Karen's Fall and Rise Pt. 01

The two boys sitting on the chairs in front of me both towered above me. I looked again at their school records and self-consciously brought my knees together, pinching my tartan skirt between them. The boys looked back at me bored and indifferent. It looked like their schooling thus far had been a catalogue of failure - though by no means all their fault. At eighteen they had barely five months left in the school apprenticeship programme and few prospects outside with their current levels of literacy and numeracy.

As the newest special needs teacher in the department I had been given the most challenging cases and you would be hard put to find two more challenging case studies than Jimmy and Eddie. Eddie, though tall, strapping and handsome in a boyish way had the reading level of a six-year-old. He also had a pride that wouldn't let him respond to anything he considered "kiddy" or "junior" - his disparaging terms for the beginner reader materials the school tended to stock.

Jimmy had been failed by the system. The only child of a single mother whose partner had dumped her the moment he found she was pregnant, Jimmy had been forced to grow up early. His mother had turned to drink, then drugs and flitted from one bad partner to the next in search of god only knows what comfort she might find before Jimmy was ten years old. Jimmy's school file recorded that she had been found dead in a stranger's bedsit a few days before Jimmy had turned eleven. A drug overdose had finally done what years of neglect and unhappiness had threatened to do. Jimmy had taken it all stoically at first, but according to his file he started to skip school, get into fights and eventually get himself suspended enough times that he never recovered in time to catch up his schooling. Although numerate and schooled in that street wisdom that so many kids seem to gain when life deals them bitter lemons, Jimmy lacked social skills and perseverance. Getting him to concentrate or give anything like his full attention to anything for more than a couple of minutes had been my biggest challenge.

Both boys, however, had responded positively to my first sessions with them. My room offered a sanctuary from the rest of the school and its negative associations. It was situated in what they called "The Clouds" - a former attic at the top of the school block on the fifth floor, and accessible only by a tiny lift (the staircase was shuttered and used in emergencies only - I had been warned that the key I was entrusted with was the only one and that it could not be copied so I was under pain of death not to lose it!)

Here I had three rooms all to myself, even if the total area of all three combined was barely the size of one of the smaller offices on the ground floor. I had my office, my resource room (little more than a closet in truth) and a small kitchen where I had smuggled a cappuccino machine in on my second day. I set my students what I felt were realistic expectations, but I suspected I would be best off elevating them when writing my reports lest I came across as being too soft. I wanted Jimmy to acquire some persistence in his studies and for Eddie to get to at least secondary reading age. We read the football pages of the newspapers mainly. It helped that Eddie responded better to the quality press. He felt I was complimenting him on his maturity getting him to read broadsheets rather than the tabloids. The truth was, however, reading the sports reports in The Telegraph and The Times is much easier than coping with the slangy style and informality of the red tops' bulletins.

Whatever the reason, it seemed to work and Eddie was making progress. Once he managed to maintain his attention and stay seated and still for the entire twenty minutes it had taken for us to get through a report on Italy's World Cup qualifier (they had failed to make it through to the finals apparently for the first time in decades and it seemed a big deal to him so I pretended to know more about it than I really did and we read the report together). It's true I later realised that a button on my blouse had come undone and that he had probably had a clear view of my lacy bra all the way through the session, but whatever his motivation for keeping still and getting through his exercises, I decided to chalk it up as a victory, and here with just a few months to go before the end of the school year, I felt we were in with a chance of getting both boys to attain their (admittedly not sky-high) targets for the year.

So here we all were. The boys sitting across from me in their school uniforms. Me sitting on my teacher's chair with newspapers on the little coffee table in front of me masterminding the operation.

"Miss?" said Jimmy suddenly.

"Yes, Jimmy?" I replied looking up.

"Why does everyone call married teachers Miss when you're really a Mrs?" he said.

It was nothing to do with the text he was struggling to get through but I decided it was a sensible enough question.

"Well, in former times teachers weren't allowed to stay in the profession if they got married, Jimmy. At least not here in England. All female teachers back then really were Miss. So it's sort of carried on into the modern age".

