Sweet Sixteen
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Sweet Sixteen free porn video
Time for his last class of the day, 5B, one which Mark Taylor always approached with trepidation. It wasn't a large group (around twenty) but they were far from straightforward.
Sure enough, reprehensible activities were going on as he walked in. Some of them were in their seats but a sizeable and noisy group were gathered around something at the back of the room. The accompanying jeers and guffaws were what he'd heard as he was approaching down the corridor. 'Hey, no looking up her skirt, ' came over loud and clear, as Mark was entering, followed by 'Bet he's getting a hard-on!' and raucous laughter.
Mark went over to see what the fuss was. What he found, surprise surprise, was Keith Trotter, the school's quintessential nerdy fat kid, being tormented.
Almost every time Mark taught 5B he first had to deal with a situation like this. Last time he'd had to let Keith out of a locked cupboard. Time before that Keith was being forced to scamper around the room going 'woof woof'. Time before that he was cowering under his desk because a couple of boys were threatening to punch his lights out. And so on and so forth. Really quite tedious from Mark's point of view. Although a damn sight worse for Keith, obviously.
Persecutor-in-chief was Greg Bryant, a nasty piece of work who loved to bully unfortunates like Keith Trotter. Plenty of the others got involved too but Greg Bryant was the undisputed leader of the pack. He and his gang, Jerry Zimmerman and Todd Walker and the rest of the motley crew, they made Keith's life at school a living hell. Today's variant Mark hadn't seen before: Keith was prostrate on the ground and being made to grovel to one of the girls. He was down on his belly kissing the girl's feet and telling her how sexy she was. Those watching were finding this spectacle hilarious, needless to say. The girl herself, Melissa Miller, was in hysterics.
Mark waded in to break it up. 'What the hell is going on here?'
Greg Bryant looked at him, no trace of fear or remorse. His father was a major donor to the school. He was bullet-proof. 'Hello Sir. Keith was just worshiping the Empress.' Keith, red-faced and humiliated, had lumbered to his feet and was staring down at the floor. 'The Empress?' said Mark, conscious of showing a little too much interest. 'That's me, Mr Taylor, ' grinned Melissa. 'I'm an Empress. Didn't you know?'
In a manner of speaking this was true: Melissa Miller was a beauty, a luscious brunette with a devastatingly pretty face and the sort of figure that wet dreams are made of, easily the hottest girl in school, which meant she definitely had the power of an Empress when it came to the boys, she had them all (including big bad Greg Bryant and his gang) infatuated and wrapped around her finger. As far as Mark was aware no boy in school had gotten anywhere with Melissa but this didn't stop them forever panting after her. Gluttons for punishment because all Melissa did was flaunt what they yearned for but couldn't have. The girl was a world class prick tease.
'No, Melissa, I can't say I did.' As always Mark felt a little weak around Melissa Miller. It wasn't only the boys who were in thrall to her.
'It was only a bit of fun, Sir. You're not mad, are you?' Melissa was pouting prettily at him, knowing she wasn't in any trouble. 'Um, well, let's just get started, shall we?' mumbled Mark, his gaze lingering longer than a teacher's should on various parts of Melissa's anatomy, something her outfit did absolutely nothing to discourage. She was in full 'teenage goddess' mode: short clingy skirt to show off her stunning legs, skimpy spaghetti top (no bra) which offered up oodles of mouth-watering cleavage, beautifully pedicured feet in open-toed sandals - jesus, it was enough to induce a coronary.
His attention hadn't gone unnoticed. A smug smile fleeted across Melissa's lovely features. She knew how alluring she was, the effect she had on the male of the species, and she lapped up the adoration. She revelled in being an object of lust around school, basked in the power it gave her, a power she abused quite shamelessly. Melissa liked to toy with the poor saps who lusted after her, loved to manipulate and tease them. She was merciless: the more her hapless victims drooled over her, the more hoops they jumped in their frantic efforts to impress, the more she enjoyed torturing them.
