NEVERcummingback's Blog

 NO MORE LAWS

BY NEVERcummingback

Angie arrived home from work, spying the exact time on her microwave—always 6:15, neat and tidy—then let the door to the garage fall shut behind her. Setting her bag on the table, she loosened her standard blue tie and eased her tender feet out of her loafers, pointing and flexing her toes before moving further into her kitchen. An aged bottle of red waited for her on the wine rack, and she uncorked it to let it breathe.

On the way to her bedroom she stripped off her clothes; each item fluttered from her twirling hands and onto the hallway carpet as she strutted with crisscrossed steps. It was her nightly routine and a ridiculous one, she knew, but after all day at St. Sebastian’s, she needed the transition. First her tie met the front of the hall floor, then her light grey vest hit the wall, and then she ran her fingers over the buttons of her blouse, unclasping one of them when the ringing phone broke her stride.

Angie dashed back to the kitchen and snatched up the receiver with a breathy welcome.

“Hello?”

“What are you doing?” Max's voice tinged through the earpiece.

“I'm unwinding,” she said, eyeing her clothes on the floor. Her lips were sore from the shit hole, firm hold they’d maintained all day, but the words reminded her she was home. She was free.

“Well I'm here.”

Angie’s heart raced. “But I didn't invite you over yet.”

“Yet. See, you know you were going to.”

Angie smiled, nodding for no one but herself. Mr. Donovan had been over many times, but it was a strict policy that he never be here with her—or anywhere, for that matter. Her reputation would be in serious question if she was seen with the loosey-goosey Biology teacher, and fraternizing with other staff was against the rules.

But that was the problem when it came to Max and his affect on her.

“Perhaps,” she said.

“You said so this morning, you know.”

“Did I?” On the other end a small huff preceded his silence. Max’s sullen boyishness was different than the men she’d dated in the past. Of course, it had been a while since she’d dated, wrapped up in the endless side jobs at the school for the last six years. She’d almost made it up to headmistress just as Max had taken the empty science position—and he’d been after her ever since.

In truth, she could play this charade all she wanted, but she’d been thinking of the moment in the staff lounge all day—Max catching her sitting on the counter, eating her yogurt, smiling mischievously as he swept into the room and shoved his face into the lap of her skirt. He’d blown hot air through the wool as a reminder of how he’d shocked her every night last week with a riotous stream of mind-blowing orgasms. She’d tangled her fingertips in his boyish curls that sprang like moss from his head, the scent of his aftershave easily turning something on inside her. Then he’d looked at her with those green, glassy eyes, a spark of yellow calming the edges of his irises when he cupped her face and took her mouth in a hungry kiss.

Angie backed against her kitchen counter and shifted her legs, the wool of her skirt itchy and grating, contradicting the silky moisture pooling at the apex of her thighs. Sometimes, she had to remind herself that Ms. Patrick did not exist beyond school walls. The dark-framed glasses, the long braid, the wool uniform that constantly aggravated her skin—that was not her.

That was who she channeled, day in and day out: the structured, successful, orderly English teacher she’d become after all these years, teaching at St. Sebastian’s since she’d graduated from college. Max had spent a mere three years there as the brazen Bio teacher, and already he’d inspired all the girls to write their names alongside his in cursive, with hearts and stars and endless swooning commentary. He was a lady killer, at school or at home, but what he was to her was something else—someone who understood that when Ms. Patrick climbed into her car at the end of the day, she became herself.

“Tell you what,” she said. “I'm going to unlock the front door. Give me three minutes, then come in and find me.”

She hung up the phone and unlocked the deadbolt, then ran back to the tile countertop. She hopped onto it and arranged herself just as she’d done this morning in the staff lounge, then resumed the undoing of her shirt until it exposed the top portion of her chest. Angie crossed her feet at the ankles and pitched forward, waiting. The hair stood up on her arms as she wondered what he’d do when he saw her, and the images running through her mind made the heat coil deep within her core.

Max's three minutes was two, and when his count was up he nearly threw open the door. He pursed his lips and looked her over. Not a word came from his mouth as he inhaled so heavily through his nose she heard it across the kitchen.

Angie cocked her head and shifted her hips on the counter. “Hi there,” she said.

Max still didn’t say anything. He walked with measured steps across the room until he stood in front of her, then placed a hand on either side of her legs. He stared into her eyes. “Do you have a thing for countertops lately, Ms. Patrick?” Then he tilted his head toward her neck, pressing his lips to the edge of her jaw. He trailed his mouth down to her collar.

“I thought you were after Angie?”

Max nibbled at her skin, rolling it gently between his teeth. He cupped his hands around her ass and raised his mouth to her upper lip. “No.”

“Oh?” Angie maintained her straight back but closed her eyes as his lips lingered over hers.

“I'm after the real Ms. Patrick. The one that exists beneath that rigid shell.”

She ducked her head. “She’s right here, you know.”

