Cassie Tremblay steered her aging red Toyota into a parking spot as near to the front entrance to MacDonald Secondary School as she could find. It was a spot in the teacher’s parking area, but that shouldn’t matter. Not after hours. They wouldn’t tow her at this time of day, would they?

She glanced again at the digital clock on her dashboard. Late, as usual. She’d have to risk leaving her car where it was and hope for the best. She still took time to pull down the sun visor and check the mirror. She pursed her lips and decided her lipstick was ok. But her hair? Such a mess. She quickly swept a few errant, brown curls into place.

Flipping the visor up, she thrust open the door and stepped out of the car. She smoothed down her skirt and made certain her blouse was tucked in properly. Then headed for the open door where a white-haired woman sat inside the main entrance behind a folding table covered in stacks of photo-copied paperwork. The older woman smiled, asked a few questions, then pulled together a couple of sheets for Cassie along with a few directions.

Cassie hurried towards the classroom where she was meant to be. The sound of her footsteps rang out in the empty corridor. Don’t run, she thought. They must have some rule about running in the hallways. Schools always have rules to enforce and someone’s always nearby itching to catch and punish somebody not following the rules.

She was late enough as it was. The last thing she needed was to be stopped by some hulking football coach or shop teacher chastising her for being a bad girl. Not tonight, and not all these years after graduating. How long was it since she’d been at MacDonald High? Nearly twenty years. When did that happen? It seemed not so long ago that she’d been a student here. Now her own daughter, Lisa, was in her freshman year and Cassie was late for a parent-teacher conference.

As she rushed by the administration offices she noticed her palms were sweaty. Cassie had spent more than a few anxious moments outside Mr. Skinner’s office, waiting to be reprimanded for yet another violation of school policy. There was a different name on the door; so Skinner must have moved on. Was the new principal as strict? Did he obsess as much over the length of the girls’ skirts as his predecessor?

Behind her, in the opposite direction, was the gymnasium. Memories flashed of too many humiliations in Ms. Parker’s gym class or being bored to tears during school assemblies and pep rallies. But not everything that happened there was bad. Some of the dances were the springboard to both some of her sweetest and naughtiest moments in high school.

Cassie had her first awkward yet amazing kiss during a slow dance with Robbie Sherman, a sweet guy with long blonde hair, Brad Pitt dimples, and a mouthful of braces. They ended up going steady long enough to practice kissing, and for her to learn how to use her tongue properly. Then there was Will Martin, who she groped on a pinky-swear dare. He sure was surprised when she put her hand on his crotch in the middle of the dance floor. How they avoided getting caught by eagle-eyed chaperones was still a mystery to her. She ended up giving him a handjob later that night in the back seat of her friend’s car. What an education that turned out to be. He was the first boy she ever did that with, though not the last, and she thought he was huge, the way he filled her hand. Hey, what did she know? Over the years, she’d come to learn that Will was pretty average, but then again, some of those bigger guys turned out to be pretty average in many other ways.

She pushed such thoughts aside. Time to focus on the task at hand. It took nearly ninety minutes to make her way from room to room, waiting her turn at each stop for a few minutes with each of Lisa’s teachers. Lisa was adjusting to her first year of high school fairly well. Good to hear, since her once cheerful daughter had gradually morphed into a sullen teenager and wasn’t into sharing much these days. There were concerns in math and biology, but business communication, English, geography and history were bright spots. There was only one last teacher to see.

Two women came out of the classroom Cassie was heading for and strode past her. They held their heads close together, talking and laughing quietly to themselves. Both women were about her age, with long, blonde hair and broad smiles made up of too many teeth. They looked like aging cheerleaders and each had high, perky, impossibly perfect breasts that seemed out of place on their slim bodies. Cassie felt incredibly ordinary-looking by comparison. She overheard one say to the other, “I’m tempted to take up French again.”

“I know. I’d be happy to get a detention if he was in charge,” the other woman gushed. “Ooh-la-la!”

“Ah, oui. Il est trés beau!” They both laughed and continued down the hallway.