"Does it bother you, Miss?" asked Eddie, suddenly paying attention to the conversation and looking up from his article on Arsenal.

"Not really, Eddie, no. But you can call me Karen if you happen to see me outside of school. I always think it's absurd when one of my pupils sees me in Waitrose and calls out "Miss", especially if they're one of the adult students".

"Thanks, Karen", said Jimmy.

"Uh, uh! It's "Miss" in this room, Jimmy", I replied. "I expect you to learn respect for people's proper titles. It's part of your social skills curriculum".

We got back to work but the exchange stayed with me on my drive home that afternoon. It had reminded me of my first few hours in the school and the interview I had had just seven months before with Dr. Allardyce, the school head. I knew the school was desperate for a special needs teacher and I suspected I was the best-qualified candidate they had interviewed (albeit, at 24 I was a little light on experience), but Dr. Allardyce had been the toughest interviewer I had ever met. I was grilled not just on special needs trends and the latest regulations (vastly complicated and a nightmare to remember) but also on my general philosophy of education and even my professional dress ethic!

The last bit, I suspected, stemmed from his disapproval at what I had worn to the interview. It was a dress I had bought a year earlier to go clubbing in but had ended up not using because I thought it looked too formal for the dance floor. Putting it on that morning I had realised it was probably a touch on the tarty side for an interview, but combined with black stockings and high heels I had thought it just about qualified as passing. Dr. Allardyce probably disagreed. At least twice my age he had looked disapprovingly at me a few times during the school tour that preceded the formal interviews, and had reminded me on three occasions that his title was Dr Allardyce when I had mistakenly called him Mr Allardyce instead. But by the end of the day he had warmed to me a little and he offered me the job over coffee in his study. I accepted immediately and drove home in a state of excitement to tell Jonathan (my husband of not quite two years) that we were now a double income household!

The year was going OK. I had started with five regular English class preps to do in addition to my Special Needs classes but that had proved an unmanageable workload. A compromise was struck when Mr. Manley, the Head of Department had agreed to take over three of my classes if I took Eddie and Jimmy off his hands. The three had never got on and he had by far the better of the deal on paper. But as the weeks had gone by I had managed to find a connection with Jimmy and Eddie, and it helped that we had a nice little set up in the attic where no one would disturb us and where the boys could come and chill if they needed to hide from anyone. I turned a blind eye to that and more than once pushed a freshly made cup of coffee their way with a wink when the lift doors opened and one or both of them emerged looking sheepish and obviously on the skive from something or someone.

One day, around February, Jimmy asked me if I was going to the school "do". I had seen some posters up but I hadn't actually got around to reading one, so I asked them what it was all about. They took turns telling me it was a costume party the school put on every Easter. There were prizes for the best costume, but it wasn't a competitive or stressful event. Mostly it was just to let the kids unwind before the exams many would face in May. Staff were expected to set an example and turn up, so they wanted to know what my costume would be.

"Well," I said. "I'll have to give that some thought. I really don't know".

"There's a girl in my PE set called Jeannie", said Eddie. "She's going as Wonder Woman, but she's already got this Cat Woman suit. Want to see if I can borrow it for you? It'd be the right size you and you'd look well fit in it".

Jimmy made as if to whack him over the head with his book.

"You don't say that to a teacher, dickhead," he said.

"Why not? Jeannie's a 34B - same as Karen," said Eddie. Then he realised what he'd said.

As did I.

There was an embarrassed silence. Then Eddie broke it by saying.

"Sorry, Miss. A lot of the boys wanted to know your bra size. You're the hot teacher so I said I'd find out for them. I read it on the label through your blouse once when you were making coffee".

I didn't know what to say. My mind was a whirlpool of emotions, but I managed to say

"Well, thank you for clarifying that, Eddie. That was totally inappropriate and we won't touch on that subject again if you please".

"Sorry Miss," said a very contrite Eddie. Then he piped up.

"But I'll get Jeannie to lend you the costume. I've seen it. It's really nice".

