Gidget Surfs Up At Bikini Beach
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The need for release was everything.
Fifteen miles Jed Martin had driven from the venue, longing through each one to pull over and jack off. Desire didn’t reside in his hard cock alone, it raged in his blood – the tension knotting his muscles and stretching his tendons taut.
When he reached his apartment - the one where Patricia no longer resided - that impulse drove him up the stairs to the bathroom. No fucking around. This wasn’t one to savour, it was a fierce erotic poison he had to pump free of his system. Christ – in three years Trish had never made him feel like this.
The one thing to slow him, as he tugged at his straining zipper, was the memory of those final words. In heart-thumping dread he clicked on his phone and accessed his work-mails, erection still striving to expand beyond its fabric restraints. There was a jolt in his chest. She’d actually fucking sent it. And then when he saw her message…
Goddamn, you bitch. You little fucking…
If he hadn’t craved it already, those words alone would have had him wanking like a motherfucker. Incensed, Jed set about remedying his rock-hard condition, regretting he’d ever agreed to chaperone that damn prom.
Not that there’d been much choice. ‘Sir you’re going,’ the members of his tutorial group had insisted, the female contingent proving particularly insistent. Those eyelashes had been fluttering like an onslaught of sexy bats, none more so than the pair belonging to Tori Beeching.
Of course he’d go, whether or not Mrs Landry the VP had been press-ganging staff to provide a ‘civilising influence’. The event may be held off-site, she’d hinted, but it’d still reflect poorly on the school if the class of 2019 were witnessed indulging in pre-copulative behaviour at an upmarket hotel. Jed hadn’t fancied witnessing it either, for reasons all his own.
Talk about a confluence of events. The Trish break-up was two months past as he straightened his bowtie and exited his car to join the thronging teens at Eastwell Manor. Loss had been ebbing enough for horniness to come surging back. For two nights running, however, sleep had taken him before masturbation, so that his balls – he realised it on mingling with those posh-frocked girls all sequined and slender – were full to bloody bursting.
‘You made it, Sir!’ They were all over him in a foxy low-cut gaggle, the slinky young Miss Beeching running fingers down his tux lapel in classic Bond-girl fashion, as her date for the evening photographed him with her and his other female tutees. ‘The name’s Martin. Jed Martin.’ Her blue-grey eyes flashed with mischief. ‘How about I call you Jed after tonight?’
‘Maybe once you’ve sat your exams.’ The sentence clunked so badly that a blush overtook him. Tori had spent two years making him feel that way.
Her brand of classroom tease wasn’t overt – this girl was way too smart for that. Call it low-level seduction. The day-to-day fashion parade of casually sexy outfits – off-the-shoulder tops and high-waisted shorts, tight t-shirts and ass-caressing jeans, summer dresses as mini as school policy would allow. Her behaviour was worse. That tongue tracing its way across her lower lip when he looked, without her ever looking back. Fingers idling in her red hair and casually – accidentally? – brushing a nipple. Crossing her legs side-on, while a hand strayed oh so inadvertently between her thighs. Teasing her ear-lobe, tilting her chin to drape those flaming tresses down her back, all that infernal lip-biting… Fuck! And everything staged so artfully as to retain plausible deniability, should he be fool enough to mention it.
It barely ever took on verbal form. Just that one instance when he coached her through her self-statement for uni one-to-one. He’d made her rework it, fine tune it, finesse it. ‘You like to push me, don’t you, Sir? Academically I mean.’ The ghost of a smirk floated on her parted lips. He’d had to stifle a choking fit.
Trish had never let him take it seriously. ‘You’d love to think a skinny teenager fancied you that much.’
Well she damn well does, he thought that prom-night, his nipples still prickling from her touch. Thank God she’s got herself a hot date. The accompanying surge of jealousy took him by surprise.
He chewed distractedly throughout dinner with the other staff. Around him the students fraternised between tables and descended into debauchery, alcohol serving as accelerant. Many of their plates, he noticed, were untouched, the dance-floor providing more enticement than a lacklustre meal. Just finish dessert and go, he advised himself, as horny teens migrated to the mirror-ball’s spiral of light, but Ellen Landry had other ideas.
‘Jed, go keep an eye on those lads,’ the Vice Principal instructed him softly, indicating where Harrison Doyle and co were working crass eighteen-year-old moves on their female counterparts. ‘Make sure they don’t harass anyone or cause trouble.’
