____________________________ | | /)| KRISTEN'S BOOKSHELF |(\ / )| DIRECTORIES |( \ __( (|____________________________|) )__ ((( \ \ > /_) ( \ < / / ))) (\\\ \ \_/ / \ \_/ / ///) \ / \ / \ _/ \_ / / / \ \ o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o The Bookshelf Directories offer a very wide variety of stories. o o They have been submitted by people from all over the world. Also o o from alt.sex.stories (Newsgroups). There is no particular order o o other than offering them to you in alphabetical directories. o o o o All works are copyrighted to the author and may not be used for o o profit without obtaining the author's permission in advance. o o o o Lest we forget!!! This story was produced as adult entertainment o o and should not be read by minors. o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o Passion's Child (High school, seductress) by Christine M. Faltz *** I teach geology to eleventh graders at Millington High. It's a job, not too hard -- same curriculum every year; the only things that really change are the copyright date on the textbook and the group of kids. I give the kids the same quizzes -- sometimes in the same semester -- and most of them still don't do well. There are exceptions -- the real academic stars of the school, and some others who aren't that book-smart, but try hard to get good grades. You can tell the difference, usually right away. I also act as the girls' track team coach. I enjoy that a lot more. Watching young women run -- especially young women who keep themselves in fairly good shape -- is worth putting up with the shit I get from the administrators sometimes for chumming around with the girls, as well as worth the morons who make up the majority of my classes. Now I mentioned chumming around with the girls. Not just my track team -- others too -- girls in my classes, girls who I happen to meet through their friends. I'm an okay-looking guy -- mid-40's, tall, broad shoulders, really nice blue eyes and a great body for my age. In fact, I look 35. I've been teaching here a while, and it's pretty much the same every year. A lot of girls flirt, but there are always a handful who *really* want my attention. Like this one girl who was in my class last year; her name was Cara. Cara wasn't on the track team. Cara wasn't into sports. She's very intelligent and very pretty. She has a visual disability which prevents her from being able to process printed material, especially graphs and complicated diagrams. So instead of taking chemistry, she took my class. Cara is tall, about five-seven and she has medium-length, wavy brown hair and the most beautiful blue-green eyes. Her nose is very small and compliments her face nicely. She has a little red in her cheeks; definitely natural. She smiles a lot. Or at least she did, when I knew her. She graduated just this past year. But I remember her well. I remember the day I found out she had the hots for me, like so many girls before her she was infatuated with my openess with the students in class, and the way I treated all the students like adults. I suspected this, of course -- after a while, you start noticing the signs of an infatuated student. Another coach (Mr. Gorman) was teasing her about being at the football game the weekend before. Cara had a ribald sense of humor, and Gormon loved to talk to her, because he's a sick fuck sometimes; likes to talk dirty to the girls. He's gonna get his ass in trouble over sexual harrasment one of these days. Then again, maybe I will, too. So, anyway, he was teasing her about doing the whole football team. This wasn't all that likely. Although Cara was very attractive and very smart, guys at her age tend to avoid women like that, and she had the additional problem of her disability. Stupid kids. They didn't know what a hot woman lurked inside that girl. "I only want one guy in this school," Gormon says she told him. "And I will *never* tell you who." "Oh, it must be me, then." "Don't you wish, Gormon? In every dream you have, babe." I'm sure Gormon laughed and put his arm around her or pinched her cheek or something. "I know who it is," he says. "It's Mr. Larrimer, isn't it?" Supposedly, she and her friends cracked up, and she turned away, apparently to head into the cafeteria for lunch. However, Gormon noticed that her face had flushed beet-red. "I'm right! I'm right!" he laughed. "Oh, please," Cara said. "Are you crazy?" "You are so red!" Gormon yelled. "I'm gonna tell him! I am, as soon as I see him." "Tell him whatever you want; it doesn't make it true, you jerk!" Later on that day, she and one of her closest buddies, Sarah, were heading out the door to go home. I strolled down the hall and called her name as