Erotic Stories – My Sexy Reunion With Teacher!

August 17, 2016

Man on top of woman in bed

This was not what I was expecting when I said I wanted a nice night with him. Not was I was expecting at all. And now my former school teacher is on top of me, thrusting his throbbing shaft in and out of me while I’m looking at his gorgeous black hair while he smiles and moans at me.

12 Hours Earlier…

I was supposed to be the best writer in my English class, the best mathematician in my numeracy class, and the best scientist in my science class. So, why am I now a low-paid receptionist that works at a company that only wants me to file papers and make coffee?

I hate the desk that I have to work on, I hate the skirt that I have to wear, and I hate the pompous pricks that walk pass my table every day. The men in the office look like they want me to work naked, and the women want me to work somewhere else.

I don’t know why the people here think that way about me; it’s not like the guys here are going to get anything from me. Maybe the view of my calves, but that’s about it. They’re all ugly inside and out; their thick-framed glasses and dry lips make me want to gag every time they leer at me. My boss doesn’t really show any enthusiasm for the work ethic that I have here; my job is the only thing that’s making me thrive at the moment. If I lose it, then my sanity is going to shut down.

Why don’t I go out and try something enthralling or lively? Well, how could you when you’re living in a capital city on minimum wage? Sure, I’m surviving here, but that doesn’t mean that I’m living.

I moved here to get away from my narcissistic parents that put too much pressure on my shoulders.

‘Get As in everything, respect the wishes of your elders at all times, save your money for the future.’

What future do I have? I literally had to choose the lesser of two evils; go crazy under the rules and manipulation of my parents, or live on minimum wage alone in the capital. Well, it’s like what they say, you’re better off feeling alone when you are alone, than feeling alone when you’re surrounded by people that suppose to comfort you.

Fuck, I’m looking at my coffee and letting the heat dissipate as I speak.

I need to find somebody.

8 Hours Earlier…

It’s 4 PM and I’m waiting for the hand to move faster than its usual pace. Fucking Malcolm was looking at my breasts as if they were ornaments, and he was moaning at me for not getting calling back a client that was meant to come in at 3:30 PM. When I told him that I couldn’t get a hold of him, he snarled back and said ‘Try harder.’

You try harder, you fucking degenerate.

I mutter that phrase under my breath when he walked away; I hope that the amount of pork fat he eats will clog up his arteries and put him under cardiac arrest. Jeez, usually I’m never this aggressive, but not having an outlet for a long while can do a lot to a 24-year-old woman. I carry on with finishing off my papers as if nothing happened, trying to tick off every square on my computer so my boss can give me half a smile and tell me to have a good night.

The main entrance door opens and a man in a grey suit and tie walks through it. Oh great, do you know what this means? It means that I’m going to have to escort him to the office and keep him company until my line manager finishes with his 4:30 PM meeting, which won’t be for the next hour and a half. Looks like I will be working overtime tonight.

I avoid looking at the man by staring at my blank computer screen, making it look like I actually have some work to do. But then, a familiar voice echoed in my ears.

‘Excuse me, Miss. I’m Jonathan McCulloch and I was supposed to be here at 3:30 PM.’

I look up and stare at the man out of shock. It’s my old English teacher, Mr. McCulloch. I didn’t actually think that it would be a McCulloch that taught me the difference between ‘you’re’ and ‘your’ when I was younger; there are a lot of McCullochs in this city.


Oh shit, what do I say?

‘Yeah, it’s me, alright.’

He makes the biggest smile that I’ve seen in a long while, which lightens my heart up a bit.

But suddenly, my cheeks turn red because I wouldn’t have wanted my old teacher to see me working in some rundown reception in the middle of a capital city; I would have wanted him to see me happy.

‘So, you’re a receptionist now?’

‘Well, it keeps the roof over my head.’

Try not to break…try not to break…try not to break…

‘It’s understandable. It’s hard to find your ideal job in a big capital city.’

A chuckle escapes from my lips, but I try to keep my cool; I don’t want to come across as my 14-year-old self that was going through puberty, or like some woman that has already reached her mid-30s and hasn’t accomplished anything exciting in her life yet. Mr. McCulloch notices that I’m starting to get uncomfortable about the subject, so his eyes move around to think of something else to talk about.

‘Do you stay in contact with any of your old friends?’

‘Not particularly.’

‘What about Sadie? You two were pretty close.’

‘Too close, if you ask me. I’m surprised that we haven’t been misinterpreted as lovers back in those days.’

