Now that he had her alone, he didn’t know where to start.
Buffy Summers was a student this semester in the English class he’d been teaching for the past six years at Sunnydale High School.
And William, or Mr. Pratt as his students called him, finally had her alone.
There were a number of things that he should be thinking about. The first was that he was married, but that little reminder he’d removed from his finger and slipped into his desk drawer. His wife was attractive, an independent woman that he still didn’t think he deserved to be with. But like most marriages, the sex wasn’t as frequent as it used to be and was scheduled around their busy lives, if it even happened at all. She no longer grew weak in the knees from just a glance as she had when they were kids, kids the same age as Buffy Summers. He had always been faithful to his wife, though, and that was why he removed his ring or else he didn’t think he’d be able to go through with this.
The second was that he was her teacher and aside from the obvious consequences of jail time and losing his job, he knew that it was wrong.
But Buffy Summers was more than just his student. She was more than a sixteen-year-old that he should be running away from right now. Right fucking now!
God, she was so much more than that. She was his obsession. He thought about her constantly to the detriment of his work. He had a stack of papers the size of Mount Vesuvius to grade and he hadn’t even started on them because for a while now, he’d done nothing but talk himself into what he was about to do.
It wasn’t her fault that he was a completely depraved perv who’d jerked off more times in the past month than he had when he was her age. And if he continued to compare their ages any longer, he’d definitely not go through with this and he had to, because if he didn’t get it out of his system, he was going to go mad.
“You wanted to see me, Mr. Pratt?”
Before this semester began, William contemplated buying a jet ski. He’d never been on one before, but they looked like a blast. He’d seen a picture of a man about his age, around thirty-five, straddling a beautiful blue and white one and kicking up a massive wave as he made a sharp turn in the water. The photographer captured the image right as he gave the camera a thumbs-up.
At first he thought, “What an asshole.” But that was because he’d seen the photo while he and his wife were at the mall, buying curtains for the living room and of course, he would have rather been anywhere else but there. Then he thought about it, really thought about it, and he realized something important.
William had enough money to buy himself a fucking jet ski.
He could picture it clearly, tying it up to the back of a truck and carting it down to the lake. Maybe he’d break a sweat as he lowered it in the water and then, he’d down a beer, put on a safety vest, and ride that damn jet ski like a water horse. But his wife reminded him that he didn’t even have a truck, the nearest lake was over a hundred miles away, and if he was so hell-bent on throwing his money in the garbage, he could give it to her so she could remodel the kitchen like she’d asked a million times already.
As he made a pot of coffee in their brand new coffee maker that matched the brand new chrome appliances in their kitchen on his first day back to school, William knew the dream was over.
“Yes, please come in, Buffy.”
About a month ago, he bleached his hair. He still wasn’t quite sure what the fuck had gotten into him. He was driving home from work one night when he came to a red light. Now, normally, he would have made a right turn and gone straight home. However, he was already running late and he felt like having a beer so he made a left turn and drove downtown where he used to hang out when he was young and stupid.
He parked his car, put some coins in the parking meter, and strolled down the street. Loud music poured out of every open bar he passed, posters for local gigs lay strewn about the pavement, and the heavy aroma of smoke and city filled his nostrils. He remembered his glory days when he was in a punk band wasting his talents, writing awful lyrics and passing out piss drunk just about every night. But his musings down memory lane were short-lived when a young girl came up to him. She was a cute little thing. She had a nose ring, magenta Manic Panic in her hair, a tattoo going up her left arm, probably twenty-one and full of indignation for The Man just as he was at that age. He was about to say something flattering about the torn CBGB shirt she had on when she opened her mouth to speak.
“Are you Monica’s dad?” she asked him.
He was the sort of person who looked like someone’s dad now. He used to fuck his girlfriend, now his wife, against the very wall he was standing next to. He’d get so plastered he couldn’t see straight yet still was able to pluck a guitar and scream into a microphone. Women begged for his cock, men tried to kick his ass, and he’d been, by all accounts, one hell of a motherfucker. And he looked like Monica’s dad.
So he bleached his hair white when he got home.
“Mr. Pratt, are you ok? You look kind of pale.”