she was about to leave the building. "Cara!" ----------------- You say you want to know about the first man I ever wanted -- not loved -- wanted. Well, the very first was when I was thirteen, but I was too chickenshit to let him know, so that didn't go anywhere. And the second time, the one I'm going to tell you about, I *thought* I loved him; I really did. I ached for him during the day; dreamed about him at night. I wrote poems to him -- which I never gave him. It was last year, my junior year in high school. I took his class because I heard it was easy and I'd just struggled through biology and was planning to take physics in twelfth grade, so I figured I'd take the easy route to give myself a break. It was an academic break all right - - but I didn't count on the physical and emotional exhaustion I would face that year. It started fairly early in the year. He had a pleasant voice -- nothing great, but it was pleasant. He was spirited and somewhat of a troublemaker -- he allowed the girls in the class to put makeup on him, and then would go to the library just to see the reaction on the librarian's face. He would tell dirty jokes or just kid around with us in general. He was not the typical teacher -- not that he was a master educator -- he just had an attitude that attracted me at the time -- devilish, rebellious, forbidding. Stimulating. His shoulders were perfect -- broad, just the type one would want to drape one's legs over while being made love to, the kind that would send shivers up your spine if you were lucky enough to find yourself straddling his back and massaging them, or lying beneath him and reaching up, grasping those shoulders while you enjoyed the feeling of him on top of you and inside you. His smile -- it sent chills and heat, simultaneously, through every pore of your body -- it did mine, anyway. The dreams started in late October, totally out of the blue. I went to sleep one night, and suddenly, I was dreaming about him -- the feel of his bare chest against my breasts, our lips pressed together. I woke, my upper thighs soaked with sweat and my orgasm -- it was the first time I had ever come in my sleep. I was hooked. --------------- "Cara! Coach Gormon told me, Cara." "Coach Gormon told you what he THINKS he knows. He stated it as if he knows; I didn't say a thing." I came up behind her and put my arm around her. Her face was flushed, and she couldn't look at me. Sarah stood off to the side, trying to hide the giggles. "I'm very flattered," I said, giving her a squeeze. "You're free to feel as flattered as you want; but I admitted to nothing." I just laughed and let her go. This was going to be interesting. It's fun to flirt with the girls, especially the ones who try to hide it. If I were a more impulsive man, I would probably be in jail by now. But I looked forward to playing this one out. I had a captive admirer; she was in my class for another six months. I rushed from the school building, the ache and the heat between my legs driving me crazy. I wanted to get home, to hurry to my bedroom, close the door and masturbate the feeling away. My body was searing with the memory of his touch, my mind reeling with fantasies. I walked home fast, my heart pounding, my pulse beating at my clit. I wanted that man. I wanted him so much. I kept a diary then -- I just stopped recently -- my freshman year at college doesn't allow for journal-keeping. The first thing I did after stroking and rubbing the pain away was write about what had happened. Then I called Sarah and my best friend Laura to tell them both I was driving myself insane over Larrimer. The next day, she walked into class, looking as if she wanted to crawl under a rock and hide there. She sat down and immediately opened a book and began to read. I walked past her desk and stopped behind her, looking over her shoulder. She flushed, but ignored me. She was obviously uncomfortable. I felt the beginnings of an erection. I could only imagine what she wanted me to do to her, but that was enough to get me going. As the days and weeks passed, I progressively increased my physical advances. I would walk up to her in the hall, in front of her friends or when she was alone, and put my arms around her. I would kiss her cheek, run my fingers through her hair or slide my hands up and down her arms. I massaged her shoulders and touched her neck. Once, I even kissed her on the back of the neck, which caused her to shudder noticeably. He was beginning to drive me mad. I was writing poems and diary entries about him every day; every class, every encounter in the hall was something I looked forward to, as well as dreaded. I never knew what he would do next, or if I would say something