Teacher's Pet

Picture by Annabelle
Picture by Annabelle
Sneak peak by Annabelle of Chapter 2
Sneak peak by Annabelle of Chapter 2

Teacher's Pet

(another smutty short story by Jasmine Gold)


Georgia was relieved that Quentin didn't show up to the parent-teacher conference. If he had, one of a three scenarios would have played out. Georgia knew this because Delilah was their youngest child, and so she had been to many of these conferences with Quentin.

Scenario 1) He would fall asleep, but not snore.

Scenario 2) He would fall asleep, and snore.

Scenario 3) He would try to impress the teacher. He would do this by going on and on about his ideas about teaching. (Ha! He had taught high school for one year – and barely made it through that year.) Or about what the teacher should do to engage Delilah more in the class. Or about - -

Fuck this, Georgia thought. Our divorce is final, he's out of the house, and this PTSD bullshit is not getting me anywhere. It's over. Just hold onto your joy that it's over.

The door to the conference room – a room that had been a closet until a year ago, when the previous conference room had been repurposed to an art room – opened. Georgia blinked, trying to remember the name of the teacher. She was new to the school so her older kids hadn't had her. Ms. DeWitt, that was it.

"Hi! You must be Georgia's mom!"

My god, she can't be more than 25, Georgia thought. And her boobs are magnificent.

Ms. DeWitt held out her hand for Georgia to shake. Eyes up here, Georgia reprimanded herself. She tried to remember what Delilah had said about Ms. DeWitt. She liked her, she was so nice, she gave out suckers as treats. Or was that Miranda's teacher?

Ms. DeWitt sat at the table, shuffling some papers in front of her. She went through the tired rigmarole. Delilah was a great kid, these were her math test scores, this was her improvement, these were her reading scores, this was her improvement, in the spelling program she was on level K which was very good for a first grader, not that it mattered, every kid was taught to her own level. Oh please. Georgia thought.

Their ten minutes were up. Georgia hadn't said much of anything. She knew the drill.

There were two more meetings like that during the school year. Each time, Georgia noticed that Ms. DeWitt's breasts were magnificent, chided herself, and then sank into the doldrums of No Child Left Behind test scores.

But Quentin showed up to the fourth and final parent teacher conference. He went with scenario three. The ten-minute meeting stretched into twenty minutes, and was threatening thirty. He veered off track (of course), going into how wrong Georgia had been for demanding a divorce, and how he knew that it had affected Delilah terribly (not terribly enough for you to spend any time with her, Georgia thought), and that Ms. DeWitt (but he called her Trish) should do a unit on kids of divorce and how divorce is bad.

Georgia tried to intervene, knowing it would not do any good, once offering a, "there are other parents waiting," and later saying, "Ms. DeWitt doesn't actually make the curriculum." He talked over her (of course). Georgia sank into her chair.

Ms. DeWitt stood up. "Mr. Tanner," she said, "I'm only going to tell you this because I've given my notice that I'm leaving the school at the end of the year for a job I've accepted in another district. What you are saying is completely inappropriate. I'm sorry that you're unhappy with your divorce, but from everything I've observed this year and from what Delilah has confided in me, it's for the best. I suggest that rather than using this conference as an excuse to berate and humiliate your ex-wife, you focus on showing up for your parenting time and giving her a break. I really don't think that spending one afternoon a week with your kids should be that onerous, and frankly Georgia looks exhausted."

Am I dreaming? Georgia wondered. It was like a blast of pure mountain air had come through the room, blowing away all of Quentin's bad energy.

Quentin, of course, started to protest, and to go into his predictable rant about how Ms. DeWitt needed supervision. "Thank you for your thoughts," Mis DeWitt said. She stepped past him and opened the door pointedly. She looked out. "I'll be right with you," she said to whatever parents were in the hallway.

To Georgia's surprise, Quentin left. She didn't know what to say to Ms. DeWitt. "I'm sorry," was what came out.

"Don't apologize for him," Ms. DeWitt said sternly. "I need to get on to my next meeting now." Georgia meekly left the conference room.

***

Georgia was enjoying some alone time in the grocery store. Max, her oldest, was watching the younger two. She wasn't sure what she would come home to, but having spent a week on "vacation" with the kids she was desperate for an hour away from them. Day camp would start in a few days, and she would go back to work and her regular routine, and this shopping trip was going to have to tide her over until then.

