Forbidden Heat: Lessons in Desire

I enjoyed writing about Jamie so much I thought I'd bring him back for some more British kinky fuckery. Hope you enjoy!

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I shagged Ms Richardson last night. My English teacher from Eton. In Singapore, of all places. Still can't quite believe it happened!

Six months into Dad's 'Asian interests' job that I'd somehow inherited (along with his wife and maid, if we're being technical about it), and Singapore had become less an exotic posting and more just... life. A sweaty, morally flexible life, but life nonetheless. The penthouse was still ridiculously swanky, Ting was still an absolute demon between the sheets whenever Dad was away on business (which was bloody often), and Maria still wore those crucifix necklaces that somehow made everything we did together even filthier. Last week, I actually got her to give me head while wearing her full maid uniform and clutching her rosary beads. Pretty sure I'm going straight to hell for that one, but it'll be worth it. The heat was relentless, like being trapped in the back room at Fabric with three hundred sweaty ravers and a broken air con. Singapore Jamie, however, was dead chuffed with his new existence.

Never expected to actually see Ms Richardson again after that awkward airport encounter. You know, when I was fleeing the scene of my stepmother-shagging crimes six months ago and bumped into her and boring Nigel by the Duty Free. But there she was on my Instagram feed... Ms_Richardson_Travels, my old English teacher's surprisingly active documentation of global jaunts. I'd turned into a proper Instagram stalker, hadn't I? Bloody pathetic, checking her posts while taking a dump every morning. Poor Nigel appeared with diminishing frequency, usually clutching some touristy tat while looking mildly bewildered. I'd become intimately familiar with her travel wardrobe, especially how her pencil skirts had given way to flowing summer dresses that showcased the limbs I'd spent two years pretending not to stare at. And Christ, the beach photos. Bare feet half-buried in sand, toes painted different colours each time. There I was at 3AM, squinting at her holiday snaps with one hand down my pants like some sixth-former who'd only just discovered OnlyFans.

Honestly, it was getting a bit ridiculous. Dad caught me wanking to her Santorini sunset pics last month and actually gave me that disappointed headshake he's perfected over the years. "Really, James?" he'd said, like I was thirteen again. Rich coming from him, considering I walked in on him and Ting doing something with a jade egg that I'm still trying to unsee.

When her message pinged through, 'Overnight in Singapore on way to Perth. Drinks?' I nearly launched my phone across the room. Twice I checked to make sure it wasn't some elaborate wank fantasy conjured by my sleep-deprived brain. That fortune teller's warning from six months ago echoed in my head: "Beware of dreams. Not all can come true." But this wasn't a dream. This was Instagram fucking DMs. The old bat's warning could get stuffed.

She suggested the Raffles Hotel bar, because I guess if you're going to do something spectacularly inappropriate, might as well do it surrounded by colonial splendour and overpriced gin. She sent me her room number. She'd always been direct, even back when she was marking my essays with that red pen of doom. She arrived fifteen minutes early, which was so perfectly Ms Richardson that I almost burst out laughing. Gone was the severe classroom presence, replaced by a woman in a midnight blue dress that made my mouth go embarrassingly dry. And the same legs that had distracted me through two years of Shakespeare. Seeing them now, tanned and encased in nude hosiery in the Singapore heat, was a proper wet dream come true.

'Jamie,' she smiled, holding out her hand like we were at a bloody parents' evening. 'You look well. Singapore agrees with you.'

'Ms Richardson...'

'Diana,' she corrected, with that eyebrow thing she used to do when someone mixed up 'your' and 'you're' in an essay. 'We're well past all that now, I think.'

Three Singapore Slings in, and we'd done the catch-up bit. Cambridge was rubbish (too many tossers in bow ties). She mentioned her marriage was "fine," which probably meant it wasn't. I'd learned to read between the lines since moving here. "Fine" is what Ting says about Dad's performance in bed when she's texting her girlfriends. "Fine" is what Maria tells the other maids about her husband back in Manila. "Fine" is universal woman-code for "I'm secretly plotting an escape."