foolish. I had begun to return the physical caresses and embraces. One time, in the cafeteria during study hall, with hardly anyone in sight, he came towards me and pulled me close to him. I wrapped my arms around him and pressed close to him -- my heart raced, my hands sweated. I wanted to touch him everywhere and to have him touch me; I wanted to taste him, to plunge my tongue inside his mouth and just kiss him, for long, long moments. My desire turned liquid; I came, just standing there in his arms; the heat was intense, the need suffocating. No wonder my friends were losing their virginity left and right. My hormones were taking over completely. If he had dragged me off to his car, to a closet, to a locker room and deflowered me, I would have loved every second. This went on for several months. Finally, I had had enough. The desire had turned to anger. He couldn't, for obvious reasons, fulfill what I wanted. His flirtation was a tease, -- he was just getting off on the fact that sixteen-year-old girls wanted to fuck him. He liked turning me on, then pulling away for a few days, not touching me or flirting at all. He had my emotions tied up in his choices, and I was tired of it. I remember the night Cara visited me after track practice very well. It was early April; spring had sprung and it was balmy, though damp. I had gone in the men's locker room to get some papers I was taking home to grade, and when I walked out, there she was. She wore a pink minidress -- pink was, I had learned, her favorite color, and it was mine as well -- and although she had had white stockings on earlier, she was not wearing them now. The dress came to about four inches above her knees. She smiled at me. "Is your day over, Mr. Larrimer?" "Yes, I was just about to leave. But what are you doing here?" "I'm here to show you exactly what I think of your mind games." "Mind games? What do you mean?" "Oh, come on, Larrimer. For the past few months, you've been touching me, kissing me, grabbing at me, dropping innuendos every time we talk. When you explain diagrams in class, you sit next to me and rub your leg against mine. You walk by my desk while the class is taking a test and you stand there, until I blush so you can get off on my infatuation with you. You're a cunt tease, Larrimer. And I'm here to call your bluff." I stared at her. She was right, of course. I had been playing around. Who could blame me? She was definitely worth touching, among other things. The way her body responded to me -- it made me feel great every time I saw what I was able to do to her. I had no intention of screwing her, but that didn't stop me from implying day by day that "good things come to those who wait." "Well?" I walked towards him, and shoved him through the doors to the gymnasium. He allowed me to go that far, then resisted. "What exactly are you thinking you will do to call my bluff, Cara?" "Only demand what you've implied you're willing to give me." "So you're going to demand that I commit statutory rape? Is that it?" "Oh, please, give me a break. As if I couldn't get you in trouble if I wanted to. People, both administrators and students, are fully aware that you've kissed me, hugged me and flirted with me. It's no secret. Some administrators are dying to get the goods on you, and you know it. If I wanted to get you in trouble --" "I'm not saying you want to get me in trouble. Whether you do anything is irrelevant." "I wasn't planning on leaving any proof," I said. "Were you?" "I *am* not planning on doing anything close to what you seem to be suggesting," he said, but still with that maddening smile. "You prick! Who the hell do you think you are? I'm sixteen, just getting to the point where I need to work to control my -- urges when I'm interested. You were my age once, and you see kids my age every day. You know exactly what I'm going through; you probably went through something like it yourself. how dare you play around with my body and mind like that!" "You haven't complained before now." I covered the five feet or so between in one long stride and kissed him, hard. He pushed me away somewhat roughly. "What's the matter, Larrimer?" I asked. "Not up to teasing little girls tonight? All out of candy? Or is it performance anxiety? Is that it? Maybe that's why you fuck around with our minds; you don't get any of the real thing because you can't get it up. Starting to slow down in middle age, are you?" He laughed. He allowed me to put my arms around him and accepted the kiss this time. I felt a rush of heat wash over me as our tongues met. I wanted to leap inside him, be enveloped by him and my need for him. I wanted to convey the burning desire that had built and built over the