I sprinted down the field, moving into position to intercept Sarah’s return pass. How many times had we performed the give-and-go in hockey practice? It was second nature. She hit the ball. Perfect pass. Adrenaline flooded my veins. I could see the goal in my mind’s eye. A few more strides and I’d scoop the ball into the back of the net.

Pain. My ankle. I dropped like a sack of potatoes. Apparently, the crowd of students, teachers, and parents collectively gasped when I went down, but I don’t remember that.

I do remember the impact of hitting the ground. I remember sitting up and the sting of pain in my foot. But mostly I remember Mr Redding, crouched before me.

‘My God, Issy, are you okay?’

‘It hurts,’ I said lamely, holding my ankle.

I will never forget what Mr Redding did next. He lowered my skirt which was hiked up from the fall. It was a small thing. It’s not like my knickers were exposed. My skirt had shorts attached. But the gesture distracted me from the pain. I felt a little embarrassed, a little humiliated, a little excited. More than a little excited, truth be told.

And Mr Redding knew my thoughts. We shared a look after he adjusted my skirt. He knew, and he smiled.

He proceeded to remove my trainers, shinguard, and sock, inspecting my foot.

‘It’s not broken, I think.’

It hurt like a bitch, but Mr Redding’s touch offset the pain.

‘Give me some space,’ he said to the girls in my team who had clustered around us.

Mr Redding scooped me up and carried me off the field. His arm pushed against my breast, and I swear my nipples would cut through my shirt for responding so hard to my strange lust.

I knew then that I wanted him. I wanted my maths teacher and hockey coach to fuck me.

To this end, I set out to seduce him.

The following day, I limped into his classroom with a crutch. My ankle injury was not actually that bad. It was twisted, not even sprained. I sat in one of the desks in the back, and during the lesson, I made sure to make eye contact with him. When he looked at me, I’d lazily play with my nipple over my shirt with a pencil.

For a few weeks I would attempt these childish micro-seductions, being as slutty as I could be, trying not to be noticed by my classmates. I would also draw little doodles and write little notes on assignments that he’d be marking. They were innocent but suggestive.

Mr Redding did not respond to my horny hints, except to linger just a little too long when we shared eye contact. I was starting to feel discouraged until I received a two-word response written on a maths test that I had aced. The message read: Good girl.

My ankle recovered quickly and soon I was playing sports again. One morning during PE, I damaged my cheap hockey stick, splintering it when it hit another player’s. We had a match the next day, and I was quite upset at the misfortune.

‘I have spares at home,’ Mr Redding said to reassure me. ‘Don’t worry, Issy, I’ll bring one to school tomorrow.’

Here was an opportunity, I realised.

The last period of the day was maths. When the lesson was over, I stayed behind, saying to Sarah, my best friend, that she should leave without me because I needed to ask Mr Redding about a maths problem. She rolled her eyes and left. I never knew if she suspected my desire for our teacher. She had to, surely?

‘What can I help you with, Issy?’ Mr Redding asked.

‘I was wondering if I could come and fetch the stick this afternoon. I’d like to practise more before the match tomorrow.’

His grey eyes pierced my intent. I felt again that mixture of humiliation and excitement. My pussy soaked my knickers in response.

Mr Reading reached for a sticky note on the table. He wrote his address and handed it to me. Our fingers touched.

I sprinted out of the classroom and raced home. I decided to keep my school dress on, shirt and skirt, but I let my hair down. Most importantly, I changed my underwear. From my parents’ room, I nicked one of my mother’s Brazilian-cut, lace knickers.

At 4pm, I knocked on Mr Redding’s front door.

A woman opened the door to my profound disappointment.

‘Hi… Mrs Redding,’ I said, ‘I’m… uh… I’m here for a stick. A hockey stick.’

‘Come in, Issy,’ she said, and shouted up the stairs, ‘Tom! Issy’s here!’

Mr Reading descended the stairs still wearing his school attire: trousers, shirt, tie.

‘Follow me,’ he said to me. ‘They’re in the shed.’

I followed him down the hallway—where I could not help but notice the pictures of him and his lovely wife—through the kitchen to the back garden, and finally, the shed. He unlocked the door and ushered me in.

‘The sticks are in the back,’ he said. ‘The world’s your oyster. Pick one for me.’ There was something in his voice.

