My Teacher AND My Dad 1.1

I'm a perfect 10, perfect student, who does it with my dad and teacher.

I had a crush on my daddy since I was a little girl. The only other boy I ever liked was every single male teacher I ever met. Not the cute boy who was most popular, not the rebel, not the All-Star, not even other adult men like movie stars or rockers. I wouldn’t touch any dirty old Jagger. But teachers turned me into a fawning puppy. Fat teachers, bald teachers, mean teachers, dorky teachers. I just desperately adored them. Something about their knowledge and the way they’re in charge of a group, makes them seem like the pinnacle of manhood to me. And my father is a teacher. But he’s an elite teacher: the highest level of math at a prestigious high school. It was a long time to wait, but it paid off in the end. I had to wait so long to have my dad as my teacher that I got to be legal age for telling you this story.
I am a perfect 10. From the shape of my feet and toes, every toenail; to my ankles; my tone, perfectly shapely calves and thighs; perfect skin that looks like it never grew a hair, smooth as porcelain, but an healthy tan coloration; a round bouncing buttocks; comic book heroine hourglass hips and waist; unfairly big, shaped and pointed breasts; graceful yet firm, back, shoulders, and neck; my symmetrical angel face, sweet cheeks, cute nose, cute ears, shaped lips, big vivacious eyes with deviltress eyelashes and innocent perfect eyebrows; all molded under a complexion that only a little girl should have, un-aged, but also unmarred by acne like most of my peers; to my rich silky hair with a unique fragrance from additions I put together myself. Once, I found and went through my grandfather’s huge Playboy collection in the garage. I look like every single Playboy centerfold all rolled together. But I don’t need airbrushing. And I smell better.
I know I have the effect on everyone because I walked through my high school like a queen. I never act salty. There’s no need. Mean girls wouldn’t say a word to me. The boldest boys wouldn’t flirt with me. Besides being a 10, I was the highest achieving girl and they knew they weren’t good enough for me. There was one boy who was just a little better than me academically. I hooked up with him. I know, I swore that I was never interested in someone who wasn’t a teacher and it’s true. It was just once, right after I got my dad as a teacher. All of my daddy’s girl fantasies and school girl fantasies had come crashing together with unbearable weight. I thought I would implode like a star. See, I had spent my life trying to be a perfect student so that my father would be proud of me and have an excuse to give me a little more affection, a sweet taste of physical attention. But now that I was old enough to be lusty, I wanted to flirt with my teachers and I had painted myself into a corner. I needed teacher wiener, but I was pigeonholed in as a good girl. Good girls can’t work angles with teachers, not even innuendos. I had trapped myself into chastity. Kind of. I decided that I could never have a teacher and I would have to date a boy for practicality’s sake. I made a date with the valedictorian nerd and I let him get me. In fact I encouraged him. It was the worst experience of my life. It hurt. But worse, it was awkward in a way that needs hyperbole to express accurately. I wish I could set the memory on fire. But he did what needed doing. He was big and he opened me up so I could be a ready lover for a real man some time later.
It was pure luck how things worked out after that. Without contrivance, I genuinely forgot something I needed for homework in my dad’s class. After the regular school day was done, I was just going to slip into the room and get it. I had to hurry to not be late for Key Club which I was president of. I knew my dad would be out of the room because he had a staff meeting every week at the same time. Even though he wasn’t admin, as a top teacher, he had multiple extra responsibilities. (My vagina just quivered writing that.) But my dad was actually there in the room still. He had lost track of time, entering grades in the computer. He called me over. He showed me the scores. I was about to get… not an ‘A.’ I froze. I had spent every day in class having sexual fantasies about my father, Mr. Watson. (He’s actually a PhD in advanced mathematics, but he goes by Mister like the PhD was a throw-away thing he did for fun. Dr. James Watson is his real name and title though. Good luck Googling the right one if you want to find us online.) I would day dream in lessons about him opening my blouse and stuffing his nose down my cleavage, bending me over in front of the whole class and having his way, or me quietly slurping his meat while he lectured. Every time I did homework, he was there, in my fantasy world, riding me through my homework or distracting me by groping my luscious everything like a horny schoolboy. Every fantasy had him in his necktie by the way. I had seen his towel body several times. My father has an amazing towel body. But for me it’s almost requisite that the sex fantasy starts with him in his teacher tie. A teacher without a tie is just half a teacher for me, still fuckable I suppose, but half as powerful. Untying Mr. Watson’s tie, my daddy’s tie, is probably a more satisfying part of the fantasy than the deep penetration I long for. But I digress! The point is, I had these fantasies so many times, and at the wrong times. I would giggle and smile like a fool, mid-class, or alone in my room, so much that I hadn’t learned the math properly. I hadn’t even noticed I wasn’t learning. My scores were so low that the back-of-my-head math told me I couldn’t get them up to an ‘A’ in time for reports.
