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  • Natalie Plays with Mr Herrick Ch. 02

Natalie Plays with Mr Herrick Ch. 02

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Trust me, please, when I tell you there is absolutely no way at all for a teacher to survive unscathed after being defied by a student. At the least, if the teacher is a calm and generally light-hearted person, their relationship will take a turn for the worse; the student will become more arrogant and demanding, more impertinent and disrespectful as the days go by. The teacher, meanwhile, having lost all authority over that student, is in extreme danger from that student's friends.

I've found over many years that this sad state of affairs grows twice as bad if the teacher is a man and the student is a young woman. There is always going to be tension there, especially if the teacher and the student are reasonably fit and relatively attractive; even if not, there will be more tension than there needs to be.

And I've also found, very recently now, that it all gets around twenty or thirty times as bad if the female student has sucked the male teacher's dick. And maybe about another hundred times as bad if he knows she has any part of that encounter filmed or recorded. Especially if he knows she does not care about his reputation.

That's why I was such a wreck in the days after my intense and very confusing encounter with Natalie Cross, the Ice Bitch of Glen Avery High School. Fit and beautiful and superior in every way, Natalie was an eighteen-year-old of surprising self-confidence and very assertive manners. And, as I'd recently discovered, she was a supernaturally talented giver of oral sex and, apparently, a completely uninhibited exhibitionist who thought nothing of stripping her clothes from her lithe body, sitting in a teacher's chair, and calmly masturbating herself to orgasm without any kind of embarrassment.

I'd seen all this last week, the day after she'd challenged me after a morning Student Council meeting; she'd responded by completely dominating my thoughts for the next 24 hours, then followed up by completely dominating my body after her AP Euro class. She'd left me totally intimidated, empty, and sore; she'd humiliated me with her every gesture, and it was immediately obvious to me that our relationship, never particularly ideal, was about to crash-dive.

I'd taken to eating lunch in my room, feeling obscurely as though avoiding the entire school could help me avoid Natalie, but of course she was a senior in charge of many clubs and organizations, so there wasn't an adult in the building who would stop her from going pretty much wherever she wanted. It was the Tuesday after our twisted meeting that she appeared at my door, surprising me in the middle of my turkey sandwich.

In tow was one of her entourage, a girl I'd never taught: short, slight, blue-eyed, nondescript, a girl named Hemmings. I'd had her brother a few years before; the whole family was more in the math/science mold, so she spent her time in all the STEM APs and avoided ours. Margaret or Marianne, I thought, was her first name, or something like that; she'd gained fame last year for missing a perfect SAT score by just two points. I smiled a little vaguely at her.

"Busy?" Natalie asked casually, moving boldly in; she was, as always, well put together, a pair of tight designer jeans showing off her toned legs and tucked into soft leather boots. Her top today was a bright green shirt, scoop-necked, with a small knit cardigan over the top. Perfect makeup, not overdone, with that same scarlet lipstick she'd left smeared across my penis the week before. "Student Council meeting again tomorrow, Mr Herrick, in case you forgot." The Hemmings girl took a few uncertain steps into the room, drinking a Diet Coke.

"Nah, I remember. Thanks though."

"Did you get my email?" she asked. "I might have forgotten to send it." Her manner said she didn't believe her own story; Natalie never forgot to do anything. This was some sort of show she was putting on for her friend. "I wanted to send you a thing about the car wash, too, if you've got your phone handy."

"Of course," I said, putting my sandwich down. I found myself oddly grateful that she didn't seem to want to come too close to my desk today; my mind was troubled when I associated her with it, given our extracurricular activity last week. I tensed myself, testing; good. I was somehow not getting hard. I rolled my office chair over and checked my computer. "Nope. No email from you. Try sending it again; must have gone to spam."

She was already busy at her phone, nodding absently. "Right. And make sure your phone is on." A few clicks, and it was done; my email chimed and my phone vibrated twice, and she stood there with a mocking little smile on her lips.

"Let me know what you think," she said quietly; moving over to Hemmings, she wordlessly took the soda out of her hand and drank a precise sip.

"Sure." I opened up her email and read. It was short.

INTERESTING DISCOVERY, said the subject line; the text was one brutal sentence. 'I'm sure you know your chest hair is starting to go grey, but the hair behind your balls is grey also.' I looked up, rattled, to see her eyes crinkling in one of her real smiles.

