PLEASE SIR CAN I HAVE SOME MORE?

In my profile picture on Facebook, I’m sticking my tongue out at the camera. I’m also leaning slightly forwards, which sends my dark curls tumbling over my shoulders in a way I like, but also reveals a little too much cleavage. My best friend nudged me when she saw it – “Looking a little slutty there, Sylvia,” she said – but I just laughed. So what? I looked good. And yet, when I thought of my ex-teacher seeing me posing like that, with the curve of my breasts clearly revealed and my tongue playfully poked out at the camera, my face grew hot. Half with embarrassment; half with something else. I wasn’t sure what.

I’d stumbled across his Facebook account, and added him on a whim. I wasn’t sure exactly what compelled me to do it. It was four years since I’d finished school, but I remembered him vividly. He had taught me in my final two years, and had been one of my favourite teachers.

He was in his late thirties when he taught me – a tall, well-built, attractive man with dark hair, and a commanding manner about him. People toed the line in his class, or felt the sting of his sharp wit. I was a little nervous of him at first. He seemed coolly intimidating, but he was a good teacher and made us laugh. I quickly became comfortable around him, especially as he seemed to have a soft spot for me, letting me away with things the other girls would have gotten in trouble for.

Just once, a sullen-faced girl in my class commented on this. “I think Mr Andrews’ got a thing for you,” she muttered slyly. “You sucking him off, Sylvia? He wants you to.” Flushing deep red, I gave her a hard push and told her to keep her filthy mouth shut. I was genuinely shocked by her comment. Only years later, looking back, did I begin to recognise why exactly those words affected me so strongly. Perhaps I subconsciously knew, somewhere deep inside, that they might just carry some truth. Or worse – that I wanted them to be true. Yet she never mentioned it again, and after a while I forgot about it. Mr Andrews and I had a good, warm teacher-student friendship, and I got an excellent grade in English in my final exams. He kissed me, very politely, on the cheek at our graduation, and wished me luck in college. I hadn’t spoken to him since.

And now he had accepted my friend request – and mailed me. “Sylvia. How lovely to hear from you. I can’t believe you’re twenty-two now. Have you finished college? How the years fly – and how you’ve grown up. You look fantastic.”

My heartbeat quickened as I read this mail. Was I imagined it or was that suggestive? “How you’ve grown up”? I thought of him looking at my breasts in my profile pic, and I could feel my face growing warm. My God! Why was I thinking like this? I was being silly.

“Thank you! Yes, I’m twenty-two, and finished college. How are you? It’s so strange speaking to you again in a non-teacher/student setting.”

Was that flirting? I shook myself. Of course not. I flicked through his photos, admiring his broad shoulders and height. He must be forty-two now, I calculated, but he still kept in good shape, and he looked… Sexy, there was no other word for it. He had twenty years on me and my God, he looked sexy. I found myself wondering about my final year in school. I’d been eighteen then – technically, in the real world, we could have had a relationship. I wondered if the thought had ever crossed his mind. I wondered if he’d ever noticed the way I wore my school skirt rolled up short to show off my long, tanned legs. I wondered if he’d ever watched me bending over to pick up my bag, hoping to catch a glimpse of my soft, curved ass… Ever imagined sliding a hand up that skirt, up my slim young thighs and between my legs, squeezing gently only to feel my wetness soaking through my panties…

Stop it! Stop thinking like this! He’d mailed back. My stomach clenched with nervous excitement as I clicked into it, excitement which increased tenfold as I read the content. My God…

“It’s wonderful to be speaking to you in a non-teacher/student setting. Its years since I’ve been your teacher, Sylvia, though I still remember you vividly. How could I forget? Let’s meet up so we can speak properly. It’d be a great to have a chance to reminisce, and I’d love to see you in person.”

I stared at it. Meet up? With Mr Andrews? Like adults? What was he suggesting? Was this an innocent request from a teacher to an old student? Or was he thinking – (was he thinking what I was thinking?) Stop it! That’s just a silly fantasy. He’s your ex-teacher, for God’s sake. And he’s twice your age. You don’t really want something to happen (or do you?). And I’m sure he’s not thinking about that (or is he?).

There was only one way to find out. I had to say yes.