I told my dad, “Mr. Watson, I will do anything to get my grade up.” But I didn’t tell him in the voice of a hardworking overachiever desperate for extra credit. I told him in the voice of a thirsty high school slut, in a voice that said, “I will be your student sex slave.” Except I didn’t. The whole somment was going on just in my head. But when I heard, inside my head, me using that voice on Mr. Watson, my dad, I knew the truth. I had to try for it. I had to try to get laid by my father and my teacher. The real me had to.
I was already standing too close to him. I don’t remember when he stood up, but if someone looked through that narrow window in the door and saw a teacher allowing a student to stand that close, it would be instant scandal, probably dismissal. But I was his daughter. People would tolerate the nearness for his daughter. I had to push the line. I pressed my breasts against him, on the flimsiest pretext. The chemistry was activating for me. It must have been activating for him. He must have been pretending not to notice while depositing the memory in his spank bank. But that wasn’t enough. I had to completely cross the line. So I untied his tie.
This made no sense. If we were going to have a quickie in the classroom and hope no one caught us through the window, there was no sense in taking shirts off. But in my mind, taking the tie off was the beginning of sex. He let me. He let me when he was late for his meeting. He let me when there was no point. He let me even though it would be so hard to explain to someone watching through the window. He let me because he wanted more of my touch, couldn’t say no to my touch. Right? But he still didn’t start touching me. I had just sent the clearest signal. My own loins were a mess of slippery wetness already. I had just told him with my hands, “Take me. Take me and do whatever you want with me. I’ll never tell a soul.” Yet he didn’t take me. I didn’t know much about dating, but I knew that males don’t get half the signals that women send to them. So I had to cross the line better, clearer, HARDER. I turned around in that narrow space behind his desk and I rolled my ass across my teacher’s bulging hard-on. I did it firmly enough to be perfectly clear it was intentful, but I left him room. He had several inches to back away if that’s what he wanted. He didn’t back away. He took it. In fact he pressed into me. I grinded back. The chemicals were off the chart: the raw animal appeal of grinding before sex, plus the background knowledge that this sexual contact was with my beloved daddy who gave me everything and my brilliant elite teacher, Mr. Watson, Dr. Watson, the most remarkable man I know. Mind blown! My pussy was gushing juices like the juices would put out the fire. My panties were ruined with dripping sponginess.
He finally put his hands on me, nuzzled in, held me in that way. He breathed in the smell of my hair, that smell that only I have, a smell he took in many times as my daddy, but which he now plunged into as Mr. Watson, the top teacher who now fornicates with the students apparently. He started sliding his hands around with stupid desire. I loved it. I owned him and almost shrieked my shrill thrill of delight. We didn’t have much time, and no real privacy, but I had to show him my breasts.
Because my mom is beautiful. She aged great. She just doesn’t have that teenage perfection. She has a great complexion, but not the teenage vibrance that I do. She has a trim tummy and firm legs, but not the teenage perfect tone that I do. She has a solid bottom, but not the bouncing trampoline that I have. She has great hair, but not my silky richness with that smell that only I have. But above all, while my mom has great tits, they do not have that buoyant, full perky, perfection of youth. I had to show my dad my tits and steal him away from my mom.
It wouldn’t work to take off my shirt and sweater (extremely good schoolgirl appropriate attire. By the way) so I reached in and dismantled my bra from the straps, pulled it out and tossed it somewhere. I turned my tempting heinie away from my teacher’s towering rock and presented my chest. I lifted my shirt and sweater. I let him get a good look, drink in the color of my nipples. I twisted a little left and right to let him take in the contours. I almost let him look all he wanted, but keep them wanting more, right? I turned away and dropped my top down. Then I took his hands and put them up on my breasts. Mr. Watson has big strong hands for a teacher, but my big full breasts still filled them up. In fact I overflowed his hands a fair bit. I let him knead around while my hand went back to his big strong penis. It wasn’t a daddy-daughter brushup. It wasn’t a contrived accident. It was a sweet, intentful survey of his love tool. I pulled down his zipper.
