Hot for Teacher Read online

  “He sounds a lot like Charlie. I’m not interested in replacing Charlie.”

  “No one says he has to replace Charlie. No one says you have to do anything but have dinner with the man. Won’t you, please? All you do is take care of your house and read and garden and dine occasionally with me. C’mon, gal, you need to rev your engines a little. The valves are sticky from disuse.”

  Rosemary sighed. Leave it to car nut Faith to throw in an engine metaphor. She stared off to her left and sipped her beer, unwilling to look Faith in the eye. “I haven’t dated in over fourteen years. I’m totally ignorant of what passes for it these days and would probably make a fool of myself.”

  “Rosemary. It’s. Just. Dinner.” Faith’s exasperated voice had her feeling foolish. What was she scared of? And who, rather, whom was she kidding? She loved to eat.

  “All right. But not tomorrow night. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday I have an eight o’clock class.”

  “How about Friday night?”

  “Okay. If I’m tired after classes I can always take a nap, I guess.”

  “Yes, I know, you’re as old as Methuselah, so take your nap,” Faith teased. “But keep in mind that I’m even older, and I manage to go out on the occasional date.”

  “Hope, party of two,” the hostess called.

  Both women carried their beers with them as they were led to their table. After settling into the comfortable captain’s chairs, Rosemary spoke up. “This Steve, what’s he like?”

  “Tall, cute, blond hair, bearded,” Faith began.

  “Ugh. I hate facial hair.”

  “Oh, hush, Rosie, you’re getting tiresome. Now, where was I? Oh, yes, blond, bearded, cute, smart, likes redheads, very interested in meeting you. All you have to do is dress up a little and appear. You can drive yourself to the restaurant and back, so there’s no pressure. That way, if you two don’t hit it off, you can just eat and go home. If you do hit it off, well, worrying about what to do with the extra car will be the least of your problems.” She grinned impishly. “Aren’t you just the least bit curious about this guy?”

  Rosemary drained her glass. “As you pointed out, Fai, it’s just dinner. Now that you’ve managed to bully me into going on a date, can we talk about something else? But first, let’s order. I’m starved, and that ale went right to my head.”

  Faith waved down the waitress, ordering the fried clam plate for herself and the broiled salmon for her friend. She commented after the waitress left, “I don’t see why you don’t eat clams.”

  “I just don’t like them. Plus, the salmon is good here, and it’s better for my diet than something fried.”

  “You and your diet. When are you going to accept those ten extra pounds and forget about it?”

  “More like twenty. And I’ll stop when my butt’s no longer inflated to the size of Government Center.”

  Salads arrived, and for a few moments the women lost themselves in the food.

  “How did your inflated butt -- and you -- like your first day of grad school?” Faith asked.

  “I thought you’d never ask.”

  By the time dinner had arrived, Rosemary had talked about all her classes. By the time dinner was over, she had related her encounters with the irritable Dr. Kent and her new friendship with Mark. As they sat with after-dinner aperitifs, Faith asked abruptly, “Why don’t you ask him out?”

  “Ask who out? Mark? He’s gay,” Rosemary replied, though she knew whom her friend meant.

  “No, Dr. Kent, of course. It’s obvious you like him. You’ve certainly shown more enthusiasm about him than you have about meeting Steve.”

  “Dr. Kent’s my professor. Dating him is a no-no.”

  “You could always wait until the semester is over. Do you recall when Charlie first came on to you? You didn’t want to go out with him because ‘staff and faculty don’t mix.’ If I hadn’t pushed you into it, you’d have never had all those wonderful years with him.”

  “Well, you were a shining example of staff and faculty mixing, so you inspired me. You were dating Max a few months before Charlie asked me out.” Rosemary sipped her hazelnut liqueur. “Tell me, do you still yearn for Max?”

  “Rosie, what a question. Of course I do, every day and especially every night. It’s just that I have to get on with my life. To live, you have to be in the present.”

  “I can’t seem to do that. I miss Charlie at all the obvious times, of course, but also at odd moments. I see something funny in the paper and turn to tell him -- only he’s not there. I find a nice cantaloupe in the grocery store and imagine his pleasure when I bring it home to him -- only he’s not there. It’s all these little ways in which I miss him that wear me down and keep me sad.” Her eyes misted. “He was so young, so vital. And gone in an instant. Why can’t I get over that?”