"Open the photo album," she said helpfully, nodding toward my phone. "It'll explain everything. In case you accidentally delete it or something, I can always send it again," she reminded me. "The vid's a little different. Let's go, Meredith," she nodded over at Hemmings, who moved out like an icebreaker to make sure Natalie could get easily through the halls; Natalie met my eyes briefly before she spun from the room, her rounded ass moving fluidly in the jeans.

Chewing anxiously, I downloaded the photos and started flipping through them. My heart sank; a dozen shots, all at very close and graphic range, of every possible view of my cock and balls. It was the series she'd shot as she knelt on my pants, her "homework." On the screen my junk looked surreal, looming in extreme closeup; it almost looked unfamiliar that way, like someone else's. But no, there was the little mark on the bottom that had always been there; the birthmark on my head that my wife always kidded me about. My balls swelled huge and angry on the phone screen, and she was right: there was a bit of hair behind my scrotum, and it was a bit grey. I felt my mouth go dry as I remembered: she'd mentioned a video...

Quickly I opened the download, started the vid, and it took me a moment to realize what was up. It was a screen-in-screen shot, the smaller window dominated by a close-range view of my hairy ass. Beside it, foreshortened by the perspective, bobbed the head of my dick, while facing the camera was Natalie Cross, glancing coolly over to make sure her phone was recording. "Got it," she said on the screen, scooting back in front of me as she had on that day; now the screen showed her tits, swaying firmly as she settled in. I saw her look up at me, say "Okay; just relax," and position her hands. The camera did not show her left hand masturbating, but you could see her arm working rhythmically, and I found myself getting hard just knowing what was happening. "You've been very patient..."

But now I turned my attention to the other window, the larger part of the screen, and I frowned for a few seconds before I figured it out: Natalie had sent me a reaction video, showing her friend Chloe watching the action. I was not pleased; Chloe Bishop would have been my last choice of kids to watch me get blown, a cruel and vindictive minx with a bellydancer's body and a bully's mind. She'd been my student twice, and I was counting the days until she graduated. "What the fuck, Nat?" she asked as she leaned toward the glowing light of an offscreen computer monitor. I saw her eyes widen suddenly, in synch with the beginning of Natalie's blowjob in the smaller window, and her hand went to her mouth as her face took on a look of absolute glee. "You're fucking blowing him right there!" She squinted. "Are you getting off, too?"

"Of course," came Natalie's detached voice from somewhere offscreen. "A woman's gotta do what a woman's gotta do, especially when her man can't. If I'd fucked him, he wouldn't have lasted three strokes." I blushed, watching the video and knowing it was true.

Chloe laughed merrily. "Looks like, what seven inches?" she said with professional interest. "Pretty thick, too." Offscreen, Natalie made some vague affirmative sound. I could see now that Chloe was sitting crosslegged on a bed, a tight pair of boyshorts outlining her own vagina; it looked like she was wearing nothing but a cropped, worn tanktop; no bra restrained her massive breasts. Chloe had no makeup and frizzy hair. Unusually, her glasses were on. It seemed they'd done this at a slumber party.

In the small window, Natalie solemnly swallowed my dick; she had her eyes closed now, a serious expression on her face as she worked. The muted sound reflected my groans and the loud, smacking wetness of her mouth on me. Chloe was completely entranced, biting her knuckles. Things went on that way before, though I hadn't been aware of it at the time, Natalie erupted in my chair; I saw her breasts jiggle again as her body spasmed, the motion of her left arm becoming more and more leisurely until it stopped. "I just came," said her tinny voice from offscreen, doing play-by-play; Chloe nodded absently. In the small window, her shiny fingers came suddenly around to grip my ass.

"Okay, now watch; it's coming up." Chloe leaned forward, her cleavage gaping on the screen, studying intently as Natalie's fingers found my asshole. You could hear my gasp, her clinical reassurance, then the finale as she went back to work. Chloe's face looked now a little like mine must have looked then, straining forward in suspense, her breath held. Her nipples were hard in the tanktop; then, in the smaller window, Natalie ducked sideways, still in control, and the camera showed my cum flying away like a rocket heading for the moon.

"Oh my God," Chloe said, her jaw dropping in delight. "You could put an eye out with that kind of velocity." She squinted again. "Jesus Christ! Did it go all the way to the whiteboard?"

