I know he is mocking me. “I have a long meeting this afternoon, come and see me, at 5:00 for your lesson”. I am shocked by his sudden curtness I begin to explain that it is Friday night and I have a date, but I get the impression that my silly excuses will not work on him and agree to meet him.


At five o’clock I knock on Mr Roberts’ door and he calls me inside. He does not look up from his computer as I enter the room nor does he look at me when he tells me to sit down. I haven’t done anything wrong, but why do I feel like I’m in trouble?


“I hope Evan wasn’t too upset that you cancelled your date?” says Mr Roberts after a long period of silence. I do not reply, the way he address me shocks me to silence. “How did it go after our last session? Did you make it up to him?”. “Yes Sir” I reply before I can even register the question. He is pleased by my answer and feigns surprise. “So maybe you can be a good girl Jordan?”. I am taken aback by the feeling that starts to grow when he calls me a good girl, a rush of energy builds up inside me and my breathing quickens. I think Mr Roberts notices this and he gets up from behind his computer and comes around to the front of the desk where he sits on the table. “Tell me how” he says softly.


I hesitate for a moment, do I tell Mr Roberts what happened between me and Evan? I am torn, on the one hand he is my teacher — he is handsome and clever, and I’m just a silly school girl that is failing Math. I wonder if he is just teasing me for his own strange amusement. But then on the other hand, he did ask and if I make a big deal out of this I will be playing into his notion of me as just a silly schoolgirl. So I reply ever-so-casually “Oh, he just wanted to see my breasts.” “How did Evan react when he saw your tits?” I tell Mr. Roberts that Evan begged to touch them and was ever-so-grateful when I obliged.


“And do you often show boys your breasts Jordan?” asks Mr Roberts. I want to shout “Yes! Everyday of the week. I have shown all the boys my breasts” and take back some control in this conversation. But I look at him and something tells me maybe he isn’t mocking me, so if go for the truth “No Sir, this was the first time.”


“Good girl Jordan, I admire your honesty.” There it was again, those two lovely words. Why did I love hearing them so much? “How did you feel showing Evan your tits?” I thought about this question for some time, and wasn’t sure how to answer it. In truth I really wasn’t that attracted to Evan, he was arrogant and self centered, when I unbuttoned my blouse he was wide eyed and frozen unable to move. Quite like a deer in the headlights: a simple, dim-witted deer. When I unhooked my white lace bra and sat in the passenger seat of his car, my small, firm breasts exposed for him see, he could barely contain his excitement. He begged me touch them so I allowed him to fumble around for a few minutes then I told him to drive me home.


“I felt nothing, Evan is just a schoolboy.” “Well Jordan” replied Mr Roberts “Why don’t we do a little experiment. I want you to take off your blouse, exactly as you did with Evan, and we will see if I can make you feel any different” Although I am tempted to agree, I realise this conversation is crazy. He is my teacher and I could get into serious trouble if I am caught. As though he has read the doubt in my mind, Mr. Roberts reminds me that it was I who flashed my knickers to him on the train that first morning. “Surely you want that to remain our little secret. I know you were just fooling around, but the principal might not see it that way; I’d hate you to get in trouble over such a silly little mistake.”


My hand moves to the top button of my blouse “And you promise not to tell anyone Mr Roberts?” “Jordan, this will be our little secret. Now, show me what you showed Evan.” As I unbutton my blouse, my teacher stands up and takes his seat at his desk. I take off my blouse and lie it on the table next to me. Remaining seated with my teacher on the other side of the desk, I unhook my bra and let it fall to my lap, I keep my hands at my side and lower my head, not yet able to make eye contact with my gorgeous teacher. I hear movement and look up, Mr. Roberts is leaning forward onto his desk, hands clasped together in front of him, a dangerous looking smile across his face. He stares directly at my breasts, which lie before him like two swollen white teardrops, beautifully decorated by my pointed pink nipples. “Come here Jordan” he demands. I walk around to him and stand a few feet from his chair. He takes me by the wrist and pulls me closer so that I stand between his open legs. 


“Such beautiful little breasts” he exclaims with delight, he looks me in the eye before leaning forward and kissing my left nipple, his soft kiss turns to a hard suckling before pulling away and repeating the process on my right nipple. I look down and see two erect nipples, wet with my teacher’s saliva. Again he moves down to my left nipple but this time there are no soft kisses and sensual sucking. He bites my nipple hard and I scream out in painful surprise. Instinctively my hands fly to his head and I try to push him away, he takes me by the wrists and pins my hands behind my back looks at me and in complete seriousness he says “Don’t you ever try to cover your body like that again, Jordan. You must always be exposed for me.”


