Ayley Earns Her A

Standard Disclaimer: All characters are at least 18 years old, and all events are fiction.

__________________________________________________________________

Mr. Radley kept his back turned while Kayley used the toilet, focusing instead on getting the temperature just right in the Jacuzzi tub. He'd purposely bought one big enough to comfortably hold two people. It had come in handy more than once.

Tonight had been wild, beyond anything he'd expected of Kayley so soon. Travis had really fucked up if this was what she'd chosen to do. A goddamn three-way. Just the thought of it was enough to make his sore cock half-hard; he was very grateful he'd the presence of mind to record so much. He wasn't interested in any further sexual shenanigans tonight; between all of this and the classroom handjob, he was utterly drained. No, he just... wanted to talk? Spend time with Kayley? Yeah. Get some insight into what she was thinking and feeling right now. All of this had happened so fast, even by his standards. And the faster it went, the more likely everything was to go off the rails.

Satisfied with the water, Mr. Radley eased himself in. From behind, Kayley said, "Okay, I'm done. You can look at me again."

He eagerly obliged, taking in the girl's hourglass figure, weighty yet still perky D-cups, the pleasantly wide hips down to the bare cleft between her thighs, still red from the pounding she'd received from Mr. Elston. She flushed prettily before his examination, but didn't pause for even a moment, sliding into the tub across from him, leg smooth against his. Taking one last appreciative glance, he reached back and turned on the jets.

Across from him, Kayley sighed, said, "God, that feels good. You two practically blew out my back."

Mr. Radley wondered again at the contrast between the two Kayleys he saw. The first was a fairly meek perfectionist in every aspect of her life save her boyfriend, whom she was weirdly fixated on despite his obvious deficits. The second was wild, horny, confident enough to come on to two older men at the same time, eager for every degradation he'd pushed upon her. None of the other girls he'd slept with had such contrasting sides to their personality. Even the ones with boyfriends hadn't flipped back and forth in such a way. Usually, they were moderately guilty, at least until he showed them what experienced cock could do.

"I'm surprised I'm not completely dehydrated," he replied, relaxing back into the jets. The truth was, the only sore thing about him was his cock, a pleasant burn from all the fun he'd had today.

"I'm surprised someone as old as you didn't have a heart attack from cumming so much," she giggled, a laugh that turned into a squeal when he splashed her with water. Kayley returned the favor, until he grabbed her wrists and pulled her around to sit on his lap. It was a risky move, he realized, a different kind of intimacy from the one they'd been sharing.

Why am I doing this? he wondered, and then Kayley nestled against him, her head on his shoulder. In response, he wrapped an arm around her, palm and fingers gently stroking the soft curve of her stomach.

"Did you have fun with Mr. Elston?" Mr. Radley asked, immediately wondering if he'd made a mistake when she let out a sigh.

But she giggled again, ran a palm across his lean chest, "Yeah, I did. Didn't think that would happen, but hey, here I am."

"Here you are," he agreed.

"You're not jealous?"

"Girl, you saw me filming you two. The only thing I want to make sure of is that fucking him doesn't count towards our agreement." THAT was a mistake, her hand going still and body tense.

"No, it won't,' she replied, a chill in her voice.

An awkward silence ensued, punctuated by the bubbling of the jets. Mr. Radley felt an urge to apologize, a bizarre impulse considering, well, everything. Not knowing what to do, he instead asked, "Think you'll do it again?"

The silence stretched longer still, but some of the awkwardness was gone. Her hand resumed its exploration of his chest. She was considering the question, he realized.

Finally, Kayley answered, "Maybe. He's pretty good."

"You should, then."

"Really?" she leaned away to meet his eyes, genuine confusion on her face.

Careful, he thought, she still loves Travis.

Mr. Radley shrugged, said, "Yeah. You're young. You should fuck who you want to fuck now, not lock it up at the first opportunity. I'm not saying dump Travis. Just... be willing to explore a little before he puts a ring on it or whatever."

Her head thumped back against him. "Easy for you to say. I had this whole plan for my life, and at no point did it include, 'fuck my teachers.'"

A smile crept across his face, and Mr. Radley was glad she couldn't see it. He liked this angry side of her. It was so much more interesting than meek Kayley.

"And yet here you are," he repeated.