past several months. I slid my hand under his shirt, sliding it lightly up his chest. He broke the kiss and attempted to pull away from me, but I clung to him, my other hand grasping at his hair. He laughed and tried to shove me away. "Cara, I can't give you what you want. You know that?" "Yes, you can. You can and you will, unless you're missing something terribly important for what I have in mind." I wanted her. I could feel myself giving in steadily to the need in her eyes and in her lips and hands. I knew better; I had to refuse. Especially here -- for Christ's sake, we were at the damn school. For all either of us knew, a janitor would stroll in any minute. She had her hands at my zipper now. I yanked myself away. She grabbed at me, sliding her leg in between mine. Suddenly, she jabbed her elbow into my ribs; I stumbled, and she shoved my right leg out from under me with her foot. She used the momentum to yank me to the floor. She rolled on top of me and began grinding against me. I looked into her eyes and knew I wasn't going to win this one. I would have to fight her physically to get her to give up, and that might get me in more trouble, -- since she was likely to have visible signs of the struggle and likely to be angry enough to use them against me. Besides, I wanted to fuck her; I really did. I just didn't want to get caught. She pressed her lips against mine again, her eyes closing. She probed me fiercely with her tongue, and I felt myself pushing against my jeans. My cock wanted out -- and then in. She ground her pelvis against me, obviously wanting to feel my hard-on. She grasped at my zipper, yanking it down and shoving her hand inside. I fought her tongue back into her mouth as she grabbed my cock and began stroking me fervently. I rolled over, taking her to the floor underneath me and pressing down against her. She shuddered and dug her nails into my neck, arching her body up to meet mine. She wrapped her legs around my lower back and writhed rhythmically against me. Her dress was hiked up to her waist and I discovered that she wore no panties. I kissed her deeply as I plunged three fingers inside her. She gasped, and her body shook, her pussy becoming immediately more moist. Shit, she came already, I remember thinking. This one really wanted it all. * I couldn't believe it had worked. Here we were, making out on the gym floor. It was wrong and we might get caught. I could get pregnant; he could get arrested. But I didn't give a shit. I wanted him so, so much -- I would just deal with the consequences later, if there were any. "Please," I said into his ear, "please, do it. Now." He smiled at me and nuzzled my neck, and I was lost, floating in a sea of fire as he kissed and nipped my neck. I traced his ear with my fingers, my body trembling with the need for him. Would he EVER fuck me? His jeans came down and he kicked them off. Oh, finally! I grabbed him hungrily and yanked him down on top of me, spreading my legs and arching to meet him. My body was screaming for him -- I felt as if my insides would explode if he didn't get inside me within a few seconds. There, finally. Oh, yes! He pushed hard against me, and I let out a small scream as he rended my virginity. He dove in completely and I just lay there, feeling him fill me, stretch me to give me what I needed and wanted. He began to move inside me, slowly and sensually, and I just lost all awareness of absolutely everything -- that it was wrong, that we should go somewhere else, that I should've been home hours ago, that he could do absolutely anything to me -- I was completely vulnerable. Nothing mattered but the fact that the void was being filled. He reached up under my dress and grabbed my breasts. He began to kiss me, and gradually increased the speed and force of his thrusts. I spread myself further to him, and moved my head up to allow easy access to my throat. He nibbled lightly at my neck, sending sparks everywhere. My body was conducting the feel of him everywhere; I never knew I could feel so much at one time. I pushed inside her; -- holy shit, it felt great to fuck a virgin. Well, virgin no more. She closed around me, hot and tight. The look of pain and a little cry gave way quickly to a look of sheer lust. She lay there a while, just feeling me. I could tell she was doing nothing but concentrating on me -- quite an ego booster, Cara was. Then, she began to move with me, grabbing me, wrapping her legs around me and making her cunt contract around me. Oh, shit, this was one night I wasn't going to forget easily -- and I hoped fervently I wouldn't regret it. Well, I don't. The End Pretend to spank me; I'm a pseudo-masochist. If you harm no one, do what you will.