Swing Time Ch. 04

All characters in this story are age 18 or older.

*

Olaffsen figured out how to kill two birds with one stone. He called Christa Jackson, the choir director who'd gotten the axe in the wake of the school's program cuts. She was delighted to hear from him, even more so when he told her the reason he was calling.

"Listen, Christa ... I've got a student who needs voice coaching. Yes. Yes, you'll never believe it, she knocked on my door and said she wanted to sing. You'll just love her, she's very enthusiastic."

He rolled his eyes a little at his own inside joke. Hillary's most recent attempt to corner him had been that very morning. "I think I need voice lessons," she purred. "Maybe you could spend some time with me?"

Yeah, right! He yanked himself back to what his colleague was asking. "Hillary Fairchild," he answered. " ... Really! So she was telling the truth. Well, you two should have a lot of catching up to do. Uh-huh. ... I realize that's a delicate issue, Christa. I'll pay you out of my own pocket ... please don't argue with me, just let me do this. If students are falling out of the sky wanting to make music, don't you think the Board will come around?"

They kicked around the politics of it for a few minutes and Jake hung up. He was pretty pleased with himself. Now he would have a better singer, and he wouldn't have to stand behind her and point at the sheet music.

He put his face in his hands for a moment, remembering the most recent rehearsal. He had tried, really tried, to resist the temptation to get up from his drum kit and go to her side. And he had failed.

David sat to one side of the piano bench while Jake tapped out single notes. "You need to be heeeeeeeeeeere..." he sang a monotone to Hillary a half-step lower than her current effort.

She mimicked his tone so exactly that he suspected she could do it all along. Then the little bitch stepped closer and pointed to a different place on the page.

"Could you help me with this one, please?" Her cashmere sweater lingered over his shirtsleeve.

Across the room, Allison and Craig rolled their eyes at each other. Who was touching now! They saw their teacher step out of range as Hillary swung her trailer, aiming her hip at his. Clearly Olaffsen had his hands full, trying to get this girl to back down. His struggle, his weakness, was painfully obvious.

Now Jacob rubbed the heels of his hands against the bones just under his eyes. He looked at the calendar. The spring concert was not far away, and graduation was not long after that. Soon, his troubles would be over.

His glance fell on the sign that glowered down from his wall: "Here and Now." Typically he believed these were words to live by. These days, he wasn't so sure.

* * *

At last it was the night of the concert. Jake had to turn away from Hillary. Her long blonde curls draped over the black velvet halter of her body-tight dress. The neckline plunged and the hemline was well above the knee. Very little was left to the imagination.

Allison wore her customary white, to make the black of her instrument stand out. The boys opted for tuxes instead of the skinny black ties of autumn. Altogether, Swing Time looked hot. The crowd told them so, hand over noisy hand, as they took the stage.

Hillary belted it out:

"My funny valentine...

Sweet, comic valentine

You make me smile ... with my heart.

Your looks are laughable—

Unphotographable—

Yet you're my favourite ... work of art..."

Couples were slinking across the floor before the first verse was over. Hillary loved the spotlight and made the most of it. She cradled the cordless mike in her hands and crooned.

"Is your figure — less than Greek?

Is your mouth ... a little weak?

When you open it to speak

Are you smart?

But don't change a hair for me

Not if you care for me

Stay, little valentine, stay-y-y-y-y-y-y-yy!"

Her voice tolled through the auditorium like an Austrian church bell. She could have been onstage at the Blue Note. Christa Jackson, sitting in the front row, wept. Hillary trailed to a sulky whisper.

"Each day is Valentine's day."

Impulsively, David played, "Jingle bells, ...jingle bells, ...jingle all the ... way-ee-ay..." Stan followed with the ease of a thirty-year musician. Jake coaxed the cymbals a little higher and Allison didn't know what to do, so she held the last wail like a woman in the throes of passion, which she was. Craig just stood there with a smile plastered on his face. Air guitar!

There was no longer any question that music had won the hearts of parents and students alike. Olaffsen smiled openly at the school superintendent in the audience, who met his eyes and applauded. Maybe those funding cuts would be reversed, after all.

By the time Hillary asked her teacher for a ride home, he was feeling so good he didn't care. Stan, however, looked seriously concerned. Lines furrowed his brow. He pulled his friend aside.

"Listen, Jake, do you really think that's a good idea?"

"I'm a big boy, Stan. No worries."