I’m not his student anymore, so it’s acceptable for me to say crude jokes, if any of my jokes could be considered crude. He’s laughing! Thank God.

‘What are you doing tonight?’

Sitting in my studio apartment alone with 3 bottles of beer to drown out the failure of not being better than what I am now.

‘Nothing, why?’

‘Would you like a free dinner tonight? I’m staying in the capital for a couple of days, and it would be nice to hang out with a friendly face.

I’m starting to blush; I haven’t turned so red in front of him since my last year in high school.

‘Ugh, sure, I would love that…’

I’m trying to keep it casual.

‘…but you have to go and see Mr. Klemmen now, otherwise, I will be staying overtime.’

‘Damn, yes! Will you still be here when I come back?’

‘For my old teacher, yes.’

‘Great! We can exchange numbers and then I’ll text you the place we’ll be going too.’

‘Great, I’ll see you then.’

‘See ya.’

I watch him hurry through the doors on the right, as I look at the clock on the wall, praying that the hand would move faster than its usual pace.

4 Hours Earlier….

The Fiddle and Wine. That’s the name of the restaurant that Mr. McCulloch told me to meet him at.

I’ve heard of this place; it’s so expensive, the appetisers are the same prices as a blusher from MAC. Did he get tenure or something?

I step inside the building wearing a dress that added 2 years to my age, and lipstick that makes me look like I’m begging to have a cock in my mouth. Mr. McCulloch waves at me from the table on the far right, where he’s wearing a baby blue shirt with his collar unbuttoned. We begin with a bottle of Chenin Blanc.

‘I’m sorry that I arrived late to the meeting, I was dealing with something that took longer than it should?’

‘You know what, I’ve been late to so many lessons when I was at school, so I’m not going to judge you on that.’

‘Yeah, I remember making you stay behind the class to tell you off.’

‘I preferred that what Mrs. Kimberly used to do to kids who came in late; she would shout how they were worse than the Italians, which to this day, I never understood why she said that.’

‘It’s because she had an Italian husband before she remarried; he left her for a yoga teacher in Marseilles because she kept complaining to her friends that he was hounding her for sex.’

I don’t know why I’m still blushing. I shouldn’t be. We’re both adults.

‘I didn’t know that! Not that I would, since that kind of information would be restricted to pupils.’

‘Of course.’

‘But I did remember a rumour going round that she was a frigid lesbian.’

‘What is it with you and lesbianism?’

We both chuckle.

‘I don’t know, do I look like one? Not that I believe that lesbians have a certain look; I’m not prejudiced.’

‘Well, have you been with a guy before?’

Why am I getting more flustered than when I first saw him at the reception? Is it because I’m not bound by the student/teacher relationship anymore? Do I have the opportunity to date him if I wanted to? Before I find the answer to those questions, why is my ex-teacher asking me about men?

‘Of course, I’ve been with a couple of guys in my lifetime.’

‘When was the last one?’

‘Two years ago, we were living together until he wanted to do a new course at a different institution.’

‘And you stayed behind.’

‘I didn’t exactly have a choice.’

Things are turning awkward again.

‘What is it that you really want to do? You’re obviously not happy being a receptionist.’

‘I want to be a newspaper journalist.’


‘Yeah, I wanted to intern at the agency back at home, but my circumstances have changed and I needed to find a job as soon as possible.’

If Mr. McCulloch was my PSHE teacher, I would have confessed all of my homely woes to him.

‘I see. Well, shit happens.’

I never heard him swear before in my life. It sounds quite attractive, actually.

‘How old are you?’

Why the fuck did I ask a question like that?

‘Shit, I shouldn’t have asked that question. I’m sorry!’

He laughed out loud. Literally.

‘I’m 38. When you left high school, I just turned 30.’

‘Well, you don’t look like you’ve aged.’

I can feel my demeanour growing timid with every breath I take, and I can feel it getting worse with every look that Mr. McCulloch gave me. It wasn’t the kind of look that I always get at the office. In fact, it’s the complete opposite.

It’s a muted blend of ‘You’re really pretty and I think I can like you more’ and ‘I can comfort your body in more ways than one.’ Comfort. That’s a word I haven’t thought about since this morning. The waiter comes to our table with our meals at hand.

‘After dinner, do you want to come back to my hotel room for a chat?’

The words ‘hotel room’ and ‘chat’ tells me two things. One, he wants to talk about my work situation in greater depth. Two, after that conversation, he wants to fuck me. But wouldn’t it be weird if my former teacher ravages me on his bed?

