The substitute English teacher seemed harmless enough when he first entered the classroom just a few mornings ago. 

“Good morning everyone, I'm Mr Brodie and I'll be covering Miss Johnson’s classes for the rest of the term.“

Tara rolled her eyes as Deirdre Donnelly jiggled her boobs in front of him as she asked some inane question in a desperate attempt to get him to notice her. DD by name, DD by nature Tara thought as she stared at Deirdre’s impressive set of tits.

She wondered what it must be like to be a middle aged man teaching a group of hormonal seventeen year-old girls. The fact they were studying ‘Romeo and Juliet’ was bound to cause plenty of embarrassing questions.

He seemed nice, there was no denying that. He wasn't classically attractive but there was something about him. He had little crow's eyes wrinkles around his eyes and they seemed to sparkle as he took, in good humour, the subtle and not so subtle flirts and innuendo coming from the class. 

He was an enthusiastic teacher and he ran his fingers through his hair, the first wisps of grey showing as he prowled around the classroom, encouraging the girls to shed their inhibitions, taking on the role of Romeo himself as he demanded they acted out the scenes, asking them to put themselves in Juliet's shoes as she met Romeo for the first time. 

“Imagine how Juliet felt when Romeo first took her hand,” he whispered as he took Deirdre's hand in his. 

The look of barely suppressed lust on Deirdre's face was a picture. Mr Brodie didn't seem to notice. Her eyes were glazed as he seemed to draw her under his spell. 

“Come, gentle night, come, loving black-browed night,” he whispered.

Deirdre’s mouth opened, her lip quivered as she whispered “Come.”

The bell rang to signal the end of the class but nobody moved. Finally, Mr Brodie dropped Deirdre’s hand and slowly stepped away. 

“Right, for Thursday , I want everyone to write 300 words discussing if Romeo really was in love with Juliet.” 

He seemed to be looking straight into Deirdre’s soul as he spoke. Her mouth hung slightly open as if hypnotised. Finally, everyone roused themselves and silently filed out of the room. As Tara glanced back, Deirdre still seemed rooted to the spot. 

---------------

That night as Tara lay in her bed, her fingers beginning their nightly descent down over her stomach and between her legs, her thoughts seemed to take on a mind of their own. Her eyes opened with a start as she realised it was Mr Brodie's face hovering above her in her dreams. As she tried to push him away, recalling her usual stock suitors, he kept reappearing. She groaned as she imagined his eyes boring into her soul as his face descended between her spread legs. 

She arched her back, whimpering as her middle finger smeared her juices along her slit and over her clit. She circled it, teasing it as she squirmed on the bed until she couldn't hold back. The vision of Mr Brodie sticking his tongue deep inside her virgin pussy was too much for her and she felt herself explode. Her sheets and thighs and fingers covered in her cum. 

When she awoke the next morning, she was unsure where she was. Her brain was foggy and she felt as if she hadn't slept a wink. Normally she could recall her dreams quite clearly and often noted them into her diary but this morning her brain was filled with snapshot images of Mr Brodie taking her virginity. 

Images of him kneeling between her legs, her on her back with legs spread welcoming his cock, her straddling him, her on her hands and knees, her with her face pressed into the mattress and ass in the air; they all fought for supremacy as she struggled to make sense of it. 

She could feel the ache between her legs. Her fingers brushed her knickers and she was shocked to feel just how wet she was. The cotton material was soaked. 

She crawled into the shower and as the hot water beat down on her, her fingers dipped between her legs again. 

“What is wrong with me,” she thought as her fingertip circled her clit. Mr Brodie invaded her thoughts again as she leant back against the cold tiles and let him take her again. His tongue, fingers and finally his cock taking her as she shuddered and slumped down the wall. 

----------

She glanced around the classroom as they sat, watching Mr Brodie read their homework. Tara noticed Deirdre's chair was empty. Tara had never known Deirdre to miss a day of school. 

Even being in the same room as Mr Brodie was causing Tara's knickers to get damp. She watched him as his eyes flickered across the A4 pages of lined paper. Each one scrawled with a biro as the class had poured their thought of love and desire onto the pages for his delectation. 

He had asked them to read quietly while he marked their work but Tara found her eyes torn from the page, again and again, to stare at him. 

