The Sexy Teacher (5 Erotic Short Stories)

By Melissa F. Hart

Shasta Bennington is a 23-year-old former beauty queen. In her hometown, she took home every crown in every pageant, following a fine family tradition like her mother and four older sisters before her. Her half-Japanese, half-Italian beauty was no match for anyone who dared to compete against her. But she wasn’t happy.

When she graduated high school, she broke the news to her parents that her true passions were teaching and photography, and that she was going to college to follow her dream of being an educator. They were disappointed, but supported their daughter in her pursuits. Shasta did remarkably well in school and began substituting jobs here and there. Soon after obtaining her full teaching degree, a permanent job became available and was offered to her at a high school clear across the country, and she took it without thinking twice. She packed her things and got an apartment close to the school to begin her new career. But her beauty followed her, and Shasta may end up teaching more than just high school photography...

• Language: English
• Publisher: MFH Ink Publishing
• Release date: Aug 10, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311788061

Melissa F. Hart

I started writing romance fiction since I was 16 years old. I'm now a published writer thanks to the wonderful world of ebooks.I live in Canada and I love the winter months. As you can see, I wrote several books related to the winter holidays.I'm not represented by an agent and I'm a proud indie. I have learned how to create websites and edit images, design book covers, etc. All my books and what you see on this website I have created myself.I'm currently a certified accountant but my dream is to be a full-time independent writer of hot erotic romance books.

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The Sexy Teacher (5 Erotic Short Stories)

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2014 by Melissa F. Hart. All rights reserved worldwide.

No part of this book may be replicated, redistributed, or given away in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, without the prior written consent of the author/publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

All characters depicted in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or older

http://www.melissafhart.com/

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Table of Contents

Spreading My Wings - Part 1 of 5

The Aftermath - Part 2 of 5

The New Quarterback - Part 3 of 5

A Slippery Slope - Part 4 of 5

The Showdown - Part 5 of 5

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Spreading My Wings - Part 1 of 5

Shasta Bennington is a 23-year-old former beauty queen. In her hometown, she took home every crown in every pageant, following a fine family tradition like her mother and four older sisters before her. Her half-Japanese, half-Italian beauty was no match for anyone who dared to compete against her. But she wasn’t happy.

When she graduated high school, she broke the news to her parents that her true passions were teaching and photography, and that she was going to college to follow her dream of being an educator. They were disappointed, but supported their daughter in her pursuits. Shasta did remarkably well in school and began substituting jobs here and there. Soon after obtaining her full teaching degree, a permanent job became available and was offered to her at a high school clear across the country, and she took it without thinking twice. She packed her things and got an apartment close to the school to begin her new career. But her beauty followed her, and Shasta may end up teaching more than just high school photography…

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Spreading My Wings

My name is Shasta Bennington. I’m 23-years-old, and I recently obtained my teaching degree and accepted a job teaching at a high school clear across the country from my hometown in Riverdale, California. Although I was a beauty queen back home, winning every pageant I ever entered, my passions have always been photography and teaching. I knew from a very young age that I wanted to teach high school photography, but I kept it a secret from my family because my mother and four older sisters were all beauty queens as well and it was kind of a family tradition.

My parents were slightly disappointed when I told them I was going to college to be a photography teacher, but they eventually decided to support me. It was difficult for my strict Japanese mother to let me go and pursue my own dreams and not follow in her footsteps, but she eventually accepted it. After substituting here and there for a year, I was ecstatic when I was offered a full-time, permanent position at Kempton High in King’s Island, Florida – a cute little town with a small population.

I was so nervous my first day because I didn’t really know what to expect. Are the kids going to like me? How well am I going to handle this? Am I in over my head? These were the questions that were plaguing me when I entered the red brick halls of the school. Kempton High is one of the oldest schools in this area and it’s absolutely stunning from the outside. The inside is even more spectacular. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, tried to think to myself the most encouraging quotes I could think of, and stepped into my classroom – room 204.

I made it through four periods and everything went fine. When I entered the classroom for sixth period, the last period of the day, there was a low murmur of students talking and laughing, friends who hadn’t seen one another since the previous school year, new acquaintances being made, that sort of thing.