Intrigued, Cassie crept up to the classroom to peer through the open doorway. And there he was. Monsieur Bonfils was sitting at his desk at the front of the room across from a couple who were asking about their son. He looked more like a Hollywood actor playing a teacher on TV than someone who spent his evenings marking tests and correcting homework assignments. His dirty blonde hair was trimmed neat and short and he rubbed his hand over his close-cropped beard.

Her daughter’s French teacher shifted his gaze and smiled as his eyes met Cassie’s. He nodded his head toward the centre of the room indicating that she should take a seat. Then he fixed his attention back on the parents in front of him. He spoke softly; his voice was gentle, yet masculine, revealing only the slightest hint of a French accent.

The beard made him seem serious and stern, but his voice, and the way his eyes sparkled when he smiled, softened that impression. If she were a teenager again, Cassie decided, she would most definitely have a crush on Monsieur Bonfils. She wondered if Lisa or any of the other girls sat in his class looking at him all moon-eyed and distracted. Did they shift awkwardly in their seats when he called on them to answer in French? Were tiny, folded notes passed back and forth when he wrote on the blackboard? No. Girls now would be texting.

Her mind shifted to other, more detailed thoughts about Monsieur Bonfils. Thoughts that made her cheeks feel warm. Thoughts that affected other parts of her. Tingling thoughts. Then she shook herself out of it. She was being ridiculous. He looked to be in his late twenties, at least ten years younger than her. Needing some distraction, she lowered her head and began to search through her purse for her phone. Finally, he was finished with the other parents.

She rose to her feet. Monsieur Bonfils turned his sunny smile on her again and gestured to one of the chairs in front of him. “Come, join me.”

Cassie moved quickly to the front of the room, extending her hand as she got closer. “Bonsoir Monsieur Bonfils. Je m’appelle Cassie Tremblay.”

“Ah, oui,” he said, his warm hand closing around hers. “Ravi de vous rencontrer. Je peux voir où Lisa a sa belle apparence.”

Now she was in trouble. She might kid herself it was the speed of his delivery, but Cassie understood too well that her comprehension was at fault. It was a bold move, dredging up her high school French to say hello. She might even have impressed him if she understood his reply and hadn’t just run out of words of her own.

“Um.” She stood there looking at him, an embarrassed smile on her face.

“Qu'est-ce qui ne va pas, je vais trop vite?” He spoke more slowly, but that didn’t help.

“Sorry. I’m in a little over my head. French was never my best subject, and I’m surprised I remembered as much as I did just now, but I think I hit my limit. Let’s start again. I’m Cassie Tremblay, Lisa’s mom.”

“Yes, I was saying how Lisa must obviously get her pretty looks from you. Please, have a seat.”

“Thank you.” Cassie was settling into the seat across from him when a thought occurred to her. “Wait. Did you just call me pretty?”

“I guess I did, yes. I hope that’s alright. I can take it back, if you like?” He adopted an innocent expression as he continued smiling at her.

“It’s fine,” Cassie said. “You took me by surprise, is all.”

“Now I’m surprised. I should think you hear that all the time.”

“Not lately,” she said quietly, then spoke up. “But we’re here to talk about Lisa, not me. How is she doing?”

“She’s doing well, although I believe she’s capable of more.”

Monsieur Bonfils continued, but Cassie was only half-listening as he described her daughter’s strengths and weaknesses in comprehension, pronunciation and spelling of French. She found herself drifting as she stared into the dark pools of his brown eyes. He was quite a charmer, and a treat to look at. No wonder those other two women were so taken by him.