She read and re-read “With love’s light wings did I o’erperch these walls” again and again. The imagery of her love taking flight as she stared at Mr Brodie overwhelmed her. She felt herself squirming in her seat.

Suddenly she noticed that there was something different about him. He looked younger than when he'd last taught them. It couldn't be possible but she was sure the wrinkles around his eyes had been more pronounced. She studied him again. His hair was darker too. She was sure there'd been flecks of grey in his hair. He looked younger, fresher, even more handsome.

It must be just the light, she reasoned with herself. Then all thoughts of his rejuvenation went out the window as he raised his head and saw her looking at him. His eyes bored deep inside her and she almost whelped when he smiled at her. 

She felt her pussy clench and only just managed to stifle a groan. Was this what Deirdre had seen and felt? 

He stood and stalked across the room towards her. His limbs stretched and he seemed to glide stealthily towards her. The other eighteen girls in the room became bit-part players as she felt herself taking centre stage. 

“Tara,” he began. “Your essay was wonderful.”

He stood in front of her desk, laying the piece of paper almost reverently down onto her desk. 

“Thank you, Sir,” she managed to whisper. 

She felt her throat tighten and her lips were parched. A blush was rising, she could feel her cheeks go red. His eyes were hypnotic close up. She felt herself drowning in his pupils as she melted in front of him. 

Just then the bell rang to signal the end of the last class of the day. As everyone else gathered their books and slipped off into the darkening gloom, Tara felt rooted to the spot. 

“I feel as if you are Juliet,” he told her as the door closed behind the last girl to leave the room. 

“I feel in you that same sense of virginal wonder and longing that Juliet must have experienced that first time with Romeo.”

His fingers brushed the back of her hand. She couldn't help it. A low groan escaped her lips as she gazed up at him. The merest touch causing her nipples to harden and her legs opened, as if on instinct, underneath the desk. 

“What witchcraft is this?” She whispered, her mind scrambled. 

“Something wicked this way comes, perhaps?” he whispered, smiling as his finger traced a path up the arm of her school blazer, stroking the strands of her long brunette hair before he gently tilted her chin up to stare into her eyes. 

She swallowed, her mind under whatever spell he had cast on her. She felt him take her face in his hands as he leant in, his lips brushing hers as her eyes closed. 

Her mouth opened, lips caressed by his firm, sensual kisses as his fingers slid over her. One hand swept through her hair, holding her face to his whilst the other moved down, inside the blazer, cupping her breast through bra and blouse. 

Her back arched in response, her nipples swelled as the blood pounded in her head. Every nerve ending tingled, pulsed, sent screaming signals direct to her core. This was greater, more magical than even her wildest fantasies could have predicted.

He lifted her to her feet, almost as if she were floating, she hovered in front of him, joined lips to lips as his tongue swirled snake-like inside her. His fingers roamed over her at will, caressing, seducing, playing with her. She was his puppet.

Her panties, the little strip of purple cotton darkened with need as he pushed his tongue into her open mouth. Her tongue swirled to entwine with his. Her breath caught in her throat as she inhaled him. His scent was darker, earthier than the aftershave she thought she'd smelled earlier. 

His fingers flowed over her, caressing, brushing, undressing her. 

The pop pop pop as each button on her blouse was undone. The material slid from her shoulders. His fingers caressed the white lace trim of her bra before it too was undone and discarded. Her exposed breasts were smooth and firm. The small pink nipples hardened. The draft of cold air on them caused her to drip even more.

The zip was slid down, the skirt fell, she felt herself being stripped before him. He towered over her. She arched her back as his fingers teased, seduced, stroked and drove her wild. 

He lifted her up and draped her on her back on his desk. Fingers slid over her. Tara gasped as she felt his hands on her thighs. His thumbs brushed her flesh as he gripped and pulled the damp material away from her. She felt them unpeel as he pulled the sodden saturated material down over her ass and down. 

Discarded. 

Her dark curls were damp. Her scent filled the room. She gazed up at him, aware she’d never felt like this before. He dipped his head. His dark stubble rasped against the smoothness of her inner thighs. 

“Oh god,” she groaned. Her head thrown back. This couldn’t be happening she thought and yet, here she was, naked on her teacher’s desk as the flat of his tongue was dragged along her wet needy slit.

