[bandsanitizer]

5sos, men: after almost 14 years of discourse we have decided to self-identify as a boyband

me, defender of 5sos is a band-band for over a decade:

[almondmilkhunnis]

so who you been calling baby? nobody could take my place

[almondmilkhunnis]

🌞🧸

[5-seconds-in-heaven]

Bad Teacher, pt 3

Mid-morning sunlight filtered into the room through the windowpanes, flooding the floor and furniture with light, and I watched specks of dust float helplessly through the stagnant air before floating off into shade through still-sleeping eyes. After making a mental note to vacuum, I reached my arms up over my head to stretch as I laid appreciatively in the warmth of my blankets. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I propped myself up on my elbow and reached for my phone. 10:42, the time on the screen read. I never claimed to be a morning person.

I set my phone aside then, sitting up fully and stretching my body more before swinging my legs over the side of the bed. I stood, taking in my surroundings more: the dirty socks on the floor, the long-haired calico — that’s Momo — curled up at the foot of the disheveled bed, the books and vinyls and plants all in their places being gently kissed by light sunshine and dust. Inhaling deeply, I realized a small smile had formed on my face.

In the bathroom, steam slowly clouded the mirror as the streaming shower water hesitantly came to temperature — just below 3rd degree burns, that is. I moseyed back to the bedroom to get my portable speaker, because I can’t do anything without music. My own naked form in the full-length mirror beside my bed caught my eye on my way back to the bathroom. I paused and took a minute to admire myself; the curves on my body reminded me of winding backroads and bountiful hills. I used to spend a lot of time hiding my body and myself, I allowed my insecurities to rule my life. With time, I have learned to love being me. As I traced my silhouette slowly, with purpose, I surrendered to my thoughts, giving them access to roam. With my aforementioned insecurities came little luck in love throughout my teenage years — my home life definitely didn’t help. When I got to college, I found more freedom in escaping my family and the constraints of my hometown. I dabbled in going out with different guys, and I even had my first hookups. I was friends with benefits with this one guy I spent a while talking to, but it never amounted to anything more. That is the story with all of my sexual escapades.

However, it had been a long time since I was that chubby-cheeked, freckle-faced, cut-in-half-2x4-plank-of-wood of a girl. I was still small in stature of course, but I had gained some hips and bust thus far in my young womanhood. I was 23 now, and I finally found a decent job after searching for two years; I graduated early from my university with a major in journalism and a minor in women’s studies. I’d been reporting for an up-and-coming music magazine that specialized in underground rock and alternative music. Basically the best job ever. Being that I chose to go to university half the country away from my family in Minnesota, I obviously had to move out at the start of freshman year. I welcomed this move with open arms, although I know I’ll be working my ass off for the rest of my life to pay off my student loans; it was still worth it.

I smiled fully at myself in the mirror, thinking I looked pretty fucking good, if I did say so myself. I did a little dance and gave myself a small spank on the butt, giggling to myself, “To think there are people out there who didn’t want all of this.” Tossing my head back and letting out a laugh, I left the supermodel in the mirror behind to go wash the eye boogers and drool off of my face.

Speaking of those who got away, my mind drifted through my old crushes. The skater boy with the beanie who I used to see skateboarding past my house in the summertime who I never spoke to but made longing eyes at as I lazed in the hammock or the grass by the tree, the boy who played guitar for me who I discovered was not as down to earth as he portrayed himself to the world. My cheeks heated as I thought of one specific crush.

Mr. Hemmings.

I groaned and held my head in my hands, cringing internally as the scalding water ran over my frame. Late nights on Tumblr with my hand between my thighs came rushing to mind — along with pages upon pages of smut featuring this certain high school creative writing teacher. Smut-filled stories written by yours truly, the same shy, insecure virgin who didn’t talk to a boy until college you know and love.

