Page 8 of Life Lessons

Mr Caine’s breath hitches when he catches me and his eyes blaze with a mixed look of confusion, anger, and heat. He is obviously focusing on the bit before where I called him out on his actions, choosing to ignore the fact his student is openly discussing where his dick has been.

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that because I am too hung over to deal with your fucking bad attitude right now. But let’s agree that neither of us saw each other and we will not say another word about this. This is not a negotiation, Little Bird. For once, you will do as I say. Understood?” The alcohol has made his throat a bit deeper, giving it a raspy quality that compliments his usual growl. I have never thought a voice sounded hot before, but fuck, his does.

The way he orders me about, it should piss me off, but for some reason it doesn’t. Instead, my body feels prickly, like it is wanting to do as he says, but with a little bit of the signature rebellion he knows me for. So with a cocky smile on my face I take a step towards him, closing the gap even further. I ignore the way his eyes quickly flash over my body again before returning back to staring straight at me, I also ignore the electricity that seems to buzz around us. Taking a very low and dramatic curtsy, I look him in the eye and wink. “As you wish, Sir,” I say, and before I can wait for his answer, I turn and run. I try my hardest not to look back, but for the longest time I felt sure I could feel his eyes on my back.

I ranfor far too long this morning, but I needed to clear my head after the strange encounter with Mr Caine. I knew logically that he wasn’t checking me out, but it definitely felt like it. What worried me the most was that I felt jealous of the lipstick that he was covered in. Well…technically that wasn’t what worried me the most. I couldn’t ignore the fact I had openly talked about his cock to him. What the hell was I thinking? Fuck, I was thinking about being the one to have smeared his cock with lipstick and that idea should disgust me. Not only is he my teacher, but he is also a first class twatwaffle.

I start running myself a bath, in the small but well maintained bathroom that is attached to my room. At home I was used to a large jacuzzi bath that when I submerged myself it felt amazing, but this bath is big enough to soak in and that will do. I fill it with my usual vanilla, milk, and honey bath lotion, and the bath salts that my physiotherapist recommended to help my leg recover after a long work out. I know I should have done it this morning, as soon as I got home, but I felt too wired to relax. So, I got all the school work for the week out of the way, made myself some lunch, and then I finally felt calm enough to relax and soak in a bath. Just as I’m peeling myself out of the sweaty clothes I have been sitting in for far too long, I hear my phone vibrate on my desk.

Trixie: I need all the detention deets, text me when you’re done and I will come over. I want to see what your room is like in the staff block. Don’t even think of saying no!

I can’t help but smile. Trixie has that effect on people, and particularly on me. I don’t know what she sees in me, but despite having a face that tells her to leave me alone, she chooses to ignore it. I think I am a little grateful for that. Then her words finally register with me and I realise that I should be in detention with Mr Caine today, and even though he told me not to show, Mr Thornton would not accept that. In fact, I had my attendance sheet that I needed to get signed as proof. I need to hand it in before school starts tomorrow or risk suspension. I don’t know if me getting suspended is his overall plan, but that’s not going to happen. I need to face him, but first I need to bathe.

Lounging in the bath, I try to relax, but in the back of my mind all I can think about is that I have to go and find Mr Caine and get him to sign my sheet. I know he lives on the floor below me, but the idea of approaching him in his apartment just feels too personal. I can’t risk suspension, so I have to put on my big girl panties and man up.

The more I think about going to see him, the more my imagination runs free. I can’t help but imagine how he got lipstick all over his shirt. The missing buttons most likely coming from his shirt being ripped open in the throws of passion as she kisses down what I’m sure are perfect abs. I start to imagine what his cock might look like, and if he uses that commanding tone during sex. Normally, I like to take control, to take what I want from the man, but in this case I want to hear him take charge. I want him to tell me what to do, and for him to punish me when I don’t do as I’m told. I have never told any guy this but I love to be spanked and the idea of him spanking me, or getting rough with me is sending tingles of heat straight to my core.