Mr. Roberts tightens his grip on my wrists. Holding me in place with just one hand, he squeezes my swollen left nipple hard between his thumb and forefinger. I try to wriggle free but it is pointless under his big strong hands, he lowers his head and bites my right nipple. Holding me in place tighter and tighter until I stop struggling and accept the pain. Once I have calmed down I begin to notice the familiar throbbing sensation inside my knickers. With every alternating bite and squeeze a shiver runs directly to my cunt and after a minute or two I am panting uncontrollably. I struggle once again but this time it is not to free myself from my teacher’s nipple torture. I want to free my hand so that I can rub my clitoris and quell that burning ache in knickers.


My desire must be very clear to my teacher because he frees my hands from behind my back and before I can even move them his hand is already there, sliding along my thigh and underneath my skirt. He cups my sex through my knickers and I push downwards onto his hand. He wanders underneath my knickers and I feel him parting my lips with a finger, gliding along the length of my soaked cunt. I close my eyes exhaling and feel myself melt under my teachers touch. I open my eyes and see him looking down at me with that same dangerous smile. “See how easily I can make you my slut. With just one finger you are at my mercy, Jordan — isn’t that so?” I look at him stunned that he has called me a slut, I feel humiliated that he thinks of me this way. “Answer me slut!” he demands squeezing both my nipples hard. “Ouch!! Y… y… yes!” I cry out in agony. “Yes Sir, I am your slut. Say it Jordan” Mr Roberts demands tightening his grip on my swollen red nipples. I hesitate for a moment, not wanting to demean myself like this to him but I can no longer take the pain and I almost scream “Yes Sir, I am your slut Sir!” 


The moments the words leave my lips, Mr. Roberts loosens his grip. He leans forwards and kisses my lips softly for the first time “Good girl Jordan.” I suddenly feel proud of myself, I look into his eyes and wonder why I feel so happy and calm. He just put me through hell and made me call myself a slut. Surely I should hate him for this, instead I thank him for his kind words. “Take off your skirt slut, I want to get a better look at you.” I immediately obey his command, and let me skirt fall to the floor. I am stood before him just in my white knickers and my knee high socks. He spends a moment exploring my body with his hands before he hooks his thumbs inside my knickers and begin to pull them down my thighs. Letting them fall to the floor, I am embarrassed to be seen like this for the first time. But I remember how angry he was when I tried to cover myself before so I force my arms to remain at my side.


“Mr. Roberts…” I begin, “Call me Sir, Jordan” he demands. “Sir, I’m still a virgin. I don’t know if I want…” my voice trails off, unable to articulate my thoughts. “Don’t worry Jordan, I am not going to force myself on you” he says absentmindedly. Still staring intently at my naked pussy. “I must say I’m surprised a virgin like you shaves your pussy, you must be considering having sex soon.” I blush, if only he knew how much sex consumes my every waking thought.


“Turn around Jordan” says Mr Roberts, I obey twisting my body around, knickers still around my ankles. “You have a fantastic arse” he exclaims squeezing my pert little bottom hard. “Bend over and pick up your knickers, slowly” I bend over, touching my ankles, and one foot at a time I step out of my knickers. As I reach to collect them off of the floor Mr Roberts commands me to stay still. I hear him unzipping his trousers but I dare not look around. I suddenly feel his hands on my ass cheeks and feel him spread them wide open. It takes all my strength to obey him and stay still. These are not parts of me I want him to see!!


“Listen carefully Jordan: first I want you to put those wet knickers of yours into your mouth. Then you are to climb onto my desk, face forward with your back to me, bend over and spread your cheeks wide open for me. Stay this way until I tell you otherwise.” I obey my teacher’s command and spread my cheeks wide for him to see both of my virgin orifices. He sits in his chair and I imagine him inspecting my holes, perhaps touching himself at the same time. He stand up and opens the drawer to his desk and takes something out, setting it down next to me. I cannot resist and look to my left. It is a long wooden ruler. I make a muffled sound, still gagged from my knickers. “Oh Jordan you looked, bad girl.” I realise he was testing me and I failed, he did after all command me to look forward. Mr. Roberts picks up the ruler and I feel a sharp sting on the back of my thighs there’s split second of numbness before I feel the full force of the wooden ruler and I cry out in pain. Instinctively I remove my hands from my ass cheeks and rub my sore thigh. He knocks my knuckles hard with the ruler and I immediately replace my hands on my ass spreading myself open for my teacher. He strikes me three more times and I feel the tears spill out of my eyes on the last hit. After he has finished he tells me that this was punishment for the lies I told him earlier in the week and that I should expect the same, but ten times worse, for future offences.


Mr. Roberts replaces the ruler in his drawer and takes his seat in line with my exposed sex. This time there is no mistaking it: I hear his breathing quicken and I know that he is masturbating at the sight of my naked body. I spread my cheeks as wide as I can allowing him to see every inch. Mr Roberts stands up letting out a deep gasp of satisfaction and I feel warm liquid explode onto my ass, dripping down to my slippery wet cunt. “Be a good girl and put your clothes back on Jordan” says Mr Roberts after he has taken a moment to recover from his orgasm.


And thus I begin my Math lesson sticky and wet from my teacher’s eruption.

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