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This is the first installment of a multi-part series. Draft versions of the other chapters have been completed so I expect, although I can’t guarantee, they’ll arrive relatively quickly. My next project is a mother-son story inspired by the tenth anniversary of Hurricane Katrina.
As always, all story characters are eighteen years of age or older.
* * * *
As the other students filed out for lunch Andy Johnson walked towards me, a thick yellowed folder under his arm. He laid it on my desk.
“I thought you might want this.”
It bore the logo of Brigham Young University. Someone had written Kaminska/Hunter on it. I’d never seen it before, but I knew exactly what it was. I put on my glasses, opened it, leafed through its pages. My hands were trembling.
* * * *
Steven Hunter had been a high school student taking a class in East Asian history at Brigham Young University. I was a senior, an education major, assisting the professor. Steven seduced me. It was wild; it was insane; it was all-consuming; I was addicted. I did everything he asked; we made a sex tape; there were photographs.
The police walked in on Steven, I, and half-dozen of his pals readying ourselves for a group fuck-fest. The university intended to make an example of me, but John Hunter, Steven’s father, said no. He didn’t care about me and was far more impressed than angry that his teen-aged son had bagged his hot teacher. But with my looks he knew the press would be all over the story and the disclosure of his son’s identity inevitable. That would be a problem for a man of Mr. Hunter’s wealth and notoriety. It would be a bigger problem for his wife, whose anxiety, already managed by a medicine cabinet full of pills, had spiraled out of control. The police backed off.
The university insisted on creating a written record. If I ever strayed again it could show it turned over a thorough investigation to the police, who stopped only at the request of the victim’s family.
* * * *
“How did you get this?” I tried to make my voice steely and calm, but it was weak and frightened.
* * * *
Three years ago I’d been hired by a high school in Highland Park, a wealthy suburb of Dallas. It was one of those schools where the students drive nicer cars than the faculty and the biggest problem were the parents, who didn’t believe their little darlings were capable of doing anything wrong. For someone right out of college it was an extraordinary position. Emily, Andy’s older sister, had been a senior. She was brilliant – class valedictorian, perfect score on the ACTs – and stunningly beautiful. She also seemed to own the place. There were rumors of teachers and staff being fired at her behest, rumors that the superintendent, or her husband, were her lovers, rumors she had videos of all of it. Emily did what she wanted; we got out of her way.
* * * *
“…was auditing a computer lab at Brigham Young. She got bored, hacked into the school’s computers, found a list of disciplinary cases, but there was no background information. She figured out there had to be hard copies of the files and, with a little work, located them.
“The university let you down, Ms. Kaminska. I read the agreement in the file, this stuff was supposed to be kept secured, but it was in an unlocked cabinet in the hallway outside the dean’s office. The school probably forget it was there. When Emily found the file she remembered you and sent it to me.”
“What are you going to do with it?”
“It’s your Ms. Kaminska, I’m giving it to you. I have a suggestion, however, don’t destroy it. You can’t be sure there aren’t copies of it, or parts of it, floating around. While most of the stuff in there is damning, there is exculpatory material. Steven Hunter was no novice and I’m betting his father knew all along. You should keep the file, you may need to use it.”
How much had he copied? What did he want? Best to address it now.
“What do you want?” I sounded feeble; I needed to get my voice under control.
“I want to see your breasts Helga. You do your best to hide them, but I’ve admired them all semester…”
* * * *
He was right. After Steven, at work I obscured the assets. I dressed professionally, usually wore my thick black shoulder-length hair up. My make-up was understated. I wore glasses, partly to give me a studious look, mostly because I liked them.
I don’t want to sound too modest, I was proud of my looks. I spent an hour-plus in the gym every day and paid close attention to my skin, nails, and hair. When Bruce – my boyfriend – and I went out I loved to dress up and when we went into the city I’d wear, over my conservative boyfriend’s sometime objections, something slinky and tight. In school, around town, however, I played down my appearance.
* * * *
“… and from what I saw in the file, they’re spectacular.”
He ignored me.
“We’ll do it in your office. I’ll sit in the chair facing your desk. You’ll stand in front of me. If someone walks by they’ll see casino oyna me sitting by myself, they won’t be able to see you. If anyone approaches I’ll distract them.”
He walked into my office. I stared at the file, turned to face him, and in a voice suddenly a whisper said, “Okay, but no touching, you have to promise not to tell anyone, no pictures.”