The thing about Buffy Summers was that she represented everything he hated when he was a young boy. She was popular, a cheerleader, had shiny blond hair, paid for her tan, had terrible taste in music, loved pink, drew hearts on everything and said things like “Whatever!” and “Oh my God!”
However.
She also had the most perfect ass he’d ever seen, a sharp tongue, rosy cheeks, gorgeous kiss of a smile, wore tiny little skirts that should have been illegal, was completely oblivious to what a knock-out she was, and said things like “Mr. Pratt is like, so hot” and “Oh my God, did you see it when he bent over to pick up his chalk? Hello, hottie!”
He really should stop eavesdropping on his students in the cafeteria.
“I’m fine, sweetheart. Why don’t you have a seat right here?” he asked her, patting the top of his desk.
For the fifteen years he’d been married to his wife, her father constantly berated him for his inability to be the sort of businessman he expected. The truth was William was terrible with money, so he let his wife handle everything. After all, that’s what she went to college for. That’s when their relationship took a sharp turn because she’d gotten her act together first. She said he was too old to be in a punk band. It was time to dress like an adult. He was too smart and too talented for that shit. And she was right. But he’d never gained her father’s respect, not when he knew the sort of person he’d been as a kid. He wasn’t an idiot, obviously, since he was a high school English teacher, but business and investments weren’t his bag.
There was only so much belittling a man could take, however, so he started to pay closer attention to his money. He opened up a savings account and shaved off a small percentage of his monthly salary and deposited it there. His wife had no idea, and William wasn’t sure for what purpose he was saving his money. The thought of having a secret, of having something no one else could touch was quite enticing, though.
“You look very nice today,” he said, letting his eyes travel over her. Buffy blushed as she sat down on the edge of his desk, tucking her hair behind her ears.
“Thanks, Mr. Pratt.” If he did his job right, he’d send her to the principal’s office for the skirt she was wearing. He also wouldn’t be thinking of ripping it off.
He sat beside her and clasped his hands between his knees, bending forward in thought. He could feel her fidgeting beside him, no doubt confused why he’d asked her to come and see him after she was done with cheerleading practice. But he was still debating, his heart was racing, and he had no idea where to start. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting his tongue dart out to wet his lips. Then he turned his head towards her and noticed the set of car keys in her hand, decorated with oodles of key chains, all different lengths and colors.
He remembered when he got his first car, how he loved pulling out his keys just to hold them, let them dangle at his side. Anyone who saw him would know That kid’s got his license. That kid can drive. He’s so adult.
He saw it as a window of opportunity to say something. “Got your license, huh?”
She smiled proudly and turned her set of keys over in her hands. “Yeah, my dad got me a car for my birthday. It’s really cute.”
“Might need another key chain.” He smiled when she blushed again. “I’m not sure you have enough.”
“It is a bit much,” she said, giggling softly as she inspected her keys. Then she set them down on the desk and chewed on her lip as she continued to wait for the point of being there. “Mr. Pratt?”
“Yeah?” he asked her, placing his hands on his legs and let the tips of his fingers touch her thigh.
“Am I in trouble?” She was going to kill him with her eyes. She trusted him, because he was an adult and her teacher and represented the sort of figure in her life that she shouldn’t have to worry about. And her eyes were so open and vulnerable and scared. Not of him, of the punishment she thought she was going to receive.
“No, sweetheart, you’re not in trouble.” Her eyes were trained to his as he slowly moved his hand to rest gently on her thigh. She gasped softly and her back straightened but she didn’t look away and he didn’t remove his hand. Her chest started heaving as he cautiously trailed his fingertips along the smooth skin of her leg. Her cheeks flushed and her mouth parted as she looked at him.
“I’m having a problem right now, Buffy,” he said quietly, putting the hand he had on her thigh behind her on the desk so he could lean forward, bringing his other hand to continue his trek up her leg. He smiled when her legs parted slightly, giving him an inch of room to touch her inner thigh.
“You are?” She was shaking, and for a moment, he wished she’d slap him, call him a pervert, jump off his desk, and run away screaming, but she didn’t.
