During a celebratory night out, teacher Amanda Winter and her 18-year-old student Christina unwittingly become the objects of a sex bet between uncle and nephew Gavin and Josh McClain. Which of the sexy pair will get fucked first? Despite the fact that Amanda has a fiance and Christina a boyfriend, it appears to be 'game on'.

Christina hesitated, knuckle poised, at the door to Miss Winter’s classroom. If there was one person in whom she could confide, it was Amanda. Her A-level modern languages teacher had provided a sympathetic ear since her first term at Holland Park Sixth Form College—since the whole drama over whether she should get together with Gabe Carter or his best friend Nick. But was she really ready to share what had happened over half-term break? She was still sore from it, the ache a physical counterpoint to her guilty conscience.

Of course she had the other Gabe-related issue to discuss, but that one was nothing more than a pretext to the agenda’s main item. Maybe she could start off with it. Nervously she rapped.

“Come in.” Miss Winter was occupied with a sheaf of papers at her desk, all signs of free-spirit ‘Amanda’ from The Oktoberfest buttoned up or scraped back into a ponytail. She looked impressive in her silk brooch-clasped blouse and navy jacket—still attractive, however stern.

“Hi Miss. I’m not disturbing you, am I?”

“Not at all, Christina. Sit yourself down—I’ll be with you in a second.”

Christina perched on a desk, feet crossed and swinging, and distracted herself with the array of posters on the teacher’s walls—German and French greats both historical and modern, photos of Munich, Paris and Provence, front pages of Le Monde and Die Zeit—anything to take her mind off the throb in her pussy.

Her teacher ordered the papers and set them aside. “Lower-Sixth French essays,” she explained. “Not all my students can be shining stars like your class, bless them. Now, what would you like to talk about?”

The past weekend’s naked extravaganza was all but consuming Christina’s mind, but she chickened out and opted for the pretext. “An opportunity’s come up,” she said, “and I’m not sure what to do about it.”

“What kind of opportunity?” There was interest in Amanda’s voice and no hint of pre-judgement. She always listened free of prejudice.

“My sister has a friend who works for a London modelling agency. Top agency, really reputable,” she added hastily, for she had in mind the kinds of shoot the company often did. “Lysette—that’s my sister’s friend—she recommended me to them, said I’d really suit what they’re looking for. I didn’t take her seriously, but she talked me into going along and registering, just for a laugh, you know?” Amanda nodded and looked intrigued, so she continued. “They gave me an assessment—I, you know, tried on a few things and one of their photographers took some pictures and, well …”

“They’ve offered you work?”

“Mm-hmm, yes they have.” Christina sat on her hands and beamed at the proposition she had been made. “It would only be part-time, I’m not leaving school or anything, I promise. But …”

“What kind of modelling is it? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“It’s, well … They do fashion. I mean lingerie and swimsuits are fashion, right?”

“Yes, yes they are.” Amanda’s dark eyes glinted with amusement. “And you undoubtedly have the look for demonstrating those kinds of fashion item.”

Christina let slip a giggle, her face burning crimson. “I guess I do.” She recalled her teacher’s discreet suggestion early in the Lower-Sixth year to tone down her look—thigh-gripping pencil skirt and gauzy blouse—so that the boys and Mr Stimpson, the Economics teacher, wouldn’t be perving on her all the time. It was advice she’d heeded, adding tights and a jacket over blouses less flattering of her ample breasts.

“Gabe hates the idea,” she explained. “He says why should I go prancing about in lingerie like a—what was it he said?—a ‘tabloid bimbo’ when I could have a proper career. I told him I wasn’t giving up all my future plans, you know, that it was only some fun and extra money that’d come in useful. I told him it’d all be really tasteful, not tacky, but he wouldn’t listen. We had a whole blazing row about it.” Christina wondered how much that row had figured in the events which occurred on the days immediately after. “I mean,” she appealed to her teacher, “what do you think?”

“I think,” Amanda Winter said, carefully weighing her words, “that much as I liked Gabriel when I taught him, you should take him out of the equation before you make your decision. I’m guessing he can’t get past the notion of you parading yourself half-naked for anyone else to see, so his view is a touch jaundiced. Is that fair?”

“Yes. Yes, it is. He does tend to get a bit jealous.” God, if he only knew … Christina squirmed at the recollection of a recent ‘parading’—for someone other than her first-year art-school boyfriend.

“This is all about you, not him,” her teacher went on, “and about what choices you make regarding your career path. You know I’m biased. You’re an excellent Modern Languages student and you could use those skills in business, diplomacy, tourism ... any number of interesting careers. I wouldn’t want you to forego those opportunities for something that’s more immediately exciting.” Christina reddened again, this time with pride at her teacher’s faith in her. “I understand why you’re attracted by the idea of modelling. It’s got instant glamour and sexiness and—well let’s not mince our words, you’re built for that kind of shoot, right?”

Christina had been aware since before arriving at Holland Park of her well-defined contours. “Well yes, I suppose I am.” She gave a self-conscious giggle.

“No supposing about it. The camera would love you and that kind of attention is very flattering. And there’s no doubt the money would be useful with University in view, so I don’t discount it out of hand.”

“There’s a ‘but’ on the way, right?”

“It’s a bit of advice, take it or leave it.”

“Of course.”

“All I’d say is, be careful what images of yourself you put out there. Depending on what else you decide to do with your life down the line, they can come back to haunt you. Trust me, I have experience of that.”

“You do?”

Amanda smiled ruefully. “Okay, Christina, confession time – but keep this to yourself.”

“Of course, Miss.”

“I wasn’t much older than you are now—I’d started University—and I was sunbathing on Brighton beach during a break with some friends. You know, rare day of British sunshine, on comes the tiny bikini, and I was, well …” She illustrated her body with a vague flurry of her hands. “Va-va-voom. Like now, only ultra-tight and nineteen years old.”

