Original Fic | Love Lessons - 1/? - NC-17
love lessons
Elliot Webber had learned the hard way that most teachers weren't to be trusted; but then, Max Forsythe wasn't really like most teachers, was he? Rated for strong language and romantic themes.
NC-17
Teacher/Student
Romance, Drama, Friendship, Humour
734 words
This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 2.0 UK: England & Wales License. All rights reserved.
It had started out so innocently.
«¤»
Prologue
It had started out so innocently.
And at first, it had even been too easy to be fun. Putting on a sultry voice when she addressed him, bending over in front of him to 'pick up her pencil'. A shy glimpse of thigh as she pulled up her skirt, a tantalising flash of skin as she played with the loosened collar on her shirt. It was all a little bit easy - and a little bit too subtle to really get his attention. Hanging around after class came next, caressing doorways and tables as though she wanted to make love to them. Bending over him a little at his desk, asking for advice on homework, the textbook pages, imaginary problems at home. Making sure she sat in the front row, right where he could see her; crossing and uncrossing her legs.
The looks he started giving her was when it started to get fun - and when she thought maybe it was time to hold off. Teasing was all well and good, but it wasn't serious: just a bit of fun. But she was encouraged, both by her friend and by him. Something a little darker started to cloud his vision when he watched her. Letting her hair down while he was watching, styled loose curls falling at her shoulders and across her chest. She wore her hair shorter now. He used to close the door when they were alone, stand behind her as he went through the work she didn't understand. His chest pressed lightly against her back, his gaze drifting. Just a bit of fun.
She cornered him in his office once. Stalked towards him, hands on hips, then moving slowly to her thighs. She dared him, laughing slowly, cruelly. He reacted faster than she anticipated.
Pressed against the wall there was no doubt about his attraction for her: it dug into her hip just as his fingers dug painfully into the bare flesh beneath her shirt. The fabric seemed so thin; useless. He'd never touched her before - he'd barely shown a sign that she was getting to him. But his breath hot on her, his mouth shaping words she never wanted to hear again, slandering her, condemning her to the gates of hell for what she did to him - she got to him. It wasn't his fault, he said. Almost crying with desperation.
It was easy to drag her skirt up, easier still to tug at the flimsy fabric separating them. Her cries for him to stop turned to real tears, salty and bitter with fear. What had she done? What had she done? He was stronger than she thought, much stronger. Her flailing arms were as dust to the wind and she could feel herself crumbling against him…
The sound of an opening door was the most precious she could remember. A stumble, a careful landing on his part: she ended on top of him, looking for all the world like the one who had started it all. Everyone knew what she had been doing to him, staff and students alike; they’d never believe her now.
Screams of horror and surprise.
She came at me, he said. She threw herself at me with all she’s got. This is exactly what it looks like.
Word spreads fast, like fire ripping through an already barren land. He couldn’t work any more, at least not there. Too much temptation, too much history with a girl who didn't value herself or anybody else. Expelled from the staff with simply a warning - most likely teaching elsewhere. The sick in her stomach still rose when she thought of him, of what she made him do to her.
The praise from her single friend wasn’t enough to quell the illness she felt seeping through her. Something changed that day - she didn’t lose what was precious, but she lost some of what made her whole. The boyfriend dumped her, words like ‘slut’ and ‘Jezebel’ and ‘whore’ lining his blood-red lips. They wouldn't believe her. Why would they? She never told the truth. Rumours spread, of course, that she was innocent, that she had nothing to do with it. But most regarded her with a wary eye, labelling her the girl who cost the decent, honest, hard-working man his job. To this day, she still wondered if his wife ever left him.
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Elliot Webber had learned the hard way that most teachers weren't to be trusted; but then, Max Forsythe wasn't really like most teachers, was he? Rated for strong language and romantic themes.
NC-17
Teacher/Student
Romance, Drama, Friendship, Humour
734 words
This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 2.0 UK: England & Wales License. All rights reserved.
It had started out so innocently.
«¤»
Prologue
It had started out so innocently.
And at first, it had even been too easy to be fun. Putting on a sultry voice when she addressed him, bending over in front of him to 'pick up her pencil'. A shy glimpse of thigh as she pulled up her skirt, a tantalising flash of skin as she played with the loosened collar on her shirt. It was all a little bit easy - and a little bit too subtle to really get his attention. Hanging around after class came next, caressing doorways and tables as though she wanted to make love to them. Bending over him a little at his desk, asking for advice on homework, the textbook pages, imaginary problems at home. Making sure she sat in the front row, right where he could see her; crossing and uncrossing her legs.
The looks he started giving her was when it started to get fun - and when she thought maybe it was time to hold off. Teasing was all well and good, but it wasn't serious: just a bit of fun. But she was encouraged, both by her friend and by him. Something a little darker started to cloud his vision when he watched her. Letting her hair down while he was watching, styled loose curls falling at her shoulders and across her chest. She wore her hair shorter now. He used to close the door when they were alone, stand behind her as he went through the work she didn't understand. His chest pressed lightly against her back, his gaze drifting. Just a bit of fun.
She cornered him in his office once. Stalked towards him, hands on hips, then moving slowly to her thighs. She dared him, laughing slowly, cruelly. He reacted faster than she anticipated.
Pressed against the wall there was no doubt about his attraction for her: it dug into her hip just as his fingers dug painfully into the bare flesh beneath her shirt. The fabric seemed so thin; useless. He'd never touched her before - he'd barely shown a sign that she was getting to him. But his breath hot on her, his mouth shaping words she never wanted to hear again, slandering her, condemning her to the gates of hell for what she did to him - she got to him. It wasn't his fault, he said. Almost crying with desperation.
It was easy to drag her skirt up, easier still to tug at the flimsy fabric separating them. Her cries for him to stop turned to real tears, salty and bitter with fear. What had she done? What had she done? He was stronger than she thought, much stronger. Her flailing arms were as dust to the wind and she could feel herself crumbling against him…
The sound of an opening door was the most precious she could remember. A stumble, a careful landing on his part: she ended on top of him, looking for all the world like the one who had started it all. Everyone knew what she had been doing to him, staff and students alike; they’d never believe her now.
Screams of horror and surprise.
She came at me, he said. She threw herself at me with all she’s got. This is exactly what it looks like.
Word spreads fast, like fire ripping through an already barren land. He couldn’t work any more, at least not there. Too much temptation, too much history with a girl who didn't value herself or anybody else. Expelled from the staff with simply a warning - most likely teaching elsewhere. The sick in her stomach still rose when she thought of him, of what she made him do to her.
The praise from her single friend wasn’t enough to quell the illness she felt seeping through her. Something changed that day - she didn’t lose what was precious, but she lost some of what made her whole. The boyfriend dumped her, words like ‘slut’ and ‘Jezebel’ and ‘whore’ lining his blood-red lips. They wouldn't believe her. Why would they? She never told the truth. Rumours spread, of course, that she was innocent, that she had nothing to do with it. But most regarded her with a wary eye, labelling her the girl who cost the decent, honest, hard-working man his job. To this day, she still wondered if his wife ever left him.
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