Lesson Time – EDIT
Introduction:
Teaching EFL has its perks
What follows happened – about three hours ago. I have changed the lady’s name, but should anyone who knows either of us read this, the game – as they say – is probably up.I teach EFL at a number of companies here (‘here’ will be obvious if you’ve read “Oh, Canada!”) – have been doing so for thirteen years – and have had several hundred students in that time. Until today I have never had anything more than fantasies about a few of them………
At the turn of the year I started a one-to-one course with Sara, a thirty-something lady with reasonable English skills who just wanted brush-up English. Turns out I have spent more time consoling her – in a very professional, hands-off manner – over work and domestic problems than I have teaching her English. The hands-off behaviour is because a) she is married and b) I need the work. She has a nice without being knock-out body and is reasonably attractive without being beautiful, but there’s always been “something” about her, and more than once she has been the object of my fantasies after our lessons. She has on several occasions said how nice I am, how well I treat her, and how she loves my “proper” English accent, but I have done nothing whatsoever to encourage her.
This morning she passed the meeting room I use as my classroom while I was in between lessons, poked her head in and said “hi”. I knew it was a mistake, but I asked how things were, and she took that as an invitation to come in and regale me with a(nother) tale of woe – she was due to get a written warning this afternoon at 2. She’s a bit of a troublemaker at work – can’t keep her nose out of other people’s issues – so it wasn’t really a surprise that it was coming to this, but she did look upset so I made sympathetic, “how awful”, “I’m sorry”, noises and said I would be thinking of her. My next student came in at that point and Sara left.
2:30 rolled round, the last group departed, and two minutes later, as I was shutting down the PC and dismantling the projector, I realised someone was in the room. I looked up, and sure enough, Sara was standing in the doorway. She looked so utterly miserable I couldn’t help myself. I stood up and she came over to me, tears streaming down her face, and I could do no more than put my arms around her. It was purely in sympathy and commiseration. She sobbed in my arms and I just held her. ‘
SHE started it. I don’t say that to mitigate my actions (or lack of) it’s just a statement of fact. She started to move against me, and her hands put pressure on my back, pulling me closer. She then started running her hands up and down my back, still moving against me, and my body started to react ? a fact she could not have been oblivious to. After what seemed an eternity but was no more than twenty or thirty seconds, I pulled back – not without difficulty – and hunted without success for something to say. I needn’t have bothered. A woman who has been genuinely crying for any time is not at all sexually attractive ? at least not to me ? but the look of abject misery that was there before had been replaced by one of steely resolve. Before I could say anything, she did: “Stay here”, was all she said before turning and marching out of the room.
So like an idiot I did exactly what she said. I stood where I was, by the conference table, and waited.
A few minutes later she walked back in, and it was obvious she been to the ladies because although slightly red-eyed, she looked much (much) better. And it did not escape my notice that one more of the buttons on her shirt was undone.
She flicked the snib on the door lock so it couldn’t be opened from the outside, shut it, and walked over to me. She pushed me back so I was half sitting on the edge of the table, push between my legs, pulled my head to hers and started to kiss me. I didn’t object, I didn’t push her away, and for all of a second and a half I didn’t kiss her back. And then my mouth opened and her tongue was inside, seeking mine, twisting around it. One of her hands was on the back of my head and the other was on my back. Mine went to her hips but she removed her hand from my back, took one of mine and placed it four-square on her breast. As I started to squeeze it and roll the nipple between thumb and forefinger her hand went not to my back but to the bulge in my jeans. She moaned into my mouth as she felt my cock, getting harder by the second, and she rubbed it roughly through the denim.
Done with the passivity now I pulled at the buttons at the top of her shirt until I could out my hand inside and squeeze her tit through her bra. She was kissing me so hard I thought she was going to cut my lips, but before I could protest she pulled away and with both hands damn near ripped my belt open. The look of lust on her face was almost enough to make me snarl at her, and she never took her eyes off mine as she unzipped me and pushed my jeans and shorts halfway down my thighs. She grabbed my now rock-hard cock in her right hand and cupped my balls in her left, and she smiled what looked like nothing less than wide- and wild-eyed triumph as she started to wank me.
She did this, without any finesse whatsoever, for about thirty seconds and then pulled my cock hard toward her, making me stand up and put my hands on the edge of the table for support. She dropped to her knees in front of me and looked me over, licking her lips as she did so. She continued stroking my cock, less vigorously than before, but still exquisitely, as she leaned in and nuzzled my balls and the base of my cock before sucking one ball then the other into her mouth. She rolled them round her mouth and let them slip out, raising herself slightly to run her tongue the length of my shaft, to the tip. Which was leaking pre-cum profusely. She put her lips over the head of my cock, tongued the hole, and sucked the clear fluid from me. Her hand returned to its work and she just started sucking me off, her head bobbing up and down on the purple knob of my cock.
I haven’t had this done to me in over a year (yeah, go figure) and within seconds I knew I wasn’t going to last. I put my one of my hands to the side of her head and said, “Sara, I can’t fucking last” – expecting her to stop at once. Which is the exact opposite of what she did. She started to bob faster, rub harder, and moan, loudly, onto my cock. I warned her again and she just redoubled her efforts. Taking this as an invitation I stopped trying to hold back and for ten seconds had the most amazing feeling before I said, “Sara, I’m going to fucking cum”. She stopped bobbing, held me in her mouth and wanked me as hard and fast as she could, and when she looked up at me that was it. For one horrible, wonderful second I thought I was going to be stuck on the edge and then I just exploded into her mouth. She didn’t move, didn’t flinch, didn’t close her eyes. She just milked me into her mouth and swallowed everything while I just kept repeating “oh fuck, oh fuck”, over and over. She slowed her hand movements as my orgasm subsided but she literally milked every last drop she could and sucked me clean before she stopped and let me go, planting a kiss on the tip for good measure.
She fell back onto her ass and held her hands up. I pulled her to her feet and we were both smiling like idiots. “Wow”, was the most eloquent thing I could come up with in between kisses. She said, “I wanted to do that for four months. I go out of our lessons dripping wet every week”.
I am, if nothing else, the consummate gentleman, so I said, “What about you?”
She shook her head, made a face and said “It’s ‘that’ time. But we have a lesson next Friday, don’t we?”…