We chatted for a while, and arranged to meet on a Friday, at an expensive restaurant he suggested. I tried on various outfits before eventually deciding on my sluttiest corset-style top – it cinched my waist while pushing my breasts forward – but it was white-lace, giving it a deceptively virginal air. Usually, I teamed this raunchy top with trousers – yet tonight, I found myself pulling on my leather shorts – black, skin-tight, barely more than hotpants. Wear boots, my sensible side screamed, but some devil inside me was pulling on my highest heels. I turned around and inspected myself from the back.

My outift revealed a dangerous amount of flesh. The shorts barely covered my ass cheeks. Yet I found myself applying my darkest lipstick, as if I didn’t look enough like a hooker to begin with. I don’t know what came over me.

I hid under a long, heavy coat in the taxi. As I grew near, my hands started trembling. I was beginning to regret my clothing choice. Too late to go back now, I thought, and found myself wondering why exactly I was so desperate to impress this guy. Was I making a fool of myself, dressing up like a slut? This was a teacher who wanted to talk to an old student. Nothing more.

Or was it?

I paid the taxi-man and walked into the restaurant, where the waiter offered to take my coat. Drawing in a deep breath, I steeled my nerves and slid the coat off in one graceful movement. The waiter’s eyebrows flew up under his fringe. Multiple heads turned in my direction. I felt a sudden, heady rush of exhilaration. “Reservation under Andrews?” I asked.

“This way, please,” he replied, and I followed his lead, walking slowly, head held high, aware of all the eyes on me, on my long, youthful legs and tight ass and exposed skin. It was somehow exciting.

The waiter led me to a private table hidden in the corner – and there he was. In his suit, drinking a glass of wine, looking distinguished and strong and older and exciting – and staring at me with undisguised lust.

“Sylvia,” he said, in his deep growl of a voice. I’d forgotten how deep that voice was. It sent a thrill through me. “Sit down.”

I sat as he poured me a glass of wine.

“Thanks, Mr Andrews,” I said, and he gave a low chuckle.

“You hardly have to address me as Mr Andrews anymore,” he said, “unless, of course, you like it.”

“Yes, Mr Andrews,” I said coyly, sipping my wine. He laughed.

We chatted for a while about school, college and my hopes for the future, while working our way through the bottle of wine. As the conversation lulled, his eyes looked up and down the length of my legs, slowly, then his stare moved to my breasts, pushing out of their tight corset, with the same frank, unapologetic gaze.

When I caught his eye, he merely smiled. “Do you want me to look away?”

Caught off guard, I shook my head. “No, it’s not that –”

“Good. Because I want to look at you.” He leaned forward slightly, gazing straight down at my chest, even tilting his head to get a better look. “I like what I see.”

I felt my stomach contract. I sat still, thrilled by his unhurried inspection of me, his eyes moving slowly up and down my body.

“Uncross your legs,” he said, and I obeyed. “Arch your back.” I did so, my heart beating fast, and he gave a small growl of approval in his throat. My heartbeat quickened. He caught my eye and smiled.

“You look very, very good,” he said approvingly. As if I had done well in a test. “More wine?”

I nodded. As he poured it, his hand moved around to stroke the small of my back, where a couple of inches of my skin were bare.

We drank wine, and made small talk, but the whole time I was highly aware of his hand stroking my skin. After a while, he said, “Move a little closer.”

I shifted close until our bodies were almost touching. He resumed the conversation as if nothing had happened, but his hand went from caressing my back to moving slowly up and down my thigh. Presently he said, “You always had great legs.”

I swallowed. He had noticed. Now he whispered, his voice low and rough in my ear, “Spread them.”

I did, and tried to keep a neutral expression on my face as his hand, under cover of the table, massaged my clit through my shorts. I was aching to be touched. He commanded, “Kiss my neck.”

I obeyed, hoping the waiter wouldn’t pass at this moment. I licked and kissed and gently sucked at the skin of his neck, as his hand squeezed between my legs. Suddenly, he took his hand away.

“Turned on?” he asked me. I nodded, half desperate. His deep voice ordering me, his hand groping between my legs without waiting for permission – it had turned me on beyond belief. My clit was throbbing. I wanted him in me, now.

He waved a hand for the waiter. “Bill, please.” I gulped down a glass of wine, trying to control my breathing. As we left, he put a hand on my back and whispered in my ear; “Every guy here is staring at your ass in those shorts. Everyone here wants to fuck it.”