Christina pictured the nineteen-year-old Amanda bikini-clad and sun-worshipping; not that she imagined her teacher’s figure to be significantly less ‘va-va-voom’ now than then. “I’m lying there,” Amanda recalled, “reading a Camus novel and all of a sudden it’s “Hey girls,” and this cocky young guy is handing me a card. He’s a, shall we say, ‘talent scout’ for Ladzworld Magazine.”

“Seriously?”

“He finds I’m at Uni and suggests I’d suit their ‘Campus Hotties” feature. Well I laughed it off at the time, but later I got to thinking …”

“Miss, you didn’t …” Christina was open-mouthed in her amazement. She couldn’t help but be fascinated that her teacher was divulging a spicy secret from her past.

Amanda shrugged. “Money was tight. I knew I wasn’t going to get any richer over the next three years and they were offering two thousand quid. I got to feature as their “Campus Hottie of the Month”. I mean it was more tasteful than it might have been—I was nude, but …”

“You were nude?”

“Semi-covered up, not tits and ass all out there. It was shot around this great stone water fountain in a London park and my crucial bits were always covered up or thereabouts. I started off in a micro-bikini and then shed it as the photos went on. They had me peeking out from behind a statue or splashing in the water with my hair draped over my boobs … Oh yes, and there was one with me stretched out face-down along the border of the fountain. My ass was pretty much on display in that one, come to think of it.”

“Wow.”

“I took it as nothing more than a lucrative bit of fun, but my family weren’t too happy when they found out. And it didn’t do me any favours years later when I was teaching at my first school.”

“Oh my God. Did you get in trouble?”

“Kind of. I thought the pics would be long-buried, but then one of my male students stumbled on one online. I’d gone under the name ‘Mandy Summers’—thought that was oh so clever—but students ended up passing on Google images of me in all my glory. ‘Check it out, it’s Miss Winter!’ You know what fifteen-year-old boys are like. And of course they let me know that they knew.”

“God, Miss, that must have been awful.”

“It wasn’t wonderful. I barefaced it out, but then a member of senior staff got wind of it and started to make my life difficult. Said the photos made my place on the staff untenable. Bob Wendell—probably slobbering over those pics at night, the desiccated old fucker. Sorry, pardon my French.”

Christina had to smirk at her teacher’s faux pas. “You don’t have to apologise, Miss. So … did you have to leave?”

“Leave? God, no. Not to please him or any of the rest. I’d have had them before a tribunal if they tried and they knew it. But it did make life there … uncomfortable and I started casting around for something else. One of my reasons for the move to this place. The students are more mature and if the ‘Mandy Summers’ business were to crop up again, my results-statistics are more than enough to shut up senior management.”

“Well I won’t tell anyone.” It gratified Christina that she’d achieved a sufficient level of matiness with Amanda for her teacher to share so much. But she also knew she’d end up taking a private peek at Campus Hottie ‘Mandy Summers’ on her iPhone before the day was through. Out of curiosity.

“I know you won’t,” her mentor replied. “Point is, be careful what you allow on camera. It could make life tricky down the line. The modelling is your decision, but think through all the implications and be ready to stand by what you do, that’s all I’m saying.”

“I know, Miss. It’s okay, I’m smart. Not that you weren’t,” she added hastily. “You know what I mean.”

“I know exactly what you mean. But hell, I did look hot in that shoot.” They laughed together more like friends than teacher and student. “I hope that helps.”

“It does, Miss. Thanks.” Christina didn’t shift. That other issue was taunting her.

“And … is that everything? Something else on your mind? You weren’t as focused as normal in class today and I think it’s maybe more than the modelling job.”

Christina rubbed one foot against the other. Amanda Winter’s intuition had caught her before she could lose her nerve. “There’s something, yes.”

“Is it you and Gabriel? Did your argument run a bit deeper?”

“No … No, not really. It’s more …” She shifted about on the desk.

“Christina, you’re not obliged to tell me anything. But it might make you feel better if you did.”

“Miss …” She squirmed in a misery of embarrassment. “Have you ever done anything really stupid?”

“You mean more stupid than stripping on camera for a lads’ magazine? Tell me. I can see it in your face. What have you done that’s so bad, sweetheart?”

Christina’s anguish came flooding in. “Miss … I … Oh God, Miss, I’ve cheated. I’ve gone and cheated on Gabe.” There, it was said. No more prevaricating.

Her teacher paused, calmly taking in what she’d said. “Okay. So was it … with someone you knew well?”

“Kind of. A bit. I was sort of friends with him. He made it sound like it’d be okay if I went around to his place—but he’d been pressing for it for over a week. I knew it was more than a ‘friend’ thing and so did he. And … he knew I knew. I thought it would be fine and I could tease a little. Have some fun but not let it go any further. I was so mad at Gabe after the row and he was away on a weekend residential organised by his college. And then when I got there … it all kind of spun out of control.”

It was a poor euphemism for the decathlon of amorous athletics in which she’d taken part.

The weather was getting summery and she’d worn the patterned red dress with the plunging front for Josh’s ‘tasting’, her matching lace brassiere peeking out. It was hardly the look for someone with innocent intentions.

“Looking great,” he said. “I was wondering if you’d wear the black number from the Christmas party, but trust me I’m so not grumbling.” His gaze was roving freely all over her, not straying shy of her plump breasts, and it caused her to break out in gooseflesh. Then he did his cocky-funny chef’s banter at the stove like he was on his own TV show and she was his guest, chopping and tossing all those exotic ingredients together into delicious sample dishes.

Soon she was eating teriyaki pork and chilli chicken from the spoon he proffered, laughing as he caught the traces that had run down her chin. It seemed a natural progression when she ended up sucking the sauce from off his fingers.

