Teacher's Pet

Let me start by saying I love teachers. Many of my dearest friends are teachers. Y'all have a depth of patience that I cannot begin to fathom.

This story came about in 2014. Several nights in a row the news told me of some new case of a teacher messing with a student. Ten cases, eight were perpetrated by females. Even as I wrapped the story up news broke of a very hot teacher who'd been banging a 13 year old for a year. Even after the research I did for this story, I don't get it. In 1997 when Mary Kay Letourneau rose to infamy, I didn't get why a hot looking woman had to turn to a kid when any guy with a pulse would have thrown her a bone, so to speak. I still fail to grasp why. The facts strewn about in this are a result of my research, but I found no practical way to use them in the story so I just had folk say stuff.

While the bulk of this story came from my imagination, the work place conversations for the most part are from my memory and every action credited to a teacher character in this story was really perpetrated by a teacher in real life. The psychology theory rendered by a character is my own idea, I never heard back from anyone in the psych community that I reached out to, so I can't vouch for its validity.

I do need to thank LJ for his legal advice, even though it trashed an early plot scheme. Also thanks to Gus for his legal input as well. Special thanks to teachers Laura(s), DB, BK for answering questions. MK at HCDA office and those who asked to not be publicly thanked.

Thanks to Cute3Kitty for the read MistressJoanna for the supreme job of editing. All sexual participants in this story are over the age of 21.
SH

Headline News: Teacher's Pet

I awoke with her fragrant hair in my face; hair that smelled of coconut and sex sweat. I knew it was sex sweat because that's exactly what we'd been doing prior to going to sleep. Her legs were intertwined with mine and I held a large firm boob in one hand. Her hot ass rubbed against my rock hard cock. I rubbed her nipple, and she stirred and moaned, "Baby, you don't have time"

According to my cock I had plenty of time. I rolled my wife's nipple between my thumb and finger eliciting another soft moan. My cock was buried between her ass cheeks and I could feel her starting to heat up.

"Baby, you're going to be late," she breathed.

I traced a circle around her nipple then lightly slid my hand down along her torso, over the gentle swell of her hip, down as far as I could reach on her thigh. I felt her goose bumps as I reversed direction and slid my hand to her sex.

"Oh fuck me baby!!"

I moved my fingers over her hairless mound, and found the top of her slit. As I found her clit I nibbled on the side of her neck just below her ear. She groaned and arched her back, pushing her ass into me, and I took that opportunity to push my cock into her hot, wet, and willing pussy. Neither of us were concerned about the time for a while.

* * * * *

"God damn! Another one? What the fuck is wrong with these people?"

I looked up from my spaghetti filled Tupperware container to see what had Bruce so riled. He was looking at something on his cell phone.

"What gives Bruce? Someone steal your grannie's false teeth, stick 'em 'tween their butt cheeks and take humorous photos?" I asked.

"Jace, I don't know where your ideas come from, but you really oughta keep em tucked in your ass."

"What did you do to Bruce now, Jace," asked my buddy Sal as he joined us at the break room table.

Every day for the past seven years the same faces graced this particular table every break and lunch period. Bruce Macalister and Sal Perez worked together on a machine that fed the rest of our line. Dan Grady, Tory Newton, and Pamela Miller filled out the rest of the crew.

"Moi?" I said to Sal. "Do I really have to do anything to make Bruce pissy? Fuck. He gets upset if his ice cream is cold."

Pam smiled and teased, "I suspect somebody is sending him nude pics of his mother by his reaction."

The rest chuckled and Bruce just huffed, "Fucking bunch of clowns." He was a nice guy once you got past his grouchy exterior, but he let very few past that exterior. Not many people outside of our group could give Bruce any level of shit and not pay a price.

"So what does got your panties in a bunch Bruce?" asked Tory with a mouthful of sandwich.

"Another one of these perverted fucking teachers got arrested for screwing a kid," Bruce said as he scowled at the screen of his phone. "This shit didn't happen in my day."

We all laughed, and I wondered who'd say something first. I had a mouthful of food and Sal was looking up the story on his phone, but Dan didn't disappoint. "Shit Bruce. Back in your day you was too tired from walking ten miles up hill in six feet of alligator infested snow to have relations with your school marm." Bruce gave him a one finger salute for his effort.