God, her feet. I'd spent two years staring at them in class. All of it encased in shimmery nylon and now right there in front of me. I was losing my mind over it. Properly mental. At one point I actually dropped my napkin deliberately just so I could sneak a closer look. Fucking amateur hour. I'd become Singapore's resident foot pervert, and I wasn't even being subtle about it.

'So where's Nigel tonight?' I asked, trying to sound casual. 'Travelling solo?' Subtle, Jamie. Real smooth.

'Yes.' Her smile changed, got a bit sharper. 'Nigel and I have... an arrangement these days.'

Christ alive. My old English teacher was telling me she had an open marriage. My dick practically stood up and applauded.

'After years of marriage, you figure out what works. What doesn't. What you need that the other person can't give you.'

Her foot kept brushing against my leg under the table. Not exactly subtle, but then, neither was my hard-on.

'Makes sense,' I managed.

'We're practical people.' She finished her drink. 'And you? Any... arrangements in Singapore?'

I thought about the last six months but shook my head. 'Nothing that can't be rearranged.'

She checked her watch. 'It's late. Flight's at noon tomorrow.' She looked up, eyes full of trouble. 'Want to see my room? The view from the third floor is stunning.'

Was I seriously being propositioned by Ms Richardson? The woman who'd once given me detention for writing 'Romeo was a simp' in the margins of my textbook?

'For the view?' I asked, like a total knob.

She smiled in a way they definitely didn't teach at teacher training college. 'Among other things.'

We finished our drinks and headed to the lift.

Outside her door, she turned to face me. 'I think,' she murmured, 'there are still a few things I could teach you.'

The door had barely closed when she turned to face 'You know,' she said, heading for the minibar, 'I've kept tabs on you. Cambridge. Your father's connections.' She poured two gin and tonics. 'You always had potential, Jamie. Just needed the right... motivation.'

I took the glass, our fingers touching. 'Is that what this is? Motivational teaching?'

Her laugh was nothing like the one she used in class. This was lower, dirtier. 'Let's call it continuing education.'

Look, I've had some mental moments in Singapore. But standing in a hotel room with Ms Richardson, while she looked at me like I was her next meal? That was absolutely insane. Like some elaborate wank dream.

She walked to the window. 'Come see the view.'

'Your old classmates would be shocked,' she said, sipping her drink. 'Jamie Bennett and Ms Richardson, having a nightcap. Though I suppose a few of the boys imagined something like this.'

'And now we're both adults.' She set her glass down. 'With adult... appetites.'

Then she kissed me.

'Well,' she breathed when we broke apart. 'That was worth waiting for.'

This was Ms Richardson, the star of countless adolescent fantasies, now standing in a hotel room with me, snogging with tongues.

'I've thought about this,' I admitted, voice going all weird and creepy. 'Er... probably more than I should admit.'

'So have I,' she replied, which nearly made me crap myself. 'Though my thoughts were, um, considerably more recent than yours.'

'How recent?'

'Since the airport.' Her smile went all predatory. 'You've grown up well, Jamie Bennett.'

She took my hand then, leading me toward the bed.

Singapore does your head in after a while. Dad's shagging the maid, I'm shagging the maid and my stepmother, sometimes both together, and now I'm about to knob my, very married, old English teacher.

As she began to undress, I had a surreal moment of clarity. This wasn't just another Singapore conquest, another boundary crossed in my new morally flexible existence. This was something I'd wanted before I even knew what wanting was, a fantasy so deeply embedded in my psyche that it had followed me halfway around the world.

Those nude hold-up stockings on full display - the posh kind with the thick band at the top that doesn't need a suspender belt. Toes visible through the sheer nylon, painted red, filthy.

'Stop thinking so much,' she instructed, reaching for my shirt button s. 'You always did overthink your essays.'

