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Subject: {ASSM} NEW: Absolute Power 2 by Gary Cirby (FM, mc) 1/2
Date: Mon, 8 May 2000 01:10:12 -0400
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The usual disclaimers apply. This is erotic fiction and, as such, it
contains graphic descriptions of sexual activities. If such material
offends you it would be my suggestion that you do not read it. This
work is copyrighted to the author. This work may be archived at
dejanews and reposted to newsgroups without permission but use in any
other manner, particularly on commercial websites, requires the express
consent of the author.
I have reposted part 1 for those that haven't seen it yet. My thanks
to all those who took the time to write me with comments to Part 1. It
is you who are chiefly responsible for there being a Part 2.
ABSOLUTE POWER 2
By Gary Cirby gcirby@hotmail.com
Paul had not been home from his illicit visit to Julie's house for more
than ten minutes before he was overwhelmed with feelings of guilt for
what he had done. He had screwed his neighbor! He had screwed her
against her will! True, she had enjoyed it and true she had wanted to
do it at the time, but it was not something that she ordinarily would
have done with him if not for the power. He had commanded her to have
sex with him and to enjoy it. He had, in effect, raped her. He was a
rapist! The thought that he had raped her in such a manner that would
not leave any psychological problems behind, that would leave no
physical damage, that would, in fact, not even be remembered, did not
help much. He was a rapist, a criminal, the scum of the earth.
When he was not wrestling with guilt over the fact that he had raped
Julie, he was dealing with the guilt of cheating on his wife. He had
tossed aside his marriage vows in an instant, with hardly a second
thought, just so he could relieve a lustful urge. This was something
that he had always controlled before, that he had never even seriously
considered doing. He had always assumed that he restrained himself
from adultery out of love for his wife, out of respect for her. That
had not been the reason at all, he realized now. He had just not
wanted to risk getting caught at it. Once that risk had been
completely removed from the equation, it had taken him less than twenty-
four hours to have an affair.
"I'm scum," he said to himself as he sipped out of glass of wine, the
odor of Julie's body still clinging to him like a blanket. "I'm
absolute scum."
He felt better having admitted that he was scum. It was almost a
therapy of sorts. He decided to look upon the entire episode with
Julie as a learning experience. He had been given a power and he had
abused it. It was regretful that he had done such a thing, it was
wrong, and it was shameful. But he would learn from this and practice
restraint in the future. He had just gone a little crazy when he had
seen his attractive neighbor dressed in her gardening outfit, when he
had successfully pried personal details from her.
"It won't happen again," he vowed to himself. "I will not let anything
like that happen again."
As he took a shower and began the process of composing himself, he kept
repeating that over and over, like an incantation.
By the time Terry came home he had convinced himself that he would be
able to practice restraint in the future. He had no right to pry into
the thoughts of other and no right to pry into their bodies either. He
would try to think of good ways to use this power that he had been
given and would stick to normal, consensual sex with Terry only.
"Hi babe," she said, leaning down and kissing him. "Are you feeling
better?"
"Much," he told her, though with a voice that was still troubled.
She shot him a worried look but said nothing. They prepared dinner
together a few minutes later, fixing a simple dish of chicken and
rice. She asked him a few more times during the construction process
if he was all right and why he was so quiet.
"Maybe I am still a little under the weather," he told her, giving a
weak smile. "I'm sorry."
She returned the smile and gave him another kiss. They sat down a
minute later and began to eat. As they chomped away at their chicken
breasts and as each sipped a glass of white wine, he finally began to
relax. He was scum, he had admitted it, and he was not going to be
scum anymore. So what was the point of being depressed about it, of
fighting with guilt? He had learned his lesson. The mood lightened up
and Terry, whose matrimonial instincts were being jigged, began to feel
better at last. Conversation began to flow from them, halting at first
but quickly picking up momentum.
This lasted only until the sound of fighting began to drift in the
kitchen window from next door.
It was just the unintelligible sounds of a male and a female yelling at
each other at first. It was noticeable only because it was such an
unusual occurrence. Not even Terry, in the midst of one of her
tirades, yelled loud enough for the neighbors to hear.
