English for Sinners Ch. 03

All characters involved in this story are of at least 18 years of age. All characters involved in this story are original creations of the author. Any resemblance to any real person, place, or event is purely coincidental. Please do not post anywhere else without author permission. Thank you!

*****

I thought it best to call in sick the next day. No matter what my next move would be concerning the three temptresses in my class, it needed to be thought out and going back to that room would only fog my perception of things. As wrong as it was, as surreal and downright sinful (and I'm not even a religious man), I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy it. Perhaps I had just been without a girlfriend for too long; too wrapped up in my work that I had forgotten to have a social life and seek out relationships with women my own age. True or not, that was no excuse. There was no good way out of that situation that would have let me keep my job, of course, but morally I should have stopped it all the same. Was losing my job what was holding me back? No. It was something more primal, feral even, that kept me locked in that chair as Val gave me a lap dance and Van treated me to her cleavage.

Then there was what Viv said. She didn't seem the type to say something just to rile me up, but rather chose her words deliberately and with care. That's not to say it didn't rile me up, and I'm sure that was part of her intention, but still I couldn't fathom what she said didn't have some truth behind it. I'm sure, in time, she would reveal her hand, but never all at once and never unless it suited her needs. There was something frightening about her, too powerful for a person, let alone a student, to be, and yet all she had done was flash me some knowing glances and stand idly by while her friends pleasured me.

All were thoughts that plagued me when I stayed home that day. Usually a school doesn't like it when you call in sick the day before, as it leaves little time to round up a substitute, but with my class they just needed a warm body in the room to keep them from eating each other alive. I knew I needed a clearer head before I could plot my next move, to figure out how best to remove these girls from my life without raising suspicion from anyone. Sipping my coffee, I sat and watched The Price is Right, feeling like a child home sick from school, and lost myself in the mindless bidding on items.

In the midst of lost time, there came a knock at my door. Snapping back to reality, I checked the time and realized it was almost 3 o'clock. I suppose game shows and peoples' court are great ways to lose yourself and ignore your troubles. I adjusted myself, ensuring I looked presentable even in my PJs, and answered the door. As quickly as I had freed myself from the snare of morning to mid-afternoon television, I was thrust back into my pending woes.

Standing at the door was Vanessa, the blonde member of the triumvirate of my dilemma. "Hey there, Mr. Harper!" she exclaimed, bordering on the sweet school girl stereotype with her exuberance. "I saw you weren't in class today, and when I heard you were sick I decided to bring over something to make you feel better," she detailed, smiling brightly when she handed me a Tupperware container of unknown goods.

I half expected to open the box and find nothing but condoms and sex toys, but they were just cookies. Sugar, it seemed, with frosting of various colors, some with sprinkles and others not so lucky. After examining the cookies, I turned my attention back to her, and wasn't sure how to proceed. Here was a student who had my face buried in her breasts, who had texted me a photo of those same tits, and she was acting like there was nothing amiss. This must have thrown me, as I treated the visit like it was as banal as she was pretending it was.

"Uh, thank you, Ms. Smithfield," I replied. "That's very kind of you." A few awkward seconds went by, as she said nothing and I did the same. She must have been expecting me to say something else, but nothing came, so I decided to end it before it could grow more tense. "I'll...see you on Monday," I departed with, backing up into my home and closing the door - but that was not to be when she stretched her long, knee-high sock-clad, leg into the door way and caused me to stop abruptly, not wanting to harm such a delicate feature.

"Wait, Mr. Harper! Aren't you going to invite me in?" she asked, again treating the situation like I was being the odd one, but as fogged as my judgment was, I knew it would be inappropriate to have a student alone with me in my house, let alone one who had overstepped her bounds twice in the past. Her hand gripped the door, pushing back a bit so she could peek her head inside, offering me a smile to weaken my resolve.

"I don't think that would be appropriate, Ms. Smithfield," I insisted.