Apart from making a mental note to cut the size labels off all my bras and never to wear light coloured blouses to school again I dismissed this incident from my mind easily enough. After all, I knew I was one of the youngest teachers at the school and I'm honest enough to admit I know I'm attractive. It had crossed my mind on more than one occasion that I was probably featuring in the masturbatory fantasies of more than one of my young charges, but that didn't mean I had to encourage their thoughts by flashing my bra size at them.

The very next day Eddie brought a white plastic carrier bag with him to his lesson. He kept it with him the whole lesson and then as he was leaving handed it to me.

"It's the costume, Miss. Try it on at home. Let me know if it's too small. I'll just give it back. Jeannie won't mind".

I didn't know what to say but I took the bag and at the end of the day flung it onto the back seat of my Fiat - where it stayed for the rest of the week.

The following Thursday at the all-staff meeting in the faculty lounge Dr. Allardyce reminded staff about the school costume party.

"This event has been on the school calendar all year and I therefore expect all to attend unless you have already spoken to me about prior engagements", he began. 

"In any case, attendance is mandatory for all new staff (and here he looked at me and the two other members of staff who had been appointed that year), and will occupy the place of a double duty on the roster for the month of May".

The meeting then moved on to other agenda items but the expectation was clear. We would all have to go, and I had no other ideas to draw on so back at home later that night I opened the bag and showed Jonathan the costume inside.

It was actually surprisingly high quality. It looked like it came from a movie set, rather than simply a fancy dress shop. The mask was beautifully crafted out of stiff black leather and covered the top half of my face with two pointy ears sticking out of the top. The rest of the costume was also black leather - real leather, not the shiny artificial stuff you get with cheap costumes. There was a pair of soft black leather boots that fitted me perfectly, and a pair of thigh hugging tight black shiny calf skin trousers - complete with a whip-like tail and silver stitching. This was no cheap costume. It could have been the very one Michelle Pfeiffer wore in the movie it was that good. I wondered at this Jeannie girl who was apparently so happy to give it away and wear something else instead.

"What do you think, darling?" I said as I emerged from the bathroom where I had gone to change. Jonathan looked up from his desk in the study and whistled.

"Wow! You look hot!"

"Really? I gave him a little twirl and, gently smacked him across the cheek with my tail"

"Oh yes!" said Jonathan. He gazed at me in astonishment and his eyes widened as he took in the sight of his young wife in the amazing costume. Slowly a look came into his eyes that I hadn't seen much of of late. He was getting turned on.

"I totally have to have you right her and right now you gorgeous wife!" he smirked.

And, lifting me up in his arms, he took me into the bedroom next door and we started making out on the bed. This was great. He hadn't been the most attentive husband in the last month or two. I knew things were stressful at work, but we were young and supposed to be in our prime, hungry for each other. Besides, sex is good for stress, and I could hardly remember the last time we had had any.

Getting the costume off was a struggle, but it was a new experience for us to be dressing up, and I was surprised how wet I was getting as we kissed and stroked each other on the bed.

After three or four minutes of clumsy struggling I had managed to kick off the boots and slide the tight leather leggings down far enough to expose my pussy. Jonathan's cock stood proud and he eased it into me and we kissed again as he rose and thrust rhythmically. We hadn't done this for a month and it felt really good. Within minutes I felt his warm gush of cum splash into me. He kissed me once more and rolled off. I lay there for a minute and reached for a tissue to mop myself up.

My thoughts were a bit of a maelstrom. We had had penetrative sex for about three minutes. I hadn't cum. In fact, I had almost never cum. Not with Jonathan or almost anyone else either. As I lay there the run of thoughts that was always ready to trundle through my mind at these times began its familiar journey.

The only times in my life I had managed an orgasm were the time I had lost my virginity - the day after my eighteenth birthday party six and a half years ago, and again with the same partner a little over a year later. I found myself thinking of that as I had done so many times. The thoughts came back to me clearly as I lay there on the bed, Jonathan's cum leaking out me and listening to him running the shower in the bathroom down the hall.