She’d had her own schoolgirl crush on a teacher. Her focus shifted, remembering Mr. Keene, her grade eleven Geography teacher, who turned all the girls’ heads. Most girls in his class developed a sudden and profound interest in maps and land masses, in order to approach him with questions. It was Tori Hill who took a different approach, finding better results by acting up and getting a detention. She ended up staying after school with Mr. Keene a few times and the stories began. The gossip started with the boys, saying how Mr. Keene was giving Tori surprise ‘pop’ quizzes in her mouth while they were sitting in detention alone. The boys’ version of events was pretty gross, complete with rude gestures, but it didn’t take long for girls to pick up the story and make it worse. Funny how the same girls who were trying to catch Mr. Keene’s attention by sucking up to him gave Tori such a hard time for supposedly sucking him off, which, in the end was what they all really wanted to do.

At least, Cassie might have thought it was funny, if she hadn’t ended up as a target for the same mean-spirited catcalls and jibes. She’d been going through a rebellious phase, skipping classes until she was caught and sent to detention with Mr. Keene. The first time she received her sentence with a mixture of dread and anticipation. What if they were alone and he did come on to her? How would he do it? Would he invite her to come up to his desk and ask her to kneel in front of him as he sat in his chair? Or would he stand next to her in between the rows of desks and ask her to take care of him? Would he undo his fly or leave it for her to reach up with shaky hands that fumbled with both desire and a fear of disappointing him with her lack of experience?

None of these things, as it turned out. There were several other kids being punished with her, and no hint of the carryings-on that most of her classmates had been whispering about. That was the worst part. She might have accepted the unwelcome attention from everyone if there were actually anything behind it. To be slut-shamed for having done nothing? Not fun.

“Was Lisa’s father unable to come with you?” The question jolted Cassie back to the conversation she was having.

“No, we’re divorced. Nearly five years. He’s still in the picture, but leaves things like this to me.”

“So you raise Lisa alone then? Not a blended family with someone else?”

“It’s just the two of us at home.” Cassie wondered if he was simply curious about Lisa’s home life, or if there were maybe some other reason for his questions. She decided to pry a little herself, asking, “Do you have children of your own?”

“No. So far, teaching keeps me too busy for much of a social life.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Cassie heard herself saying. The words flowed out of her without a second thought. Even so, she felt a fluttering in her stomach and her cheeks began to redden as she leaned forward and blurted out, “It’s important to make time now and then for a little bit of play. All work makes dull boys, after all.”

“I suppose you’re right. Perhaps, I should follow your advice, Ms. Tremblay—”

“Please, everyone calls me Cassie.”

“Alright. Cassie. I’ll try to follow your advice. For the moment, I still have a little more work to do.” He shifted his eyes, looking over his shoulder, as he nodded his head.

Cassie turned to see that another pair of parents had slipped into the room. How much had they heard? Had what she said sounded as naughty as it felt saying it? She rose as he stood up, shook hands and exchanged good-byes.

They hadn’t done anything wrong. You could barely call it flirting. So why did she feel like she was doing a walk of shame as she shuffled past the other parents? The memories of catcalls, whispers, notes exchanged around her, and rude drawings on desks and lockers surfaced as vivid flashbacks of a time in her life she thought was long buried.

She got back to her car and sat in the driver’s seat for a few minutes, her hands clutching the wheel as she shut her eyes and squeezed her legs together. Breathe, breathe, breathe, she told herself. Wow. She thought about the blonde cheerleader moms joking about doing detention with Monsieur Bonfils. Then she shook her head and laughed. As if! Only bad girls get a chance at that kind of reputation.

-- -- --

Cassie tried talking about her visit to the school. Lisa had no interest in finding out what her teachers thought of her. Big surprise. Most conversations between them were greeted as something to be tolerated until she could slip her earbuds back in and return to listening to music and texting with friends.

Asking what Lisa thought about her teachers resulted in a shrug of her shoulders. And there was no flicker of interest when Monsieur Bonfils’ name came up. Not that it should matter to Cassie. It wasn’t like there was anything between them. Only a few moments of intense eye contact, flirty thoughts and some mildly pleasant physical sensations. Nothing to feel ashamed about. Although he had said she was pretty. Maybe she’d toss and turn a bit replaying the scene in her head before settling down to sleep. Likely it would all be forgotten by the end of the next day.

