Miss Kennedy gasped as she stepped out of her happy Kindergarten classroom.
She had almost bumped into a tall man. Just before colliding with him, though, he grabbed her arms at the elbows.
In that momentary cincture, she melted in his grip. His hands pinned her arms to her sides. His large fingers encompassed her arms. His thumbs pressed into the bends of her arms.
Then he let go, saying easily, “Excuse me, ma’am.”
When he released her, she realized she had been captured, like never before. A prisoner.
She had been freed—as much on an emotional level as a physical—but she didn’t want to be free. Freedom was loss.
She adjusted her blouse and straightened her thin gold necklace. “No, excuse me.” Her voice fluttered. “I wasn’t expecting someone—you—to be …”
“Don’t much get to come down to the Kindergarten wing. Figured I should give it some attention.”
Jenna could not contain her bright smile. She was astounded that his quiet capture came with a silent growling masculinity. She had been without it throughout her life. No other man had had it or even came close to offering it to her. She had only read about its existence before that moment.
While still under the influence, the Kindergarten teacher became as happy as she could be. “Preventative maintenance. Good job.” She smiled broader. “We all appreciate having problems fixed before they’re problems.”
He gave back a simple grin, but Jenna knew there was more to it. His dark eyes drew her farther in.
Her eyes noticed something else though. It was something they had witnessed at some point somewhere. But her mind could not connect where or when.
Baffled, she offered him her classroom.
“Let me know if you find anything wrong in there. The kids are at recess for about ten minutes more, in case you need to poke around.” She took in a breath as she was a freed prisoner of this man. “Was just going to get them now. Taking my sweet time. Nice to see you.”
As she left, she flittered her fingers daintily.
“I’ll poke.”
“Fair enough.” And she left the man for the recess playground.
When she returned with her class of exhausted Kindergarteners, he was not there, or anywhere in sight. A lingering excitement of seeing him had kept her body jittery. But the hopefulness bottomed out.
“All right, kids,” Miss Kennedy announced, hands on her narrow hips, “start your individual lessons. Group One, practice writing the alphabet. Group Two, go to your reading hideaways. Group Three, work on your cut-out decorations.”
Having the kids in place and active, Miss Kennedy sat at her desk. She tried to focus on her usual teacher tasks—student reports and assessments that parents divine over. Yet her mind wouldn’t remain steadfast and focused. The man, who had held her so briefly, continued to razzle her mind.
She didn’t even know his name. The interaction was so fast that she forgot to ask. Neither did he ask. She only knew he was a custodian at the school.
At the end of the day, Jenna returned to her classroom from her carpool assignment. She plopped into her desk chair. She massaged her feet after pacing among the rows of idling cars, ensuring the young kids climbed into the right car to go home with the right parents.
To Jenna’s surprise, the man from earlier appeared in the door.
“Miss Kennedy,” he said.
She jolted in her seat. Her foot thudded on the floor. “Oh my, you startled me!”
She leaned back in her chair. The feelings of attraction resurged. “You came back. Any problems in the classroom?”
“Nothing obvious. But I wanted to ask if you knew something.”
“Um, I can’t think of anything. I mean, the school is aging so there are things that don’t work as well as they once did. The handles that open the windows don’t turn as easily. I have strength contests among the boys to get them opened fastest.” She shrugged. “The AC doesn’t cool as quickly, but the class can live with that. The sink drain could be cleaned …”
He interrupted her. “I really came back for—”
She shifted in her chair. “I knew there was a real reason.”
She placed her elbows on her desk.
He walked to her.
Still seated, she looked up at the broad-shouldered man with glistening black cheekbones and a smooth forehead. He was a giant compared to her.
“I’ve seen you before,” he said. “Not at school.”
She shook her head. “You know me? Aha.” She cocked an eyebrow. “From where?”
She shifted in her chair. The metallic pieces grated—ungreased metal on metal.
“How long have you been a teacher?”
Her sweet cheeks warmed. She was uneasy, despite this man having—unknowingly—wrestled control of her.
She let the chair roll back inches with a squeak. She balled up her hands in her lap. “I wonder where … where that might have been.”
“How long have you been at this school?”
“This is my fifth year.” She tried to remain happy and redirect the questions. “Have you worked here for long—Mister?”
“Not a teacher before this school?” he asked, ignoring her questions.
“I was, yes.”
The emotional control he had had on her a few hours ago waned as concern took its place. Her throat was parched.
“Kindergarten?” he asked.
“Not exactly teaching kids, but close.”
“Hmm.” He put his hands on the desk. His fingers were long and thick and calloused. “Do know the name ‘Ivory Noire’?”
