Standard disclaimer: This story is entirely fictional, and all characters are 18 or older.
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The Principal's Daughter
I had been teaching junior and senior science at a private high school called the Bennet Academy for three years the first time I slept with a student. The work was challenging, but rewarding and fun most of the time. I was reasonably popular, with good evals from admin and no complaints of any consequence from parents. I was single, and had a lot of time and energy to put into my job- late nights, weekends spent grading; I was a workaholic and I was largely at peace with the fact. Sure, I was a little lonely, but I didn't want to deal with the hassle of apps, and hitting on strangers in bars wasn't really my thing.
Bennet's was an all-female institution, and with an aging population of instructors there weren't many outlets for all those teen hormones. As one of the younger, better-looking male teachers, I was the object of many school girl crushes. Sometimes they were obvious: Girls who let hugs linger a little longer than necessary, or undid the buttons on their school blouses just above their breasts, so that tantalizing, curved skin showed when they bent over their work. Other students kept their crushes secret, left messages on the bathroom stalls or blushed whenever I came near. I always did my best to deflect that kind of attention, even after the girls graduated. Even if they were former students, it could still lead to trouble. And trouble was one thing I preferred to avoid.
Until her.
Until the principal's daughter.
Emma Connell was her name. I knew who she was, of course, though I'd never had her as a student before her senior year. Our sole interactions had been the occasional greeting with her whenever she tagged along to staff meetings. She seemed, aside from her looks, unremarkable. She was a senior, had played varsity volleyball all four years but wasn't a team standout. Her reputation among the other teachers was good; certainly no rumors that could have prepared me for what happened. Her grades were solid A's, and although she was well-liked, Emma only seemed to have a handful of friends.
All that said, she was a very pretty girl. If this was a co-ed school, she'd have crowds of boys tailing her down the halls. Even before everything that happened, I couldn't not steal glances at her whenever she came down the hallway in the school's uniform of white blouse, blue tie and pleated skirt. Dark hair, chin-length, framed a heart-shaped face with large green eyes over a pert nose and full lips. Volleyball had given her the kind of figure that made passing cars slow: toned legs, a bit of a bubble butt, and flat tummy. Her breasts were slightly larger than perfect handfuls, straining against the confines of her blouse.
How she had come from her dad I didn't know- maybe she took after mom, but I'd never seen the woman. Principal Connell was a reedy, chinless man given to playing favorites while also trying to appease anyone and everyone who came to him with a complaint. He was the sort of boss who made decisions and then reversed them before the day was out; working for him sucked, but he mostly ignored me unless it was evals or he needed a last-minute chaperone for some field trip or game. Which is exactly how I wanted to keep things.
The school year started off perfectly normal. Emma was in my 6th period senior Physics, and for the first few weeks was absolutely appropriate. She sat one row back from the front, and did little to stand out beyond introducing herself. I've always been friendly with my students, preferring a more casual, mentoring style than the authoritarian preferences of some of my colleagues. I always asked about their weekends, circulated during labs to check in and chat. I don't think I paid her any more attention than the other girls, beyond deliberately calling on her when it seemed like she was going to fade into the background. After the first month of school, Emma warmed up considerably. She really came out of her shell, asking lots of questions, taking the lead during labs, that sort of thing.
In the mornings, she'd pop her head in to say hi, before whirling away to first period with her besties Amelia and Zoey. We'd usually chat at the start of class for a bit, usually about music, but none of those things were out of the ordinary. Nothing to set off warning bells.
Since it was right at the end of the day and her dad often had to work late, she began to stay after class. Not every day- volleyball season hadn't begun, but she still worked out at the school gym twice a week. Sometimes she would help clean up after labs, eventually did so often enough she knew where most supplies went in the store room that adjoined my class. I was grateful for this- senior labs had a lot of equipment, and the extra help meant I was able to get through everything a lot faster.
The flirting started small. One day, we had to lug tubs of supplies to the storeroom. They were heavy, and the late summer heat filled the room. After a couple of trips, we were both sweaty. As I went to heft another tub, Emma paused and started undoing her tie, slender fingers working the knot until it was loose enough to pull over her head. She dropped it on her backpack, then popped out the top two buttons of her blouse. Just enough to see the curve of her collarbone, and the start of the pale skin below. I caught myself, looked away, but her eyes met mine as I turned.
Emma laughed, said, "School's out for the day. You don't mind me breaking the dress code a little bit, right?"
"I won't write you up for it," I replied.
"That's why you're my favorite teacher, Mr. Harlow." Her smile was small, and sly. I tried to ignore the little flip-flop sensation in my belly.
Careful, I thought.
"Well, thanks. You're pretty cool too," I said, hoping that was lame enough to lower the tension. It seemed to do the trick, at least for the rest of that day.
Just that day, though.
Things escalated slowly over the next few weeks. There were the fingertips on my bare arm to get my attention. The questions about my personal life ("Not much going on there," I'd said, perhaps unwisely. "Too bad," she'd replied with a smile that told me the opposite.). She started wearing her uniform skirt rolled up just a bit at the waist, the better to show as much thigh as possible without getting in trouble. I did my best not to notice when she bent over just a little further than she needed, or reached up for a shelf she knew was too high, but lust frequently won out over discretion and I found myself stealing glances at the firm, pale undercurves of her ass.
Some days, when there was nothing to be cleaned up, she perched on a nearby table chatting away while I tried to grade and we both pretended her panties weren't visible whenever she crossed or uncrossed her legs. By September, I had a pretty good mental catalog of her underwear drawer, one that try as I might otherwise filled my head most nights until I jerked off to thoughts of her beneath me.
Emma kept it cool during class, though. I did notice that. She didn't ask to move to the front of the room, or talk about anything other than the assignments. Her behavior was perfectly proper in front of the other girls. But once that last bell rang, another side of Emma surfaced.
All of this was skirting (crossing, if I was honest with myself) multiple lines, but I told myself It was just like all the other crushes: If I ignored her, and didn't react or respond, she'd move on.
I'm not so sure I believed myself.
Then, a Friday afternoon, mid-September. I don't know why she chose that day, what finally prompted her to cross the line from flirting to seduction. Maybe she just took advantage of an opportunity. Either way, there's no changing what went down. Even if I wanted to.
