The blinds are drawn; jasmine-scented candles burn on the nightstand, casting a soft glow over the bed. Within easy reach, I have a glass of crisp, chilled Chablis, a bottle of raspberry-flavoured lube and my favourite anthology of bondage-themed short stories, dog-eared from repeated reading, should I need a little extra help in getting turned on – though I can’t see that being necessary tonight. Squeezed onto a more than usually packed commuter train on the way home, I found myself squashed up against a broad expanse of chest belonging to a red-haired student type, sweetly geeky behind black-framed glasses. The enforced body contact – and the rather large bulge in his khaki shorts, the one he was so desperate to pretend didn’t really exist – kept me on a rolling boil all the way home, and now I finally have the opportunity to do something about it.
Closing my eyes, I slip into fantasy land. I’m back on that crowded train, pressed tight against Geek Boy, and I snake a hand down into the tiny gap between our bodies, to loose his cock, long and thickly veined, from the fly of his shorts. The breath catches in his throat as I start to stroke him. Alarm that someone might notice what we’re doing gives way to rising desire, and he jerks his hips as much as the confined space allows, pushing his shaft deeper into the grip of my steadily wanking fingers.
I roll a finger over my clit and feel the tight little bead respond to my touch, sending quivers of sensation through my belly. It’s good, and I could play with myself like this for a while, lost in a delightfully rude daydream and making the slow ascent to my peak. But already I’m desperate for more, aware of an emptiness in my pussy that needs to be filled. My faithful vibrator lies on the bedcover, loaded with fresh batteries and ready to go. Grabbing it, I twist the base and set it humming into life, spreading my legs wide so I can slide those eight fat inches of purple plastic between my juicy lips.
Which is the exact moment the phone rings. If I ignore it, whoever’s calling will go away, I tell myself, trying not to lose the erotic mood I’ve worked so hard to create. But they’re persistent, and I’m forced to concede defeat. Tossing the buzzing vibrator aside, I pick up the phone and flip the cover open.
‘Hello?’
‘Marissa. How are you, darling?’
‘Mitchell. I’m fine. What can I do for you?’ Of all the people I wanted to interrupt me at a time like this, my ex-husband would be way down at the bottom of the list. Oh, as divorced couples go, our relationship is on the cordial side – we’ve always tried to adhere to the maxim that you should love your child more than you hate your ex – but even so, he’s caught me mid-wank, and I can’t help feeling resentful, particularly as he’s the one with a new wife and a baby on the way, and I’m the one lying alone on my bed, fantasising over some random guy I rubbed up against in the rush hour.
‘I hate to ask, but I need you to do me an enormous favour. It’s parents’ evening at Lily’s school tonight.’
Trying to turn the vibrator off discreetly, so he won’t hear the telltale noise in the background and realise what I’ve been up to, I do my best to keep the irritation out of my tone. ‘Yes, of course, I hadn’t forgotten. But why are you reminding me? You know the arrangement. You attend parents’ evenings; I go to the end-of-term play. You take part in the dad’s race at sports day; I provide cakes for the bake sale. Or do you want to change the terms of our agreement?’
‘Not at all,’ he assures me, ‘but we’ve had a major power outage in the office, and all the servers have gone down. There’s no way I’m going to be able to get away from here until we’ve fixed the problem. To be honest, it could take hours. So, just this once, could you go down to the school for me, please? I’ll make it up to you, I promise.’
I want to say no, and go back to my wine and my book of naughty bondage stories, but I have to be more mature than that. After all, how long can it take the teacher to tell me that, yet again, Lily’s up at the top of her class and absolutely no trouble at all? But I’ll have to get a move on. Already it’s gone seven, and the parents’ evening finishes at eight. ‘OK,’ I tell him. ‘I’m on my way. But you owe me a box of those champagne truffles I like. You know, the ones they sell at the chocolatier on the high street.’
‘Sure thing. Thanks, Marissa.’
With that, he’s gone. Taking a hefty gulp of my wine to fortify myself for what’s to come, I slip into my skirt, struggling to zip it up as I hunt round for the shoes I kicked off on the way into the bedroom. My panties are nowhere to be seen, and I’m running so late I don’t have time to fetch another pair from my underwear drawer. Looks like I’ll be turning up to parents’ evening bare beneath my respectable work suit, but what does that matter? After all, who else but me will ever know?