She jolted upright, looked up directly at him—wide-eyed. She went silent. A vein thudded hard at her collarbone. She felt a need to stretch her neck, but she remained stiff, calm. Yet, out of his sight, her fingernails dug into her thighs.
“I, um, I haven’t.” She attempted a confused glare. “Is there a reason for, um, asking? It’s sort of, you know, out of the blue.”
He moved from the front of the desk to its side. He put one of his heavy boots on the wooden chair beside it, which was there for students’ punishment. He then set a forearm on his knee.
“I saw Ivory Noire dance a few times.”
“Oh, she a ballerina?” She choked out the words.
He tilted his head side to side. “Could be said so. Hadn’t thought of her that way. She was good though.”
“I’m sorry I can’t be of more help, Mister—?” She urged his name.
“Just Jermaine. No other name is necessary for the janitor.”
“Custodian, if you’re fixing things.”
“I plan to fix a few things, Miss Kennedy.”
She gulped. The crown of her head felt like it was squeezing in a tense pressure and soon would explode.
“My classroom is fine. I suggest—”
“Cut the bullshit, Jenna. You know Ivory Noire. She was around a long time ago. And she’s never left my mind.”
“Oh, she hasn’t? That’s, um,” she coughed, “that’s unexpected to hear. This ‘Ivory Noire’ would be glad to hear. I mean I assume she would.”
“Does she?”
“Does she? How could I know?”
Jermaine stood upright and examined her fiercely, skewering her with his eyes.
Jenna felt scared, panicky, and submissive all at once. Her body cowered. Her stomach hurt. Her head bowed toward her knees.
“If you see Ivory Noire …” Jermaine released her from his dominance. “Tell her I want to see her again.”
Jenna whimpered. “See—see her?”
“Yes, I want to see her dance again. Her tattoos, they were …” He paused.
A word lingered in the air: tattoo.
She breathed in. “Were?”
“I want to see them again. And her tits and cute ass. She’s already stared at me today. I want to see the rest of her. Like I used to.”
She dragged in a breath.
This man had cinched Jenna’s mind again, like he had physically at her elbows. He twisted her mind and made her want to do anything for him. Yet, she was afraid and in a strange circumstance—in school as a teacher. But his dominance and brawn pushed her to her knees, albeit mentally at the moment.
“When do you … um, when do you want to … see …”
“Now.” He nearly spit out the single word.
Jenna’s eyes scanned the room of cute cut-out decorations and dangling paint smocks and simple reading books.
“I’m not … She’s not available at the moment. School is …”
“I want to see her.” He spoke with a domineering pace.
“There’s no way that—”
He crossed his arms. “Get her.”
“Okay.” She stood. Her knees wobbled, and her heart beat so fast.
“Miss Kennedy.”
The call snapped the tension. The snap might have been audible.
A reading specialist for the school named Rachel peeked around the door. “I’m looking for a book that one of your students borrowed from me. ‘The Gray Goose’ is the name.”
Obvious from the woman’s face, the silence between Jenna and Jermaine was as heavy as Amazon humidity. The woman felt it too.
“I’m sorry, you two. I didn’t … I can get it tomorrow or the next … No rush.” She ducked out. Gone.
Jermaine lightened the humidity by staying his request.
“Tell her I want to see her tomorrow.”
Jenna was silent. Her mind was split and dysfunctional and excited and racing.
“She has lunch when she’s free—free for a little while.” Jenna offered a brightened face, although covered by a shimmer of worry.
“I’ll be here. Have her ready.” Then he left.
At home that evening, the metal hangers screeched down the cross-post in Jenna’s closet. She scrambled through her clothes, in part looking for tomorrow’s outfit, and as much, shaken at having been found out.
“He knew me,” she repeated. “When did he see me?”
Jenna slid right a hanger holding a plaid skirt and then studied a knee-length, A-line dress. She wasn’t actually considering whether to wear it but was considering what Jermaine actually wanted tomorrow.
She moved the hanger down the post.
The next hanger in the row held a violet pant suit. The pants had a crisp crease.
Standing there, she recalled a few of her dances—spinning around a narrow pole, placing both of her palms on the stage floor while her legs remained straight, doing a split to the floor and upward along the pole.
She opted against the pant suit.
It was years ago since she was Ivory Noire. She danced as a college gig to make money—a short-term job. And that was years ago—sort of. Her body was nowhere near as flexible since she hadn’t practiced. Her yoga classes these days hadn’t done enough for her body’s elasticity. Age hadn’t helped either.
A few hangers down, she came across a loose bohemian dress with short sleeves and a V neck. She lifted the hanger off the cross-post.
She stood before the full-length mirror next to the closet door. She shuffled side to side slowly, letting the dress swish.