“Almost,” he said. He ran his finger along the flaps of her blouse, peering into her face. “She’s still breaking free.”

Angie slid off the counter and to the floor. Her pulse raced—he always said such things. He was thirty-four, and handsome, and though he was only a few years younger, his pushiness was not so different from that of their students. “Wine?” she muttered.

Max watched her while she poured the red liquid first into his glass and then her own. She raised it to her lips and he took a drink as well, then walked around the bar top. Before she finished her sip, he snatched her glass away and pushed her back against the tile.

“Whoa! What's this?”

He planted his lips on hers, cutting off her words, her breath. Angie sucked air in through her nose and sank into the kiss, enjoying the probe of his tongue as his hands clawed their way across her lower back. He rubbed the contour that formed above her bottom and growled. He was most certainly not like the other men she’d dated.

“This is what I’m after,” he said between kisses. He fondled her buttons and tugged them open. Angie shivered—and when she teasingly pulled away, Max shoved his pelvis into hers, pinning her against the counter. “My sweet, sweet marm,” he said, “it's time you play the student.”

Angie laughed until Max dove in for a deeper kiss, his tongue tangling with hers. He yanked her shirt off her shoulders and arranged her arms until they were pinned in her sleeves and wedged between her ass and the counter. When she was sufficiently immobilized, he leaned back; in the light of the kitchen his collarbone glistened, and Angie imagined his chest covered in that same damp hunger that he carried with him whenever he stripped off her clothes. She trembled, her breasts rising and falling under the cups of her black bra with each inhalation.

Max kept his hips anchored against her, and through her skirt Angie could feel the ridge of his cock, solid, hard, and threatening to escape inside her. She ached to see it, wanting to memorize every glorious inch before he showed her what he’d hinted at all day long. But Max had other plans—he let a hand roam down her side while he used the other one to trace his fingers along her neck. His touch sent more tingles down her arms and she sighed. She was losing herself in his caress. She dipped in for a kiss but he surprised her by avoiding her lips.

“Hey! No fair!”

“Tonight we're playing by my rules,” he said. “I walked by your classroom today—all pursed lips, no smile, rigid back. God, how you terrify your students, Ms. Patrick.”

“They like me.”

“Yes, they adore you. But you’re the ultimate in control. You’re everyone’s fantasy view of a teacher, you know.” He grasped the roundness of her ass beneath the counter, his hold firm enough to draw a cry from her throat until he used both hands to finagle the zipper on her skirt. “And I love the way you transform.”

Angie’s breath fell wildly from her lips now, and she glanced at his hands, watching the zipper travel exhaustingly, painfully slow down her hip until he revealed the strap of her thong.

He groaned. “The things you wear under your work clothes…”

“What about them?” Her voice came out a whisper. Angie often giggled herself when she donned the lace pieces, so soft and smooth beneath the horrid grey wool of her uniform.

“So racy. If they only knew.” He shoved her skirt with little effort, letting it drop to the floor. “You pretend to be the pillar of morality. So innocent…”

“Oh I am!” she said.

“Innocent like a caged tiger. That’s why you’re fucking your colleague?”

Angie tilted her head back, the kiss of a blush warming her cheeks. They’d been doing this for months now, somehow keeping it the perfect secret. Just like she did with her entire life outside of work. The chill of the room hit her legs and stomach, spreading goosebumps across her torso, but she didn't dare stop the moment. She loved the air contrasting with his hot breath, and the way he talked and touched. It was exactly what she wasn’t supposed to do, shouldn’t do, as the respected teacher she was at St. Sebastian’s.

Max licked the top of her breast, sliding his tongue along the fabric and up to the strap. He reached behind her and unhooked her bra, then kissed and tongued around the cups. Angie tried to tug away her shirt but he pinned her arms back again.

He clicked his tongue. “Uh-uh. My rules tonight, remember?”

Immediately, Max curved his hand around her leg, caressing the flesh of her thigh. He traced the lace hem of her panties, then covered the front of the fabric with his palm. He grazed her clit through her panties before sliding his fingers back around to grip her thigh.

“You tease,” Angie moaned.

“Yes.” Max kept her hands behind her back with one hand as he let the other explore. His fingers tormented her skin, sending tingles down her legs while he fondled her thighs, then slipped them back beneath her thong. There, he stroked her wetness, dipping one finger knuckle-deep inside her and holding it there as she squirmed.

“More,” Angie gasped.

Max urged his finger up, running it along the sides of her velvet path and swirling it as he reached higher. She moaned again, and he shoved aside her thong so that his entire hand fanned her crevice. He rubbed his thumb skillfully against her engorged knot, and when Max brought his mouth to her ear, he tongued its shell and sent her heart crashing within her chest in fevered beats.

“Like this?”

“God, yes.” Angie relaxed, muttering another “yes” as Max nibbled her earlobe. Her panting grew louder and he slipped another finger inside her, his movements easy and sweet in her wetness and his knuckles grinding against her outer folds.

