For an A (M/F teens)
By Rzrsej

	Ok, let’s start with a dose of reality.  Teachers - ALL teachers
- think about their students in sexual terms.   Well, ok, so
maybe not elementary teachers, though even then you never know
just what spins someone’s bottle.  Certainly from high school on
up, teachers fantasize about their students, imagine them naked,
go home and masturbate about the.  Of course, it’s only the odd
instance of a teacher that actually acts on such thoughts.  And
only the real sick ones that use their power and position to
force themselves on to students because they have the power and
position to do so.  Sure, you sit in class and notice the girl
who forgets to cross her legs when she’s wearing that skirt that
is technically too short to even have on at school but which you
haven’t the heart to send her home to change out of.  But that’s
as far as it goes.  You’re careful to look when no one will
notice, you don’t stare, and you go home at night with it burned
into your retina, but that’s where it ends.
	Probably the only real downside for anyone, is in that you spend
a lot of your time hornier than hell with nothing really you can
do about it.  I guess that’s how this all got started.
	I teach college, freshman composition specifically, and there
must be some unspoken rule that being away from home, loosed from
the restrictive environment of high school, means wearing as
little as socially acceptable to classes.  And often, maybe less
than what is socially acceptable.  Maybe it’s something about
saving money on laundry.  Or an unwillingness to go to the
trouble of actually dressing for the 8 am class.  Whatever it is,
I stood in front of my class on Friday afternoon, and how could I
help but have a stiff cock.  Ranged before me on the front row,
as I sat on the edge of my desk and tried to talk about symbolism
in Trifles: Katrina, the hypervocal airhead, missing the top two
buttons of the blue dress shirt she was wearing, which showed
plenty of cleavage, and the fourth button as well, allowing for a
good view of her white belly.  Rachel, a dark, tan girl,
struggling to be beautiful, but stuck with average, wearing low
slung jeans that when she stands up to pass up her paper reveals
the curve of her abdomen and suggests what lies below.  Jenna, a
perky dishwater blonde who, when she leans up to talk to the rest
of her group members reveals a good deal of black lacy panties
and just the barest curve of her ass.  And all of that is beside
the less obvious temptations: the leg crossed with bare foot
dangling it’s flip flop carelessly by one polished toe; the cute
smiles at your jokes; the sleepy eyes that you know only just
minutes before opened in a warm, cozy bed.  As always, though, I
was under control, all non-chalant charm and academically focused
facade.
	The truth was, that about the only girl in the class who never
really let me get my motor running was a girl named Casey, who
usually sat against the right wall, about midway between the
front and back of the room.  Not to say Casey wasn’t a looker. 
Quite the opposite.  She was by far the most stunning girl I’d
ever taught.  Beautiful blonde hair falling down her back,
gorgeous big eyes, and clearly a shapely body, for all she ever
let me see it.  No, Casey was always buttoned up, together,
classy looking.  Never a sandal.  Never a t-shirt, with the lines
of her bra outlined beneath.  Never anything but the most
studious look of concentration on her face.  She was the picture
of virginity, conservativeness, and reserve.  I might not have
noticed her at all.
	Except that, despite what you may think from what I’ve said so
far, I take teaching seriously.  Sure, I’m letting you in on my
little secret fantasy world, the same fantasy world we all have,
and we all hide from those around us.  The business man who is
secretly a cross-dresser, the Sunday school teacher who secretly
pines for one of the boys she teaches about chastity each week,
the art historian who each night jerks off to classic paintings
of plump Reubenesque angels.  We all have these secret yearnings,
but for most of us they don’t dominate our existences.  They are
just there, making life that much more exciting, that much more
mysterious.  And I’m no different.  I work hard at what I do,
spending hours preparing lesson plans, thinking about how to
reach this or that student, obsessing over just what comment will
best help someone improve their paper.
