I bobbed hungrily, wanting his cum, wanting to get him off as he groaned, “Fuck, you’re eager today.”
“You got me off, I should get you off,” I answered, taking his cock out of my mouth just long enough to respond.
“That does seem fair,” he nodded, as I resumed sucking.
I bobbed for three or four minutes before he pulled out and asked, “Ready for a facial?”
“Always,” I answered, although I would rather have swallowed his delicious cum.
Seconds later, I heard his familiar grunt and closed my eyes just as his load began coating my face.
“Oh yeah,” he grunted, as rope after rope painted my face.
Once he was done, I opened my mouth and took his cock back in to retrieve any last remnants of cum that lingered.
Another minute, he pulled out and said, “Now go order me a milkshake.”
“Okay,” I nodded, moving to the sink to wash up first, before joking, “I guess I’m already wearing mine.”
“No, Jasmine, go out there with my cum still on your face,” he ordered, with a wicked smile I could see in the reflection of the mirror.
“You’re so bad,” I purred, the idea wickedly naughty… something that turned me on while simultaneously causing me anxiety… this often led to my best orgasms.
“And that’s why you love me,” he replied.
“So true,” I nodded, as I walked out of the bathroom and headed to the counter to order a milkshake.
Since the bathroom stop, a few customers had entered the burger joint.
My nerves got to me and I paused briefly before I figured, ‘fuck it, I don’t know anyone here’ and walked to the line where a couple of teens were in front of me.
I was smiling as I recalled the crazy day when a voice said, “Good morning, Mrs. Jones.”
I dropped the ben wa balls as I was startled from my memory. I quickly grabbed them and put them in my desk as I greeted, “Good morning, Tamara.”
“You okay, Mrs. Jones?” my sweet student asked.
“Oh yes,” I nodded, “just excited for Christmas.”
“Are you going anywhere?” she asked.
“To visit family,” I answered. “You?”
“Disneyland,” she answered.
“Lucky you,” I said, as others started entering the class.
The class went by quickly as we watched ‘A Charlie Brown Christmas’ and then discussed it.
A couple students gave me Christmas presents or cards, which always made me feel good.
Second period was a repeat and it wasn’t until third period, the last class before lunch, that the first of two consecutive strange things occurred.
Melanie, one of my sweet, shy students came into class in a skirt much shorter than I had ever seen her wearing, so short that when she sat down, oddly wearing no shoes, I could see the tops of her thigh highs.
Instantly, insecurity hit me.
It couldn’t be Melanie who was sending me the sexy lingerie and ben wa balls, could it?
Even though she was my secret teen fantasy this year.
I shook off the nylons, the no shoes and the painted toenails as coincidental, as I handed out the candy canes.
As I sat down at my desk, while the show played, I couldn’t help but keep looking at Melanie… and her legs… and her feet.
What if it was Melanie?
I tried to focus on the TV special, but my eyes kept being drawn back to Melanie.
Although I desperately tried to avoid her legs, I took a few too many glances. The good news though, was that Melanie was watching the show and seemed oblivious to the impact she was having on me.
The show ended, and we chatted about the moral message even as I desperately tried to avoid glancing down at Melanie’s legs and feet… but it was like a magnet was drawing me to them. I felt like a feminine Tantalus, achingly drawn by her untouchable display.
When the bell rang I was thankful, and my concern that Melanie was possibly the surprise gift giver faded when she handed me an ordinary envelope at the end of class and smiled, “Merry Christmas, Mrs. Jones.”
“You too, Melanie,” I replied, watching her leave.
I headed to the staff room for lunch, relieved and back to my original theory that my husband was the secret, Secret Santa and was manipulating me like crazy.
God, I hated him when he did stud things like this to me… until I saw him and then I wanted to rip his clothes off and devour him whole… just another complex aspect of Jasmine the sedate teacher vs Jasmine the secret sex fiend.
