Dylan Gets Luckier

I enjoyed writing "The Norwegian Made Me Do It," and this is a sequel told from a different point of view. Reading that one first will help, and so will reading "Crazy Gina." But, of course, this one stands alone, too. Gina's sort of a different narrator than Shannon, that's for sure.

Enjoy.

* * *

Shannon really, really shouldn't have told me about her and Dylan. Like, really shouldn't. We tell each other everything, especially the hot sexual bits and even the sensitive ones we can't tell the rest of our work friends, but she really shouldn't have told me about her and Dylan.

Because, see, now I wanted to fuck Dylan, too.

I'd told her, many times, that she absolutely could not let herself fuck her students. She shouldn't let herself fuck other people's students either, but she could not let herself fuck her students. Especially Dylan, poor troubled soul that he was. I told her this not because I was worried about my friend's morality: her boyfriend was away at sea, and in the same conversation where I'd warned her to lay off her student I'd advised her to grab some kid she'd been fucking down at her gym and let him fill her as much as she wanted.

But Shannon hadn't listened to me. She'd listened to her sneaky, clever little cunt. And that cunt had wanted Dylan. So she'd taken him, and then she'd made the mistake of telling me about it over coffee a couple towns over.

I liked Shannon a lot. She was older than me, my mentor when I came to work at the school six years ago. Back then she'd been just a little heavier, with some sexy padding that she'd then lost at her gym. I'd inspired her, I think, to get thinner when she was paired with me in the mentorship program. I was aware, even then, that I was hard to keep up with, so I appreciated that I was able to help her.

Nowadays she was one hot bitch, a sexy firepot with a lot of brains and, sometimes, a too-analytical mind. That's why I'd encouraged her to do the kid at the gym (Tim? Todd? Terry?), why I'd been so happy for her to get in better touch with that voracious monster she was hiding in her panties. She needed to unwind and fuck herself back into balance, and for a few days there I'd been happy she'd taken my advice. Until, that is, she told me she'd only shaken off her malaise by getting super-freaky with 18-year-old Dylan. In her own bed, too.

My advice had all backfired on me, though I was happy to see her back in control. But motherfucker, I wished she hadn't given me such a graphic description of her Saturday afternoon with the tall young man. Like a plague, her sexual restlessness had now spread to me. And, even though I didn't really think Dylan was all that hot, all I could think about was fucking him as a matter of principle. And now that I knew he fucked teachers, I'd have no problems getting him to nail me.

"Leon's coming back tomorrow," Shannon told us all at lunch one day; Audrey and Lucas made appropriate joyful noises. Leon was some sort of oil industry troubleshooter; they'd send him off to ships or rigs all over the world, where he'd stay for several weeks at a time while getting off with Shannon on FaceTime. I wondered if he knew she'd been fucking around on him recently, which made me wonder how often she'd done that in the past.

I'd have to find out. She'd told me about some other guy at a teacher conference somewhere, or during a camping trip or something, but I couldn't remember.

"You taking the next day off?" I asked wryly, spearing some more of my salad. "He'll probably make you too sore to walk, no?"

"Probably." She was being disingenuous; she'd told me that Leon had a skinny little cock, and mostly just ate her out. She'd be walking just fine. "There were no women on the ship this time, so he didn't even have any live spank material."

"Why didn't he just fuck some of the other sailors?" I asked with a wink. "Seems he should turn bi. Just for convenience's sake."

"That's not really how it works," Lucas muttered from his spot by the window.

Audrey smacked me on the arm. "I'm sure she'll be happy to see him and be with him, not just to fuck him." She rolled her eyes. "You've got a one-track mind, you dirty bitch."

"Hey now," I said, putting my hands up defensively. "I'm just saying what I've always said: sex is a natural part of life. It's unnatural to not have it. So, therefore, it's unhealthy to do things like park yourself out at sea for weeks with no holes to fill."

"Sure, but there are other things: nice dinners, taking care of the kids, hell, even just sitting on the couch reading books." Audrey shrugged. "I'm sure Shan and Leon can think of other things to do than stay in bed nekkid all day." Shannon and I exchanged a glance, and I had to bite my tongue; I liked Audrey an awful lot, but it was exactly that kind of attitude on her part that had made me fuck her husband. Which I'd told Shannon about; she and I did not keep secrets.

