Teach Me Dirty

by Jade West

  I was hard, and I really shouldn’t be.

  An hour’s lesson has never gone so slowly. I was parched, and my throat was scratchy and dry. I distracted myself with the class, but it didn’t help any. All the still life questions in the universe couldn’t distract me from the willowy, beautiful siren of a girl at the back of the room. Her eyes were big and filled with secrets, secrets only I knew, and they pulled at me, and twisted me up, and excited me. I could feel her gaze on me, and the tension felt like heaven and hell all rolled into one.

  My heart was racing by the time the lunch bell sounded. I gathered the year sevens’ drawings and stacked them in a pile, and Helen waited and watched, quietly and curiously until the door swung closed behind the stragglers. She joined me at my desk as I put away the sketches, and I could smell her, taste her. The hint of her pale thighs tempted me from under her school skirt, and she knew it. She checked out the playground through the window over her shoulder, then angled herself so that her back was facing every possible pair of eyes out there.

  And then she opened her blazer, just enough that I saw the hard little bullets of her nipples poking through her blouse.

  No bra.

  Lord save my soul.

  “I, um… I thought you might…” She looked at me, and there was nervous Helen again. “Nobody, um… nobody can see, not when I’ve got the blazer on… but I thought you might… like it…”

  I stood and checked the corridor through the door windows and there wasn’t a soul out there. “Helen, you’re going to be the ruin of me.”

  She took a little step back. “Doesn’t it make you happy? You said that… you said you liked it… when I was in your shirt…”

  My throat was bone dry. “It makes me very happy, but I maintain you’re going to be the ruin of me. This is more temptation than I can bear.”

  “So don’t…” she whispered. “There’s nobody here. I thought you… you could… touch…”

  “Christ, Helen. We’re playing with fire as it is, any more and we’ll be bathing in it.”

  She smiled a beautiful, sly little smile. “I told you… I told you I was naughty… and last night, you saw me, and now I… I want to see you…”

  “What?” I said. “You have no bra on under your blouse, and you want to see me?”

  She nodded. “I just thought it might… make you… horny…”

  The nerves in her eyes would have made me smile if my own weren’t so jangled.

  “Helen, we can’t do this.”

  She looked so disappointed. “But I’ll be really careful… I’ve thought this out… you can show me a book on Picasso, the one you normally show me… and we can talk… just like we’ve done before. We’ve done that before at lunchtime. Loads of times…”

  “Loads of times when I wasn’t thinking about your nipples poking through your blouse, Helen. I’ll lose my job. This could spiral, and explode in my face, and I’ll be thrown out.”

  Her eyes were so serious. “I would never let that happen. I’ll be so careful. I promise. I promise more than anything.”

  I sighed. “What’s happening to me? Why am I even having this conversation?” I put my hands behind my head. “You should get off to lunch, and I should be a teacher, at least conserve some semblance of professional dignity.”

  “You are dignified,” she smiled. “And you’re amazing, and talented, and brilliant, and enigmatic, and wonderful.” Her cheeks had a fine blush. “And hot, and the most perfect thing I’ve ever seen, and I can’t stop… I can’t stop thinking about you. I can’t stop wanting this…”

  I looked beyond her to the windows, and there were a couple of kids kicking a ball around out there on the yard, nothing too major. My view of the art block corridor was clear from my desk. I’d see anyone coming long before they got close enough to see our little tryst. If we were careful.

  I was out of my fucking mind.

  “We shouldn’t. I shouldn’t.”

  “But I… I want you… I can’t stop thinking… I want to know you’re hard…”

  “Oh I’m hard, Helen. Trust me.”

  Her happiness condemned me. The pleasure in her eyes broke me.

  I groaned. “What do you want me to do?”

  “It’s my fantasy.” She looked at the floor. “I always wanted it.”

  “Wanted what?”

  “To touch you.” Her eyes drifted up, and I could feel her gaze. “To feel you, and know you were excited… know you were excited about me…”

  “Christ, Helen. This is crazy. Crazy, and reckless, and a strict fucking one-off. I’m serious.” I pulled out one of my hardback Picasso books and set it open on my desk. I slid a stool over. “Sit still, and keep your back to the windows. I mean it, Helen, don’t move a muscle.”

  She nodded.

  I took my own seat and pulled my chair in tight under the desk, holding the Picasso book up with one hand.

  And with the other I took hers.

  “You’d better keep talking and make this studying look convincing.”

  “I can do that,” she said. “Let’s look at Guernica. I love Guernica.”

  I placed her hand on the swell between my legs, and I gripped her fingers tight around my shaft through the fabric of my trousers. And I was hard for her, just like she wanted.

  Too fucking hard for her.

  “Satisfied?”

  Her curious little fingers teased me mercilessly. “This is even better than I imagined.”

  “It won’t be if we get caught.”

  Her fingers worked their way inside my zip as I held my breath. She pulled my cock out, and I wished the ground would swallow us both up and take us somewhere a million times more private than this.

  Her breath was on my cheek. “Can I make you come?”

  “No fucking way,” I said. “Definitely not.”

  She gripped me so tight. “Have you ever done this before?”

