Schadenfreude

He'd know now that if I'd been serious before, when I'd told him there was no way I'd fuck him, I'd surely changed my mind now. Whatever my brain was doing to itself had full control of me now, and I wondered whether he'd need me to tell him. Hell, the man was so dense he'd probably need it in writing. By the time I got my dress past my face, he was gaping at me. I took a deep breath.

"You were saying earlier that you couldn't have sex with me. Yeah?" He snapped his mouth shut and swallowed, his eyes going wide. "And I went along with it because, you know. Why not? It seemed better all around." I looked again at his dick, if anything now even harder than before, pointing upward at a pretty impressive angle given its weight. I sat up, my arms going back in that series of unconsciously, awkwardly graceful arm movements that men seem to think are like magic, the movements that get our bras undone.

Relief. Even tiny tits need a breather.

He turned toward me now, his face still angry and guarded, his dick swinging toward me like a battleship's gun. He'd quite forgotten the nonexistent camera, but I could see he'd found his balls. A thrill flew up and down my spine. "You and Lucy," he said, his voice low and hoarse. Venomous. "Fucking destroying my life."

We were, too; his job would not survive this. If prom didn't get him fired, there were other ways. I held my tongue, sensing I no longer needed to speak, my middle finger steady on my overworked clitoris; I added my other hand, flicking gently at one of my nipples. But this was no longer about his job; this was about hormones and naked skin and bodies fitting together. This was about biology. My ribcage was a hard ridge as it rose and fell, both nipples stiff and sore.

Mr Dole was working himself up even further. "Bitches," he muttered. He'd taken a step forward now, his gleaming eyes vengeful. He glared down without remorse though, knowing that all of this was his fault too. I looked back beneath smoky eyelids. "I'm going to leave you screaming."

I just smiled, lay back, and spread my legs. "Don't even think you're going to cum in me," I told him, low and husky.

"Don't worry," he snarled right back. "You're not worth it."

I had to stop myself from tossing my head back and laughing hard at that, the man's silly little pride so important to him. He could fuck off, though; I was a nineteen-year-old with a meager community college acceptance and a part-time job at a library. Who was he trying to impress? If he needed to feel better about himself, he could go ahead; he'd be out of a job by the end of the month anyway. Lucy would have loved this, was the odd thought that came to mind next; I'd never really liked her, but I felt like I understood her now, at least a little bit.

Power. He'd had it all year, but let him get just one sniff of pussy and it had all evaporated. Well, two sniffs.

He was close to me now, the drooly little gleam in the slit at the head of his cock obvious. We made one more try at eye contact, both of us contemptuous and even angry, but both undeniably horny. He didn't want me, and I certainly didn't want him; he just wanted this experience, the twisted mysterious fun of screwing a student in her own narrow bed. And me? I'll admit I'd never had a teacher, and that the idea was not unattractive, though Mr Dole might have been my very last choice of lover.

If it weren't for that dick, that is. And the itch it could scratch. At the end of the day, that's what I was looking for.

So I stopped masturbating and held my arms out to him. Already he was starting to lean over, looking at me like the predator I'd always assumed he was, and when my hands found his sweaty shoulders I felt it, the hot damp pressure of his dickhead nudging at my body like a listless finger. He shuffled closer, as close as he'd need to be, and for a few moments the two of us studied the rich, veiny penis he'd just laid across the sticky lips of my pussy.

God, but it was impressive; it pulsed, no, throbbed as it plopped down against my skin. I heard and felt my sigh of relief, but my eyes were wide as I realized just how deeply he'd fuck me. "Holy shit," I whispered, hating myself for letting my thumbs gently stroke his biceps.

"Feel free to back out, Beth." He spat my name at me, cynical and bitter. "Say the fucking word, and I'm out the door."

"Shit, Mr Dole," I chuckled harshly. "Quit lying to yourself. You can't go anywhere now but into my pussy." I smiled slowly as I figured out the way I would regain control. "Go ahead and leave, then. I dare you."

He grinned a slow, cruel grin. "You got me," he admitted, and now I felt his hands on my wide hips, reaching around to leave dents in my butt, and I felt him tremble. "Get ready then, you pretentious little bitch."

"Bring it on, asshole," I replied as airily as I could manage, struggling mightily not to reach right down there and slide him in myself. "You're the worst teacher I've ever had, you know that?" I let my hands fall to his groin, feeling the tension there. "I'm waiting to see whether you're any good at this, or whether you're a shitty lay, too."

"Fuck you," Dole snarled, and everything went very fast then. At first, I felt his fingers more than I felt his dick; an iron grip clenched at my hips, tight enough to hurt. A lot. And no sooner did I process that, my breath hissing out in a bubble of saliva, than I became aware of his cock, halfway in and not stopping for anything. Dole's lips stretched wide in a cruel, teeth-baring smile while he took me, and as my whole body stiffened involuntarily he got in, all the way, our pubes grinding, and there's no doubt in my mind the neighbors heard me scream. I was left impaled, facing back toward my headboard as my entire body arched like a bow, my hands clamped to Mr Dole's hips as if they'd been fastened there.

