I never intended to be a teacher much less a substitute, but life has a way of surprising you. At twenty-five, I have spent the last few years as a substitute history teacher. There are benefits, regular hours, guaranteed holidays and teaching kids your passion.
As a substitute you get to experience different schools, the lessons are also planned for you, which is a bonus. I worked for an agency in London and subbed for schools anywhere within the city limits. Originally from Canterbury, I made London my home after University, and I rarely went back to Kent.
During the summer holidays, I received a call from my old high school history teacher, Mr Wood. Woody, as everyone called him, was the most enthusiastic and eccentric history teacher you've ever seen. Although in his fifty's and a bit pompous, he knew how to engage with kids and make history relevant, even entertaining. He's one of the main reasons I loved history, he's also the reason I became a teacher, he suggested it and even helped me with essay questions at Uni.
Woody had cancer, the news hit me hard, he always seemed indestructible, so full of life. Thankfully the prognosis was good. He didn't want to teach whilst going through chemo. He had seen how it destroyed his wife Helen. I think he was scared. She had died five years ago of breast cancer. Leaving Woody and his two daughters behind. Woody didn't want his daughters to lose another parent so soon.
He had arranged with the school to take a year's sabbatical. The only caveat was, he had to find his temporary replacement. I was flattered he thought of me. He had all the lessons planned and ready to go. The only issue was that I would be covering all his classes, even sixth form. That meant teaching A-level history, something I had no experience in.
Woody assured the school I was up to it, even offering fortnightly mentoring sessions with me, to make sure everything went smoothly.
I jumped at the chance to help him, he had done so much for me. It did mean moving back home for a year. Not to mention uprooting my life. I rented out my London flat, put my things into storage, and moved back to the family home in Canterbury. My parents knew what Woody meant to me, and I think my mum was looking forward to having me home for a bit.
I moved into my old room above the garage. It was like a studio flat, my dad had built it to teach me to be independent. Its best feature was its outside entrance. This meant that at twenty-five I didn't have to sneak into the house after l went out for a drink with the lads.
That's exactly what I had in mind the last Saturday before school started. I met up with a few old school friends and had a right good session. We did the traditional pub crawl, though this time we didn't get kicked out for being underage. late in the night, Steve suggested we hit a club. I hadn't been clubbing since Uni but went with the flow. I had forgotten it was freshers week, but I was sure that was why Steve suggested it. All those young, fresh-faced eighteen-year-old girls who might take pity on him.
We went to the Works, the biggest club in the city. It had three floors and lots of dark cubby holes to get lost in. I thought we wouldn't get in. Usually, you need a student ID to get in at freshers, to stop creepy old gits like Steve. He had an arrangement with the bouncer. Something to do with the paternity of his niece.
The club was already jumping when we entered, we made our way to the top floor. It didn't take long for us to separate, guys went off prowling. I wasn't interested, the last thing I needed was to be distracted by women. I ended up sitting in a booth drinking on my own. I was getting bored and just about to leave when a girl asked if she could share the booth.
She was very cute. Shoulder length, dark-brown hair. Big brown eyes and wearing hot pink lipstick. She was wearing a pale pink dress, that hugged her subtle curves and ended halfway down her supple thighs. She was petite, with small tits and a tight little bum. She explained she needed somewhere to hide from a creepy guy, who kept feeling her up on the dance floor.
"No worries, you here on your own are you?" I asked.
"I came with my sister and her friends but we got split up, this place is huge. I'm Abby" She gave a little smile.
"You enjoying freshers? What are you studying?" I asked trying to make this less awkward.
We talked for a while, she was a history student at the University of Kent, in her first year. She was from Canterbury which gave us loads to talk about. She slid closer to me, to save us shouting at each other over the music. I could smell her perfume, sweet apple. Reminded me of the cheap perfume the girls at school drowned themselves in. I got us a couple of drinks from a shot girl.
We spoke mostly about her and History, getting on well. There was subtle flirting going on, a hair flick here, a touch of the arm there.
"So does your boyfriend go to Kent too?" I asked with a smile.
"Subtle" she laughed. "No, I'm single actually. How about you?"
"Unattached at present," I replied.
"In that case, there's no excuse not to dance with me, come on" she giggled, pulling me to the dance floor.
Now I'm no slouch when it comes to dancing. This girl though was pure fire. She swayed and shimmied to the beat, pulling me close to her. We moved our bodies to a slow, sexy beat. She pushed up against me and pulled my hands around her encouraging me to explore.
The feel of her, grinding into me made my cock enlarge. I know she felt it, she kept rubbing her bum right into it. The dancing turned to full-on, bump and grind. We were both getting heated, she tilted her head and I took the opportunity to kiss her neck. Her hand reached to pull my lips to hers and we shared a small kiss. We continued to dance for a few more songs until we were properly warmed up.
The feel of her hot little body on mine and the smell of perfume drove me wild. I brushed my hands over her bum squeezing and groping. She pulled on my neck to give me another fiery kiss. Her tongue snaked inside probing. I sucked on it and returned the favour, exploring her mouth with my tongue.
Braking our kiss she looked into my eyes and mouthed the words. "Wanna play," I nodded and she took my hand and led me through the club. I was surprised when she took me away from the stairs. Instead, leading me to the back of the club, right into the unisex toilets. Pulling me straight into a cubical, she locked the door and jumped into my arms.
Judging by the noises from other cubicles we weren't the only couple getting freaky. The moans, groans and sounds of fucking added to the charged atmosphere. We devoured each other's mouths. She nimbly undid my jeans and slipped them down my legs. Pushing me against the door, she slid down and kneeled in front of me. Kneeling on my jeans, she saw the outline of my large cock in my boxers. She looked up, her eyes had a hunger in them, a burning need.
She slowly stroked down my shaft, then slid my boxers down to my ankles. My hard seven-inch cock sprung out and hit her in the cheek. Laughing she licked her lips and grasped my cock with both hands. Spitting right onto my throbbing dick, she began stroking it slowly.
This was wild, I looked down at this cute little sex kitten stroking my cock, enjoying the sensation. Abby took her tongue and slid it from base to tip. Opening her mouth she slurped down my shaft halfway and back up. The feel of her hot, wet mouth was toe-curling. She went to town, stroking the bottom half and sucking on the rest.
Abby's definitely an experienced cock-sucker. She flicked her tongue over the tip, licking up some precum. I couldn't take it anymore. I was in danger of shooting my load before getting a chance to fuck this little slut.
