HisIndecentBoxSetpub (3 page)

Common sense told me
I was better off hurrying to the hospital, so I could spend more time
with my mother, but curiosity made me stay. I sighed as I took a seat
at my desk, allowing myself a few minutes to de-stress before I had
to head out into afternoon traffic. My eyes stared forward blankly,
imagining Damien sitting in his chair, looking back at me. Just the
thought of him sent a warm tingling straight to my sweet spot. The
naughty part of me wanted to slip a hand between my legs and rub the
spot into a wet stain, but I knew better than to do it so openly,
where students were walking back and forth across the hall and could
peer in through the window at me.

I still couldn't
understand why thinking of Damien got me so worked up. Despite his
mention of not being married, he was nothing but professional during
class. His eyes never lingered on a female student for too long, and
there was no lusty intent in his gaze. If anything, he was strictly
business, taking his role as a teacher very seriously.

The top of his desk
was perfectly organized. There was a desk calendar, a basket for
paperwork, and a cup for pens and pencils. The only thing out of
place was his favorite pen, which lay haphazardly in the middle of
the desk. I knew it was his favorite because it was the only one he
ever used.

A
catlike grin played across my face as I stared at the pen. It was
thick and expensive looking, not some cheapie you get at the Dollar
Store.
I bet it
smells like him, and it has his fingerprints all over it,
I
thought as I willed myself to stand and walk over to his desk.

Timidly, my hand
reached out to touch the pen, grasping its fat center to bring it up
to my nose. It smelled like sweat and ink and musty cologne. Not as
strong as I had hoped, but still intoxicating. With a blush across my
cheeks, I inhaled his scent, feeling a pleasurable tingling below as
it infected my body.

Would it be such a
sin if it disappeared? He could always use another pen.

I hadn't stolen
anything since I was thirteen years old and got caught with a purse
full of fake jewelry in a department store around Christmas. Even to
this day, I don't know why I did it. Stealing was cool, something
kids did to prove themselves to each other. At least, that's how I
remembered it. We rarely used or wore the things we stole. Most of
the time they ended up hidden in our rooms so that our parents
couldn't find them. It was stupid, but it was the thing to do back
then.

When I was caught,
my parents put me on restrictions for an entire month. It was a
rather horrifying experience. Between the department store security
calling the police and the police lecturing me about how stealing
could go on my record forever and ruin my life, I never tried for a
five-finger discount again.

That
was . . . until Damien Reed's pen. Some strange desperate yearning in
me to be closer to him forced me to slip the pen into my backpack.
How I prayed it wouldn't lose his scent by the time I got it home. I
wanted it to smell like him when I . . . My cheeks flushed red at the
very though.
Cheyenne
Greer, you are a very naughty girl. If the rest of the world only
knew.

Having completed my
dastardly deed, I decided it was time to leave the scene of the
crime. Nervousness welled up inside of me as I turned, taking long
strides towards the door. That's when I heard a voice, and my body
froze.

Instinctively, my
eyes darted toward the source of the sound. It was coming from the
closed door of Damien's office. I suddenly felt like an idiot for not
thinking he could be in there. If I had half a brain in my head, it
would have been the first place I checked once I saw that the room
was empty. Why else would the door still be unlocked?

Now it was a
question as to whether I actually wanted to speak to him anymore or
not. After all, I had just stolen his pen, and if he came out into
the classroom, he might notice it was missing. Considering I was the
only person inside the classroom, I would be the most likely culprit.
For a few seconds, I wrestled with the idea of putting it back. I
needed the extension on my art project far more than I needed an
extension of him. Still, I just couldn't force myself to do it.
If
he figures out it's missing, I'll just play stupid,
I decided
finally, taking a deep breath and approaching his office door.

I raised my wrist to
knock, but the conversation inside quickly stilled my body, my eyes
widening in surprise. He was . . . moaning? At least, I thought it
sounded like moaning. I held my breath, moving my ear closer to the
door to hear what was going on inside.

“
You're
making me so hard,” he said, though the sound of his deep voice
was more conversational than anything else. “Get on your hands
and knees. I want to smell that pussy, to stick my tongue in your wet
folds.”

My entire body
ignited at the sound of the dirty talk. Did he actually have a woman
in there? Perhaps another teacher or one of my classmates? Jealousy
raged through. God, how I hoped it wasn't one of my classmates.
Whoever she was, she was one lucky bitch.

I
knew I was best off leaving them alone to their business, but the
pervert in me couldn't pull myself away. I wanted to hear his heavy
breathing, the sounds of skin slapping together as he took this
mystery woman in the heat of passion. Maybe I'd even hear a desk
squeak as he laid her out across it and pounded home.
Oh,
Mister Reed, it looks like you are a lot naughtier than you act.
Don't worry, I'll keep your secret. I promise.

My fingers itched to
rub my pussy as he continued, “Are you nice and wet for me? I
bet you are. I bet your cunt is dripping.” There was a short
pause. “My cock is thick and hard for you. Can you feel it
slipping in, nudging at your hole? Open your legs wide for me. I want
to watch it going in.”

For all of his talk,
there was no response. It was definitely Damien Reed's voice, but if
there was a woman in there with him, she was as quiet as a church
mouse. My curiosity was quickly peaking along with my arousal. If it
hadn't looked so incredibly nosy and odd, I might have knelt down on
the floor and peaked under the door to see how many sets of feet were
in the room. There was no way that two people engaged in such heated
play could be so quiet.