Except it wasn’t forgotten. Several times at work she remembered his brown eyes gazing into hers, and pictured the corners of his mouth rising up into that smile, the one that teased her into thinking something more was going on between them. She could dream, couldn’t she? Remembering the softness of his voice and the trace of a French accent sent shivers down her body. Was it wrong to lust after her daughter’s teacher?

At home the next evening, Cassie flipped through her old year books, looking to see who she still recognized. It was surprising how many kids she couldn’t remember. There were a lot of people she’d simply lost touch with. Most had moved on to unspectacular lives where they did the same as her, worked hard to make a living as they chased scaled-down versions of their dreams.

The pictures of Mr. Keene didn’t do justice to her memories of him. How could they? They weren’t coloured with the filter of youthful optimism and obsessive infatuation. Still, she recalled that they were responsible for inspiring more than a few moments of fantasizing during summer holidays. She had imagined numerous scenes where she ran into him at the mall and somehow, ended up being whisked away to his home. There they would shed their clothes and act out all the filthy innuendos that had been whispered and passed around throughout the year.

She never did bump into Mr. Keene, although she found plenty of other opportunities to fill in the gaps of her knowledge about sex as that summer flew by. Having a reputation at school had a few advantages with boys. It emboldened more of them to ask her out. There was less time spent fumbling through the awkward stages of early first dates. More time in the back seats of cars. She often moved as quickly as they did. Each time there was that fluttering in her stomach, but her hands never shook when she reached to unzip them as she had imagined she would when fantasizing about Mr. Keene.

Most of those guys feigned some form of respect as they pursued their goal of making it with her, although a few thought they could continue being as crude and indifferent as they had been at school. She quickly put those in their place. Did that earn her an added reputation as a cocktease and a bitch? Oh well.

The worst ones likely spread the biggest lies about her being a sleep-around; at least she never slept with them. Cassie found a few of their photos in her yearbook. She doubted she’d recognize them or they her, if they passed each other on the street. It didn’t matter. That was a different time and she’d grown up since then. Or so she thought, until meeting Lisa’s French teacher.

Suddenly she was acting like she was seventeen again. If she closed her eyes she could picture him in his white dress shirt and striped tie. The shirt fit him a little snugly across his broad chest and she had noticed his strong arms. His sleeves were rolled part way up his thick forearms which were tanned and matted with short, blonde hairs.

She was shaken from her reverie when Lisa came into the living room and sat down on the couch in front of the TV.

“What’s that?” her daughter asked.

“High school yearbooks. Guess going there made me curious about past friends. Even found a old few flames. What about you? Any boys catch your eye this year?”

Lisa rolled her eyes. “Most grade nine boys are lame.”

“They get better in tenth grade.”

“Ugh! Sophomore boys are so full of themselves. They think they know everything!”

Cassie listened with amusement as her daughter listed all the ways boys at MacDonald High were stupid and self-absorbed. It seemed they existed only to top each other at finding ridiculous ways of seeking attention.

“Honey, that’s boys of all ages!” Cassie said with a laugh. She’d often worried Lisa would fulfill that mother’s curse, the one her own mom had often wished on her, of having a daughter who would grow up to be just like her. How would she handle Lisa if she went through her own rebellious, boy-crazy phase? For now, at least, it seemed she didn’t have so much to worry about. Maybe it would skip a generation?

She’d welcome that if it were true. It was bad enough she seemed to be regressing through her own man-hungry phase. Especially for someone so much younger than her. It wasn’t enough she’d spent time thinking about Monsieur Bonfils; Cassie even convinced herself she should drive by school one day to pick Lisa up. Of course, it had nothing to do with getting another look at her daughter’s French teacher. Nice try. By the time she got there, school had been out at least half an hour and Lisa had gone home. There were still cars in the teachers’ parking lot, though.

She sat parked on the street for maybe twenty minutes, looking up from her phone each time someone came out of the building and crossed the parking lot. She was telling herself to give him another five minutes for the second time when he came into sight.