I quickly rushed over to my desk, set down my briefcase, and surveyed the room. A few students looked up at me when I walked in, but one in particular caught my eye. Out of the twenty or so students in my classroom, this one boy shone from all of them like a beacon of light. He had short black hair, striking blue eyes, and sat in the front of the class, arms folded, head down, not speaking to anyone. He looked shy and unsure of himself, like this was his first day at a new school. After gazing at him for a brief moment, I turned around to the whiteboard, grabbed a black marker, and wrote, Miss Bennington on the board.

Hello, class, I said with a confident tone that completely contradicted the nervousness coursing within me. My name is Miss Bennington, and I will be your instructor for this year’s class, Photography 101. I’d like to start by taking roll.

Much to my surprise, the kids quieted down and attentively looked up at me. I grabbed the folder that contained the roll sheet and began calling off names. Something within me couldn’t wait to find out what that cute, shy boy’s name in the front was. Going through the names one by one, every time another student answered with here, I felt a little bit more disappointment and anxiety. Finally, I arrived at the last name on the list.

Zachary Yates? I read aloud.

Here, came a faint voice from just beyond my desk. This was him. Zachary Yates. What a cute name.

Okay, great. You’re all here, minus one student, Cassandra Miller, I said.

She’s probably pregnant again, said a male student in the back, followed by scattered snickers from around the room. Cassandra’s kind of the school ho.

Okay, I don’t need to know that, I said in an attempt to stop the laughter. Now. I think it would be helpful to go around the room and one by one have everyone state their name, their grade, and why you decided to choose photography as your elective. Starting up front here, with Zachary, and continuing down the rows until everyone has spoken. Zachary, would you please introduce yourself?

I couldn’t wait to hear him speak again and find something, anything, out about him. I knew my curiosity about this boy was dangerous and forbidden, but I knew I would keep it to myself and no one would know.

Well, he said, I go by Zack, for starters.

His young voice was soothing and smooth, just barely deepened into manhood and it sent a jolt of adrenaline through me.

Oh, okay, I said with a smile, I’ll make a note of that. What grade are you in, Zack?

I’m a senior. I just moved here from Chicago, and this is my first year here at Kempton. I decided to take photography because it’s something I’ve always been interested in, he said, keeping constant eye contact with me.

Can you tell us why photography interests you? I asked.

It’s like…time is always moving, you know? When you take a photograph, you capture a moment in time that you can keep forever even though it’s fleeting, you can visually revisit it whenever you want. That’s just a beautiful thought to me, he said with obvious passion in his voice that absolutely mesmerized me.

That’s wonderful. I smiled at him. Our eyes locked for a brief second before the student behind him began speaking.

Um…my turn? she said.

Yes, go ahead. I tried to secretly regain my composure.

My name is Angela Harding. I’m a junior, and I chose photography because I figured just taking a bunch of pictures would get me an easy A.

Once again there were scattered chuckles around the room.

Well, think again, Miss Harding. I smiled. There’s a lot more to my class than just taking a bunch of pictures.

The semester progressed, and Zack’s pictures were so good and insightful it was though a professional had taken them. Perfect composure, interesting subjects, and wonderful use of photographic tools, such as the star filter. While many students chose the option of digital photography for their assignments, Zack always used the 35mm so his photos were real, rugged, and organic. Each told a little more of his story, and he always went above and beyond the assignment.

With every photo assignment he turned in, I was amazed all over again and his talent just deepened my secret attraction to him. I had noticed some awkward flirting going on between him and Angela, the girl who sat behind him. I was secretly jealous of these exchanges, but Zack didn’t seem very interested. He would shyly smile at her and look down at his feet whenever she would talk to him, displaying the classic body language signals of flirtation: running her fingers through her long blonde hair, touching his arm when they spoke, things of that nature. I noticed he would only give her one word answers and turn away. One day, at the end of class, I decided to make a bold move. As all the students gathered up their things and waited for the bell to ring, I walked over to Zack’s desk. He was putting his notebook away in his backpack.

Hey, Zack? I spoke in a low tone so as not to draw the attention of any other students. Do you think you can stay after class for a few minutes?

He