Chronicles Of Succubus High Ch 01

Author's Note & Disclaimer: This story is the first installment of what I intend to be a series of interrelated but mostly independent short stories. This story contains graphic depictions of arguably non-consensual sex and coercion, and is intended to be read only by adults of legal age in legal contexts. All characters depicted in any sexual situation are over 18, and all events and people described are entirely fictional. Copyright 2020, Quiver. All rights reserved.

Chronicles of Succubus High

by Quiver

Chapter 1: Window Dressing

1:25. 4th period. Tom sat behind his desk in the corner as he waited for his next group of students to start filing in for their first class after lunch. They were never very focused this time of day, and on more than one occasion he'd caught a student nodding off during class.

At least this group was his senior class. The freshmen he taught during the other four periods were a lot more rowdy. Such a weird mixture of childish pranks and teen drama to contend with, always some new issue he didn't care about but somehow became his problem when it happened in his classroom. Definitely not his favorite aspect of teaching. But, with the seniors, the biggest problem he had to overcome was apathy.

He didn't really blame them for not caring about his class. He'd been teaching the same two math classes at Emery for the past 12 years, and he knew senior calculus wasn't the most exciting subject for a bunch of 18-year olds who just wanted to spend time with their friends before graduation. He had been 18 once. Probably. But it was his job to make sure these kids were ready for their college classes next year. His job to bore them every day after lunch, knowing they were counting the minutes until they could get out of this place.

A lifelong bachelor, Tom Purcell really hadn't given much thought to dating. He'd gone on a few dates when he moved to town when he started working at Emery, but nothing really came of them. He did have a little bit of a crush on the English teacher who taught a few classrooms down from his. Ms. Davis. Miss Davis? Natalie, he was pretty sure. She seemed nice enough. He hadn't had many interactions with her. It was a big school. He barely even recognized most of the faculty, much less remembered all their names. But Ms. Davis seemed intelligent and friendly. Pretty too. But honestly, he just wasn't that motivated to try to see more of her. He was pretty content to go home and watch the news, do a crossword, have some tea and go to bed. Routine was nice, and sex and romance just seemed too complicated to be worth it.

Tom really did enjoy teaching though. He'd gotten his master's degree in applied mathematics, and applied to a few engineering and programming jobs after he graduated, but had fairly quickly stumbled into a substitute teaching gig that made decent money. And he found he had a knack for explaining things, and when a permanent position opened up, he saw no reason not to take it. He saw a lot of himself in some of the nerdier kids, and it made him happy to see them start to understand the material, especially after they struggled a while with it. But it was tough most of the time. High school kids generally didn't really care about what he was trying to teach them. It was rare to find anyone who actually wanted to learn. The freshmen he taught algebra to were often too immature, and the seniors in his one calculus class mostly just wanted to leave. But at least he had his crossword puzzles, and that occasional kid who actually wanted to be there. Over all, not a bad life.

"Hey Mr. P," Jeffrey said as he entered Tom's classroom. Jeffrey was one of the good ones. Not top of the class or anything, but at least he stayed awake. He'd even ask a question or two when Tom was left with a room full of silence. Seemed like a good kid. And he always said hello. It made Tom feel like a real person instead of just some humorless old man these kids had to endure. And at 38, he wasn't even that old.

"Good afternoon, Jeffrey," Tom replied. After Jeffrey broke the ice, Tom received a few more half-hearted "Hi Mr. Purcell's" as the rest of the students filtered in.

Tom waited a few more minutes to make sure all the stragglers had a chance to find a seat.

"Okay, happy Monday everyone," he started, waiting for the few mumbled responses. "Let's get started. This week, we're continuing our discussion of limits and moving into derivatives. Who can tell me the general formula for a derivative as a limit?"

There was a long pause, most of the students had glazed over by the time he got to the word "Monday". But a few were thumbing back through their notes from last week looking for the answer.

Tom was about to start writing the answer on the board as the classroom door swung open again. Another late student, Tom thought. He glanced over and saw Bree Stevens quietly slip into the classroom and into the last remaining desk at the edge of the front row.

