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Part I
Ms. Rachel Fisk squeezed her slender thighs together and bit her bottom lip. She shifted around in her padded swivel chair, crossed and uncrossed her legs behind the big teacher's desk at the front of the classroom. The students in front of her were busy taking their mid-term, the room filled with the sounds of pencils scratching, chairs shifting, and occasionally, the embarrassed cough or sniffle.
Rachel tried to make herself busy, focusing on last week's essays. She brushed a stray strand of her dark brown hair from her eyes, adjusted her wire rimmed glasses once again, and tried to concentrate in, but the Senior Year English papers were not enough to pull the attention from her uncomfortable arousal. All she could think about was the sensitive way her thong rubbed her, each time she shifted.
Rachel didn't normally wear clothing like this. She only owned a few thongs, and all of them were bought for her by Stephen. Today, she was feeling frisky, so she thought she'd give him a little surprise. She smiled once again, thinking of his reaction when he learned of this surprise, and shifted once again, her sensitivity never letting her forget it. Stephen had read about the Brazilian bikini wax, and since reading about them, wouldn't shut up about them.
"All the hair is gone, except for a little... you know, tuft." He was like a little kid describing the latest toy on the market. Rachel's only response was, "Sounds painful," and she left it at that.
She did it for him, of course, last night, and it was painful. But after today and how aroused she was getting, just from simple, every day activities, she entertained the idea of making this a regular thing. She stared up at the class, realizing that she had been staring glassy eyed at the paper, her eyes drooping in pleasure. Rachel's heart hiccupped when she saw that a student was, indeed, looking at her.
Brooke Larsen. Brooke had finished her test, way ahead of the class as usual, and had caught Rachel in her aroused trance. Rachel's blue eyes met Brooke's green, and they collectively looked away from each other, both embarrassed for no explainable reason. Brooke was a good student, the only student who deserved an A, although Rachel's generous curve helped many other students achieve the A mark as well. Brooke always had thoughtful comments in discussion, always wrote eloquent papers on challenging topics, and was a very nice person to talk with one-on-one. In fact, were Brooke not six years her senior at 18, Rachel was sure they'd be friends.
Of course, with a personality like that, one would assume that Brooke was a mousy haired girl who wore tortoise-shell glasses and thick, turtle neck sweaters. For Brooke Larsen, however, this was not the case. She was a knock out. Blonde hair, green eyes, beautiful face and fit body. She was the captain of the cheerleader squad, she always kept up with the latest fashions, and she was stereotypically dating the quarterback of the high school football team. Rachel would have hated her, had she not met her first. Now, the 24-year-old teacher just accepted the fact that Brooke had the brains, the beauty, and the popularity, and only envied her slightly.
Rachel just shook her head and tried to concentrate on those papers once again.
***
Brooke fumbled for her copy of "Catcher and the Rye" from her back pack. She had finished her essay test early, and was near the end of one her favorite books. But for some reason, she couldn't quite concentrate on her book. Her cheeks were still burning from when Ms. Fisk caught her looking. She was embarrassed, but didn't know why.
Brooke really enjoyed this class, and a great deal of her enjoyment came from the teacher. The best classes were the ones where the teacher's enthusiasm for his or her subject spread to the students. Ms. Fisk loved English literature, and her love infected Brooke. She found herself looking forward to period 5, when she would get to come and discuss last night's reading of "The Great Gatsby" or "Hamlet."
And since her recent break up with Mike, she found herself getting more and more into books. In fact, when she was finished with "Catcher," she wanted to ask Ms. Fisk to recommend her next book.
For some reason, she found herself staring back at the brunette teacher at the front of the class again. Brooke knew that she was beautiful and tried with everyday to not let that affect her and her personality, but often times she feared that people could detect that effort. Ms. Fisk was beautiful almost subconsciously. Maybe she didn't even know it. Long, dark brown hair and strikingly contrasting blue eyes, often times shielded by her delicate, wire-rimmed glasses. She wore outfits that teachers were supposed to wear: slacks and blouses, or long, flowy skirts. Her pumps were heeled but practical, and her make up was applied in a natural way. All the boys were in love with her, that was for sure. Brooke had heard them talk about the teacher in the halls when they thought she was not listening: the things they wanted to do to her; the generous size of her breasts (just a shy too big for her slender body); their fantasies; their desires.