“Mmhmm,” he mumbled silkily. She chewed on her glossy lip and he almost groaned at the sight of it. “You see, I’ve never done this sort of thing before and I know that I shouldn’t, but I can’t stop thinking about it. Do you know what I’m talking about, Buffy?” He flattened his hand on her leg and caressed her firmly, letting his thumb dip beneath the hem of her skirt as he neared the apex of her thighs.
She nodded slowly, breathing heavily through her mouth, her eyes widening even more, and so did her legs. “I-I think so, Mr. Pratt.”
“But I won’t do anything unless you say it’s ok,” he said, hoping to reassure her though his mouth was only inches from hers. “And if it’s not ok, don’t be afraid to tell me, all right?”
“Why?”
Her question took him by surprise. “Why what?”
“Why do you…” Her breath caught in her throat when he pulled one of her legs over his and slid his hand up her inner thigh. “Want to?”
The smile he gave her made him feel like a criminal. He was dancing along the line of breaking the law anyhow. “Oh, Buffy, you have no idea the power you have, do you?” She was silent, her trembling turning into soft little gasps as he traced the elastic of her panties with his fingers. He looked down and clenched his jaw. White cotton. Fuck.
“I think about you every day,” he continued, bravely dragging a flattened middle finger over her panties and pressing into her folds. She was warm and supple and he felt her hand come up to clutch his shoulder. He was painfully hard then, eating up the sight of his fingers moving over her, the tendons of her inner thighs flexing as she involuntarily jerked forward when he found her clit through the cotton fabric.
She was breathing on his neck, digging her nails into his shoulder and he was fucking done for. He’d fantasized about this for far too long and now she was here, panting like a virgin and looking at him with desire and surprise and a hint of fear. It was wrong of him to want her at all, but she whimpered when he massaged her clit and he forgot why it mattered.
“You can’t tell anyone about this, Buffy.” Saying that, saying those words made it feel dirty; made him feel lecherous and bad and wrong. His conscience poked and prodded his good sense with a stiff pointed finger and yet, he continued to touch her.
She shook her head dazedly from side to side. “I won’t tell,” she whispered.
“Not anyone,” he said, dragging the tip of his nose along her neck. Her hair was damp, no doubt from the shower she’d taken after practice in the girl’s locker room. He wished she hadn’t taken one, wished she’d come to him sweaty and flushed and dirty. But this would do, too.
“I won’t tell anyone. Please…” She was begging him. Begging. Fuck, how long had it been since anyone begged him for more?
“Please what?” He’d been rubbing her so firmly that her panties bunched in the center so he teased the exposed skin with delicate swipes of his fingers, playing with the thin wisps of hair that peeked out on either side.
She blinked and ducked her head shyly, struggling to ask him what she wanted. He took pity on her and slipped his hand behind her panties, moaning audibly at the feel of her slick pussy. Her mouth dropped open in a silent cry and her entire body froze as he dipped the tip of his finger inside her, dragging his way out and up to her clit. Just that tiny bit was enough to tell him how tight she was, how unused and new and shiny she was. He caressed her cheek with an open mouth, breathing heavily on her as he neared her lips and finally, once the both of them managed to stop panting, kissed.
Tart, Granny Smith apples.
Her plump lips were so sweet and soft and her tongue came out, experimentally stroking his. Without moving from the comfort of her mouth, William slid off the desk and positioned himself between her legs, deepening the kiss and moaning when her hands gently rested on his shoulders. Anything she attempted he encouraged with soft muttering and sweet little smiles, hoping to reassure her that he was safe. That he wasn’t a monster. That he wasn’t a million things that he was already calling himself in his head.
He could see her nipples, hard and excited through the fabric of her tee. He dragged the backs of his fingers along the underside of her breasts. She looked up at him with glassy, wide eyes and she licked her swollen lips as he cupped her breasts with both hands.
“You have perfect tits, you know that?” He pinched her nipples and bit his lip when she whined with pleasure.