She had opted for the closer grocery store rather than the nicer one. If she needed to race home the extra ten minutes would matter. And if she didn't, she could spend more time in the produce aisle.

"I'm envious of that mango you're fondling."

Mortified, Georgia put the fruit down and turned to see Ms. DeWitt. "Oh, hi –" she said. "I, um, was shopping for my kids." Duh. Of course she was.

Ms. DeWitt was wearing denim shorts that barely covered her ass. And a plain white t-shirt that had not one single stain on it. "They're real," she said.

"The mangoes?" Georgia asked, confused.

"Well, those too, but I mean my tits," Ms. DeWitt said.

Georgia blushed. "I'm sorry," she said. "I was just admiring how you can keep a white blouse clean. I haven't worn white since my oldest son was born."

Ms. DeWitt tilted her head. "At the parent-teacher conferences, when you stared at them, I'm pretty sure I was wearing patterned tops."

Georgia's face burned. "I'm so sorry," she apologized again. "I wasn't trying to make you uncomfortable. I just –" She broke off. What could she possible say?

"You're the reason I quit, you know."

"What? Oh my god, no, I'm so sorry." She was babbling.

But to Georgia's surprise Ms. DeWitt laughed. "Not because you stared at my breasts. Almost all the parents do that." She winked. "You were actually more surreptitious about it than a lot of them."

"Then why?"

Ms. DeWitt reached into the mango display and rubbed her finger against the skin of one. She didn't seem to realize she was doing it. Georgia was mesmerized by the site of the golden skin of her finger moving up and down the red of the fruit. "You would drag yourself to these meetings, obviously exhausted, and you would listen politely. You do know that only parents of problem children come after the first parent-teacher conference of the year? But Delilah was well-behaved and her grades were good, and you still dragged yourself in, and your eyes would glaze over as you listened to me give meaningless information about her test scores. And there was this one time when I told you she had scored 100 on the pretest for the unit and then scored 90 on the post-unit test and all you said was she wasn't feeling well during the second test instead of asking the obvious question which was why she had to do a unit at all if she already knew everything, and wouldn't she be better off reading a book of her choice?"

"That is what I was thinking," Georgia said. For the first time she looked Ms. DeWitt full in the face. She was startled by how beautiful she was. Her eyes were a deep brown, much darker than her skin, her nose was aquiline, and her hair had luscious curls that fell to her shoulders.

"So I quit," Ms. DeWitt said. "I found a job doing curriculum development and educational policy. I love the classroom and I love the kids, but I felt really called to this."

"That's wonderful," Georgia said, and she meant it. "I admire you for chasing your dreams." Her cell phone vibrated. It was Max, texting to ask when she would be home. "I should go," she said, adding some mangos to her cart.

"Do you want to have a drink with me sometime?" Ms. DeWitt asked.

Georgia blinked. "A drink?" she said stupidly.

Ms. DeWitt nodded. "Sure. Or whatever would be fun for you. Coffee, dinner . . ."

"I do," Georgia said, "but it's really hard for me to get away. Between work and the kids . . ."

Ms. DeWitt frowned. "Seriously? You can't handle hiring a babysitter for a couple of hours? You could just say no."

She is so young, Georgia though. She still has no idea how hard life gets.

Ms. DeWitt leaned took a step closer and whispered in Georgia's ear, "I'll let you feel my breasts." Georgia dropped the mango she was holding. It fell onto the floor and rolled. Ms. DeWitt leaned in again. "I'll let you put you mouth on them if you keep it open just as much as it is now."

Georgia took a step back and cleared her throat. "I'm straight," she said.

Ms. DeWitt laughed. "Honey, you may not be all the way queer but you are definitely not all the way straight," she said. "And what's the harm? My boobs won't get your pregnant or give you any diseases."

"Umm, okay," Georgia said, trying to act this whole conversation was no big deal – although she was absolutely certain that Ms. DeWitt knew how much she had made her pussy tingle. "Maybe Friday? I'll see if I can get a sitter for then."

"You will get a sitter," Ms. DeWitt said. She handed Georgia the mango she had been fingering.