“God, I like the way you do that. Let me taste.”

He did, his tongue tantalizing hers. The moment had already turned too intimate for her to want to stop the kiss. It went on for-goddamn-ever, his fingers whispering about her face and neck and shoulders, trailing through her hair, as his mouth explored. Then it was “time for dessert. Special tasting in the living-room. You’re going to like this,” he assured, “a lot.”

Mocha Chantilly trifle, from his own recipe. It looked as mouth-watering as he did with his short-trimmed dark hair and his hard-defined swarthy features. He resembled that scary-hot uncle of his in appearance, though his manner was more brash and extrovert. Until he went into full seduction mode, that was. “Let me show you how we’ll eat this,” he said, as she teetered on his living-room carpet. “And take off those shoes. I don’t want you falling over.”

She kicked off the heels and awaited his next move in sexy-guilty trepidation. A single attempt at protest died in her throat as he eased her dress-straps from her shoulders and unclipped her brassiere at the back. He uncovered her breasts like it was appropriate that he should and breathed audible enjoyment as he smeared Chantilly cream all over her nipples from the glass he had retrieved from the fridge. “The chef should always sample first, don’t you think?”

“I … I suppose so.” The words quavered voicelessly from her throat. She fought off dizziness as he grasped each breast in turn and stroked and swirled on her nipples with a masterful tongue, licking and sucking her clean. “Oh – Oh – Oh my God … Ohhh …”

He scooped cream from the dessert glass and fed it to her with that same talented tongue, the moment decadent and delicious. Then he told her, calmly and firmly, “Strip—take everything off. Don’t think about it, just do it.”

She forced out “I have a boyfriend”. It would be her one feeble flicker of defiance that whole weekend.

“Yeah? Well he’s not here and I am. I’ve got a huge fucking hard-on for you, Christina, and we both know you want to be on the end of it. So get naked now.”

Heaven help her she did want it, divesting herself of every last stitch right in front of him. She even padded around one-eighty when he prompted her: “C’mon, let me see that beautiful bum.”

His breath stalled as he cupped and squeezed her ass and her boobs, and then he laughed, his eyes alive with delight and mockery and conquest. She saw the eager boy in him alongside the suave seducer. “Holy fuck,” he said, “I’m going to do you all bloody weekend. Get down on your knees. This tasting’s getting started for real.”

He hadn’t been joking. The boy had ‘done’ her all over his apartment, any which way he could bend her, that night and beyond. He might have gone on longer if his work commitments hadn’t come calling. The multi-position shafting had left her far sorer than she’d felt the morning after Gabe took her virginity.

Not that she told Amanda any of this. It was mortifying enough to admit to her transgression in general terms, without letting slip shreds of lascivious detail. “I was at his place Friday night and half of Saturday,” was what she said. “I’d told mum and dad I was staying with a friend—it was halfway true, I suppose. I meant to go home Saturday morning. Gabe had left a voicemail and I was feeling rotten, but then he—the guy—kind of talked me into staying.”

How lame did that sound? There’d been very little talk involved. She couldn’t believe how many times and with how much vigour she’d been taken over one eighteen-hour period.

“Gabe got back Saturday night and he took me for a … a really lovely lunch the next day.” Her voice was starting to tremble now. “He’d done a sketch for me while he was away—ponies in the New Forest. It was beautiful. And I sat there and felt such a horrible cheat. I couldn’t believe what I’d done.”

Tears were welling and Amanda rose from her desk to sit beside her and take her hand. “There, sweetheart, it’s okay.”

“No, Miss, it’s really not okay.” The sense of wretchedness became overwhelming. “I had to fake that it was and that nothing had happened. And then later I saw him again—by … by accident, not another date I mean—and he was really pleased with himself, letting me know he wanted to do it all again.”

“This is the chef, we’re talking about—the young Gordon Ramsay type, from the Oktober pub?”

Christina looked at her teacher, stricken. “Yes. Yes, it’s him.”

“Thought as much. Good-looking boy, and knows it.”

“He is,” Christina admitted. “And he does.” And Amanda hadn’t even seen him naked—all lean brawn and big strapping cock.

It was already standing proud when she unzipped the front of his jeans with faltering fingers and tugged on the front of his shorts.

“Go on. Take it out.” The bulbous head was peeking over the band. She pulled all clothing away and it swayed before her widening eyes, skin stretched taut over a thick-veined trunk, helmeted head shiny and perfect. No wonder he seemed so pleased with it.

“Oh God, look at you.”

“You’re going to do more than look,” he said, and she could hear the grinning glee in his voice. He’d scooped cream from the bowl and he smoothed it all over his erect self, from head to close-trimmed root. “Go on, sweetheart. Your turn for dessert.”

She stretched out her tongue and licked a silky trail up his sweet underside, heart thumping at the intimate contact with Josh McClain’s gorgeous dick. “That’s nice. Now suck.” Like a good girl she opened wide, stretched her lips around him and sealed them tight to the hot flesh. The only cock she’d ever had in her mouth other than Gabe’s, all pulsing-hard and buttered up with mocha Chantilly.

He groaned his delight and she began to suck for real, stroking him with her tongue, sweet cream and salty cock combining on her taste-buds. She gripped his crumpled trousers and his ass, undulating soft mouth on hard shaft. Damn, he tasted delicious. She’d fancied the fuck out of him for weeks and now to be doing this, making him feel good … Such a guilty turn-on.

“That’s right, babe. Take it deeper. Suck it all clean.”

She took it as deep as she dared, lips stretching wide around its thickness, then licked beneath, lathering and cleaning up right down to his balls which she found herself fondling with her mouth for good measure. He’d only have told her to do so if she hadn’t.