"Here I am," she agreed.

There was another stretch of silence. Kayley broke first, a little eep of a giggle escaping her lips, one that triggered a laugh in him, and then they were both laughing, the tension gone, her body molding against his as they quieted.

"How long have you been doing this?" Kayley asked the question in such a matter-of-fact way that Mr. Radley couldn't help but respond honestly.

"Since my third year of teaching. Not every year, though. And not always sex." He didn't know why he felt it necessary to qualify in such a way. If his answer bothered her, she didn't show it.

"Okay," she said, her head nodding against him. "How many girls? What's your body count, Mr. Radley?"

"Eleven- no, twelve now," he corrected himself, making her laugh.

"I thought it would be higher, honestly."

"Hey," he shrugged, "Sometimes I had a girlfriend."

"So classy," she said, voice drawling with sarcasm. Sobering a little, she asked, "So you never cheated?"

That was certainly a conversational minefield, one Mr. Radley had no intention of setting off. "I won't say never. And some were open relationships."

"Humph," she grunted, clearly unsatisfied, "Convenient."

The conversation lapsed then, but this time the awkwardness wasn't there. Kayley's hand explored his body, prodding and touching in a distinctly unerotic manner, even when she cupped his testicles or fondled his soft cock. He let it happen, figuring Travis had never let her see him naked, let alone be so casual in this way. Eventually her hand returned to rest on his chest, and she asked him something he never could have expected.

"So who was the first student you fucked?"

"No one you'd know. That was seventeen years ago." It was a dodge, and she knew it.

"So? You having memory problems, old man?" she teased.

Mr. Radley pinched her ass a little harder than necessary, said over her exaggerated squeal of pain, "Brat."

She laughed, "So you really can't remember, huh?"

"God. Fine," he said, "She was a brat too. Don't think you would've been friends, though."

"Why not? What was she like?"

He let out a deep breath, and started talking.

***

Eve's snotty attitude was evident from the first moment she walked into Mr. Radley's third-period Senior English class. He'd been taking roll at his computer when she came in, didn't notice her until she stood next to his desk and cleared her throat.

"Yeah?" he grunted, turning to face whoever it was, expression in his usual studied scowl. He was met with an equally displeased girl, tanned, fine features and dark eyes screwed up into the most "over it" expression he'd ever seen. Her red hair was pulled back into a long ponytail that just barely kept its thick waves in check. A white off-the-shoulder crop top almost hid the underside of her lacy purple bra, while skin tight, high-waisted black leggings accentuated the muscles of her lean legs. Athlete, probably. Very pretty, definitely.

Trouble, absolutely.

"I'm Eve. New girl. Where do I sit?" she said. Eve's voice had an edge to it, one that said, "I wish I was talking to anyone but you."

"Ah, yeah, I'm Mr. Radley," he replied, "It's a pretty full class. Only open seat is right up front."

"Of course," she rolled her eyes, and, without another word, spun and walked away. He couldn't help but admire the twin globes of her ass, firm and perfectly outlined in black nylon. At that point in his career, Mr. Radley had done nothing more than steal quick looks at the prettier girls, keeping his desires strictly to fantasy. But there was something about this new girl that stirred more than the usual inappropriate thoughts. A combination of her attitude and looks, more intense than any student he'd had yet. Eve looked like she was going to be a handful, in more ways than one. He was both glad and full of trepidation at the same time. After all, would the attitude be worth the eye candy?

Mr. Radley had ample time to consider that question over the next few weeks, as Eve took every opportunity to piss him off. She habitually came in late and loud, often on her phone. Once seated, she was seldom overtly disruptive. Instead, she showed him how little she cared about his class. She texted through lectures and slept during work time. Any reminders to get back on task were met with a raised eyebrow, if she even deigned to react. And when it came time for tests or essays, Eve simply didn't show up. Due dates and make-up sessions passed with nary a glimpse of her fiery mane, but you better believe she made every single track practice and meet.

Mr. Radley was right about her being an athlete. Track and field, hurdles her event. Some days he saw her at practice on the way to his car, couldn't help but zero in on her midriff-baring uniform as he passed. If Eve noticed him, she never reacted to his presence, completely focused on throwing her lean body over the wooden obstacles. He wasn't a sports guy, but he could tell she was very good.

