Yes, Mr. Moulton

Author's note: The following is quick little story about a student pursuing her teacher. All characters who engage in sexual acts are eighteen years of age or older. Enjoy!

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All of the girls in my grade have a crush on Mr. Moulton.

And why wouldn't they? He's handsome, strong, and sure of himself, unlike the other male teachers at my school, the majority of whom are drab, balding, and merely cosplaying at authority. Though a bit on the shorter side, Mr. Moulton's broad shoulders and solid frame suggest he's a capable enough man -- capable enough to administer the kind of punishment the female students no doubt spend his class fantasizing about. He's built himself a reputation for being a strict, no-nonsense kind of teacher -- otherwise known among the student body as a "hard-ass".

I'm not like the other girls. What I feel for Mr. Moulton is no schoolgirl crush, but a burning passion that I take very seriously. I think about him when my hand wanders beneath the waistband of my pajamas in the middle of the night. It's his cock I imagine in place of the two fingers I plunge into my wetness without abandon.

And the difference between me and the other girls is that I actually stand a chance -- I've seen the way he looks at me. On more than one occasion he's stopped at my desk under the pretense of checking my work, only to brush up against me or to rest his strong hand on my shoulder, allowing his finger to graze the sensitive skin of my neck. Every touch ignites a fire.

Last week, I carefully laid the groundwork for my trap. Mr. Moulton was standing at my desk helping me answer a question in the textbook that I pretended to struggle with. Once he'd answered my question, I said very innocently, "Thanks Daddy-- I mean Mr. Moulton."

I remember several instances of male students accidentally calling female teachers "mom" in elementary and middle school. It speaks to reason that a female student could make the same mistake with a male teacher. Well, perhaps not a female student in her senior year, but what can I say, I've got a terrible memory.

Any embarrassment from possibly being overheard was totally worth it. The shock on Mr. Moulton's face! He shuffled away without so much as a glance in my direction. He was likely feeling very guilty about enjoying hearing me call him Daddy.

More information about my favorite teacher: Mr. Moulton has a pretty blonde wife and two young kids. It was initially quite the gossip when everyone found out that Mr. Moulton's wife is ten years his junior. He's thirty-four, and she's twenty-four, which is not that much older than me at eighteen, if you think about it. The fact that he's a father only adds to the allure for most of the girls in class. I know it does for me.

I've been watching Mr. Moulton. He's stayed late at school for the past three nights. He spends his lunch hour pacing the parking lot while hissing an argumentative tone into his phone. I've spotted him with a hand on his lower back more than once in the past week, moving gingerly, almost as if he's been sleeping on the couch. All of this leads one to believe that things at home might not be all peaches and roses.

He needs this as much as I do. I just have to give him the opportunity.

When Mr. Moulton comes around to collect homework the next day, my hands are empty, my eyes are pleading, and there's a sheepish grin plastered across my face.

Mr. Moulton is taken aback. I'm normally one of his best students. "Darla? Did you not do the assignment?"

"No, Mr. Moulton, I forgot."

His lips become a thin line. "See me after school today." He's angry, and a little thrill goes through me at his tone.

The rest of the day is a challenge. I'm constantly shifting in my seat, trying to find a position that doesn't result in my aching cunt rubbing against the hard wood of the chair. After I leave each class, I look over my shoulder to make sure I haven't left a wet spot in my seat.

Finally, the day comes to an end.

I rap my knuckles against the door to his classroom. Mr. Moulton's eyes snap up from the stack of papers littering his desk. He sees me standing in his doorway with a flirty smile and he doesn't quite know what to make of me. He suddenly recalls that he asked me to meet him here and gestures for me to enter the classroom.

I take a seat across from him and wait for him to speak.

"Now, about your grade. I want you to finish the assignment you missed and write me an additional essay on a war of your choice by the end of the week, and I will rectify your grade. Understand?"

I love it when he gives me orders. "Yes, Mr. Moulton."