Tom didn't know much about Bree, except that she was doing alright in his class. He didn't think she had been a student in one of his freshman classes, but he taught so many students it was hard to be sure. He did know that she was fairly popular and athletic. She was clearly involved in several school sports, because she was nearly always in some kind of uniform. Today it appeared to be field hockey.

Tom considered for a moment whether to comment on Bree's tardiness, and he decided that he probably should say something. "Bree, please try to be on time to class," Tom said, "It is very disruptive and is not fair to your classmates."

"Sorry Mr. Purcell" Bree responded, looking not at all sorry. But she wasn't being openly defiant, so Tom decided to move on.

"Anyway, as I was saying," he continued on, writing the limit equation on the whiteboard as he discussed the relationship between limits and derivatives. He could practically hear his students' eyes closing as he continued to lecture, and for the next 45 minutes he droned on to his silent and bored audience.

As the lecture was wrapping up, Tom glanced around the room and noticed, as usual, that Jeffrey was fairly attentive. Though he was clearly sharing something amusing with Clay on his phone. Oh well, Tom thought. It's basically the end of class, no point confiscating any phones at this point. As he continued lecturing, he glanced over at Bree and noticed that she too was being particularly attentive today. She didn't seem to be taking notes, but she wasn't nodding off like the rest of the students.

The bell rang.

Raising his voice over the shuffle of papers and backpacks, Tom tried to remind the students of their homework assignment, practically yelling "Don't forget, odd numbers from section 2.5 for tomorrow!" The students barely seemed to hear him, suddenly completely alert and basically climbing over each other to get out of his classroom.

Tom walked back to his desk to put his lecture notes from today back in order. As he was opening up his file cabinet, he heard that there was still a student in the classroom. He turned his head, and noticed that Bree was still there. Perched, legs crossed, on her desk in the front row.

"Miss Stevens," Tom started to say, "ehm, Bree." He wasn't sure what caused him to use her last name. The protocol at Emery was relatively relaxed, and teachers usually called students by their first names. "Is there something I can do for you?" Tom continued, hoping to move past his odd form of address.

"I just wanted to apologize for being late," Bree said. She hopped off the desk and walked toward him.

Tom sat down and continued to put his papers away. "Oh, that. It's okay, Bree. I would just appreciate it if you tried to be on time in the future. It really is disruptive." He had honestly already forgotten about it, but really had better things to do right now than assuage the guilt of a mediocre student.

Bree reached the edge of his desk and leaned over with her arms pushed together. Tom glanced up and finally met her eyes. Such intensity there. Fucking hell. He had never noticed how insanely hot this girl was. In that plaid field hockey skirt she looked like every Catholic school girl fantasy. Bree, with her long, straight but flowing hair. She was clearly naturally brunette but had professional layers of added highlights, creating varying subtle shades of golden blonde. Bree, with her thick thighs and toned calves, her tight ass and the ample cleavage currently threatening to burst out of her way too small button-down top. Bree, with that sun-bronzed silky smooth skin and her amber eyes. Bree. Wow. She was a vision. Always had been. Tom had no idea how he had managed to get through the lecture today with this beautiful creature sitting in the corner, but he was impressed with himself.

"I know, Mr. P," Bree responded after waiting a few seconds for Tom refocus his eyes. "It was so unfair to disrupt your lecture like that, I feel so bad about it."

Her voice was so mesmerizing, Tom could barely understand what she was saying. He could almost feel her words caress his face, tingling behind his ears and down his spine.

Bree stood upright and walked behind Tom's chair, grazing his collar with her hand as she moved by. She leaned forward over against the window and gazed through the glass. Tom, sitting back in his chair, could see the curve of her ass where it met her upper thigh and couldn't help himself from staring. He saw no hint of underwear or shorts underneath that skirt.

Bree was fairly short for an athlete. But otherwise she had the classic sporty look, especially those legs. Thick thighs, muscled but with enough softness to grab into. Tom felt his cock stirring in his pants as he gazed over at Bree. He probably shouldn't do anything about it right now, though. He grabbed a notebook and placed it in his lap to cover the fabric straining from his erection.