On top of all of that, the crop top was the least of her dress code violations, and with her desk directly in front of his podium, he got an eyeful of each and every one. Day after day. Of course, it would be easy enough to swap another student to her desk, put her as far away as possible. Except he never did, because Eve was as hot as she was bitchy.

And she knew she was very good-looking. Everything she wore accentuated the lean musculature of her legs, and the long, shallow curve of lower back to the sudden shelf of her ass. He often imagined how his thumbs would fill the dimples on either side of her spine, fingers gripping her firm belly as he slammed her from behind. Eve must have hated restrictive sports bras; that could be the only explanation for the wisp-like camis or loose half-cups she wore at every opportunity, the latter gappy enough to give Mr. Radley lengthy glimpses of pink nipples on those rare occasions where the girl deigned to lean over her work, nubs pert from the cool morning breeze that flowed from the open windows.

How could she not know they were visible?

The answer, of course, was that Eve very much knew what she was doing. That had been made extremely clear one day at the end of class, when she accidentally knocked the can of loaner pencils off his desk. One careless flip of her jacket scattered them across the floor. He heard the clatter from across the classroom, locked eyes with her as she carefully stepped around the mess and kept on towards the door.

"Gonna pick that up?" he couldn't help but snap.

Eve responded with a look of pure venom, flipping back "Uh, no," with a flick of the wrist that somehow conveyed contempt AND drew his gaze to her outfit. A simple tunic dress, blue with white trim, relatively modest until the hem. There was no way she could pick up a single pencil without showing her panties. He knew it, she knew it, the five or six other students in the room knew it. Mr. Radley would've respected the power move more if it didn't piss him off so much. His face heated; by the way the other kids looked away and scuttled out of the room he understood this humiliation would be all over the school in twenty minutes flat. Eve waited until it was just the two of them and the sound of crowds passing in the hallway outside, then gave him a smirk and a hairtoss before bouncing from his room.

Was it his imagination, or was that last little flip of the hip deliberate? He discarded the idea- Eve clearly hated his guts- but took some satisfaction in the knowledge that she wore red and black striped underwear. When he jerked off that night, images of her firm ass filled his mind, and he thought about what it would be like to pull those panties off with his teeth, his nostrils filling with her athlete's odor, the damp slick of her arousal shining as he parted pale, bare lips.

Mr. Radley didn't last long after that.

It was as if Eve's every action was carefully calibrated to piss him off. From the blatant disrespect, always public, always just enough to get him angry but not to the point where he could justify kicking her out, to the way she put her body on display, every day left him frustrated mentally and physically. His every erotic fantasy was now centered on his student. How the hell could it be otherwise?

It all came to a head one cool March afternoon. The final stragglers of sixth period were at last out the door, a mix of sad puppy crushes and athletes angry about their grades. He wasn't sure which was more irritating to deal with- the j-v players who thought they had pro potential were always angry and in his face, while the girls making heart-eyes at him were either underage, homely, or frighteningly mentally ill.

Hard pass on all three, thank you.

Mr. Radley was just zipping up his bag when Eve walked in, closing the door behind her (years later, reliving this moment with Kayley, he felt a warm bloom of recognition at seeing the way the two events folded together in perverse symmetry). Her smooth face was screwed up into a scowl, the riot of her hair pulled into a messy braid that barely contained it all. His eyes couldn't help but skip across her body. She was wearing her track uniform, tight ab muscles flexing as she practically panted in rage, nipples visible where her athletic bag crossed between her breasts, pressing the fabric tight around those perfect b-cups. Her bloomers had ridden up, giving his student something of a camel toe. When he met her eyes again, he understood in one terrifying instant that she knew of every single time he'd gawked at her. The smile that graced her lips only pulled up one side, her eyes narrowed like a feral thing. She dropped the bag to the floor and stepped right up into his personal space, so that when she spoke, he could feel her warm breath on his face.

"I," Eve growled, slamming the bag to the floor behind her, "can't compete in tonight's meet. Coach just let me know an hour before start. What the fuck, Mr. Radley?"

He gave her a look at the profanity, one she returned steely-eyed, chin jutting just slightly.