Her fingers worked deftly at my buttons, and I flashed back to her red pen marking up my papers, those same elegant hands now undoing me in an entirely different way.

'Sorry, Ms Richardson,' I said, unable to resist.

Her eyes darkened at the name. 'You know, I should make you write lines for that.' She pushed my shirt off. 'Or perhaps a different punishment.'

'What did you have in mind?' I asked, my voice thick.

She leaned back on the bed, one leg extended, her stockinged foot gently pressing against my torso... 'I think you know exactly what I have in mind.' She traced her nylon-covered foot downwards to my hard cock, the silky material over my shaft.

'I've seen how you look at them. Back at Eton. At the airport. Tonight at dinner.'

I swallowed hard. 'That obvious eh?'

'Painfully.' Her smile was naughty now, nothing like the professional one she'd used during parents' evenings. 'On your knees, Mr Bennett.'

And Christ, I dropped to my knees like she'd pushed me, like my legs had simply given way. My hands were actually trembling as I reached for her foot. My straight-laced English teacher, was half-naked, ordering me to worship her feet. It felt filthier than anything I'd done with anyone else in Singapore, somehow more taboo for its sheer normalcy. No exotic setting, no threesome set-up with a russian whore and my stepmother, no cultural differences to hide behind. Just the purest form of forbidden.

'Much better,' she said, watching me with those appraising eyes. 'Now show me what you've been thinking about all these years.'

I took her foot in my hands, feeling the slick nylon beneath my fingers, like handling something sacred. Her arch was perfect, the delicate bones visible through the translucent material. When I pressed my lips to her instep, I tasted hosiery mixed with that posh hotel lotion. She let out a moan. Fuck, it sounded obscene.

'Good boy,' she murmured, which should have sounded patronising but instead made my cock throb even more. 'You're a quick study when properly motivated...'

When I got round to actually shagging her, I couldn't stop giggling at first. Nerves, probably. Plus the whole situation was bonkers, wasn't it? Me balls deep in my old English teacher. At one point I actually said, "Thanks, miss," which made us both lose it completely.

The rhythm was all over the place until we sorted ourselves out. I kept thinking I was going to fall off the bed. Must've looked like a right prat, but she didn't seem to mind. That's the thing about proper shagging - it's never like in the films. Halfway through I got a massive cramp in my calf and had to stop, hopping around the room while she laughed her arse off. Sexy as fuck, that was.

"Here," she said, patting the bed after I'd recovered. "Let me."

Before I knew it, she'd flipped our positions, straddling me with her shapely nylon legs I'd spent years wanking about. She pinned my wrists above my head with one hand. 'Now stay still, Mr. Bennett.'

Christ, the way she rode me. Same way she used to control a classroom of thirty rowdy boys - all authority and precise movements. Every time I tried to speed things up, she'd press down harder, leaning in close to whisper, 'Patience was never your strong suit.'

Still beats anything I did back in London, though. Poor Emily thought doggy style was kinky. Her idea of wild sex was leaving one sock on.

'Remember that Othello essay from Upper Sixth?' she asked, sliding off one of her stockings with deliberate slowness. The nylon made that whisper-soft sound that's practically pornographic on its own.

'The one where you tore apart my thesis?' I groaned, watching her hands work. 'Said my argument had the structural integrity of a chocolate teapot?'

'Precisely. 'She stretched the stocking between her hands, the material going taut.

Next thing I knew, I couldn't see a bloody thing. The stocking wrapped around my eyes, still warm from her leg and smelling of her perfume. She tied it at the back of my head.

'Now then,' her voice came from somewhere above me, all teacher-mode again. 'Let's see if we can correct those errors, shall we?'

She spent the next fifteen minutes listing every grammatical mistake I'd ever made while doing obscene and delicious things with her mouth.

It got better when she wrapped her stockinged feet around my cock. The whole thing was bonkers - her feet against my dick while she watched me squirm. Sixteen-year-old Jamie would've spunked in about three seconds flat.