1 Hour Earlier…

He opens the door to his ‘en-suite’ room; it was more of a two bedroom penthouse. Every wall, every countertop, and every surface is smooth and white, where the only other colours that are allowed to exist in the room are black and chestnut brown; black isn’t even a colour.

‘Can I get you a glass of champagne?’

‘You drink champagne? You don’t seem like the kind of guy that does that.’

‘What kind of guy do you think I am?’

‘I don’t know…the type that’s laid-back.’

He chuckles once more.

‘Let’s lay back on this sofa.’

He gazes at me as I lean back on the cushion, and pour a glass of bubbly for me to sip on. We sit together and look at each other until one of us begins a new conversation.

‘What did you think of me while you were in High School?’

Jeez, how do I answer a question like that?

‘What do you mean?’

‘You kept blushing today exactly in the way that you used to when you were in my classes.’

‘Uh, well, I thought you were handsome, but every girl that’s coming of age would.’

‘Do you still think I’m handsome now?’

I don’t know whether it’s actually him or the booze talking, but I know that he wants to take things further.

‘Well, if I’m honest, yes, I still find you attractive.’

Mr. McCulloch continues to gaze at me.

‘Mr. McCulloch.’

‘Please, call me Jonathan; we’re not in school anymore.’

I look down at my drink and trace the glass with my right forefinger.

‘Unless, you want to pretend we’re in school again…’

My former teacher places his hand on my cheek, rubs it with his thumb, and pulls me into a kiss that I was half expecting to happen. He takes the glass of champagne out of my hand and replaces it with his palm; it was warm and soft, just like how I want my heart to feel.

He pushed the weight of his body on top of me, and let my back gently rub against the silk texture of the sofa throw. I’m not sure what to make of this right now, but I’ll just go with the flow.

Mr. McCulloch turns me around and pulls the zipper down with his teeth, unhooking my bra after nibbled on the skin of my back. I’m so embarrassed to the point that I’m holding my cleavage as if my breasts are going to fall off.

With a little amount of force, he pins my wrists above my head to let my tits hang out for him to see. He hasn’t spoken a word yet, but his eyes tell me everything that I want to hear.

Like the way I traced my finger around my glass, he feels my nipples with his lips. The moistness from his tongue makes the crevice between my legs wet; it feels so good.

Before I know it, one of his hands found its way to my pussy, rubbing my clit back and forth as if it’s injured, and needs someone to tender to it. My hips begin to grind against the pressure of his hand; the sensation is fantastic.

After minutes of toying with my clit, rubbing it fast and stroking it slow, Mr. McCulloch drags his upper body down to see how wet my underwear is. I feel the fabric getting pulled away from my skin, and his tongue exploring every surface of my cunt. God, this is amazing. Weird, but amazing.

The way he flicks my clit with his mouth makes me want to fuck his face hard, but I know that he wants some euphoria of his own too.

He rises from his position and begins to slowly undress in front of me.

‘You need a new lesson.’

He whispers to me, right before he unveils his majestic manhood in front of my eyes. I can tell from the look of it that it’s begging for some attention, and it is attention that it’s going to get.

I spread my legs further apart to show him where to push his shaft in, and he climbs onto me once more before he thrusts his hot cock deep inside me. I gasp as I dig my nails into his skin; he groans, but it sounded like a good groan.

He begins his pace slowly, which allows me to see his hips rise up and down, and pump me with every pleasure that he wants to give. No words are being said or whispered at this point, but they don’t need to be; the way I am moaning is enough information for him to know that I am enjoying it. The speed of his fucking increases as my jaw opens more, before he lifts my thighs up and pounds my pussy like a primal hunter.

This was not what I was expecting when I said I wanted a nice night with him. Not was I was expecting at all. And now my former school teacher is on top of me, thrusting his throbbing shaft in and out of me while I’m looking at his gorgeous black hair while he smiles and moans at me.

‘I’m sorry, but I’m going to cum!’

‘Just do it…do it.’

He pulls his cock out and climaxes around the outside of my cunt in the way that pornstars cum all over each other. I can’t say that I’m not disappointed that I didn’t cum, but hey, men are more sensitive than women, and it’s more sex than I’ve had within the last two years. I lean over to one side of the sofa to grab a tissue, but then Mr. McCulloch grabs my wrist once more and stares at me intensely.

‘The lesson isn’t over yet.’

Zoe Jaspers
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