“How do you do it, Angie?” Through the half-slits of her eyes she stared at him and struggled to breathe. He withdrew his finger until the tip grazed the outermost edge of her aching hole.

“What do you mean?”

“The charade. The rigidity. The tough control. When really, you’re this secret, wanton woman who literally melts at the touch of my hand.” He rubbed himself against her bare leg. The urge to feel and taste him collided as her vision grew spotty and her face numb. “Such a wild woman, longing all day to break free.”

Angie whimpered. Her last boyfriend had loved her teacher self so much he’d begged her to stay strapped in her uniform as often as possible and even crack a ruler across his hands. If she’d heard “Hot for Teacher” one more time, she thought she’d scream.

But that was the difference with Max—he knew both sides of her, Ms. Patrick and Angie, and he understood which one was real.

Max gripped her hands tighter behind her back and she gasped. He banged his fingers harder against her center, setting the blood inside her on a high burn.

He kissed her neck, gliding his fingers in a rhythm that matched her panting. “How am the only one that sees the real you?”

She moaned. God, how she lost herself with him, every ounce of control she’d mustered all day tossed out the window when he laid his hands on her body. The pleasure was too great, his touch too good. Her legs quaked beneath her as he stroked faster, and she wrapped her hands around his neck to pull herself into him, against his fingers, rocking until her sweet release coursed through her and she buried her head into his neck with a loud cry.

“Oh my god, Max!” He kept up the pace of his fingers, her pussy clenching around them as his dick throbbed against her leg.

“You're so beautiful when you come, Ms. Patrick. When you let yourself really go.”

She giggled, her body limp.

“And now I want to fuck you.”

Angie lifted her head, barely able to stand, her face flushed with heat. “Yes, please,” she whispered. Max pulled his fingers from her, and as her eyelids fluttered, he hoisted her back up and onto the counter, spreading her legs to the light overhead.

“Lean back.” He lifted her bra to reveal her heavy breasts, then tugged down her panties until they reached her thighs. Max settled his gaze on her sex, grinning before he buried his face between her legs. “You’re too good to resist. So pink, and perfect.” He ran his tongue along her swollen lips, then dipped it into her wetness.

Angie cried out, mesmerized by the way he tunneled inside her with his probing tongue. He dropped his pants while he lapped at her, then dragged his length against her calf. He tugged her down a few inches, arranging her hips until she dangled off the counter, so he could meet her if he stood on his toes—which he did, guiding his cock inside her. While he eased himself back and forth within the rim of her hole, she clenched her muscles and drew him in. A groan escaped both of their lips then, and Max shoved himself all the way into her depths.

“You're…so…wet…” he murmured, his words broken between thrusts. He trailed his hand from her breasts down to her hips, gripping her, squeezing her, and Angie placed her hands over his. She struggled to slide down to meet him, but Max raised her up, forcing her to receive him. Repeatedly he drove himself in, lifting her on the counter, and then dragging himself out before rearing back again.

“Yes, Max!” Angie arched to meet him, banging her head on the cabinet hard enough that she cried out, but she didn’t care. She tangled her fingers in his hair and Max bit her shoulder.

“Damn, Angie, I can’t hold back…”

She panted with him as his thrusts grew faster, pleasure trickling through her once more, threatening to explode as he rode her against the counter. She propped herself on her elbows, using the leverage to meet his hips with an upward motion, and when she started to shudder Max grunted. His rhythm became wild bucks that Angie rode and countered, the vibrations rippling through her, urging him on. Max met her as she rocked, hard, and then he exploded all the way within her.

“Jesus!” The irony of his call, both of them employees at a Catholic school, was not lost on Angie as Max collapsed over her belly. But when his mouth fell on her skin, she ran her fingers lazily along his arms, the thought fluttering quickly away. She lowered her back to the tile as Max released his hold on her hips.

“That was fantastic,” she whispered. She could barely hold her eyes open as Max regained his wits. He kissed her stomach, letting his lips linger on her skin, then slowly, quietly, slipped out of her. The emptiness left Angie cold and she pouted, but when she admired his beautiful shaft, every inch of him covered in her stickiness and his belly glistening with that sexy layer of sweat, she grinned.

Max swayed on his feet and stretched his arms into the air. “Wow,” he said. He looked dazed, his curls damp and his face ruddy. Suddenly his lips turned up again, and he surprised her by scooping her up from the counter.

Angie squealed. “What are you doing?”

Max cradled her in his arms, carrying her as best he could out of the kitchen and down the hall. “I'm taking you to the bedroom for more, innocent Ms. Patrick.”

“Ms. Patrick, the marm.” She rested her head on his shoulder, the warmth spreading back into her cheeks and chest.

Max shook his head with a laugh. “No. Angie,

(NOT AGAIN)

BY NEVERcummingback