Mark finally got the kids to their desks and the lesson started. It ought to have been an easy one (he had them sitting there attempting to write a short piece on Beckett) but within a few minutes he was losing focus on what he was meant to be doing (which was marking their last essay). The reason for this wasn't that he was on 'mission impossible' trying to teach this bunch much of anything about English Lit (though he was), or that it was a hotly humid day and the air conditioning wasn't working properly (though it was and it wasn't), no, the reason Mark was struggling was that he was being savagely distracted by Melissa Miller's glorious legs. This was the usual deal with this class: Keith Trotter getting picked on and Melissa Miller playing the temptress. If it weren't for these two things it'd be a breeze. Melissa's lovely legs were angled out into the aisle and she was continually crossing and re-crossing them, the performance choreographed so that her skirt rode ever further up her honeyed thighs. She was sat by the wall on his right, about halfway down, and it was a small room, so Mark had an excellent view from his desk at the front. And the view was tantalising in the extreme. How the fuck was he meant to concentrate?
Although actually he was concentrating: he was concentrating on feeding his fevered imagination, stealing as many burning glances as he could in Melissa's direction. He knew it was unprofessional to be ogling one of his female pupils, and a bit creepy too, he supposed, what with him being middle-aged and married. Trouble was, his wife was also middle-aged and married. Things weren't that 'exciting' at home. He was frustrated and susceptible. It wouldn't be quite so uncomfortable for Mark if Melissa didn't intuit the situation, didn't sense the lust rioting inside him, but of course she did. She knew that merely her presence in his class got him all flustered. She also knew she held all the cards. If 'Mr Taylor' so much as laid a finger on her, no matter the provocation, it'd be instant dismissal and maybe even the police. For a confirmed prick teaser like Melissa Miller there was only one way to play a scenario like that.
Mark sneaked another lech, risked a slightly longer one this time. Had her skirt moved up another half a centimetre since he last checked maybe thirty seconds ago? Mark believed it had. He wasn't a hundred per cent certain but he reckoned there was just a little more on display. At this point his study was interrupted by the subject itself because Melissa decided to tuck her legs back under her desk and out of sight. Mark caught her eye and wished that he hadn't. Melissa's gaze was triumphant and amused. He was being mocked. She was playing with him and wanted him to know it. He looked away, embarrassed, forced himself to think about other things, deeply unsexy stuff like what was for dinner later, but it was futile, he was aching with desire and the one and only thing he wanted to do was stride manfully across to little Miss Miller over there, rip her clothes off and drill her senseless. The challenge, as always, was to get through the hour without attempting that. Easier said than done on days like this when the girl was on a mission to drive him wild.
He tried another technique, looking instead at Eleanor Harris, a sadly unattractive girl sat in the middle of the front row, but that didn't work either because it only got him musing about the difference between the two girls; a physical contrast so complete that it was unfair to Eleanor them even being in the same room. He remembered the time a few weeks ago when Melissa and Eleanor had both been late, walking in together five minutes after the class started. 'Hey, look, it's Beauty and the Beast, ' was the loud and cruel jibe from one of the boys, Danny Burgess, and poor Eleanor's face had crumpled in dismay when she realised why people were snickering. And Melissa? Well the bitchy smile and the extra wiggle as she sauntered to her desk told the story.
There was some seriously phallic stuff going on now with Melissa's pencil. She kept fingering and stroking it, every so often slipping the fucking thing into her mouth and sucking on it. She wasn't looking at Mark but she knew damn well he was watching. Christ. Could you be murderously jealous of a pencil? Yes, yes you could.
Next she was toying with her spaghetti straps. They were prone to sliding down over her shoulders and Melissa had to keep pushing them back in place. She never seemed to quite manage it, for some reason, and they stayed kind of half up and half down. Finally she admitted defeat and decided the straps weren't needed. She pulled them down and wriggled her arms free, the scanty top now quite precariously positioned: it was just about barely in place, the only factor preventing total disclosure being that her boobs were large and firm enough to stop it falling all the way off. Fuck, she was driving him absolutely crazy!
Catching him staring – or dribbling would be more accurate - Melissa preened and flicked her hair. The little tease was loving every minute of this. She was having a whale of a time. She stretched languorously in her chair, arms above and behind her head, meaning that the action switched, the lower edge of this damned top of hers now commanding the attention as it climbed up her belly to unveil several inches of tanned and perfectly toned torso. Her fabulous tits were overtly straining against the flimsy material. Mark was patently leering by this point, he couldn't help it. The view was delicious and maddening in equal measure. Two specific thoughts were tormenting him: (1) that he could go over there and the force in his little finger would be sufficient to dislodge Melissa's top and reveal her luscious breasts in all their glory, and (2) that he couldn't.
So he opted for the only viable alternative: he sat there and suffered.