He slid his hands down from my breasts to unclasp his belt. This was my cue to take off those messy panties. I think I lost all sexiness for a minute as I tried to discreetly wiggle them out of my skirt. In addition to being good girl panties, not sexy panties, they were also water logged from my wetness already. I went up my skirt and pulled them down. It was like handling a wet dishrag. I tried to kick them under something subtly and I went back to being sexy. I guess my dad wasn’t turned off because he pushed me over his work desk and flipped up my skirt.
Now this skirt was a schoolgirl skirt, but it was a good girl’s skirt. I went down to my knees, pleated, never showed anything untoward. It was an innocent girl’s tasteful and discreet clothing … until it flipped up. Now I was so very exposed, the shape legs into hip and bottom, bouncy bottom, my hourglass, my easy to grip hips, and my deliciously slim waist. If anyone looked in that window now. GOD!
I looked back to see my teacher’s cock before it went in me. It was different from the boy’s. Handsome old Mr. Watson was circumcised. I immediately loved that helmet look. But also he was different in something else. It had this look like it was going to burst. I must have had him so aroused. Poor guy, so taken over by his own daughter, his jailbait student. As I thought from groping it, it was quite big, even a little bigger than the nerd’s was. This made me sad. Though it looked succulent, I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to suck it well. (I wasn’t going to suck it then. It would seem unpure to do anything with my dad before coitus.) I would want to suck my teacher’s dick and give him complete pleasure and release inside my perfect schoolgirl mouth. I didn’t know how I could suck it right. Also, the valedictorian boy had already been too long for me. He was at least two inches too long for my vagina, and Teacher was longer still than him. I didn’t want to leave any inches of my dad cold outside. He lined up the tip. Ode to Joy erupted inside my head. He pushed in the tip. This is where sex with the dipshit paid off. I’d had a crush on my daddy since I was a little girl, but I didn’t want to take him like a little girl. I wanted to take him like a woman and I did. I curved my back the exact right angle. I didn’t cry. I didn’t retreat. I took him perfectly. He slid in as easy as a car going into the garage. Except he stopped inches out. His hips weren’t even brushing my ass as his head jabbed hard on my cervix.
I screamed inside. I was afraid it was all ruined. I wouldn’t be worthwhile for him. My teacher would reject me. My dad would keep a safe distance. Taking the risk was half the eroticism. Exposed there in front of the uncovered window where anyone could pass by, peak in, inquire as to why my dad was late. But this act had to be physically satisfying too. I had nothing to lose from getting caught. I would get victim privileges from the school. My peers would want to talk trash, but I could shut that down with one look. I was so above them. Even if I let Teacher hump me and had incest with my dad, I was still better than all of them. My mom would be consumed by jealously and insecurity form comparing herself to me and would have to pretend I was a victim too.
Dr. Watson, on the other hand, risked instant termination, years of jail and no chance to go back to his old life, loss of his wife, loss of me really. He risked losing his freedom to be with me, just for the chance to be in me. I gloried in my power. It’s such a charge to have over any man, but especially a man as prestigious as Dr. Watson, a man as devoted and loving as my father. But I couldn’t keep that power, the power which had made this perfectly intelligent and reasonable man so reckless and stupid, unless I could satisfy his large and needing penis.
Then, something miraculous happened. My vagina knew that it had to do better, that I had to be the perfect fit to honor my teacher and serve my father. My vagina got longer. It got inches longer, until my bouncing buttocks was fully compressed by my dad’s pressing pelvis, his balls were tight against my opening, and the tip was just barely hurting me on the inside. It was perfect. A perfect 10 fit.
