Forgive me Sir, but it's December

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Young Adult  |  House: Booksie Classic
Teacher/student romance

"The wait until the next day seemed ridiculously long, and he couldn’t even have some time to calm his lusts through lingering stares and seemingly innocent words. But once the afternoon rolled around, he had become more and more impatient to see her again, it felt like a sickness. All he wanted to do was be near her. He desired to know what she smelled like, what her hair felt like; he wanted to feel the heat of her skin on his own. He knew it was almost impossible, and illegal at that but those thoughts escaped his head as soon as he saw her amble into the classroom, her dark eyes shining. He averted his gaze with haste."

Submitted: December 16, 2011

A A A | A A A

Submitted: December 16, 2011




She could tell from the way he kept touching her that they both wanted the same thing, but were trying not to make it obvious. They were failing. What they wanted was completely unforgivable. Wrong and immoral in so many ways, of course not to mention illegal. He was 8 years older than her and she was under-age. He was a teacher and she was a student. But that didn't stop them. They were both smart people, and despite the age difference she was often just as mature, if not more, than him. It sounds like a ridiculous teenage fantasy, and that's all she thought it was as she looked back on it. He was her English teacher, and as a lover of beautiful words, she quickly grew to adore his often sweetly flowing tongue. As well as this, he was simply her idea of perfection, appearance-wise. Tall, thin and ruggedly handsome, he wore suits and waistcoats with quaint shoes and a rakish air about him. His eyes were deep and brown and longing. And his hands. Those beautiful hands. She felt she could love those hands even if they were wrapped around her throat. She longed for just one touch of him. However, she did not go unnoticed either. He was surprisingly fond of her, which was uncharacteristic of him as he usually couldn't bear to look at his students as anything more than human memory sticks, only to be filled with information and sent off to do what they please with it. He noticed her often. She sat near the back of the classroom, often looking down at her hands or straight ahead, engrossed in her thoughts even though he knew she was listening to his words more intently than anyone in the room. Occasionally, she would look up at him to ask a question or make a comment and he counted those days as being very special. It meant he got a chance to look into her eyes. Those mesmerising eyes. Like his, they were dark and brown and anguished, and blinked hastily with a tiny squint when she delivered her sentences. They shone like no eyes he had ever seen before and it was from them that he discovered that she was far more articulate and mature than any of the other pupils, who were, in some ways almost moronic. Her lips, however, he could stare at forever. Those excruciatingly tempting lips. They pursed so beautifully and moved with more grace than a swan at dusk as she carefully thought out every word that escaped them. Everything else about her was also far from a disappointment. One day he really believed he would have to leave the room to compose himself. It was this day that she had chosen to tie her loose strands of hair up, exposing the beautiful slender nape of her neck. As she bent her head to lift up her bag and the pale skin tightened, revealing her gracefully protruding vertebrae, it took his breath away. He knew he had to do something to get this feeling to go away and he also knew exactly what it was that needed to be done. He didn't care how difficult it would be, he would rid himself of this infatuation. It was unlucky that she was such a perfect student because if she wasn't, he could use the excuse of keeping her behind after school for extra tutoring, and time alone.

It was December, and they were nearing the holidays so he had given the class a free lesson to use as they pleased. She sat quietly reading a book in the corner, Fitzgerald, to his closer inspection. He quietly played music from the computer in the corner of the room, his own personal favourite choices and saw her head snap up and tilt to the sound. She listened intently for a few minutes before he saw her eyes search for his through the room until they finally met. Her dainty lips parted into an unfamiliar smile and a tiny dimple appeared on her left cheek as she nodded slowly, showing approval of his taste. The bell rang, signalling the end of the lesson and he ambled over to her, leaning down to speak quietly to only her.