	Which is how I came to notice Casey in particular.  In class,
she was generally the first to speak, and the one who had most
obviously read and fully understood the assignments.  But we were
four papers into the semester, and so far she had done nothing
but fail.  The content was never all that terrible.  Typically,
in fact, she had some very insightful comments to make.  It was
her grammar that was nothing short of hideous.  With each and
every paper, things seemed to get worse.  I had made appointments
for her at the writing center to work on one major error after
another, but nothing seemed to take.  Honestly, I had considered
simply overlooking the grammar and grading her strictly on her
content, which would have assured her of at least B’s.  But every
time I went to do it, somehow I just couldn’t.  I had done
everything I could to help.  She knew that I was available right
after class for office hours, I’d sent her to the writing center,
I’d recommended exercises in the book: I had done my part.  And
so when it came down to it, with each paper, I would consider
looking the other way, and in the end would be forced to edit
fail her work.  Four edit failures out of four.  I was
disappointed that I hadn’t been able to reach her, but still,
sometimes you just have to recognize that some get away.  I was
realizing that this would be one of those.
	And despite all my attempts to help, she had never even come to
my office to discuss her grade.  Which is why I was so surprised
when she knocked on my door after class that Friday.  My
horniness had begun to fade a bit, as I filed away the lesson
that I had just given and the sign in sheet.  I was typing up a
worksheet for the following Monday, when I heard the soft knock
and turned to see her.  She wore a pair of jeans, loafers with
thick wool socks, and a grey sweater.  And she looked at me with
a shy face, as though she was afraid she might be interrupting.
	“Hi, Casey,” I said, giving her my biggest smile, hoping that
maybe she had come for help and that it wouldn’t be too late to
try to salvage her semester.  “Sit down.”  I gestured to the
chair beside my desk.
	“Hi, Mr. Adkins,” she said quietly, but with that same shy
smile.  “I came to talk about my last paper.”  Saying this, she
looked down at her lap.
	“Well, that’s fine.  Do you have it with you?  Why don’t we take
a look at some of the specific things that you missed, see where
that gets us?”
	Still looking down at her lap, she said, “Well, ok,” and bent
down to open her backpack.  She rummaged nervously through her
bag, pulling out this and that folder, and flipping through
papers until she finally found her essay.  As she pulled it up
though, she looked up at me with eyes a little pleading.  “Mr.
Adkins.  Could we close the door?  I’m just a little embarrassed.
 I mean, I know my grade’s so bad.  And I just thought maybe this
could be more . . .  well . . . private.”
	I had never had a student ask me this before, but immediately I
understood.  Students can be sensitive about their grades, and
from the way Casey dressed and acted, I had a sense that she
wasn’t used to making these kinds of grades.  It had to be tough
on her.  I closed the door.
	Sitting back down, I reached for my pen, gathering myself to
give the best advice I could on correcting her problems, trying
to organize in my own mind what I thought we might look at first,
what would be most helpful.  With the paper in front of her on my
desk though, she held her hands still in her lap and looked down
at her hands again.
	“I know my grade’s really bad.”
	“Well, I mean, yes, that’s true,” I fumbled.  I always hate to
tell a student straight out that they are in a hopeless
situation.  It only makes them less likely to true.  “But,” I
continued, “even if you aren’t able to pull things out this
semester, I think that it would be a great help if you put as
much effort as you can into these last couple of weeks, sort of
build a foundation for next semester.”
	“Well, that’s just it, Mr. Adkins,” she returned after a moment,
“I just can’t fail this class.  I mean, you don’t understand.  My
parents would kill me.  I mean, I’ve never made anything but
A’s.”
	“Well, I can understand that,” I offered, “but college is a
different environment, and sometimes it takes a semester or two
to adjust to things.  I have no doubt that you are smart.  It’s
just a matter of adjusting.”
	“But I just can’t get an F.  I just can’t.”
	I didn’t know what to say.  It’s a situation I’d been in before,
and I never know what to say.  There was silence for a moment.
	“Isn’t there something I could do?  I mean, something to bring
up my grade?”
	“Well, I’m sorry Casey, but you know my policy on extra credit.
I feel like it’s important to work to improve your class work,
not use extra credit to get around it.”
	“Well, I wasn’t really thinking about extra credit,” she said,
and at this she looked up from her lap suddenly, her eyes looking
directly into mine.  I was thrown for a moment, confused by the
turn things had taken, and unsure of her meaning.  And I said so.