I ate lunch with some colleagues and chatted about holiday inconsequentials before heading to class for the afternoon… just two more classes and it was Christmas holidays… and at worst one more day until my husband arrived home to fuck me… and he too had two weeks off which was the only time all year we had guaranteed holidays at the same time (the oil fields usually busiest in the summer when I’m off).
I returned to my classroom and as I went to my desk I found another envelope. I closed my door, having a few minutes before the first bell, and then opened it.
As I read it, I imagine my face paled as I read the note:
My PET TEACHER
Your COMPLETE SUBMISSION via my SWEET SEDUCTION as I finish TRAINING my TEACHER to become my MILF TEACHER and BECOME A LESBIAN SLAVE is almost done.
It was just one sentence… but it told me one of my worst fears.
SOMEONE KNEW I WROTE EROTICA!!!
The sentence had simply strung together several of my story titles.
Even if it was my husband, which I was now confident it wasn’t, it would mean he knew my secret… although that would be a lot better than the reality that whoever left this on my desk was without a doubt a teacher or a student.
I considered telling my administration I wasn’t feeling well and needed to go home, but today being the last day before the holidays, there would be no subs available, as many teachers had already used one of their earned days off to start their holidays early.
Oddly, or maybe not so oddly, my pussy tingled as I reread the note… this is the exact kind of thing I would write about.
Just as I was about to open the door for students, my phone buzzed. I always shut the ringer off, but kept it on vibrate or I would forget to turn it back on and miss a call.
I grabbed my phone and saw the text:
Take off your shoes my pet, and put the ben wa balls in that ripe pussy.
I checked the number, but, of course, it was blocked.
Worried about being blackmailed, I slipped out of my heels, obeying that command, but not inserting the balls inside me as they would distract me way too much in my anxiety ridden, but horny, state.
This note confirmed my original assumption that it wasn’t Melanie, as whoever it was would likely have to come into my room to check whether I had obeyed.
I opened the classroom door, trepidation swirling through me.
Yet again class went as normal, even though it seemed to move at a snail’s pace… my pussy aching, my head hurting.
Just as class was ending, as I allowed them to chat for the last five minutes until the bell rang, I received another text:
My PET TEACHER
I can’t wait for you to BECOME A PRESENT as I’m TAKING JASMINE WALKER without reservation.
My cunt instantly leaked at the sentence, even as my worry accelerated.
I looked up at my students looking for anyone who seemed guilty, or seemed to be looking at me.
Was it a girl?
Was it a guy?
Was it a student? I sensed it had to be a student.
Regardless, how did they find out I was Jasmine Walker?
Why had I always used my real first name?
The bell rang and I had only one class left to get through… one hour.
I looked for abnormalities in each student as they walked in… of course, I didn’t notice any. The only abnormality at the moment was my cunt, which was soaking my thong.
I started the video and looked at the clock trying to ‘mind Jedi’ it to move faster. I had to get out of this school as soon as the class was done.
Just as the show was ending, I received another text:
My PET TEACHER,
Finally, I’m going to make your MILF’s TEEN CRAZED CUNT FANTASY come true as THE GAME OF SEDUCTION comes to an end with a real life STOCKINGS TALE.
PS: The balls better be inside you when I come to get them, or maybe I’ll share your secret with everyone!!!
I was still baffled as to who was doing this, and wanted to respond, but didn’t want any evidence to imply that I was reacting to my phone. The wittiness of using my story titles in the texts made me think it had to be someone smart… and I was somehow 100 percent sure it was a girl… mostly because the majority of the stories listed were from my lesbian category.
Worried about the threat, I grabbed the balls from my desk drawer and slyly moved them inside me as the Peanuts gang sang gaily to Vince Guaraldi’s music.
I felt so naughty… like I often fantasized being… yet the fear for harming my career, my marriage even, dulled the pleasure trying to control me.
With the balls now inside me, I felt so full and wasn’t sure I would be able to walk without moaning or giving myself away.
Once the show ended, I stopped it on my computer and asked a student to turn the lights on, cautiously remaining at my desk.