"What. The. Fuck. Mr. Radley?" Eve enunciated each syllable with a foot stamp, each thud shaking more locks from her braid. He felt a flair of cold white anger at her attitude, and, attempting to regain control of the situation, stepped closer as well, looming over the redhead.

"'The fuck'" he mocked, "is that you spent the last semester fucking around and doing nothing, and now you're finding out. That's what the fuck."

Eve didn't shrink away as he'd hoped; instead, the girl seemed to get angrier, the skin of her neck and cheeks flushing a mottled crimson.

"This is SUCH bullshit," she raged, "you get all the time you want to, like, ogle my tits and you can't throw me a fucking C?"

Mr. Radley couldn't help it. His jaw dropped in shock. "Y-you were doing that on purpose?"

Eve rolled her eyes. "You think a girl doesn't know when her bits are hanging out? God, you probably don't tip strippers, do you?"

Caught completely off-guard, Mr. Radley sputtered, words dying halfway between his brain and his mouth. At last he choked out, "I tip strippers!" and immediately felt like an idiot.

With a giggle at his lame rejoinder, Eve said, "Pass me. What does it matter?"

What did it matter? a small, dark part of him whispered. He got spank bank material and she got a C. But he was still young and something resembling idealistic then, and quickly pushed any thought of conceding into the mental trash can.

"No, that's not how it goes in my classroom," he said, putting some steel into his voice, "You earn your grade through hard work."

"Oh whatever," she rolled her eyes, "half of these idiots pay people to write their essays and you pass them. At least I'm honest about my laziness."

Somehow the open admission of sloth enraged Mr. Radley further. Nothing from three years in the classroom, plus student teaching and subbing could have prepared him for this situation. At the same time, a cold throb of fear coiled up his spine. There were so many ways this could go wrong that would end his career and probably his freedom.

But when the teacher opened his mouth to speak, she shushed him with a finger, and said, "You can pass me, or I can go fill out a formal complaint for sexual harassment with the principal. What are you going to do, Mr. Radley?"

Every teacher's worst nightmare come true. Mr. Radley gawped, language wiped from his mind by the chemical stew conjured from terror and rage. Eve had his balls so tight it was a good thing he'd never wanted children. But still, words failed him. His mouth flapped open and shut dumbly. The girl looked up at him, scrunching her nose in a way that would have been cute in any other context. Here, it was a smirk of triumph.

It was that sharp smirk that cut the last thread of his self-control. She'd been humiliating him for weeks, this last lie the coup de grace on his career. Mr. Radley's blood surged, and he loomed over the girl in a way he hadn't allowed himself to yet. To his surprise (and arousal), she shrank into herself, looking unsure for the first time.

"Knock off the bullshit," Mr. Radley snarled, index finger jabbing at her, "I've had enough. I am so done with you."

Eve screwed up her face to retort, but he cut her off, stepping still closer. Her scent filled his nostrils, a spike of perspiration leavened by her jasmine shampoo. "I never asked for this. I never treated you badly. What needs to happen to get you to knock. It. The. Fuck. Off?"

Mr. Radley enunciated each word with a poke to her sternum, knew full well the physical contact was enough to damn him and not giving on single fuck. Eve, eyes wide in shock, took a wobbly step back. Her heel came down on the gym bag simultaneously with his last jab, the timing just right to send the girl sprawling on her ass. She landed legs akimbo, the shape of her pussy outlined by the restrictive bloomers. He was breathing hard, and so was she. The girl's gaze flickered down, took in his obvious arousal, her expression frighteningly unreadable.

Oh, I fucked everything up now, Mr. Radley thought.

"You like shoving girls around, Mr. Radley?" Eve asked, a stiletto-thin smile on her lips. Something in her eyes had changed, some internal decision reached. She sat up, head even with his upper thighs. Again she let him see her check out his cock. Behind and above her, the shades were open, students passing back and forth in the hallway. There was no world where this would appear appropriate. Anyone could glance over at any time, and his life would be just as ruined as if he let Eve shout her accusations from the rooftop. She continued, "Now what are you going to do?"

It was a clear challenge. A provocation as clear as when he'd made Kayley repeat, "Anything," the first time she came to him.

Mr. Radley had no memory of making a conscious decision. It was as though a switch had simply been flipped in his head. One way or another, his life was about to be ruined. Might as well have one last good time before the end.