"Who is that?" Terry said, dropping her fork to her plate. "That's not
Julie and Rich is it?"
"I don't know," Paul said carefully, instinctively knowing that his had
something to do with what he had done earlier. What else could it be?
"They never fight," she said. "At least not so people can hear. I
wonder what's going on?"
No sooner had she said that then the words became louder, and clearly
understandable. "You fucking whore!" yelled a male voice, clearly
Rich, in fury. "You'd better tell me what the hell this is about!"
"I don't KNOW what it's about!" Julie's tearful voice yelled back. "I
really don't."
"Then how the fuck do you explain this?!" came the retort.
"Oh my God," Terry said, shocked. "I've never heard Rich talk like
that. Never!"
Paul shuddered a little. What had happened? What detail had he left
undone at Julie's house?
"Paul?" Terry asked, worry in her eyes once more. "Do you think that
maybe we should... you know... call the police or something."
"No," he said, standing up. "I'll go take care of it."
She looked at him as if he were mad. "You'll what?"
He looked at his wife and projected towards her. "Just finish your
dinner and don't worry about anything that's going on. Start doing the
dishes when you're done. It's not unusual for me to go over there like
this and you know I'll be back in a few minutes."
"Okay," Terry said, settling back in and picking up her fork. Her face
became calm once more, almost serene. "Can you ask Julie if she'll
lend me her crumb cake recipe while you're over there? We have that
potluck to go to next week and we're assigned a desert."
"Sure," he said, heading for the back door of the house.
Moving quickly he went out into the back yard, stepping over the flower
beds and around the birdbath until he came to the wooden fence that
separated his back yard from Rich and Julie's. He could hear the sound
of the argument escalating as he peered over into their back yard.
They were both using more and more angry profanity as he called her a
"whore" and a "cunt" and a "slut" and she called him a "paranoid
asshole". He knew that the other neighbors were listening in on this
as well, knew that it was only a matter of time before someone did as
Terry had suggested and called the police; if they had not already done
so. It also sounded like only a matter of time before things came to
physical violence over there. Whatever detail had been forgotten, it
had surely pissed Rich off big time.
Though he had not done such a thing in years, not since he was a kid,
he hiked his foot onto the fence and scrambled over to the other side,
landing with a thump in Julie's flowerbed, smashing a rose bush. He
walked across the neatly manicured back lawn, stepping gingerly around
the piles of dog feces that Tundra, their Alaskan Husky had deposited.
Tundra herself, seeing the visitor to the yard, rushed up and began
jumping on him, leaving little tufts of white fur from her shedding
winter coat.
"Down Tundra," he said softly, pushing her to the ground. Tundra,
always the obedient canine, did as she was told.
Paul stepped onto their patio and approached their sliding glass door,
which led into their kitchen. He gave it a try, hoping that it was
unlocked, and it slid easily along its track. As it opened, the sound
of the argument, which now consisted of hysterical tears on Julie's
part and continued demands of explanation on Rich's, swelled louder.
His ears homed in on it, feeding him the information that they were in
the bedroom. With a deep breath he began heading through their house,
feeling like a burglar.
He walked down the hallway and paused at the open door of the bedroom.
Rich and Julie were indeed in there and seemed only seconds away from
coming to blows. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, crying and
protesting hysterically that she did not know what he was talking
about. He was standing threateningly above her, his face red and
furious, as he shouted at her.
"Goddamn it," he screamed, pointing his finger at her to punctuate each
word. "You had better start making some fuckin sense right now! I'm
only gonna ask you one more fucking time. Where did it come from? And
don't feed me any more of your shit about how you don't know!"
She looked up at him, tears streaming down her miserable face, about to
offer yet another denial. But her eyes caught the sight of Paul
standing in the doorway and she jumped, emitting a startled scream.
"What are YOU doing in here?" she barked.
Rich, hearing her words, whipped his head around and stared at Paul as
well. He too gave a jump as he saw the unexpected presence. "Paul,"
he barked, taking a step towards him, "what the hell are you doing?