  “Aw, hon,” Faith murmured as she leaned over to hug her friend. “You loved Charlie. And on some level, you’re never going to ‘get over’ him. You can only go on.”

  Chapter Three

  Well, Rosemary thought as she drove home from school, the week had ended more auspiciously than it had begun. She’d not run into Dr. Kent, literally or figuratively, outside of class. Though he did look at her more often than seemed necessary in the Wednesday and Friday classes, he’d not spoken to her. Maybe they’d gotten past their mutual difficulties and wouldn’t talk much now. Despite the fact that it would be smarter to leave things that way, her heart sank at the thought of Dr. Kent never being more than her professor of European Erotic Literature.

  He exuded masculinity despite his studious appearance. Of course, most English Lit professors weren’t he-man types, and Kent sure didn’t look like Hercules. Not to say he was unattractive, far from it. While she sat at a red light, she recalled his muscled forearms when he had rolled up his sleeves, forearms that ended in meaty hands. She’d bet those hands could deliver quite a spanking.

  Horns were honking. She realized the light had turned green while she sat there, shivering with delight. She drove on, tickling warmth punching her low in the belly while she imagined what it would be like to go over Dr. Kent’s lap. His broad shoulders had plenty of power, she was certain. His muscled runner’s thighs would be difficult to lie on as his hand cracked her “sit spot” repeatedly. Her hungry nether regions throbbed. No doubt about it, she needed a spanking. Her life felt out of control around Kent. She needed some discipline to pull it together.

  However, she had no one to do the job for her. For the millionth time, she longed keenly for her Charlie. Sighing as she pulled into the driveway, she went inside, intent on a nap before dinner with Faith, Doug, and Steve.

  * * * * *

  The stream sparkled in the sunlight, and the green smell of spring surrounded her. She and Dr. Kent were having a picnic. And what a feast, all homemade: oven-fried chicken, potato salad, and two kinds of cookies, chocolate chip and sugar. The chardonnay was as cold as the sun was hot. They relaxed on the blanket, talking lazily. They were alone. Completely alone.

  The sun on her legs aroused her, producing heat that spread upward, turning her wet. Kent’s steely eyes shone as his mouth covered hers. The kiss stirred her to her core; she found herself moving against him, moaning in desperation, eager to have him. His hands cupped her bottom possessively through her thin cotton skirt.

  It was then that she, inexplicably, dumped her glass of wine on his head and laughed. But not for long. Dr. Kent jerked her to her feet and propelled her into a nearby copse of trees, steel in his voice. She was to cut a switch and clean it off in the next sixty seconds. Of course, she couldn’t possibly meet the time deadline, so Rosemary found herself bent over, hugging a tree as her professor flipped up her skirt and pulled down her panties.

  She knew immediately she hadn’t done a very good job of trimming the branch. Fire burned in a stripe across her bottom, but there were hornet stings spaced along the way from her incomplete cleaning job. Dr. Kent wasn’t swinging too hard, lest he cut her skin to rib
bons with the awful thing, but it was plenty hard enough.

  Rosemary couldn’t help yowling, angry that she did so by the fourth lick. By the tenth, she was weeping and stamping her feet, sure that angry abrasions decorated her from the middle of her bottom to halfway down her thighs. Her backside’s burning sting drove her crazy, but the hunger between her legs was a worse torment.

  Dr. Kent took her in his arms to kiss her, her fresh tears ending up on both their faces. He carried her back to the blanket and laid her down. She waited for him to enter her, but first his fingers explored. When he found her quivering nub, her back arched. Sensation built as his thumb coaxed her clit to swell, while his middle and index fingers massaged her inside.

  “Dr. Kent,” she breathed, ready for the taking.

  He flipped her onto her stomach, entering her from behind. His rough thrusts fed the ache that demanded fulfillment. In and out he rammed. In and out. And still her lust wasn’t sated.

  He withdrew, and she cried out at the deprivation, her clit and vagina swollen and quivering from her emptiness. She was so close.

  “Rosemary,” he said. “I’d like to try something.”

