Ted’s diary...

I’d had it planned for an age, a carefully laid-out operation, and then she turned up and threw my plans into disarray. My first lesson, a voluntary extra-curricular lesson open to all students, to learn the art of being a secretary. It was arranged with a particular favourite of mine in mind, young Julie Truly, who had left the school after finding a job at a top law firm. The poor gal came to me on her hands and knees, begging for extra tuition – it turned out that there was more to secretarial work than standing at the water cooler, talking about the previous night’s episode of ‘Lost’.

When Julie Truly is on her hands and knees, you cannot resist her. Either that or you look for her contact lens. Ted Stoat's first teaching job would be a lesson for secretaries. Don't look at me like that, diary, you know that Miss Gonzales always said I was good with my fingers.

I turned up to the classroom an hour before the lesson was due to begin, with all the equipment ready. It needed careful testing, these were delicate instruments. I expected the room to be empty so I could set up the electrical apparatus in peace – and I had never known a girl to remain in class a second longer than they had to. But this time, there was an unfamiliar young lady in the room.

She was sitting on top of my desk, wearing something that in no way resembled a school uniform. Her big blue eyes glanced in my direction for a moment, widened, then casually returned to the knife that she was holding. It was a sharp, six inch blade that she was spinning in her hand like a baton, tossing it up and snatching it out of the air, grasping it tightly as she caught it.

“You like knives?” I asked her.

“Sure,” she said. She had a youthful voice that hid a giggle.

“I suppose a fork’s out of the question.”

Those eyes flashed at me again. She smiled: a relief considering her obvious experience with cutlery. I took the chance to look at the rest of her. Her pixie nose flared each time she looked at the knife, her pouting mouth was moist and kissable, her cheekbones were high and sharp. Her skin looked as though she rarely saw the sun, but it added to her prettiness, as did the jet-black hair that straggled down in front of her.

And then there’s the body. I like a good uniform as much as the next man, but when I write down what this gal was wearing, you’ll see that there’s more to arousing clothing than tight uniforms and leather corsets. She wore:
a
  • tight bootleg t-shirt that showed Princess Leia pleasuring herself with a light sabre, torn off two inches above the navel
  • one of those oversized belt things that would look adorable wrapped tightly around her neck
  • a short, tight PVC skirt that had a split up the side
  • slutty white fishnets
  • down to the knee-highs that matched her skirt

Now, I bet you’re picturing her. And I hope that image is getting you as aroused as it was getting me, standing in front of her.

“And you are?” I asked.

“Mina.”

“Meaner than whom?”

“No, no,” she smiled. “I’m Mina.”

“Meaner than whom?”

She was about to repeat her name again, when she realised I was joking, so she poked the knife in my direction. I didn’t make the same joke a third time, so I asked her what the fricking hell she was doing in my classroom.

“Secretarial thing, yeah? I’m here to study. My application form was, um, lost in a dog’s ass.”

“Fine, fine, but you can’t wear... that... to my class,” I said, in as non-threatening a way as I could. “It’ll have to go.”

She did something that almost made me hurl her over a desk and consensually molest her. She hopped off the desk, delicately walked towards me with a confident heel-toe step, her eyes never leaving mine, and then she stopped with her breasts an inch from my stomach. She raised her chin, and in a sweet, angelic voice said “Make me, sir.”

My knees quivered. “Lose the knife first.”

She hurled it into the opposite wall, where it struck a picture of a sheep right between the eyes. I wasn’t aware of what the sheep had done to her; I did not care to ask. She was smiling sweetly with her arms pointed vertically upwards, so I lifted her shirt up over her head, sighing at the young but legal flesh that was revealed. I half-expected to see scars across her body, but there were none.

I stuck out my tongue, and let it drift down her body and I dropped to my knees. I unbuckled the skirt and belt, and put them to one side. She had a thin wisp of hair between her legs, and I could see a small, painful-looking piercing in her clit.

“Yes, it hurt,” she said, before I asked. “It was the best thing I ever did.”

I looked at her boots, then shuddered, remembering the young woman I had left at home. That woman liked her footwear too, I reflected, scrambling to my feet. “I, ah, I think you should take off your own boots, Mina.”

“Yes, sir,” she smiled, bending forwards whilst keeping her legs straight. Ah, the flexibility of the youth. Her eyes had looked at my crotch as she bent over, while mine had mentally ravaged her ass.

“Th-there’s some clothes in that desk over there,” I pointed without using my hands. “A proper secretarial outfit...”

“... for a proper secretary,” she grinned. “Thanks, sir.”

I watched her pad barefoot and naked to her desk, and wondered ‘If this happens before the lesson even begins, what’s going to happen when I actually start teaching? Who else is going to even turn up?’

Ted.