He laughed. “Look what a naughty girl you are, getting into it already. Suck me again. Suck me good.”

She did, gripping him at the base and slurping noisily on him for effect, to show that she was more than just a silly novice, simultaneously thrilled and appalled at her own sluttiness.

“God, yeah, look at me.” She did that too, and was mesmerised by his lust-inflamed eyes staring into hers. “That’s it, keep your eyes on me while you suck.” His hand reached out to stroke her blond tresses. “Damn—what a hot naked little cocksucker. I knew you’d look fucking beautiful on your knees. That’s it, keep sucking. Shit, I swear I’m going to fuck you senseless …”

“So was it good?”

“Sorry?” The question hit Christina from leftfield. She’d never expected her teacher to ask such a thing.

“Being with him. Honey, did you have a good time?”

“I … I … Yes,” she said miserably. The memory boiled in her mind at the slightest prompting …

That great big dick plunging deep inside her and thrusting relentlessly, as he took her from behind on a throw-rug. ‘Throw-rug’ not least because he’d thrown her down onto it with laughing abandon, his cock still glistening from the attentions of her mouth. His palm swatted both her cheeks and, before she’d finished gasping her shock, her legs were parted and he was putting himself in place, his bulbous head prising her open.

“God, Christina, look how wet and ready you are. Fuck, this is going to be sweet.” Then he was working himself into her, his thick cock steadily stretching her out, exploring the space inside her cunt. She was moaning under pressure of the huge insertion, stunned by the realisation that she was being filled by someone other than Gabe. Her one-and-only was being relegated into merely her first.

Josh eased himself all the way inside her, his shaft tight against her slick walls, enjoyment grating in his throat. “It looks so good, watching myself slide inside you.” He couldn’t help rubbing it in as she whimpered, could he? Then slowly he began his shafting of her, retreating and surging, letting her feel each stroke, momentum gradually building. His palms gripped and stroked her as his cock pumped steadily faster and soon he was clutching her shoulder hard, pulling her up to cup and fondle her tit as he thrust deep and packed her with himself.

“Where’s your boyfriend now, sweetheart? It’s just your pussy and my cock, all fucking night.” He laughed and grunted and spanked her ass before reaching around to grope her bosom some more. “How’re you doing there, Chris? Having fun? Lover-boy ever treat you like this?”

Why hadn’t it appalled her? Why had it all served to turn her on even more, her fingers searching between her legs as she was soundly fucked?

“Yes,” she moaned. “I had a really good time.”

“That much I sensed. Which only adds to the confusion, right? You know if you weren’t with anyone else, I’d say there’s nothing wrong with a bit of fun, as long as you’re being careful.”

“But I am with someone else. I’ve acted like such a slut.”

“Now sweetheart, you haven’t …”

“Yes I have, Miss. You know it.”

“Well … maybe a little bit of a one. But we’ve all been there, and you can trust me on that.” Christina returned her teacher’s wry smile through her teariness. “And it sounds like it hasn’t been rosy for you and Gabe recently. Maybe …”

“No,” Christina insisted. “No, that was … that was nothing. We’d have talked the other business through. He didn’t deserve for me to do this. Miss, I love him. I really do.”

Amanda squeezed and patted her hand. “Yes dear. I can see that you do.”

“I love him and I don’t know how to deal with it when I’m with him anymore. I can hardly look him in the eye. Miss, how can I do it? Keep deceiving him?”

“Keep deceiving him? Does that mean you’re intending to go back to the horny gourmet’s flat again? Or let yourself be alone with him at the restaurant?”

“No!” Christina’s insistence was accompanied by a flash of memory—riding him reversed as he sat in a leather armchair, so that she had a full view of her bouncy shame in his living-room mirror. She looked and felt so sexy-slutty, like her boyfriend had never made her feel. The things he made her say … Scratch that, she ended up saying them so willingly, playing the game he invented in that impossibly hot moment. Such a sexy game …

“No,” she repeated with significantly less conviction. Making love with Gabe was cosy and tender, with an occasional naughty edge. Her extended interlude with Josh—that had been the rush of her young life. Pure sex. Even to recall it—eaten out and fucked in his bed when he woke in the darkness hard and horny, or molested and spanked in his shower stall next morning before he bent her over and rammed himself back inside her—was an adrenalin shot that set her heart racing. Only the dreadful comedown guilt, combined with the fear of betraying her guy all over again, was enough to counter the sensation. “No, I’ll be good. But I don’t know how I’m going to let Gabe think everything’s okay. I keep thinking he deserves to know the truth and wanting to tell him how sorry I am. How will I cope?”

“How will you cope?” Amanda’s voice had toughened and she clutched Christina’s hand harder. “How will you cope? You’ll cope because you damn well have to. What else is there to do? Let it all spill because you feel so guilty you have to go share it with him and screw up everything, his head included? Like that’s going to make it less of a problem?

“If you want to stay with him, I mean truly want to, then you fake that everything’s okay till you feel it again. Then go out, buy some sexy skimpies and give him the night of his life. Make it up by getting naughty with him—get him in touch with fantasies he never knew he had. Blow his mind. But whatever you do, don’t go harping on the one mistake you made or it’ll fuck you up and fuck him up worse, whether or not you stay together. Get past it, Christina. It’s called being an adult, and that’s what you are now.”

Aside from anything else, the low-key tirade stopped the student’s tears. “Miss,” she said, “Miss, you’re hurting my hand.”

“Oh, sorry sweetheart.” She let go, her face and tone softening. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be harsh.” She hadn’t been, but the moment had been unexpectedly intense. “Look, you’re a spirited fun-loving girl and you made a mistake. It’s not the end of the world. That Josh guy—Josh, right? He’s a junior player and he’s got a whole career of it ahead of him, so remember your night with him fondly and move on, because you can be sure he will, probably with one of your fellow-waitresses.”