Today, Ms. Fisk seemed to be shifting uncomfortably, and often times her eyes took on a distant cloudiness. When her eye lids grew heavy, Brooke would say that the teacher was either sleepy, or deeply aroused. The blonde shook her head and went back to her book. The last few pages of Holden Caufield's story.
***
6th period was Rachel's break. Coincidentally, it was also Stephen's break, so she decided to surprise him with her present. She locked the door to her classroom and started walking to the science wing, where he taught Junior Year Chemistry. They had met when she first started teaching here, two years ago. He was in his 30s, considerably older than him, but this didn't bother either of them, and they enjoyed a nice, happy if conventional, relationship.
Rachel was wearing a navy blue dress that buttoned all the way from her ankles to the collar. Of course, she didn't keep all the buttons done, this would be too constricting. Instead, she left the buttons undone to just above her knees, and it was unbuttoned two from the top. As she walked to Stephen's classroom, she got a little bit more excited and casually unbuttoned a few more buttons around her thighs and at her impressive bosom. With that black push-up bra from Victoria's Secret that Stephen had bought her, leaning forward presented a lovely sight.
She entered Stephen's classroom quietly, wanting to surprise him. The lights were shut off, the science counters with their Bunsen burners and sinks looming shadows in the darkness. Like all the classrooms at the high school, Stephen had an office in the back, and the light was on. Rachel crept through the room, trying her best to silence the clicking of her heels along the ground.
She could hear mumbling coming from the office now. Talking, maybe. For some reason, Rachel didn't like the sound. She made a face and moved closer. The voices resolved themselves into two: a man's and a woman's. The sounds clarified into panting, deep-breathing. Someone exercising. Or fucking.
She crept closer still, her heart pounding, her face burning. She was shaking. She didn't like this at all.
Peaking her head carefully around the doorframe of her office, she was startled by a load, "OhhOHHHH!!" A woman's voice, filled with passion. The scene before her hit her like a freight train. Kept hitting her. A persistent wave of shocked agony.
There was her Stephen, the man that she said, "I love you" to when she left his side. The man she was thinking about marrying. There he was, handsome, stripped of his clothes, dark chest hair sweaty and matted down, driving it into the other Junior Year chemistry teacher, Ms. Taylor. Cheri Taylor was the new teacher this year, beautiful, red haired, confident, and also naked.
Rachel didn't move. A deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck. Her mouth hung open. She watched, unsure of what to do, unable to interrupt this horrible, terrible act. She had never witnessed two people having sex this close before, not five feet away. She'd never seen a porno, and this was far more raw than that could ever be, anyway. She watched as Stephen gripped Cheri around the waist, pinning her against his desk. One of her legs was propped up on the office chair lewdly, opening herself up for their copulation.
Rachel had also never been this close to another naked woman before, and she found her eyes roaming the soft flesh, comparing and contrasting herself with this woman in an almost scientific way, had she not begun to get aroused. Cheri's smaller tits, covered in a dusting of freckles, shuddered with each thrust. Cheri's nipples, pale and pink, were hard, just like Rachel's own light brown ones, which she felt were much more defined, rounder, more perfect. While Cheri's body was much more pale than Rachel's, there was a softness that she... could see why men found her attractive. An elegance, maybe? Her eyes traveled down to the redhead's privates, where Stephen's large cock was rhythmically sliding in and out of her, an oiled piston. The site made her want to retch. The betrayal. The hurt. Yet there was a fascination there, as well. Her pussy was shaved clean, the smooth skin of her tummy sliding and meeting the smooth skin of her parted, red lips. Was this what Stephen wanted? A bald cunt?
The brunette watched as the shaven lips of the redhead's pussy pulled and stretched along Stephen's hard member, in and out, the area glistening with their combined pleasure. Cheri began to claw at Stephen's back, her moans harder and harder to keep quiet. She pulled him down to her, kissed him passionately on the lips, their tongues working mercilessly. Rachel wanted to turn her head from the death of their relationship, but she was stuck, fascinated.
Stephen increased his thrusts, pulling almost all the way out, then pushing all the way in, hard. Rachel knew what this meant. He was close. They never let up their kissing. Cheri locked her ankles around Stephen's back, opening herself up further, and Rachel lost her porn star view. Harder and harder he thrust, his face a grimace, his grunts coming like pre-history's man trying to communicate his passion. Thrust. Thrust. "Uh. Uh!"