* * *
It’s a brisk twenty-minute walk to St Susan’s Junior and Infant School, a journey I used to make twice a day when we still all lived together as a family. When I arrive, cars are parked on the playground, but already the flow of traffic is away from the school, rather than towards it. Walking through the main door, I’m immediately hit by a smell that makes me nostalgic for my own schooldays, a mixture of chalk and floor polish, with a faint undertone of damp PE kit.
Lily’s form room is at the far end of the school, through the main hall, with its proud displays of pupils’ artwork, from the splodgy handprints of the reception class to the papier-mâché stegosaurus produced by the top year juniors. I pause for a moment outside the headteacher’s room, outside which stands a trophy cabinet containing all the prizes handed out on school sports day, and a small fish tank filled with darting cichlids and neon tetras. Checking my reflection in the glass door of the trophy cabinet, I run a hand through my windblown curls. Then I pass on, to Room 10, where Lily’s teacher waits.
At first, I think I’ve made a mistake. Sitting behind the desk is not Mrs Shenton, the grey-haired, mumsy woman who’s been teaching Lily for the past year. Instead, I’m greeted by the sight of a man who can’t be any older than twenty-five, with dark fashionably tufty hair, a stubbly growth of beard and biceps that bulge beneath the sleeves of his black T-shirt. My pussy, deprived of a much-needed orgasm by Mitchell’s unexpected phone call, twitches back to life at the sight of him.
‘Excuse me, this is the Year Six classroom?’ I hover close to the door, ready to back out if I’m in the wrong place. ‘Only I was looking for Mrs Shenton?’
‘Yes, that’s right, but she’s off with glandular fever at the moment.’ He beckons me to step forwards and take a seat on the other side of his desk. ‘I’m Jake Greening, the supply teacher who’s looking after her class till she gets back. You did get the note explaining the arrangements, right?’
I shake my head, flustered by being in the presence of this unexpectedly hot man. Vaguely, I recall Lily mentioning something about another teacher, but all the official paperwork goes to Mitchell, and he’d neglected to fill me in on the details. Still, there’s a vague kind of symmetry to the situation: me, the stand-in parent, dealing with him, the stand-in teacher. ‘I’m sorry. That would have been sent to my ex-husband. And he’s the one who should have been here tonight, but there’s been an emergency.’
‘Oh, you don’t have to explain to me, Mrs–’ He runs a finger down his list of names and finds the one pupil whose parents haven’t made an appearance yet tonight. ‘Mrs Durham.’
‘Call me Marissa, please. Mrs Durham is married to my ex.’ I grin. ‘I’m sorry. I’m probably making this more complicated than it needs to be.’
‘No, that’s fine. I might not have been in the profession long, but I’ve learnt plenty about the mysteries of extended families. Anyway, it’s nice to meet you, Marissa.’
Jake holds out a hand for me to shake. When I do, his nose wrinkles and he looks at me oddly. He can’t detect wine on my breath, surely? I made sure to crunch a couple of peppermints on the way over; an old trick, but one that usually works. Then the truth dawns. In my hurry to leave, I neglected to wash my hands. The scent of my pussy must still be on my fingers.
Blushing, wondering what kind of slut he must think I am, I mutter, ‘So how is Lily doing this term?’
‘Oh, what can I say about Lily?’ It’s the same line Mitchell and I have heard from her teachers almost since the moment Lily toddled into nursery school. As he talks me through her progress in the various subjects, praising her for her consistently high marks and excellent attendance record, I can’t prevent myself from tuning out. My mind returns to my earlier fantasy of wanking off a guy while we’re pressed close together on a train, surrounded by a mass of oblivious commuters. Only now, the man whose cock is hot and pulsing gently in my grasp is no longer that sexy red-haired geek. It’s Jake.
My thighs rub together, sticky-wet, as I shift in my seat, consumed with thoughts of bringing this gorgeous supply teacher to the stage where he’s gasping against my shoulder, only a few sly strokes from shooting his come over my fist.
‘… when she moves up to senior school next year. So, do you have any questions?’
With a start, I realise Jake is looking at me, having finished his spiel and clearly expecting a response. Does he know I haven’t paid attention to a thing he’s said, too busy admiring the full pout of his mouth to actually follow the words it’s been shaping?
‘No, I think that’s everything. Thanks so much.’ I rise from the low chair, all too aware of my pantiless state and the juices pooling in my sex. If anything, I need to come more urgently than I have at any point since I started my journey home tonight. What, I wonder, would be the etiquette on finding the nearest toilet cubicle, locking myself inside and bringing myself off on school property?