Then, he pumped me. In the classroom. With a distracted person passing by the door, and not even slowing us down. He surged with great, intentful strokes. Every thrust told me, “This isn’t an accident.” I was the perfect good girl student and now his student sex slave. He was a legend of teaching, recognized nationally and now fucking my brains out, his own brain caramelized by my perfect body and perfect fitting love receptacle. The pressure on me was pounding my clit into some book on his desk. I came so fast, it felt like I came before he started fucking. The weight of years of unsatisfied affection and lust bore down on me. I started to scream. Instantly Mr. Watson’s hand smothered my mouth as he continued non-stop to take me from behind. The taste of my father’s fingers slipped into my mouth, combined with the taste of tears from my overwhelmingly intense emotions.
But cumming didn’t take the edge off. As the first wave subsided, I was still at 95% lustfulness, ready to orgasm again. I was bewildered and dazed with my desire for more. I thrashed my head. His hand fell out. I was about to scream. He stuffed some papers into my mouth and pulled my hair to regain control. I thought the naughtiest thoughts, “My teacher is thrusting into me. My dad is pulling out. My teacher is thrusting into me. My dad is pulling out.”
Then I switched it, “My dad is driving into me, Dr. Watson is drawing out. My dad is driving into me. Dr. Watson is drawing out.” I came again, hard. I moaned into the dirty papers in my mouth. I almost shook myself off his dick like I was having a seizure, but he let go of my hair and shoulder, clutched both of my grabbable hips for surety, and pistoned through it all unceasingly.
Finally, that second wave of orgasming brought me down away from peak fuck-mind just a little. I was about 10% sentient. I could just barely strategize a little. And I needed that bit of brain function. I didn’t need strategy to pleasure my dad better. Clearly my perfect body did that job for him. I needed to prepare. He was going to cum. Mr. Watson had said at some point before putting it in me, that he was just going to pull out. And I could have received his cumshot on my ass like a badge of honor, never washed that skirt and saved it as a trophy. But I knew that wouldn’t do just now. I had to prove to my teacher that I loved him. A cum badge wouldn’t do that job. I had to prove that this was more than random teenage lechery. And I had to show my daddy that I had always wanted to fuck him and would always want to fuck him. I would visit him in the retirement home when he was 75 and I would suck his salty dick and drain his withered balls inside of me, forever. But not only that; it was only one half to be his student sex slave. I also had to prove that I owned him, had him wrapped around my little finger. Feel me on this, girls. Men already have so much power over us, so many fucking advantages. The sweetest part of being a woman is turning men into sniveling, groveling idiots for our tits and ass. I had to make him cum in my vagina to prove that I controlled him, that he would grovel apologies to me when I was angry, that he would buy me diamonds or cars when I was demanding.
I prepared for his orgasm mentally, I felt him get faster. I waited a little bit more. Right when his grunt changed I pushed back on him hard. I pinned him to the wall or the shelf or whatever. I let up just enough to pump back on him a couple more times and be sure he finished. He did. He shot at point blank range and with piercing force right against my naked uterus. I came and came and came.
You ever see that old cliché where the boy and girl run into each others’ arms in the meadow? I had that fantasy right now, except instead of me and my teacher, it was my egg, in the meadow of my womb, running into his sperm. I willed with all my heart for my egg to go running along to crash into those consummately worthy swimmers. I tried to grow it legs to run to his sperm. I tried to make my egg’s corona radiata spread open for him, spread like a two-dollar whore. … Or an over-eager schoolgirl.
Once he started ejaculating in me, he succumbed completely. I could feel that I didn’t need to pin him to the wall, but he didn’t try to get free. In fact he pulled my hips back on him and almost broke something. I think he hadn’t cum in a while because it seemed double or triple the load that young teenage boy had given me. He held me at the hips and I felt the throbs and pulses of his perfect cock until he drained out. I thought fondly about how I shared 50% of my genes with that perfect angel-quality cock. Then, my father and my teacher pushed me off slowly.
We got quicker. He trousered up. I just dropped my skirt, fished out my bra and dishrag panties so the janitor wouldn’t find them, put them in my bag, and went to my Key Club meeting very late and with no excuse. I couldn’t think of an excuse for knowing Mr. Watson’s love seed was still squidging around in me. I suppose my dad didn’t have a good excuse either while he walked hastily with a penis encrusted with the top girl student’s pussy juices. I’m sure he just told them he was grading, while secretly thinking about how he had really been grading my sexual performance.
