Teaching Shannon - Part 1
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
Subject: Teaching Shannon (1/7)
The following story is purely fictional. It is copyright © 1993 by its
author, Honi Soitqui Malypense, who grants to the public the right of free
replication for non-commercial purposes only, provided that no changes are
made and that this notice is retained. All other rights are reserved.
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This story contains profanity, sex (m/f), domination of a girl by a man, and
violence. If you do not enjoy such things, please do not read it. If you
do, I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
When I met Shannon Brien I was twenty-three, had just gotten my M.S.,
and was teaching in a community college while I worked on my Ph.D. Shannon
was in a College Algebra class I taught in my first Spring semester, and I
noticed her as soon as I entered the room. I had broken up with my
graduate-school girlfriend some time earlier, so I was very vulnerable to
Shannon's very obvious charms; so vulnerable, in fact, that my cock actually
stiffened slightly when I saw her in the front row.
She was wearing what she usually wore: a tight, light-colored shirt
with a scoop neck, a skirt just a little shorter than the current fashion,
stockings, and dark pumps. Her waist was narrow, her hips broad; her breasts
were large---too large to be really firm---and swayed gently when she moved.
Her face was a standard-issue girl's face, except that her nose was a little
shorter, and her mouth a little larger, than most. Her hair was a yellow
blonde color, a little thin, and it could have been cut better. She wore no
makeup except around her eyes. Of course, I saw only her chest and face above
the desk, but it was enough; everything about her set off every sexual alarm I
Her presence in class made it hard to concentrate. I was aware of the
necessity for a public speaker to look around at his audience, but she made
it difficult: if I looked near where she sat, I looked only at her, and if
I didn't look, I ignored a whole section of the class. I spent far too much
energy trying not to see her. After a while I succeeded, at least partially,
unless she asked a question; then I had my work cut out trying to keep my
eyes on her face. I wondered how obvious my attraction was to the rest of
the class; certainly the boys must have felt at least some of what I felt.
I was always relieved when I could turn my attention elsewhere. For her part,
she never showed any sign of discomfort, or of being attracted to me; she
always seemed completely cool.
All this was during the day, of course. At night, we made unilateral love
as I lay masturbating in my bed. She was my slave; I came in her every orifice;
she writhed under my lash; and I felt her warm tongue touch me at every point.
When I graded her tests, I prayed that she would do poorly, so that she would
offer me sex in exchange for a passing grade.
In fact she did do poorly. She was---not to be unkind---dumb, and basically
uninterested in school. She was really there to be trained for a job but, like
most teenagers, could not discipline herself to do what was necessary. As I had
only recently realized myself that I was going to have to do something every
day for the next forty or fifty years, I understood how she felt. (I don't really
know why I perservered. It was probably a sort of psychic inertia, my parents'
expectations providing an initial shove that carried me through, in a `right
line,' so to speak, from which no force had yet pushed me.) Anyway, it was
Shannon's lack of discipline that led to the events I am about to relate.
I had just given back the second test of three when Shannon appeared
at my office door. I was working when she knocked, and was surprised to see
her; she had never been by before. I was a little flustered: as all my fantasies
about her came rushing to my head, the blood rushed to my groin and, I am afraid,
my face. I stammered a "Come in."
"Mr. Reynolds---sir---" she began, a little uncertainly, "I wanted
to talk to you about my grade." Was she looking at my crotch? I couldn't
"Yes. You're not doing too well, are you?"
"No. And I'm worried about it. I need this class. I really studied for
this test." She held the second test in her hand, which she had failed, like
the first. She looked upset, maybe about to cry. "I don't know what else to
do. Could you suggest anything?"
I refrained from actually licking my lips as several suggestions came to
mind, though I could not resist a long glance at her chest. I did not make
any of these suggestions, however; I said, mildly, "Umm---do you have a tutor?"
"No. Well, a girlfriend of mine who took this course last year has been
helping me with the homework. She got a B, so she really knows what she's doing."
Sure, I thought. I said, "You're doing all the homework?" I knew she
wasn't; anyone who could do the homework could get at least a C in the course.
She hesitated slightly, then said, "Well---I always try it, but I usually
can't do it. If I knew where to start... ."
I had only been teaching for a little less than two years (one year in grad
school), but I had already heard this at least a thousand times. What it meant
was "I give each problem a look. If I can't find an example just like it in the
book or my notes, or if it takes more than one minute to do, I consider it
impossible and go on to the next one." I sighed inwardly and thought to myself
that she was lucky to have those tits; she was certainly not going to get by on
her brains. I said, "What's your major?"
"Psychology," she replied. "I'm doing fine in my psych courses."
I didn't doubt it for a second; anyone could do well in those courses. I
said, "Oh. Then you don't really need this course; you just need any two math
courses. But maybe your GPA can't afford the hit of failing this course?"
She looked tearful again and said, "No." She hesitated, then said, "I'm
failing history and English too. I don't know what to do." She sniffled a
little and looked at me.
"Well, I can't do anything about the history or English courses, but you
could come to me for help in math. Try the homework, and if you can't get it,
bring it to me, and I'll go over it with you. You could also get a tutor, if
you can afford one." It wasn't much help, which we both knew, but it was all
I could offer.
"Well, okay." She looked around for a moment, then asked, "What are your
"They're on the door," I answered. The door was open; I pointed to a sheet
of paper taped to it. "Do you need a pen and paper?"
"No, I've got it," she said. She got them out of her backpack and made
a show of copying down my office hours. When she was done she turned to me
and smiled. "You'll be seeing a lot of me---I need a lot of help!" she said
enthusiastically. She sounded as if she meant it, but I knew she would never
really show up; her kind never do.