Each time I thought we might stop, catch our breath, maybe sleep, she would trace a finger down my chest or press her lips to my neck, and we'd start all over again. The clock by the bed clicked on to stupid o'clock. Outside, Singapore's lights were still blazing - the city that never bloody sleeps.

'I should tell you,' she said during one brief pause, stretching her legs, 'I run half marathons for fun.'

'That explains...' I looked at her legs wrapped around me pulling my cock deeper into her.

'Explains what?' She grinned, clearly enjoying my discomfort.

'Er, the legs. And the... you know. Stamina.' My face went hot. 'Fuck, I sound like I'm filling out your LinkedIn profile or something.'

She laughed. 'And how am I performing, Mr. Bennett?'

'Exceeds expectations,' I mumbled into her neck.

'Just "exceeds"? Not "vastly exceeds"?' She was teasing me now.

'Outstanding,' I gasped. 'Fucking... extraordinary. Whatever the top mark is.'

'Better,' she murmured. 'Though your vocab could use work. Still relying on profanity as a defacto, I see.'

'Sorry, Ms...' I caught myself. 'Diana.'

'Old habits,' she smiled. 'Remember when you used the word "fucked" in your Othello essay?'

I groaned. 'You made me rewrite the entire thing.'

'And the revision was significantly better.' She ran her fingers over my torso. 'Always needed someone to keep you in line, didn't you?'

I was being graded on my pillow talk by Ms. Richardson. Somehow that made it hotter. Dad would have a fucking aneurysm if he knew. But then, he never did understand why I got kicked out of the debate club for telling Mrs. Parker her argument was "fucking stupid." No impulse control, that's what he'd say. Then again, impulse control wouldn't have got me between Ms Richardson's legs, would it?

Round three found us standing by the window, with that postcard-perfect view of Singapore spread out below us. Diana pressed her palms against the glass, looking out at the city lights.

'I've always wanted to try this,' she whispered, her breath fogging the glass. 'Being fucked while overlooking a city.'

And who was I to deny my old English teacher this particular fantasy? Best position yet. Diana bent forward, palms against the glass, as I entered her from behind. Fucking her while looking out at Singapore. Not my first time with this view either - but certainly the first time with someone who used to mark my homework.

'If Carlsberg did kinky British teacher fantasies,' I muttered against her neck, which made her laugh even as she pushed back against me.

'I'd like to think I'm more of a craft IPA than a mass-market lager,' she shot back, and fuck me if that didn't make me laugh so hard I nearly lost my rhythm completely.

'God, you're such a snob,' I gasped, getting back into the groove. 'Fine, if fucking... I don't know... Brewdog did pretentious teacher fantasies.'

We were both properly laughing by that point, which is a weird thing to do when you're balls deep in someone against a hotel window. Don't think I've ever had sex that was so funny and filthy at the same time.

I could feel myself getting close. 'I'm going to..'

'Inside,' she said, pressing back against me harder. 'I want to feel you come inside me.'

That did it. I grabbed her hips and thrust deep, spunking inside her with a groan that probably woke half the hotel. She reached between her shaking legs, working herself as I pulsed inside her, and within seconds she was coming too, her body clenching around me as she gasped against the glass.

After we'd finished, we collapsed onto the bed, sweaty and spent. She ran her fingers through my hair, her expression somewhere between satisfied teacher and satisfied lover. I could feel my cum leaking out of her and onto the sheets. Housekeeping was going to have a field day with this room.

If I had to rank my Singapore conquests (and let's be honest, I've made a proper sport of it these past six months), Ms Richardson would be scoring top marks across the board. In the 'Jamie Bennett's Singapore Fuckfest Top Trumps' collection, she'd be the shiny holographic rare one, wouldn't she?

Technique: 9.5/10 - Lost half a point only because I reckon she's been holding back some tricks for next time

Taboo Factor: 10/10 - Shagging your teacher from Eton trumps even Ting, and that's saying something

Feet Rating: 11/10 - Breaking the bloody scale, those cum covered toes.