"Van," she replied sternly, yet losing none of the youthful innocence she was exhibiting. "And please, Mr. Harper? I just...I wanted to talk to you about...well about what happened." She pleaded, her motive shattering any remaining hope I had that the past few days were just a dream I took to be far too real. Having no other plan in mind, wasting that time watching TV and drinking coffee, I could think of no immediate reason why it would be a bad idea to talk to her, to hopefully put an end to this amicably so I wouldn't have to risk my job and reputation finding my own way out of it. Saying nothing, I offered only a nod and then backed away, pulling the door with me to allow her access to my home.

She graciously accepted, sparing no time lest I change my mind about this undoubtedly bad idea. As she passed, I noticed she was wearing some Mary Janes to go with her tall, white, stockings, going well together. Her school girl attire changed somewhat up and past her knees, where the stockings ended. As tradition dictated, she wore a plaid skirt, but this one was black and pink, and she wore a loose fitting black studded belt, purely for decoration as it rested low on one hip, supported only by her curves of her ass and hips. The rest of the stereotypical outfit was disregarded, opting out of a white blouse and instead wearing a black, frayed, t-shirt. Several sizes too small, it exposed much of her back, and when she turned as I closed the door, much of her flat stomach as well - at the center of which was a cute belly button piercing of a short chain with three charms hanging from it.

When she spun around, her ponytail flipped back over her shoulder, now resting between her big, inviting, tits. The t-shirt was already too small to cover her torso completely, and she had obviously modified it to stay snug around her breasts as well. A deep cut was made at the collar, plunging downward and parting in a v-shape thanks to the strain her chest put on the fabric. A faded logo from a metal band was on the shirt, but much of it had been lost to time, washing, and her modification of the shirt. Of course, it wasn't the logo that drew eyes to her shirt. I commended myself on my strength for not staring down her shirt before when she was on the other side of my door, but then realized I was merely being foolish to have not noticed how she was dressed before I let her in. I had to remain strong, and promised myself I would end this surprise meeting as soon as it grew inappropriate (more so than it was already).

"Have a seat in the living room," I instructed, eager to get her to turn back around and hide those amazing assets from my vision again. "I'm just going to put these away." As she left for the living room, I departed for the kitchen and placed the cookies on the island. I used the time mainly to catch my breath, to gain some composure before speaking to her again. I decided to enjoy one of the cookies she made while I thought of my next move. Thankfully I had not remained in my boxer briefs and nothing else that day, and instead opted for some comfy PJs that allowed me to remain warm and appropriate for impromptu guests. Admittedly the cookie was very good, so I decided to take another, and then one more for Van (and possibly myself if she turned down the offer).

When I returned to the living room, Van was seated comfortably in the love seat opposite the couch where I decided to sit, but not before handing her one of her own cookies to enjoy. Perhaps not the most mature of food to have when discussing sexual misconduct between a teacher and student, but then what food was appropriate for such a talk? "So, you've come to talk about what happened?" I opened with, eager to get the discussion started lest she shy away from her decision to fess up her involvement.

Sheepishly she looked down at the cookie resting in her lap, idly adjusting her skirt so it covered a bit more of her crossed legs, while she spoke. "I did, Mr. Harper. I know..." she started, giving herself the first of many pauses during her confession. "I know what I did, what we did was wrong. Very, very wrong. I'm sure you must hate us. Hate me," she said, pouting, finally looking up from her lap and across the coffee table to me.

"I don't hate you, Ms. Smi- Van," I replied, correcting myself with the name she preferred, keeping the discussion as comfortable as possible by giving her that much. "I am shocked at what you and your friends did, however."

"I know," she returned, dropping her gaze back to her lap and then taking a small bite from the cookie. "Are you...going to turn us in? Punish us?" she asked.

"I don't know, I probably will have to," I admitted, surprised by her mature reaction of accepting the outcome with a nod, but kept her eyes from looking at me. "Regardless of what I decide to do, there's no way I can have you in my class anymore."

This prompted an immediate response out of her. Ice blue eyes shot up to me, looking desperate and wanting. "No!" she blurted. "Please, Mr. Harper, I know what we did was wrong but you can't kick us out of your class! It'll never happen again, I swear!" she promised, leaning forward and granting me a better view of her cleavage; but it wasn't like before, it was merely a side effect of her body language showing her displeasure with my plan of action.

"Why did you even do it in the first place, Van?" I had to ask. I should have ended it there, thanked her for the cookies and the mature conversation, and escorted her out, but my own curiosity got the better of me.

"It's...it's Vivika," she admitted, her voice cracking a bit before she continued. "I started hanging out with her and Van last year, during the summer, and ever since then she's made me...do things. I stopped hanging out with my other friends, I started wearing new clothes," she illustrated by tugging on her shirt, using it as an example of her change in usual attire but serving only to plunge the neckline deeper. I distracted myself with another bite of my cookie. "But I couldn't bring myself to say no to her. She just has...this way about her, you know?" Somehow, I did know. I had only known Viv for less than a week, and yet already I knew she exhibited a kind of authority uncommon in someone her age.

"Did she...tell you to...do what you did, yesterday?" I asked, dancing around saying throw my face between your creamy jugs. She nodded and played with the frosting on the cookie, swirling her finger at it while she kept her eyes off of me. I wasn't surprised by this, and yet I kept probing. "Did you tell you to send that picture?"

"What picture?" she asked, looking up, her thin brows knitted in confusion.

"The picture of you, with...that toy...nevermind," I began to explain and then cowardly refused to elaborate.

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "You mean the picture of me with my blue dildo between my tits!" she clarified for me.

"That...yes, that picture."

"Well...no. That one was all me," she admitted, now looking away shyly instead of shamefully. Her eyes caught mine quickly, though, and I saw a smile had formed on her plump lips, which were stained slightly blue from the cookie she had been enjoying. "I thought it might be a good way to break the ice, y'know? Sort of say...thanks for having me in your class."

I returned her earlier confused look with one of my own, awe struck at her open admittance of the act and yet her flimsy excuse as to why she did it in the first place. I was also surprised at her sudden change in demeanor, having gained more confidence and now sat upright, thrusting her chest out more and putting the tensile strength of her shirt through its greatest challenge yet. I had to gulp when I realized she wasn't wearing a bra, or if she was it was very sheer as her nipples were becoming more and more visible from under her shirt. I only hoped she didn't hear me, as I needed to maintain as much power in this situation as possible.

"Whatever your reason, it was very inappropriate, Van."

"Did you keep it?" she asked, smirking.

"What?" I said, feigning ignorance.

"Did you keep the photo I sent?" She needlessly clarified. "I hope you did. It was a good one, I know. But then, it's hard to take a bad photo of these jugs, right?" she rhetorically asked, and gazed down at her own cleavage while she thrust her tits out even more, gesturing toward them with her hands, leaving her cookie to rest on its own on her lap.

"Ms. Smithfield, this is becoming very inappropriate," I barked, mustering what courage I had left. "I think you should le-" but she cut me off before I could order her out.

"Van," she corrected me again, this time more sternly and annoyed than she was at the door. "My name is Van. Not Ms. Smithfield. Maybe someday Mistress, or sexpet, I haven't decided, but let's not dwell too much on the future," she continued, each word she uttered more laced with sexuality than the last. "Let's instead focus on right here, right now," she proposed, standing and taking her cookie with her as she walked around the coffee table and came toward me, coming to sit down beside me, her body turned toward me in a far too familiar fashion for a student to have with her teacher.

"Van, what are you doing? I thought you came here to apolog-" again I was cut off by this blonde bombshell, this time when she pressed her frosting-stained finger against my lips.

"I did come here to apologize, Mr. Harper. Well...sort of. Mostly I came by to make sure you were okay. I really was worried, Mr. Harper, when you didn't show up to class today. Sometimes when my girlfriends and I come on so strongly to a guy, they get scared off and do something stupid," she remarked, looking away while she was remembering something relevant to just that, but would not reveal what and only offered a giggle at the thought. "But I did come to apologize, just not for smothering that cute face with my cleavage." Again she gestured toward her generous assets, as if I could be confused about some other breasts she was talking about. "I wanted to say I'm sorry I wasn't the first one to make you cum, Mr. Harper. I'm sorry there wasn't enough time yesterday for me to fuck you proper."