"Oh, ohhhhhh, baby, fuckkk, uh, uh, UHHHHHHHHH!!" Cheri moaned quietly into the mouth of Rachel's former boyfriend. With a final, monumental thrust and a deep groan, Stephen slammed his dick home, pushing hard against the other science teacher's groin, all his pleasure seeping from him to her. For her part, Cheri continued to pump on his pulsating cock, milking it, driving herself higher and higher.
Rachel, from the doorway, felt a tear roll down her face. Still not knowing what to do, but suddenly feeling guilty for watching them, she turned quietly and walked from the room, not caring how loud her heels clicked across the tiled floor.
***
Brooke was on her way back from the bathroom sometime during period 6 when she saw Ms. Fisk rushing down the hall, towards her. The brunette teacher looked upset and distracted, and didn't even acknowledge Brooke as she brushed by. Brooke was a little hurt, but shook her head after a moment. The blonde wasn't positive, but she swore that her teacher was crying. Or at least close to it.
She fought back the urge to rush up to the older woman, to wrap her arms around her and comfort her. Brooke followed Ms. Fisk with her green eyes, her body half posed to follow until at last, the teacher rounded the corner and was gone.
***
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Rachel spent the rest of sixth period in her room, trying to figure out what went wrong. She thought they had a good, young relationship. Stephen was always so thoughtful, so generous with his love. He was intelligent, he was attractive. And now, he was a cheater.
Sitting in her office, alone, there was a part of her that wanted to forget what she saw. To pretend that it never happened. Bury her head in the sand. A voice kept whispering, "It was a one time thing," or "They were caught up in the moment." She formulated excuses for him. She helped him out.
But before she could forgive him entirely, the period bell rang, and it was time for her last class of the day. Sitting in front of a group of students after this tragedy and having to act normal was one of the hardest things she had done as a teacher here. It helped that they were busy with their tests, because she wasn't sure if she could keep her voice steady.
When class was over and the day was done, she returned to her office and sat behind her desk. Her stomach was a ball of anxiety, and she dreaded what was going to happen next. Either Stephen was going to give her a call, or he was going to walk through her door, and she didn't know how she was going to handle either.
She made no move to pack up her things, but waited nervously for the disaster to strike home. Outside in the hall, Rachel could hear the metal slam of lockers and the shouts of the kids as they got ready to go home. She listened and waited. And then the knock came.
***
Brooke walked into Ms. Fisk's classroom. The lights were still on, but it was empty. She found the young teacher in her office, looking stunned and quiet. When it appeared that Brooke was going unnoticed, again, she quietly tapped on the door frame.
Ms. Fisk looked up at the young cheerleader suddenly, and visibly relaxed at the sight of Brooke. Brooke could see that her eyes were rimmed red behind the glasses, and she now knew that her teacher must have been crying.
"Oh Brooke. How can I help you?" Ms. Fisk asked pleasantly, as though nothing were wrong.
"I... I can come back later..." the blonde said, apologetically.
"Nonsense," Ms. Fisk said, taking a deep breath and straightening her dress over her chest. Brooke couldn't help but notice that a few more buttons were undone since fifth period. "Please, have a seat. I was just... just having a look at last week's papers. Wonderful job, Brooke." Brooke entered the office awkwardly and took a seat across from the young teacher. "I..." she faltered. "I was just getting ready to leave."
Brooke quickly looked over at Ms. Fisk's bag, which was empty. "Is... something wrong, Ms. Fisk? Something you'd like to talk about?"
The pretty brunette waved her hand, hoping to wave all her problems away. But her face was still anxious, and her eyes still a little swollen. "Oh... you know... the usual--" And the dam burst. Tears welled up and streamed down her face, and she hung her head, desperately trying to contain her sobs.
The teenager, unsure of what to do, reached awkwardly across the desk and covered her teacher's hand in a futile attempt to comfort her. The older woman's hand was burning to the touch, and soft, silky smooth.
And somehow, the touch seemed to comfort Ms. Fisk. She wiped her eyes and looked up at her student, sitting across from her in the chair. Her hand still covered, she said, "I... caught my boyfriend cheating on me."