I said, without thinking, “You can.” I knew I sounded desperate, but I felt strangely desperate. He just smiled, so self-assured it was almost arrogance. I knew I should be annoyed, but I was aching for him. I couldn’t concentrate on anything else. He took my coat from the waiter, but wouldn’t let me put it on.

“Walk ahead of me,” he smiled. “I wanna see you walk in those shorts.” I walked ahead, out to the carpark, all the while conscious of his eyes on me. It was cold outside, but he held my coat out of my reach. “Twirl around,” he commanded me, his smile half-mocking. I twirled. “Again, slower,” he said. I obeyed. “Good girl.”

“Can I have my coat now?”

“Not quite yet,” he grinned at me, stepping closer, and reaching out to gently stroke my neck and shoulder. His hand slid down to trace the shape of my breasts. I stood still, allowing him to touch me. He cupped my breast, then squeezed suddenly. I gave a soft gasp. He smiled at the sound, and tugged the corset down, exposing a nipple erect from both excitement and cold.

“Careful,” I said, glancing around in case someone might see, but he just grinned, brushing his fingers lightly across my nipple at first, then tweaking it, pinching it, twisting it until I gave a little cry. He tugged my corset down further, exposing both breasts. As we stood there in the cold carpark, I forgot anyone might be watching and just surrendered myself to the feeling of his fingers playing with my nipples. I could feel how wet I was.

“Well, Sylvia,” he said teasingly, “feeling horny?” I just nodded. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt this horny. “Want my cock?” I could only nod. Smiling, he abruptly pulled my top back up over my breasts.

“Time to call a cab, then,” he said, walking out towards the road. I followed him eagerly. I wanted him to fuck me. I needed him to ram his cock into me. I hadn’t been this hungry for a man in…in forever.

I gave the cabbie my address, and we made small talk in the car, but all I could think about was the wild sex we would have when we got home. Yet, when we pulled up at my house, he said, “Bye now, Sylvia. We’ll do this again sometime,” in a calm, pleasant voice, and proceeded to give the cabbie his own address.

Astonished, I leapt from the car, my cheeks burning with humiliation. How dare he get me this horny and then send me home? I stormed into my house where, caught between anger and excitement, I masturbated furiously, imagining him bending me over right there in the car park, ripping my shorts off and plunging his hard cock into my ass – “Every man here is staring at your ass. Everyone wants to fuck it” – and me struggling, saying No, no, yes, yes, secretly loving it, loving the pain and the humiliation, as he fucked me hard, ignoring my attempts to pull away.

After I came, I lay there thinking furiously. God damn him. How dare he? I was twenty-two and beautiful, he’d had the chance to fuck me and he hadn’t. His loss. Stupid bastard. But still, I’d thought we were having such a good time. We still got on well; still made each other laugh. And God, his hand between my legs in the restaurant, the confident, even cocky way he ordered me about –

He hadn’t even kissed me, I realised suddenly. God DAMN him. I would just forget about him. But secretly, I found myself waiting for him to call…

There was no call, no email. I tried to put him out of my mind – but if only that night hadn’t been one of the most damn erotic experiences of my life. I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

About a week later, my phone rang.

“Sylvia,” he said, his deep growl of a voice unmistakable. And damn my treacherous body; my stomach flipped over excitedly and the blood rushed to my clit at the sound.

“Mr Andrews,” I replied before I could stop myself.

“I want to see you,” he said. “Come to my apartment, I’ll pay for the taxi when you get here. I’ve been thinking about you all week.”

“You have?” was all I could manage. I seemed to have no willpower.

“I’ve been thinking about what I want to do to you.”

I couldn’t speak.

“I want to feel your little tits again, and I want to do more, much more. I want to see you naked. I want to see you bent over. I want to see get down on your knees with your pretty little mouth wide open. Can you do that for me, Sylvia?”

“Yes,” I whispered.

“Good girl. Be here in the next hour. And Sylvia?”

“Yes?”

“Wear heels.”

He hung up. I stopped questioning why this authoritative act was working on me so well. I stopped wondering why it was turning me on so much – and, even more fascinating, how he’d known it would work. I just succumbed to it.

I showered in record time and dressed in my shortest skirt, highest heels and a clingy top without a bra. I arrived at his house within forty-five minutes. He opened the door, and gave me an appraising look. “Ah, Sylvia. Come in.”

