The phrase high school teacher sex makes me think of when my teacher seduced me for what he wanted. 

My high school teacher sex involved my woodshop teacher seducing me, rather than this being another of my blackmail sex stories. Why was I in woodshop class? We were required, and besides, it’d be a good way to meet boys. In fact, I learned a lot about men in that class- just from one man in particular. 

It wasn’t hard to guess that he was into me, really. I noticed how he’d gaze at my low-cut shirts, and how he’d ogle my ass as I bent over to reach for a plug. He’d complement my safety for pulling a plug out by the plug and not the cord, and I joked back at him that I was good at pulling things out.

So one day when he asked me to stay longer, I knew what I was getting into. He had me sand down a cabinet top, saying he was concerned with my wrist technique. His larger body pressed up against mine and his hands covered my hands as he pinned me against the cabinet. “That’s right,” he breathed against my neck.

I shivered from the warm air, and I heard him inhale. “There we go. That’s good technique. Forward, inward.” At the inward, he directed my hands to my breasts, coping a feel. I bit my lip as he brushed against my nipple piercings.

“What are these?” he asked, surprised. “Elise, did you get permission to get these?” Both his hands stopped and he grabbed both my piercings, tugging at them through my shirt.

“A-Ah,” I gasped, and trying to escape his hands, I bent my hips out, brushing my ass against his cock. Mr. Birch twisted them, and I gasped again.

High School Teacher Sex

“Very naughty, Elise,” he told me, and his hands moved under my shirt and inside my bra to tug at my nipples. “Only little whores get this.”

Then his right hand trailed down my stomach, feeling inside my panties. “And little whores get wet. Well, well. Naughty girl, Elise.”

I squirmed to get out of his grip, but he held me down, his fingers rubbing on my clit. “Shh, Elise. You’re practically begging for this, you know.”

And I was. That’s the part I hated; I was begging for it. My body was arched and rubbing up against his dick when my pussy wasn’t rubbing against his hand. I couldn’t move, pinned underneath him and the cabinet, but my ecstasy was building and building. My legs trembled as my gut got warm and flushed.

Mr. Birch bit my ear, and I squirt, right there in the wood shop office. “You’ll come back again tomorrow,” He told me, flipping me around. “Or I’ll tell everyone what a little whore you are, and you know whores aren’t believed.”

And then he pushed me into a kiss, his cock rubbing against my wet pussy in a promise for more.



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