We had the same conversation about the commercialism of the holiday season and even a side note about the evolution of our society and culture and whether Christmas was a term that should be used except between known Christians. I eventually had to shut this down as it began to get personal when I suggested that the name of the season is not relevant, but rather a celebration of family… which seemed to end a debate that wasn’t going anywhere positive.
A couple minutes before the bell that would end school until January, I was paged to the office.
I cursed to myself, not sure I would be able to walk with these distracting balls moving around inside me, and praying the thin thong fabric would keep them inside my very slippery, wet pussy.
I got up, wished everyone Happy Holidays, avoiding my usual Merry Christmas greeting, and headed to the office, which was literally as far away from my classroom as possible.
The bell rang during my walk, which was awkward but not unnatural, thankfully, although the balls bouncing around inside were stimulating every pleasure spot inside me. The walking wasn’t as hard as staying focused as people wished me a Merry Christmas or a good break.
I reached the office and asked Joan, our secretary, what was needed.
She shrugged, “I’m not sure.”
“I was paged to the office,” I said.
“Not by me,” she said, standing up. “I’ll see if Carol, Anna, or Jerry paged you.”
As I waited, more people chatted quickly as the school of over 1400 people emptied faster than a Budweiser at a football game.
Joan came back and said, “Sorry Jasmine, none of them paged you. Actually, only Carol is still here. The last day of school is always an amazing example of how quickly we can get out of the school.”
“Yeah, a lot faster than a fire drill,” I said, confused over who had paged me, but figuring I could get out of here now. “Well, have a Merry Christmas.”
“You too,” she waved, as she reached for her jacket.
I headed back to class to grab my things, the hallways literally empty. Even the janitors weren’t here, as they wouldn’t return until next Wednesday to clean up and do the mid-year waxing of hallways.
I got to my class, my pussy on fire and knowing I was going to frig myself to multiple orgasms the minute I got home, when I was startled to see Melanie sitting on my desk.
“Oh, um, what can I do for you Melanie?” I asked, as I closed my classroom door without realizing I was even doing it. I knew from the look on her face she was my Secret Santa… even though I couldn’t fathom how she possibly could know about me. I mean, she didn’t seem like someone who would read erotica online.
That said, my dignified teacher persona didn’t look like someone who would be the most read erotica writer on a popular erotica site with almost 300 stories and over 16,000 fans who favorited me as an author.
“You should probably lock it too,” Melanie suggested.
“Melanie, I really need to get going,” I said.
She spread her legs to reveal she had a candy cane between her legs and deep inside her completely shaved pussy.
“Melanie, what are you doing?” I worried, even as I distractedly locked the door and began walking towards her to grab some papers left on a desk… trying to avoid looking at her… or her pussy… or her legs in my favourite colour of nylon. Meanwhile the ben wa balls continued to do a number on the state of my arousal.
“I’m making your many fantasies come true,” Melanie answered, as she pulled the candy cane out of her pussy, which was bigger around than a regular candy cane, and hopped off the desk. As she walked towards me, I began to walk past her even as my pussy burned… this was exactly like so many of my fantasies and my stories (where the protagonist denied their inner lust even as it began to consume and take control of their actions).
She grabbed my wrist, spun me around and shoved the candy cane in my mouth before I could even realize what was happening as she said, “I’m helping you write your next story… but this time it will be true and not some sad story of a forty-year-old hottie who lives in a strictly fantasy world writing stories for others.”
I went to push her away and remove the candy cane from my mouth, but paused. It tasted exotically intoxicating, a mixture of two of my favourite tastes (candy cane and pussy). Even though the ben wa’s were motionless as I stood still, I wasn’t in a state to think very clearly, and my reactions to the situation were sluggish.
Melanie, on the other hand, was razor sharp, and she slapped my hand away and vigorously fucked my face with the candy cane.
“Don’t waste my pussy juice, Jasmine,” she scolded. “This candy cane has been marinating inside me all day with your name on it.”