I nearly lost my nerve, but I’m proud that I did not.

I walked to the back of the shed, bent over to inspect the hockey sticks on the floor, exaggerating my bend to expose my young arse to my teacher.

‘This one,’ I announced after a good long time.

When I straightened and faced Mr Redding, he regarded me intently. Then he turned and walked away.

Fuck, I thought in panic.

But Mr Redding did not leave the shed. Instead, he closed the door.

In a blink of an eye, he was right up in my space. He pushed me back against the wall of the shed. I dropped the hockey stick.

‘You think you can tease me,’ he growled into my ear, ‘and not get what’s coming to you?’

My shock faded to fear, which quickly faded to excitement and desire.

‘No, sir,’ I said, ‘I… I want it. I want you.’

‘Do you now?’

He ran his hand down my front, and in contrast to the day that I had twisted my ankle, he hiked my skirt up. His warm hand rested on my lower belly, and a moment later, moved under my knickers.

‘Spread your legs,’ he commanded, and I complied.

‘Is this what you want?’ he said as he fingered me.

Oh God, the thrill of him using me was intoxicating.

'Yes, sir,’ I moaned. ‘Yes sir.’

‘You’re my little whore now,’ he said, and I found that I beamed with pride.

Mr Redding stopped and brought his hand up to my face. His index and middle fingers glistened, a string of my viscous wetness hanging between them. This he pushed into my mouth. He didn’t have to say anything. I sucked his cunt-wet fingers clean.

After this, he crouched before me, and yanked my knickers down.

‘These are mine now,’ he said, and put them in his pocket. His words seemed to carry a double meaning.

Shit, I thought. Hope mum never notices her fancy knickers are missing.

While I held up my skirt, Mr Redding inspected me and then gave me his first instruction, ‘You will shave your pussy before we meet again, and you’ll keep it smooth for me.’

‘Yes, Mr Redding.’

‘Good girl’, he said.

He spun me around suddenly, grabbed one of my cheeks with both hands, and bit my arse.

‘Ow!’

‘You deserved that,’ he said as he stood, smiling.

No arguing that.

‘Now, go home, little girl.’

He handed me the hockey stick and escorted me out of the shed. He let me out through the house’s side gate so we wouldn’t have to face his wife, which I was grateful for. I felt ravished, and I’m sure I looked it too.

When I got home, I took a photo of his mark on my arse. Perfect imprints of teeth. I was his. And I had never felt more proud.

That evening, I shaved my pussy. I would keep it smooth as promised.

Our next encounter followed two days later. I found a note in a paper he handed me in class: 4:30pm, my house.

The rest of the school day was a blur. I was so turned on I ruined my knickers as I fantasised about the afternoon.

I showered at home after school and shaved again for good measure. Minutes moved like molasses, but finally the time came and I stood before the Redding residence.

He opened the door with a wicked grin. I stepped into a new world, the beginning of an unparalleled series of experiences that I will forever treasure.

‘Take your clothes off,’ he said when the front door shut behind me.

First, I removed my shirt and jeans. I wore my own underwear this time, the sexiest pair I could find. Then, I undid my bra and exposed my tits. Mr Redding murmured his approval, which gave me a confidence boost. My breasts are not as big as Sarah’s and sometimes I felt self-conscious about it.

His lustful eyes encouraged me, and I pulled my knickers down to my ankles.

I stood a little awkwardly in front of him, fighting the instinct to cover my nakedness with my arms and hands.

Mr Redding stepped up to me and ran his hands over my petite body. I shivered. He cupped my left breast, flicking his thumb over my nipple.

Then he kissed me. So, this is how a man kisses, I thought. Fuck me.

He felt my pussy, drawing his fingers through my wet, smooth slit. ‘Thank you,’ he said.

His approval meant the world to me.

Mr Redding picked me up, hands under my arse. I wrapped my arms around his neck, and my legs around his waist. He walked up the stairs and into his bedroom, then dumped me roughly onto his marriage bed.

‘I’m going to fuck you now, Issy. Is that what you want?’

‘Yes, sir. Please sir.’

‘What a beautiful slut you are.’

Mr Redding pulled my arse to the end of the bed. With my legs in the air, he knelt before me and ate my pussy. No boy had ever gone down on me before, and I was not prepared. Within minutes, I came. It was the best orgasm I’d ever had. Little did I know that it was only the start of my pleasure that afternoon.