I’d like to act like this wasn’t a common occurrence for me, that I had the ability to walk through my life without inwardly punching my own face for my past actions, but I am plagued by the memories of my own hormonal, criminally horny prepubescence every day of my life. Before I knew it, I found that my hand had again made its way between my thighs at the image of Mr. Hemmings’ face in my head: his lips trailed light kisses along my jaw and down my neck as his arm reached around me and held my body closer, tighter to him. His other hand teased my hardening nipple between his fingers, and he smirked against my skin as I tossed my head backwards, breathing out a sigh of relief at his touch. Lightly, he dug his fingernails into my skin as he dragged his hand down my back. That same friendly hand now snaked it’s fingers down my front to separate my folds and, light as a ghost, tease my —

Yeah… this is gonna be a long shower.

—

Squeezing my hair in the towel, I strode back into the bedroom, feeling refreshed. On the nightstand, I could see my phone lit up from a notification. It was a text message from an unknown number.

Unknown Number

You know, you’re a pretty talented writer.

I stared at the message, puzzled. Possibilities ran through my mind — past clients I’d written pieces for, old friends. Deciding to deal with it later, I put my phone down and set to starting my skincare routine. As I moisturized, my phone buzzed again.

Unknown Number

I suppose I can thank myself for getting your creative juices flowing.

Now I found myself intrigued. Who is this mystery man sending me vaguely flirty, vaguely ominous texts? Should I be horny or changing my locks? Either way, I’m horny. My fun time in the shower didn’t cut it. Alright, I’ll bite. I shoot back a quick text and make my trek across the quaint apartment to the fridge to chug some orange juice out of the jug. Why dirty another glass when I’m the only one who drinks it anyway? In the pocket of my sweatpants, I felt my phone vibrate. At least this mystery texter is quick to respond.

Me

you can thank yourself, but who should i thank?

Unknown Number

The man who got you started in creative writing, of course.

Creative writing. My stomach hit my feet and my heart jumped to my neck, immediately halting my breathing by lodging a lump securely at the base of my throat. I felt my heart beating fast and hard, my cheeks and ears heating promptly, as I paced the hardwood flooring and chewed on my fingernail. Why on earth would my 11th grade creative writing teacher have sought out my phone number? and then texted me with it?!

Alright now, get ahold of yourself, YN. It’s not out of the ordinary for an old mentor to reach out to past students, especially to congratulate them on their success, right? It’s no secret that I had been able to achieve great things thus far in my work, and I’m sure I help myself in that aspect by reposting my work on my social media platforms occasionally. Obviously, he had seen one of my articles. I’m still getting ahead of myself here; I haven’t even confirmed that the person on the other end of the phone is Mr. Hemmings. Mr. Tousled-Hair Hemmings. Mr. God-The-Things-I-Would-Do-To-Run-My-Fingers-Through-Those-Golden-Locks Hemmings. It could be someone else entirely, for all I know. Better get to work.

Me

many people have helped me get to where i am today.

Unknown Number

Alright, I secede. This is Luke Hemmings. Or Mr. Hemmings, if you still prefer that.

Heat rushed to my face all over again. I let out an audible scream before slapping my hand over my mouth and flinging myself onto the bed, flailing my extremities and squealing as I dove my face into the pillows to silence my episode, certain the paper-thin walls would inevitably fail to keep the sounds from my neighbors curious ears. Rushing to sit upright, I stared at the message through wide eyes. The confirmation was there, directly in front of me on the screen in my trembling hands, but I refused to believe it. I continued to stare at message, dumbfounded and confused. I wondered what piece he had seen that had made him want to reach out to a student he hadn’t seen in six years. I’d better respond, I didn’t want to be rude.

Me

Luke!

I stared at the message, nose crinkled. Is it less weird to refer to your old teacher by their first name or the name you called them by years ago? Does being sexually attracted to them influence the decision making process? I deleted the text, deciding to try a different approach. I also decided to bypass the questions about how did you get my number and whatnot.

Me

Mr. Hemmings, it’s great to hear from you! your class definitely had a great influence on me.