  “No, Helen. I’m not in the habit of fucking my students.”

  “So this is a first.”

  “Yes, of course this is a first.”

  Her giggle was an addictive little murmur, her pleasure intoxicating. “So, I’m teaching you dirty?”

  I turned a page in the book. “You’re teaching me how to get fired.” I gripped her sweet fingers around my shaft, and controlled them, up and down slowly enough to keep my head.

  “I love this… I love the way you feel…”

  And I didn’t want to love it. I didn’t want to love this.

  “Please wear a bra to school, Helen. I swear you’ll drive me to distraction otherwise.”

  “I thought you’d like it…”

  “I like it far too much.” I struggled to calm my breathing, looking between Picasso and the door and back again. “We have to stop. This is going to make me come.”

  “Not yet,” she said. “Please… I don’t want to stop…”

  “You’re going to make me shoot my load all over my fucking trousers.”

  She shifted her knees apart on the stool, and I looked past her, to the window. Nobody was looking. “I don’t have any knickers on. I thought you might want to…”

  My balls tightened in a heartbeat and my breathing turned raspy, and I was seriously close to coming, I didn’t have long, and Jenny Monkton picked the worst possible time to in the whole pissing existence of mankind to arrive in the corridor. She spotted me through the door, and I had all of about three seconds to push Helen’s hand away and compose myself before she was bursting in.

  I rattled off the first words that came into my head. “You see both the horse and the bull are important symbols in Spanish culture. Some believe Picasso intended these figures as some kind of morbid ballet, showing the devastation of war in such a… brutal… fashion.”

  Helen picked up the flow like a champ. “I love the hidden symbols. Some see two bulls, don’t they?”

  I held the book up higher and smiled a winner of a smile at Jenny.

  She held up a hand,
oblivious to my torment. “Sorry to interrupt, I was just passing.” She smiled at me, and then smiled at Helen, and we both smiled back and hell knows how she didn’t see guilt written all over my face.

  “You’re not interrupting. We were just talking Guernica.”

  She put her hands on her hips. “You two, always working so hard.” She rolled her eyes and turned her attention to Helen. “I don’t know what he’s going to do with his time when you’re gone. Maybe we’ll eventually see him back in the staffroom.”

  I laughed and it sounded so hoarse. “What can I do for you, Miss Monkton?”

  She clapped her hands together. “End of term pantomime showing, this Friday afternoon. Can you make it?” She looked from me to Helen. “And you, of course, Helen.”

  It took me all of one second to blurt out the beginnings of an excuse. “I’m likely busy. End of term approaching, and…”

  “Mr Roberts, please don’t try and tell me you won’t be coming to our pantomime!”

  I smiled, defeated, in the hope that agreeing to her demands would send her packing as quickly as possible. “I’m sure I can make time. How about you, Helen?”

  She smiled like a natural, and I wondered what kind of deviant little vixen heart must be hidden under such an innocent shell. “I’d love to. Thank you, Miss Monkton.”

  “Excellent!” Jenny declared. “I’ll set you up by the lighting desk, it’s a good view from there, not too crowded.”

  “Look forward to it.”

  “I’ll leave you to your…” she peered over the desk at the book and I nearly had a coronary in my fucking seat. “Guernica. What a weird picture.” She pulled a face. “Can’t say I see the attraction.”

  And she wouldn’t. She’d never see the attraction. For all the will in the world a woman like Jenny would never see the beauty in the things I see beauty in, or dwell in the same murky pools of the artistic subconscious.

  She was flamboyant, and dramatic, and extroverted.

  And far too close to my naked cock for comfort.

  “I’ll seek you out before Friday, to finalise the details,” I said, and that seemed to appease her. She darted away with nothing more than a ‘wonderful’ and a grin, before I could change my mind, presumably.

  I waited until she was definitely gone, then adjusted myself into some semblance of professionalism.

  Helen was staring at the door. “She likes you.”

  “She’s a nice woman. Well-meaning.”

  “She likes you, though, doesn’t she?”

  I nodded. “I think so.”

  “She didn’t see us.”

  My heart was still beating in my temples. “That was more good luck than good judgement, Helen.”

  “She didn’t though, did she? We were ok.” Her eyes were still filled with mischief and sex. “You could still touch me…”

  I took one long, slow, cleansing breath. “Open your blazer.”

  She smiled. “You mean it?”

  “I mean it,” I said. “Just open your blazer. Keep your back to the windows.”

  She did as she was told, and her pert little nipples greeted me so beautifully from under her blouse that my mouth watered.

  “I’m going to touch you, Helen, just once, and then you’re going to lunch without another word. Understood?”

  She nodded, and her eyes were like saucers.

  I held my breath and begged for salvation, and then I touched her. I touched Helen Palmer’s sweet little tits through her blouse, with a hard-on straining in my pants, and kids playing football obliviously beyond the window. I squeezed her tits until she gasped for breath, and I felt the tight little peaks of her, and she was beautiful, and divine, and worth risking everything for.

  And then I packed her off to lunch with her breath still ragged.

  Helen

  I was soaked through by the time Mr Roberts swung his car onto our usual patch. But I didn’t care. I didn’t care it was dark, either, or that winter was making my picnic bench perch quite unbearable.

  But Mr Roberts did. Mr Roberts cared a lot.

  I slipped into the passenger seat and his face was stern.

  “Christ, Helen, you’re soaking.” He turned the heater up full and took hold of my chin and wiped my face with the cuff of his jacket, and all I could do was smile.

  “I thought it would be a surprise…”

  “I could do without surprises like finding you with hypothermia on a picnic bench. This needs better planning.”

  One impulsive text message and he’d come for me, and I liked that.

  “I didn’t think it would be so wet.”

  He scowled. “It’s December, Helen. It’s always wet.”

  “I just… wanted to see you.”

  “You saw me in class, and at lunchtime. You saw more of me than intended at lunchtime, Miss Palmer.”

  “I know, but… this is different. You weren’t there, after school.”

  “Staff end of term meeting. I got here as soon as I could.”

  “Sorry. I thought this would be exciting.”

  His expression lightened, even in the gloom of the car. “I didn’t say it wasn’t exciting, I just don’t want you catching your death.”

  “Thanks, sir.”

  “And where does your master plan lead now, Helen?”

  I shrugged, and giggled, because I didn’t know. “Mum’s expecting me home for six. Unless I cancel…”

  “Tempting. What assignments do you have due in before Friday?”

  I paused too long. “Nothing much…”

  “Helen, you have at least three of mine. What else?”

  “A commentary on Blake for English, and my term journal.”

  “Then you’re going to be home for six, and you’re going to eat your dinner and do your homework like the good little student you were before I stole your innocence.” He smiled. At least he smiled. “I have enough professional guilt on my shoulders already, Helen. Please study.”

  “You didn’t steal my innocence.” I laughed. “I pretty much begged you to take it.”

  “I don’t think many people would see it that way.”

  “They’d be wrong.”

  “They often are, it matters not.” He leaned into me. “Study. Please.” And then he kissed my cold cheek, and his lips were warm and felt like liquid gold. I turned to him, and he didn’t hold back, just pressed his lips to mine and met my tongue with his, and his hands were warm, and my nipples were hard from the cold. He pulled away to flick on the interior light, and we were all steamed up, a frosted booth of want that felt a million miles from anywhere.

  He pulled my blazer open, and my blouse was damp.

  “Helen, Helen, Helen. This is both reckless, and divine. Just look at you.”

  I watched his fingers stroke me, and it felt like heaven.

  But then he stopped. And turned the light off. And lit up a cigarette.

  I groaned. “That was getting good.”

  “Too good. I’m taking you home shortly.”

  “But Mr Roberts!” I pouted and he smiled, and then he offered me his cigarette and I took a drag while he watched, and his eyes were happy. They were happy. And that felt best of all.

  “I’m watching a vixen mature before my eyes.”

  “A vixen who wants to eat you up.”

  “That can be arranged.”

  “Why not now?” I handed him back his cigarette.

  “Study before playtime, Helen Palmer. Non-negotiable.”

  “But I want to taste you…” I leaned into him, and snaked my cold hands inside his jacket and he didn’t even flinch. “I want to feel you… I want you to take me again…”

  He stubbed his cigarette in the ashtray and took my hands in his. “You’ll have it all. Everything you want. But not to the detriment of your schoolwork.” He blew on my fingers and rubbed them with his. “Get your assignments finished, and get them finished well, we’ve got the Christmas break for everything else.”

  My
smile took over me. “Two whole weeks. I want to love you through all of them… every day… all day…”

  “I’m not going anywhere, Helen. You’ll get your two weeks. However much you can swing of them. I’ll be there.”

  I could feel my heartbeat in my tummy. “I can’t believe this is happening to me.”

  “It won’t be if you continue to dance with pneumonia.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, yeah.”

  His hand snaked around my neck and pulled me to him and held me there. And then he kissed me, hard, and I couldn’t have moved if I’d have wanted to. He kissed me like I was his, as though I was everything he needed to breathe, and it was rough, and deep, and perfect. My lips missed his from the moment he pulled away.

  “Two whole weeks, Helen. You’d better get your schoolwork out of the way, though. I will be checking.”

  I grinned. “Yes, sir.”

  “That’s my girl.” He put the car in gear. “No more winter recklessness please. We’ll make arrangements and we’ll stick to them, agreed?”

  I nodded. “Yes, Mr Roberts.” And then I poked my tongue out.

  He pinched it between his fingers until I squeaked.

  “Let’s get you home, Little Miss Horny.”

  He meant it, too. Schoolwork before sex.

  As frustrating as it was to look but not touch, stealing minutes in an empty classroom with no funny business allowed, listening to him teach, watching him walk the room, catching his eyes in a roomful of people and seeing the fire there, feeling the fire there, I loved him all the more for it, if that’s even possible.

  I loved him for it because it made me better.

  I put my all into everything I did at school that week, and threw myself into getting my assignments finished before term wrapped up, and I did it for him. I did it to see the pride in his eyes as he checked my work, for the pride I’d know would be in his eyes when he checked up on my other classes and found I was excelling. I did it so he knew this crazy thing was good for me.