His tongue swirled, licked and lapped at her. She gasped as the tip of his tongue pushed her clit hood up, whimpered as she felt it drawn between his lips and squirmed as he suckled it.

Her nightly solitary explorations had not prepared her for this. She writhed on the desk and she had to bite her lip to stop herself from screaming out loud as his fingers dipped between her folds. She felt rather than heard the squelch as his finger pushed its way inside her. Her wet velvet walls gripped his finger. His knuckles rubbed against her walls as his finger curled and uncurled inside her. He reached inside, pressing against her hymen, her virginal plug still intact… for now.

“Take me,” she whimpered, begging, pleading. “Fuck me”

She knew his face was smeared with her juices. She could feel them running out of her, gathering in a puddle on the desk beneath her.

It built.

His tongue circled, swiped and licked whilst his finger teased at her, stroking her entrance but not entering her. Her lungs constricted, the air seemed sucked out of her, like the tide receding before the tsunami breaks.

She heard the door open and turned, eyes glazed to look. The old woman smiled as she approached the desk.

“Mmmmm you’ve done well,” she sighed as she ran her fingers through Tara’s long brown hair.

“I hope she is purer than the little trollop you brought me on Tuesday. Look how wrinkled I am.”

Tara had no idea who the old woman was but at that precise moment she didn't care either. 

Mr Brodie held her hips tight as he raised his head and smiled back at the woman.

“Thank you, Mistress.” He licked his lips. “She’s ready. Right on the edge.”

“Do it,” she whispered. “I’ll be waiting next door.”

She placed the silver basin on the desk beside Tara’s head and walked towards the door.

Mr Brodie lowered his head and flicked his tongue over Tara’s clit, her body snapped, like a kaleidoscope, her pussy contracted and expanded at once, a myriad of colours flashed behind her eyes. The orgasms she had given herself lying in bed at night were like nothing compared to this. She writhed, squealed and shuddered. Her back was arched, her slippery pulsing pussy pressed against his face. 

Finally she slumped, spent. Her breathing ragged, her eyes glazed. Mr Brodie straightened. His eyes moving between the girl and the old woman.

“Fuck me,” the girl begged again. “Please, take me, fuck me.”

“I’m sorry, my dear,” he whispered apologetically. “I can’t do that. You see. You have to be a virgin.”

The woman watched him from the door, smiled then let the door close behind her.

--------------------------------

The woman stood in the centre of the room, waiting impatiently as Brodie carefully pushed open the door. He carried the silver bowl carefully, being careful not to spill a drop. He gingerly placed it on the desk and turned to face the old woman.

He ran his fingers over her wrinkled skin. She was dressed in a simple shift dress and as she let it drop to her ankles, her nipples, small and brown on sagging breasts were exposed, His hand traced a line up to her face and brushed the grey hair back. Her eyes, green like emeralds shone, sparkling with excitement.

He kissed her, pressed his mouth against her withered prune like lips as his fingers stroked her hair. 

"Her juices are working their magic," she cackled as she smoothed the crow's feet around his eyes, watching the skin rejuvenate and grow taut. 

He raised the bowl and slowly poured the virgin's blood over the woman as she stood, waiting, breathless. Like a recreation of the scene from Carrie, she stood, covered in the girl’s blood as Brodie carefully poured it over every inch of her exposed flesh before stepping back to watch.

The woman crouched down into the foetal position. Her fingers raked at her skin, as if trying to scrub the blood off her. Her head hung down low, hair covering her face as her scrubbing became more and more frantic.

He watched, transfixed as the woman seemed to absorb the girl’s blood into her skin. She scrubbed her skin and lathered her hair. As she stood, the years disappeared from her. Her hair shone a luscious red, her skin was smooth and flawless, only the sparkling green eyes reminded him that this was the same person.

He ran his eyes over her. Her breasts swelled, dark red nipples, firm and pointed, her hips full and rounded. Now a young woman, she licked her lips as she prowled towards him.

Her hand wrapped around his head as she drew him close in a loving passionate embrace. Her tongue snaked into his mouth as they kissed.

“You’ve done well, Brodie.” She smiled as she gazed into his eyes. “The school should supply us with a steady supply of virgins, for a while anyway.”

"Yes, Countess Bathory."