Hillary was waiting down the hall, out of earshot. She was a picture in her tight black velvet dress, sheer black stockings and three-inch fuck-me heels. Her tits and ass looked made for a lover to play with. She gave a little wave to the two men and flashed her white teeth. Her smile looked like the grin of a hunting wolf. She'd soon find out a bit more about herself.

Jake gave his friend a reassuring smile and walked his date to the parking lot.

"Oooh, what kind of car is this?" Hillary knew it was a Porsche, but that was the extent of her knowledge. She had fantasized several times about this moment: Jake Olaffsen in a tux, herself dressed to kill, as the two of them tore down the road in his black sports car. Now that it was happening (although not literally at 90 mph), she didn't quite know how to handle it.

"This," he shifted, "is a Porsche nine-eleven Targa 4."

Hillary giggled and babbled something lame. All the witty lines she had dreamed up ahead of time left her. She couldn't think of a damn thing to say, which vexed her; this was her big chance to seduce Jacob Olaffsen, and she didn't want to blow it.

"Looks like you already know the way to my house."

"I know it will shock you, but I have been known to use Google."

The ride to the Fairchild home took less than ten minutes. Jake pulled up in front of the upper middle class house. He turned to Hillary to speak, but did not get out a single word.

He was not especially surprised when she attacked him. She pressed her lips to his and stuck her tongue in his mouth. What she lacked in technique she made up for in passion.

"Miss Fairchild." His hands on her biceps were strong, though his protest was mild.

"Call me Hillary," she whispered fiercely, but Jake shook his head.

"Why not? I know you want me." With that she put his hands on her breasts.

Instinctively Jake squeezed the soft velvet hills, eliciting a little squeal from the young lady. She pushed her chest further into his grip. His irregular breathing encouraged her to put her hand in his lap.

With surprising speed he whipped his hands in twin circles and captured both of her wrists. He folded her arms in an X across her chest and admonished, "Not until I tell you to."

"But you want me, I know you do." Her lower lip stuck out. "The day I auditioned, I saw you."

He still held her hands in place. The velvet snuggled under his thumbs. He moved them over her nipples, just enough to emphasize his presence. Her chest rose and fell in response.

"What did you see, exactly?" His tone was faintly amused.

"You had a hard-on," she whispered. "You tried to cover it up, but I saw."

Jacob nodded gravely in response. "And what, Miss Fairchild, do you think you want from me?"

"I—I want you to take my virginity."

He laughed out loud and let go of her. "You expect me to believe you're a virgin."

"I am!" The indignant look on her face made him laugh some more.

"Very well, Miss Fairchild. But I tell you this, and you must agree, or I'll drag your pretty ass to your door and dump you there."

"Yes?" Her eyes were wide with hope.

Olaffsen brought his face to within a few inches of hers. He put his hands on her naked shoulders, taking care not to bruise. "Nothing ever happened this evening. I gave you a ride home. That's it. If you ever say otherwise, I assure you, there will be consequences. Do -- you -- understand."

"I had a headache. You gave me a ride home. That's all that happened."

"Good." He kissed the corner of her mouth. Hillary twisted, trying to kiss him, but he wouldn't let her. She pouted some more. He did what he'd been aching to do: sucked her lower lip into his mouth and chewed on it. She moaned and stirred, learning more deeply what it meant to want.

Jacob pulled away from her and started to put the car in gear.

"Just one more thing, please!"

He looked over at her. "Yes?"

"I want you to look at my legs." She lifted the hem of her dress to reveal the tops of her stockings. Lace garters made a path leading under her dress. The trail beckoned.

Jake slipped a finger into the top of one stocking. Using only that finger, he felt along the underside of the garter, lifted it, and snapped it against her leg.

"Ow!"

"That didn't hurt, and you know it."

"I still want you to find out if I'm wearing panties."

Jake arched his brows and lightly teased her inner thigh with his fingertips. She spread her legs and leaned back. He gave her leg a little smack, rubbed the nylon stocking, and pulled the car away from the curb.

"You're a slut, Miss Fairchild."

"Not yet. But you could make me one."

"When do your parents expect you home?"

She laughed. "Like I care. They're out of town," she added at his stern look.

They drove on to his house. Hillary rested her hand lightly, possessively, on his inner thigh. He didn't push her away.

Once inside his home, he led her by the hand to his den. Hillary was surprised. She'd expected to see his bedroom.