Our sixth-form girls aren’t easily harassed, he might have said, and tonight they’re the hotel staff’s problem anyway. But Landry was his line-manager, so with a heavy tread he obeyed.
The dance space was a broil of hormonal teens. Smart-suited boys were thrusting close to girls who teased like champions in their scant summer gowns. The whole floor was a confection of clingy satin, ramped-up cleavage and thigh-skimming skirt fringes – a nightmare for any sexually deprived male teacher. Mark Selby had pinned Jenny Latimer against one of the fake Doric pillars on the outskirts and her palms were sliding all over his ass. Harrison was insinuating a hand down the front of Christine Norris’s dress to cup one of her substantial tits and she was letting him. A lot of teen pussies are going to get fucked tonight. The thought dropped full-formed into Jed’s mind before any politically correct instinct could prevent it.
And then he saw her again - in the heart of the throng and blowing her lanky date’s mind. Tori’s dress was red to match that incendiary hair – strappy and low-cut, the mesh under her ribs showing off that tight little waist. Mid-thigh in length, it stretched tight over her most formidable attribute. The ass in question – that formidably toned peach of a bum – was busy too. Twerking, it struck Jed, would never go out of fashion. Her sexy rump was jutting into her partner’s crotch and he was just letting it happen, eyes ablaze with wonder. And then as though by instinct her eyes flicked through the darkness to Jed. The hair on his neck bristled and he swung away, instantly beelining for an exit.
‘You’re not going?’ the VP said urgently as he passed.
‘Some lads,’ he muttered. ‘Outside. Checking on them.’ Now get the hell out of prick-teasing Dodge.
Jed made the front entrance and kept going with no plan beyond distancing himself from the teen mayhem. I’ll give it ten minutes – say I’m feeling poorly and drive home. His dogged footsteps took him round the hotel to a patio, divided into individual seating spaces by trellised brickwork. In one such compartment he took refuge, flicking through text messages for want of something to do. Letting his cock calm the fuck down. Party music filtered into his shadowy seclusion from some little distance away.
He was responding to a friend’s message when muffled laughter distracted him. Glancing up he witnessed what he could scarcely believe. Tori had lured her lankily handsome beau away from the throng and was pushing him against the brick pillar at the entrance to Jed’s hideaway, continuing her sinuous dance-based mating ritual. The guy’s hands were wandering inexpertly over her subtle curves as she writhed. Then she slinked about and worked her signature move, more insistently this time – grinding her tight teenage ass against his crotch. He groaned and she bit her lip, undulating rhythmically against him.
Jed had no exit other than past the couple, so he stood in semi-darkness, transfixed in a kind of erotic horror. They’ve no idea I’m here, was his thought, right before Tori looked his direction, squarely clocking his presence. His body thrilled with embarrassment, but her face broke into a delighted beam and she shunted her ass even more firmly against her partner’s trapped erection. The poor bastard had no chance. Jed could almost feel that gorgeously defined, thinly-clad bum-cleft rubbing up against his own thick cock. A warning cry of ‘Oh God, careful…’ was scarcely out of the lad’s mouth before his body tightened and his hips bucked spasmodically against his hot date.
Christ - the young buck was jizzing in his pants right there at the prom. In other circumstances it might have struck Jed as hilarious. Tori simply let him shoot, jutting firmly in reverse with enthralled mischief all over her face.
‘Fuck,’ her date said, drooping onto her into mortification. ‘Oh God… Fuck!’
Tori actually smiled at Jed, before turning with a look of faux innocence. ‘Oh no, you didn’t – did you? Was that my fault? Poor love, you’d better go clean up.’ That same minx-like expression returned as he hobbled off, cursing and clutching his vitals one-handed. She stared at Jed, positively jubilant. ‘God, Sir, I’m so glad he didn’t know you were there.’
Jed made to respond, but the only coherent word in his mind was Fuck.
‘It’s okay,’ Tori said blithely, ‘You weren’t spying deliberately, so I won’t hold it against you.’ Her sweet mouth contorted into a smirk. ‘Unless of course you want me to.’
Jesus, was this what a few Proseccos turned her into? The teacher floundered around for words and managed, ‘Hadn’t you better…’ He thumbed in the direction of her hastily departed date.
‘What? Oh he’ll live.’ She giggled and took a few bold steps towards him. ‘Boys can only take so much teasing. In my experience,’ she added, like she’d been conducting extensive research in the field. ‘I’ll bet you could stand a whole lot more, Sir. Want to find out?’