Unknown Number

I can see that in your work. I have to say, I’m impressed. It is tough to find good reading material these days. Your story definitely has some plot holes, and it ends on a cliffhanger, which is obviously problematic. A good author doesn’t leave their fans hanging indefinitely, you know. But for your age at the time, I’m quite happy with the quality of writing.

Panic shot through me. I felt the soles of my feet tingling as all of the air left my lungs, like wind rushing out of a clearing of trees. My mind raced through every piece I’d ever written — every editorial, every fluff piece. There was only one story he could have been talking about. But what did he mean he was impressed? He was happy? Is there any world, any universe in the metaverse of universes, where my old high school teacher would have actually been into the smut my prepubescent self wrote involving the two of us? That he would have found it years later and sought me out?

Just then, my phone buzzed from another text notification. This one contained a file.

Unknown Number

attachment: The Bad Teacher.wordx

[5-seconds-in-heaven]

bad teacher part 3 !!!!

soon, my love 💛

[5-seconds-in-heaven]

Bad Teacher Pt. 2

Since Tuesday, you have had detention in Mr. Hemmings’s room every day of the week. Each of those after-school hours have started with the principal, Mr. Christensen, coming in to personally thank Mr. Hemmings for “so graciously” giving up his own time to look over “our school’s delinquents,” which he thinks he says quietly. After that, he looks at you and corrects himself: “delinquent.”

Mr. Hemmings gives Mr. Christensen his most charming smile and replies with some garbage about “I just love these kids!” Once Mr. Christensen turns around to leave the room, he looks you in the eyes, their normal icy blue hue clouded with lust. Once the principal leaves, Mr. Hemmings waits for a minute to make sure he is gone for good. After that, he calmly stands and saunters to your desk, where you look up at him with your biggest puppy-dog eyes.

On Wednesday, Mr. Hemmings taught you the basics on giving a blowjob: swirling your tongue, sucking on just the head, cupping the balls. The works. As a beginner, you couldn’t end up making him cum, and you accidentally scratched his dick with your teeth…more than once. Despite that, he still reassured you that you did fine and that you would only get better. A gentle kiss was all you needed to be calmed down.

Because everything was brand new to you, you thought you would be nervous, but your teacher had a very good way of making you feel comfortable at all times. Mr. Hemmings was constantly asking if you were okay and comfortable, making butterflies fly around in your stomach. Each time, you would reassure him with your own gentle kiss to his plump lips.

Once you left school on Wednesday, you rode your bike home, smiling and feeling giddy the whole way, despite your jaw, which felt like it could dehinge and fall off at any given minute. Your stomach dropped and the smile immediately fell off your face as you rode up your driveway and to the front porch, where you found your next-door neighbors, Jean and Paul Esler, standing in front of the door. Paul’s arm was around Jean, holding her close to him. As they heard you riding up, they both turned around to look at you. Their faces showed the same fear you felt at the moment– their eyebrows were contorted upwards, the concern they felt was evident in their eyes.

“Oh, (Y/N)!” Jean said, clearly trying to sound too-cheerful, probably because she could tell that you were terrified at the thought of what could have brought them over here. “We just wanted to come over to see if your parents…” she trailed off, not able to come up with anything, looking to Paul to save her.

And so he did. Paul quickly finished her sentence, “wanted to come over for game night any time!” Jean laughed nervously, nodding at the same time. “We do family game night every Sunday with our chicklets, we thought it might be nice for you and your folks to join sometime.”

A grateful smile found its place on your face. You liked these two, but quickly felt yourself growing envious, wishing your own parents could be as kindhearted as these strangers. They were your neighbors, but you didn’t really talk to any of the other families in your neighborhood, on account of the fact that they can all hear your parents screaming and breaking things on an almost-nightly basis.

Paul continued as he heard more yelling coming from inside the house, “Maybe we should come back another time. Feel free to come over any time you like, (Y/N). For game night, or anything else.” He gave you a pathetic smile, letting the way he pitied you show.

