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The school bell rings, and the fourth period students shuffle out of my classroom, some whooping and cheering down the hall as the pathways flood with students during class change. I’m relieved, as well—no one ever thinks of teachers needing a break between classes, too. With a quick sigh, I clear away some stuff from my desk, beginning to prepare for the next period.
“Um…”
I look up. Only one of my fourth period students is still in my classroom: Len, a blonde boy with big blue eyes. His face is flushed, and I wonder what it is that he could be so embarrassed about that he stayed after class to speak with me privately.
“Yes, Len, how can I help you?” I ask.
Len places today’s worksheet on my desk. “I’m a little confused about this question here. Can you help me?”
I take a closer look. My instructions seem to be clear (at least to me), but Len’s answer is an illegible scribble. I can’t help him if I don’t know what he’s saying in the first place.
Pointing to a written word, I ask, “Can you help me understand what this says?”
Rather than trying to read upside-down, and rather than taking the paper back, Len walks over to my side of the desk. He leans in and peers at his words, like even he doesn’t have a clue what he wrote.
Len stands a little too close to me, and I try to scoot back in my rolling chair to give him space, but he only takes that as more of an invitation to move in. He turns slightly away from me, so that, if he sat down, he would be right in my lap.
“Erm, I’m not sure either,” Len admits with an embarrassed laugh. His face is an even brighter shade of red than it was before.
With a laugh of my own, I place a hand on Len’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it for now. You can work on it for homework.”
Len turns fully to me. “But I don’t want to finish it for homework.”
“Well…”
“Isn’t there another way?”
Len places one hand on my chest and leans in so that he stands between my legs.
What… what’s happening? What is Len doing?
Whatever is happening with him, it’s not appropriate between a teacher and a student. Thankfully, the window in the door (the only way to look inside the classroom) is at such an angle that nobody can see inside. If anyone saw, I might lose my job.
I place my hand on Len’s and begin to move it away from my chest. “Len, I don’t think—”
Before I can finish, Len is already bringing my hand to his mouth. He closes his lips over my thumb and begins to suckle like a child sucking his thumb.
Something washes over my entire body from head to toe. Of course, my brain is on high alert and urging for this to stop. But my body says otherwise. I can feel Len’s slick, small tongue swirling around my finger, and I can feel the fleshy wetness of the inside of his mouth.
Along with Len’s touch is the look in his eyes. His stare is calculated, like he knows exactly what he’s doing and he’s just waiting for my next move. There’s also something hazy about those blue eyes, like he’s really enjoying sucking on my thumb, and he’s lost in the pleasure of it.
Len bobs his head back and forward on my thumb, and as much as I know that I shouldn’t, I can imagine him bobbing his head somewhere else, somewhere lower on my body that is starting to get very tight and cramped.
Len breaks his gaze to glance downward. Something flickers in his eyes—something like glee and relief, and maybe something like a satisfied hunger for more—and Len finally releases my thumb from his mouth. But rather than stopping the activity altogether, he drops to his knees between my legs and he starts to undo my belt.
With my finger free from Len’s hold, logic finally cuts through the cloud of lust dulling my senses.
“L-Len, you shouldn’t—”
I place my hand on the top of his head with the intention to move him away, but the touch only makes Len mewl like a pet. He nuzzles his head into my hand, and then he nuzzles his nose against my boxers, which barely hide my lust underneath.
I can’t help it—Len’s adorable mewl and nuzzle makes me interact with him as if he were a cat. As if on reflex, my fingers scratch the back of Len’s hair. Taking the petting as approval, Len makes another sound of approval and returns the touch with little laps of his tongue along the side of my covered cock.
As much as I love his licks, we don’t have much time. Students have already started filing into the class, but none of them can see Len on his knees between me and my desk.
With a hesitant smile, I greet the few students who have walked into my class.
“G-good afternoon, folks,” I say as calmly as possible.
The students barely look at me. And thank god that they don’t, because my eyes flicker down to Len pulling down my boxers over my hard rod. Again, he gives the side of my cock a few small licks and then—locking his eyes with mine—he gives my cock a long lick from the base to the tip.
Maybe Len understands how short we are on time. Maybe he’s just too hungry and clumsy in his youth. Whatever the reason, Len finally places his mouth on the head of my cock, swirls his tongue around it, and then starts to wiggle his mouth inward, trying to take in as much of my cock into his small mouth as he can.