My eyes drift closed and my hand slides through the bubbles, down my body and heads straight to my aching folds. Despite being submerged in water, I know that I am a whole different kind of soaking wet. My finger runs the length of my lips, lightly opening them as it goes. As it reaches the bundle of nerves at the top, even the slightest touch has my breath hitching and a small whimper leaving my lips.

It has been too long since I allowed myself to really feel like this and the result is that I‘m super sensitive. I let my body take over, lost in the feelings I have denied for far too long, for fear I didn’t deserve to feel them. But right now I can’t deny that my pussy is soaking wet and throbbing for more, and it is all because of the way Mr Caine looked at me.

I spend a short amount of time leisurely circling my clit, allowing myself to feel and gasp at the sensations. I can feel the pressure building, and with my other hand I tweak my nipple hard, desperate to feel more. My moans grow louder and I know I need more. So, I run my finger down to my waiting entrance. I gently circle the entrance, ensuring it’s ready for me before gently pushing my finger into my pussy. The tightness of my folds envelope me and I whimper. I push it all the way in before gently bringing it out and this time as I enter, a second finger joins. At first I just enjoy the slow feeling of my fingers stretching out my tight hole, and the resulting groans it produces. But, I’m dreaming it’s someone else’s fingers instead of my own and I quietly beg for more.

The words fill the empty room, but my imagination is somewhere else. Somewhere where my moans can be heard and my pleas for more can be answered, but only if I’m well behaved. I imagine his smirking face as I beg for more. I imagine all the dirty things he would say to me, and how he wouldn’t let me cum until he gave me permission. The thought of him controlling my orgasm has my fingers moving inside me much quicker than they were before, and they curve at the end to hit that sweet spot no man has ever found. Now I’m whimpering and begging, I want to come, I need to, but I want him to say that I can. I’m desperate to be good, just for him, and the faster my fingers work the more I shout and beg for him to let me come. When he finally says yes, I come with such force I feel myself shaking for minutes after. It’s the most powerful orgasm I have ever given myself and I pant, desperately trying to calm my racing heart.

As I pull my fingers out, not only do I feel empty, I start to feel embarrassed. I have just experienced the most amazing, powerful orgasm in my life, and I was imagining it was all for him. I wanted to be owned by him, by my teacher, and that scares the shit out of me. I know it is only my imagination running free, but that has to come from somewhere. There’s no smoke without fire, as they say. And now to top it off I have to go and find him, look him in the eye without imagining him saying all those dirty things he just said in my head, and pretend that he is just my teacher. Which he is. He is just my teacher and can never be anything more.

The sudden pound of music makes me jolt upright and clasp the sides of my head from the assault the action caused me. Every time I tell myself this is the last time, that I’m getting too old for this shit, but then I’m pouring vodka into my cereal and forgetting why I wanted to stop in the first place.

Weirdly enough, even drinking as much as I do, I’m not an addict. Sometimes the mood takes me and I don’t touch a drop for days, weeks even. Other times I’m forced to remain sober for the dreaded parent consultations, which obviously can’t last one evening. No, these rich parents want to see where they are throwing their money, and expect to be treated like royalty for it. World renowned caterers are called in, the special suites in the main hall which aren’t used any other time of the year are made up and extra staff are hired to be at their beck and call.

I hate the parents more than their self-entitled offspring, to be honest, even if their future clones aren’t far off. Anyone who looks down their nose at me and expects a thank you for the paychecks I receive can take a short walk off the nearest cliff.

Rolling out of bed onto the floor, I army crawl towards the extendable mop I bought for the sole purpose of hitting Terrance’s floor with it until a noise makes me pause. Laughter. Reality dawns on me and I toss the mop aside, pushing myself onto wobbly feet. Making it into the bathroom by using the walls for assistance, I look over myself and grimace. Man, I look like utter shit.