“They’re too small,” she said breathily, dropping her hands to the desk so she could arch her back and prop herself up. He pushed her shirt up to her clavicle and traced the swell of her breasts until his middle and pointer fingers made contact with both of her pert, rosy nipples. She hissed, and the noise startled her, causing her to blush and close her eyes in embarrassment. But William pinched them again, pressed his hips between her thighs until his cock made contact with her, and started to grind. She was moaning louder then, but it was still innocently soft, still timid and shy.
“Don’t be afraid to make those noises, kitten,” he said, right before he kissed her once more. When he pulled away, her eyes were open.
“I feel like my stomach is in knots.”
He dropped his hands from her breasts and closed his eyes. “We shouldn’t do this. You don’t have to do this, Buffy.” Before his guilt could take over him, before he was able to push her away, he felt the tickling sensation of her fingers on his belt buckle and he opened his eyes.
“I’m just nervous.” She dared a glance at him as she pulled his belt free.
He swallowed, watching her lower the zipper of his trousers.
When William was sixteen, he lost his virginity. It had taken the same amount of coaxing then as it was taking now, but it had been worth it in the end his first time. He married her four years later. It was strange to think that his wife had been the only woman he’d ever slept with, the only woman who’d seen him naked.
But she wasn’t interested in that these days. The times they did make love seemed obligatory, as if she did it out of habit and not out of want. He wondered if she’d ever had an affair and if she had, if it was his fault.
“Have you done this before?” he asked. He hoped to God she wasn’t a virgin. If she was, that was it. He was going to jump off a bridge and rid the world of another deviant.
She nodded, to his relief, and she smiled. “Now you look nervous.”
He let out a laugh which abruptly turned into a ragged moan when her hand encircled his cock and started stroking it. “I guess I am a little. Only the second woman that’s ever…oh, fuck…” He couldn’t talk, couldn’t do anything but press his hands on the desk on either side of her as she tended to his aching erection. He kissed her fiercely then, unable to keep up the gentle pursuit, and he sucked her lip into his mouth. She was moving too fast, though, so he placed his hand over hers to slow her down to the speed he liked.
He removed his tie and started to unbutton his shirt while she jerked him off. He let his top fall off his shoulders and he smirked when her eyes darted away. “It’s all right, love. I know you think I’m a hottie,” he said, teasing her.
Her cheeks turned crimson and both her hands came up to cover her mouth. “You heard that?”
He grinned and hooked his hands behind the waistband of her panties. He slid them down her legs. “Fuck, look at you.” His hands immediately went to her, one sliding over her mound and the other yanking her shirt off the rest of the way. He bent forward and flicked his tongue over one of her nipples and then he slowly pushed a finger into her hole.
“Ohh,” she cooed, falling backwards on two propped up elbows as he sucked on her tits and fucked her with deliberate movements of his hand.
“You’re so fucking tight, Buffy,” he said breathily, aching to be inside her right then. He bit down hard on one of her nipples and she yelped, so he did it again.
“Oh!” she shouted and he moved his fingers faster within her, kissing his way down her stomach until his lips reached her clit. She flinched and her legs came up protectively. He looked at her then, kissing the tops of her knees.
“Are you all right?”
She nodded, panting and winded, but her legs remained clamped together. He placed his hands beneath her knees and pulled her legs apart. Her eyes widened and she started heaving.
“You want me to stop?” His fingers slid down her thighs and he dared a glance at her, swallowing the moan that caught in his throat at the sight of her pink, wet pussy. His cock prodded her thigh and as he took a step closer, the tip of it grazed her scalding, sodden center and they both gasped.
“Will you kiss me again?” she asked him, her eyebrows arching in the middle as if she were afraid of his answer. He smirked a bit and nodded, leaning forward to press his lips to hers. Her folds cradled the length of his shaft and he gently moved against her, sliding his tongue into her mouth and breathing heavily as her fingernails scratched his scalp. He fumbled with the desk drawer until he got it open and fished out the condom he’d placed there that morning and tore it open with his teeth.
He didn’t waste any time to put it on and position the tip of his shaft at her entrance, didn’t take any time to second guess what he was doing or talk himself out of it. She was breathless and perfect and he shivered as he slid all the way inside, feeling her nipples graze his chest and her breath tickle his neck. So. Fucking. Tight. He started slow, licking his lips as he watched her take him all the way in.