The den was not lacking in romance. Jake had only himself to spend his money on, so despite being a public school teacher, he'd managed to outfit his quarters tastefully. The desk was a huge old thing from a by-gone era; the overstuffed leather armchair looked straight out of a nineteen-forties men's club. The lamps were heavy-looking brass. Old books lined one wall from floor to ceiling.

Hillary paused. The reality of what she was doing settled like a hawk on her arm: stunning in its close-up beauty, but weightier, more dangerous perhaps, than she had fully realized.

"Second thoughts, Miss Fairchild? I can still take you home."

"No. I want to be here."

"Very well. Have a seat." He gestured to a chair at the side of his desk, and took his place in the captain's chair.

Obediently Hillary sat and faced him. She crossed her ankles and leaned forward. The tip of her tongue moistened her lips.

Olaffsen cleared his throat. He opened a file that was lying on his desk. Hillary saw her high school mugshot clipped to the inside. "Miss ... Fairchild ..." he made his words ponderous, as if delivering a warning. He looked down the column of her grades.

"Yes?"

"You've been a bad girl."

Hillary didn't know whether to laugh with delight or hang her head in shame. She hesitated.

"Answer me."

"I've been bad," she admitted. She licked her lips again and shifted in her chair.

Jake fixed her with his gaze. "You know what the punishment is for bad girls."

Hillary swallowed. "Uh, a spanking?"

"That is correct, Miss Fairchild."

For a few seconds the girl could barely breathe. Her nipples were hardening under her dress. Color bloomed in her face.

Jake held out a hand to her. She took it and stood up with him.

"Put your hands on the desk, Miss Fairchild."

She did so, trembling with fear and anticipation.

"Now step backwards. Lean forward. Stick out your ass."

Hillary nearly hyperventilated. She did as he asked. Her breasts swung down and nearly fell out of her décolletage. For the third time she licked her lips.

"Feet shoulder width apart."

The teenage girl obeyed. She had pictured passionate love-making in her teacher's bed. She had never thought of this.

Jake leaned close to her ear. "Last chance to go home, Miss Fairchild."

She shook her head.

"I didn't hear you."

"I don't want to go home." The trembling in her ribcage was beginning to ache.

"Tell me what you are."

"I'm a bad girl."

"What else?"

"I'm a, a slut." Hillary gasped out her freedom.

"What do you want, slut?" he hissed.

"Spank me, I've been bad..."

Olaffsen opened a desk drawer and withdrew a wooden paddle.

"Count aloud, Miss Fairchild."

Whack! The paddle met the velvet. Hillary groaned.

"What did you say?"

"One," she ground out.

Whack! Olaffsen spanked her a little harder.

"Two!" Sweat gathered under her breasts and armpits.

Whack! Hillary staggered and gasped; she was breathing hard. "Three..."

Olaffsen judged she was ready for a short break. He put the paddle on the desk where she could see it.

"Do you know what you've done wrong, Miss Fairchild?" He rubbed his hands over her ass, soothing her skin beneath the velvet.

"Yes," she said in a tiny voice.

"Tell me."

"I've been, flirting with you, I've been, trying, to get you, to sleep with me..." Hill was nearly in tears from the mélange of passion, pain, and fresh hot desire.

He grasped the hem of her dress and lifted it halfway up her derrière. The creamy skin was rosy as a sunrise. Hillary swayed her rear, wanting more of his touch. He laid a hand on the back of her upper thigh. His thumb just tickled the base of her cheek.

"Is this what you want, Miss Fairchild?"

"Yes, I—!" The tickle broke her ability to speak. He stroked his other hand up and down her inner thigh, commuting the short distance from the top of her stocking to a point just below the base of her body. He avoided touching her sex.

"I want you to fuck me, oh god, please fuck me."

Olaffsen shoved her dress up to her waist. "No panties. Naughty girl." He admired the twin racing stripes of the black lace garters.

He swung his cupped hand down onto her naked ass. The slap surprised her and made her jump.

"Four!" she remembered.

"Very good, Miss Fairchild." He spanked her other cheek with equal care.

"Five!"

"Tell me again what you want."

"Please, please Mr. Olaffsen, fuck me."

"Let's see if you really mean it." He probed between her legs. Hillary groaned and backed against him, desperate as a mare in heat.

"Oh yes, oh, god yes," she panted.

Olaffsen pulled his finger from her radioactive core. He licked her juices from his fingertips.

"Are you really a virgin, Miss Fairchild? Remember, I'll know," he warned.

"Yes! Please, my arms are getting tired."

Immediately Jake moved to stand beside her. He saw her biceps were trembling with exhaustion as much as arousal.