"Okay," I replied. I looked wistfully at her ass as she left, thinking
that I had probably just blown my chance at her, if I had ever had one. I
sighed again, this time aloud. Oh, well, I consoled myself, if I had tried
something she probably would have brought me up on sexual-harrassment charges
She never did come to my office, of course. In fact, I did not see her
outside class until after the third test, which she also failed. I had
an evening class, and I kept some late office hours right after it for night
students who might have difficulty seeing me during the day; it was to this
hour that Shannon came. Because she was a day student, I was even
more surprised to see her than I had been the first time. I guess I had
admitted to myself that I would never have her, though, because I was quite
"Hello, Shannon. Come in." She came in and closed the door. Usually
I discouraged this; I don't want to leave myself open to charges of sexual
harrassment. However, my fantasy life took charge, and I said nothing. She
sat down in a chair next to mine. She looked upset, but in an odd way.
I decided that she had figured out what she was going to do about her problems,
but didn't like it. Maybe, I thought, she has decided to drop out of school.
"Hello, Mr. Reynolds." She sat silent for a moment, looking down at her
knees. I struggled, as usual, to keep my eyes on her face. Finally she said,
"I have to pass this class." She looked up at me, and said meaningfully,
"I'll do anything I have to."
I tried to stay calm, to keep my feelings out of my expression, but I
doubt I was successful. My cock went from rubber to steel in a second.
My fantasy was coming true! For a moment I couldn't speak, and after that
I could only stammer, which I did for a moment before deciding to just shut
up until I was more in control of myself.
Shannon didn't wait. She nodded her head toward my crotch and said,
blushing slightly, "I see you know what I mean. I guess I guessed right about
your wanting this."
I gulped and nodded, but still said nothing. I wasn't looking at her
face, but I saw her flush again as she said, "I've never done this before.
What's the...umm...what usually happens?"
I finally managed to speak. "I've never done it before either, so I don't
know." I looked up at her; neither of us knew how to continue. After a
moment's silence she pointed toward the door with her head and said, "Is that
door locked?" I nodded yes, and, with a look at me, she sank to her knees on
the floor. She reached her hands up to my shoulders and ran her hands down my
"I guess we can start with this," she breathed. Her hands found my crotch
and rubbed my hard cock. She undid my belt and opened my pants, and I raised
up a little so she could pull them down. I was breathing very hard;
I hadn't had sex in so long that I was sure I would come as soon as she touched
me. I didn't, but I knew it wouldn't be long. I moaned when her hands caressed
my cock, and shivered when she gently squeezed my balls; I could feel an orgasm
building already, making me heady and thick. A little pre-cum appeared on the
head of my cock, and she licked it off.
I ran my hands down her back as she took me in her mouth. I caressed her
head, then reached down her front and found her tits. I squeezed and caressed
them through her shirt; as my fingers ran over her nipples, her concentration
was shaken, and my cock came out of her mouth. I grabbed her tits, or as much
of them as I could, in my hands, and squeezed harder, pulling them upward.
"Suck me, you bitch," I ordered. She looked up at my face with an expression
of surprise, and then went back to my cock. I didn't let go of her tits,
but I relaxed my grip. I felt the fire in my groin, and it made me reckless, as
usual. I said hoarsely, "You know what you need, you beautiful bitch? You
need a good spanking." She said nothing, but moved her head faster. "I'd
like to spank your ass, your beautiful white ass," I said in a kind of chant.
I was on the verge of orgasm. I squeezed her tits hard, hard enough to elicit
a little cry from her, but she did not stop sucking. "I want to whip your
ass and fuck your tits," I chanted, "suck me suck me suck me you bitch you
bitch you BITCH." I came in great spurts, grunting like a beast. She tried
to swallow it all, but some escaped her; I don't think I had come that much
After a moment she looked up at me, obviously afraid of the animal I had
become. "I'm sorry," she whispered. She looked back down at the floor. "I
tried to swallow it all, but there was too much."
I looked at her for a second, hesitating. I realized that it was a
crucial moment in our relationship, young though it was, a moment in which
its entire future course could be set. I also knew that what I was
contemplating could go utterly wrong, and ruin everything; if I hadn't been
so very hot, and in a position of power I had never been in before, I wouldn't
have tried it, as I had never had the nerve to try it before. I balanced on
the edge for a moment, then made up my mind, summoned my courage, and grabbed
her by the hair. "You're not finished yet," I said roughly. I knelt, forcing
her head down to the tiled floor.
"Lick it up," I ordered. She whimpered and tried weakly to pull away,
but I pushed her down harder and put my lips to her ear. "Eat it, you bitch,"
I growled, spitting out the last word. The violence in my voice and hand
must have been convincing, because she began to lick enthusiastically at the
spots of cum on the floor, emitting little moans as she went. "Clean it up,
bitch, clean it up," I said unnecessarily, pressing my face against her
head and pulling her hair tight. I watched exultantly as she worked,
panting, until she had gotten every drop. I let her up and said, "Good work.
You're a good slave." She looked a little blank; I couldn't tell what her
reaction to my last words was. However, she made no demurrer; she simply
sat silently, wiping at a few spots of cum on her shirt. I thought of
punishing her for doing this without my permission, but I felt I had pushed
things as far as I could for one day, so I kept quiet.
After a few moments of silence I said, "I want to see you here tomorrow
night. I want you to bring all your books and notes, everything, for your
history and English classes." Naturally, she looked surprised. I didn't
explain; I had something in mind which I hardly dared admit to myself yet.
She stood up, still silent, and I stood up with her. I pulled her around to
me and kissed her, whereupon she looked surprised again; but then she kissed
me back, quite passionately, and pressed her body against mine.
I thought for a long time about the look she had given me as she left.
There was fear in it, certainly, but there was respect too, and something which,
although I couldn't identify it at the time, was surprisingly positive.