	“I’m not sure what you mean, exactly.  I mean, I don’t think I
can allow re-writes . . .”
	“What about this?” she said then, lifting her sweater suddenly
to her neck and revealing first that she was not wearing a bra,
and secondly a pair of the most beautiful breasts I had ever
seen.  They were light brown, full and round with quarter sized
nipples that stood out hard and firm.   When my eyes came up from
looking at her tits, I could see her stare still fixed on me, her
face a kind of mixture, the kind of look a little girl gives you
when they want something, a pleading, though not so strong.
	She dropped her sweater than, and in an instant, I could feel
myself flush, more confusion coming over me over what I might do,
and a split second of relief that maybe this was a kind of joke,
only in the next instant, she had taken the hem of the sweater
which had fallen to her waist, and pulled the entire thing over
her head and dropped it on the floor.  She sat in the chair in
front of me naked from the waist up, her neck sloping gently down
to her books, her hair falling gently onto her shoulders.  “I’ll
do anything Mr. Adkins.  Anything.”  And her big eyes still fixed
me.
	“Casey, I . . .” and I didn’t know how to finish the sentence. 
I was nervous in the extreme.  My glance fell automatically on
the door, and as though she read my thoughts, she got up from her
chair and stood before the door, her hand behind her turning the
lock.
	“I’m not just talking about a blowjob, Mr. Adkins.  I mean,” and
she said it a little nervously, and for a moment, I realized that
even though she stood in front of me with her tits in my face,
moving ever closer, within reach of my hands now, that she was
genuinely nervous, scared, “I’ll fuck you.  If you’ll give me a
good grade.” And the way she said “fuck.”  I could tell she
hadn’t ever said it before.  “But please.  I’ve got to get a good
grade.”
	She sat in my lap now, sideways, with her dangling to one side,
her face to mine, and her hand went to my crotch, her palm
pressing against my cock through the fabric of my pants.  And
then, bending down, she opened her mouth and kissed me, warm and
wet, her tongue slithering wetly into my mouth.  And what could I
do but return her kiss?  What could I do be feel her hand moving
forcefully over my cock?  What could I do but feel her breasts
bare against my arm.
	And then she said, quietly, and kind of pleadingly, “Will you
give me a good grade?  If I funk you?”
	And I looked at her dead in the eyes, and her head cocked to one
side, waiting, and all I could say was, “yes.”
	She kissed me again, then, deeper, as if my assent had been all
she was waiting for.  I sat there, still a little stunned, as she
took her hand and ran it through my hair, our tongues rubbing
over one another, her tongue probing the roof of my mouth, my
teeth, my cheek.  Her hand came down from my hair then, and as we
continued to kiss, our lips closing and opening again to one
another’s breath, she reached down and took my hand in hers. 
Then, she placed my hand over her breast, her own hand on top of
it, the two of us massaging, my fingers pinching the stiffness of
her nipple, rolling it gently between my thumb and index finger.
She broke the kiss then, and taking my head in both her hands,
pressed my mouth to the base of her neck.  I kissed her then, my
tongue darting out, leaving a trail of my own spit from her neck
to the place between her breasts, where I buried my head as she
pressed her breasts together around my face.  I breathed in the
sweet smell of her flesh, my mouth open wide and pressed against
her skin.  My mouth moved to her right breast, going wide to take
in the nipple and as much of her breast as it could, then
closing, so just my lips gripped her nipple, no teeth, and then
my tongue swirled about it and slid over to her left breast,
where my teeth teased the nipple there, biting lightly as her
fingers continued to stroke my hair.