We're having a private fucking discussion. Where do you get off coming
in our house?!"
Feeling a jolt of adrenaline at the confrontation, not really
accustomed to such scenes, Paul nevertheless pushed on. Projecting
himself at them, he said: "Both of you calm down right now and stop
yelling."
It was actually kind of amazing to watch. Simultaneously they slumped
into relaxed postures, all of the tension evaporating from their
poses. Their faces, which had been drawn and twisted with anger and
fear, softened, taking on the expressions of those on Valium.
"That's better," Paul said, smiling at his accomplishment. "Much
better."
"Paul," Rich said softly, calmly, as if he were speaking to a lover or
his best friend. "Get out of our fucking house right now. I don't know
what you're doing in here but you need to leave."
"Yes," Julie said, using the same calm, rational, friendly voice. "I
must say that you have a lot of nerve just barging in here like you
did. Have you not ever heard of knocking?"
Paul reflected a little at the strangeness of this all. "Listen," he
said to them, projecting again, "there is nothing unusual about me
being here right now. You will answer all of my questions truthfully
without hesitation or worry."
They both nodded their understanding and looked at him expectantly.
"Now then," he said, feeling like he was getting somewhere. "Please
explain to me Rich, just what this fight is all about."
"Well," Rich said, still calm as a pilot, "I came upstairs when I got
home from work and I found a large stain on the bedspread here. It is
quite obviously a stain that appeared there as a result of someone
having sex on the bed. I have not had sex with Julie in more than a
week and the stain was not there when I left for work in any case.
Julie, when I ask her about it, just keeps saying that she doesn't know
where it came from and that it couldn't possibly be from sex." He
shook his head a little, like a man that has just heard something
amusing. "I mean look at it," he said, pointing to the bedspread.
Sure enough, right next to where Julie was sitting was a large white
stain, right where their crotches had been joined during the earlier
encounter. "Yes," Paul said, shaking his own head a little at his own
stupidity. "That is what it appears to be."
"Do you see dear?" Rich asked his wife reasonably. "Even Paul says
that's what it is."
"I'm sorry," she replied lightly. "I just don't see it that way. To
tell you the truth, I have no idea what it is. It's weird though. If
I look at it for a moment and try to think about it, I can't. My mind
will just start thinking about something else."
"And it is quite infuriating when you do that," Rich told her.
Paul tried to think for a minute, trying to sort through this mess that
he had left. He now knew the detail that he had forgotten. This power
thing surely did take practice. He needed to fix things here, that
much was obvious, but how?
He considered and rejected several scenarios, finding them too
complicated and full of potential traps. At last he decided that the
simplest, most direct approach was the answer. He turned to Rich.
"You made love to Julie as soon as you got home from work," he said,
projecting. "It was a typical session of lovemaking for the two of
you. That is where the stain came from."
"Oh yes," Rich said, smiling in fond memory. "I remember now."
"We did no such thing," Julie protested mildly. "I haven't had sex in
more than..."
"You DID make love to Rich when he got home," Paul interrupted,
projecting.
"Oh yes," she said, smiling. "We did."
"And if either one of you finds any other signs that sexual activity
took place in this house today, you will conclude that it came from
that session."
"Right," Rich agreed.
"Got it," Julie added.
He probed and prodded at them a few times, searching their answers for
possible pitfalls. Finding none, he instructed them that the moment he
left their house, they would forget he had been there at all. But
before he made good his escape, he did have one more request of them.
"Terry would like your crumb cake recipe," he told Julie.
Three minutes later he left the house, via the front door this time,
with a small recipe card tucked into his pocket. Before returning to
his own house he made the rounds to every house that was potentially
within earshot of Rich and Julie's. He knocked on each door and
demanded entry when it was answered. He then gathered each person in
each house and instructed them that they had never heard a thing coming
from Rich and Julie's that day and to forget that he had ever been
there.
This process took nearly an hour. By the time he walked back through
his own front door he was exhausted, both mentally and physically, by
the effort of cleaning up the mess he had made. If nothing else this
episode reinforced the decision he had come to earlier. He would no
longer abuse the power he had been given. He would have no more sexual
interludes. Having extramarital sex by using the power was just as
complex, if not more so, than having it without the power.