And Jermaine had remembered her tattoos. On the back of each thigh were two small tatted bows. She initially planned to tattoo a thin line from the heel of her foot up the back of her leg to meet the bows. However, the steady prick of the needle when getting the bows hurt too much.
She stared over her shoulder at the bows in the mirror. They still looked good. She spent enough money for the well-done artwork. Her legs were toned too, which kept the bows tied nicely.
She liked the bohemian dress. It would cover enough while making it easy for her to show off. More importantly, the dress might not raise questions. She typically wore slacks and light-weight blouses.
The next morning in her classroom, Jenna sat at the desk, unable to focus. She was more like a statue, unmoving, until the kids arrived.
“Miss Kennedy,” Cindy said when entering the room. She set her backpack in her cubby. Almost immediately, the young girl noticed her teacher’s mood.
“Are you all right, Miss Kennedy? You look scared.” She stood at Miss Kennedy’s desk with her hands on the chair beside it. “Do you need to go home?”
“I am fine, Cindy.” Jenna forced a warm demeanor. “But thank you for asking.”
Soon, the other students arrived. And the morning started as the daily schedule dictated.
The day had no hiccups. At 11:07 in the morning, the mechanical monkey on Miss Kennedy’s desk clapped its cymbals and wildly tottered.
All the Kindergarteners stopped their activities and began to sing their cheerful song.
“Clean up, clean up! It’s time to! Clean up, clean up!”
Miss Kennedy tried to sing, but she could not keep the melody. Her heart pounded. A pulse at the base of her neck thudded.
The kids would be at lunch very soon, and Jermaine would want to see Ivory Noire.
Would he be happy? She hadn’t danced for years. What exactly did he expect—a dance or a peep show or something more? Did he actually expect it at school? Lunch break wasn’t long. How do I stop the show?
“Miss Kennedy!” several students were saying her name.
“Are you leading us to lunch?”
“Yes, yes, sorry. Off we go!” she ordered suddenly spritely.
She heard one boy say, “She’s got problems.”
Jenna knew these kids picked up on so many vibes. Their eyes scanned her actions and attitudes day in and day out. They knew her thoroughly.
Returning to the empty classroom, Jenna closed her eyes before entering the room. She inhaled deeply and then cast off fears. She had to do the same before each dance.
She felt as though she had passed through the sliver between the rough velvet curtains at the Three Crowns Club.
She would leave the grungy backstage and entered the glorious, blistering lights of center stage. She was no one behind the velvet, but, on the other side, she suddenly became the main attraction. The men loved her. Their hoots and howls and catcalls, even some of the odd things they uttered, were proof. They were animals. She sopped up their outright lust and lived off it.
She stepped into her classroom.
“Jermaine, you’re here,” she said when she saw him sitting behind her desk.
She nudged the door closed, letting it move silently.
The door clacked.
She strode pompously to her desk and grabbed control of the man, like she had done so many nights as Ivory Noire.
She flourished her dress and set a bared thigh on the desk. “I heard about you.”
Jermaine crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in the desk chair. The chair ached aloud at the weight.
“So you heard of Ivory Noire?” she asked with her eyes squinted. She was casting the same demeanor of distance and power that she would shoot out at the audience.
“Never forgot you.” He glistened with a smile.
Jenna slid off the desk and turned her back to him. Then she bent down, her legs stiffly straight. She slid her hands up the back of her legs. She paused briefly just before the tatted bows would be bared. She glanced around. Jermaine was leaning forward in the seat. He had the demeanor of a wolf.
Jenna lifted the dress to bare the bows and her pink panties. She dragged her fingers over the bows.
She moaned.
Her fingers spidered to her panty line and pulled the soft fabric into her ass.
“Jenna.” A woman sing-songed her name.
Jenna stood upright. Her dress making a wild whoosh.
Rachel, the reading specialist, walked into the room. “About that book.” And she halted immediately like the day before.
Jermaine rocked back and forth, side to side, in the chair. “Sure, I will bring you a new one. Avoid sitting in it. It’s in bad shape.”
“Note taken,” Jenna said.
She turned to Rachel. “Looking for ‘The Gray Goose’? I haven’t found it.”
Jenna realized Rachel’s face was contorted in confusion. The heavy humidity in the room the last time she came now had turned into a monsoon.
Miss Kennedy added, “I can check for the book this afternoon. I’ll find it. You know how kids are. Trouble putting things back.”
“Sure, um, bring it to my room. I need to, uh, to, to go.” Rachel pointed awkwardly outside the door. Then she disappeared from sight like she had the day before.
Jenna and Jermaine were alone again. They were stuck in the monsoon they had made.