While I recovered, Mr Redding undressed. His hard-on showing proudly through his underwear.

Jesus Christ, will that even fit in me?

He removed his briefs. Entirely naked, standing confidently before me, I could fully appreciate his true nature. A conqueror who claims everything he wants. A creature of lust. Broad shouldered. Muscular and strong for a forty-year-old. Powerful legs. And a fat fucking cock, pointing straight and up.

He got onto the bed, crouching over me, his legs to each of my sides, and sat just below my tits.

Without instruction, I raised my head and opened my mouth. His cock filled my mouth, and I did my best to take him deep down my throat. I took his moans as a sign of success.

‘That’s it. Suck it. Suck my cock, my little girl. Mmm… Fuck yes.’

I held his arse as I bobbed my head up and down, sucking for dear life. It was hard work but I loved every second of it. When he pulled out, I felt only disappointment.

Mr Redding moved back to sit on my belly, then spat on my chest.

‘Push your tits together.’

I did so, a bit confused about what was happening. It only dawned on me when his dick head appeared between my tits right under my face. He fucked my breasts, a definite first for me. It was a curious experience, but seeing his pleasure at using me like this was a massive turn-on.

Next, he moved down, off the bed again.

It’s time, I realised. I bit my lip in anticipation.

‘I’m on birth-control,’ I said, and he nodded in understanding.

Mr Redding slid the tip of his cock through my cunt-line. My legs were shaking already. When his head was thoroughly wet, he slowly pushed into me. The tip to start, and out, then in again, a little deeper. Slowly, he stretched my young cunt, until he filled me completely, his body flush with mine. The best feeling in the world.

He held my hips and fucked me. Gently to start, until my moans of pleasure encouraged him. Soon our bodies slapped together noisily.

He fucked me. Hard. He fucked his little schoolgirl slut, and I came again.

He did not stop. At some point, he picked me up, put me on all fours, and fucked me from behind, slapping my arse repeatedly with his bare hand. My bum was still sore from his bite mark, but the sharp sting of his spanking heightened my pleasure.

I could hardly believe coming for a third time. I was screaming like a captured animal by this point, and my orgasm continued to peak as he used me.

Overwhelming sensation.

Overwhelming, but thankfully not to the extent that I missed Mr Redding’s hot cum shoot deep into me. That I felt all too well. He growled in pleasure, thrusting hard into me for each powerful squirt.

I remained on all fours, face down, arse up, unable to move. Mr Redding withdrew, and I felt his seed running out of my pussy.

He held me then, pulling me into a spooning position. He brushed my hair with his fingers and embraced my face as we caught our breaths. I felt his wet cock shrink against my bum. I could have died at that moment and be satisfied.

After a few minutes, his cock hardened again, and I found myself straddling him. Sitting on his dick. Riding him.

How I moved my hips so expertly, I don’t know. The two boys I’d been with before had always fucked me, I had never fucked them. Regardless, my body just knew what to do. A slut instinct for which I’m not about to apologise.

Mr Redding held my hips as I rode him. His expression of surprise and delight lives rent-free in my mind.

This time we came perfectly together. He grabbed and squeezed my tits as he emptied his balls in me again. My breasts were bruised for a week, but the pain hadn’t registered in the moment. The ache followed as my orgasm faded. I noticed too that I had apparently pissed all over Mr Redding.

‘Jesus, Issy,’ he said.

We started laughing and he pulled me down into a hug. I lay on him with his dick still in me. As it softened, I decided that I loved the sensation of a man’s cum leaking out of me.

We kissed for a while, and then I had to leave. His wife would be home in an hour and he needed to clean our evidence. And I had made a big fucking mess.

I collected my clothes and left his house a changed person. A slut had been activated. 

For several months, Mr Redding and I fucked whenever and wherever we could. At his house, at mine, in a park, in a parking lot, in his classroom, in the lockers, in the headmaster’s office, and even on the hockey pitch.

He ended our relationship when his wife became pregnant, which I respected. I was disappointed but not devastated. We were not in love, and our sexual adventures had just about run its course.

It’s been fifteen years since last we spoke. That is, until I ran into him last week. Our chemistry remains unmistakable, and you know what? We’re going for coffee next week.