"I see how the girls these days dress at the damn malls," said Tory. "I can only imagine what it's like to be stuck in a room full of hormonal teens in miniskirts all damn day. Hell, I'd be worried of the teachers weren't thinking of fuckin' a few of 'em."

"Thinking is fine Tory," said Pam. "But when the bastards actually do something with these young girls it is sick."

"Do you guys know how hard that could be?" I asked. "Several times when Becky has had sleepovers or pool parties I have had young luscious tits thrust in my face. One friend of hers has actually came to me butt naked telling me she wants me. There ain't enough cold water in Texas sometimes, but I know if I give in and do it, I'm nothing but a piece of shit."

"Damn," Sal groused. "Why'd Elaine have only boys?" Everyone chuckled except Bruce.

"Weren't no guy with hormonal teen girls," groused Bruce. "Was another damn woman messin' with little boys. Just over in Spring."

Fuck! I knew soon they'd be looking at me. Tomorrow I'd get the questions. Did y'all know her? Have you met her? Is she hot? That last one would be asked by Tory. He was a major horn dog.

My wife Katie taught eighth grade English at a middle school in Spring, a suburb of Houston. I knew that my wife likely knew or knew of the teacher in trouble. Hell Katie knew teachers all over the city and all the way down in Galveston.

"Damn," said Pam. "That's the third one in Spring ISD this year."

"Shit next these horny little fuckers will be taking teachers to prom," quipped Dan.

"Who says it's just horny little fuckers," asked Sal. "Are these schools hiring nothing but kiddie fiddlers these days?"

"I blame the damn internet," said Bruce. "These fuckers know sex shit I ain't never heard of."

"Damn it, Bruce! I'm tryin' to eat over here and I don't wanna picture what you may know or not know about sex," I said drawing a laugh even from other tables.

"Well, Jace, what do you blame it on? You're married to a teacher, what's her take?"

"I never asked her about her take Bruce. I just wanna know why there's so many of these predatory whores teaching children in the city of Houston."

"Hell," added Pam. "The whole state has a problem. I read last night that Texas is number two in the nation with this issue."

"Probly them perverts in New York is number one," added Sal.

"No. Actually, California is number one. Houston is number one in the state."

"Not surprising," said Tory. "Did you hear about the teacher a couple weeks ago?"

"Yeah," said Pam. "That's what made me read up on the subject."

Bruce chimed in, "You mean that sick bitch in Aldine who gave the fifteen-year-old kid a lap dance 'cuz he made an A on a test?"

"It wasn't for an A," I added. "Fuckin' kid said it was his birthday."

"I wonder how it is the husbands never figure this shit out," said Sal.

"What do the husbands have to do with it?" asked Pam.

"Well. You read them stories on the internet and the guy always knows his wife is cheating on him. Either there's a strange car in the driveway when he comes home unexpectedly, or his wife feels stretched out from another guy's cock."

For a moment the table was silent. Sal looked like he had just discovered the cure for cancer and would win a Nobel Prize. I, however, was ready to shit on his parade.

"Dude," I told Sal. "If an eighth-grade boy is stretching your wife out to the point that you notice it, you have bigger problems, well so to speak, than being married to a pedophile."

The whole room erupted with laughter and Sal turned red. "Hell," added Tory. "That strange car in the drive will either be a Huffy or it will be a minivan containing a soccer mom; which on second thought might not be all that bad."

"I guess next time I pull up to the house and see a hoard of bikes in the front yard I need to be prepared to bust up an orgy," howled Dan.

Sal to his credit tried to defend, "I'm just saying that most guys know when their wife is cheating. Why don't these husbands know?"

"I know personally, I could never fathom Katie being a pedophile. I imagine the other husbands are in the same boat." I said.

"That makes sense," said Pam. "What guy in their right mind would stay married to a creep anyway? Besides," she added with a wink, "We all know how often Jace sends Katie to work freshly fucked, no way she'd have a need for a kid."

I chortled, "How would you know that?" I asked.

"A girl can tell, you got some this morning didn't you?"

I know I blushed. But she wasn't done.

"You also got laid last Monday, Wednesday and Friday," she said with a triumphant grin.

"Guilty," I said. "How do you know these things?"

"A woman knows Jace, and we get a tad jealous too. Joe needs to learn from you." Everyone chuckled.

"Shit. It seems that cheaters are always missing something at home," added Bruce. "How fucked up does your home life have to be that a pre-pubescent teen fills the bill?"

"How fucked up do you have to be to let an eighth grader fill the bill?" I asked.

* * * * *

"Did you ever wanna bang any of our teachers?"

Sal's question brought me out of the daydream-like state I had just been in. I'd been thinking about morning sex with Katie as I watched the output numbers on the pneumatic press I was operating. I fondly recalled her last words to me when I got out of bed, "I hope you have plenty more of that for me tonight."

Since Sal and Bruce co-operated the machining center it was commonplace for one or the other to be bullshitting while the rest of us worked. Usually, I was the one they talked shit with because I was the closest station to their machine.

Sal and I had grown up together in Pasadena, Texas and had been friends since kindergarten. After high school, we'd kind of lost touch. I had taken a job in Austin and he went to work on the docks in Galveston. Years later I got married and moved back to Houston. A year later I got this job.

I'd been there for just over a year when my old friend Sal walked through the door. It was like we'd never been apart. We weren't best friends in school, but Sal was still my closest friend years later.

I didn't need any time to ponder Sal's question. "Are you fucking serious? Our teachers were all dried up old bags. I wouldn't have fucked any of them with your dick, let alone mine."

Sal chuckled. "True, but I did always wonder what Mrs. Hawthorne would be like in the sack."

"Mrs. Hawthorne?" I asked. Sal nodded.

"Our buddy Tim's grandma?" I asked, giving Sal a disgusted look.

"Hey, what can I say? She had them big ol' jugs that looked oh so inviting." Sal countered unabashed.

"You are one sick motherfucker," I told my grinning buddy. "I can't even think of any of our friends' mothers I wanted to do. Let alone their grandparents."

"It sounds bad when you say it that way."

"It is bad. These little fucks today have it nice: young, smokin' hot teachers and internet porn. We had crabby, wrinkled old farts, wrapped in crappy skirts that smelled like cat piss for teachers and if we wanted to see tits we risked an ass whuppin from our folks."

"I still remember that time with Tim when we got whipped for snagging his dad's Penthouse mags."

"No shit. I got it again when I got home too from mom and dad. Now these punks log on and it's all tits and ass, suck and fuck fest. Of course after what you just said, I'm surprised you weren't peeling the chili over one of Tim's family photo albums."

"You sound just like Bruce," said Sal with a laugh as he ducked to avoid anything that I might have in reach to throw at him.

"Thanks a lot, fag. Don't you have shit to not do?"

"Nah. Bruce is currently not doing it. But seriously, how is it that all of our teachers were cranky old cat women and these kids have hot teachers?"

"I don't know. I'm married to a hot teacher and I don't know. I do enjoy parent-teacher conferences, though."

"Shit. I get fucked there too cause Elaine goes to all of those."

"See? She knows."

"I'll tell you what, though. I've dropped Tony off a few times and had to wonder about the girls he goes to school with."

"No shit. I know the girls we went to school with didn't look that well developed. Makes you wonder why these kids ain't tappin' each other instead of the teachers."

"I could understand a guy teacher wanting to bang these little girls. I don't condone it, but I get it," Sal said. "What I don't get, is why these hot little teachers wanna fuck with these gawky, dorky fucking boys."

"Yeah. There can't be a shortage of legal guys willing to pour the cock to them. I don't get it either. Maybe the high pitched changing voices are a secret ancient aphrodisiac."

"Hey Sal," Bruce yelled from the machine center's platform. "Are you gonna BS all day or can I go take a shit?"

"Must be two o'clock," we both said in unison. Every day at two, Bruce would take what we called a "company shit." He'd go to the toilet at two, and not reappear until almost two thirty. Then he'd bullshit with someone until break time at two forty-five.

Sal headed up onto the platform and I continued my work. It was two thirty when Bruce stopped at my station. "Jace, you know what the problem is, don't you?"

Of course, I knew what the problem was. Assholes were the problem. Assholes were always the problem according to Bruce. Whether it was the assholes in Washington, the assholes who ran our company, or the assholes who couldn't stock a shelf properly at HEB; the problem was always assholes. The only mystery for me was; "what are the assholes responsible for now?"

I would also eventually find out that the assholes were lazy, insane, incompetent or "just plain fuckin criminal." Maybe they'd be a combination of those.

"The cheap bastards in purchasing that buy the sandpaper ass wipe in the shitters?"