	She stood up then, her eyes still locked on mine, never saying a
word.  Her feet slipped gently out of her shoes, and she unzipped
her jeans.  Using her feet, she pulled first one sock than the
other from her foot in a girlish way, and then slowly wiggled her
hips as her hands pushed her jeans over them and down to the
floor.  Stepping out of them, she stood there in front of me a
black thong barely covering her pussy, the outline of her lips in
fact pressing against the fabric.  Her hands reached up, her back
arched, and she pulled her hair up to the top of her head,
teasing, her breasts pulling out from her body, her already erect
nipples standing out further.  Then, she turned, her back still
arched, so that her back was to me, and then she placed her hands
on the door, moved her feet slightly apart, and pressed her ass
towards me, the cheeks displayed completely before me, a tiny
black strip running between them, separating, moving from her
waist down to her groin.  Standing up, and putting her weight on
a on one foot, cocking her waist to one side, she slowly slipped
the scant fabric from where it had gripped her waist, until it
slid to her thighs and feel easily to the floor.
	Turning then, I could see her pussy, completely hairless and
bald, the lips pouting and meaty.  Still looking me in the eye,
her right hand moved down to her cunt, cupping it, and I could
see her middle finger go just a tiny way inside.   And then, she
brought her hand back to up, placing her fingers in her mouth. 
She moved to me now, my eyes taking her all in, her cute feet,
the curve of her legs, her firm thighs, her waist, her firm
belly, her pendulous breasts and her soft luscious lips.
	She knelt then, her knees on her sweater where it lay discarded
on the floor.  Taking her eyes away from mine then, she reached
out and unbuttoned and unzipped my own pants, where my penis
clearly bulged.  I lifted my hips to help her, and in one
movement, she pulled down pants and underwear to where the rested
at my thighs.  Taking my cock in her hand then, she engulfed the
whole thing without prelude, her mouth taking me in deeply, my
entire cock disappearing.
	And just as quickly she brought her mouth back up, to where only
the head was encircled by her lips, sucking lightly, and then
immediately back down.  She did this three times in quick
succession, her hand holding the shaft firmly and going up and
down as her mouth did the same.  Then, her mouth was off of me,
and her tongue flicked lightly around the shaft, working upwards
and swirling itself around and into the whole at the top.  With
her hand holding me firmly, her mouth went to my balls, sucking
gently, taking on and then the other into the warm wet of her
mouth.  Then, using the flat of her tongue, and starting at the
very base of my balls, she licked slowly up, until her mouth
again engulfed my cock.  There she stayed for a time, working my
cock as though her  mouth were a pussy and I were fucking it.
	After a time, she looked up, a question on her face.  “Do you
want to do me?  I mean, lick me?” and I was reminded again that
this was something she had never done, this whole seduction.  “I
mean, you don’t have to.  I’m wet.  We can just fuck if you
want.”
	I said nothing.  But standing up, I lifted her lightly and laid
her on my desk, her legs high in the air.  Kneeling down myself,
I buried my head in her pussy, drinking ever drop of moisture
around her lips, and leaving the water from my own mouth about
her.  I bit lightly on her thighs, and then licked where I had
bitten as though to sooth away the tiny pains.  I put my tongue
deep, deep inside her, pushing it as far as it would go into her
pussy.  My thumb moved to her clit, rubbing it, making it harder
and stand out, and then, as my mouth continued to rove around her
thighs, her belly, my thumb moved inside of her, pressing up,
against the roof of her pussy, feeling the way it curved upwards,
rubbing against the walls.  Taking two fingers, I inserted them
inside of her, the fingertips pointing upwards, and rubbed still
more, rubbing against the walls.  My hand held her then, my
fingers pressing from within, my thumb pressing from outside, on
her clit.
	Removing my hand, I moved my face back down to her cunt, my
tongue lapping her, unable to get enough of her taste and smell.
My tongue flicked around her clit.  I moved my tongue down to her
ass, putting just the tip in her crack and licking slowly all the
way up, parting the pussy lips sideways as I licked, and coming
back to the clit.  It was standing out now, and I could feel her
beginning to come, her body beginning to spasm and buck beneath
my tongue.  Putting a finger inside of her, and taking her clit
in my mouth, I began to suck, holding it tightly between my lips
as her body writhed.