It felt great. Weird and creepy on a mental level, but physically? Nope. Nothing but the sheer exhilarating joy of a solid man filling me. It had happened before a time or two; not often. But I liked it.

"How shitty is that?" He held me tight against him, reaching to lift my legs lifelessly up toward his chest. I didn't undersand; did he want me tighter? There was no way he felt any extra space in my pussy. Maybe he just liked it with the woman's legs up. Whatever; I gave him back a look that I tried to think of as casual and contemptuous, yet alluring; I doubt I succeeded, but I did manage to make an effort and get my legs up on my own, my abs whining. He got his head in between my ankles, and I'll admit the sight of my very average legs stretched out across a man's chest looked downright sexy.

I'd need to try this position again with a guy I actually liked.

"Very shitty," I grunted, and he smiled thinly as he wrapped his arm around my vertical legs, drew back, and shoved himself in again. This time I kept myself from crying out, but only with difficulty; I slapped his hips, my arms now awkwardly reaching outside my legs, and curled my lip. "Keep trying, Mr Dole."

Ah, but bravado aside, I was already in trouble. The five or six guys who'd fucked me before this hadn't done so in the immediate aftermath of me getting off on their tongues, and my pussy was already redlined even before Dole got in there. I was already well on my way toward another orgasm, and the conflict was that I didn't want him to see it happen. I was trying to embarrass him; how embarrassed would he possibly be if he made me cum twice?

So I tried to relax my face and look bored as he drilled me, my toes shuddering behind his head. He had poor technique and, apparently, no imagination, but I'll be fair: with a penis like his, he'd probably never had to be very good. He certainly didn't have to with me, my pussy apparently the perfect size for his dick; his head was causing a deep, burning tickle way up inside me, while his shaft was pretty much constantly putting pressure right past my slit, where his tongue had already done such sexual damage. He was gripping me hard, but now it felt right; my abs burned, and even that felt good.

But he wasn't happy, and when he spoke he did it in a gritty, harshly controlled voice. "I'm tired of standing up, Beth." He stopped in mid-stroke, and only then did I realize what kind of sounds we'd been making: the slithery gum-smacking noises of cock in cunt, the muted golf-clap as our skin met, all silent now but for the heaving of my breath. "Get on your fucking knees."

Sounded fine to me; I was obeying even before I had time to think about it. Only after I was on all fours, my face dangling exhausted above the faded cartoon pillowcase with my hips as high as I could get them, did I start to have a twinge of worry: I'd never done anal, and though I felt like it was something I should try, I fervently didn't want a dick like that breaking me in. I turned and started to get my thoughts in order to tell him my ass was exit only, but it turned out I needn't have worried: he wanted more pussy.

I did get to watch, though, as he got his knees up onto my bed behind me, his right hand holding his dick like it was some sort of precious cargo; the entire thing was glossy with whatever my vag had been brewing. The other hand had already found my ass, smacking it with theatrical harshness; that made me indignant enough to bring me back to my senses. "Don't you dare hit me again, motherfucker," I flared.

"Gee. So sorry." He was no good at sarcasm, and I scowled. At least he had the decency to obey, though. "Like I care, anyway," he muttered, but I was watching his eyes as he said it, both of them fixed intently on my vagina and lighting greedily up as he watched it pulse, awaiting his shaft, and I could tell he cared very much; not about me, mind you, but about getting himself back in there. He licked his lips and didn't bother asking before he went about it, either.

And I wasn't ready, my face crashing hard into the pillow with the ferocious power of his first thrust; even Dole cried out that time. "Gahh, you fucking whore!" he exclaimed, his voice thick and angry. He adjusted his body at once, leaving his left knee down, his thigh jammed hard against mine while he cocked his right leg to keep his pelvis right up close in my new, less dignified position, and once his hands started hauling back on my body I wasn't in any kind of control. "Shitty lay?" He spat, and I felt the saliva strike my spine. "Bitch."

I wasn't capable of speech at that point, but with my face still buried in my pillow there was no need. Sure enough, the next orgasm was flying toward me and I knew there was nothing at all I could do about it; the pillow, thankfully, should spare him any kind of the wild yelps I was prone to, but he'd certainly feel my body respond.

Dole had to be getting close, too. I only hoped he'd remember to pull out. In vain I thought about Jeremy's condoms, in a little jar next to my bedside lamp; I should have made Dole glove up. But it was too late now, my brain not really capable of stopping this; besides, there was an undeniable shameful thrill involved in taking him raw.