***

Georgia spent an inordinate amount of time stressing over what to wear on Friday night. She didn't have many clothes that were not either business attire for work or mom attire for everything else. Even if she couldn't justify new clothes on top of a babysitter, she didn't have time to shop. Finally, way at the back of her closet she found a sleeveless green dress that used to be a bit big for her and now was a bit tight. It was four inches above the knee – daring for her but nothing to write home about. She went light on the makeup – no foundation, because that was a work look, and no mascara because what if she cried, which she did easily. Just lip gloss, which she actually loved, concealer for under her eyes, and some blush.

She looked at herself critically in the mirror and saw an average, somewhat but not excessively dumpy middle-aged white woman looking back at her. Brown hair that could use a trim – it kept getting stuck on her purse strap – average height, largish stomach, smallish chest, goodish butt.

At exactly 7 PM she walked into the restaurant Ms. DeWitt had suggested, a not-too-pretentious, not-too-expensive Mediterranean place owned by a local family. Ms. DeWitt was already there, and waved her over. "Am I late?" Georgia asked, although she knew she wasn't.

"I ordered us drinks," Ms. DeWitt said. The waiter appeared just then with two margaritas.

"Oh," Georgia said. "I wasn't really planning on drinking tonight –"

"Are you an alcoholic?" Ms. DeWitt asked.

"No, I drink sometimes. But the babysitter is new and she --"

Ms. DeWitt frowned. "Look, we're here on a date. I'm happy to talk about your kids a bit if you want, but I expect you to be present here with me. Your children will be fine. I'm sure you checked the babysitter's references, and it's not like the kids don't outnumber her. And all of them have cell phones."

Proving her right, Georgia's cell phone vibrated. With an apologetic glance to Ms. DeWitt, she glanced at the text. "Delilah wants to know if they can have the chocolate ice cream for dessert."

"Don't answer it." Georgia blinked. Ms. DeWitt reached her hand across the table and took Georgia's cell phone. "I'll look at the texts as they come in. If anyone broke a leg I'll give you your phone back." She typed something into the phone in that rapid way that Georgia had never mastered. "I told her you won't be responding to non-emergency texts, and she should tell the others." She put the phone face up next to her plate. "Now, have a drink."

Georgia looked around uncomfortably. "I think this was a mistake," she said. "I haven't dated since –" She stopped. Ms. DeWitt just looked at her calmly. "I'm always in charge of everything. I have to be. I'm not good at – at this."

Ms. DeWitt looked nonplused, but then comprehension dawned on her face and her expression changed to an almost wolfish leer. "Ah, a petulant child," she said. "Excellent. I've had a year of dealing with misbehaving kids with calm words and timeout chairs." She took a sip of her drink and licked her lips. Georgia was fascinated by the movement of her tongue before her words sank in.

"How else would you deal with a petulant child?" she asked.

Ms. DeWitt seemed pleased at the question. Georgia realized that she had stepped into her trap. She met Ms. DeWitt's eyes and could not look away. Ms. DeWitt spoke slowly. "With a petulant child who is actually an adult, who has agreed to meet me for a date and then been quite rude –" She grinned lasciviously. "Oh, the possibilities are endless." She seemed to lose herself in thought for a moment. "It's time for you to choose."

"You mean between calm words and a timeout chair?"

Ms. DeWitt clucked. "There's that naughty girl again. I mean, you choose whether you want to continue with me. If you don't, go ahead and leave now. You can catch a movie or something since you've got the babysitter."

Georgia thought about it. She should go. She didn't belong here. But – "You said you'd let me touch your breasts." She was shocked by how whiny she sounded. She looked around again to make sure no one had heard.

"You should be more accurate," Ms. DeWitt said. "I said you could touch them and suck them." She jutted them out a bit. She was wearing a tight black tank top that was cut low enough that Georgia could see the tops of the luscious curves. "And you're right, I shouldn't go back on my word. So if you want to end this date we can go into the restroom and you can have one minute in a stall with me."

"That sounds sordid," Georgia said.

"Oh, such a sophisticated word for a petulant child," Ms. DeWitt said. "You can always go with choice number 2."

"Which is?" Georgia asked, torn between nervous and – hopeful?