  His index finger, wet with her juices, explored her anus a moment before sliding inside.

  Ahh. Charlie used to do this. I’ll never forget our first anniversary, when he introduced me to it. How does Dr. Kent know I crave --?

  Two fingers. Three. She fucked his hand, desperate for orgasm.

  “Please,” she said. “Oh, Dr. Kent, please.”

  Then came the odd full-yet-not-full sensation of him taking her anally. It hurt, just a little -- it always did -- but within a few slow strokes, the ache had faded, replaced by an appetite that grew until she thought she’d pass out. Her fingers flew to her clit, the better to bring herself to orgasm while Dr. Kent pounded inside her.

  Anal sex. She’d never thought she’d like it, but she’d loved it from the first, both for the sensation and the way it messed with her head. She felt ultra-submissive taking a cock this way, the feeling feeding her arousal, which in turn fed her submission. She arched her back, bucking her hips, fingers flying across her clit.

  Then a strange buzzing caught her attention. Was it a bee? The droning grew louder in her ears just as she was about to come.

  Omigod ...

  Rosemary awoke, sweating, aroused, confused, and then disappointed as she realized it was all a dream, only a dream. Cursing colorfully, she slammed her hand down to silence the buzzing alarm. The best dream she’d had in months, and it had ended before she’d started. Briefly, she considered using her vibrator for release. No, she had to get going, or she’d be late.

  Her lingering arousal caused her to pick out her lowest-cut blouse, snuggest short skirt, and highest heels. If she was going on a date, damned if she wasn’t going to go all out and make herself as attractive as possible. After applying makeup and tousling her curls in a “fuck me” look, she appraised herself in the mirror. Not bad for an old broad of thirty-eight. She turned around, craning her neck for the back view. Nope, not bad at all. If Charlie were here, once he saw the outfit he’d have torn off her clothes in about two seconds. Of course, for dressing so shockingly, he also would have soundly spanked her before they enjoyed each other. He definitely did not like his wife dressing like a high-priced call girl when they were out of the house. At home, now, that was another matter, she recalled with a grin.

  Maybe the evening wouldn’t be so bad.

  Damn, maybe I’ll get some.

  As if finally waking completely from her dream, she eyed her outfit with growing alarm. What was she thinking? Her clothing, makeup, and hair were just short of scandalous, and she was out of time to change. In fact, she was already late. Throwing a jacket over her embarrassing cleavage, she hurried out the door. She’d hate to be late meeting the other three. Just thinking about not arriving on time caused her backside’s skin to tingle. Charlie had disciplined her fiercely the one time she’d been late.

  Early in their marriage, she’d been delayed by traffic, arriving at his university’s faculty dinner thirty minutes into the meal. Between the main dish and dessert, he’d hustled her to his office, locked the door, and whaled her backside with his belt. She’d barely had time to wipe the tears from her face before she found herself sitting uncomfortably through dessert, coffee, and several speakers. Later at home, he’d spanked her again, using the horrid wooden hairbrush.

  Never, ever had she been late for anything again. Her bottom had burned all night, but the sex had been incredible. He’d penetrated her anally, as he sometimes did after spanking her for a misdeed. Charlie called it “disciplinary sex,” as it emphasized her submission to him. Even though she’d be sore later from his thrusts, she always climaxed wildly. No doubt about it, Charlie had known all her hot buttons.

  No wonder she’d had that dream about Dr. Kent -- she was horny, that’s all, with no spanking or sex for the last two years. Dr. Kent was attractive, so he’d starred in her fantasy. Usually she dreamed of Charlie doing such things to her, but it wasn’t rare for her to have a hot dream about another man. It was all perfectly normal and easy to explain. Somehow, that depressed her.

  After all, what were the chances she’d find another man so perfectly compatible with her submissive desires, who could make her scream with ecstasy every single time, the way Charlie had?

  Probably not high. But she had to try, or go crazy from loneliness and sexual need.

  Rosemary hustled her way inside Michael’s. The three of them were in the bar waiting for her, the maitre d’ informed her.

  Taking a deep breath, Rosemary walked in, her eyes scanning the crowd. Faith’s frantic wave caught her attention. Two very good-looking men were sitting with her. Hmmm, which one was hers again? Oh, yes, the blond one. Nice-looking, even though he had a beard. Not her favorite thing, but it didn’t matter. Probably nothing would come of this date.

