Hot For Teacher(112)

Well, she wasn’t exactly standing. She had just stepped out of a taxi and was attempting to walk into her house next door. But she kept stumbling and sobbing. After the taxi drove away, I found myself walking toward the weeping but sexy woman. She had fallen to her knees, and something about her had me reaching out and helping her up. And yeah, I couldn’t help but notice her pink panties underneath her skirt—something that gave my dick a five-alarm jerk alert—but I covered her up to give her some dignity. Then I helped her into the house and onto her couch.

She never did tell me why she’d been crying, but she didn’t need to tell me she’d been drinking. It was obvious. But after I served her a glass of water and she changed into a T-shirt and sweatpants, she was able to speak.

I had no idea who she was until she informed me that she was an English teacher at my school and she coached the debate team.

We talked well into the night. She listened to what I had to say. She acknowledged me. Now, the recollection is hazy and I can barely remember what we spoke about, but I had such a connection with her that night—so much more of one than I’d ever had with anyone. I fantasized about all the things we’d do, and all the places I’d take her. I even indulged in the thought of taking her to my getaway in the woods.

She even gave me a hug when I was about to leave. Physical contact, even of the nonsexual variety, from a hot woman was all I needed to indulge in a marathon tug-fest later.

You see, Miss Shields—in all of her vulnerable, hot teacher glory—had given me a glimpse of that seemingly unattainable goal that I wanted so badly I could taste it.

Because I, Simon Blackwell, III, was hot for my teacher, and I was going to seduce her right out of her skimpy, too-sexy-for-her-own-good panties if it was the last thing I did.

Everyone has that moment of definition, when the clarity of who you want to be is so vivid in your mind that you can’t turn back once you’ve caught that glimpse. A goal that you see and then seek: it’s the moment you decide your future.

This was that moment for me.

Miss Shields was my Jaguar, and I planned to have one hell of a ride.





Chapter Three


Number Nine: The Volkswagen

September 2, 2014 (Two weeks ago)

Andrea, the Volkswagen, tugged at her bottom lip and uncrossed her legs, leaning toward me. Tilting her head, she reached back, taking down her dark ponytail.

She gave me a look—a look I’d grown familiar with in the past twelve months: she was going to let me kiss her.

I hadn’t quite figured out the third base signal yet. It seems to vary from girl to girl; I may need to start a spreadsheet on it. At our age they’re still shy, insecure, and aren’t experienced enough to know how to give guys like me the go-ahead. Most guys my age need a written invitation as their ‘sign,’ but I’ve been learning to pick up the subtleties.

I’m determined.

My eyes traveled down to the neckline of her shirt. She was hiding everything with her baggy sweater and tight jeans, but her eyes were giving her away. I briefly thought about what shade of pink her nipples were.

“What were we talking about?” she asked quietly, flirtatiously sweeping her hand through her hair.

I gave her my signature move—the one that I’ve heard most of the girls on the debate team giggle and whisper about—and slid off my glasses. She bit her quivering bottom lip. She must have heard the rumors that once I’ve done this, I had every intention of going as far as she’d let me.

I flashed a cocky smile and set them on my nightstand. My eyes flickered over to the doorknob to make sure the lock was set. Even though my parents weren’t due home for another week, I was still paranoid.

The flush that started at Andrea’s neck had moved to her cheeks, and her breathing shifted. She was easier to read than I thought she’d be. Or maybe I was getting better at recognizing the signs.

You know, the signs—the ones that let you know you’re about to tap that ass.

I closed the books on my bed and leaned down in front of her to set them on the floor. She gasped, thinking I was about to make a move, but my intentions were to prolong it as much as possible. In my experience with girls, the more I delayed the act, the quicker they came.

I sat back on the bed and patted the spot next to me in invitation. She swallowed loudly and nodded, her eyes wide with anticipation. Quickly rising from her chair, she moved to the space next to me and folded her hands over her lap, fidgeting with her thumbs.

“We were talking about uniforms,” I whispered, trying not to grin at Andrea’s obvious nervousness. It was such an ego boost knowing I got to a chick like that. “School uniforms.”