Confessions Read Free Page B

body bucking, our bellies slick with sweat as we writhed together on the bed. I felt every pulse of his cock-he was so big inside of me, shoved so deep, that his cum immediately began to overflow and pool between us. I haven't talked to him since that day. He gave me a kiss on the cheek and a sly wink before he left for the airport the next day, and that was it. I wasn't disappointed, though. I never told my friend. Or my husband-even after we later got back together. It's just something that seemed better served being held secret. Until now.

Confessions: Student Teacher
    For a while there, I was going to be an English teacher. I even did a semester of student teaching. And I got an A. Although I still wonder sometimes if that was because I earned it grading high school essays about "Why Ms. Kitt is My Favorite Teacher Ever"
    written by students who thought I was "cool"-or if it was because I was fucking their
    "real" teacher.
    Or, more aptly, he was fucking me. I didn't start it. At least, I didn't make the first move. Does that count? Would it hold up in court? We were both adults-aside from the ethics of the thing, there wasn't really anything wrong with what we were doing. But it felt wrong. It felt so very wrong, and maybe that's why it felt so incredibly good.
    Mr. Kennedy-his name was actually John, believe it or not-was a hot young teacher, and all the girls had crushes on him. I couldn't blame them. He was just thirty-something, with dark hair that curled around his ears and the nape of his neck and even darker eyes that radiated heat whenever he looked at me. He was charming and cocky and loved to crack goofy jokes with the kids that pushed the limits of propriety-almost.
    He hovered on the edge of dangerous all the time, and I liked to sneak up behind him to see if I could convince him to go over.
    And one day-he did. We were both staying late, completing progress reports, which involved a dizzying amount of sharpening number two pencils so we could fill in the correct circles on computerized forms. We talked about the kids, we talked about our lives-he wasn't married and was in between girlfriends. There had been plenty of flirting and innuendo between us, and I think we both knew what we wanted. The question was-did we dare?
    It was just a subtle shift. I uncrossed and crossed my legs in the soft, respectable-length gray skirt I was wearing, hanging one heel off the edge of my bare foot and rolling my neck.
    "Tired?" he asked, putting down his pencil.
    I nodded, yawning and stretching, feeling my blouse pull out of the waistband of my skirt a little. "But it could be worse. Most teachers make their student-teachers do all the drudge work like this. At least you help with that part… and you let me do the fun stuff, too."
    He smiled-god that smile! — and stretched, too. "The fun stuff is the best part. I wouldn't exclude you from that."
    "I appreciate it." I said exactly what I meant. I think he knew it. Without saying anything, he came and stood behind me, sliding his big hands over my shoulders and squeezing. I groaned and rolled my neck back, unable to resist. "God, that feels good!"
    "Does it?" He said it like a question, but it wasn't one. He knew. His fingers kneaded my muscles and I relaxed back against him, feeling the hard muscles of his belly, the bite of his belt buckle. I think I knew what was going to happen, and my body was tingling with anticipation. I moaned softly, and the room sounded like sex long before I was actually bent over the progress reports in front of us.
    When his hand slid down to unbutton the top button of my blouse, I didn't protest.
    In fact, I made a point of arching my back, showing him just how eager I was. And god, I was. His hands moved under my bra, kneading my breasts the same way they'd massaged my shoulders, making me squirm in the chair. I tilted my head back to look up at him, and that's when he leaned in to kiss me, his mouth hungry on mine, sucking my tongue