The couple began walking across the lawn to their own house, but before they were out of hearing-distance, you heard Jean whisper, “Are you sure we should let her go in there?”

Staring at the ground, you could feel your eyes wettening. Blinking away the tears, you looked up to the sky; it was dark and cloudy, and you wondered if it was going to rain. Inhaling deeply, you walk the rest of the way to the door, open it, and enter your house.

—

Thursday. It had been impossible for you to keep your eyes open all day long, even at lunch. Most of your friends knew better than to ask what was up. By the time fifth hour rolled around, you decided it was pointless to be in class when all you could do was hold your eyelids open with your fingers and retain zero information at all.

In the nurses office, they have beds that are uncomfortable with noisy, crinkly paper. At the moment, that sounded like heaven to you. You made yourself at home on one of those tiny, noisy beds and drifted into a light sleep in a matter of seconds. Fifth hour passed by, as did most of sixth hour, and by the time you woke up and took a minute to ponder how long you’d been sleeping, your eyes shot wide open and you sat up. You slowly peeked around the curtain that hid the view of the bed from the rest of the nurse’s office. She was nowhere to be found, but you left anyway. Walking briskly through the school, you first peeked into the small window on Mr. Hemmings’s door, trying to see if he was still in there. When you didn’t see him at his desk, your heart stopped. All the places he could possibly be began listing themselves off in your brain.

Reaching for the handle, you’re stopped as you feel a hand on your wrist. You gasp as you slowly turn around, afraid to meet the gaze of the hand’s owner. When you finally meet his narrow, ice-cold gaze, your eyes widen as you finally realize just how angry this man is, though you don’t quite understand why. “Um,” you begin quietly, about to explain yourself, but you are interrupted by your captor.

“You,” he breathes, bending down to whisper into your ear, “are in so much trouble, young lady.” His hot breath sent shivers down your spine, and you can’t help but notice how his dark words made a wetness pool inside your panties. He opens the door and pushes you inside. Before you can even turn around, he drives you over to a desk and bends you over it, so swiftly that you gasp. You flashback to Tuesday, the last time you were bent over a desk like this, and bite your lip, excited for what you believe is to come.

Just like last time, Mr. Hemmings lifts your skirt to show off your red thong. From behind you, you can hear the man groan as he views your panties for the first time. You smirk at his reaction. He kneads your ass for a minute before kneeling down to place an open-mouthed kiss on each cheek. Smiling, you paitiently awaited the treatment you had received two days earlier, surprised that he was going to go down on you again after you made him wait and wonder where you were.

Mr. Hemmings removes his mouth, and you can feel the cold air where his lips had just left two wet spots on your ass. You rest your head on your hands as you await his return, wondering what he was doing, but also remembering yesterday when you tried turning around. Growing impatient, you begin to turn around, but as you do, a hand comes down hard on your bum. You let out a scream and immediately cover your mouth afterwards. That definitely left a hand print. “I’m sorry babygirl,” Mr. Hemmings began, “but you deserve punishment for making Daddy worry about you.” At his words, you let out a quiet, quivering moan. Never would you have pegged Mr. Hemmings, innocent, sexy math teacher, as a rough, kinky dom in bed. “Count for me, baby,” he commanded. “That was one.” His hand came down hard again, the sound of his hand meeting your skin filling the room. You squeezed your eyes shut and covered your mouth tightly to stop your scream from being heard.

You moved your hands away from your moved and choked out, “Two.” This happened again and again, eight more times. By the time the tenth spanking rolled around, your eyes brimmed with tears, your ass cheeks glowing red and throbbing in pain. Mr. Hemmings grabbed ahold of your shoulder, gently turning you around. As your butt hit the cool wood desk, you gasped and winced, jumping down off the desk to relieve yourself of the pain.