“Mr. Pratt…”
He looked at her, expecting to see her fear or something worse to remind him what an awful person he was but was met with her closed eyes, a tiny smile on her face and the sweet sounds of her breathing.
His hands smoothed over her thighs until he had two large handfuls of her ass and he kissed her neck, grinding shallowly into her, tugging her into his movements. “Fuck, so soft, baby. God, your skin is so soft.”
It wasn’t long before he was thrusting hard, standing up straight so he could get a good look at her, holding her knees wide as he drove into her again and again.
Her eyes ate him up too, and her hands traveled down his chest as she moved in time with him. It took her a bit to pick up the rhythm but she was soon fucking him with everything she had in her, writhing on top of his desk with her tiny tits bouncing and begging him for a bite.
“Mr. Pratt!” she shouted, the volume of her voice competing with the screeching noise of the desk as it scooted across the linoleum with every powerful pivot of his hips. He felt as if he were young again, when he and his wife would skip school to fuck in the backseat of his car.
Buffy looked at him like he was a god, raspy, hoarse moans tearing from her throat to remind him he still had it. She was impossibly snug, squeezing the life out of him and he could no longer stand straight so he fell forward. His hips bounced over hers as he neared his climax and he kissed her, swallowing up every last drop of this moment. He would never do this again. Never, never, never.
She moaned into his mouth and her pussy fluttered around him as she came and she finally broke away from his lips to shout in pleasure. He smiled and twisted his way out of her before slamming his dick back inside, right as he shot his load. Every muscle in his body flexed, even his toes, as she strangled his cock with the final surge of her orgasm.
Breathing raggedly and smiling in relief, he pulled out of her with a wince. One look at the pink glitter nail polish on her fingers was enough to snap him into reality and the weight of everything he’d done came crashing down on him. He’d just fucked a girl less than half his age.
On his desk.
She sat up and started to get dressed and he did as well, unsure of how he should handle this. What if she wanted to do it again? What if she grew attached to him? What if she told someone? Oh, fuck, what did he do?
Once he was fully clothed, he sat down in his chair and buried his face in his hands.
“I have a boyfriend,” she blurted out and he looked up at her in shock.
“What?”
“I said, um, that I have a boyfriend. And he can’t ever find out about this.”
He gulped, stared at her. “You have a boyfriend?”
“I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you but it’s true.” She looked so sad as if she’d done something wrong, as if she were the pervert who’d completely taken advantage of a teenager.
“It’s ok,” he said, lowering his head in an attempt to look upset. “I’m glad you told me.”
She gave him a crooked smile. “Are you mad?”
“Maybe a bit disappointed, but no, I’m not mad.” He sighed heavily and leaned back in his chair, completely relieved that he at least didn’t have to worry about her falling in love with him. “So I guess this means we can’t do this again, huh?”
She chewed on her lip and looked at the door, then at him. “Well…we probably shouldn’t. Riley and I just started dating and it would really hurt him.”
William rose from his seat and kissed her softly, stroking the side of her cheek. “Your secret is safe with me.”
“Thanks, Mr. Pratt,” she said, obviously relieved as well when she smiled. “You know…that was really good.”
“Oh, really?” He smiled smugly. Of course, he knew he shouldn’t get puffed up by compliments from a girl who didn’t have much experience, but it felt nice all the same.
“Yeah. I mean, not that I do that all the time or anything. Just once before…” She blushed and chewed on her lip. “You’re really sexy for a guy your age.”
His smile tightened in agitation and he nodded, quickly ushering her to the door. “Thanks…I think.”
“I guess I’ll see you around. Bye, Mr. Pratt!”
She sashayed out of his classroom and he pressed his forehead against the door once it closed. The classroom was a wreck from their efforts. He’d have to take a shower before he headed home so his wife wouldn’t find out. Fuck.
“Well,” he said to himself as he walked to his desk and pulled out his wedding ring. “Was it worth it, Willie?” He inspected the band carefully, rolling it between his fingers.
Then he sighed and slipped it on his finger, grabbed his briefcase, folded his blazer over his arm, and turned off the lights as he left the classroom.