I waited inside while he paid the taxi. He came in and poured a drink, before leaning against the doorframe and looking at me where I stood leaning on the desk, quiet, waiting for his orders. “Why don’t you walk back and forth?” he suggested, gesturing. I complied, and he watched with lazy arrogance as I walked self-consciously around the room. As I passed him, he grabbed my arm and tugged me closer. His hand squeezed my breast though my top.

“No bra?” he said, grinning. “You little slut.” His fingers pinched my nipple hard through the fabric. He took another sip of his drink, then put it down. He turned back to me. My heart was racing.

“Well,” he said, “take your top off.”

I obeyed. He stared at me for a long moment, then said, “And your skirt, that too.”

I pulled my skirt slowly off. Underneath, I wore just a thong. He shook his head, tutting.

“I didn’t want you to be wearing knickers, Sylvia.”

“You didn’t say – ”

“You should have known,” he interrupted.

I said nothing to the ridiculousness of this accusation. He frowned, looking thoughtful.

“I’m afraid,” he said, “I’ll have to punish you, Sylvia.” He reached out and stroked my collarbone, very gently. “It’s regretful, of course, but you brought it on yourself.” Then his hand tightened on my neck. Grabbing me, he turned me around roughly. His voice was harsh and commanding and very sexy. “Bend over.”

I bent over the desk I was now facing. My clit was throbbing and my heart was pounding. “Ass up, Sylvia, there’s a good girl,” he said. I lifted my ass as far up as I could. Very gently, he pulled my thong down and I stepped out of it. “Let’s get rid of this.” His hand gently stroked and squeezed my ass. “Hmm…look what we’ve got here.” Then suddenly, he withdrew his hand and brought it down across my ass with a hard cracking sound. I cried out.

“Does that hurt?”

“Yes,” I said, stunned and in pain and inexplicably turned on. He laughed, and brought his hand down again in another great slap.

“I hope so. You need to be punished, Sylvia. Now stay still, you hear me. You move, and you’ll be punished. You complain, and you will be punished.” He spanked me again, hard. “Do you understand?”

“Yes,” I whimpered.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, sir.”

“There’s a good little girl.” His hand came down hard again on my already stinging ass. He spanked me several more times, as I yelped in thrilling, wonderfully humiliating pain. I didn’t understand why, but I was so wet I could feel the moisture trickling down my inner thighs.

Finally he stopped. “Your ass is raw red,” he said with satisfaction. “I think you’ve learnt your lesson, have you?”

“Yes, Mr Andrews, sir.”

“Very good.” His hand slid between my thighs, feeling my pussy. “My goodness, you’re soaking wet, Sylvia.” He pretended to sound surprised. “You didn’t like that, did you, you dirty bitch? Did it turn you on?”

“Yes.” My God, I wanted him to fuck me so badly.

He slid a finger into my pussy. “Hmm, this feels nice and tight. Nice and tight and wet. I think I might stick my cock in it. Would you like that, would you?”

“Yes, Mr Andrews.”

“Want me to fuck you, do you?”

“Yes, Mr Andrews.”

“Say it.”

“I want you to fuck me, please.”

He took his hand away. “I’ll consider it. Turn around.”

I turned around, my heart pounding. He raised his eyebrows.

“How badly do you want me to fuck you?” He reached out and pinched my nipple as he spoke, casually. God, I ached for him.

“Badly,” I whispered. “And…”

“And what?” He frowned.

“Well,” I admitted, “you’ve never even kissed me.”

He stared down at me. “You want me to kiss you?”

“Yes,” I said in a tiny voice.

“Well,” he replied, twisting my nipple harder, so that I drew in my breath in a sudden gasp, “you’ve got to earn it, Sylvia. You want me to kiss you, you’ve got to earn it. Think you can earn it?”

I nodded, eagerly, like an obedient schoolgirl.

He said, “Good. Now get down on your knees and open your mouth.”

I obeyed, trembling. I was naked and he was fully dressed. He unzipped his pants, and pulled his long, hard cock out. His other hand stroked my hair gently, almost lovingly, before grabbing a handful of it roughly.