Mr. Hemmings pulled you into his chest, where you laid your head, breathing deeply. He smelled of the same deep, earthy scent as he did yesterday. Placing a gentle kiss atop your head, he pulled away from you, still holding you by the shoulders. Analyzing your entire face, he slowly brought his hands up to your eyes to wipe away your tears before pulling you back into his chest. “I’m sorry (Y/N). I was so worried about you not being in class, I got carried away with your punishment.” In reply, you nodded slowly, closing your eyes and inhaling his scent slowly. “Please, sit down,” Mr. Hemmings instructed you. You did as he said, sitting slowly, testing if you could do it.

Mr. Hemmings walked to his desk, holding his chin in his hand as if he was thinking about something. Five minutes later, the principal entered the room. Your teacher’s head snapped over to view the man entering the room.

“Hello, Mr. Hemmings.”

“Good afternoon, sir. How can I help you?”

“Just checking in; making sure all is well.”

Mr. Hemmings chuckled, “Yes, sir, everything’s fine here. This one delinquent isn’t too much to handle.” He smirked, flicking his eyes over to meet yours for a brief moment.

They continued their conversation for a short time, as they did you took your time admiring your handsome teacher. His broad shoulders and disheveled hair, the way the muscles in his jaw tightened and relaxed as he talked and laughed. You knew you should stop staring, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the man. As the saggy white man next to Mr. Hemmings turned around to leave, he made purposeful eye contact with you, holding it as he turned the handle and left the room.

Mr. Hemmings put his feet up on his desk and leaned back in his chair, his chin back in his hands, still thinking hard. Instead of staring at him, you decided to stare at the clock, counting down each second until 3:45.

When the clock finally struck 3:45, you picked up your bags and walked over to your teacher’s desk. “Mr. Hemmings?” You spoke quietly, trying to get his attention to pull him out of his daze. Immediately, his eyes snapped to yours and he was out of his chair. He walked around to the other side of the desk so he was standing in front of you.

“It’s too dangerous here, (Y/N). We can’t keep doing this.” Hearing these words, your heart dropped. Just forty five minutes earlier, he had seemed so worried about your whereabouts. What changed?

You started speaking, not making eye contact with the man “I—.” Mr. Hemmings interrupted you.

“I want you to come to my house.”

[lovercth]

here’s some probably-drunk calum to get you through the beginning of the week 🌝

[5-seconds-in-heaven]

Bad Teacher pt. 1

It was the last hour of the day, and with the four hours of sleep you got last night combined with the completely uninteresting math lesson being reviewed in front of you, you couldn’t help it when your head began to nod and your eyes became too heavy to be forced open any longer. Giving up, you lie your head down on your crossed forearms, quickly drifting into a light sleep. You weren’t the type to sleep during class, but, given the conditions, you figured it would be fine.

No more than five minutes passed by before your teacher, Mr. Hemmings, slammed a heavy book down on the unoccupied desk in front of you. Bolting straight upright from your catnap, you looked up at the narrowed eyes of the young teacher in front of you, who wore a judging look upon his handsome, hard face.

"Sorry to bore you, Miss (Y/L/N), but I hope you will be considerate enough to put up with the remainder of the insipid review I’ve put together for you,” he stared at you harshly while you wiped the dried drool from your cheek. You avoided making eye contact with the man, assuming he would walk away and continue the review, having already embarrassed you in front of the whole class, but he continued, “I imagined you would appreciate it, considering the upcoming mid-term will be composed of the first five chapters in this unit; pardon me for attempting to make your life easier.”

You rolled your eyes and let out a small sigh, not agreeing that your power nap was the end of the world, as your teacher thought it was. Again, he spoke loudly, “You want to roll your eyes just one more time?” He dared you, pushing his large hands into his pant pockets. You felt your cheeks growing bright red as you noticed the stares of all your classmates, some of them giggling with their neighbors. “Well?” He questioned you again, his voice was hard, reminding you to choose your words carefully.

"No,” was all you could quietly choke out.

"Excuse me?”

"No, sir,” you spat, louder this time, glaring at him.

He stared down at you with narrowed eyes and a furrowed brow before responding, “See me after class,” and turning sharply on his heel before clearing his throat and continuing the lesson in his regular tone.