We met in the parking lot to drive home. The juices ran down my thighs having no panties to catch them. We didn’t say anything about the deed we did, but we almost had an accident when I reached over and caressed his thigh. Then, when we were stopped at a light, I started pulling up my skirt. Not all the way, just giving a teaser view of my gorgeous inner thighs. He didn’t scold me for being reckless. Instead he pulled into a side street to risk getting arrested again. A man well smart and responsible enough to understand risks and consequences fucked me in the car in public. This time we kissed passionately. I could taste his school meeting coffee. It turned me on so hard. I gushed all over his super dick. It left the smell of sex in the car and it lingered. Mom commented once or twice, but never figured it out.
After he shot his load inside me, he said, “So you’re on the pill then, right?”
“No.”
“Well, why ... Well, tell me it’s at least not your fertile time.”
“I don’t know. I never did the math on that.”
He didn’t set me straight. He couldn’t. He needed my sex too badly. We became sexually active all the time. He could only work up the nerve to even hint at discretion after he had just blown a load for me. It didn’t matter if he wanted discretion and responsibility; I was irresistible to him and the games we played were great. I would drink his seed in the classroom. I would flirt with him at school, quite dangerously. At home I would bait him to grope me in proximity of Mom. He even snuck to my bedroom at night with no plausible cover story whatsoever. It was ridiculous how stupid I made this genius of a man. By the way, I did keep a cum-encrusted skirt for a secret trophy. But I have something better now.
One time, I was late. You know “late.” I waited a few days. Finally, I went to 7-11. My hands were trembling visibly as I bough it, my first pregnancy test. My shaking was so bad, it looked like withdrawal tremors. I got it home and steeled my nerves to be able to piss straight. I did the test. It was positive. I was going to have Dr. Watson’s baby, teacher of teachers. I was so fucking turned on that I stuffed the pregnancy test in my crevice and masturbated with it. I came and sprayed a sloppy shower of pussy juice all over the thing. Then, I stuffed it in my vagina and pulled up my panties and walked around with it in me. It was an awkward fit, but that’s good because it reminded me of itself and that I was walking around with proof inside me that I was walking around with my precious father’s baby inside me. Finally, I felt satisfied. I pulled it out and sucked it off. The end was messed up, but the positive sign still showed clearly. I saved it up my sleeve. In my mind, I thought how it tasted different. I was sure I tasted like I was pregnant.
Dad came home before Mom, thank God. I took him in my girly little room and handcuffed him to my bed. I dropped my shorts and panties and put my pussy on his mouth. In fact I nearly dismantled his jaw, pushing down like I was stuffing it down his throat. I was relentless. When he’d had a good taste of my flowing juices, I asked him, “Does it taste different today? ... Do I taste pregnant? Because I am pregnant. You did it to your student, Mr. Watson.”
My dad never ate me out better. Either he was turned on as I was or he took it as blackmail that I was showing him. Either way, I multiple-orgasmed to the point of sickly weakness before I fell off of his exhausted mouth.
I told him there was no way I’d get an abortion so don’t even ask about it. I did pray that it would be a girl to mask over how much the child looked like him. In the end it was a boy. The likeness to my father is beyond 75%. Mom either, never caught on or pretended not to. I pretend to be an abandoned single mom, but the truth is I’m near the dad and still sleep with him all the time. He’s not my teacher anymore, but he’s still my daddy. And I will be there for him in the retirement home or any time. I will always be his student sex slave.
I want to give sexual pleasure to my daddy and teacher all day ever day. I want to get a time machine, neither to go forwards nor backwards, but to insert more time between days to have sex with my father the teacher. Conscious or unconscious I want to consummate love with my teacher and dad 25 hours a day.

PS.
After the first time this was published, you guys kept commenting to ask if I’m going to have sex with my son when he’s old enough. NO! I belong to my daddy and my teacher. Were you not reading, men? At the very most, when my boy is old enough to appreciate a naked woman and if I still have a hot body, I might contrive for him to get an accidental peak at me naked here and there, and here again.

And no, I also won’t bone with you, even if you’re a teacher who’s elite intelligence, fat AND bald, mean AND dorky, and with a really big dick. I don’t care.

I guess the only exception is if my dad, Mr. Watson asked. Since I am his student sex slave, if he wanted to be a cuckold while our son penetrated me, or gather up all the guys jacking off to this right now so I could taste their cum, that’d be the only way. Good luck convincing him because I belong to Dr. Watson mind, body, and soul.