Goodbye, Miss Granger - Part 6 - Sex Stories

Goodbye, Miss Granger - Part 6

... have crawled over broken glass for a smile from her.” “Hey,” I said, changing the subject; I was still wearing the blush from Josh’s compliment and now it was burning redder than my dress. “Can you get off work and come to the fair this afternoon? It’ll be fun.” “What’s my motivation?” he teased, back to flirty-talk. I was on familiar ground again. “Well I’ll be in doing a stint in the sponge-toss booth,” I crooned temptingly. “All alone … helpless … soaking wet.” I felt my heart quicken. Doing this in school was so much more exciting than at home; it’s a shame I didn’t get many similar chances. “Oh!” he exclaimed with exaggerated, playful interest. “Helpless, you say? So a stranger could maybe creep into the back of the booth and have his way with you?” “Ah!” I gasped wordlessly, my nipples hardening as I pictured Kevin doing exactly that while the kids threw sponges at me. “Uh oh. Gotta go,” he said quickly. “I’ll be there. Love ya Jean-Genie. Bye.” “Oh, um … bye,” I said, surprised at his abrupt sign-off. Somebody had probably just come up to see him at work, but a little part of me wondered whether he was trying to distract me from the sponge-toss fantasy. Ever since that first time on the beach at Manly, we’d both enjoyed outdoor sex. Not exhibitionism, per se , just … risky. It would be just like him to sneak into the back of the booth and tease me to a public orgasm. I was getting short of breath just thinking about it. My phone had gone back to its home screen; ...

... Kevin had hung up. A shadow moved in the corner of my vision outside the classroom door. I looked up, but it was only a cloud passing across the sun. ~~~ My student-free morning was finally over. Josh’s thousand word essay only kept me entertained for ten minutes of the almost three hours I sat alone in the classroom. Sadly he used up most of his insight in his selection of the subject. There wasn’t really much meat in the essay; he wasted too many words on a misguided attempt to explain Fermat’s Little Theorem and not enough on the commercial and social ramifications of secure, public cryptography. It didn’t make me any less proud of him though; even if he can’t write, at least he can think, and sadly that’s an ability not as common as you’d imagine among school-leavers. Demonstrating iron willpower, I took my homemade sandwiches to the staff room for lunch rather than braving the fair for what I really wanted: a big, greasy hamburger. “Miss Granger, are you lost? This is the staff room. Strictly no student’s permitted.” Oh my goodness! Hermione jokes from my colleagues now. It was the principal, Neil Smith, dressed for-fuck’s-sake as Dumbledore, the principal at Harry Potter’s Hogwarts School. He was wearing a long, white Santa Claus beard, his college academic gown and a rumpled witch’s hat from a costume store. I mean he could’ve been Gandalf from Lord of the Rings , but the principal dressed as a famous movie principal was actually quite clever. “I’m sorry, Professor ...