"Could you come and speak with me after the lesson please?" His hot breath tickled and her insides burned at the knowledge that his tongue had been merely inches away from her. She longed to make love to him, to make love to his mouth, to have his lips between her teeth and his tongue on her skin, which was beginning to flush rapidly into a shade of peony pink. Exhaling noiselessly, she forced out a tiny nod and leaned back, perching on the table modestly as they both awaited the flurry of students eager to leave the classroom. When they had finally all filed out in a manner that was anything but organised, he crossed the disparagingly large classroom once more. She stood up and took two steps forward to meet him.

"What was it you needed, Sir?" she asked, feigning innocence. The sound of her haunting voice, calling him by that title... it induced feelings he did not deem possible to this day. How was it possible to be so affected by someone? Chasing the almost perverse thoughts out of his head, he began

"You're easily the most able student I know and you really do have a beautiful way with words. My youngest class have an exam on creative writing in a weeks’ time and I was wondering if it would care to assist me in enlightening them with some of your language skills after school tomorrow?"

She mulled over the offer in her head for a moment, and he could see her brain beginning to work, choosing the perfect tone and words for her reply. He was becoming increasingly interested in her thought process.

"I would be honoured to." Simple, yet effective. With a curt nod and an unsuccessful attempt at hiding the wanders of his eyes as they travelled down her features and body, he began to walk out of the classroom, mouthing the words 'Thank you' as he left.

The wait until the next day seemed ridiculously long, and he did not have a lesson with her on that day so he couldn’t even have some time to calm his lusts through lingering stares and seemingly innocent words. But once the afternoon rolled around, he had become more and more impatient to see her again, it felt like a sickness. All he wanted to do was be near her. He desired to know what she smelled like, what her hair felt like; he wanted to feel the heat of her skin on his own. He knew it was almost impossible, and illegal at that but those thoughts escaped his head as soon as he saw her amble into the classroom, swinging her bag down onto the table and shrug off her jacket, tossing her hair behind her shoulder at the same time. He wanted to stare at her forever, but realised that the classroom of 12 year-olds would most probably notice, so he averted his gaze with haste.

A painful 2 hours later, the revision session was over and the class was hurrying out of the classroom, desperate to finally leave school after their extra lesson. When the classroom was free from them again, he wandered over to her.

“Would you like a cup of coffee or tea? It’s the least I can do to thank you for your help.”

She could think of a few more things he could do, but kept those shockingly explicit thoughts in her own head. Instead, she nodded.

“Coffee would be great thanks. Black.”

Keeping his eyes on hers for a moment longer than was needed, he nodded and walked out of the classroom to the teachers’ lounge down the hall in order to make their drinks. She comfortably settled herself down on his chair to wait for him, and her eye caught a small black book, peeking so temptingly out of his open briefcase. Never being one to resist temptation, she reached inside and pulled it out, noticing the expensive leather binding and worn cream pages. She stroked her thumb over the material, imagining his beautiful hands touching it in the same way. Opening it slowly, she flicked past a few pages of poetry before reaching a section filled completely with light-handed sketches. Sketches of her. Her eyes, her eyebrows, her lips, and her neck. So many. She had noticed his scribbling in that little book during lessons; he must have been watching her incredibly carefully.

She heard his footsteps approaching from the hallway and quickly shut the book, shoving it back into his briefcase before he noticed. Thankfully, he was oblivious. Smiling, he walked over, placing the two cups on the table.

“I think you might be in my chair.” His voice was husked and tight, as if his breathing was restricted, which unbeknownst to her, it was.

“Well I like the feeling of authority it gives me.” She replied, unable to hide the provocative tone from her voice.

He smiled at her, one of the few genuine smiles she had seen from him. They spoke for a long time, mostly about her, and what she liked. They got onto the subject of Beauty and The Beast, which was one of her favourite fairy tales. He had something on the tip of his tongue but had no idea if he should say it or not. She might say no, might be appalled, all the connections between them might have been his minds over-exaggerations. Finally, it escaped.

“Look I have two tickets to see Beauty and The Beast in the theatre tonight. I got them as a gift and didn’t really have anyone to go with, so maybe you’d accompany me?”