"Well," Shannon said, biting deliberately at her sandwich, "Audrey's part right: there will be plenty of nice dinners. And Gina's right too: there'll be plenty of holes filled." We all laughed. It was nice to have Shan in a good mood again.

* * *

I did have Dylan as a student this year in college-prep precalc, which would complicate things a tad. The truth was, I'd never done a student before. The closest I'd come was sleeping with recent graduates; I'd done that twice. No, three times; I forgot about Paul Sanchez, but he hardly counted. He'd cum almost before he'd gotten it in me. I mean, I know I'm tight, but come on.

So I was taking quite a step. There were some borderline legal issues, but I was sure he was eighteen and I didn't plan to do anything he didn't want; quite the contrary, actually. After me, he'd have boned two different teachers, and with only a couple of months left in the school year I hoped he could keep his mouth shut. I was sure I could convince him that his discretion might have certain rewards; I would be perfectly willing to indulge him in a repeat fuck.

Ethically, things were more complex. He was passing my class just fine, with a B minus, but I knew that if he banged me as well as Shannon said he banged her, I'd be tempted to bump that up to an A. Which would be wrong. I'd have to stand firm; I doubted he had any expectations, gradewise. He'd probably just be happy to get his nut in me.

And who wouldn't? Student or no, there were few men who'd complain about fucking me. And that's not me being boastful; it's just a fact. I'd lost the genetic lottery in the body department, topping out at five feet even and lacking curves; I called myself an A-cup, but most days I was too small for that. My body was too small, my butt too muscular, and my face was nothing more than pretty. I had bad skin, which I hadn't helped by staying out in the sun too long as a teen. My freckles had never gone away, my nose was too sharp, and my mousy brown hair was too fine.

I did have nice eyes, though, and far, far too much energy. I'd learned in college that I could use those two things to great sexual effect... as long as I was aggressive. So, naturally, I'd become aggressive. I'd had to if I wanted dick, and I did want dick. I'd gained a reputation back then as a girl who liked to fuck, and could do it well, and once that word got around, suddenly my looks didn't matter as much as they had in high school. Once guys know you're good to go pretty much anytime, anywhere, with anyone, you become very popular.

I'd gotten into yoga strictly to get better in bed. I'd watched what I ate because I'd read an article about how food could affect vaginal flavor. I'd devoured the kinds of magazines with hot chicks on the cover and boldly lurid headlines about "how to make your man better in bed." I'd been doing kegels religiously for a decade. Most of all, I'd practiced. I'd been pretty indiscriminate in college, reasoning that I could learn even from bad sex. Slowly I'd figured out what worked and what didn't. I'd taken quarts of cum in various holes. And the results were clear: dozens of very satisfied customers. I'd remained miraculously disease-free, and I'd taken quite well to the Pill.

So the physical part didn't worry me. Dylan would not turn me down, and he would leave feeling amazing. The only thing that gave me any pause at all was uncertainty about how Shannon would react. But she shouldn't have any issues; she'd had him first, and judging from what she'd told me I don't think she was looking to make this a long-term thing.

Dylan and I had a bit of a past, anyway; the fact was, I already knew he wanted me. We'd danced together at Homecoming last year, when I was chaperoning, and it had taken him almost no time at all to get an erection. I'd been very flattered, an old lady like me making a sweet young man pop a boner just from putting my arms around him. He'd just held me tighter, his penis growing, and I'd rewarded him with my usual winning smile and a gentle, covert pat on his perfect little ass. I might have... well, undulated a bit too, but that was all part of the game. I'd felt a little badly about leaving him high and dry, but he'd brought a date with a well-known reputation for the excellence of her blowjobs. So I figured he'd be taken care of.

Then there'd been that other time, just a month or so ago, when I'd shown him my butt after class. Which might have been taking things too far, but he'd asked about my tattoo, and the unwritten rule is that when someone asks about your tat, you MUST offer to show it to them. Even if it's on your lower back. And you're wearing a dress. No biggie; I'd been wearing panties that day with a French cut, so my cheeks hadn't been too abnormally bare. I'd reasoned he hadn't seen anything he wouldn't see in, say, a swimsuit. And sure, maybe I'd bent over a little bit, possibly even shimmied my hips for him; what was the harm in that?

So, yeah. I'd have no difficulty getting him to bone me. And as soon as I was off my period, I'd start making plans.