Danger of Getting Caught: 7/10 - Hotel security's tight, but Nigel could've had a change of heart about Perth

For comparison, Ting scored a solid 9 for technique (that woman knows corners of your body you didn't), 9.5 for taboo (she's my bloody stepmother!), a respectable 8 for feet (pedicures weekly), and a nerve-shredding 9.5 for danger (Dad's bedroom while he's sleeping two doors down, remember?).

Natasha the Russian pro barely registered a 6 for danger (it's literally her job), but compensated with a technical 9.5 (again, professional) and a solid 8 for taboo (being paid for it adds a certain something).

Fat Wong's niece gets an honorary mention - solid 8.5 across the board, but extra points for managing to smoke a cigarette and give head simultaneously. That takes coordination you can't teach.

But honestly? It was just a bloody good shag with someone I never thought I'd get to shag. Simple as. No deeper meaning required, just the image seared into my brain forever: Ms Richardson, Diana, sitting there with my dried cum on her feet and wet cum dripping out of her pussy, looking at me like I'd finally earned that A+ I'd always wanted.

'What does Nigel think you're doing right now?' The question tumbled out before I could stop it.

She raised an eyebrow. 'Sleeping, I imagine. It's what most people do at this hour.'

'Right. Course.'

'Does it bother you?' she asked, watching my face. 'Thinking about him?'

'No,' I lied, then: 'Yes. Sort of. Not enough to stop.'

'Marriage is complicated after twenty-five years. This,' she gestured between us, 'doesn't take anything away from him.'

'If you say so.' I wasn't convinced, but also wasn't about to argue with a naked Ms. Richardson in my bed. Well, her bed. Hotel bed. Whatever.

I found myself staring at her discarded underwear on the floor. I cleared my throat.

'Um, Diana?' I managed, face going all hot. 'Could I, er... could I keep those?' I nodded at her stockings, trying to sound casual but coming across like some creepy perv... which is exactly what I am.

She turned, eyebrow going up. 'My stockings?' Her face broke into this slow grin. 'James Bennett. Are you asking for souvenirs?'

'Sort of?' 'Like Only Fans merchandise, but for... travel Instagram followers. Fuck, that sounds stupid.'

She laughed then, that new laugh I was still getting used to. She picked up both items, considering them for a moment.

'The stockings, certainly,' she said, folding them and pressing them into my hand. Then she dangled the knickers from one finger. 'These, I'm keeping.'

'Fair enough,' I muttered, trying not to look disappointed.

'Don't worry,' she said, reading my expression with that teacher intuition. 'I know exactly what you'd do with them.'

I felt my face burn. 'I don't...'

'Yes, you do, you'd take them back to the penthouse, wouldn't you? Wrap them around your cock while thinking about tonight. About me. 'That's the thing about teachers, Jamie. We know what boys get up to when they're alone.'

I took the stockings, caught between embarrassment and arousal.

---

Woke up with my head absolutely pounding. Mouth tasted like I'd been licking the floor at Wetherspoons. Worth it though. Sun too bright through those fancy curtains. Diana was up already, coffee in hand, looking fresh as anything.

'Sleep well?' There was a hint of mischief in her eyes that the Ms Richardson of my school days would never have allowed.

'Like I'd been hit by a lorry,' I admitted, running a hand through my hair. 'A very pleasant lorry.'

She laughed, that uninhibited sound I was still getting used to. 'An eloquent description. Your English skills have certainly... developed since Eton.'

'I guess, I just needed motivation.'

'Indeed.' Her eyes travelled over me with an appreciation that made me feel sixteen and forty simultaneously. 'You're full of surprises, Jamie.'

'Regrets?' I asked, trying to sound casual.

'Not one,' she replied, immediately. 'Though I'm not entirely sure how to, um, categorise this in my mental filing system. "Former student" seems inadequate now.'