Jenna stood awkwardly, her shoulders slumped. At the moment, there were too many pop-ins to really be Ivory Noire.
He fixed the situation. “Tomorrow, I want to meet Ivory.”
“Where?”
“Having a problem with the sink drain in your little bathroom there, right?” he said.
“Oh, it’s always clogging up,” she said. “And the new chair?”
“You may get a chair, if I get to see the sink. You may even have to check whether the chair fits you.”
His comments clicked in her mind. Her shoulder shuttered at both the message and the goodness she was going to get. Even so, she was excited about what she was going to give him.
“Ivory Noire, yeah,” she said, “she needs some good attention. She doesn’t just play.”
“She will get more than she dreamed.”
Jenna nibbled the tip of her forefinger and twisted her hips like a happy little girl. All the while, she stared lustfully at Jermaine.
“She’s been dreaming a lot lately—a whole lot,” she said.
He stood.
She watched him. A beast of a man—tall and strong form, a gorgeous and powerful demeanor. He trudged to the doorway but stopped.
He came to her and cupped her petite butt, holding it in his giant palm. He didn’t let go.
So her hand meandered across his lean stomach and over the waistband of his pants. Her fingers felt the aslant cock covered by a rough layer of clothing.
“Feels nice,” she whispered.
“This does too. A cute ass.” He then squeezed hard.
She yipped and then batted away his hand.
He leaned close to her ear. “Someone wants to see more of me.”
She gulped. “Before you go, yes, I do …”
She was astounded that her confirmation came out so fast, with hindrance. This was not the time or the place to do anything.
She added quickly, “But …”
He walked to the door and closed it gently. Then he covered the narrow vertical window with the attached Velcro fabric.
With her fast-beating heart and the wet warmth between her legs, she silently urged him forward with a single finger and a lustful stare.
She walked to wooden ladder of the reading loft. She reached under her dress and shuffled for a moment. As she stood upright, the tiny fabric dropped to her ankles. A little shifting and she flung them toward her beastly classroom guest.
She stepped halfway up the ladder, splitting her legs.
“Coming up?” she asked.
Before he answered she disappeared into the discreet place of soft pillows and a large back-rest cushion.
On her hands and knees and arranging the pillows, a large hand first gripped her ass.
“Ouch!” She arched her back.
The gripping fingers then slid into her pussy. They brushed her clit. Her body paused. The touch was sensational. It was what she wanted—what she had forgotten she needed.
Her lengthy fingers deep inside her was one thing, as were toys. But she had not had mean fingers roughing up her pussy.
These strokes caused an immediate frenzy. Her back arched and her head drooped. Her eyes closed.
“My god!” She had to wipe her agape mouth. “Please, more,” she whimpered.
He didn’t though. Jermaine shoved her forward.
“Roll over, bitch. On your back.”
She fell against a back-rest pillow. Her legs naturally spread in her furious sexual desire. Her feet touched the wall and the railing.
Jermaine settled between her legs.
Jenna saw he was already naked from the waist down. His cock was long with a meaty head. She watched it meet her outer lips—a sweet kiss—before he jammed deep into her.
His cock rushed back and forth. Their bodies slapped and smacked. The sturdy reading loft, in no time, was rocking with their fucking.
Jenna circled her fingers over her clit, further intensifying the sex.
Her mind swirled. Her free hand held tightly to the pillow as if she was dangling off a cliff.
“Fuck… me… Don’t… stop.” The tendons in her neck strained. Her jaw clamped tight. Her toes clinched and her ass rubbed hard on the rough carpet.
She loved his hands’ mean clench on her small breast.
Moments later, her world escaped from her mental control. She released herself. Her body and mind were baked in golden luxury and coated with a sweet frosting.
Then, far away, there was the howl of a wolf, angry, hungry, losing control.
Inside of her, Jenna felt a heavy load of cum fill her tender.
Above her was a gritting and a hissing, a waning pressure, heaving breathes.
She opened her eyes to see the man casting his dark shadow over her.
He pulled out his long weapon, and Jenna felt the load drizzle out of her to drool down to cover her asshole.
She was top weak and unwilling to move to stop it from its ooze.
Jermaine climbed off the loft. Jenna remained there, unmoving. Her body remained in its stagnant state of lingering contentment.
“See me again,” she said. Her body could only muster a whisper.
“Use the pager.”
Jenna heard the quick zip of his pants.
“Tomorrow,” he added.
The classroom door opened. The last she heard was the simple click of the door lock.
Despite weak knees and a rug-burned ass, Jenna cleaned the room, arranging things as the kids would expect tomorrow—she checked her watch—in a few hours.
Discover pleasure with:
