Teach Me Dirty (26 page)

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.

He was in everything I did.

He was my everything.

And I’d have him for two whole weeks.

I just had to clear the path with Mum and Dad.

I picked a good evening, one where I’d passed my A grade English coursework mark around the dinner table, and everyone had fluffed up with pride. I let them commend me, and I let them know how much work I’d put into it, and then I dropped the bomb.

“I’m, um… I’m going to be out a lot over Christmas… I just… things are getting serious… you know…”

Mum smiled, but Dad dropped his fork.

“You planning on being with the Sawbridge lad? That’s what this is about, isn’t it?”

“And Lizzie… but, well… I’m eighteen, and I want to stay… stay over…”

Katie laughed. “Helen and Harry sitting in a tree…”

Dad waved her quiet.

Mum looked at Dad, and Dad looked at Mum, and my heart thumped.

“She is eighteen, George. You said the Sawbridges are a good family. I can’t see it’s so unreasonable.”

“Hmm. But her studying.”

“Her studying is going great, George. She’s doing really well.”

I could have hugged her. “My studying
is
going great, Dad. You can check.” And then I did the unavoidable, but I had no choice. “Harry’s nice. He’s good for me. I really like him, and I want to spend time with him, and I’m an adult now, and I should be allowed to stay over. I
want
to stay over.”

Mum squeezed Dad’s hand. “Look how happy she is, George. She’s been smiling ever since he came and picked her up for the ball. That can’t be a bad thing.”

He made a couple of noises, but they mainly sounded affirmative. “At least it’s put an end to all that teacher nonsense.”

Mum smiled, and I could have died inside. “We’re going away to stay with Auntie Mary over the holidays, between Christmas and New Year. Wendy and Bill were going, but Bill’s arthritis is playing him up. Maybe Harry could stay with you here, and watch the house?”

Dad visibly stiffened. “I’m not sure about that, Angela.”

She shot him a look. “Helen isn’t going to want to come away with us, George, not now she’s got a boyfriend.”

“We haven’t even met the lad. Not properly.”

“Not yet. I’m sure we will. We know Mick and Peggy.”

“We’ll be away a while.”

“She has a phone.”

“We should be together at Christmas.”

“We will be, Christmas day is all that matters. She’ll be here for Christmas day, won’t you, love?”

I nodded, mute.

“She’d have to take care of the cat.” Dad looked at me. “You’d have to take care of the cat, Helen, no gallivanting off and forgetting.”

I nodded again. “I’m capable of looking after the place, Dad.”

“No parties.”

I grinned. “When have I ever had a party?”

“I’m just saying. No parties.”

“Duly noted.” My heart was beating so fast I felt like I could fly.

Dad scowled a little, but resumed his eating. “I’m not entirely happy about this, but if that’s what you want.”

I clapped my hands, and couldn’t keep still in my seat, and my face was burning with excitement and relief and joy. “Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

They stared at me until I regained my composure, and then Mum laughed, and Katie laughed, and finally even Dad laughed.

And it was settled.

I had my two weeks, and there was nobody left to stand in my way.

***

I could feel the heat of him, and it was more than I could bear. Five days had taken their toll. Five days of wanting, and dreaming, and masturbating myself silly every night.

I inched my chair just a little bit closer and stared at my panto programme as everyone took their seats in the main hall.

“Miss Monkton got us good seats, at least,” he whispered.

I smiled. “Great seats.”

We were alone, by the lighting booth, behind all the main seating but the view was faultless. A couple of empty seats to our right threatened to spoil the moment, but the main lights dimmed without any additional occupants, and my heart soared.

I leaned into Mr Roberts as the music started up.

“I cleared it with Mum and Dad. I can stay out. I can do whatever I like over the holidays.”

“Whatever you like? Is that so?”

I nodded against his shoulder.

“I hope you know what you’re letting yourself in for,” he breathed.

His words brought tingles rushing through me and warmth between my legs. “I’ve been a good girl,” I hissed, pasting on a smile as the first act started up.

“That doesn’t mean I’m going to treat you like one.” His eyes twinkled in the darkness and it stopped my breath.

He shifted in his seat and his thigh touched mine, and it burned me. It burned so hot my throat dried up, and all I could think of was him. His body, his mouth, his skin. I watched him watching the crowd, and then his fingers found mine. Just the slightest touch, but it was everything.

His thumb stroked mine, and my fingers curled around his, but they wouldn’t stop moving, wouldn’t stop touching. In a roomful of people there was only the point where his body touched mine, and I couldn’t fight the way I felt, couldn’t fight the longing. My breath turned shallow, and so did his, and he squeezed my hand so hard, and it said so much. I needed him. I needed his touch more than I knew it was possible to need something.

He let go of my hand and his fingers touched to my bare knee, and then he stroked inside my thigh and I shivered and tingles rushed through my pussy. His voice was just a breath, and it was laced with promise. “I’ve a feeling it’s going to be a very happy Christmas, Helen.”