"Great. That's all, Darla. You can go."

I do no such thing. Instead, I stand from my seat and walk around Mr. Moulton's desk to lean against it. His eyes grow wide at my movements.

"Everything okay, Mr. Moulton? You've seemed a bit distracted lately."

Mr. Moulton looks curiously up at me. He's normally very professional; it only reinforces my theory that something is amiss in his marriage by the fact that he allows his gaze to slide down my body, lingering just a hair too long on my cleavage, my curves.

I toss a curtain of silky blonde hair behind my shoulder while I allow him a moment to admire me. My skintight dress clings to my hips and my ass in the tightest possible way without cutting off my circulation, by design of course. I'm wearing minimal makeup, because I suspect a traditional man like him prefers a natural look.

He waves a dismissive hand. "It's just a bit stressful at home right now. Nothing to concern yourself with."

I take a step closer. He smells like sandalwood and aftershave; a combination I find intoxicating when applied to a man several years older than myself. "Is there anything I can do to help?" I look up at him from beneath hooded lids, just like I've been practicing in the mirror at home, while a coy smile spreads across my lips.

I hope my signals are strong enough. I wonder if Mr. Moulton has ever been propositioned by a student before. He's got to be aware of the effect he has on women, right?

My eyes drift towards the crotch of his pants and I notice a slight bulge beneath the straining zipper. I was right! A rush of heat floods my skin, but I straighten my back and keep my wits about me. I need to stay focused if I'm going to get what I want.

And what I want is his cock in my mouth.

Gently, very gently, I rest a hand on Mr. Moulton's knee.

An inappropriate gesture for a student to make, without a doubt, but one that could be overlooked if I were to remove my hand after a moment or two. But I don't. I let it linger.

Mr. Moulton stares at me for a few moments, agonizing over his next move. "You want to know how you can help me, huh?" he asks quietly, throwing a glance over my shoulder to confirm the door to his classroom is closed. I already know that it is -- I made sure to close it on my way in.

"Yes, sir," I whisper, matching his tone of voice.

I see the deliberation dancing in Mr. Moulton's striking blue eyes. This is a huge risk for a teacher, let alone a teacher with a respectable reputation such as his. But how long has it been since he's had sex with his wife? How long has it been since she's sucked him off?

"You better get going, Darla," he finally decides, reluctantly tearing his gaze away from my mouth. "A good girl like you shouldn't dally too much after class."

Is this a test? Is he asking me if I'm a good girl?

"I can be a good girl, Mr. Moulton," I continue, hoping it's what he wants to hear, feeling the blush incinerate my cheeks. But I plow forward. "If you want."

He raises an eyebrow at me in challenge. "Is that so?"

"Yes, Mr. Moulton." We both watch as my hand slides up his thigh.

A pause, while conflict rages in his head and his cock rages beneath his belt. He looks like he's locked in a debate with himself before he finally caves and says, "You wouldn't tell anyone about this, would you? I could get fired."

I'm thrilled he's going along with this. I feel accomplished, powerful. "No, Mr. Moulton."

He leans back in his chair, arms crossed, while he assesses me. "Get on with it, then." Pursed lips and a raised eyebrow dare me to make my next move.

I get down onto the floor and slide underneath his desk -- that way if anyone comes into the classroom, I'm concealed from view. It takes but a moment to unbuckle his belt and unzip his jeans, and then I'm freeing the hardening cock beneath. It's heavy in my hands, and slightly intimidating.

I take the tip of his cock into my mouth and suck. Mr. Moulton groans at the first contact, and it's music to my ears.

His cock slides across my mouth, fills my cheeks, nudges at the back of my throat. It's smooth and silky and throbbing with need -- exactly how I imagined it.

His fist comes down hard on the desk as he struggles to contain himself. "Darla," he breathes, "Maybe we shouldn't be doing this here--."