The girl raised one solemn eyebrow, and her eyes showed a mixture of emotions. But her reply was the biggest surprise of all.

“I would love to.”

3 hours later, he was standing outside the theatre, anxiously awaiting her. He pulled his black coat tighter around himself as the freezing winter air billowed through the streets. A black taxi pulled up, and the door opened to reveal her. She stepped out, dressed excruciatingly well as the theatre was a very high-class place. Like him, she was also wearing a long black coat, unbuttoned, and he saw that underneath she had on an ivory dress, almost completely lace. Her slender legs were covered by opaque black stockings and on her dainty feet she was wearing black high-heeled shoes. Her face was immaculate; as was her hair and he felt his knees growing weak at the sight of her stepping out of the car. From the way she looked tonight, one would never be able to tell that she was only 15. She walked towards him, her heels clicking loudly on the pavement beneath her. He reached out his hands and rested it on her arm as he leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. He felt her exhale and her breath lingered in the cold air. His hot lips burned her flesh and she shut her eyes, praying for the sensation to never stop. He pulled away; his jaw clenched, and offered his arm to her. She took it and they strolled into the theatre.

The play was mesmerising and he noticed that she was completely engrossed, and congratulated himself on his perfect choice. Meanwhile, only one thought was running through her mind. Him. His touch, his smell, his hot lips lingering on her. He did nothing, remaining a perfect gentleman for the most part of the show. Not even a hint of lust, even when she crossed and uncrossed her legs provocatively, exposing the thin line of her suspenders. During the intermission, she fled to the bathroom, trying to compose herself and calm her lusts. She splashed cold water onto her face, which gave little release. Lifting her hand to move the stray locks of hair framing her face, she noticed it was shaking. Throwing it down onto the bathroom counter, she breathed heavily, pleading with herself to calm down before she screamed at the sexual tension. At the same time, he was standing out in the cold street, rubbing his hands together. He tapped his foot on the floor meticulously, trying to get all thoughts of her out of his desiring mind. Rolling his eyes and sighing with exasperation, he lit up a cigarette, blowing the smoke out in frustration. They both had only thought on their mind but neither was brave enough to admit it.

During the second part of the play, he could not control himself any longer. His eyes had grown painful of examining every visible part of her. Her hair, her neck, her shoulders arms and hands, her chest and stomach, her legs. Her right thigh looked so seductive, slung over the left one delicately. She sat in a manner that made her look quiet and composed but when she felt a hot hand creeping up from her knee to rest on her thigh, inches away from that place, she couldn’t help but utter a tiny moan. This seemed to spur him like she wouldn’t believe. His fingers gripped her thigh tightly, in a way that was sure to leave marks and her breathing became heavier, more frequent. His fingers dragged across her skin as he slowly slid his hand further under her dress and then stopped. Completely. Simply resting those fingers on her thigh, with a few gentle strokes every few minutes. It drove her insane and she swore she was about to scream. He turned to look at her and noticed that her eyes were squeezed shut, and she was gulping painfully, her lips pursed and hands clenched at her sides. He smiled to himself, admiring her reaction to his touch. Tempted to see how many further reactions he could arouse in her, he leaned over, her beautiful smell suffocating him, engulfing his senses and it was then that he realised she had more power than him. He had to touch her in order to get a reaction whereas she could turn him to liquid with a single glance. Shaking the disparaging thoughts out of his mind, he opened his mouth and breathed into her ear, feeling her shudder beneath him. He pressed his nose into the shell of her ear, tentatively nibbling on the lobe. She released a small whine, and arched her back abruptly. He could feel the heat from under her dress radiating onto his hand and he almost felt himself salivate at her form. Clearing his throat quietly, still near her ear, he whispered in a gravelly tone

“Join me for a drink after the play is over?” Expecting no answer, he was satisfied with her hasty nod. He smiled into the crook of her neck and then turned back to watch the play, continuing his playful caresses on her leg.