"Here," he said kindly. He rearranged her limbs so her forearms rested on the desk. "Better?"

"Yes, sir."

"Just a little longer, Miss Fairchild."

He pulled a tube of ointment from the drawer and began soothing it over the red skin. Hillary groaned. A thick white drop of liquid slid down her inner thigh. Jake scooped it up with a fingertip and savored it. He fingered her a little more. "Oh, baby," he muttered.

Then he stood behind her and unzipped his pants. Hillary's head jerked up at the sound.

"Now?" she begged.

"You've been a good girl, Miss Fairchild. Yes, now. Spread your legs a little more."

She did so. The next sound she heard was a rustling of plastic.

"Open yourself ... show me your virgin pussy, Hillary..."

Her heart raced. Fresh energy lanced through her system. With both hands she reached around to her backside and obeyed.

"Ohhhhh, ... god, you're pretty..." Olaffsen feasted on the sight of the pink flesh accented with tiny gold curls. He guided the head of his dick to her entrance.

Hillary groaned in abject pleasure. She had never been so aroused in her life. The head of her teacher's cock nudged its way in a little more.

"Touch me!" she pleaded.

Jake caressed her bare cheeks with both hands. Lightly he ran one fingertip over her anus. She jumped, and the motion caused him to penetrate her another inch.

Jake leaned forward and wrapped his arms around her waist. He spoke in her ear. "Pretty Hillary, you're so pretty. Are you happy to be my little slut?"

"Yes, yes. I need you, I want you. Please make me yours."

"All right, then. Tell me if it hurts too much. I'll stop if you tell me to." He stood back up and thrust forward slowly, stroking into her a little at a time. He pulled back and pressed forward. Pulled back, and fucked her a little more deeply. The girl was dripping wet.

Hillary moved her body in time with his, fucking her teacher at last. It hurt with a tearing pain, but she felt as if she were floating. She never wanted to stop.

Just when she thought it couldn't get any better, Jake reached between her legs and found her clit. No man had ever touched her there.

"OH! Oh, Christ!" Hillary spasmed in orgasm. Her whole self felt like a firecracker exploding on the fourth of July: noisy, booming, colorful, and filling up the whole sky.

Her flailing was enough for Jake. He tightened his grip on her hips and rammed into her repeatedly. He swore and pulsed; his mind spun. The moment became the moment.

He fell forward over her and hugged her once more. He panted sweet words of affection in her ear. She turned her face to kiss his mouth, and he let her. Then she struggled. "Let me up."

Immediately Olaffsen backed away. He pulled his now-deflated dick from her body and threw the condom in the trash. It was streaked with blood and cum.

Quickly he looked at her inner thighs. They, too, were bloody. His breath caught in his throat.

She followed his gaze and then looked at him. Her eyes said, See? I told you I was a virgin.

A muscle twitched in Jake's cheek. He picked her up and sat her in the big leather chair.

"Spread your legs, sweetie." His tone was kind.

Hillary would have done anything he asked. She opened her limbs wide and draped them over the arms of the chair.

"Ohhhh..." breathed her teacher. He knelt before her. With one last glance at her beatific face, he reached around her buttocks and scooted her forward. She realized she was giving him a special treat, and smiled.

He licked the virgin blood from her thighs, carefully cleaning every smear. When he got to her pussy, he started by nibbling gently around the edges.

Hillary lolled her head back and fondled her breasts. She was floating on a cloud again. She applied her thumb and forefinger to the edges of her aureoles, grasping the coin-sized cones of flesh in a playful tweak. Her teacher's tongue advanced.

"Oh. Ohhhh, yesss-s-s-s-s..." She bucked forward against his face.

Jake licked and sucked with abandon. He could not contain himself. Drunk with power and lust, he ate her ferociously. Hillary's thighs closed around his ears.

He pushed his face harder against her to find her clit with his tongue. Languidly he tended the little pearl of her pleasure, circling it with his tongue tip. He was determined to make her cum again.

It worked. As he caught the hard little bud and sucked on it, Hillary squeaked and thrashed. She gushed in his face. He drank all he could catch, and finally, with a parting kiss, laid his head on her leg. A satisfied sigh eased from his sticky mouth.

Hillary stroked his hair. She was bereft of words. Very, very few girls had such a wonderful first experience, and she knew it. In a strange way, she finally knew she was good enough; she felt complete. What she did not yet know was that the self-confidence he had given her would grow, and flower, and last a lifetime.