*****
"You've been awfully quiet the last few days," Terry observed to him in
the car the next morning as they drove to work. "Are you sure that
nothing's wrong?"
He looked over towards her for a moment as he drove down Interstate 80,
not failing the note the genuine tenderness and love in her tone. She
was really worried about him. Terry really was a good, loving wife.
And what had he done? He had cheated on her with the neighbor and had
reprogrammed her mind on several occasions when it became convenient to
do so.
"Things will be better Terry," he told her, patting her leg, which was
clad in nylons, with his free hand. "I promise."
"That's good," she smiled, stroking her fingernails against his arm.
"You've really seemed... well... different lately."
As he drove he made another vow to himself. He would no longer use the
power on Terry if he could possibly avoid it. Somehow that seemed even
more wrong than using it for sex.
*****
When they arrived at the school their first stop was the administration
office to pick up any mail that they had received and to check-in.
When they walked in, the secretarial staff was busy pounding away on
their computer keyboards and swilling down the cheap coffee that the
district supplied. A few of them gave unenthusiastic grunts of
greeting to the two teachers but most simply ignored them. The school
office staffers were not, as a general rule, the happiest people on
earth.
Paul grabbed a stack of memos and other junk mail from his cubbyhole
and began leafing through it, scanning for anything that might
potentially be important. Seeing nothing that fit that description he
tossed the pile in the nearest convenient round file. As they sank to
the bottom, joining a ream or so of others just like them, he looked up
to see that Vice Principal Maureen Flagstaff was looking at him from
the doorway of her office.
"You know," she said with feigned pleasantness, her jaw snapping the
gum that she perpetually chewed, "we don't print those memorandums up
just so you can toss them into the garbage without reading them."
Maureen Flagstaff, at thirty-two years old, was the youngest assistant
principal that the district had ever promoted into that position. She
would undoubtedly, in a year or two, be the youngest principal that it
had ever promoted. This would of course be followed by her being the
youngest district manager and so on and so forth. Maureen was the
woman with all the right connections. She had moved up the ladder into
administration after spending only four years in an actual classroom,
assisted along her path by her husband, who was a semi-influential
Nebraska State Assembly member with a seat on the education committee.
Jack Flagstaff, her husband, was thirteen years her senior. He was a
bald, nerdy looking man who wore black power suits everywhere he went,
including to school functions. Maureen had met and successfully
courted him when she herself was nothing but a simple but very
attractive Geometry teacher with ambition and he was a simple Lincoln
City Council member from the ritzy district.
Maureen had lost a little bit of her once heart-stopping beauty along
her trip. Though her face was still smooth and unlined, the cold,
calculating, soulless look that was always in her eyes served to
detract from the aesthetic qualities. Her demeanor, which was
constantly commanding and nit-picking, also did much to draw attention
away from her looks once a person got to know her. On the surface
however, she did have an impressive stature. She was tall and thin,
with dark brown hair that was always stylishly set and primped. Her
breasts were aristocratically small but well proportioned to her body.
Her ass, which was always displayed in a tight, fashionable dress, was
mouth-watering to behold.
Maureen's greatest joy in life was flaunting the power that she had
over others. She would never hesitate to leap upon any of her
underlings who dared violate the letter of any district rule or
regulation, no matter how minor or insignificant. If she did not have
a clear disciplinary course of action to follow, she still tried to
throw her weight around, often disguising her bitchy comments and
corrections as pleasant conversation. The way she had addressed Paul
about tossing his memos in the garbage was a perfect example of this.
In answer to her comments Paul said, "I read all that I needed to read
in that pile. There wasn't anything that pertained to the History
department."
"All of those memos pertain to everyone employed here," she said
sternly. "Please take the time to read them in the future."
"Sure," he said absently, heading for the door that led out of her
domain. Terry was standing there, waiting for him.
"And are you feeling better today?" Maureen asked sarcastically as he
passed her.
"Well enough to come in," he said. "Thank you for asking."