Brooke knew that Ms. Fisk had been seeing Mr. Edwards, the science teacher, for the past year or so, so this revelation was pretty shocking.
"Mr. Edwards?" she said quietly.
"Yes... with Cheri Taylor."
"Oh..." the blonde said, covering her mouth. The phone rang sudden and abrasive between the two women, and Brooke pulled her hand off Ms. Fisk's, as though she were doing something wrong. She watched her teacher, and saw that she did not want to answer the phone. "It may be Stephen..." she said, explaining, her hand hesitating over the black, screeching phone.
Two rings. Three rings.
On the fourth ring, Brooke reached over and picked it up. "Hello?" she said in a sweet voice. The blonde looked over at Ms. Fisk, who was nervously biting her lower lip, a worried look haunting her deep blue eyes. The voice on the other line was, indeed, Mr. Edwards' voice, asking if he could talk to 'Ms. Fisk.' "I'm sorry, she's not here right now." Where is she? he asked. "I don't know. I was just getting something I'd left in the classroom. Heard the phone ring." She shrugged for no one in particular. "If I see her, I'll tell her you called." Brooke winked at the brunette, who was still looking worried. The voice said, Tell her I'm going to go out with friends tonight. That I'll see her tomorrow. "I will if I see her," she reminded, then hung up.
She explained the situation to the older woman, adding her feelings about Stephen and what he had done in not so gentle terms, and an odd thing occurred to her. Here she was, the student of a teacher that she looked up to and admired, yet right then, at that point, she felt like the older one, comforting a hurt, younger sister, perhaps. She was protecting her.
So when it was Brooke who suggested, "Why don't we get out of here... go get something to eat or something..." it didn't seem strange that a student was suggesting that she and a teacher grab a bite to eat. At that moment, they were just two peers trying to soldier through a difficult time.
For the first time that afternoon, Rachel actually looked up, sniffled a little, and formed a small, genuine smile.
***
Outside, it was raining. "How do you normally get home?" Rachel asked Brooke. "Do you drive?" They were standing under the awning at the East exit of the school, just before the parking lot. The rain clattered loudly above them.
"No," she yelled back. "Normally, I just walk. My parents only live a few blocks away."
The young teacher nodded, then said, "Okay, my car is that one, over there. The black Golf. I'll run out to get it. No sense in both of us getting..." But before she could say anything, the blonde took off in a mad dash through the rain. Rachel laughed out loud and followed her student through the warm spring shower.
The doors shut with a satisfying sound, and the two young women sat in the car, quietly, as Rachel fit the key in the ignition. She looked over at Brooke, who was dripping. Her blonde hair, usually so full and healthy, was soaked, stuck along her face, parting around her ears, curling under and along her chin. Her green eyes danced. Her lips were amused and upturned. Rachel noticed for the first time the light brush of freckles on the girl’s slightly tanned skin. She was beautiful. A water nymph, wearing a soaked ringer t-shirt that now clung to her young, firm breasts. The pink straps of her bra were hinted at beneath the translucent cotton. Rachel couldn't help staring, wondering if she looked as wet and radiant as this girl in front of her.
Their eyes caught each other again, and Rachel felt a spark pass between them. She'd felt it before, when the blonde had placed a hand on her hand. The connection was so real it was almost tangible. She felt open to this girl. Brooke, for that moment through this, was no longer a student, but a friend.
And then her friend began to laugh. It was a wonderful, musical laugh that didn't over power, yet was backed with such confidence. It infected Rachel and for a few moments, she forgot about being wet, she even forgot about Stephen and his betrayal, and the two just sat in the car, the rain drumming a metallic beat out on the roof of her little Golf, and laughed.
***
They went to a Ruby Tuesday's downtown. "I live a block away, off the main drag," Rachel said, pointing back into the neighborhood. The rain had lightened up, so they decided to park just outside of Rachel's garden style apartment complex and run to the restaurant.
"Is this okay?" Rachel asked as they entered the American chain restaurant, complete with the bicycles and street signs bolted to the walls. The lights were all in faux stained glassed shades, the colors dark and deep. Televisions featured ESPN and the crowd was very light, due to the early hour. "I needed a drink, and I figured you wouldn't be let into a bar," she explained.
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