	She lay there limp for a moment, on my desk.  And I simply
looked at her, at the gleaming wet spot of her pussy.  She got up
then, her feet cold on the bare tile and on tiptoe a bit.  Taking
hold of my cock in one hand, with her other hand, she lowered me
gently back down onto my chair.  Moving forward then, she sat
astride me, her knees beside my hips, her feet upturned at the
edge of the chair.  She leaned forward and pressed her breasts
against my shirt, her nipples soft protrusions against the
buttons.  Her mouth leaned forward and kissed me, and moving
herself up ever so slightly, bending her knees so she was just a
little higher, she took my cock and positioned it just at the
entrance to her pussy.  Then, easing down slowly, I was inside of
her, her lips pressed around my cock.  She moved slowly her hips
up and down, the bare skin of her pussy tight and tighter against
me.  Her breasts moved up and down against my chest, and her
mouth kissed and then moved away, kissed and then moved away.  My
hands roved at her waist, feeling just at the top of her ass, and
then up her back, holding both her breasts, and pressing against
her belly.  She reached down and pulled apart the lips of her
cunt even further, so that I could see my cock going in and out
of her, my dark hair against her bare stomach.  I could feel my
spit on her cunt, wet on my balls, and her spit that had been on
my cock no slicking the inside of her cunt, lubricating, mixing
with her own juices.
	She moved faster now, bouncing almost, as I for my part pushed
my cock, rocked my hips, trying to push every bit of myself into
her.  I could see that she wanted to scream, could hear her
breath heavy, a kind of panting, and inside, could feel her pussy
contracting against my cock. Reaching my hand down, I rubbed her
clit with my thumb, hard and fast.
	She came then, an explosion that felt like it had put my cock in
a vice grip, her legs clamping against my waist tight, and her
body pressed hard against my chest, her mouth finding my neck. 
Her hold body was contracted.  I moved then, ever so slightly,
and the pressure, and the sheer exhilaration of it all was more
than I could stand.  I shot my sperm deep into her belly, my
balls pressed up against her ass, my cock buried as deep as it
would go, the sperm shooting up from deep in my groin to deep in
her womb.  We stayed like that for a few minutes more.  Both of
us feeling the waves of our orgasms.
	She stood up at last, and reaching down, pulled up my pants and
fastened them back around my waist.  The put on her own clothes
then, not shy, not hurried, as though she were putting them on in
the morning the same as she always did.  I watched little by
little as her beautiful body slowly disappeared with not a little
bit of regret that it would be the last time I would see it.  She
had truly been the most stunning girl I had ever seen.  Just as
she pulled up her panties, though, I had seen a drop of my come
drip slowly out of her pussy and onto the fabric of her thong,
which she pulled back into place, her pussy lips again pressing
the fabric.
	She gathered her things then, putting her paper back in her bag,
and zipping it closed.  Her hands ruffled her hair, putting it
back into place.  The she leaned down to me, and kissed me
lightly on the cheek, whispering in my ear, “Thanks for the A.”
	All I could manage was, “You’re welcome,” and she was out the
door and down the hall.
	
	It was the next afternoon, and I had been unable to get her out
of my thoughts.  She had been utterly intoxicating, and it was an
experience I knew I would not soon forget.  I wondered, indeed,
how I would deal with seeing her again on class on Monday.  I had
been for a long run, trying to replace my the horny racing of my
heart with an athletic racing of my heart.  I stopped on the way
in to check my mail.  There was only one piece of mail in it.  A
plain envelope without return address.
	Curious, I carried it inside and sat at my desk to open it. 
Inside were several sheets of typing paper.  Looking closer, I
realized that it was Casey’s paper in fact.  Even at a glance, I
could tell, though, that it was different.  This one was without
the grammatical errors.  In fact, there wasn’t a single error in
the entire thing.  It was a near perfect paper, and certainly
worth an “A.”
	It was then I thought to look at the envelope.  I sat there for
several long moments, just thinking, trying to catch my breath
and sort out my confused emotions.  The postmark was clear and
distinct and it was also very obviously a date BEFORE the papers
had been due.  The whole thing had been a setup.  All the edit
failures, all the trips to the writing center, all a game.
	I called her up that night, and she confessed it all.  Too shy
to approach me, she had come up with this plan to seduce me.  I
laughed and told her it had worked only too well.  The next
morning, and every morning since, I’ve been able to watch her
dress, just as I did that day in my office.