I’m big. I know I’m big. And Len is so small. How can he possibly fit all my cock into his mouth? He seems to be wondering the same thing, because halfway down, he struggles and gags a little bit.
The sound makes a few students look at me. I cough to try to cover it up.
Len has to hurry up. There are too many students coming in now, and Len is going to be late to his next period. I have to speed this up, so I grip the back of his head and tug him sharply forward onto my cock.
Len gags again, and he instinctively tries to move back, but I hold him in place. A mix of both panic and lust clouds over his blue eyes, and water pools within them, making them twinkle under the fluorescent lights of the classroom. Just when I wonder if this is too much for him, Len blinks away the tears, places his hands on my inner thighs, and begins to bob his head along my cock.
A student approaches my desk, and I scoot my chair underneath my desk a little more, trapping Len underneath my desk.
“I have a question,” the student says.
I manage a weak smile. “How can I help you?”
The student begins to ask a question about an assignment assigned yesterday. I try my best to pay attention to what the student says, but Len is beginning to speed up his rhythm. He seems to be gaining more confidence as time passes by, and by the time the student finishes their question, I can feel the tip of my cock hitting the back of Len’s throat.
“I think you have a good basic understanding of the assignment,” I say, straining to keep my voice steady. “I think your main opportunity for improvement is to just work harder and… faster.”
Len hears my words, and he takes the cue. He moves faster, using his hands now to pump the base of my cock into his mouth. I wish I could pleasure him back. How hard is his own cock? How big is he? How small is he? Or would he rather not be pleasured by his cock but rather by his boy pussy? I want to know. I need to know.
The student frowns. “I try my best, but it’s not enough.”
“Tests are hard,” I say in reassurance. “At this point, I think all you need is—practice!”
With the last word, I pull Len’s head hard toward my groin. My voice masks the noise that Len makes, and I try to continue talking as I pull and push him roughly along my cock.
“Test anxiety—is a very real thing—that teachers across the country need to—recognize as a very real—concern,” I say, trying my best and failing to keep my voice steady.
The student pouts. “Can you help me? Can I practice in your room after school?”
Len hears, and he must take it as a threat. He sucks harder now, drooling messily all over my cock. His mouth feels so slick and wet, amazing, the best sleeve I could ever have.
“I think I have another student trying to—practice with me in my free time,” I say with a sorry smile.
I’m not sorry. I would much rather be here helping Len practice rather than helping this student with their test anxiety. Is that what this is—practice? Is Len practicing for someone else? Has Len does this with anyone else—any other teacher?
Angry possessiveness overtakes me, and I use both my hands to take Len’s head in my hands. I don’t care if Len has gone down on any other teacher. Right now, he’s with me. Right now, he’s between my legs, under my desk, with my cock shoved down his throat. I need to overtake him. I need to own him. I need to destroy him.
I give no warning for my climax. I spill into Len’s mouth, and Len once again gags and wants to move back, but I hold him with a firm grip of his hair. Drink it. Drink my come. You’re mine, whether other teachers or students know it or not.
The student in front of me glances where my hands disappear underneath my desk.
“Is something down there?” the student asks.
“Hm? Let’s see,” I respond.
I duck down. Len looks like a complete mess. His hair is disheveled, tears are streaming down his cheeks, and both come and drool spill from his mouth. His eyes meet mine, and he gives me an exhausted smile and wave. It’s adorable and endearing. It’s a small, simple moment, but I know the image will be burned into my memory every time I see Len in class.
I would love to relish the moment, but I don’t have time. We probably have about ten seconds before the next bell. After quickly redoing my belt, I grab Len by the collar of his shirt and pull him up from under the desk.
“Hey, why are you hiding down here?” I sharply reprimand. “Is this your idea of a joke?”
“Huh?” Len manages to say.
“Get to class!”
“Y-yes, sir!”
Len wipes his mouth and hurriedly sprints out the door just as the bell rings and the class bursts into confused laughter.
Which class is Len going to? Who’s the teacher? Will Len suck them off, too? How often does Len do this?
Guilt and sympathy pull at my chest. Len shouldn’t be doing this with me or anyone else. I’ll have to catch him after school and give him a stern talking to. Who knows if he’ll listen? Who knows what he’ll do at all? After today, I have no idea. But all I can do is try.
And try to restrain myself, too.