It got closer and closer as Mr Dole hammered at me, our bodies moving cleanly and smoothly together, and at some point I just resigned myself: I was going to cum, and hard, around this fucking idiot's prick. No point in pretending otherwise. So I got my elbows down to brace myself, slid my knees a little wider apart, and took it as he plowed into me. I couldn't even pretend we weren't good together; this was actually really great sex. He was flailing, panting, pumping away like some scary machine, and as our bodies smashed together and his penis kept questing further and further inside me, the sound of colliding skin and the smell of sweat and the funk of sex attacked me, and I went off.

Dole had done well with his tongue, but there's nothing like cumming the right way, with a dick poking at your vitals. I heard myself screech into the pillow, my brain lighting up and shutting down simultaneously, my whole body tingling like a million ants were marching beneath my skin. I suddenly heard nothing at all but my gulping breath as my body betrayed me: muscles tensed and then gave out, my head came up, and the delicious heat spread out through my body once again. I am not a screamer; I bit out a savage, concise, "Fuck!" as I lost it.

And he laughed.

"Shit," he grunted through his own efforts. "If I'd have known you were this easy, I'd have done this months ago."

"Fuck off." It was a whining chant though, without force, and we both knew that in that moment, I'd have gladly taken him again and again. He laughed once more, his thumb nudging at my asshole, and another deep thrust set off even more fireworks; my head collapsed again, exhausted, my sweaty hair drooping around my face.

Meanwhile, mercifully, Mr Dole seemed to be finishing up. The stabbing of his dick had taken on a deeper and more erratic urgency, and now he had one hand on the center of my back, pushing me toward the damp mattress so that he could really dig straight down into me. I felt like a sex toy, drooling onto my pillow. He'd started talking too, his loathsome voice grating on my frazzled nerves, invading my post-orgasmic bliss; I just wanted to fall down on my ruined sheets and sleep.

"Yeah," he burbled, his fingers flexing, "that's it. Shit, this feels good." Three final, punishing thrusts, harder than the rest, and then he shoved me roughly down onto the bed and pulled out. I looked at him through lidded eyes, up on his knees, looming over me with a cruel smirk and a busy hand pulling frantically at a cock that jumped and twitched with the urgency of his release. I closed my eyes; he was going to cum all over me, and I wouldn't do a damn thing about it.

"Uhh!" he groaned at last, the syllable emerging as a hot, angry sigh, and I felt the warm gluey splatter of his semen on my face and chest, twice, then again lower down; it pooled in my belly button as I fumbled around onto my back, heaving like a woman who's just been rescued from heavy surf. He kept tugging himself slowly as I turned my head to spit out a small wad of his cum. "There we go." He sounded exultant, as well he should; he'd just brought me off twice, and madly. I lay deflated as he dragged a brutal finger down through the white puddle on my stomach, pulling his cum down into my pubic hair. We watched each other warily, like boxers after a fight. His dick was just starting to droop, those tight little balls of his now hanging slack. He pushed his spermy finger just inside my pussy, feeling me twitch and spasm against his fingertip, idly spreading his cum just inside like cream cheese on a bagel while both of us soaked up the vicarious thrill. I groaned as his slick finger stroked along my hypersensitive clit, leaving it whitish and sticky.

I eyed him, the starchy smell of his sperm dominating my world; he'd shot a drop or two into one of my nostrils. I cleared it, snorting and blowing with a distinct lack of dignity as he watched with a gloating smile. "You happy now?" He was kneeling up over my leg, his skin greasy against mine as his sticky penis flopped heavily onto my thigh, and I wanted him gone. "I meant it, Mr Dole: fuck off."

"You didn't mean it then," he snapped with insolent confidence. He patted my hip lightly, grinning at the sight of my soiled body. "I'm glad I came over." His hand lingered, sleazy on my skin, and I shuddered slightly as his thumb stroked one more time through his puddled cum. He waited a second or two longer, letting me know I wasn't in charge anymore, and then he got heavily off the bed and stretched, that long dick of his now, at last, soft. He examined me critically. "You should take a shower, Beth. You look tired."

I hoped my glare was intimidating, but I'm sure the effect was spoiled by the semen still spattering my face. Whatever; I didn't give him the satisfaction of seeing me wipe at myself. I nodded pointedly toward the door. "Get out."

I was fairly bitter that he'd been so easily able to make me cum; he knew it too, his face a twisting mask of triumph as he pulled his clothes back on and watched me pant naked in my own juices amid the wreck of my sheets. I saw his mean eyes narrow as he figured out what he should use as a parting shot. "Bye, Beth," he sneered at last. "Like it says on the progress reports, you were a 'pleasure to have in class.'" He snickered. "In bed, not so much. C+, maybe a B-. Have a nice life."

He turned around and left me fast enough that he missed the loathing in my eyes, though I'm sure he knew it was there. Not that it mattered, anyway; once I'd gotten the bathroom video edited and sent off to the school committee a couple weeks later, he probably wasn't snickering so much.

But I sure as shit was.