"Hell, Pammy says if they buy any cheaper crap, she'll start smuggling in her own. No, I am talking about the lazy criminal assholes that run our schools."

Wow. Lazy and criminal. Bruce was truly upset over the school boards. "The school boards or the administration?" I asked slyly, wondering if he'd get the slight jab at his generalization. He didn't.

"Fuck 'em both. You know all of these kids wouldn't be getting molested of they tried just a tad to weed the kiddie fuckers out during the hiring process. Hell, I bet even I could go teach school."

"Shit Bruce. You'd tell the first little bastard that gave you lip to fuck off and your career would die in flames."

"Telling some little puke to fuck off is much better than fucking the little fucker," Bruce said. "I tell you what. When I was in school I can remember a rumor that Mr. McCormick had fucked Nanette Simpson. No one ever proved he did, but it was funny how he kept showing up at school with fresh injuries until he fled town."

"Well, times have changed. Shit, I can remember the teacher could call a guy's parents to school and they'd give him an ass whuppin right in the hall. Now a days, the pigs would be there before the dad's belt cleared the loops. Hell, I can't count how many times my ol' man came to school and beat my ass. Then, I got it again when I got home."

"Yup. Now a days folk can't even whip their kids at home. No wonder this generation is shit."

About that time calls of "lazy" and "slackers" started coming from the machine center prompting Bruce to go shut Sal up. I returned to my task wishing the day would hurry up and be over.

* * * * *

After work, I walked out to my truck and turned on my cell phone. I had one text from my daughter, Becky. It simply said: "@Sarah's." I knew where I was picking her up now.

Every morning she leaves our house in Deer Park with me. I take her to my sister Jeanie's house half an hour away in Sugarland, and then I travel another forty minutes to be at my job in Jersey Village by five. My wife works in Spring so our daughter goes to Sugarland schools.

Every day after school she either goes home with her friend Sarah, or to my sister Jeanie. I pick her up and take her home from there. It's a lot of driving, but Katie and I didn't want Becky in the same district that she taught in, and I didn't have anyone to take her to school in the district my job was in.

An hour after I left work I arrived at Sarah's house and texted Becky that I was there. I glanced next door and saw several bicycles in the neighbors' driveway. "Looks like Mary Jane is having a gang bang," I thought to myself recalling the conversation from lunch. I started laughing.

Mary Jane McColluch was an elementary school teacher who had twin boys in sixth grade. By the collection of bikes, the boys were quite popular.

I was still laughing when Sarah, Becky, and Sarah's mother Nancy came out of the house. I rolled down the window to talk to her.

"You seem to be in a good mood," she said.

"Oh, I was just thinking about a conversation at work today. How are you, Nan?"

"I'm good Jace. Lloyd should be home next weekend if y'all wanna come over for a barbeque."

Nancy's husband Lloyd was a truck driver and spent three weeks a month on the road. Lloyd had played football for our high school's rival. Nancy and I had dated off and on during school. It was during one of our off periods that I met Katie.

I met her at a barbeque thrown by my sister's best friend. She had originally invited me so that she could set me up with one of her co-workers. Her friend said hi to me and then I never saw her again the rest of the night.

I mingled but I felt out of place. Almost all of the women there were with guys already. Lana, the girl who had invited me, apologized over and over for her co-worker's behavior. After the third such apology, I jokingly told her she could make up for it by introducing me to someone else.

"Who?" she asked.

I randomly pointed at a group and said "Her." My finger was pointed directly at a strawberry blonde knockout who was hanging on the arm of some low IQ muscle head. I wondered if she dated guys who didn't end every sentence with "Bro."

Much to my surprise, she walked over and pulled the girl away from the group and led her over to me. "Jace Bradshaw, I'd like you to meet Kathryn Landers."

To her credit she didn't just say hi and then split. Actually she talked to me long enough that I started to get worried that her muscle bound friend might get jealous and start something. I tried to keep an eye in his direction without her knowing, but she sensed something.

"Am I boring you Jace?' she asked.

"Oh God no! No, not at all."

"You seem to be distracted," she said. Not for the first time I truly noticed how pretty she was. Any guy would be nuts to let this girl out of his sight.

"It's just that I am worried that your guy will get the wrong idea about you spending so much time talking to me. Getting into a fight with Lou Ferrigno has never been high on my 'to do' list."