“Mouth open wide, Sylvia,” he said, “like a good little slut,” and I opened it as wide as I could as he slid his cock into it. Then out, then in again, right to the back of my throat – I gagged very slightly – then out. In, out, in, out getting faster and faster, only relenting when I choked, giving me a moment to breath before sticking his cock straight back down my throat. I’d never had my mouth used like this, never given a blowjob where I wasn’t in control, and it was terrifying but exhilarating at the same time. I wanted him to use me. I wanted him to control me. I’d never been so excited.

Abruptly, he pulled back and released me. “Suck it,” he ordered, and I did, back in control but struggling to fit as much of his large cock into my mouth as I could, making myself gag in my eagerness to impress him. He petted my head affectionately. “Oh, very good,” he said, “that’s right, take it all in your mouth – no, no hands, Sylvia, I just want your mouth. Just that pretty little mouth.” I gagged hard, and he chuckled and pulled back. My eyes were watering. “Enough,” he said lazily. “That was very good, Sylvia.”



“Thank you,” I said breathlessly.

“I want you to stand up and bend back over the desk now,” he told me. I obeyed hurriedly. He snickered.

“What’s funny?” I ask.

“I can still see my handprints all over your ass.” I tried to turn around to see his expression, but he said sharply, “Face down, Sylvia,” and I obeyed. “And ass up. Now spread your legs.”

I did. I could hear his heavy breathing behind me. His fingers stroked my ass, stroking up and down between my cheeks and then feeling between the lips of my pussy, rubbing the wetness around. “You’re dripping,” he said with satisfaction. Without warning, he spanked me hard across my already tender ass. I gave a small scream. He laughed, and rubbed the head of his cock around my pussy. (Oh God just ram it into me already)

“Do you want my cock in you, Sylvia?”

“Yes,” I moaned.

“How badly?” He pushed forward, and for one wonderful moment I thought he would push into me and fill me, but then he pulled back.

“So badly,” I whispered.

“Then beg,” he told me.

“Please,” I said, “please, Mr Andrews...”

“I don’t know, Sylvia,” he murmured, the head of his cock prodding teasingly at me, so tantalisingly close. “Doesn’t sound to me like you really want it… I think you can do better than that…”

I could feel myself getting desperate. “Fuck me, please fuck me,” I begged him. “I want your cock in me, please, please, Mr Andrews, please sir.”

“Hmm… You really want it?”

“Yes, oh God yes, yes sir, fuck me, please sir, please – ”

He plunged the full length of his cock deep into me. I cried out in delicious pleasure. Finally. Then he was fucking me, fucking me hard, oh God, so hard and deep, as I moaned…

“Do you like this?”

“Yes – yes – ”

He grabbed a handful of my hair and pulled hard. I gave small scream of half-pain, half-pleasure.
“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Mr Andrews, sir – oh God, oh, oh – ”

“Good girl.” He relaxed his grip on my hair, but still held it as he picked up the pace, groaning as he pounded his cock hard into me. “Fuck – your little pussy is so tight – ” To my amazement, he was suddenly going even harder, faster than I’d thought was possible. I was crying out louder than I ever had before. “I’m gonna fuck you raw, Sylvia.”

He released my hair, and suddenly slid a finger into my ass. I yelped. “Does that hurt, Sylvia?”

I managed to say, “A little.”

“Okay,” he said, and took it out – and then he suddenly shoved two fingers into my ass, fingering my asshole hard while he fucked me. “How does that feel, does that hurt, do you like it,” he snarled, his voice animalistic, all the time pounding me harder and harder, and then I was coming, and it was amazing, the best orgasm I’d had in years. I came in great waves of pleasure, crying out and shuddering, and then he pulled out of me and came on my back. I felt his warm cum splatter on my skin.

Afterwards, I straightened up, and turned to face him. I was sweating and flushed and shaky. He smiled at me, his hand gently cupping my chin. I looked him in the eye.

“You’ve been a good girl, Sylvia,” he said. “Very good. You’ve earned your kiss.” And he pressed his lips against mine, for a warm, brief moment. Our first kiss. I opened my mouth eagerly, but he pulled abruptly away.

“Don’t be greedy,” he said, turning away carelessly. “You want more you’ll have to earn it. For now,” he nodded at my clothes, “get dressed.” He walked out of the room, calling back, “Fancy a drink?”

“Gin and tonic,” I responded casually, heart still thumping as I dressed. “You want more…you’ll have to earn it.” Next time. There would be a next time. I needed a next time… There had to be.

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