"We in the office," she told him, "would much appreciate it if, in the
future, you were able to give us more than ninety minutes of warning
when you call in sick. It's not the easiest thing in the world to get
a sub to come in on such short notice you know."
He paused, looking at her, seeing that she was having herself a ball by
talking to him that way in front of the office staff, all of whom had
stopped what they were doing to listen to the exchange. He found
himself tempted to use the power on her, to order her to submit her
resignation that day, that minute. But he restrained himself. Who
knew what the consequences of that might be?
"I let you know as soon as I knew that I wasn't going to make it," he
said instead. "If you could arrange for God to let ME know that I'll
be sick twenty-four hours in advance, I'll surely give you more warning
next time, okay?"
Before she had a chance to reply to that he stepped through the
doorway, letting the door shut behind him.
"You know," Terry said angrily as they walked towards their classrooms,
"there are not many people in the world that I actually hate. But that
bitch is one of them. I can't wait until she gets her blue-blooded ass
promoted out of this place."
"Amen to that," Paul said, trying to put the episode out of his mind.
*****
The workday rolled on. Paul opened up his assigned classroom, room
237, and delivered lectures on American History to classes full of high
school students. They sat in their seats facing him, group after
group, most with the perpetually bored expressions of adolescents that
were trapped in the presence of adults on their faces. They wore this
expression because their peers expected it of them, because it was
almost legally required of them. They wore it regardless of whether
they were actually bored or not. And most of them were not, at least
not while they were in his class. Not a great subscriber to false
modesty, Paul knew that he was a damn good teacher and that his
lectures were interesting and not dry. He took great pains to compose
them that way.
But as he spoke of the early stages of the American Revolution to them
on this day, he was robbed of a little of his usual flair for the
dramatic and his sharp sense of adolescent-level humor. His attention
kept wandering as he looked at the fifteen to eighteen year old girls
that inhabited his classes. Though he was not a lecher like the
principal, neither was he a eunuch. He had always enjoyed looking at
these young nymphs as he delivered his lectures or administered their
tests; particularly on those rare occasions when one became a little
careless with her skirt. Like any red-blooded male, he found teenage
girls, who were the essence of innocence and youth, to be physically
attractive. Who could help but look at them? They were as visually
attractive as a sunset, as a mountain stream in winter, or as the wide,
blue ocean. But as a teacher and an educator and a moral human being,
he had never, not a single time in his career, seriously considered
engaging in any sort of sexual activity with one of them. Not even
when one girl or another developed their typical school-girl crushes on
him and such a thing could possibly have been pulled off, had he ever
given the matter much more than a passing, wistful thought.
But never before did he have the power to enjoy them without
consequences. Like with Julie the previous day, that factor produced
temptation of enormous magnitude. As he lectured, as he moved about
his classroom, his eyes kept locking onto their young bodies. There
were fresh, nubile, teenage girls of all shapes and sizes, just sitting
there less than fifteen feet from him. Blondes, brunettes, redheads,
bleach-blondes, and died-blacks. There were short and tall and fat and
skinny. There were plain girls and skanky girls and girls so pretty
that it almost made the eyes tear up to look at them. Many, thanks to
the school's liberal dress code and the warm spring weather, were
wearing shorts and sleeveless blouses, or they were wearing short
skirts. He could see set after set of attractive, smooth, bare legs in
sandals or expensive athletic shoes. He could pair after pair of firm,
jutting young breasts, just sitting beneath the cotton blouses or the T-
shirts. He could have any one of them that he wanted! He could HAVE
them! He could take one right now, or at any time that he wished! He
could instruct them to come over to his house after school! He could
have two come over and have them make love to each other while he
watched! He could conceivably take one right here in the classroom at
this very moment and instruct the rest of the class to ignore what was
going on!
He actually had to wipe a sheen of sweat from his forehead during third
period as he contemplated this. He actually had to sit behind his desk
and give a large portion of his lecture from there to conceal the
erection that was pushing outward in his slacks.