Melissa's smirking intensified as she observed the effect on her victim. She knew precisely what was occurring with her top, was perfectly aware of the turmoil she was causing. She was taunting Mark quite openly now. There wasn't the tiniest shred of pretence at innocence. The next time she caught him looking she grinned at him and brazenly stuck her tongue out. Then she leant forward to write something on her pad. The abrupt movement was the last straw for the (now strapless) top and, oh sweet jesus, her big juicy melons came tumbling right out. Melissa reacted swiftly, pulled her top up, got the straps sorted (properly this time), but the lingering glimpse of her magnificent breasts, nipples and all, was burned indelibly on Mark's brain. He couldn't say with certainty just how many sleepless nights it was going to mean. Maybe just a couple of hundred if he was lucky. Oh god.
Melissa looked thoughtful for a moment. Had she had enough fun for one day? Had she finished with her 'torture teacher' game?
The answer came soon enough. She ran her tongue slowly and lasciviously round her lips and at the same time resumed the gratuitous flaunting of her legs, the crossing and re-crossing 'routine' even more erotic than before. With a wicked grin in Mark's direction she loosened one of her sandals and dangled it seductively from the end of her toes.
Mark was mesmerised and he wasn't the only one. Her malicious teasing might be directed at 'teacher' but it was also shattering the composure of those boys who happened to be sitting within eyeshot. Mark saw agonised longing etched across a number of adolescent faces. He doubted their essays on Beckett would amount to much. The boy sat diagonally behind Melissa, therefore with a great view of what she was doing, was really suffering: poor kid's tongue was hanging out as he stared at Melissa's spectacular legs and he was fiddling surreptitiously with his trousers. Mark had problems down there too and he gave thanks that he was behind his desk rather than stood in front of it. He was sweating quite profusely and he had a mother of an erection throbbing away. There was something he was going to have to rush off and do straight after this class, and it wouldn't be the first time. 'Stop it, Melissa, for fuck's sake, ' he murmured under his breath.
But no such luck. What she was doing now was lazily scratching an 'itch' on the inside of her thigh, located right up under her skirt. Mark could see a sliver of white lace. Her finger drifted higher and, oh god, she was stroking her pussy through her panties! Taking her sweet time about it too. Damn the girl!
Mark was losing it now, unsure how he was going to survive to the bell. He had to stop staring at this diabolical little cock tease otherwise he'd explode there and then and make a mess of his pants. With an effort that could fairly be described as 'heroic' he dragged his eyes away from Melissa Miller and stared sightlessly down at the pile of essays on the desk in front of him. He selected one and pretended to read. He kept this up for about five minutes and although he hadn't processed a single word he congratulated himself for not looking up and checking on Melissa more than maybe a dozen times. Not such a triumph, in truth, because even when he wasn't looking at the gorgeous little bitch he was having torrid fantasies about her. Still, only a few minutes to go and he could beetle off to the toilets, find a cubicle, and 'take care' of himself in that regard. Live to fight another day.
He heard a muffled cry and didn't need to check the source to know that it would be Keith Trotter. Yep, he was getting the 'treatment' again. The desk directly behind Keith (pretty much in the middle of the room) was much sought after because of the opportunity it afforded to torment him during class and today it had been bagged by Jerry Zimmerman. What Jerry was doing, having finished his essay, was leaning forward and continually flicking at Keith's ears with a ruler. Keith was whimpering for him to stop and looking beseechingly in Mark's direction.
Mark was getting sick and tired of this. Why the fuck didn't the kid stand up for himself? Usually he'd intervene, tell the bully to desist, but this time he just couldn't be bothered and he pretended not to have noticed. Jerry could hardly believe his luck and quickly graduated to rapping the top of Keith's head with his knuckles, doing it hard, making Keith cry out in pain. The rest of the class saw what was happening and started tittering. 'Quiet please, ' Mark announced. 'Stop it, Jerry, ' he added, deciding it'd gone far enough. Jerry settled back in his chair. He had an insouciant grin on his face. 'Sorry, Sir, ' he said, clearly not.
Keith carried on silently sobbing for a while and Mark looked at him with distaste. God, he really was pathetic. The stuff that got done to him and he just seemed to suck it up. Because Mark had heard the stories, all the teachers had, he'd heard about the horrors inflicted on Keith Trotter when there was no member of staff around to protect him. Indeed he saw some of it for himself just the following day.
Elle
- 08.12.2021
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