Finally, the play was over. As they exited the auditorium, he grabbed her hand and squeezed it tightly in his own. They exchanged a feverish glance and continued to venture into the entrance hall of the theatre. He led her slowly to the theatre’s bar and they sat down as he ordered them both a drink and the waiter brought it over immediately. He stared into the amber liquid in the glass, swishing it around thoughtfully and restlessly before looking up at her.

“Did you enjoy the performance?”

“I did.” Came her reply “Although I must say I enjoyed your endeavours a lot more than I could enjoy any play.”

He smirked down into his drink and he could almost picture her committing an identical one simultaneously. The lighting in the bar was dim, and there were few people there as most had gone straight home due to the late hour. Her dark eyes clouded over and her eyelashes threw shadows over her cheeks as she smiled up at him. He returned the gaze, locking their eyes together from under his hooded lids. Without warning, she gulped down the majority of her drink, grimacing slightly at the bitter taste of whiskey, and he felt her small warm hand on his arm. She dragged her nail across the material of his suit and stroked his hand tenderly with her fingertips as he positioned himself closer to her and expelled his hot breath at her neck. He was suddenly aware of their legs touching under the table and felt a hot sensation begin to grow in the pit of his stomach as his trousers began to get increasingly tighter. She raised her hand to his jaw and turned his face gently to the side. As she leaned over, he felt her soft hair tickling his face and her smell invade his nose once more. Breathing softly, she planted a shuddering kiss on his cheek. She felt his body relax and grasp the hand that she was resting on his face. He brought it down slowly to rest on his shoulder and looked at her full-on, his eyes widening. Before she had a chance to collect her thoughts, he crashed his lips into hers, feeling the heat of her burn into his skin. He licked at her bottom lip until she granted him access into her mouth and their tongues entwined, exploring each other relentlessly. With a diminishing sigh, her body sunk into his and she continued to deliver hot, unrestrained kisses on his lips as her hands travelled through his hair with quick, desperate tugs. Suddenly pulling away, his breath catching in his throat, he looked at her once more.

“Maybe you’d like to join me for coffee at my house?”

Responding to his offer with a nod for the second time that night, they hurriedly jumped from the table, collecting their things and almost running from the bar, as he threw a £50 note down onto the table.

The ride to his house was merciless; it was almost like the taxi driver was doing everything he could to stop them inevitably committing the sinful act they were wishing for. It was difficult for them to keep their hands off each other, whether it was him clinging onto her arm or biting into her neck, or her grabbing at his thighs or pulling on his tie. Finally, the cab pulled up at his house, a large house in the middle of the city. It looked a little too big to accommodate only him. Nevertheless, they rushed up the stone steps and to the front door. He unlocked it quickly and turned back to her, a wide-eyed innocence on his face as his hands travelled feverishly up and down her back and grasped her waist. She arched her back, pressing her body into his, feeling the hardness of his chest against her and running her hands over the ribbons of muscles on his back. Their lips locked again as she thrust her hips up at him, begging for contact, and for him to finally relieve her. He hit the front door with his elbow and it swung open as he swiftly grabbed the keys out of the lock with his free hand. The house was deathly silent. Not once opening their eyes nor separating their lips, they stumbled down his hallway and up the stairs as he shoved her passionately into the stair bannister and she moaned softly into his ear while he unbuttoned his shirt and tore off his tie, after which he reached for the zipper of her dress. They were finally at his bedroom door and she slammed him into it, the pain of the impact only heightening the pleasure he was feeling. They stopped suddenly, and the sight of her, hair mussed up, lips swollen from kissing and her dress slightly slipping off one shoulder was the most alluring thing he had experienced in his life. Grabbing her waist again, they spun around as he forced open the bedroom door. They burst inside and her dress came down, pooling around her ankles. He smiled breathlessly and kicked the door. It slammed shut behind them as they collapsed down onto his bed, and the rest of the house was silent once more.

© Copyright 2018 valeryanastasia. All rights reserved.

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