Jan. Week 4: Tuesday afternoon: Leah doesn't let Nathan play with her tits...

Leah exhaled through her nose, already done with this part.

“No,” she said, the word final. “We’re not doing that.”

She didn’t wait for him to protest before she was already inhaling him again with practiced detachment. Nate’s breath hitched, and Leah looked up at him. She didn’t care about his nerves, his excitement, the way his hands hovered uselessly at his sides like he wasn’t sure what to do with them. This wasn’t for his pleasure. This was damage control. She knew she shouldn't be doing any of this. She just wanted it over with.

She took him into her mouth without ceremony, her lips sealing around him with just enough pressure to get the job done. No teasing, no warmth—just the mechanical rhythm of her head bobbing, her tongue working in efficient strokes. Nate’s fingers twitched toward her hair, but she shot him a look sharp enough to make him freeze. *Don’t.*

He whimpered anyway, his hips jerking forward before he could stop himself. Leah pulled back just enough to glare at him.

“Stay still,” she muttered around him, her voice muffled but firm. She didn’t want his hands on her. Didn’t want his moans, his gratitude, his *reverence*. She just wanted this over.

Nathan’s breath came in ragged gasps, his body trembling with the effort of holding back. Leah didn’t slow down. Didn’t soften. She worked him with the same detached precision she used to grade papers—methodical, thorough, and entirely without passion. His thighs tensed, his fingers curling into fists at his sides, but she didn’t let up.

“Can…can…I Gughhgh can I…cum on your tits?” he asked sheepishly. His elevated vocabulary from boobs to tits would have made Leah chuckle if she wasn’t too busy sucking his cock like a champ. She could tell he was going to bust any moment and needed to make a decision quickly. In that split second, she knew that she could just swallow his load and go on home. No mess. Less time for people to ask questions about why Nathan was in her class, at home before Jonathan, etc. But she also knew that keeping Nathan satisfied would be important too.

“Ughghgh Please!?” He groaned louder.

Leah raised a hand, her palm slick with her own spit and maybe a little pre-cum, and pressed two fingers to the tip of Nathan’s cock, blocking his desperate, last-ditch attempt to aim for her chest.

“Absolutely not,” she said, voice breathy but firm, and immediately dove back down on him before he could further protest. It was a calculated move—she’d already committed to this much, and a mess on her blouse or, worse, her hair, was not in the cards today. She worked him with the focus of a surgeon, lips and tongue drawing every ounce of attention from his brain and balls alike. If anything, Nate seemed grateful to have a decision made for him and just let the pleasure take him.

It was explosive—he trembled under her grip, his knees nearly buckling before he braced himself on the edge of her desk to keep upright. Leah felt the first hot pulse hit the back of her throat, thick and insistent, and she swallowed reflexively, not missing a single drop. She kept nursing him through the aftershocks, milking him with her tongue, and the boy shuddered so hard she thought he’d short-circuit. It lasted longer than she expected, and by the time he slumped forward, spent and red-faced, Leah was sure he was going to collapse.

She gave him a couple gentle, almost affectionate licks to clean him up, then pulled back, wiping the corners of her mouth with her thumb.

“See? No mess,” she said, barely above a whisper, and was surprised at how smug she sounded.

Nathan’s breathing was noticable. He looked down at her—his teacher, on her knees, mouth ringed with glistening spit—and for a second, Leah thought she saw the faintest shimmer something else in his eyes. He was overwhelmed, maybe even grateful, and Leah wasn’t sure if that made her feel empowered or just disgusted. Maybe both. Probably both.

“Thank you, Miss Williams,” he managed, voice wobbling. “That was, like…wow.”

“If you tell anyone, I’ll kill you.” She meant it as a joke but wasn’t sure it landed.

He grabbed his pants and zipped up and grabbed his backpack, still slightly dazed. He looked like he’d just been struck by lightning.

“Oh never! Have a good one Miss Williams,” he said, and the door clicked behind him a moment later.

Leah stood in the middle of the room, feeling the aftertaste of shame and adrenaline swirl in her gut (along with Nathan's cum). She did a quick scan of the room—no evidence, no witnesses.

Not long after, she was in her car, hands trembling on the steering wheel. She stared out at the empty parking lot and watched the winter sun dip low, streaking the sky with orange and purple. How many more times could she get away with this? Was her life really so fragile? She shook her head, started the ignition, and tried not to think about what would happen tomorrow.