"Christ, I'm going crazy," he mumbled to himself during a pause in his
lecture, forcing his eyes away from Denise Louder, one of the short-
skirted, tearfully pretty types. When she had crossed her leg from one
side to the other he had been treated to a brief flash of her panties
between her thighs. They were red. She was actually wearing red
panties, this sixteen-year-old girl! Would she be tight? How would
she feel around his cock if he took her? How would those pouting,
puffy lips feel like sucking him off? How would those red panties feel
between his teeth if he were to pull them off of her trim body in that
manner? How would she smell when aroused?
"Stop it," he told himself. "Just maintain. Just fucking maintain."
Somehow he maintained. When third period let out and his lunch period
began, he sat behind his desk taking deep breaths and willing his hard-
on to retreat. It did so, only reluctantly and only after five minutes
had passed. Slowly, trembling a little from arousal and the heady
knowledge that he could have anyone, anytime he pleased, he walked to
the teacher's lounge to eat his ham sandwich.
*****
The teachers, like the students, were equally divided among two lunch
schedules, fourth or fifth period. Paul was in the fourth period lunch
but Terry was in the fifth period lunch. This separation of marital
eating times was the work of none other than Maureen Flagstaff. As the
vice-principal it was her task to assign the teachers to their class
schedule and lunch period each semester. Every previous VP since Paul
and Terry began to be known as a couple had always made a point to
assign them to the same lunch period. But not Maureen. Since the
first semester break after she assumed her new role, they had found
themselves consistently on different eating schedules. Complaining to
her or requesting the same eating period in advance did no good.
Maureen would simply tell them, in her pleasantly snotty voice, that
scheduling was at HER discretion and that there were factors and
variables involved which she had to consider but which they, as mere
peons, were simply incapable of comprehending.
"I can't justify juggling everyone else around just so a husband and
wife can eat lunch together," she would say. "It's not fair to the
other faculty members." The fact that none of the other faculty
members really cared which lunch period they were assigned to and that
most of them were very supportive of the desire of a man and wife to
see each other during the afternoon, just didn't seem to enter her
equation. In truth, everyone knew that Maureen was simply throwing her
weight around. It was something she did with anyone if she had
opportunity. She got off on it.
So, thanks to Maureen, when he entered the teacher's lounge in the
administration building that afternoon, Terry was just starting her
fourth period Junior English Composition lecture. On this particular
afternoon her absence did not irritate him as it normally did. She
knew Paul better than anyone else on the face of the earth and, as
such, would have been able to take one look at him and known that
something was wrong. She might not have known that he was being driven
insane with lust from three hours of staring at his female students, or
that he had a semi-painful case of blue balls from having a constant
erection, but she would have known something was amiss.
The teacher's lounge was a moderately large room full of cafeteria
tables, lockers, a few refrigerators, and a bank of vending machines.
About twenty teachers were clustered in groups at the tables, talking
to each other in low tones and eating their lunches. The majority,
like Paul, had bag lunches that they had brought from home but a few
brave souls were actually eating the cafeteria swill. Paul went to one
of the refrigerators and opened it, removing the bag that had his name
printed on it. He carried it over to the vending machines and
purchased a can of Diet Pepsi. He then began looking for a place to
sit down.
He found an empty table near the door and sat at it, ignoring the
strange looks he was getting from his peers for sitting apart from
them. Though he was normally an outgoing and companionable soul, he did
not really desire the company of others at the moment. He opened his
bag and took out his sandwich but he only nibbled at it, not feeling
hungry, only feeling conflicting emotions assaulting him; the chief of
which was desire. Even though he was out of view of them, he still
could not get the image of his female students out of his mind. He
could have them! Any one of them! At any time! He could go get one
right now and be inside of her in less than ten minutes and no one
would ever know! No one would ever know!
As he thought about this his erection returned to him, pushing at his
slacks and increasing his desire. He had to stop this, he told
himself. He had to! But how? How could he ignore the knowledge of
what he could do? How could he stop thinking about it? And how long,
he asked himself, trying to do some soul searching, would it be before
he would not be able to resist the temptation to act on his depraved
impulses? How long? How much could an average man take of this
without giving in?