Bree seemed to notice the move, but didn't comment on it. Instead, she stayed focused on the ground outside the window. "I have practice out there this afternoon," she said. "I had no idea there was such a good view of the field from this side of the building," she continued. And she was right, Tom noticed. Looking past her briefly, he saw that the field hockey field was almost immediately adjacent to the main high school corridor where his office was. He'd never really had much of a reason to look outside during a school day.

"Mr. Purcell," Bree said with the slightest hint of a whine in her voice, "I've never seen you at a game before." She paused. "Have you ever seen us play?" she asked.

"No," Tom responded. "Never," he continued. Bree had turned back around and was now seated on the window sill facing him.

"You should stay late after school today and watch us practice," Bree said coolly. "It would mean so much to know you're watching me play. I think I'd play better knowing you were watching me."

Tom felt his cock twitch at the repeated phrase "watching me". He had to tilt the notebook a little further away to keep his dick from knocking into it. "Sure, I could do that" Tom said, knowing deep in his soul that he would like nothing more than to spend his evening alone in his office watching varsity girls' field hockey practice. He was starting to get a little out of breath thinking about it.

Bree shifted forward on the window sill, thrust her hips forward and her knees out to the sides, and placed her hands on her inner thighs, running them up her thighs and slightly lifting the hem of her skirt. She made a show of stretching her hip flexers as she leaned left and right, sticking out her already voluptuous chest as she let out a sigh. "I'll make it worth your while," she said, seeming to drop all pretense. "Promise." She leaned toward him as she lifted herself off the low window sill, brushing her knee against the notebook in Tom's lap as she stood up.

Tom's eyes rolled back into his head at the slight pressure near his crotch. Bree ran one finger along Tom's shoulder as she moved past his chair and made her way toward the door. She grabbed her bag and slung it over one shoulder as she left the room, fingers lingering on the door frame as she gave Tom one final knowing glance.

Thankfully, Tom had a free period after his senior calculus class. For one thing, it was probably lucky that no freshmen had entered the room while he was having his

interaction

with Bree. But it also gave him some time to recover before he needed to resume his teaching. He walked around his office, trying to shake off his arousal and clear his mind before his next class. He ended up pacing the hallway a couple of times, and splashed his face in the water fountain.

He somehow managed to stagger through his last class. The freshmen in his final period were even more rowdy than usual, and so he really didn't need to do that much teaching. His mind was elsewhere, and he basically just went through the motions. He gave out a couple of detentions, and maybe some extra homework. He wasn't really sure. He was too focused on this afternoon.

After the last bell rang, the students made their usual clamor for the door, and Tom immediately collapsed into his desk chair. He had about half an hour before practice began. He thought briefly about going home instead, but as soon as the thought became clear in his mind he knew he wouldn't make it past his door before he needed to return to his classroom window. So he stood up and leaned against the wall staring onto the empty field below as his eyes glazed over.

He was jolted out of his daze by some movement on the field below. He glanced up at the clock in the back of his classroom. 4:30 already? Tom could have sworn he had leaned over against the window only seconds before. He must have dozed off or something.

He looked down onto the field and saw several senior girls in field hockey skirts carrying their sticks and bags to get ready for practice. He thought he recognized a couple of them. There was a good chance they had been in his freshman math class a few years ago, but he didn't remember their names. A short, middle-aged woman, Coach Cassidy, if he remembered right, was carrying a large mesh bag with what looked like a bunch of small practice cones and a variety of other sports equipment. Tom didn't see Bree anywhere.

Still searching for the subject of his desire, suddenly Tom felt a bristling in his pants. Awakened seemingly of its own volition, his cock began to pulse and tighten, swelling beneath the fabric of his slacks. Sure enough, as he glanced down, Bree Stevens had emerged into view and walked onto the field, her field hockey stick resting easily on one shoulder, skirt swaying as she walked confidently across the grass.