I laughed. 'How about "Singapore fling with idiot who keeps falling over during sex"?'

'Too long for the file label,' she deadpanned. 'But accurate.'

'That has a certain ring to it.' She smiled and headed for the bathroom.

So, she was actually cool, which I hadn't expected. Teachers aren't supposed to be cool. Or filthy. But turns out Ms Richardson was both.

---

Three days later, my phone buzzed with a WhatsApp notification. Diana's name. My heart did this weird flippy thing.

'Video call?' The message read.

I looked around the penthouse. Bit of a state, but then Dad was away on business again and I'd let standards slip. I fumbled to tidy the visible disaster zone, shoving empty Tiger beer cans under the sofa and kicking a pair of Maria's knickers behind the sofa.

'Ready when you are,' I typed back, then spent five minutes deciding whether to put a shirt on. Went with shirtless in the end -- Singapore heat's a perfect excuse, and besides, might as well show off the tan I'd been working on.

After a quick scan to make sure nothing too incriminating was visible I hit accept.

When her face appeared on screen, she was backlit by what looked like a Perth sunset. She looked stunning.

'Jamie,' she smiled, that same teacher smile but with something else behind it now. 'How's Singapore treating you?'

'Better since the other night,' I said, trying to sound cool and probably failing.

She laughed, that new laugh I was still getting used to. 'I've been thinking about our... tutorial.'

I grinned. 'Which part?'

'You know which part.' She lowered her voice. 'Do you have my stockings there?'

'Yeah,' I said, reaching for the drawer where I'd tucked them away. Bit creepy keeping them there, but this whole situation was bonkers anyway.

'And now,' she said, eyes glinting, 'I think you know what to do with them.'

I'd just pulled the stockings out and was about to follow her instructions when I heard the shuffle of feet. Didn't register it at first -- too busy with Diana on the phone and my hand already reaching for my boxers.

Maria entered silently, the way she always did. Part of her training, I suppose -- perfect discretion, even when she wasn't being discreet at all. She was in her full uniform, crucifix dangling between her breasts, rosary beads wrapped around one wrist. The Catholic schoolgirl fantasy all grown up and armed with cleaning products.

'Fucking hell!' I yelped, nearly dropping the phone. 'Jesus, knock next time!'

Maria just smiled, that devious Catholic smile that made her crucifix look like a joke. 'Sorry, Mr. Jamie,' she said, not sounding sorry at all. 'I thought you might need... assistance.'

She spotted Diana on the screen and her smile widened. She waved at the phone, then promptly knelt down between my legs.

Diana's eyes went wide, then she started laughing. 'Well, well. Um, I see Singapore continues to provide. Is that your father's maid, Jamie?'

'Technically, yeah,' I gasped, as Maria's mouth found my cock. 'But we're, ah, fuck... kind of colleagues now. It's complicated.'

Maria looked up at the phone, working me with her hand. 'Hello, Miss,' she said sweetly, the picture of Filipino politeness, as if she wasn't currently giving me a hand job on camera.

Diana looked absolutely delighted by this development. Her teacher persona completely gone now, replaced by something much more interesting. 'Hello there. Maria, is it?'

'Yes, Miss,' Maria replied, before returning her attention to my cock.

'I'll leave you to your... household management,' Diana purred. 'But keep those stockings handy. I'll be checking in again soon. And Jamie?'

'Yes?' I managed, as Maria's tongue slowly teased the head of my cock.

'Next time, I want both of you.' She blew a kiss and ended the call.

Diana's face disappeared just as Maria took me deeper, and I barely had time to drop the phone onto the sofa before my hand was in her hair. Thirty seconds later I was coming hard down her throat, her crucifix swinging between her breasts as she swallowed every drop. She pulled back, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, that devious smile returning.

So, turns out Ms Richardson was even filthier from 2,400 miles away than she was in person. And now I had three weeks to teach Maria how to properly address a teacher.