Despite the rerouting of blood to his cock, Jed attempted a teacherly tone. ‘Okay – enough, Tori. I have to go back inside, and you’ve got your prom-date. Off you go.’
‘I’ve a better idea,’ she said, not missing a beat. ‘Let’s leave now together, you and me. We both know that’s what you want.’
Jesus God, this was actually happening. ‘What about…’
‘Olly? He’ll be out of action for a while. Not you though, that much is clear.’ Her gaze flicked to his rapidly pressurising trouser-crotch. ‘Come on, Jed, let’s go now before he finds me again.’
‘It’s Sir…’
‘I’ll call you what you like, maybe all night.’
Shit, this was insane. ‘Look Tori, we can’t. I…’
‘No one need see us,’ she said, like she could read his straying mind. ‘I’ll wait at the end of the drive, you pick me up. No one will ever know.’ She stared at him, lustful and earnest. ‘This is your chance, Sir. You can either get off with me or thinking about me. ‘Cos if I’m not riding you, I’m going to be riding Plan B in there, once he’s got his mojo back. Is that really what you want?’
The offer was so frank that Jed found himself yielding to it internally. The professionalism to which he’d clung for years was slipping from his grasp.
Then Ellen Landry’s voice cut through his erotic haze. ‘Tori Beeching, is that you? What are you getting up to?’
‘Nothing!’ she yelled, semi-defiantly. Jed shrank guiltily back into shadow. Tori levelled one more stare before she left. ‘I’ll be where I said in five minutes. I won’t wait long. You’re there or you’re not. Oh – and if you’re a no-show, check your work email when you get home.’
With that she trotted proudly back to the hotel, ass in full tease-mode, sweeping away the threat of VP Landry as she went. Jed stood in erectile agony, duty and lust wrestling for supremacy. A shudder-inducing vision of senior-staff with disapproving faces clinched it and he broke from his trance, making straight for the carpark. Gotta get out. Gotta get out.
He screeched down the gravel drive and off down the road before Tori could make good on her promise - split the scene like he was outrunning his own desire. Only that wasn’t remotely possible. Triumph was brief and the torment of foregone opportunity followed hard on its heels. It ranted within him all the way home, as his hard-on throbbed. All he could think of was pumping his system free of this sickness.
And then in the bathroom her email added that final twist. My second-choice study-buddy is back in action, Sir. Looks like it’s going to be a long night. Don’t worry, I’ll give it my all. Have fun
Jed’s cock was out of his trousers scarcely before he’d finished reading. The phone he tossed aside, reaching instead for what lubricant came to hand – a bottle of almond oil that Trish had left behind. He doused his rampant length, wrapped a hand around that pulsing-hard shaft – the one that might have been plunging deep into Tori Beeching – and jacked himself like a bastard.
Fucking hell, he needed to empty. Needed to free himself of this awful teen-induced tension. His balls had never felt so swollen, his granite-hard dick never needed so badly to be sated.
In some glorious parallel timeline he had driven off with the redhead and taken her somewhere secluded. He’d bent her over his car’s hood, pulled up her dress to expose that sweet pumpkin ass and ripped down the thong she was probably wearing. Now his cock was balls-deep in her clutching 18-year-old cunt and he was ramming hard, grabbing a fistful of red hair and whacking her rear an equivalent colour with his free hand. She was hollering like a banshee, at least until he tore the thong clean off her and stuffed it into her pretty mouth. Even then she was forcing out muffled yells of Oh God, fuck me Sir, fuck me!
I’ll fuck you, you little bitch, I’ll fucking wreck your teenage cunt-hole, you filthy little schoolgirl slut! Take it, fucking take it! How about I shaft your peachy ass next? How’d you fucking like that?
But her mocking face materialised in his mind and he knew that in that moment she was likely naked and riding the dick of her lucky-fuck teen lover, while her teacher reached the peak of his frantic self-abuse all alone.
Fuck – fuck – FUCK!
Jed’s balls clenched and the cum gushed from his cock, splattering onto bathtub and not obliterating Tori Beeching’s pretty face. The ooze that she might have sucked from his flagging cock splashed onto cold enamel and his whole body wilted in defeat.
Professionalism, moral victories, he considered bitterly, as he dripped his last. Take them.
Take them and fuck them all to hell.
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