“
Moan
for me,” he commanded, and a soft groan left my lips, though it
wasn't anywhere near as loud as the sound of my hands slapping over
my mouth in shock. I heard a chair scratch against the floor inside
his office, and I thought my heart might explode. Had he heard me?
Footsteps coming toward the door were a good confirmation that he
had.

As quickly as I
could, I moved away from the door, looking nonchalantly at the
whiteboard even though it had been wiped clean. The sound of the door
unlocking and opening was almost deafening to my ears. The only thing
louder was the thudding of my heart in my chest. My whole head felt
warm, burning with undeniable embarrassment.

“
Can
I help you?” he asked, sounding a bit annoyed.

I turned, trying to
look surprised, as if I hadn't expected him to come out of his
office. Although I was looking at his face, my peripheral vision was
zeroed in on his crotch. There was a delicious bulge there, and
everything in me wanted to reach out and grab it.

My
mind raced with a million different thoughts. He had come out of his
office so quickly, and fully dressed. It wasn't until I saw the cell
phone in his hand that I realized what had actually been going on. He
had been having phone sex with someone. A wave of relief rushed
through me, though I didn't quite understand why. Perhaps it made me
less jealous to know whoever he was talking to hadn't actually been
touching him. On the depressing side though, that probably meant he
had a girlfriend.
It
shouldn't matter. Doesn't matter.

“
Extension
. . . Project," I mumbled, somehow losing the ability to speak.

He quirked an
eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“
I
. . . need an extension for my art project. I mean, I came to ask you
if I can have one. My mother is in the hospital with pneumonia, which
is why I missed your class yesterday. I'm going to the hospital to
make sure she's alright. I was wondering if I could have an extension
for my art project until Monday. I know this probably looks bad,
considering that school just started and all, but I can bring you a
note from the hospital if that will make things better.”

“
Sure.
Sure. That will be fine,” he replied, sounding distracted.

“
Thanks.”
I gave him a half curtsey and then quickly headed for the door,
leaving him to finish up his heated phone call.

At the hospital, I
listened to my mother complain about two of her favorite celebrities
that were getting divorced. “Marriage just isn't what it used
to be,” she commented. “I'm starting to think they should
outlaw it. No one stays together anymore.” By the tone of her
voice, I could tell she was thinking of her own failed marriage to my
father. In the end, it was both of their faults. He had been a truck
driver since shortly before I was born. My mother couldn't stand all
the nights and weeks he was away from home, and he wasn't willing to
give it up, even for his family. The money was good, and it was the
best he could hope to get without a degree. After a while, my mother
began to accuse him of cheating, saying he was staying out longer
than necessary because he had another life with another woman. Things
declined rapidly after that, though they kept the loveless marriage
together until I started high school. I never really believed that
Dad had cheated, but Mom had somehow convinced herself otherwise. She
still talked about it sometimes, how he had ruined their happy little
family with his whirlwind romance to some imaginary woman. At times,
I got sick of hearing it, but I dare not say anything.

I did my best to
tune her out, thinking instead about the kinky phone conversation I
had heard between Damien Reed and another mystery woman. Boy, did he
have a way with words. If he hadn't made her wet, his skillful tongue
had certainly worked on me. How lucky I had been to share that
intimate moment with him, even if it hadn't been meant for my ears?

When I got home from
the hospital, I went straight to my room and dug the pen out from my
backpack. “Mister Damien Reed,” I whispered to it before
sticking it under my nose and inhaling deeply. His scent was still
there, though not as strong as before. “You have been a very
bad boy. But, I'm afraid that I'd prefer the spanking for it.”
In truth, I had been far more naughty, listening in on his
conversation. A spanking for me was truly deserved.

Although my father
was gone for work, I locked my bedroom door. You can never be too
careful.

With pen in hand, I
giddily returned to my bed, shedding garments along the way. As soon
as I was undressed, I flopped down onto my back on the bed,
refocusing my attention on the pen. Just the knowledge that his hands
had been on it set my body alight. I brought it up to my nose,
sniffing at it a few more times before I rubbed my lips across the
smooth black surface. It was thick and heavy, though not as thick as
something else I would have preferred. My mind instantly went to the
bulge in Damien's jeans. How big was he exactly, I wondered, feeling
absolutely devious as my mind filled in the answer.

I still couldn't
believe I had moaned when he told that person on the phone to do it.
Did I really have such little control over myself in his presence? It
sure seemed like it.

Now I was in the
privacy of my home, and I could moan all I wanted, so I did as I
rubbed the pen between my cleavage. I was blessed with generous tits.
One might even call them a glorious pair. Half of the time, when guys
talked to me, their eyes never made it above my neckline. It was
annoying but something I had grown used to since I began blossoming
in high school. Either way, I rather enjoyed my fun bags. I could do
things with them that small chested girls couldn't, though I never
actually had. Only in my dreams and fantasizes, some of which I was
currently indulging in.

Damien's pen was
nowhere near as thick as a cock, but I pretended, none the less,
running it back and forth between the crease in my chest, my ample
breasts squeezing and milking it. Despite my very vivid imagination,
it wasn't giving me quite the sensation that I had hoped for though.
Some other form of play was in order.

Thinking back to
Damien's phone conversation, I shed my red lace bra and panties and
crawled onto all fours, spreading my legs a bit so the air from the
overhead fan could kiss my moist pink folds. It took everything in me
not to gyrate my hips as I imagined Damien standing behind me,
examining my feminine parts. My flower would blossom right before his
eyes, allowing him access to whatever he wanted to do to me.