Fortunately, Jake spares me that dilemma. He shuffles all his papers into a manila folder, fixing me with his soft brown gaze. ‘I don’t want to sound like I’m coming on to you or anything, but I’m finished for the evening now, and I haven’t made any plans for later. So – would you like to have a drink with me?’
Despite his protestations, to my ears it sounds exactly as though he’s coming on to me in his understated, polite fashion, and I welcome the approach, pleased to learn my strong attraction to him isn’t one-sided. It’s exactly how the evening should progress: a couple of drinks, some idle conversation, a game of footsie beneath the table. Call it a token attempt to get to know each other just a little better before we head for the bedroom. But that all takes time. Time I don’t have right now. He can’t possibly be aware of it, but at this moment I don’t care that Jake is a virtual stranger, a good ten years my junior and charged with the responsibility of educating my daughter. All I can think of is how badly I need to be fucked by him.
‘A drink would be nice, Jake, but there’s something I’d like even better first,’ I purr. I know I sound like the worst type of cougar, hunting down her young prey without mercy, but I can’t help myself. ‘Is there anywhere we can go where we can have a little privacy?’
The cutest of flushes rises to his cheeks at my blatant propositioning of him. Seems he has just a touch of the shy geek lurking below the surface, revealed in his suddenly awkward manner. An undeniable weakness on my part, it’s what first attracted me to Mitchell. Yes, I have a type, and Jake fits it to a T.
But despite my overpowering eagerness, he doesn’t tell me to slow down or back off. Instead, he thinks for a moment, then says, ‘I know just the place.’
Taking my hand, he leads me to the little stock cupboard, its door tucked away in the corner of the classroom. When he opens it, I find myself confronted with an Aladdin’s cave of teaching aids and toys: wire baskets full of soft balls and plastic bats; squeezy bottles of poster paints in every shade of the rainbow; boxes of pencils and chalk and hard rubber erasers. An empty hamster cage and a half-full bag of straw bedding take up most of the free space on the floor. With everything that’s crammed inside, there’s only just enough room for two bodies to squeeze in close together. So different to my fantasy of sex on a busy train, but still with the same sense of confinement and limited movement that made it so exciting.
‘You’re OK with this?’ I ask him, not sure why I need to receive his spoken consent. He’s certainly giving every physical indication of wanting this, if his dark, dilated pupils and the hard-on tenting out the fly of his jeans are any reliable indication.
He nods. Pressed tight up against him, I can smell the spicy cologne he favours, mingled with a hint of his own more intimate aroma. ‘I’ve wanted you since the moment you walked into the classroom, Marissa. I just didn’t think things would move quite so fast. But I don’t have a problem with that, if you don’t.’
I don’t, and I prove it by rising on tiptoe to kiss him. Even in my heels, he’s a good head taller than me, and he bends his head so our mouths meet, softly at first, then with growing urgency. My tongue traces the full contours of his lips, his stubble prickling at my cheeks. Jake’s an assured kisser, giving the impression he’d be happy to explore my mouth for hours if I’d only let him, and my nipples peak stiffly against the cups of my bra.
Grinding myself onto his crotch, I hear his breathing quicken, and slip a hand down to cup the bulge that presses at his zip.
This is fun, but what really gave extra spice to my fantasy was the thought of having my lover unable to use his hands, letting me set the tempo as I played with him. There, it was easy to imagine him crushed into a tiny space in the carriage vestibule, pinned on both sides by strangers’ bodies, but if I want to replicate that here, I’ll have to find some other way.
Just in my eye line, at the side of Jake’s head, there’s a skipping rope, the soft length of white rope wrapped snugly round its two wooden handles for ease of storage. Snaking out a hand, I bring it down from the shelf. Eyes closed, lost in the feel of my lips nibbling at his, he doesn’t realise what I’m doing till I’ve unwound the rope. Catching hold of his wrists, I push them together behind him. Though he’s bigger and stronger than me, he doesn’t attempt to resist. His eyes gleam with a strange excitement as I secure him in place with the rope, looping it around his wrists and tying him to the shelf. I have no great skill with knots, and I’m sure he could free himself without much effort, but I don’t think he’s even going to try. It seems Jakey-boy gets a thrill from being restrained. Of course, if we’d gone about our seduction in a more usual way, instead of cutting to the chase with a haste that made speed dating look like a long and stately courtship, I’d have discovered this about him, given enough time. As it is, we’ve reached the point where I have him bound and at my mercy by delicious serendipity, and I’m determined to make the most of my new-found knowledge.