You put your head in your hands, wondering what crawled up his ass and died. All day long, you had looked forward to getting home before your parents arrived and began their nightly drunken brawling, but now it looked like you would get just as much sleep as last night, if not less.

After staring down every tick and every tock of the clock, its hands finally reached 2:42, and the bell dismissed each of my classmates, who scurried out of the room as quickly as they possibly could without trampling the body in front of them.

You gathered your things and slowly shuffled to Mr. Hemmings’s desk, where you stood in front of him, but did not meet his icy blue stare. After standing like this for what felt like forever, he finally cleared his throat, making you meet his gaze and attempt to swallow the lump that had lodged itself in your own.

"So, (Y/N),” he began slowly, “would you care to explain to me why you were sleeping in my class when you are well aware of our no-sleeping-in-my-class policy?” He raised his eyebrows while resting his chin on his intertwined fingers. Again, you averted your eyes, feeling sweaty under the intensity of his unwavering stare.

In response to his question, you just shrugged; you were unwilling to discuss the conditions of your private life with the man who had just barked at you like a military sergeant in front of your peers.

You heard him sigh loudly as he stood from his rolling chair. Glancing up, you furrowed your brows as he made his way to the front of his desk; there was now less than three feet between the two of you. You swallowed again, still attempting to remove the lump from your throat. Leaning against the front of his desk, he crossed his arms. “You are usually a very attentive student in my class, as well as the rest of your classes,” he spoke as he tilted his head back and licked his plump lips. For a moment, you wondered if he had asked your other teachers about your classroom behavior, but shrugged it off as unimportant. “Lately, though, you seem to have trouble focusing, and even staying awake,” he nodded in the direction of your desk, obviously referring to the incident that happened just twenty minutes earlier.

Again, he stood, creeping toward you one step at a time. With every step he took, your breath seemed to catch in your throat as you looked him up and down, from his neatly quiffed hair to his tight black dress shirt, which hugged every muscle he possessed perfectly, to his matching black dress pants, which were just as tight, all the way down to his shiny black dress shoes, and all the way back up. When you reached his clear blue eyes, he towered above you while standing less than a foot away from you. Given the close proximity, you were drowned in the smell of his earthy cologne. Inhaling deeply, you searched his face, trying to decipher his motives. A look of concern lived upon his face, and he lifted his arms to place both of his hands upon your shoulders while staring deeply into your eyes; your breath hitched at the contact.

"You know, (Y/N), you can tell me anything." At the soft tone he spoke with, you trusted him, but you couldn’t help but wonder why he was so harsh during class, but so kind now.

When you lowered your head to look at your shoes, inspecting them to avoid replying to the man, he stepped closer to you, not leaving any space between your bodies as he wrapped his arms around your figure. With wide eyes, you slowly wrapped your own arms around your teacher's muscular shape, not knowing if you should be hugging your teacher.

You gasped as you felt Mr. Hemmings's hands rubbing small circles down your back until they finally reached your butt. Your hands tightly gripped his shirt as his own hands squeezed your ass, to which he let out a soft groan.

"God, (Y/N), your ass is incredible," he continued kneading your bottom and he began placing light kisses on the nape of your neck.

"Um, Mr. Hemmings," you stuttered as you slightly pushed against his body, trying to create some space. You could feel the wetness of your throbbing heat growing as you panted, although you would never admit that.

He mumbled in response, just enough to let you know he could hear you, while he lifted your skirt to play with your panty-covered ass. Silently, you thanked yourself for wearing a cute pair of underwear.

"What are you doing?" Your face was bright red as you, once again, put less than half of your effort into pushing him away. "I don't think we should be doing this," you lied, wanting nothing more than to be doing this.

He whipped you around and bent you against the cold, wooden desk. His fingertips dug into your hips as he stared at the curvature of your ass and the way your black lace panties hugged your bottom just right. He pressed himself against you and began grinding into your ass, making you cover your mouth to muffle the loud moan that escaped.