The pang of jealousy must have shown in Christina’s face. “Yes,” her teacher said, “I know that smarts, but it’s the truth. God knows I’ve met my share of guys like him. As for you, there’s no punishment here unless you choose to punish yourself, honey, and I really suggest you don’t. And if the guilt feels too much, for God’s sake talk to me about it and not your boyfriend. Or anyone else for that matter. Make sense?” She proffered a box of tissues, so that Christina could attend to her tear-stained features.

“Yes. Yes it does.” The student’s distress was tempered with relief. She had a friend and mentor who would sustain her through her trouble, someone older and so much wiser, who had secrets of her own from younger days. Maybe they were close enough for her to unburden herself of the erotic memories which were tormenting her. At a later date. “Does your fiancé know about ‘Mandy Summers’?” she ventured to ask.

“He does,” Amanda said, an unaccountable hint of melancholy behind her smile. “I’ve introduced him to Mandy and they get along very well, as it happens. Well I can’t be Amanda the prim schoolmarm all the time. He likes it when Mandy comes out to play.” She gave Christina’s hand a final squeeze. “But look, I have marking to finish, and you, unless you’ve forgotten, my dear, have a translation passage to complete for me tonight. So I suggest you take yourself home and get to it.”

Christina blew her nose, hopped off the desk and hugged her favourite teacher. The embrace was reciprocated warmly. “I know, I’ll do it. It’ll be on your desk tomorrow, I promise.” She might be distracted by all kinds of tormenting thoughts, but she’d fight through them for Miss Winter. And yes, she’d definitely check out Mandy Summers online. Her teacher was too worldly to expect anything less, after all. “Thanks,” she said. “Thanks so much. Really, really thanks.”

“My pleasure. Christina, it’s going to be okay. You know that, right?”