Ms. DeWitt sat up ramrod straight in her chair. "Which is that you stop being annoying. You have a sip of the drink I ordered for you. You eat the meal I will choose for you, with some limited input from you. You will be polite and ladylike the entire evening. You will do your best to be a good conversationalist. And, then, after dinner, we will go to my place. You will fondle and suckle my breasts. And then you will allow me to punish you for your insolence earlier this evening in a manner of my choosing."

Georgia's mouth went dry. "Will I have a safe word?" she asked.

Ms. DeWitt grinned. "I see my little brat has read Fifty Shades of Grey and thinks she knows something about the life." Georgia sputtered in protest. Her smut reading had begun long before Fifty Shades came out, and back when she had time for friends some of them had been into kink. Ms. DeWitt ignored her. "Yes, you will have a safe word of your choosing and I will always honor it. Do you trust me on that, Georgia?" Georgia nodded. "Say it out loud," Ms. DeWitt demanded.

"I trust you, Ms. DeWitt," Georgia said. She picked up the margarita and took a sip.

***

Georgia couldn't remember the last time she had had so much fun. She barely minded that Ms. DeWitt ordered for her, since she had asked about her allergies and preferences beforehand. She probably would have chosen the same chicken margherita for herself, and it was delicious.

Ms. DeWitt asked Georgia about herself, and she found herself rambling on a bit. She tried to make it a point not to complain about Quentin, or her life situation in general. It made people think she was a loser. It made her think she was a loser. But she revealed to Ms. DeWitt some of the better aspects of her defunct marriage, and her current life. Quentin had some good qualities (not in bed, she responded to Ms. DeWitt) which over time had been outweighed by his narcissism. Her kids were loves. She rarely spoke about her work life to people who were not forensic accountants like herself, but the fact was that she was stellar at her job, and she loved it. Yes, she could earn a lot more if she worked in the private sector instead of for the state, but the benefits were good and the hours allowed her to be a mom. She found herself adding that when the kids were older she planned to open her own practice. She was amazed she had said that – she hadn't even realized it herself until that moment.

Ms. DeWitt shared about herself. Her father had been an army intelligence officer who had been killed in Afghanistan when she was eight. He had been a bit of a weird match for her hippie mother, but they had worked. After her dad died her mom did her best to raise a mixed-race child in an almost exclusively white town. Ms. DeWitt had escaped to Howard University, which she loved. She didn't realize she wanted to be a teacher until she graduated, so she had waitressed while getting her teaching certificate. She actually missed waitressing. She had thought about going back to it for the summer, but she wanted to take a break before starting her new job.

When Georgia didn't comment Ms. DeWitt asked her what she was thinking. Georgia was silent for a moment before answering. "It's a little rude," she said. "I don't want to break the rules."

"I give you permission. Go ahead and tell me."

"It's just that you're so young," Georgia said. "You see life as so full of possibilities, with door after door opening for you."

Ms. DeWitt rolled her eyes. "You feel okay saying that to a black girl?" she asked. Georgia stammered something. Ms. DeWitt cut her off. "It's okay, sweetie, I'll let you off on that one. We're too new to have the race conversation. Just don't tell me that you don't see color or we are done."

"Can I tell you that I love the color of your skin?" Georgia asked. "It's like the color of the really good honey at the farmer's market, the unfiltered amber kind."

Ms. DeWitt signaled the waiter for the check. "But you also think I'm green," she said. Georgia smiled in appreciation at the pun. "And I get that. But maybe your experience has taught you the wrong lessons. Maybe you need to go back to being open to possibilities. Maybe that will help you be less exhausted, and to find the fun again."

To her embarrassment Georgia's eyes pricked with tears. "I would like that," she said.

The waiter put the check between them. Georgia reached into her purse for her credit card but Ms. DeWitt shook her head. "Give some of your power over to me," she said. "Tonight is my treat." Georgia started to protest. Ms. DeWitt interrupted her. "The proper response is to say thank you," she said sternly.

"Thank you, Ms. DeWitt," Georgia said.

"You're welcome."

***

They each drove their own cars back to Ms. DeWitt's apartment. What am I doing? Georgia asked herself. Being open to possibilities, she answered. She smiled.