Following his green Mustang was easier than she imagined. She’d seen enough movies and TV to know you keep further back so you’re not spotted. And it helps if the person you’re following isn’t expecting to be followed. He didn’t live far from the school, so there wasn’t much time for him to spot her. She drove past his apartment building and turned into the driveway of the building next door.

She sat and fidgeted, thinking about when she’d fantasized about Mr. Keene. Back then she had no idea how she would actually approach him. That was the one small, but critical detail she never bothered to figure out. So now what? It only took a minute for Cassie to realize how foolishly she was behaving.

“There’s a word for this,” she muttered. “Stalking. Next thing you know, it’ll turn out he’s really married and I’ll end up boiling his kid’s pet bunny.”

She drove home and after dinner tried to bury her shame by binge-watching some episodes of Grey’s Anatomy she had on the PVR. It helped a little.

Friday found her grocery shopping alone. It was Lisa’s weekend with her dad, which left Cassie facing two days by herself with no plans of what to do. She was debating what to do with a package of boneless chicken when a voice from behind caught her by surprise.

“Cassie?”

She turned and there he was, pushing his own half-empty shopping cart.

“Monsieur Bonfils!”

“Please. If it’s Cassie for me, you should call me Michel.”

“Ok...Michel. So nice to see you.” She bit her bottom lip and reminded herself to breathe. He was wearing a light blue dress shirt and navy tie with red stripes that was partly loosened to allow his collar to be unbuttoned. “You’ve survived another week and can enjoy a break from our teenagers?”

He smiled. “A week with teenagers isn’t that awful. But at least I get some time away from them.”

“Me too,” she said. “If there’s one advantage to divorce, it’s shared custody. Oh. That probably sounds awful.”

“No. Just honest. Like your advice for me to make time for more social life.”

“And how’s that going?”

“I probably need someone to teach me how. You wouldn’t know anything about that would you?”

“Schooling the teacher? I don’t know if I’m the best choice. I think I was voted most likely to get detention in my class.”

“Perfect. Who wants a social life with someone who’s well-behaved?”

“So you’re okay with bad behaviour outside of school hours?”

“I did have a life before becoming a teacher.”

“Really?” She smiled, cocked her hips, folded her arms, and tilted her head as if looking at him for the first time. “Ever get sent to detention?”

He frowned, his brow furrowing, as he considered the question. “No. But...that doesn’t mean I wasn’t rebellious. Just careful.”

“A careful rebel? I think you do need lessons.”

“Fine. When do we start?”

Cassie’s stomach had that fluttery feeling even as she played it cool, saying, “Tonight, after grocery shopping. Provided you can afford my tutoring fee. Dinner? Drinks?”

“I think I can afford that.”

“Good. Hold out your hand.” Michel did as she asked, a puzzled expression on his face. She pulled a pen from her purse and wrote her address and phone number on his palm. “Pick me up around seven-thirty.”

She sped through the rest of her grocery shopping then she rushed home to get ready. She’d gone out a few times since splitting with her husband. Somehow this felt more special.

He was surprised when she chose a small, family-run Italian bistro over an expensive, nouveau cuisine restaurant. She had her reasons. The back section was dimly lit and cozy. Servers were discreet and left you alone. What’s more, the food was reliably consistent and there was no danger of it upstaging you or your date.

Of course, they had to get a table first. Who should they run into at the front entrance but the same husband and wife who had been ahead of Cassie on parent-teacher night. They recognized Michel immediately and greeted him with enthusiasm, then shot awkward, confused looks at her. Michel exchanged pleasantries, made small talk about how their son was doing, and introduced her simply as Ms. Tremblay.

The other couple had been waiting first and were whisked away to their table in the middle of the restaurant. Cassie expressed her preference for a back booth and they were seated after a brief wait.

As they scanned the menu, Cassie asked, “You won’t get into any trouble dating one of your student’s parents, will you?”

“There’s no rule against it. Some parents might have other ideas, whether it’s appropriate, but I thought the whole point to this evening was about getting in trouble?”