* * *

I'm on some pretty severe meds for anxiety and ADD, but the students don't know that. They just think of me as a quirky, energetic teacher, the kind that is somehow able to make math at least reasonably, mildly enjoyable. Mostly, it was because I myself didn't like math, so I didn't take it seriously. I just taught it because it was easy to get hired.

My plan was to screw Dylan Rotolo in my own classroom. When I'd been in high school, I'd always fantasized about that, so I reasoned that it would excite him, perhaps even be the highlight of his life. To hear Shannon tell it, he'd been pretty into her, and not just physically; I'd be lying if I said it wouldn't be nice to top Shannon. She's an awesome person, and I love her to death, but I'm a pretty competitive chick.

I'd rejected a few plans: keeping him after school would be easy, but it's not like he was ever a discipline problem. People would wonder. Showing him my panties while sitting on the desk wouldn't work either, as I would also be showing them to everyone else. And although I occasionally got hot thinking about the boys in my class dreaming about me, I wasn't willing to become The Teacher Who Flashes Her Students.

In the end, then, I hit on a good idea, one which dovetailed nicely with something else I'd been planning for awhile: I'd been wanting another tattoo. This seemed like a good opportunity.

I had two already: the tribal above my buttcrack, and a shooting star on my ankle. That one was pretty stupid, actually, a youthful extravagance, almost a dare. And the tribal... well, what can I say? It was the early 2000s, and everyone was doing it. This one would be better, wiser, a motto perhaps. And I'd put it someplace mildly naughty, somewhere under my pantyline or next to my boob.

Then I'd tell Dylan about it. Simple. Shannon told me he'd recently gotten one of his own, on his shoulderblade, and that he wasn't shy about showing it off; so, right away, we'd both have a good, plausible reason to start getting our clothes off. It would make sense to Dylan, especially since I'd already done it once.

This might just be the easiest cock I'd ever gotten.

The motto I chose wouldn't matter for Dylan's purposes, but for my own sake I wanted to pick a winner; it would stay on me forever, after all. In the end, I went with a song lyric: Don't criticize what you can't understand. The best part, of course, is that Bob DYLAN wrote that. It would give me an icebreaker, if I needed one.

As I arrived at the tattoo parlor, I was still debating whether to get it on my hip or on my ribcage. Either way would help me with Dylan, but other than that I was pretty indifferent. The artist, a burly cigarette-smelling guy with a scraggly beard whom I'd never met, looked me over and figured either one would work. I'll admit I mostly just picked the hip because I didn't feel like taking off my shirt in front of him, especially since I hadn't bothered with a bra.

"Left hip," I told him at last, "down low. Like, leading around toward my asscheek."

"Sure thing." He'd seen and touched the naked hips of hundreds of girls, of course, and he didn't look overly excited to do mine. "Black or dark green?"

I'm not a pale girl. "Black is fine. Pretty small, though, maybe the size of a 3x5 card."

"Sure." He shrugged, led me to the back, and got to work. There was the usual stale thrill of exposing myself to a stranger, even though I didn't get completely naked; still, I did have to peel down my jeans and pull up on the side of my panties. He was cold and clinical about the whole thing, going through the motions with efficiency and no perceptible attempt to look under my panties. Not that he needed to; it was a thong, so he was getting an eyeful anyway.

At least it hurt less than the little star on my ankle. He had the whole thing done in about 20 minutes. "There we go," he announced, angling a little mirror so that I could see it. Looked fine to me. "I'll put a bandage on there. Just leave it on until dinnertime, and then you don't need to put another one on. Wash it with liquid soap, and smear it with Neosporin for a few days. Should be fine; call a doctor if it gets infected."

"Yessir." I smiled up at him. He was ugly and fat, but there was a certain hairy attractiveness there. Plus, he was looking at my little ass in frank admiration. I licked my lips. "Should I go commando for a few days?" I flirted. "The straps, you know." I twisted my lacy black panty straps in my fingers, and he grunted.

"You do what you want about that; the straps shouldn't hurt anything." Well, fine. He was not, apparently, in the mood. Oh well; I patted the bandage he'd applied, then swung my legs off the bench and winced.

This better be worth it.

* * *

It was a couple of days later, as I sat there in the morning waiting for classes to start, that my friend Lucas came by. Poor Lucas: the only man among three gossipy women, he'd gravitated toward us purely by chance because he happened to pick a seat near us in the lunchroom. He was a nice guy, young, and quiet in a confident way. He was kind of a cutie; I'd kissed him once, and he was also a good kisser. "Morning!" he called, on his way to the Guidance office next door. "Got a minute?"