I stood there helplessly, my pussy on fire, my head spinning, as a decade long fantasy began to come true… even though I wasn’t sure I wanted anything of the sort. Sure, my body did… badly. But my brain… my brain was pointing out the plethora of cons that were obvious at the moment (getting caught, getting fired, end of my marriage, being outed, having sex with a student, albeit at least she was eighteen (I recalled her birthday being a couple of weeks ago when one of her friends had brought a cake into class for her)).
Yet, even though the morally right thing to do was to end this right here and now, I stood passively as I sucked on the pussy coated candy cane and stared, in awe of my cute seductress.
She explained, “I’ve wanted to make you my pet for a while, ever since I made the connections and was pretty confident that you were indeed the same Jasmine from Literotica who writes so many hot stories. I was never completely sure, until I hacked your iPad at lunch one day and found a bunch of partial stories on your notepad.”
Fuck, how had I let that happen?
“Don’t you like my attire? I wore it for you,” she asked, as she pulled the candy cane out of my mouth.
The truth was yes, very much so. But I ignored the question as I pointed out the obvious, “Melanie, this is wrong.”
“That is exactly the first reaction of many of your protagonists, isn’t it?” she smiled, before adding, “I’ve read every one of your stories, even your incest ones, which are pretty wild. I do hope you plan more parts to the ‘What Mom Knows’ and ‘A Sister Surprise’ series; they’re really enjoyable.”
Playing innocent, even though I knew exactly what she was talking about, even amused that both those series were indeed in the works for more sequels, I said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She scoffed, “You’re a terrible liar Mrs. Jones, or should I say Mrs. Walker.”
Knowing I was screwed, I turned and walked away, wobbling a bit as the ben wa balls juggled themselves inside me, but heading out of my classroom as best I could before this could get any more out of hand.
To my surprise, she roared, so different from her usual timid nature, “Stop right there, slave!”
I’d always wondered how authentic some of my submissive characters really were, only having my own life, my fantasies and comments from readers and fans to base it on, but quicker than thought I stopped in my tracks… just like my protagonists would have.
Melanie walked over to me, actually, sauntered would be a better description, as I stood frozen in the aisle between the seats, paralyzed with trepidation and anticipation… two polar opposite feelings that were making me mentally incoherent. “I expect complete obedience, my pet, just like so many of your fictitious sluts.”
She was now back in front of me as I again protested, retreating backwards towards the front of the classroom, “Melanie, I can explain.”
“You don’t have to explain anything,” following me as she shook her head. “I think it’s super hot that my favourite teacher is also my favourite erotica writer.”
“Yes, I mean no, I mean,” I babbled, almost admitting it was me, yet not able to find a way out of the predicament I had put myself in, and still unable to put two sensible thoughts together.
“You’re rattled,” she smiled, still advancing as I retreated. “Just like your protagonists.”
“Melanie, I….” I began, but she put her finger to my lips just as my back touched the chalkboard.
“Shhhh, it’s futile to resist destiny, Jasmine. I know you want to submit to me, you know you want to submit to me, and when you write about this, your readers will know you want to submit to me. The only question is whether we do it the easy way or the hard way,” she explained, looking so much more confident than the shy recluse she was in class.
“But I could lose my job,” I said, not admitting I was Jasmine Walker, but not denying her words were true either.
“That is the hard way,” she smiled wickedly, “but I don’t want that. You’re my favourite teacher. I just want to make your fantasy come true.”
“Fantasy isn’t reality,” I replied, quoting a few different characters from my over half decade of writing.
“Sometimes the two become one,” she countered, as she grabbed my wrists and moved them behind my back. “Now keep those there. I expect my teacher pet to be completely subservient.”
I stared at her with shock and awe at her words… words I had written and fantasized about for years.
“Is that clear, my pet teacher?” she questioned, staring into my eyes with the confidence of a classic Mistress.
When I didn’t respond, still trying to deny this was happening, still floundering in the sensations emanating from my pussy, while trying to resist my natural desire to obey without hesitation, she snapped her fingers and pointed to the floor.