My eyes are haunted and my fresh new haircut is non-existent in the sweaty mess sticking out in all directions. There’s lipstick all over the shirt I passed out in, and when I rip it off, there’s even more underneath. A phone number has been written in the same shade of purple, starting on my pec and travelling down my arm. I can barely remember who I spent the night with, but I do know the entire time I was plagued by the image of Nightingale smirking at me, goading me. The more I saw her, the harder I tried to fuck her out of my system. Regardless, whoever I was with last night obviously didn’t live up to expectation, since I’m still rock hard in my boxers.

Opening the drawer beneath the sink, I grab a couple of tablets without paying attention to what they are and down them dry. Then I strip out of my boxers, and the random sock I’m still wearing, to jump in the shower. The lipstick is a bitch to get off and my hard on won’t budge, so I leave the cubicle twice as pissed as I went in. The music overhead is quieter now but I know they are still up there.

Throwing on a casual tracksuit, I’m out the door and up the stairs in no time, banging on the door with a chrome number ‘3’ on the outside. The largest damn apartment in this block since it hangs over the garage. Thornton would have stayed here if he hadn’t converted his office across campus into a medieval living quarters, complete with a suit of armor that acts as a cup holder.

I almost forget myself as the door finally opens and my arm resting on it causes me to fall a step forward. I catch my footing at the last second, a sea of crystal blue gazing up at me in shock. We’re close enough that she has to tilt her head, her slightly parted lips making my dick jump. Fuck’s sake. Instead of moving myself, I push her back a step so I’m filling the doorway.

“What the fuck is going on in here?!” I roar, my head splintering at the sound of my own voice. Trixie Musgrove steps into view in the background, looking more entertained than intimidated. “This isn’t a fucking sorority house!”

“No, Sir, it’s not.” Musgrove flutters her eyelashes at me. “It’s just a shared accommodation. You’re not in Kansas anymore Dorothy.” I narrow my eyes to slits. I’m not even from Kansas but her mocking enrages me to another level of murderously pissed.

“Out, now!” I point a finger at Musgrove. She does a little curtsey in her neon pink skater dress paired with black converse, her twisted smile irritating me as she strides away. I growl after her and slam my palms against the doorframe before turning to leave.

“Oh, Sir, before you go, I just need—“ I swing back and Nightingale crashes into me, her arms landing on my biceps. Honey and vanilla invades my senses, her silky black and blue hair tickling my forearm. I try to hold my breath, refusing to inhale anymore of her into me when she already seems to be under my skin, but it’s no use. Man’s gotta breathe. A blush bursts to life across her face and chest, not that I’m looking at her chest in the low V-neck t-shirt she’s wearing. She suddenly jerks back from me, producing a folding piece of paper from her back jeans pocket. “I need you to sign this form, to say that you relieved me from our detention today.”

I look at it with equal distaste and amusement, knowing I’ll be punishing us both if I don’t sign it. But I am a glutton for punishment. “Well...not waking me up with your shitty pop music and the hyena cackle from your friend back there would have been a good start. It’s Sunday morning for fuck’s sake.”

“It’s four in the afternoon,” Nightingale states in a level tone, her eyebrow slowly raising at me. I grit my teeth, trying to remember all the reasons I shouldn’t clasp my hands around her neck and squeeze. Strangely, I come up empty and my dick jolts again in my tracksuit pants but luckily she doesn’t seem to notice.

“Don’t judge me, Little Bird. We can’t all soar by on daddy’s wings and have mummy bring diamond-embellished worms back to the nest. Some of us live in the real world where we have to do whatever it takes to survive or find the closest bridge to jump off.” Anger flashes through her blue eyes and she steps forward to close the distance between us.

“Clearly you’ve made the wrong choice.” My mouth drops open, a rare state of shock falling over me. Nightingale tries to shake her head and take back her words, but I won’t let her. If she has the balls to talk to me in such a way, she might as well maintain it. Slowly, I move forward, my chest forcing her back until she bumps into the hallway wall. I shouldn’t be so close to a student, but when it’s just me and her smart mouth outside of the classroom, it’s hard to remember where the lines are drawn. With an arm on either side of her, I lower my head and voice to speak in a deadly tone.

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