I was floored, paralyzed with fear and shock at what was transpiring. Foolishly I had thought she came to talk to me like an adult, to clear the air and possibly reach an understanding that could put the whole mess behind us and allow both of us to move forward with her lives without further complication. Having this barely legal teen press her tits into my arm, my cock threatening to betray me and me unable to hide it properly in my thin PJ bottoms, proved that I could no longer assume the best of these girls, at least not Van. While I sat, mouth agape, thinking of something to say, or some escape route out of my own house, Van played with some more of the frosting, lifting it up to her lips and sucking it off with and audible pop.

"We had a contest, me and Val, to decide who would get to make you cum first," she began to explain, pausing only to scoot closer to me and to suck frosting off her finger tip. "So we figured we'd see who could make the other one cum first, me and Val I mean. Oh you should have been there, Mr. Harper! My face nestled between Val's pert, firm, ass cheeks. Her mouth latched around my pink, shaven, pussy. Mmm, it was so delicious!" she exclaimed before eating more frosting, further turning her lips blue. "But that girl has stamina, let me tell ya!" she paused her story to giggle. "You'll know that soon enough, though. I don't know if you'll be able to keep up with her! She likes to ride hard, fast, and for hours at a time. I, on the other hand..."

She again paused, this time to reposition herself onto my lap, straddling me, her skirt nearly hiked up enough to expose whatever panties (or lack thereof) she was wearing. "I like to be used. I like to be thrown down, and fucked silly! I loooove to be played with, groped, squeeeeze, tasted. Everything! Just so long as you're treating me like the sex kitten I am, Mr. Harper," she finished, her explanation turning more into a proposition. "So what's it going to be, Mr. Harper? What part of my do you want to play with first?"

Still I couldn't find the words, be their affirmative or negative, nothing came to me. My eyes, however, betrayed my stoicism, and briefly escaped her gaze and snapped to the cleavage that was being thrust into my face. Sure enough, she caught that.

"My tits, huh? Not the most imaginative choice, but I don't blame you," she said, breaking the silence and agreeing to some pact I had just silently made against my will. The choice I had inadvertently made would have to wait, as it seemed Van was more interested in sampling my body herself, first. Those plump, frosting touched, tiers closed around my earlobe, where it was nibbled and tugged on by her perfect white teeth. Again I found myself perfectly within control, knowing I was able to throw this teenager who couldn't have weighed more than 120 pounds off of my body and out the door, leaving the consequences to be sorted out later, and yet I did nothing. Although, that is a lie. I did do something - I enjoyed myself. As wracked as my mind was with thoughts of a grim future crafted by my own inability to stop this, my body was focused on the event present, too enamered with the curvy body currently writhing against it. My chest enjoyed a sampling of her breasts as they pressed into me, feeling heavy and firm. My lap was party to her hips dancing upon it, her pussy grazing against my growing erection. My hands, at Van's own direction when she grabbed and guided them, were resting comfortably just above her ass, and my pinkies were gradually moving over the hem of her skirt and gain some closer touch to where my I wanted them most.

I would need a mirror to confirm the number of hickies my student gave me, but with as many times as she switched places, I'm sure there were many. Satisfied with her taste test, Van leaned back just enough to put her torso in my line of sight, and gently pulled up on the hem of her shirt. As short as it was, it didn't take long for the undersides of her tits to show, and with how gradually and teasingly she disrobed I had time to admire the flawless white flesh beneath the contrasting black shirt. Stopping short of revealing her nipples, leaving me to continue to theorize about their color, size, and placement, Van then decided to slide down my body, pushing apart my knees while she resituated to plant her own on my floor.

Van looked up at me with those big blue eyes, and for a moment I saw the naive and innocent girl who greeted me at the door, the girl whom I wish had been in my class instead of this sex fiend, but I'd be lying if I said I was disappointed with the current turn of events. It wasn't hard for her to fish my cock out of my pants, thin as they are and designed to easily let the member escape for nighttime bathroom trips. I must admit I felt a swell of pride when she saw it, standing up to greet her in all its fullness and height, and I could see a glimmer of desire in her eyes - real desire, the kind that renders you free of constraints put on by society and laws, the kind I had been feeling for the last 15 minutes. She bit down on her lip, releasing it only making it fuller after she chewed on it just a bit. Standing straight, she thrust her chest forward once more, before aiming my cock with her hand between her shirt-aided cleavage.