He bent down over you to whisper hotly in your ear, "So you're telling me you don't want this?" Slowly, he thrusted into your backside. You kept your hand over your mouth as yet another moan slipped by your lips. Shaking your head, you hoped he would see through your lie. Behind you, he stilled for a moment before reaching a hand down to feel your aching heat through your panties. You groaned as he rubbed you through your soaked underwear. Moving the fabric to the side, he rubbed small circles into your clit, making you cover your mouth again to refrain from calling out and drawing the suspicion of passersby.  

"This part of you doesn't seem to be so sure of that." You didn't even have to look at him to know that he wore a cocky smirk on his face. Lying your head on the cool desk as you bit your lip, he asked you another time, "Are you sure you don't want this, (Y/N)? All you have to do is say no," he spoke softly into your ear. As much as you wanted to tell him to stop to not give him the satisfaction of having you so vulnerable, you could not bring yourself to give even the slightest shake of your head.

His body weight was removed from on top of you, but as you started to turn around to look for him, you were quickly turned back around and your head was pushed into the desk, making you gasp. From behind you, you heard Mr. Hemmings say, "Be a good girl and sit still." Although you wanted to disobey him and see what he was doing, you thought it best to do as he said. A moment later, you felt the man's large hands push your thighs apart and hold them in place. Seconds after that, his tongue dove in between your folds, slurping up your wetness and licking every inch of your pussy.

"Mr. Hemmings!" You exclaimed and whimpered as he did this. Your back arched to help him find more areas to lick. You could no longer hold back your voice as the man between your thighs sucked on your clit, making your legs shake. A long finger eased itself inside of you, twisting around and stretching your pussy, making way for what was to come. A slight burn accompanied the finger, but you still felt a knot growing inside of your stomach as your teacher continued to work on you.

"I-I think," you were cut short by Hemmings adding another finger, making you wince slightly, but the pain quickly subsided as he curved his fingers up into you, hitting a spot inside of you that felt better than anything else. You curled your toes inside your shoes as your vision was blurred and white dots appeared in front of your eyes. "Oh, god," you whimpered quietly as you felt the knot inside of you burst and you came around your teacher's fingers.

He turned you around to make you sit upright on the desk and watch as he licked his fingers clean, making you tilt your head back and moan softly. He pulled you forward into him, making your lips meet for the first time. As you opened your mouth, he inserted his tongue, allowing you to taste yourself on him.

After he pulled back, he placed his hands on either side of you and asked, "Has any boy ever made you feel so good?" As he placed small kisses on your collarbone. Slowly, you shook your head, still dazed from your prior orgasm. Pulling away from you with a smirk on his face, he asked, "What's the farthest you've ever gone with a guy?" He pecked your lips with a small kiss.

You avoided his gaze and question, feeling the blush find its way to your cheeks yet again. His hand reached your chin and turned your head to look at him. "I asked you a question, Miss," he said sternly, narrowing his eyes again, "and, as your teacher, I expect an answer."

You swallowed before quietly mumbling, "Nowhere."

He cupped around his ear and asked you to speak up.

You let out a deep breath before saying, "I'm a virgin," and looking him in the eyes. The smirk was wiped off his face and he took a step back, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand.

"I, uh," he started slowly, "did not know that."

This time you were the one to narrow your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest and asking, "What's that supposed to mean?"

He seemed to panic as he tried explaining himself, "No, I, uh, didn't mean that I think you're easy or anything, I just assumed because most seniors nowadays have, you know, uh, had sex, and such."

"Well, I haven't found anyone who I'm willing to give it to yet."

You were both silent for a minute before you stepped onto the ground and walked over to him, pulling him down by his tie into a passionate kiss. "Until now," you said shyly as you pulled away from him.

The cocky smirk returned to his handsome face as he watched you straighten your skirt and skirt before gathering your things. "I'll see you tomorrow in detention, (Y/N)," he called after you as you opened the door and walked away.