It had been the morning after the party and I was cleaning up in my parents' house. They had let me have my party there the night before and had been there for the cake and the champagne at midnight but they had largely left me and my friends to party on alone. They were good like that. This morning they were taking my younger brothers to their rugby tournament and I had promised that by late that afternoon when they returned, I would have the house tidy and clean and would also organise dinner.

There was something in me that knew when the doorbell rang around 10 AM that day who it was and what was about to happen. The night before, the last of my friends, Pete, had been collected by his dad. I stood there at the door while Pete looked for his jacket and shoes. Pete's dad had eyed me lasciviously. He was about 45, smart and rich and was obviously used to taking what he wanted from life. His Porsche stood in the driveway. I stood there in my red sparkly cocktail dress and bare feet and watched him as he waited for his son and mentally undressed me.

Pete brushed past us and went out to the car. His dad leaned into me and whispered "Happy birthday, gorgeous" before kissing my ear. His hand reached behind me and stroked my ass. Not once, but four times. I was too shocked to do anything. Apart from a bit of clumsy snogging I was completely inexperienced. I had no idea my body could make me feel like this.

Now, just ten hours later with my parents and brothers away for the day and me home alone, the unmistakeable sound of a Porsche engine now crunched on the gravel drive. It was obvious to whoever was in the Porsche that I was home alone. Our big family car was gone and I was there framed in the window as the driver got out of the car.

It was Pete's dad. He walked purposefully to the door. I was wearing only my dressing gown and a pair of black panties. I opened the door before he could ring.

"Hello," I said. "Did Pete forget something?"

"No," said Pete's dad. "But I did". And he reached up, ran his fingers through my hair and kissed me full on my open mouth.

He carried me up to my own room and put me on the bed. I could recall every word of what he had said to me. It made me shiver for all kinds of mixed up reasons.

"This is what's going to happen, Karen", he had said.

"I saw you last night and I wanted to fuck you right there and then. I held back but today there will be no holding back. I'm here with one intention only. To fuck you and welcome you to adulthood. I will make you cum and I will cum inside you. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

I nodded.

"Are you cool with that? Because my cock is so stiff for you right now that if I don't fuck you hard within the next three minutes I'm going to explode"

"Yes, I am cool with that" I said.

He undid my dressing gown cord and opened the gown. His lips were on my bare nipples within seconds and his hands pulled my panties down. He pushed my thighs apart and stared at my exposed pussy.

"You're a virgin, aren't you?" he said.

I nodded.

"Good" was all he said. Then with practised ease he slid his trousers and pants off and I saw his cock for the first time.

I remember a short moment of pain as he pushed into me and then a lot of moving about on the bed to get into different positions. He seemed to like the one where my knees were hooked over his shoulders. He thrust hard into me with that angle and my body exploded with pleasures I had never imagined possible. He had seen my gasp of astonishment and discovery. He smiled and started thrusting rhythmically. I closed my eyes and then opened them quickly in shock as my body rocked with my first ever orgasm. I groaned loudly and he whispered. "Cum you pretty little teenage bitch. You're my whore and I'm going to fuck your little brains out".

I groaned again and he kept me pinned to the bed thrusting away with his cock penetrating me like a piston. He had incredible energy. I seemed to spend the next hour in a perpetual orgasm.

That day he spent hours fucking me again and again. He came inside me time and time again and I was convinced I would be pregnant but I didn't care. I just let him do it to me. After three or four hours when my pussy was so well pounded I wondered if I had any more moisture in my body he left me and drove away.

I slept another hour, woke up and tidied the house and by the time my parents returned with tales of a rugby tournament won and the smell of a freshly baked lasagna wafting through the house (no fool, I had prepared it days earlier and hidden it in the freezer), I was able to explain my tiredness as the results of last night's excesses and retire to my room (which reeked of semen, sweat and vaginal juices) to sleep with the window wide open and a prayer that my sharp-nosed mother would not think to call on me.