Using my teacher taboo s.., p.1
Using My Teacher: Taboo Student Romance, page 1
Copyright 2022 by Blue Sky Books - All rights reserved.
In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.
Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.
Using the Teacher
New Adult Romance Collection
By: Blue Sky Books
Table of Contents
Using the Teacher
Free Bonus Stories
Using the Teacher
Teaching My Dad's Boss
Stay away from the Babysitter.
Camping With My Dad's Boss
My Stepbrother, The Football Star
The College Rockstar
Mr Learner
Mr Giovanni The Teacher
The Exchange Student
The Baseball Rock Star
The Perfect Touchdown
Schooling the Boxing Champ
Taken by the Bad Boy Biker
The Nameless Rider
Keeping it a Secret
Tempted by the Football Star
Bad Crush for My Dad's Best Friend
The Babysitter he couldn't resist
The Football Rock Star
The Hockey Rock Star
Mr. Tabor The Doctor
Mr Lance The New Teacher
Taken by Her Dad's Boss
Forbidden Touch
Hunter’s Catch
Taboo in Thailand
Hard as Steel
Stay Away from Best Friend's Father
Taken by Her Dad's Best Friend
The Object of the Babysitter's Desire
Using the Teacher
Cassie stumbled through the party, past the couples kissing on the stairs, past the jocks with their too-tight t-shirts and their hungry eyes, past the girls in skirts so short you could see the bottom of their asses, past the kegs and past the bottles upon bottles of spirits. She needed to find Mike and Simone. If she could find her boyfriend and her friend, she could get out of this party, go home, take a shower, cool off. She wasn’t drunk . . .
Liar!
She stumbled, propped her hand on the wall, took a deep breath. She hated being drunk. It was a horrible sensation and when she was drunk she never understood why she had wanted it to happen. She stumbled to the sink, barging some guys out of the way, and splashed cold water in her face. She heard laughter, as though from very far away, but she ignored it. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered right now except getting out of here.
She had no idea where Mike and Simone had disappeared. One minute – or so it seemed, but when you’re drunk who knows about time – they had been right there, and the next they had turned into mist. Water dripped down her face as she stumbled around the house. More people muttered at her. She ignored them, pushed through. “She’s wasted!” was the general consensus. She couldn’t argue with that.
She found her way into the garden, where around half a dozen men and women stood in circles smoking, and not just tobacco. Cassie could smell the weed as it was thrust into her face. Somebody asked if she wanted some. She brushed it away with the back of her hand, winced as the flame touched her skin, and then frantically wiped ash away. Somebody cursed at her; she cursed them right back.
“Seen Mike?” she grunted, at nobody in particular.
“Upstairs,” somebody replied.
Upstairs! Oh, if only it were that simple! She had quite the journey ahead of her, she knew. Here was Cassie Stark, one of the top students in her history class, a blossoming expert on early eighteenth-century history who had written an essay on Justices of the Peace which Dr. Martin Conway – Simone’s dad, her teacher – had shown to the class—here she was, on the verge of barfing, struggling even to mount the looming staircase.
Come on, you can do it! Come on!
She gripped the railing and struggled up the stairs, one step at a time, bringing a whole new meaning to baby steps. Finally – she was actually panting – she was at the top of the stairs. She barged into the bathroom, was shouted at, backed out. She barged into two more rooms before she him. Them!
It took her a moment to realize what she was seeing. She thought she was seeing double, but then, why would Mike be kissing himself? He was kissing somebody. Right there, in front of her, he was kissing somebody. The woman moaned. She knew that moan, that voice. Her best friend, Simone, was kissing her boyfriend.
“What the fuck!” she roared.
They fell apart, spun, squinted at her.
What happened next was a blur of croaked insults and bubbling rage. She had found her way onto the street and was trying to pull out her phone to call a taxi. She wished she was sober. Mike was next to her, she thought, muttering. But Simone was nowhere to be seen. Simone, her best goddam friend, had stayed in the house, most likely waiting for Mike to return so they could get back to it.
Mike went on and on: “I’m sorry. I’m really drunk. It didn’t mean anything. I only want you, babe. I’m so, so sorry. I don’t even like her. Fuck, I’m an idiot. I’m such an idiot. Please, don’t be angry. I know how that sounds. I know, it’s stupid. How couldn’t you be angry? But . . . damn it, just talk to me, look at me!”
Cassie did not look at him. The only thing she looked at was her phone, focusing with all her energy on finding the number of the taxi company in her contacts’ list. Finally, she found it. She pressed the green button and held the phone to her ear. Then, suddenly, the phone was out of her hand. She looked up; Mike had taken it.
“Talk to me!” he pleaded.
“Go back in the house,” she grunted. She reached into her pocket, took out her purse, and found the condom she kept there. She flung it at him. “There you go!”
The condom bounced off his chest. He had the cheek to look disgusted. Him, the man who had just ruined their relationship, who had just ruined her friendship with Simone, looked disgusted with her! She took a step forward, meaning to grab her phone, but he took a step back, keep a distance between them.