“Careful what you wish for,” Cassie said, as she rubbed her knee up against his.

They enjoyed their meal. Told each other edited versions of their life stories. Michel, if he could be believed, really had been a goody-two shoes at school. One of his teachers in high school, a shapely redhead named Eve, was the one who inspired him to take up teaching himself.

“Eve? You were on a first name basis with her? Sounds like you had a bit of a crush?”

He shrugged, smiling the same warm smile as he had the night before. “You never had any teachers who inspired naughty thoughts? I followed her home one day after school. Kept well back in my older brother’s little Honda.”

Cassie felt a nervous thrill rush over her. “And?”

“And nothing. I sat there a while and went home. I was a boy, what did I know? But I guess that’s when I developed a thing for older women.”

“Older women?” She hung her head and laughed. “Oh, thanks. Is that what I am to you? Is that why we’re here? You think I’m some sort of cougar?”

“No. It doesn’t hurt if you are, but no. And what of you, why are you here?”

“Not because I feel older. If anything, I feel like I’ve been acting more like a teenager lately than someone’s mom. And, yes, it’s probably some unresolved student-teacher lust from my past.”

“So, we’re both here for selfish reasons.” He put his hand over hers.

“That’s usually where trouble starts.”

“And where it ends?”

She thought back to those teen years when she was earning her bad reputation. “Most often it was in the back seat of a car. At least, that’s how it was last time I was a teenager.”

“I have a car. We could go for a drive...”

“Not much of a back seat. But, we could improvise.”

They paid for their meal, skipping dessert. We can do sweet and sticky ourselves, Cassie had said.

It was dark outside. Everything was bathed in a streetlight glow. They got in Michel’s Mustang and he asked, “Where to?”

“Some place more private where we can park. Stay off main streets where there’s too many other cars.” A flush of excitement washed over Cassie’s body. It had been a long time since she’d done anything like this. Perhaps too long.

As Michel started the car and put it into gear, she began to move too, putting her hand on his thigh. She gave him a squeeze and then stroked his leg idly for a few minutes as they drove through light traffic. When they were moving comfortably and she’d worked up enough nerve, she put her hand on his crotch. There was a good handful of anticipation there, beginning to respond to her touch.

She undid his slacks, noticing for the first time that her hand had a slight tremor. She was finally getting her teacher! Not quite how she imagined, but this would do. A shiver ran through her body as she slipped her hand onto his stiffening cock.

Shrugging the shoulder belt aside she leaned over and grabbed Michel’s pants. “Lift up,” she said. He raised himself slightly and she tugged at his clothes, exposing him enough for her to get a proper grip on his cock and give him head.

Keeping a firm grasp on him, she took his cock into her mouth. The car interior was a blanket of darkness lit by flashes of light each time they passed under a streetlight. Cassie noticed she was matching the rhythm of the lights with each downward thrust of her head. As he began to respond, she increased the intensity of her hand and mouth working on his rigid hard-on.

She enjoyed the reaction she was provoking. He was breathing heavily and shifting up in his seat. They came to a stop and she paused. Kept her face down in his lap and asked, “You’re stopping?”

“Traffic light,” he said.

“How are you doing?” She licked him and then stroked him with her hand.

“C’est bon. J'aime ça," he gasped. “But if you keep this up, I won’t last long.”

“Good.”

He shifted his foot off the brake and they started moving again. “So if I…”

“You can cum in my mouth. I figure if take care of you now, you’ll last a little longer when it’s my turn. You can cum more than once for me, right?”

“I’m sure I can manage that for you.”

Cassie figured he’d do just fine. After all, there must be some benefits to dating younger. She was getting quite wet herself looking after him. His growing pleasure thrilled her in ways she hadn’t experienced for quite some time. When he grunted ‘almost there’, she wasn’t sure if he meant they were nearing their destination, or he was nearing his. Regardless, she doubled her efforts, holding her mouth over the fat head of his cock as she pumped him quickly with her fist.