"What's the matter Paul?" a voice said from behind him. "Feeling
unsociable today?"
Even though he knew who was talking to him he still jumped a little.
She had approached from behind and he had been so lost in his own
thoughts he had not detected her until she spoke. "Hi Laura," he said,
a little shortly.
Laura Flowers taught Math to the freshmen and sophomores. She was
thirty years old and the ex-wife of a Lincoln Police officer. Less
than a year before, Laura had been fat. At five feet, four inches in
height she had weighed in at close to two hundred and fifty pounds.
The weight had been put on gradually since her marriage until that
fateful day she had gone home early with the flu and caught her husband
screwing not just one, but TWO night shift dispatchers in their marital
bed. Her husband had never spent another day in that house and Laura
herself had since become obsessed with high impact aerobics and
vegetarianism. Eight years of weight had come off in eight months,
leaving her at a trim one hundred and twelve pounds and restoring her
rightful place among the masturbation fantasies of her students. She
now had a resting heart rate of forty and an average blood pressure of
90/40. Her legs, which had once been flabby and thick, were now firm,
well-muscled piston-like machines. Her ass, which had once been wider
than the seat of her chair, was now a rippling, eye-pleasing mechanism
when she walked. Her stomach, which had once bulged over her
waistline, was now a flat, hard, smooth expanse of desirable flesh.
Her body looked tight and healthy these days instead of jiggling and
chunky.
Despite her weight loss and the return of her youthful beauty, Laura
had not dated since her divorce, though not for lack of trying on her
colleagues' part. Every male teacher that was single and more than a
few of the married ones had asked her out multiple times since she
dropped below a hundred and fifty pounds. She had turned every one of
them down, giving the excuse that she was not quite ready to resume
such activities just yet. Terry was one of Laura's closest friends at
the school, which made her a close friend of Paul's by default. She
often came over to their house on the weekends for dinner or lunch and
she was a frequent movie companion to Terry when a tearjerker chick
flick was playing at the local cinema. The two of them had even gone
on a weekend trip to Las Vegas once.
Paul, for his part, had liked Laura a lot better when she had been
fat. Then, she had been pleasant and almost terminally nice, the kind
of person that would do anything for anybody that asked. These days
however, though she was much nicer to look at, her entire personality
had undergone a shift to the more aggressive. She angrily confronted
anyone that she perceived was trying to take some sort of advantage of
her. She constantly lectured others on the evils of eating dead animal
flesh in general and red meat in particular. She chided others for not
getting enough exercise, telling them again and again how SHE jogged
more than sixty miles a week and had finished three 20k marathons.
Even Terry, Laura's staunchest defender, admitted privately that she
sometimes found the new Laura a little too much to take.
"Hi Laura," Paul said to her now, trying to impart in his tone that he
wished to be alone at the moment. "I'm still feeling a little under
the weather. I don't want to infect anyone with what I have."
"Oh, I wouldn't worry about me," she said lightly, walking around to
the opposite side of the table from him. "My immune system is in tip-
top shape." As usual she was dressed in as short and as tight of a
skirt as school regulations allowed. The better to show off her firm
legs and ass with. She sat down across from him and opened up her
lunch sack, pulling out a cup full of mixed fruit and a small salad
packaged in Tupperware.
"That's good to know," Paul told her, taking a tentative bite out of
his ham sandwich.
Laura, true to form, immediately launched into a mini-lecture about how
Paul's poor diet and lack of regular exercise had contributed to the
"illness" he was now experiencing. It was a lecture that she delivered
to anyone who had any sort of malady, regardless of how much they
actually did exercise (because it couldn't be as much as SHE did) or
how healthy their diet was (because it couldn't be as healthy as HER
diet was).
As she talked Paul pretended to listen to her. His mind was still
occupied with thoughts of his female students and worries about whether
he would make it through the rest of the day without reaching the
breaking point and taking control of one of them. His penis after all,
was still half-erect within his pants and his body was surging with
testosterone in levels he had not experienced since adolescence. He
could, he considered, make a trip to the staff restroom and masturbate,
therefore relieving some of that tension. But intellectually he knew
that that would do little good. Whacking off would be a poor
substitute for what he could potentially do instead.