“Come on,” he said. “Don’t overreact. I was drunk. It was a mistake. Are you really going to throw what we have away for one mistake?”
Images flitted in her mind. His hand had been under her shirt, groping. Her hand had been down his pants, rubbing. It had not been a mistake. It had not been a quick kiss. They were going all the way. If she had been five minutes later, she would have caught them fucking. She had no doubt of that at all.
“Gimme,” she breathed, pointing at the phone. “I never want to see you again. Just . . . gimme.”
She darted her hand out, grabbed the phone, and tried to yank it from his hand. He tightened his grip. Then she heard Simone’s voice behind her. “Mike, what are you doing? You said you wanted me!”
“You can have him!” Cassie snapped, trying to yank the phone away from him. Something hot and wet and salty slid down her cheek and into her mouth. Tears. Was she crying? Why the hell was she crying? “Just give me my phone!”
Eventually, she managed to wrestle it from his grip. She was aware that Mike and Simone were arguing somewhere in the background. It seemed that Simone, who had been Cassie’s friend since the first year of college, was in love with Mike. And it seemed that Mike, the man she thought was different to all the jerks, had told her she loved him. He wanted both of them. He didn’t come right out and say it but that was the message; it was obvious.
Cassie held the phone to her ear, mumbled the address, and waited for the taxi.
“Are you really leaving like this?” Mike said.
“Why do you care if she leaves?” Simone hissed.
“Look at the state she’s in.”
“She’ll get over it. Come back inside.”
“Shouldn’t we wait with her?”
“Do you love her, or me?”
“Both of you, dammit!”
“Both of us!” Simone knelt down next to Cassie. Cassie had sat on the curb without realizing it. “Did you hear that, Cassie? He loves both of us. That’s funny, because the other day when we were fucking, he told me he only loves me. Isn’t that odd?”
“Why are you trying to hurt me? It’s over, isn’t it? You don’t have to hurt me, Simone.”
“Jesus, you think you’re so special!” Simone broke out. “Always Mrs. I’m Better Than You. Don’t you get it that some people don’t like that type of attitude?”
“Whatever,” Cassie sighed. “Just . . . whatever.”
The taxi pulled into the street. Cassie climbed to her feet, tottered, and walked on shaky steps to the taxi. Out of the window, she saw Simone throw herself at Mike; and she saw Mike hesitate, but only for a second, and then wrap his arms around her, and whisper something in her ear. I love you or I’m sorry or forgive me. All things he had just said to Cassie: things that piece of shit would say to anyone as long as they had tits and a vagina; things a shallow asshole bandied about without distinction.
“Where to?” the cab driver said.
She told him. He drove.
Cassie forced herself not to look out of the window, not to watch the happy couple as they embraced and loved. She couldn’t stand it. She told herself she didn’t care, it was over, etc. But her chest felt hollowed out, like the inside of a pumpkin at Halloween. Somebody had spooned out her insides and she was
nothing but a ribcage protecting a blank space.
Back in her apartment, she keeled over the toilet and vomited, over and over, as though she could vomit away the pain. Then she lay in her bed, curled in a ball, and fell into a deep, drunken sleep.
*****
For a second when she woke up, she forgot that everything had changed. She was in that semi-conscious state, which usually lasts a few seconds but which can last for much longer if you’re full of wine. She expected Mike to lean over, ask her if she wanted breakfast, laugh about something she had done the night before. But his hand did not brush away her hair. His lips did not find her skin. No, she thought, because his hand is brushing away Simone’s hair, his lips are kissing her neck.
She rolled out of bed and to the bathroom, into the shower. Blasting cold water helped to wake her up, helped to come to terms with reality. She experienced a wider range of emotions in the five minutes she was in that shower than she had for the past six months. Her mind – her heart – had been disrupted. At first, she was upset, desperately so. She cried and couldn’t tell if it was shower water or tears which slid down her cheeks. This lasted for two minutes. Then she was regretful. Maybe she should have forgiven him: thirty seconds. Next came the longing to have his hands on her: another thirty seconds. Then, from somewhere deep inside of her, came the rage. Red-hot rage.
It was the kind of rage she had never felt before and had never expected to feel. It was a volcanic rage; it came from a pit somewhere deep inside of her and bubbled up and then erupted. She had been about to brush her teeth. She tossed the toothbrush against the wall and screamed, staring at herself in the mirror: a dripping wet animal, teeth bared, ready for war.
Who, she wondered, did these people think they were? Who were they to make her feel like this? Who the fuck were they to make her feel small, unwanted, pathetic? Did they think they were special? Did they think they were better than her? A hundred memories swam in her mind. She saw Simone laughing over the rim of her glass and giving eyes to the bartender. She felt Mike’s hands as he nervously cupped her breasts for the first time. She saw the three of them at the zoo, Simone holding the camera and taking her and Mike’s picture. Had it started then? Before then?
