Debbie was amazed.
She could hardly believe what she was doing. She couldn't believe she was sucking off one of her students in the middle of the school day. Yet there she was, on her knees before an eighteen-year-old boy, with his rigid dick sliding wetly between her pursed lips. She was wet. She could feel her hard nipples pressing against her bra.
Johnny, the student she was blowing, was groaning his appreciation above her. "Wow Ms. Dearling that feels, unh! so wonderful. Yes, like that, use your tongue."
He was going to come soon. Teenagers were so short-fused. The compensation was he could get it up again amazingly quickly. Debbie notched up the pace of her sucking. Her hand jacked his prick below the reach of her red lips. She made a happy sound deep in her throat.
Debbie Dearling was not a woman who would normally engage in oral sex, or indeed any sort of dalliance, with one of her students. Not to say that many of her students didn't fantasize about that. Debbie was a very handsome woman. She was still in her early twenties, a mere handful of years older than her horny, hormonal students.
Debbie took her work seriously. She always kept a detached demeanour and a poised distance between herself and the wide-eyed adolescents that filled her classroom.
But there was something different about Johnny. Though he seemed like a typically reticent, awkward teenager, he could be uncannily persuasive when he wanted to talk Debbie into something. Debbie always found herself agreeing with him.
It had started out innocently enough. He had come up to her one day after class and asked for an extension on the deadline for his English essay. Debbie never granted extensions. It was her one firm rule. She figured extensions excused laziness and were unfair to the rest of the class. For some reason she found herself smiling and assuring Johnny he could hand in his assignment three days late.
Afterwards she wondered why she had acquiesced. Johnny hadn't even offered an excuse, like being sick or something. He had simply asked for an extension, and she had given it to him. He must have caught her in a moment of weakness.
A few days later Johnny had asked her what kind of questions would be on the next exam. Students asked that all the time, trying to ferret out intelligence that would make studying easier. Debbie's standard recommendation was to study the material they covered in class and they would do fine. She didn't like giving hints.
Her answer to Johnny was: "Well, there's a series of short questions about the poetry and short stories we did last month and the big essay question is about Hamlet. About the progress of his maturation through the play and how his indecision is rooted in reluctance to face adulthood."
"What about Wuthering Heights?" he had asked.
"There won't be any questions about that," she answered, smiling. "I'm saving them for the final."
He thanked her and walked away. Debbie sank back in her chair and stared into space. She had given away the whole exam in response to a simple question. What the heck had come over her?
Johnny did very well on the exam.