She was a bit taken aback by Ms. DeWitt's somewhat rundown apartment, although she wasn't sure what she had expected given Ms. DeWitt's age and the housing market. She immediately knew what the layout would be because it was a standard apartment in a three decker. To the right of the front door was the living room, which had a large opening into the dining room. The small kitchen was behind. A hallway to the left of these rooms opened into three bedrooms and a bathroom.

"You have roommates?" Georgia asked.

"Yeah, but they're both away for the weekend." Ms. DeWitt led Georgia to the second bedroom. Georgia stopped in the doorway, surprised. While the rest of the apartment seemed secondhand, with its wood flooring that badly need polishing and mismatched thrift shop furniture, Ms. DeWitt's bedroom was . . . well, as luscious as her boobs. A queen sized, extremely comfortable looking captain's bed was covered by a scarlet-colored satin bedspread, a color that was repeated in the pattern of a throw rug and the abstract paintings of the wall. There were a couple of bookshelves and a large antique dresser. And a tall, off-white plush chair with no arms that gave Georgia a thrill. Altogether, the room gave off an aura of opulence and taste.

One of the windows had an air conditioner in it, which Ms. DeWitt turned off. "The noise gives me a headache," she said, "but let me know if you get too hot." With a swift motion she pulled her tank top over her head and turned so that she was facing Georgia. She wasn't wearing a bra.

"Oh my god," Georgia said. "I think I'm too hot."

Ms. DeWitt laughed. "You're not disappointed?"

"They're beautiful," Georgia said reverently, staring at them. "You're beautiful."

"Describe them to me, and once you've pleased me with your description you can touch them." Ms. DeWitt sat on her bed, posing.

Georgia licked her lips. "They're big, and round, and they don't sag," she said. Ms. DeWitt rolled her eyes in displeasure. "They're like the mangos in the grocery store." Ms. DeWitt shook her head and reached for her tank top. "No, I mean, because the perfect mango isn't too hard, because then it's not ripe, and it's not too soft, because then it's rotten, and even though I'm sure your boobs – your breasts – are soft, they're perfect for what they are. They're just right." Ms. DeWitt put her tank top down. "And your nipples – I love how they're just a shade darker than the skin around them, like a work of art. And they're the perfect size, like -- like M&Ms, only pointy."

"Okay," Ms. DeWitt said with a laugh. "I'm giving you credit for effort. Come to me." Georgia didn't have to be told twice. "Now ask me nicely."

"Ms. DeWitt, may I please touch your beautiful breasts?" Georgia asked.

"You may."

Georgia reached out her hand tentatively and felt the side of Ms. DeWitt's breast, closest to her underarm. She had never touched another woman before, not like this. With her other hand she reached for Ms. DeWitt's other breast. She closed her eyes so she could focus on the sensation. Slowly, reverently, she moved her fingers in small circles, inching towards the center. Finally her fingers were on Ms. DeWitt's nipples.

She opened her eyes. Ms. DeWitt nodded, and Georgia pinched her nipples, rolling them between her fingers. Ms. DeWitt made a little noise, nowhere near a moan, just a soft gasp. It was enough to make Georgia's clit spring to life.

Georgia pushed Ms. DeWitt back so she was laying on the bed, her knees bent over its edge. Georgia lay next to her. With one hand she continue to stroke and squeeze Ms. DeWitt's right breast, while she put her mouth on her left breast, kissing it and then sucking on her nipple.

Georgia's hand wandered down to Ms. DeWitt's midsection. She put her fingers under the stretch waistband of her skirt.

Ms. DeWitt pushed her hand off and rolled out from under her. "That's enough," she said sharply. "I didn't give you permission."

"I'm sorry, Ms. DeWitt," Georgia said.

"Stand up and put your hands behind your back," Ms. DeWitt said. "I need to know that you're behaving." Georgia obeyed. "Now, tell me how you're feeling. And be specific."

"I'm sorry that I went too far," Georgia said. "I know I should have asked."

"I forgive you," Ms. DeWitt said, "but that's not what I meant. Tell me how your body feels."

"I can see my spit on your nipple," Georgia said, "and it makes my mouth water. My fingertips are tingling where they touched you. My breasts ache because I want you to touch them. And –" Georgia hesitated.