Amanda’s smile was all reassurance and it conveyed hope to the schoolgirl. Maybe she could put Josh McClain behind her—contain her naughty secret and move on with Gabe. “Yeah, I know,” she replied. “See you tomorrow.”

~~~~

“Bye, sweetheart.”

Amanda watched as Christina Lyndon retreated with graceful sorrow from the classroom. The girl’s hands were held out slightly from her body and there was a sway to her walk as though she were already on the set of her ‘fashion’ shoot.

Now there was a girl who needed to be allowed to live a little. Gabriel Carter had seemed a personable young man while studying at Holland Park, but there’d been too much of the boy in him, with all the attendant insecurities when dating a girl as pretty and physically developed as Christina. His jealous tendencies had been apparent back then and they weren’t going to get any less potent. Whatever path the girl chose, she needed to walk it unencumbered for a while. She needed to enjoy nights with a reprobate-in-the-making like Josh and suffer no guilt afterwards. That was what being a young woman should be all about.

The smile of the good-looking boy from the pub-night came to the teacher—how he’d hovered over their table working his callow charm—and she could not help but be amused. God, I’ll bet that cocky bastard bounced her off the walls all night. And had a great fat smile all over his face once he’d taken what he wanted. That’s a young man who knows how to satisfy his cock. She tried not to derive too much pleasure from the image of the lusty young buck banging his schoolgirl conquest as her swollen tits bounced freely. Doubtless he’d taken all the more delight if he knew he was fucking some other guy’s girlfriend. Fucking her properly like most loving partners would never dare.

Amanda had no doubt either as to the young lad’s mentor. Quite the family double-act. Yes, sweetheart—dealing with guilt is a bit of a trick. But deal with it we must. We’re a pair, you and me, if only you knew it.

But she hadn’t been ready to share that much with her student. Amanda Winter would deal with her own night of betrayal all alone.

She shuffled the Lower Sixth French essays and made some cursory annotations on the sheet at the top of the pile, but her concentration was shot. The situation as it now revealed itself was too damn rich to allow focus on much else.

Did they do that often, she wondered, uncle and nephew—go out on hunting trips so they could eye their prey together, the experienced man demonstrating his prowess to the learner? The notion drew from her a kind of grim satisfaction. Nothing was truly seedy when done with such consummate style. And yes, the whole business tapped into instincts of hers, ones which she had kept tightly leashed throughout her professional life.

Up until the night at The Oktoberfest, that was. Until that bastard had set them loose.

Rob, her darling town planner, the gentle bookish man who had put this rock on her finger, did not truly know Mandy Summers. He thought he did and for a while she’d convinced even herself that what she gave him on their naughty Friday evenings was the real deal. Mandy the Model, free spirit and purveyor of raunchy fun, would come out at week-endings and set his world alight with sinful pleasure. And how she loved the excitement in his eyes—of a loving and grateful man who’d never believed his nights could get so damned horny.

But, and the thought annoyed her so much she nearly snapped her pencil, he’d never had ‘proper Mandy’. Not the hoyden who’d sucked the juice from life and men (plus the occasional woman) with such abandon in her student days. Teaching and Rob Alcorn had tamed her and she’d let them; you couldn’t live full-on forever, right? A bright girl needed purpose and a sweet intelligent guy with whom to settle. She couldn’t go shaking it in night-clubs and then easily reassume a teacher’s demeanour on Monday. Someone who knew someone would always have seen, and it would be “Out enjoying yourself at the weekend, Miss?” before first period was through. Then there’d be knowing smiles all around the classroom, whether or not any saucy tabloid pics had surfaced …

Holland Park was more civilised, true. The students were less teenage rabble and more young adults. Christina was a case in point, that rare girl with whom she’d share an intimate detail of her past and trust her not to go blabbing to her friends. Then there was the Oktoberfest evening; taking students out and buying them cocktails—a Mandy move if ever she’d pulled one. She’d put more of her old self on display that night than in years and hadn’t Christina and friends loved it? Check out how cool Miss is when she lets her hair down.

And along with her hair, she’d let down her guard.

She was in full Mandy mode when first she laid eyes on him. And he recognised it, his dark look zeroing in on the hot teacher while his nephew was distracted with Christina. Her teacher/fiancée defences were lowered and a moment undid her. One extra flick of the eyes in his direction told him all he needed to know, as he reclined there absorbing all—with his flinty good looks and his open-necked shirt wrapping what she knew would be a granite-hard body. A granite-hard everything, heart included. Damn …

A fucker like him leapt like lightening once advantage was perceived. He’d known she’d be secretly delighted when he appeared beside her at the bar to strike up conversation. Mandy Summers was set instantly at war with her Wintery counterpart.

What bullshit had he been coming off with? Something about her students being treated to “a different kind of education” that night.

And she laughed and played up to his repartee. “Well I can’t afford to treat them too much. I’d get myself in trouble.”

“Oh, something tells me you could teach your group a thing or two about trouble.” He’d got that right.

“Maybe I could,” she said, as her drinks were poured. “But this girl’s days of trouble are done.” She allowed him a good shot of her engagement ring, the gesture a defensive one in response to her accelerated heart rate.

“Maybe they are and maybe they aren’t. Are you still ‘Miss’ to them tonight?”

“Dressed like this? No, I’m Amanda, if they can summon up the nerve to use it.” Now what was she doing, letting him know her first name?

“Keep buying them cocktails,” he suggested.

“One each—beyond that they’re on their own.”

“Very sensible. But I still don’t think the trouble lies too far beneath your surface, Amanda.”

“That’s a possibility,” she said, allowing a sly smile as she paid. “But they’ll never know for sure. And neither will you.”

“That’d be a great shame—for us both.”

“That is a great shame. For you.” She was reaching for two cocktails when he whipped the card from his wallet, wrote on the back of it with a slim silver pen and eased it into her grip. “Now why would you be doing that? Presumptuous, given what I’ve just said.”

“Purely professional. My company creates business software and I’ve given talks to Sixth Form business students in more than one school. That’s my private number on the back. Feel free to …”

“I’ll pass it on to the head of Business Studies,” she said, adopting Amanda Winter’s brisker tone to compensate for the slipping of the card into her purse. “I’m sure Ken will be delighted to talk to you.”

“If it’s anyone called Ken on the other end of the call, I’ll know you’ve sadly taken me at my word.”

It made her laugh again. Mandy and Amanda were going twelve rounds inside her as she took the cocktails and turned to leave him. “Oh I know exactly how to take you, Gavin.”

“I don’t doubt it for a second.” He stared right into her. She recalled vividly how those steely blue eyes had penetrated Amanda’s outer shell and gazed on Mandy Summers, wanton and neglected. “You have a good night, Amanda.”

It had been all she could do to compose herself as she returned to her students, her mind alive with the possibility of a whole other ‘good night’. Thank fuck none of the group had noticed the conversation. When he later showed up at the table alongside his hot younger version, no connection could be made with earlier. She was cool as hell with him—too cool. He knew he’d gotten to her and that his card was tucked away in her purse to taunt her the next day.