"Yup," Natalie replied proudly as, on the little screen, her expression changed abruptly from clinical attention to absolute delight. "Fuck yeah!" she crowed, and I watched as she moved back in; on the screen, my ass pumped rhythmically as I drove into her mouth, her throat bobbing as my cum washed down to her stomach.

"Holy fuck," I heard Chloe marvel; on the screen, my ass finally drooped out of the frame as I collapsed with a groan; Natalie now beamed into the frame, frozen for a moment in smug triumph before the video stopped playing.

Have I mentioned how totally fucked I was?

* * *

"Good morning, Mr Herrick."

I glanced up warily as Natalie wandered back into my room the next day. My breath caught; she was wearing the same pencil skirt she'd been wearing when she blew me, but with fishnet stockings this time. I made sure there was nobody with her as she casually approached my desk. "More videos for me, Natalie?"

"Ooh! Look who's getting uppity!" She stopped beside my desk and leaned her hip casually against it. "Don't be bitter, Scott. The video only happened because you can't control yourself around me," she pointed out airily. "Besides, I thought it came out well. Maybe too well; I told her that cock belonged to Joey, and now Chloe wants to do him." She chuckled. "She'll get that done by Saturday, no sweat. I think she's in for an unpleasant surprise."

"Eh?"

"Joe's not very big, you can tell. Our Chloe is something of a size queen. She's a real slut; you two should meet," she added disdainfully. "Most of my friends are sluts, actually. Except Meredith; she's no virgin, but I don't think she likes sex. She prefers to study. Good thing, too; she took my SATs for me and did, like, super well."

"Took your... what?"

"SATs. She took mine over at Bennett Sanderson with a fake ID. No harm, no foul." I was blown away that she would tell me this, until I realized the message she was sending me: she had no fear that I would tell on her. None at all. "No, I don't think Meredith would have appreciated our video the way Chloe did. Chloe is like you, Mr Herrick; she's not really in control of herself. I'd introduce you, but I know how you act around assertive women; she'd drain you dry, and right now that cum is all for me." She paused reflectively. "It's interesting how this is working out. Sometimes I think back to our little meeting last week and I'm surprised I let you put your dick anywhere near me. Other times, I'm very happy to have had the experience, and I look forward to having more fun with your body." She shrugged. "Well, the heart wants what the heart wants I guess."

"Your point?" I had grading to do, and was not in the mood.

"Well, nothing. I didn't come here about the video. I actually need some money."

I couldn't believe this. "What?"

"Money. I'm short sixty dollars for a new blouse, and I'd like you to provide it." She waited expectantly, placidly.

"This is, uh, blackmail..." I said miserably, my head in my hands. "Why would I... I mean, how..."

"Blackmail?" She frowned as she thought about that. "Oh! I see. No, you stupid man. I'm not demanding money from you for my silence. You're worried about me showing Mr McCarron the photos I took of you, naked in your classroom and waving your dick around. Well, you don't need to worry about that; I'm strong and powerful, but I'm also smart. I know what I've got in you: a harmless, pliant male whose dick grew big at the expense of his brain. Fine. It's that dick I want, and only a fool would endanger that. And I'm not a fool, Mr Herrick."

"Um." I was trying to take all this in. "So then, what? You want money because, like, you, uhhh..."

"...gave you head?" She gave a precise, disgusted shake of her head. "You can't even say it. Pathetic. No, Mr Herrick. What you're talking about now is prostitution. Is that what you think? You think of me as a prostitute, as a whore?"

"I, uhh, no Natalie."

"You call me a whore again and I'm through with you. Absolutely. I like the way our relationship is going so far, but no boy disrespects me. Ever. Do it one more time and we're done."

I was flabbergasted. "Relationship?"

"Of course. What would you call it? No, I need you to hire me. I want to come over and babysit on Saturday night, seven to nine. Your wife can pay me $90. She can research me and find that I'm well-qualified; the two of you can head on out and have a nice, boring dinner, then come on home happy." She smiled in condescension. "Get your phone out; I'm going to give you my number. Then, you can call me and I'll have yours."

I did. "We don't really have plans for Saturday, Natalie."