I let his cock slide from my mouth just long enough to say, "I want to taste your cum in my mouth, Daddy."

I really do. I want him to release himself in my mouth, and I want to swallow everything he gives me. And now he knows that it was intentional when I called him Daddy last week. I pick up speed, using my hands to cradle his balls while I take him as deep into my mouth as I can. I'm latched onto him like a parasite.

"Darla, I'm going to come--."

I bob my head eagerly up on down on his cock, encouraging him to do exactly that.

He groans, finally shooting his load into the eighteen-year-old mouth he's been fantasizing about since the beginning of semester. Hot, soapy liquid splatters against my tongue and runs down my throat, and I continue to suck until I've managed to trap every last drop.

"God," he grounds out. "Jesus fucking Christ, Darla."

I smile, and a some of his cum dribbles from the corner of my mouth, but I catch it with my finger and suck it clean.

He abruptly stands and crosses the room, and I realize he's checking to make sure the door is locked. He also turns off the lights and pulls down the shades so that we are enclosed in darkness. Electricity shoots up my spine, sending every nerve ending in my body to attention.

"Bend over my desk," he orders, and I comply without question. He hooks his thumbs around my panties and tugs them down until they're wrapped around my ankles. He uses a knee to shove my thighs apart, although it isn't necessary, because I'm spreading my legs of my own accord like the good little whore that I am.

He enters me swiftly, and I cry out at the sudden fullness that pierces my tight heat. It's exactly as sweet as I imagined it to be.

"Take it all," he instructs, sliding so far inside of me that stars begin to cloud my vision. "Take my cock like a good little girl."

"Yes, Mr. Moulton." The words spill out of my mouth between ragged breaths.

I'm a wet mess, and my cunt envelopes his cock like it's never planning on letting go. I'm wrapped around him like a glove, and it feels so fucking good.

Strong fingers grip a fistful of my hair, and my head is suddenly yanked back. "I knew you were a little whore, Darla." One pump. Two pumps. "Look at how wet you are for me." Three pumps. Four pumps.

"I'm always wet for you, Daddy," I cry out. "Please fill my little cunt with your cum. I want it so bad!"

He fucks me, right there on his desk, in the classroom where he teaches me about history during third period, while I reach a hand underneath me and rub my clit as hard and fast as I can manage. The tightness in my lower belly swells with each delicious thrust of Mr. Moulton's cock into my tight hole.

"Are you going to come for me, little girl?" he whispers in my ear, his breath hot on the back of my neck. "Are you going to come on Daddy's cock?"

His words are my undoing, and I'm convulsing all over his cock like I'm having a damn seizure. He explodes inside of me moments later, his grip in my hair tightening almost painfully while he comes.

He pulls out and spreads my ass cheeks to get a good look at me. I'm still bent over the desk, a dazed look on my face, when he delivers a slap to my ass that feels very much like the pat on the back a teacher would give an excelling student. I smile at the thought.

I twist around and stand up, yanking my dress back into place, not caring in the slightest that his cum is dripping down my leg. I can't wait to get home and scoop the remainder of his seed out of my cunt and lick it off my fingers.

Mr. Moulton and I are nearly pressed up against each other, breathing heavy, unsure of what to do next. He gives me a quick assessment before glancing down at himself.

A mixture of our fluids is smeared all over my thighs, and likewise, Mr. Moulton's crotch. "Clean it up," he orders, and I obediently get back down onto my knees and lick his cock and balls until no evidence remains of what we've done.

At the sight of me kneeling before him, he mutters to himself, "God damn, I needed this."

I smile to myself, pleased with the way things worked out. If I have my way, Mr. Moulton will be fucking me over this very desk every day after school until graduation, preferably in each and every one of my holes.

Once I'm done cleaning him up, he lifts my chin with his finger and plants a quick, gentle kiss on my lips. His lips are exquisite, and my heart flutters at the simple touch.

"Get home, Darla. And I'll see you tomorrow after class."