  She slowed her walk, making eye contact. His chocolate-brown eyes, unusual for a blond, locked on to hers. She opened her jacket, revealing her cleavage, testing him. His eyes stayed on hers after a quick look at her front. Good. He’d passed the first test. She didn’t want to have dinner with a man who talked to her chest, even though she knew she’d made it challenging to do so.

  “Rosie, hon, you look fabulous. Doesn’t she look fabulous, Steve?” Faith chattered.

  Only then did Steve give her a polite but thorough up-and-down. He murmured, “Yes, she does,” sticking out his hand. “Steve Ringgold. I’m pleased to meet you, Rosemary.”

  Taking his hand, Rosemary said, “So am I,” and smiled.

  “What can I get you to drink?” he asked as he made room for her at the bar. “I’m having wine, the house cabernet. Would you like some?”

  “No, a beer, please. Harpoon IPA if they have it, Killian’s or Bass if they don’t.” She settled onto a stool as Steve signaled the bartender, ordering her a Bass ale.

  “Do you not like wine?” he said before sipping his own.

  “Whites are okay. Most reds trigger my migraines.”

  He tsked. “That’s a shame. A good red wine is almost as good as sex.”

  “Is it, now?” She sensed heat in her cheeks. Why did she have to blush so easily? The beer arrived. She took a long gulp to hide her awkwardness.

  “Ah, when ye say it like that, ye sound very Irish, lass.”

  “Only on my mother’s side, though her parents were straight from the Auld Sod.”

  “And your father’s side?”

  “Danish, mostly.”

  He leaned against the mahogany bar. “The Danes can be a sober bunch. Ever read any Kierkegaard?”

  “A little. I’m not much on philosophy. Literature is more my game.”

  “I like the logical aspect of philosophy. Useful when you’re a software nerd.”

  He moved closer to her. Though it made her uncomfortable, she didn’t let herself back away.

  Stop being such a prude.


  “Hey, that’s us,” Faith broke in, pointing to the maitre d’.

  * * * * *

  Dinner had come and gone; the four lingered over coffee and dessert. Rosemary and Steve had bonded to the point where he was feeding her part of his chocolate coconut cake, an activity that pumped her hormones. Being fed from a man’s plate sure made her feel submissive. His right hand held the fork while his left rested on the back of her chair, occasionally brushing the nape of her neck. Each time he touched her, she shivered, excited but unsure whether it was really Steve that excited her, or whether it was only her body responding to a man’s touch, any man’s touch. It had been a long time, and as much as she didn’t want to betray Charlie’s memory with a quickie, her body apparently had other plans.

  Faith and Doug stood. “We’re going to hear some jazz at Cafe One. You two want to go?” she asked.

  Steve exchanged a look with Rosemary before tickling her earlobe. She swallowed hard while he spoke. “I think we’ll go someplace quiet to talk, if that’s okay with you, Rosie.” She nodded her agreement.

  Faith gave her the slightest of winks when she and Doug left.

  “Well,” Steve said, trailing his fingertips along her collarbone, lighting fires that made her squirm. “Where shall we go?”

  “Ummm, I think I’d better go home.” She gasped as his other hand caressed her knee under the table.

  Though frowning with disappointment, Steve rose. “All right. I’ll walk you to your car.”

  The balmy September night bathed them in warmth as they strolled to her practical sedan. Once at the car, he backed her up against the driver’s-side door. His hands slid down her back to her buttocks, lingering there. “I’ve had a great time,” he said, his voice husky. Softly he kissed her cheek, waiting for her to turn her mouth to him.

  She wasn’t sure what she wanted to do. One little kiss can’t hurt, can it? His mouth fit over hers. A split-second passed before his tongue parted her lips. Surrendering, she kissed back, amazed that she wanted to. One of his hands rested lightly on the seat of her skirt; the other lightly traced her cleavage’s outline. Her nipples grew firm as he rested his palm on one of her breasts, pushing his hips into hers. She felt him, as ready as any man could be, through her clothing, and nearly swooned when the hand on her bottom began tracing lazy circles.