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My Teacher the Whore

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My Teacher the Whore

Leandra J. Piper

Copyright 2012 by Leandra J. Piper


All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used without the express written permission of the author or publisher for any purposes, except brief quotations in critical articles or reviews.



Her worn-out sandal broke as she followed Mr. Williams into his office. Sandra had asked for a bit of his time, and by the greying administrator's good grace, she got it. He walked behind his desk, sitting in his plush chair, and stared up at her.

The blonde 28-year-old was nervous under the principal's cool gaze. She swallowed.

"Mr. Williams, I'd like to talk about a raise. Dan and I are trying to have a baby, and we can barely afford the mortgage now..." she said, trying to sound confident, but it fell flat even to her own ears.

"Sandra, let me be frank with you," he began, in that overdrawn drone that all career administrators had perfected. "It's a hard sell during a recession to give you a raise. And you know without a change in title, anything like that would need to go through the union."

"I know, Mr. Williams," she replied. She turned for a moment, uncomfortable that the principal always kept his door open. She continued, "But I don't think I could work another job. I love this school and teaching and I don't want to give it up."

"And we appreciate it, Sandra. I do, the faculty does, and the students too, I'm sure," he said diplomatically.

"I... look, I could do things for you. No one would have to know. I could do whatever you wanted to make it worth your while," she said. It was indecent, and she knew it, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

"What are you suggesting, Mrs. Dellis?" The principal's voice rung with disbelief.

"Maybe a blowjob or something? I don't know... it could be anything. Anything if it'll make a difference," she weakly replied. Her face grew hot and she chewed on her lower lip.

The principal's fingers drummed against the surface of his desk. His response was fast and stung like an open-handed slap. "The answer is no. And you should know better than to even propose such a thing. We are professionals here, Mrs Dellis."

Mr. Williams seemed to realize the harshness of his tone a moment too late. His expression softened a bit, and he said as he looked at the trembling teacher, "We're going to pretend like this conversation didn't happen. I realize you're under a lot of stress lately. I'm sorry I can't help you. Please don't bring this to me again."

Sandra managed a pathetic thank you and slunk out of the office, broken sandal in hand. Her Social Studies classes dragged on until lunch time, but she had trouble focusing on her lesson plans. It was a relief when she went to go fetch her lunch, but nervousness ran through her when she returned. Underneath her photograph of Dan had been wedged a plain, sealed envelope that definitely had never been there before.

She put her lunch aside and drew a letter opener from the drawer. She cut across the top and pulled out the paper inside. It was type-written and had no name or other obvious indicators of its source. It read:

Meet me after class tonight or else.

She gasped with surprise, and squirmed a bit in her chair. It had been two days since she'd seen Dan and she was getting anxious. He was distant but sometimes passionate; she started to feel her breast through her blouse before she remembered where she was. She put the letter away and ate her lunch, anticipating the after-school rendezvous for the rest of the day.

Every hour was a trial. Sandra quickly buttoned the top of her blouse when Manuel, the old janitor, came in to clean at 5:00. She tensed and tried to conceal her excitement by shifting her legs under the desk. Her thighs rubbed together, and she felt her panties getting wetter as he slowly cleaned the room, and she made a semblance of going over paperwork. Manuel waved as he left, wheeling his cart out in front of him. Sandra sighed, frustrated but relieved.

By 6:30, Dan still hadn't shown. She shook her head, and with the top button of her blouse undone, she started for the windows to close the three large blinds that kept bystanders from seeing in at night. That was when she heard the door. Her heart skipped a beat as she heard it close and the latch turn. She was only a few steps from her desk when she looked toward the door.

Jimmy Ramone was one of Sandra's seniors, and a problem student, and trouble even outside of class. Stories about how wild his eighteenth birthday party had supposedly been were all over even the faculty. In class, he was lazy, self-absorbed, and too smart for his own good. He dressed poorly, in a ratty t-shirt and low-slung jeans. His heart-patterned boxers stuck out of the top, even with a belt on. He was thin and tall, with dishevelled black hair and a stubbly chin. He smiled in a way that made Sandra particularly uncomfortable.

"You know why I'm here, Mrs. Dellis," he said.

"You left me this note?" She could barely conceal her surprise.

"Yeah, I did. I had to see Mr. Williams about my detention, and I saw you go in with him. I got a great video on my cell of you offering to fuck him for a raise," he said, hands in his pockets.

Sandra was totally at a loss for words. It would be bad enough for another teacher to have overheard, but a student? If that video got out, it would ruin her career and probably her marriage. She felt suddenly very defenseless.

"I'll make sure everyone sees it unless you do what I want," he said smugly.

It took her a moment to find her voice. "What do you want?"

He looked her over with a cocky smile. He walked around her desk and sat in her chair, leaning back and putting his hands behind his head. He rocked back and forth a few times before answering, which only made the tremor in Sandra's body grow.

He pulled a crumpled dollar bill from his pocket and put it on her desk. He licked his lips and said, "Get undressed."

Sandra blushed deeply, but being a whore for an hour to keep her mistake quiet sounded better than losing everything. She tried to not look at the picture of Dan on her desk as she unbuttoned her light blue blouse. She pulled it open slowly, exposing her C-cup breasts and frilly white bra. Her humiliation only made her hotter; all of those hours of anticipating her husband's cock made her hips tremble and her thighs rub against each other. Jimmy liked what he was seeing, and despite the looseness of his pants, he soon had an obvious erection.

She slid out of her sandals and unfastened her slacks. She slowly let them down, and felt a sudden shame as her damp thong and milk-white thighs were exposed to Jimmy's hungry eyes. She stepped out of them, and before she could do more, he put his possessive hands on her hips. There was something about his hands that made her know how badly he wanted her, and she gasped with pleasure knowing the effect she was having on him. She arched her back, lifting her hair and posing for him.

Jimmy squeezed her bare ass and pulled her right up to the chair. He licked his lips a few times, before whispering breathlessly, and sticking the crumpled dollar bill into her thong, "Give me a lap dance."

Dan never asked Sandra to do this kind of thing. She let out a hot breath, her breasts bouncing a bit from excitement. She slid onto Jimmy's lap and straddled him, her soaked thong and swollen pussy pressing to the rough denim of his loose jeans. She could feel the heat and bulge of his cock through his pants and felt a sudden thrill of pleasure. He ran his fingers along her thighs, before giving one of her ass cheeks a prompting slap.

She had a hard time suppressing the half-moan that came out from the sting of Jimmy's fingers. She started to rock her hips suggestively on his lap, grinding up and down the bulge in his jeans that she knew was his cock. After all of the day's anticipation, her motions quickly became feverish, smearing wetness all over the denim. Her nipples were very hard and her bra felt increasingly uncomfortable; she reached behind her to unfasten it, and she whimpered with relief as Jimmy pulled it off. His scratchy stubble dug into her breasts as he rubbed his face up against them.

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My Teacher the Whore