Amanda still had it there, a memento of that night—a contender for the most debauched in her experience. She should get rid of the thing. She should have got rid of it the morning after the Oktoberfest, but the scribbled instruction on the back along with the phone number had been so arresting. ‘It’s wrong. Do it.’ A Mandy kind of message if ever one had been written. It disturbed her that the tall and stone-jawed stranger from the bar knew her Mandy-self instinctively, while poor Rob never truly could.

The card’s slim dimensions weighed on her soul for two entire days like it had peculiar atomic density. It was a connection to him and the promise of lust, pure and unfettered. She hadn’t experienced that in years and hadn’t thought she would do so ever again.

Her life’s great trade-off had been a good one—the forsaking of raw passion for the warmth of romance. Even in the heat of temptation she didn’t doubt her love for Rob. Her affection ran deep and she wouldn’t hurt her guy for the world.

But the words on the card and the look with which the archetypally tall, dark stranger had left her would not let her go. They tapped into the indecent notion she’d carried since the engagement—that her commitment to marriage and security and convention had earned her one last hurrah, not unlike a groom’s stag-night fling. Rob would have her all his life and she’d be good to him, but for a single glorious night she wanted to be good to herself, to indulge Mandy one more time. The idea had been vague, but damn, it crystallised the moment he spoke to her.

He knew it too. That type of bastard had a sense for it.

Rob’s poker night, the one his mate Gary threw monthly, provided the perfect opportunity. He’d be out till halfway through next day and groggy for the rest of it. Had it not happened as such she’d have created some ruse, but this way she didn’t even have to lie, except of course by omission.

And so she made the vital phone call. Her hand trembled as she pressed each treacherous number and the blood banged in her ears as the phone rang out. Then he answered and she had to quell the shake in her voice.

“Gavin?”

“Amanda.”

“It’s wrong. Let’s do it.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow night. How does that suit?”

“It suits fine. Apartment Nine, Albion Court, off High Street Kensington. Eight o’clock.”

“I’d prefer nine. It’ll make things simpler.”

“Nine works too. Wear a coat and heels.”

“And …?”

“A touch of perfume. Nothing else. Buzz and I’ll let you in.”

“I …”

“Till then, Amanda.”

It was fortuitous that he clicked off, for the normally articulate Amanda Winter had been rendered speechless, shocked and aroused by how casually he had spun the exchange around to put himself in control. It pissed her off and confirmed her darkest hopes.

She’d known where she stood with Mr Gavin McClain, Managing Director of Rainbow Business Software, and it suited her well. It had been her night of lust—sealed off in a bubble from the rest of her existence, so that it did not pollute with its searing filth.

Rob, bless him, would never know.

She checked her phone prior to leaving her classroom for the evening and her fiancé’s message awaited her. Guilt, as she’d assured Christina, simply had to be managed and she shoved her memories of Gavin aside as she listened to Rob’s voice. “Hi, love—I’m thinking of giving seafood linguini a shot tonight if you’re willing to risk it—pick up a bottle of cabernet in case it’s overly scary. Or if you’re not ready to risk the linguini, I could grab some take-away from the Mumbai Massala. We can stick with the cabernet, either way. I know it’s a school night, but good girls deserve good things, right? Let me know. Love you.”

I don’t fucking deserve you, Mister. She kissed the face-plate of her phone and absorbed the sadness that came from owning truth to be forever withheld. But even as she packed all in her bag and purse, the memories she had stemmed were rolling in again. Her air of brisk professionalism as she walked from the room and to the school’s exit was at odds with recollections that scorched her memory.

She waited till Rob was safely kissed off to his poker game and gave her one-night lover his desire; stripped, showered and moisturised, she donned heels, dabs of Chanel Chance Eau Fraiche and fuck-all else. There was a particular kind of thrill in primping herself for a man she already knew to be a bastard. He was as undeserving as he was sexy, which meant one single thing—she was doing this purely for herself. He was her final gift to Mandy Summers.

Yes, the mini red trench coat seemed apt, set off with crimson lipstick. She brushed out her dark brunette mane, checked that she looked every inch the harlot and set off for her evening’s worth of sin.

Fate punished her when her Fiat Cinquecento rolled into High Street Kensington. There was no parking to be had for streets around and rain was coming on, heavy and cold. She walked several blocks into the pelting drops, a newspaper clutched overhead to protect her hair. It was a sodden mess once she arrived at the gates and pressed for Apartment Nine.

“Getting wet out there?” His voice into the intercom was all relaxed amusement, while she stood there shivering.

“Look, buzz me in, or I’ll go back to the car.”

“No you won’t. You want this way too much.”

The gate buzzed and so did she with illicit expectation. She pushed and walked inside the grounds, crunching up the gravel path in persistent driving rain, then inside the lush apartment-complex to her fuck-date.

He made her knock and wait dripping at his door, but she liked his meanness. She’d opted for him because she knew with every fine-tuned instinct what a toying fucker he’d be. This man was exactly what she needed.

The door opened and he stood barefoot in slacks and shirt, staring down on her in enjoyment of her rain-drenched plight. “Hi, Amanda.” Then he gripped her by the belt of her trench coat and pulled her inside, the newspaper splashing to the floor as the door slammed behind her and she stumbled into him.

“Let me take your coat.”

He unbelted it and ripped it open, checking that she’d followed his instructions. “Very good. Very good indeed. I’m glad teacher still knows how to take instructions.”

His gaze absorbed her exposed curves and his hands filled themselves with her tits, while pushing her against the wall of his apartment’s entry-way. The coat hung on her shoulders as he kissed his slow sure way from her neck to her bullet-pointed nipples. He licked and sucked on the peaks of both her mounds, his ravening hunger tamed by expertise, and she groaned at how fucking great it felt.

“Good thing school’s out, Amanda,” he said as he slid to his knees, hands still clutching her breasts. “I think you’re running a fever.”

He could share the sexually fevered side of her. The rest was for Rob alone. “To you it’s Mandy,” she breathed, before his tongue plunged into her cunt.

He ate her out voraciously, palms trailing down to grapple her ass, so that his tongue could fuck her deeper. Then he flickered the tip on her clit, fingers thrusting; she gripped him tight by the hair as with the hands and mouth of a master he brought her off. She came hard and drenching like the rain outside all over his still-intruding fingers.

“See how good a host I am?” he said, feeding her own essence into her mouth with two dripping digits. She sucked hungrily, loving every dirty fucking second. Damn, she’d hit the motherload with this bastard.

He tore the coat clean off her and put her on her knees, raising up her chin with wetted fingertips to look on her in her sweet abasement. “Okay—so how does ‘Mandy’ suck cock?”

She set about his fastenings with practised fingers, heart swelling in anticipation of the prize beneath. “Like most men can only dream of,” she assured him. He sprang out, as huge as he was hard. Oh sweet Christ … She allowed him one split-second’s worth of stunned flattery before opening wide and gobbling him up.