“Helga, you’re in no position to bargain, but I didn’t say I wanted to touch them, I said I want to see them. I have no intention of telling anyone and as to pictures, well there are plenty of those already. But if you require assurance…” He turned his phone off and laid it on my desk.
“And just this one time?”
“I can’t agree to that Helga. What if you wanted to show them to me? No gentleman would be so rude as to say no. Now please, it will be over in a minute.”
I couldn’t see a way out. I’d do this, go home, figure out what to do. And, hell, what was the big deal? He’d reviewed the file, he’d seen the photographs, watched the movies – he’d seen a lot more than my breasts. I walked into my office, leaned against the edge of the desk and, fingers shaking, unbuttoned my blouse. When done, trying to fill my voice with contempt, I bared my chest and said, “Okay, pervert.”
I guess I expected something vulgar, but in a voice not that of a lustful teen, but full of admiration, he said, “Ms. Kaminska, they’re beautiful. You should be proud of them, not hide them.”
Suddenly I was embarrassed. My breasts flushed a light red, the smallish pink nipples and areolas turned maroon. I said, “You’re welcome,” before I could stop myself.
“35-23-35? D’s, no, large C’s.”
“That’s correct,” I said, my voice subdued.
He kept looking at them, they heated up. Their red blush deepened. I concentrated, tried to shut off the flow of blood, but the harder I focused on them the more alive they seemed.
“Put on your glasses.”
“It’s a good look. Thank you.” He nodded his head. I re-fastened my bra and buttoned up my shirt.
“Tell your boyfriend that you want to go to Moe’s for pizza tonight. Get there at 7:30, eat in. Do you have any clothes that emphasize your bosom?”
I didn’t answer him; I looked at him sullenly.
“Okay, that lovely Ann Taylor blouse you wear over a white tee-shirt, wear those, but unbutton the blouse, show off the ladies. And let’s try your burgundy glasses.
“Tomorrow wear a padded bra, hook between your breasts, and a loose fitting blouse.”
I spat out, “And if don’t.”
“Helga, I simply do not entertain that possibility.” He held out his hand. “My phone please.” I handed it to him. He left.
* * * *
I’d been dating Bruce for three years, we’d lived together the last two. He was the opposite of Steven Hunter: kind, considerate, modest, steady, sometimes a bit boring. Sex was good, but never great. It was the way I wanted it. I did not want to return to the days of Steven Hunter, when sex had been all-consuming, when I lost all judgment in the face of it.
Bruce and I talked about marriage, but his mother was ill. He spent a couple of weekends a month with her. He was afraid the strain of our marriage might kill her. He hadn’t told her we were living together.
* * * *
Once home I put on my jogging clothes. I figured a nice long run would clear my head, I’d figure out how to extract myself from this mess. First I sat down with the file, thinking where to hide it. I opened it, started reading, looking at the pictures. Memories flooded back, memories I’d tried to suppress. I’d noticed Steven watching me in class, unrestrained hunger in his eyes. Unlike the others, he didn’t look away when I caught him staring. He came to me one Friday, asked me to meet him in my office at 5:00 P.M. I told him my office hours were posted, that he could make an appointment on a Tuesday or Thursday. He said he’d see me at 5:00.
I was waiting for him. He took me on my desk. I swore it wouldn’t happen again, but when he showed up during regular office hours, even under the threat that someone might walk in, I took his cock in my mouth and swallowed his spunk. He’d set a rendezvous on campus, in a public place. I’d say no; show up anyway; we fucked. He called me dirty names: cunt whore slut; I loved it. On campus I took to wearing stockings, garters, and heels.
A month into our affair I was to spend the weekend with him: his Dad was going out of town, his sickly mother staying with friends. On Friday I screwed his brains out. Saturday morning, wearing a skimpy maid’s outfit, my make-up whorish, cars pull up outside, teenaged boys got out. I prepared them breakfast, reveled in their lewd comments. They pawed me as I served them. I was ready to take them all on.
Steven’s mother had been suspicious – her son had been a little too interested in her weekend plans – and she’d asked a neighbor to keep an eye on the house. When cars started lining up she got a phone call and headed home, picking up one of the tony neighborhood’s rent-a-cops along the way. I was busted.
* * * *
My canlı casino reverie was interrupted by the sound of Bruce’s car. I’d been reviewing the file for two hours. I buried it in the back of my lingerie drawer. Bruce walked in, kissed my cheek. I was incredibly turned on.
“You go for a run?”
“I was planning to, but started daydreaming about an artichoke pizza at Moe’s. Whatta ya say?”