She was rewarded quickly for her actions. Michel tensed up and then he groaned and flooded her mouth with sticky cum. She swallowed the salty liquid and waited as his spasms died down before swallowing again. He was still quite hard and she licked and then kissed the tip of his cock before sitting up in her seat.

They had turned onto a darkened street. There were no lights in the houses and the street lights didn’t seem to be working either.

“Where are we?” Cassie asked.

“New subdivision. These homes are still being built,” he said. “You wanted private. What do you think?”

“That it’s my turn now, teacher.”

He pulled over and stopped the car. “I think you’re right. You did quite well at the oral exam. But we missed one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“We haven’t done this yet.” He leaned over and kissed her.

Cassie responded, sucking at his tongue and mashing her lips against his. His hands searched out her breasts and began to unbutton her blouse. She reached behind, unfastened her bra and shifted out of it, then pushed his head down. His beard tickled as he rubbed his face between her breasts.

He reached between her legs and began rubbing her mound. By now she must have soaked through to her jeans. Could he feel it? He unfastened her jeans and began to tug at them. She lifted her hips up and grabbed for his cock. He was semi-hard, but quickly gained interest in round two.

Her jeans were below her knees and he shifted position so he could kiss her between her legs. She felt warm and tingly and spread her thighs wider to allow him to play a little. His touch was light and subtle, teasing her, stoking her arousal further. She let him play until she could take no more.

She wanted him. Needed to feel him inside her. Would writhe like an animal in heat to get them both off. Except for one thing.

“I know doing this in a car was my idea, but your car’s not quite made for this. We’re going to need to be a little creative.”

“What do you have in mind?”

Cassie pulled at her door handle. The dome light flashed on and Michel hit a switch plunging them in darkness again. She swung her door open. “Come around to my side.”

He got out of the car and did as she asked. She had pulled a condom out of her purse and rolled it onto his growing erection, using her mouth to help push it down. Then she shifted, turning around in her seat so she could lean forward on the back rest and thrust her hips out the door at Michel.

She looked over her shoulder. “Well, teacher. Ready for the next lesson?”

“Prêt et disposé,” he answered. Then he dropped to his knees and pressed his face between her legs. She began rubbing her clit as he explored her wet folds with his tongue.

The position was awkward, but it felt too good to interrupt things. After a few minutes he stopped licking her and she felt his cock take the place of his tongue. He rubbed against her several times before she pressed him with her fingers, guiding him inside her.

He went slow at first and she savoured the languorous progress of his cock as he worked his way deeper. She liked the way he grasped her hips, holding her firmly as he pushed up against her. He bumped and thrust some more. Fucking her slow and steady. The sensation was delicious. She tightened her muscles, clenching around him. Once, twice. He groaned.

As good as it felt, she wanted to get off quickly. They could make it last another time and somewhere more comfortable. Cassie pressed her fingers against her swollen clit. Began working herself to that sweet plateau.

Michel picked up the pace. Began thrusting more urgently. Their breathing was ragged. They were rutting like teenagers. He slapped her ass. That did it.

“Yes!” Cassie said. “Again.” And he slapped her ass again. She urged him on. Begged him to fuck her harder. He kept slamming into her. She kept frigging herself. She came. A sweet, shuddering release. He didn’t stop. And neither did she.

Her knees began to shake. Her pussy was still tingling and then a second wave hit her. There was a loud wailing. She realized it was her. The sound was rising from her throat, filling the car. She kept rubbing herself as Michel thrust more deeply, tensing up, then spasming inside her. He thrust deeply twice more, pressing fast against her and then they were done.

He clutched at her, holding her to him as they gasped and panted for air. After a few minutes they pulled themselves together and got settled in the car. They drove back to her place, a contented silence hovering over them. Cassie rested her hand on his thigh. He reached down and  covered her hand with his own.

“You’re quite a teacher,” he said, as he pulled up in front of her house. “I think I might need a few more lessons, though. Just to be sure I get the hang of this social life thing.”

“Sounds good. Only next time I promise we’ll make it homework instead.” She leaned forward and they kissed good night.