Damn, his swollen shaft took some managing. Once her lips were properly stretched around the head, she gripped the base and vacuumed him with smooth undulating slurps, taking in half his thick inches each time, before retreating to lick luxuriously under his glans. She stared a challenge for him to resist her attentions and he eyeballed her in return, the arrogant fuck. She imagined his hand on the back of her head—for surely it would stray there before long—and shunted herself far up his length, taking him squelching to the back of her throat repeatedly and staving off her gag-reflex like the trooper she was. Then she bobbed on the head, cheeks concave, palm wrapped around his shaft to massage as he smiled his approval and stripped off his shirt.

What a beautiful iron-hard torso. He took care of himself, did Mr Gavin McClain.

“That’s it, Mandy-girl,” he said, as good as naked, his hand closing as she had known it would around the back of her head. “Now all the way down.” He meant it too, shafting every last inch of himself past her tunnel-gaping lips till he was packed right down her throat. “Hold it there, hold it …” She hadn’t much choice, chin pressed as it was to his balls, but she steeled her nerve until he pulled out again in a great slithering rush. “Yes. I knew that’d be no problem to you.”

“Fucker,” Mandy panted, drool spilling from her lower lip.

“You make that sound like a compliment,” he said as he freed himself completely of trousers and briefs.

“It was.”

They shared the faintest glimmer of a smile, before he bent down, grabbed her thick hair and dragged her scrambling to her feet. “Then I’d better live up to it, hadn’t I?”

He seized her by the wrist and pulled her into his plush open-plan living area, no doubt gauging where to put her so he could fit his dick inside her cunt. It was a gorgeous space, expansive with white ceiling and slate-grey walls to compliment the stainless steel of the kitchen. So imminent was their rough copulation, she didn’t have the capacity to take in much more detail than that.

There were three seats in the living-room—a great cream-upholstered sofa, a matching banquette and a black leather recliner—and he fucked her on them all. He put her on the recliner first, pushing her face down against the cool leather before fitting his cock to her pussy and shafting it all slowly inside. Christ, he filled her up, and soon he was reminding her on every mighty thrust; the grunting of his savage pleasure was sauce to her hot shuddering enjoyment. She clutched at the chair’s pliant leather, bracing herself against what she already knew would be an extensive reaming. The forces at work on her body were stressing it like a fairground ride might do; she’d been on a pleasantly fun big dipper for some years now, but this was a diabolical state-of-the-art roller coaster and all she could do was scream, cling and see out the ride. Colossal proportions—length and girth—were testing her pussy on each stoke, and the force behind them was like a fucking bulldozer.

Amanda’s clit was pulsing and she reached to relieve its tension with one hand, clawing with the other for continued support from the armchair. It was coming on her—not just orgasm, but the ‘purple mist’—she’d coined the phrase back in university—that force which took over when she was aroused beyond a point of no return. In her student days she’d learned to resist it unless she was in a situation where restraint did not matter, for when it descended, all bets were off as to her response; she might say or do fucking anything, and scarcely remember next day what had occurred.

But with this man her guard was properly lowered. The purple mist consumed her and all became a blur of wanton lust.

She’d serviced him with her mouth in between time spend on soft furnishings, that much she remembered. Then it was on to the sofa, where he’d laid her on her back, right? Spread her legs in a wide fork and speared between her splayed pussy lips, ramming deep with clench-jawed concentration—that look if nothing else would stay with her forever—and mashing her tits one-handed all the while. She had bruises to show for the latter. More heated cock-sucking, then she was straddling him on the banquette, bouncing on his column in a fury and caressing her well-molested tits, a whore and a goddess both at once; knowing how damn sore she’d feel the next few days and caring in that moment not one jot. He talked at her—filthy and depraved talk that drew out Christ knew what confessions as she rode on him. She didn’t care. All that mattered in that moment was the delirious Joy of Fuck.

He put her on the throw-rug after that and his relentless cock was homing in on her ass, but some notion of propriety wrestled its way through the fog of her desire and stopped her from accepting his anal plunge. She writhed around and halted him. “No, not that.”

“No?” His grip on her arm was like steel.

“No.” She’d have loved it, however scary the invasion, but there needed to be something left for Rob. Something wicked and special. It was one more way in which she had justified her duplicity before setting off in the car. She slithered her hand all over Gavin’s length. “Next best thing. Let me show you.”

It had served her well since her late teens—her combined mouth, hand and tit-job—and she had honed it on a few guys since then. She gave Gavin the full treatment, glazing him with her throat, wanking him into a froth and squeezing her glamour-model boobs either side of him, massaging him balls-to-tip. Doing it over and over till he and she were a gluey mess of spit. Men had always let her do it till their cocks spewed hot all over her, but Gavin propped himself on the rug, enjoying the show and letting his lust build slowly till it powered him into action. He grabbed her and threw her face-down, then spread her wide, drove back inside her cunt—she’d been bracing for an anal reaming—and fucked her unsparingly.

“I want you to feel this for the next week, Mandy” he growled in a low-key rage.

“Shit, I think I will …” she muttered in response. Then he pulled out, dragged her up and put her like his good little terrier on the hardwood floor.

“Since you seemed so eager to take me in the face …” He was jacking himself to crisis some few feet from her, features set like stone. “You look at me, teacher-girl. No flinching.” She stared him out till the great volleys of cum engulfed her, splattering and cascading on impact with her wincing face.

A fittingly filthy end to a hot and messy business.

“How often do you need to get your furniture upholstered?” she asked once she’d showered and towelled down. He’d supplied her with a beer from his fridge and now they sat naked together in his kitchen.

“My cleaner is well-paid and asks no questions,” he told her.

“You, sir, are without doubt the dirtiest bastard I’ve ever met in my life.”

“And you’re a lady as it turns out. How old-fashioned to save your ass for the second date.”

His presumption made her laugh. “Deeply memorable though this has been, there won’t be a second date.” She clinked her bottle to his. “So here’s to our first and last evening together. It’s getting late, so I’d better drink up and be on my way.”

“Fair enough,” Gavin said, and he drained his bottle. “Don’t forget your coat.”

The movie played out in Amanda’s mind all the way to her car. If you were going to indulge in an evening’s worth of betrayal, then it should at least be worth the guilt. And, even though she’d had to cry off sex for several nights and disguise the mild bruising on her left breast, it had been. Which didn’t make her response to Rob’s phone message today any easier to send.

“Hi lover-man. Seafood linguini sounds great, I’m looking forward to it already. I’ll grab that wine on the way home. See you soon.”

Damn, she truly didn’t deserve him. A guy so dependable, so sweet and caring. A guy with a reasonable set of priorities, not some self-serving shit like Gavin. It had been one of the great sexual nights of her life, but thank Christ she’d never see Mr McClain again. She’d destroy that card in her purse before today was through to underscore the point.

How self-obsessed was that man? Arrogant, shallow and materialist … His place had been impressive, no denying it, but enough with the ostentation. Come on, did any guy need to have two flat-screen televisions mounted in his living-room? What was all that about?

TO BE CONTINUED