It was 6:00 P.M. There was time for a quickie. I peeled off my clothes and said, “Hey baby, before we go, how about a little roll in the hay. I’ve been thinking about you all day.”
Bruce glanced at the clock. “I don’t know honey. We wouldn’t have time to shower and I’d hate to go to dinner all dirty after sex.”
* * * *
We got to Moe’s on time; I wore the prescribed clothes. In the bathroom I undid all but two buttons of my blouse. My breasts filled my white tee-shirt nicely. When I returned to our table several customers noticed them. It took a few minutes for Bruce to do so.
“Hey honey, you might want to button up.”
“I don’t know baby, I feel like showing the girls off tonight. Think of it as foreplay.”
* * * *
Andrew walked in, right on time. Moe waved, “Your pizza will be ready in five minutes Andy.”
“Thanks Moe,” then, “Oh, Ms. Kaminska, hello.”
He walked towards me. I started to stand.
“No, don’t get up, I don’t want to disturb your meal.”
He was standing next to me. Could he see down my shirt? Had he’d checked out my breasts? If he had he’d been subtle, his eyes had stayed on mine. He turned to Bruce.
“My name is Andy. I’m one of Ms. Kaminska’s students.”
Bruce said, “My name is Bruce.”
I said, “Bruce is my boyfriend.”
Andrew pivoted around the end of the table, took hold of Bruce’s hand, shook it, moved closer, placed his free hand on top of top of the handshake. He was now looming over my boyfriend. He locked his eyes on Bruce’s.
“You’re a lucky guy Bruce. Ms. Kaminska is a great teacher, one of the best, and smart and beautiful to boot.”
Bruce started to respond, but Andrew, placing his hand on Bruce’s shoulder, talked over him. “What do you do here in Highland Park, Bruce?”
“I’m an accountant at Simon, Reed.”
Andrew turned to look at me, his eyes bore into mine. He had instructed me to display my breasts, why hadn’t he looked at them? I tried to look away, but I couldn’t break his stare; there was something about his eyes. I was getting warm, my breasts flushed.
“I’ve heard of them, heard they’re real good. You must be a smart guy Bruce.”
Andrew’s stare was intense; it went on too long. My lips went dry; I wet them with my tongue, blushed, straightened my glasses. I needed Bruce to do something. Couldn’t he see Andrew was ogling his girlfriend?
“Andrew, why don’t you sit down and join us.”
Looking away from Andrew, I turned my gaze to Bruce. He was slumped forward, arms at his side, looking at his pizza.
Andrew patted Bruce on the back, took hold of his hand, shook it again. “Thank you Bruce, but I’ve taken up too much of your time already and I see my pizza is ready. It was a pleasure meeting you.”
He looked back at me. Again I wet my lips, my tongue drifted along their length. Andrew stepped towards me, his hand on my shoulder, moved it to my upper arm, squeezed. I offered him my cheek. He kissed it.
“See you tomorrow morning Ms. Kaminska.”
He headed for the door, stopping to hold it for an older woman who’d just arrived at the restaurant. Bruce watched him leave.
“He seems like a nice young man.”
“Yes, he’s among our strongest students.”
Barely speaking, we finished our meal. Bruce went to pay. Moe told him Andy had picked up the bill.
* * * *
On the short ride home my mind ricocheted from subject to subject. One of my students had discovered a secret I’d believed buried; he had the fucking file! If it became public I was ruined. I needed a plan; none formed in my head. Instead, there was a slow burn between my legs. Spending the afternoon reviewing the file, showing off my breasts at the restaurant, had left me on fire. I knew this was no time to surrender to my libido, but I needed to be fucked.
There was a problem. I was pissed at the man who was to do the fucking. Pissed at him for not fucking me earlier, pissed at him for not enjoying my tits, pissed at him for not putting Andy in his place. By the time I got home I was certain of two things: Bruce would fuck me and I’d listen to none of his mealy-mouthed bullshit.
Bruce put the leftover pizza in the frig. He turned to find me dropping my shirt, tee-shirt, and bra on the kitchen floor.
“I’m sorry honey, I know what I said earlier, but I just had a big meal, I’m full. How ’bout a little later.”
“You said when we got back. We’re back. If you’re having trouble getting it up, I can help, I can suck your cock.”
He’d always been uncomfortable with the word. I didn’t care. Topless, I walked towards him, “After I suck kaçak casino your cock, I’ll lick your balls.”
“Honey, you okay?”
“Bruce, I’m horny as shit.”
He glanced at my chest and said, “Is that why…”
“Why I unveiled the girls tonight? Yes. Baby, I have great tits, I work hard to keep them looking this good. Tonight I wanted to show ’em off.”