"It's also horrid on your bowels and your overall constitution," Laura
was saying. "Did you know that if you eat only vegetables, your
flatulence won't have a smell to it?"
Paul blinked a little, wondering if he should just give up and go
insane. "No," he told her. "I didn't know that. That's very
interesting."
And while she began explaining to him just WHY his farts wouldn't stink
if he converted to vegetarianism, he found himself looking at her
face. It was a very pretty face and was the one part of her anatomy
that had been unchanged by her recent weight loss. She was a dark
brunette, several shades darker than Terry and her hair was cut short
in an easily maintained style. Her lips were puffy and large,
unadorned with any lipstick, but they were very sensuous all the same.
They were dick sucking lips, or DSLs, as the male students in the
school would say. He wondered if Laura was any good at putting those
lips to use. It would be real easy to find out.
"Of course if you eat broccoli or beans," she was telling him, "you
will still get the trademark odor that comes from those. But for the
most part, your system will efficiently use everything that you put in
it. Since I cut meat out of my diet I only have to move my bowels
twice a week; Monday and Thursday, about five in the afternoon. And
when I do, they slide through slicker than..."
"Laura, stop talking," he told her impulsively, speaking quietly and
projecting at her.
Her mouth snapped shut as if it was on a springed hinge. She continued
looking at him, her face a mask of confusion. Clearly she could not
understand why she was no longer able to articulate.
He took a deep breath, continuing to examine her face and, most
intensely, her DSLs. They were puffed out and moist, her sparkling
white teeth and her pink, moist tongue just visible behind them. His
erection came to full-staff as he considered the possibilities of what
he was doing. With the erection and the thoughts came the now-familiar
sensation of guilt and doubt. He wasn't really going to take advantage
of Laura was he? Was he? Had he not sworn that he would remain
faithful to Terry no matter what?
But, God help him, was an average man MEANT to be given such a power as
he had? Could an average man possibly resist using it? Wasn't he down
to a simple choice of the lesser of two evils here? If he did not get
some relief of his lust, he would more than likely be boffing one of
his students before the end of the day, violating her and possibly
opening up a can of worms that he did not know how to deal with. But
if he utilized Laura for that relief, just a simple little blowjob to
ease the tension, wouldn't that be better? After all, Laura was a
thirty-year-old woman with years of sexual experience under her belt.
He wouldn't really be taking advantage of her, would he?
"Nothing unusual is going on here," he told her. "You will answer my
questions, in a quiet voice that only I can hear, with honesty and with
no sense that they are out of the ordinary in any way. You may talk
now in response to me."
"Okay," she said quietly and lightly.
"Do you know how to give a good blowjob to a man?" he asked her after
looking around to make sure no one else was in earshot.
"Yes I do," she said matter of factly. "I used to give them to Frank
whenever I was on my period."
"Good," he told her. "I want you to stay here and continue to eat for
about five minutes or so after I leave. I then want you to come to my
classroom and knock on the door. In the meantime you will behave as
normal and you will tell no one of these plans."
"Right," she assured him.
"Good," he said, standing up and tossing his sandwich back in the bag.
He crumpled the entire thing up into a ball and then picked up his
soda. "See you in five minutes or so."
With that, he walked out of the teacher's lounge, tossing the bag in
the garbage on the way, and began heading back to room 237. This was
not an unusual occurrence to anyone in the lounge. Many of the
teachers utilized their lunch period for catching up on homework
correction or finalizing lecture notes.
He unlocked his classroom door and stepped inside, closing it behind
him and making sure the lock was disengaged. He stood by the doorway
for a moment, taking in the rows of empty desks and the blank
chalkboard. A quick glance at the blinds assured him that they were
all closed tightly, as per normal, allowing no view through the
windows. Everything was in order but doubt assaulted him once again.
He wasn't really going to go through with this, was he?
"Lesser of two evils," he told himself firmly, walking over to his
desk. "The lesser of two evils."
--
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reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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