The team seemed to be ready to start practice. A few girls were stretching on the side of the field, when Coach Cassidy blew her whistle and said something to the girls. Alone in his classroom with his window closed, Tom couldn't really hear anything except the whistle and some vague voices. But the coach must have told the girls to start running laps, because they quickly grouped together at the edge of the field and began jogging along the sideline. They must have to practice running with those sticks, Tom thought, because almost all of the girls were still carrying their field hockey sticks as they did their laps around the field. Bree led the pack of girls, knees bent at the ready, constantly moving her stick back and forth as if she were actually dribbling a ball with her. It was clear she was the leader, probably team captain, especially since it was her senior year. Tom had never really seen the appeal of sports before, but Bree's skillful grace was genuinely enthralling to observe. He absentmindedly stroked the growing bulge in his pants as he watched Bree deftly twist the stick back and forth in front of her as she ran her laps.

She had said she would make it worth his while. If this was the only thing that happened all practice, Tom thought, he'd be more than satisfied with the show.

As the other girls started to show signs of fatigue, Bree seemed even more energized. She dashed ahead of the group toward a cluster of balls the coach had set up in the middle of the field, raised her stick in a big swing, and slammed one of them into the back of the goal cage. Tom could hear the metal clang of the ball hitting the cage from inside his classroom. Impressive strength, he thought.

After she swung the stick, Bree seemed to stumble a bit. It seemed a little out of character, based on her previous graceful movements, but Tom was still a bit concerned. Bree had a slight limp in her gait as she walked over to the coach and said something with a few gestures. Tom obviously couldn't hear what was being said, but from what he could tell, Bree was telling the coach that she had hurt her leg, and seemed to be asking to go sit down. Odd, Tom thought. Didn't she want him to watch her practice? She didn't seem that hurt. Why would she go sit down? Was she actually injured?

Bree walked carefully back toward the edge of the field near the bench with all the water jugs and bags belonging to the players, with a noticeable but not overly dramatic limp. Once she reached the sideline, she paused and looked toward the overlooking school building. He didn't quite catch her eye, but Tom had the definite impression that she was looking for him. From her expression, she definitely didn't seem injured. She had a smug look on her face, like she was getting away with something. Not unlike a cat who had just snatched the family bird into its mouth.

Bree leaned over to look at her supposedly injured right leg, and, still facing toward the building, lifted her right foot to rest on the metal bench as she began to press and massage the skin around her knee.

Tom's breath caught a bit as he watched Bree continue to rub her injured leg. Her skirt was hitched, but still covered her crotch, barely. He still couldn't make out any hint of fabric under that skirt.

Just thinking about what might or might not be underneath Bree's field hockey skirt got Tom hard as a rock. He firmly grasped his stiff cock through his pants, tugging more insistently as Bree continued to massage her leg.

It wasn't clear exactly where Bree was supposed to be injured. She had started at the knee, but was now moving down toward her ankle, and what she was doing could hardly be called massaging anymore. It was more like caressing at this point. Maybe she was trying to stretch her hamstring? But her knee was bent at an angle that made that not very likely. Tom didn't really care, he just wanted her to keep doing what she was doing.

As Tom vigorously rubbed his cock through his pants, he noticed a growing wet spot where a pool of pre-cum was leaking through. Oh god, how he needed release.

Bree was now moving her hands back up her leg, this time past the knee in the other direction. She pressed deeply into her quad muscle as she worked up her leg past the hem of her skirt. Now with both hands, she seemed to be performing a deep tissue massage along the entire length of her thigh. She reached up to the inner groin and pushed with both thumbs back down toward her knee.

Tom couldn't stand it any longer. He fumbled quickly with his belt and pants, desperately wrestling with his zipper so he could retrieve his pulsing cock from above his briefs. He gripped his dick with both hands and held them still for a moment, relishing the sensation of skin on skin. He knew he would finish quickly if he wasn't careful, and he wanted to make sure he got to enjoy the full show Bree had planned for him. Oh, the thought that Bree was down their performing just for him made his cock jump up, aching to cum for her.