"Go on," Ms. DeWitt ordered.

"And my pussy feels alive for the first time in I can't remember how long. It aches for you. It wants – I want – you to touch it, to allow me to touch yours."

"Very good," Ms. DeWitt said "I appreciate your honesty. Of course, that will not happen tonight." Georgia's face fell. "We still have the matter of your punishment for your rudeness at the beginning of the evening." Georgia flushed. The ache in her pussy was stronger than ever. "Tell me your safe word."

Glancing at the window, Georgia said the first word that came to her mind. "Sunset."

"All right," Ms. DeWitt said. "We're going to practice. Hold your arms straight out to your side, with your palms facing up." Georgia complied. Ms. DeWitt took two hardcover books from her bookshelves and put one in each of Georgia's hands. "Don't drop the books or I will be disappointed in you," she said. "When you're ready to stop, use your safeword." Georgia's arms were already trembling. DeWitt stepped in front of her and kissed her. At first it was soft and gentle as a whisper, but then Ms. DeWitt used her tongue to part Georgia's lips. It was divine. Ms. DeWitt put her hands on the sides of Georgia's head and deepened the kiss. Georgia's arms were shaking. She never wanted the kiss to end. But she knew it had to. She would drop the books any second. She pulled back. "Sunset," she whispered.

Ms. DeWitt took the books from Georgia and threw them onto the bed. Georgia lowered her arms, feeling the ache in her shoulders. "Was that my punishment?" she asked.

Ms. DeWitt laughed. "I told you, that was practice. You did good. Never hesitate to use your safe word, okay?" She looked genuinely concerned.

"I promise, Ms. DeWitt," Georgia said.

"Good," Ms. DeWitt said. "Because your punishment is going to be an over-the-knee spanking."

Georgia thought she might come then and there.

"Have you ever been spanked before?" Ms. DeWitt asked her.

Georgia shook her head. "Not really. Quentin tried it, but he got bored –" She shook her head. She didn't want to talk about Quentin. "I've never been spanked in any way worth mentioning." She blushed at the look full of compassion and pity Ms. DeWitt gave her. She said, her voice louder than before, "You'll be the first."

Ms. DeWitt seemed to understand that the thought of Quentin threatened to ruin Georgia's mood. She walked briskly over to the armless chair and sat on it. "Come along, bad girl," she said. "Over my knees immediately."

"Yes, Ms. DeWitt," Georgia said. She laid herself over Ms. DeWitt's lap.

Ms. DeWitt pulled Georgia's stretchy dress up to her waist, and pulled her underwear down. "Your panties are soaked," she said mockingly.

"I bet yours are too, Ms. DeWitt," Georgia said.

Smack.

Georgia was shocked into silence.

"Do you want to use your safe word?"

Georgia shook her head frantically. "No, Ms. DeWitt."

Smack.

"Now?"

"No, Ms. DeWitt."

Smack.

"What is your safeword? I don't remember it."

"Yes, you do, Ms. DeWitt."

Smack.

"Are you calling me a liar?"

"Yes, Ms. DeWitt."

Smack. Smack. Smack.

"I'm going to touch your pussy now and see how you like your punishment."

"Yes, Ms. DeWitt."

"You're even wetter than before. You really do like this."

"Yes, Ms. DeWitt."

Ms. DeWitt spanked Georgia methodically, moving from one buttock to the other, and from the top of her rump down to her upper thighs. She was not gentle. Georgia started grunting a little with each strike. It hurt, and it burned, and it made a warmth that spread from her butt to her crotch to her clit to her entire body. She was lost in it. She did not know how long Ms. DeWitt had been spanking her, or how long it had been since she had stopped spanking her. But she had stopped. No! "Sunset," she cried. "Sunset!"

"It's all over, sweetie," Ms. DeWitt said. "Your punishment is done."

"No!" Georgia cried. "Please don't stop! Sunset! Sunset!"

Ms. DeWitt put her hand on Georgia's bottom, and Georgia thought she would start again. Her touch hurt and made her burn and she wanted it so much.

"You've had enough," Ms. DeWitt said. "And I won't tolerate you topping from the bottom."

"Please, Ms. DeWitt," Georgia begged. "This might be the only time in my life I'll have a proper spanking. Please don't stop."