"For you, I've got all day," I said, batting my eyelashes; there were few things I enjoyed more than flirting with Lucas. "Did you come by to give me a quick buttfuck before the bell rings?"

"Calm down, Gina." He looked around to make sure there were no kids. "Have you heard the latest rumor? The kids are saying that Shannon and Dylan Rotolo were making out in her room a couple weeks ago."

"Shannon? And Dylan Rotolo?" I laughed; that was patently false. There was no way Shannon would have made out with Dylan in her own classroom. And then not told me. "No way."

"Yeah. I was thinking the same thing, but a bunch of kids were saying she had his shirt off."

I scoffed. "Whatever." She had, though, while fixing up a bandage on his back. "Kids talk, Lucas. You should hear what the girls say about you, for example."

He grinned a little uncertainly; he was never sure when I was kidding. I wasn't this time. "It's just, I know you guys are close, and I thought maybe she'd told you something."

I shrugged. She certainly did, you beautiful hunk of man! She fucked his brains out! But not in her classroom... "Nope. Nada. I'll keep an ear out, though."

"Sure, sure." He turned to go, but hesitated; I knew what he wanted to ask, and steepled my fingers under his chin to wait. "Ummm..."

"What?" The bell was about to ring, and I had ADD. I wasn't going to wait. "You want me to tell you what the girls say about you." It wasn't a question. He smiled nervously, then shuffled forward as I beckoned him with my finger. This was going to be fun. I stretched my head up, gesturing his head close so that I could whisper in his ear. He bent warily down, and I waited until his head was just a couple inches away. Then, quick as a serpent, I pushed my tongue out and stabbed it into his ear, first making sure there was plenty of saliva in there.

He fled to my raucous laughter. Oh, but he was a fun little man!

* * *

Dylan's precalc class met last period that day, and I'd seen no reason to delay in my plan. I'd dressed with care that morning on the off chance I'd be able to make something happen: I was known for tight, short dresses and plunging necklines, which I got away with because a chest like mine put me at no risk of wardrobe malfunctions. The dress was a wrap number in rusty red, my lipstick carefully matched, with great attention paid to the wings of mascara atop my eyes. I'd pulled my hair back into a long ponytail; it was nearly down to my ass now.

Underneath was not a thong; I'd gone with something full-coverage, which would give me an excuse to pull it down to show off my latest tat to my new favorite student. Everything was sheer satin, pretty much opaque, from a set I'd just bought at Secret Whispers. Naturally the bra matched, both in very light green; he'd miss not a single crack or crevice of my body. At the last minute, I'd decided to be naughty with a pair of black stockings, the kind that reached to the bottom of my pussy and terminated in a wide band of black lace. Grown men could seldom resist those, so I figured they'd make Dylan's head explode. Whichever head; didn't matter.

Of course, I'd shaved myself completely. I felt sleek and tingly already.

My meds helped me stay focused on my other classes that day; inside I was already getting horny. My period had ended last week, and already I was craving dick. Just a few nights ago I'd crawled over to Mike and made him do his husbandly duty, something he'd seemed pretty uninterested in since he'd seen me spit out two kids. Made me wonder who he thought I was doing the kegels for; it usually wasn't him. But he'd screwed me capably enough, though in reality I'd already decided to seduce Dylan by then.

Lunch was strained, with me focusing on my upcoming performance and everyone else seemingly sensing that something was up. Lucas was looking from me to Shannon with great curiosity; while Audrey was trying to get us interested, yet again, in what a wonderful husband she had. As always now, I put on a benign face and nodded politely; I was very well aware how wonderful he was. At fucking me.

In any case, the school bells must be obeyed; I bounced back to meet Dylan's class energized and confident. The class must have been able to tell something was up; I was saucier than usual that day. "Dylan, honey," I called to him in the back of the classroom, "why don't you come up to the board and do the third problem set?" I knew he'd get it wrong, but I had ulterior motives. "And Rachel, number five; Ellie, the seventh set. Everyone else, whip 'em out!" There was scattered laughter as everyone reached for their books, and I settled into seventy minutes of drilling on advanced algebra. Or geometry, or trig, or whatever; I could do all those lessons with my eyes closed. My brain was focused on nothing but Dylan Rotolo's penis.