The toothbrush had fallen into the grimy space behind the toilet. She got a fresh one out of the packet she kept in the cabinet behind the mirror and brushed her teeth so hard that when she spat out the paste it was mixed with blood from the gums. Revenge—that was what she needed.Old-fashioned, satisfying revenge.The only thing she had to work out was what form her revenge would take.
She thought about it as she made the scrambled eggs, as she toasted the bread. She could kill then. She found some satisfaction in imagining how this would go. She would say she wanted to talk, lure them hear, and then lock the door and get a knife or a bat and beat or stab them until they couldn’t move anymore. But she was no killer, and there was the question of prison. She wouldn’t do so well in prison. No, she needed a revenge that was legal but still painful.
It came to her when she was washing the dishes.
Dr. Martin Conway, Simone’s dad and Cassie’s teacher, was a handsome man. Simone had father issues. She’d told Cassie one night in winter that she’d always felt that her father was distant. Well, get ready, bitch, because he’s about to be more that distant.
That was what she would do, then. She would seduce her friend’s – ex friend’s – dad, her teacher, and she would make the bitch pay.
*****
Sitting in class, she watched Dr. Conway. He was around forty five years old, with a clean-shaven, square jaw and dark green eyes. His hair was black with flecks of gray, and he let it hang down around his shoulders. He wore suit pants and a shirt tucked in, with brown shoes. He looked like a hippie professor if Cassie had ever seen one. They were discussing the judicial system in London, but Cassie was hardly focusing on that. She needed to know how to get this man to want her, how to take him, how to get her revenge.
That was her goal and she would achieve it.
When the class was over, she stayed in her seat until everybody else had left. Then, she approached his desk. Her heartbeat was in her mouth. She had heard people say that before, but she had never known what it meant until now. Every time her heart beat, it thudded in her tongue. She had worn a summer dress which showed her legs, a dress which showed the tops of her dress. She had seen the men in class looking at her; maybe it would work on Dr. Conway, too.
“Is there something I can help you with, Cassie?” he said.
It was as though something had taken her over. What she did next was so unlike her that later she would wonder if she had really done it or dreamed it. She leaned across the desk, making sure that he could see down her bra. He did; she saw the moment his eyes flickered there. “Yes, I think there is, sir,” she said.
“Um, Cassie, is everything okay?”
“I’m struggling really hard with the essay.” She put emphasis on the hard.
His Adam’s apple shifted when he swallowed. His eyes were fixed on her breasts. He was breaking all the rules just by looking at her like that and he knew it, but he didn’t seem to be able to take his eyes away. They both knew that she wasn’t struggling with the essay. She had shown him her first draft and he had told her it was excellent.
He played along, though, which told her he was game. “Oh, you are?” He fiddled with his pen, clicking and unclicking it, his dark green eyes fixed on her pert breasts. “That’s . . . I’m sorry to hear that. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Maybe we could meet privately,” she said, and her voice left no ambiguity as to what this meant.
“Privately,” he repeated.
“Maybe I should give you my phone number, sir?”
Without waiting for him to reply, she took the pen from his hand, pulled his notebook across the desk, and wrote her phone number at the top of the page. She slid the notebook back across the table. She was about to give him the pen, too, when a thought occurred to her. It was the kind of thing Cassie Stark never did. It was wild and scary and strange; it was completely out of character. She brought the pen to her lips, making sure he was looking, and sucked it, slowly. Then she placed it back in his hand.
“So you’ll call me?” she said.
“Um . . .” He glanced at the door, and then nodded quickly. “Yes, yes, that should be fine.”
“Good.”
She felt his eyes on her ass as she walked out of the room. She waggled it more than usual as she walked out, knowing that he would not be able to get it out of his head. She saw Simone’s face, saw her crying as she had cried, and felt a vindictive pleasure. Good, she thought. So it begins.
She met Alexander on the bus. She vaguely knew him from one of her other classes. He was a writer – he had actually been published in a few science fiction magazines –and was kind and funny.
“How’s it going?” he asked, taking the seat next to her.
“Not bad,” she said. She wasn’t sure why she told him. She barely knew him. “Mike and I broke up, though. He’s with Simone now, I think.”
“Ouch,” Alexander muttered. “That’s rough.”
“Yep,” she agreed.
“If you want to hang out, ever, I’d be happy to.”
“Okay, yeah, maybe.”
She wasn’t a fool. She knew what that meant. She was single and so was he. But she couldn’t hang out with him. She had a mission and he wasn’t part of it. Maybe one day, when all this was over, she would rethink it. But right now the red-hot rage in her belly wouldn’t allow her to consider letting the thing go. She had to be stubborn, focused, unflinching. She had to brush other concerns aside and stay true to her task.
That night, Dr. Conway rang.
“Hello,” she said.
“It’s me, Martin.”
“Hello, Martin,” she said.
His voice was shaky; he was whispering. “Do I remember earlier correctly?” he said. “I do, don’t I?”
“You do,” she said. “You remember it perfectly, sir.”
“You don’t have to call me sir.”
“Don’t you like it?”
He cleared his throat. A pause, then: “Yes, yes, I like it.”