Ms. DeWitt moved so that Georgia slid off her knees and landed in a kneeling position. "Go sit on the bed," Ms. DeWitt ordered. She sounded angry. Georgia stood up and pulled up her panties as her skirt fell over her ass. She winced when she sat on the bed.

"Is this just a one-night stand to you?" Ms. DeWitt asked.

Georgia didn't know what to think. "You want to see me again?" she asked.

"Of course I do."

"But . . . why? You're young and vivacious and brilliant and beautiful."

Ms. DeWitt sounded annoyed. "Because I like you."

Georgia took this in. "You know I don't have much time in my schedule."

"I'm not asking you to move in me with me, sweetie. I'm asking if you want to go out with me again, say next Saturday. Maybe we'll reverse it and start off here so I can spank you first and watch how uncomfortable you are for the rest of the day. The free Shakespeare show is opening in the park. We'll go and you'll sit on a blanket on the hard ground and we'll both know that Juliet never had it so good."

Georgia's eyes lit up for a moment, but then her face fell. "I can't," she said flatly. "I'm with my kids next Saturday."

"Georgia, your kids don't need to be with you 24-7."

Georgia's entire face changed. She stood up. "You think I hang out and do crafts all day? Even after I told you about my job? My career?" She smoothed out her skirt with an angry motion. "Next week my kids get on the bus to camp at 7:30 in the morning and I pick them up at 6 at night. They'll be so tired at the end of the day that they'll barely stay awake at dinner and won't have the energy for anything but TV or YouTube after that. So Saturday, the day that I have put aside for my kids for years, is a family day. And I don't need parenting advice from you, thank you very much."

Trish held up her hands. "I'm sorry, okay? I didn't know about your family day. I wouldn't want to interfere with that. I'm not working this summer, so you tell me what's good with your schedule."

Georgia sharply exhaled and held herself still for a second. She said, "I can get a babysitter for next Sunday, but not for the whole day. I need to be back in time to make dinner."

"Okay," Trish said. "Can you do 10 to 4? Or how about 5 and you get takeout?"

"I'll be going over my budget just to get a babysitter, Trish. I can't afford takeout on top of that." Georgia looked bleak as she said those words.

"Okay," Trish said again. She grabbed her tank top from the bed and put it on. "Listen, you shouldn't leave while you're upset. Do you want me to make you some tea or something?"

"I'm sorry," Georgia said. "It's just, it's a lot, you know?"

"Oh, honey," Trish said. "This is on me. You need more aftercare. Go lay on the bed and I'll rub your back."

"The babysitter's expecting me."

"She can wait a little while longer."

Georgia thought about it before she obeyed. Trish lay down next to her, leaning on one elbow. She put her hand on the middle of Georgia's back and moved it in a gentle circle. After a few minutes Georgia's body relaxed. Trish lay down flat so that she and Georgia were facing each other. She kissed her on the lips, still rubbing her back. "Next Sunday, when I spank you, I'm going to make you come," she said softly. "And afterwards, I'm not going to let you wash up before we go out, and everyone will smell the sex on you."

"And will you let me make you come, Ms. DeWitt?" Georgia asked sleepily.

"I may order you to use your tongue on me. We'll see if you put me in the right mood." Georgia smiled. "And now it's time for you to go. Will you be okay getting home?" She touched Georgia's butt lightly, just enough to remind her of how much the seat of her car would hurt her.

"Yes, Ms. DeWitt, thank you."

They both stood up. Ms. DeWitt kissed Georgia softly again. "One more thing, Georgia."

"Yes, Ms. DeWitt?"

"Don't touch yourself until you see me again."

"Yes, Ms. DeWitt."

Note from the author: Many thanks to Annabelle for the suggestions, inspiration, and feedback.


If you enjoyed this story check out my book of short stories about hot, consensual sex, The Mature Woman's Guide to Desire, or my dark, dystopian novel about naked sex slaves, Mindgames.  Or take a look at my blog, A Middle Aged Divorcee Writes Smut, which has more of my stories as well as reviews of romance novels and pop culture. 

Happy reading!

-- Jasmine Go.d


© 2019 Jasmine Gold  |  All rights reserved
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