I had to calm down. This was getting me nowhere.
I winked. “I was hoping to rev up your engines.”
I was now standing immediately before him. I reached down. Not hard, but not soft. We were getting somewhere.
I dropped to my knees, unzipped his pants, pulled them past his thighs, took him in my mouth. Although initially surprised by my aggressiveness, as I worked his dick Bruce’s jaw slackened, his face softened. Soon he was soon fully erect and I was thinking about my boobs.
I stood, grabbed some oil from the counter, took hold of his hand, headed for the bedroom. He stumbled; his pants still bundled at his ankles. He was normally meticulous about clothes case. I glared at them; he kicked them off.
Bruce got on the bed, laying on his back. I smeared oil on my chest until it dripped down my torso, straddled his hips, leaned forward, pressed my tits together, engulfing his penis. I rolled them on his cock, then slid forward, his dick disappeared into the folds of my breasts. When I moved back the head re-emerged with a drop of pre-cum
“What’s this?” I swiped it with my tongue. “Tastes like cum.”
I turned my tits inward so my nipples slid on his dick. Another drop of pre-cum leaked out. I caught it with my tongue. “Oh baby you taste so good.”
His cock got harder, stiffer, longer. He began fucking my tits. The head expanded, turned a deeper shade of purple. Bruce was whimpering, beginning to dig our obscene play. My tits pressed to his cock, I swiped the cock-head with my tongue each time it poked from boob canyon. Bruce was grunting in erratic bursts. I knew that sound, he was closing in on an orgasm. I rubbed my wet pussy on his calf.
Then Bruce bellowed and lunged forward. A jet of cum burst from his cockhead, splattering my face and forehead. Then another explosion, less violent than its predecessor, depositing a stream of jism on my nose. It was followed by a final convulsion. Semen oozed from the cock-head, spread onto my tits. I sat up. Cum flowed from my forehead past my eyes, along the sides of my nose to my cheeks. I shivered when the cold air hit the spunk on my tits.
I needed to be fucked, but Bruce’s cock was through for the night. He was also a reluctant pussy eater, inevitably complaining about finding pubic hairs in his mouth the next day. “Baby, use your fingers on me.”
He stared at my face and tits. “Shouldn’t you clean up first?”
This was no time for a fight; the sooner we got to working on my cunt, the happier I’d be. I went to the bathroom; in the mirror I watched cum slide down my face, around my large brown eyes, along the sides of my nose, across my cheeks and chin. There were thick globs, coating my features with creamy white cum. I ran my tongue over my lips, slurped some down. I raised a breast to my mouth, licked the surface, sucked sperm from my nipple. His seed wriggled down my throat.
My libido had re-fired. I wiped off my face with a towel and hurried back to the bedroom.
As I did I thought about Bruce. Our sex life had become increasingly infrequent. We went at it what, every seven to ten days? When had we last done it? I masturbated frequently, but what about Bruce? He’d shot days’ worth of cum on me. Wasn’t he pleasuring himself? Was he satisfied doing it three or four times a month?
I got back to the bedroom. Bruce was asleep. Out cold. I wasn’t surprised. Orgasms did that to him.
I retrieved my vibrator from my lingerie draw and, on impulse, took a sex tape Hunter and I’d made. I put on my glasses, went to the living room, loaded the tape, turned on my vibrator, spent a perfectly happy hour bringing myself off over and over again.
* * * *
The next morning Bruce woke first and fixed breakfast, an unspoken apology for falling asleep last night. But his behavior was still formal, skittish, a little afraid to engage. Was he uncomfortable with how aggressive I’d been last night? We needed to talk. I wouldn’t let Andy endanger our relationship.
“You okay, you seem upset.”
His response was a curt, “I’m fine.”
I pressed ahead. “Honey, about last night…”
He cut me off. “Look I know you girls have all those hormones and things, some times you get all, y’know.” He headed for our bedroom, ending the conversation.
Fucking hormones! No dear, it was not fucking hormones! It was one of my students. He had a file on me that could wreck my life.
I stopped, took a deep breath. Better not to fight with Bruce, I already had enough problems. And how could I expect him to understand? I’d given him no reason to believe there was a demon in my past. I swallowed my anger, breathed deeply, got dressed. Yesterday I’d expected to have a plan in place to deal with Andy, but I had nothing. There was no alternative to playing along for another day. As instructed, I put on a loose fitting blouse and padded bar with the clasp between my breasts.
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