"Then develop some. I can give you some ideas, if you want, but I really shouldn't need to prompt you to come up with ways to take your fat wife out. I'm sure you can find a dinner place that can fill even her." She chuckled again as, my face burning, I dialed her number. "Good. I'll be in touch." She winked down at me, then got back to her feet and smoothed her skirt. "Have a good day, Mr Herrick," she simpered as she minced toward the door, glancing back at me over her shoulder. "Like my stockings, Mr Herrick?" she finished brazenly. "I wore them for you." And then she was gone.

* * *

My wife was surprised and a bit breathless when I told her of our Saturday plans. Getting a babysitter so that we could go out for a nice meal and some upscale retail therapy was not something we ever did, but her birthday was coming up two weeks later and I billed it as an early present. "A sitter, though? That's extravagant."

"I know," I replied, "and it feels a little weird because she's my student. But her family is going through some hard times right now, and I sorta kinda want to help her out. She's very bright." I had little choice, but I could tell she was suspicious, and when at 5:50 on Saturday night Natalie's headlights swept into our driveway, my wife was standing right by the door to see what kind of ripe, slutty tartlet her husband was proposing to let into her home.

We were both relieved at Natalie's appearance; yoga pants, old tennis shoes, and a sweatshirt softened by many trips through the washing machine. Her hair was pulled loosely back, and she had glasses on; I think it was the first time I'd seen her without makeup, which made her look vulnerable and very young. "Good evening, Mr and Mrs Herrick," she said shyly, waiting to be asked in.

"Hi, Natalie!" I greeted her; being this close to her, as always, had already set my brain on edge. But I felt that, since I was the one who knew her, my wife wouldn't notice my enthusiasm. "Come on in. We printed out the house rules for you."

"Why, that's very organized and efficient, Mr Herrick," Natalie said warmly. "I appreciate it." She stuck her hand timidly out toward my wife. "I'm Natalie Cross."

"Pleased to meet you," she said, and I watched as Natalie's casual clothing and disarming demeanor started to melt her reserve. "Let me give you a quick tour and introduce you to the kids."

"Sure!" Natalie replied, unthreading her head from her messenger bag and putting it on the floor. "I'm dying to meet them." Behind my wife's back, she winked slowly at me as they moved down the hall.

* * *

We got back a little early, our arms warmly around each other; dinner had been great, and a shopping bag swung from the end of my arm. The door was unlocked, and we walked in to a serious-looking Natalie, studying on the couch. "Hi guys!" she said brightly. "The kids are asleep; I was just starting my history essay," she added meaningfully. She looked over at Mrs Herrick. "I'm in his history class."

"Sure," my wife replied. "The house looks great." She excused herself to go to the bathroom.

"How was your date, Mr Herrick?" She was still playing the part of the polite, timid babysitter, sitting demurely on the couch with her hands in her lap. "Did it go as well as you'd hoped?"

"Went great," I replied blandly. "I always enjoy spending time with my wife."

"Of course," she agreed pleasantly, "but, well, a special date is, you know..." she arched an eyebrow, "special. Like, when I'm dating high school boys, and we just go on over to grab an ice cream or something, well, then spending time together is fine. But if it's a real date, with flowers and a restaurant and maybe a show, then there are certain expectations, y'know?" She batted her eyelashes and played up her youth. "Like, sex."

"Well, that's not appropriate at all, Natalie."

"Like, at least a blowjob," she said speculatively, as if I hadn't spoken. "For a loving, married couple like yourselves, if I were you, I'd be expecting at least sex. Weren't you, Mr Herrick?" She smiled sourly. "Or does the thought of fucking that fat cow repulse you completely?"

"Shut up, Natalie. Now."

She ignored me again. "Because I know it would be tough to screw her now, after you've seen me naked. I know how you feel about me." She gazed boldly down to where my penis was hardening in my pants. "I know you want to fuck me."

"Natalie," I began weakly; a hard-on is a difficult thing for a man to explain. Down the hall, the toilet flushed.

"Because if you really do want to fuck me," she interrupted, "I guess that's fine, Scott," she said, stressing my first name with a contemptuous twist of her wet lips, "I've got to tell you, though, there are rules for sex. Important rules. See, I'm a strong and powerful woman, and strong and powerful women are careful about what they let men do with them. You understand?"

I nodded, dry-mouthed. Down the hall, a sink came on as my wife washed her hands. Natalie's smile grew, flickered for a moment, and then faded into her usual businesslike pout. "Good. Then pay attention.

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