‘You like this, don’t you?’ I say, stroking his cock through his jeans once more. It’s trapped within the denim, desperate to be free, but I don’t pull his zip down just yet. I’m enjoying the way he bites his lip with frustration, pleading with his eyes for me to take him in hand.
‘Like what?’ he asks.
‘Being tied up. Being in a position where I can do exactly what I want to you, and you can’t do a thing about it.’
He doesn’t deny it. ‘So what are you going to do to me?’
Grinning, I tell him, ‘Whatever I want.’
With that, I finally take pity on him, unzipping him and bringing out his cock. It’s a nice size in my hand, as I wrap my fingers around it and begin to slide the velvet sleeve of skin back and forth over its plump head. He groans, and I realise I’m in danger of taking him too close, too soon.
Stepping away from him, I let my skirt fall to the floor. His eyes widen in surprise and delight at the sight of my pussy, unconstrained by underwear, slick and ready to be fucked.
There’s a box containing building blocks tucked under the bottom shelf. I pull it out and stand on it, bringing myself up to a point where my cunt is level with Jake’s proudly jutting cock.
Clearly impressed by my resourcefulness, Jake sighs with pleasure as I guide his cockhead up between my lips, engulfing as much of his length as I can. Clinging tight to his neck, I urge him to fuck me. Then a second voice seems to join in the clamour.
It isn’t my imagination. I can hear a voice calling Jake’s name.
‘Shit!’ he exclaims, his voice cracking with the effort. ‘It’s the head. She must have seen the lights still on and realised I haven’t left yet. If we keep quiet, I’m sure she’ll go away.’
I fight not to make a sound, though I’m overcome with the urge to giggle. Of all the times for someone to come looking for him!
The door handle rattles, inches from my bare backside. ‘Jake, are you in there?’
This is the moment everything goes horribly wrong, I just know it. Any second now, the head will burst through the stockroom door and find me half-naked, with Jake’s hands fastened to the shelf behind him and his cock buried to the hilt in my slippery cunt. He’ll probably get sacked on the spot, and as for me …
Yet, far from dampening our ardour, the imminent danger of discovery only serves to make me hornier. A small, shameful part of me actually wants her to catch us in the act.
Jake keeps his composure long enough to call out, ‘Yeah, Wendy, I’m here. I’d let you in, but I’m a bit tied up with something at the moment.’
That’s the moment when I almost lose it, and alert her with my screams of laughter to what’s really happening in here, but somehow I keep myself under control as she replies, ‘Well, see you tomorrow, bright and early.’
We hold our breath as the sound of her heels clacking against the parquet floor grows fainter. At last, there’s only silence. ‘That was close,’ Jake murmurs.
‘Don’t worry about it. Just shut up and fuck me,’ I order him.
He does, moving with all the freedom his bonds will allow. As soon as he starts to pump in and out of me, I know this will be quick, but I’ve been on the edge of climax for what seems like hours now, and it will take very little of this wonderful friction to tip me over. Speeding the process, I drop a finger down to the apex of my thighs, finding my clit and strumming it with precision.
Yelling out Jake’s name, I surrender to the orgasm that tears through my body with such force I’m in danger of toppling off the box I stand on. My cunt clutches tight around his shaft, milking the spunk from him, and he slumps against the shelf, spent and panting.
‘That was amazing,’ I tell him, reaching round to untie his wrists. We share soft, sloppy kisses, then reality hits us and we seem to become aware for the first time that we’ve just had sex in a tiny dark cupboard that smells of hamster bedding and Plasticine.
‘Maybe now’s a good time to go for that drink we were talking about,’ I suggest, dressed once more and ready to leave. ‘We could go to a pub if you want, but I’ve got a bottle of Chablis in the fridge, and I do hate drinking alone.’
Jake nods. ‘Sounds good to me. Why don’t you lead the way?’
The lights are on in the neighbouring classroom, a cleaner patiently mopping the floor. It’s definitely time to go. Tomorrow, I’ll ring Mitchell and let him know how the parents’ evening went. Tonight, all I want to do is take Jake home and teach him more about what it takes to please me.