Chapter 1.

Beginnings…
It was recess and the girl standing in front of John Ryan’s desk was obviously nervous; she was wringing her hands and biting her bottom lip.
‘So, Lynda,’ he asked. ‘What are we going to do with you?’
‘I’m sorry sir?’ The girl looked at her teacher with a frown.
John Ryan skimmed a test-paper across the table so it stopped before her. ‘I’m talking about your marks, Lynda,’ he said. ‘What are you going to do about your marks?’ He leaned forward and tapped the circled 65% at the top of the test-paper with a ruler.
‘Your marks are adequate,’ he said, but definitely not good enough for medical studies. For that you need at least a distinction. In math, and in science… You do want to study medicine, don’t you?’ he asked the pale girl, and she nodded.
‘Yes, sir,’ she said, and Ryan rejoined with a “Not with these marks, you’re not”.
Lynda met his gaze, and he saw the beginning of tears in the cobalt-blue eyes. She bit her full bottom lip, and a second later said, ‘I have to be a doctor, Mr. Ryan. It’s all I have ever wanted to be.’ She shook her head and long auburn curls partly obscured her face for a moment. ‘I can’t imagine doing anything else,’ she added, softly, and swept the hair from her face with one hand.

That one simple gesture did it, and Ryan was in love, or rather – in lust. The turning of her slender neck so the blue veins showed under milky skin, and one beautiful hand lifting and the short-sleeved white school-shirt stretching over firm young breasts, and slender fingers sweeping hair from her face and then back.
For the first time, he looked at Lynda not as a student, but as a woman. For that’s what she was really. A young woman. And now, seeing her with new eyes; a very desirable young woman.
She was tall for a woman; just a couple of inches shorter than his own six foot, two. With auburn curls and dark blue eyes and milky skin with a healthy tan; a strong jaw and high cheekbones and full, glistening lips…
And then down… White shirt and grey school skirt which ended four or five inches above her knees. Both hiding secrets and wonders Ryan could only fantasize over… And beautiful legs that seemed to go on forever…

Lynda had seen the look in the teachers eyes change, and age-old fe-male instinct had her recognise his look for what it was. Had her recog-nise that although he thought himself still in charge of the situation, he was not. She was…
She blushed and looked at her feet, and Ryan had to strain to hear what she said next. ‘Anything, sir,’ she said, almost in a whisper, and then, looking up, repeated, louder, ‘I’ll do anything, Mr. Ryan. Anything to improve my grades.’
Ryan felt his heart jump in his chest, but pretended ignorance. ‘What do you mean by anything, Lynda?’ he asked.
The girl bit her lip once again, and her eyes were very dark in her pale face. ‘I mean anything, sir,’ adding, ‘That is, anything you want…’
And that said it all. Student and teacher stood and sat looking at one another for a long silent minute, communicating without words. It was Ryan who spoke first.
‘How old are you, Lynda?’
‘I was eighteen two months ago, sir.’ Softly.
‘And are you sure about what you just said… just offered…?’ Hesitantly.
‘Yes, sir.’ Lynda nodded, looking him straight in the eye.
It was Ryan’s turn to nod. ‘Extra lessons will start this afternoon,’ he said. ‘In my study.’ He glanced at a closed door in the corner of the classroom.
‘I have swimming lessons after school, sir,’ Lynda said. ‘But I can be here just after three.
‘Three is fine,’ Ryan said, not wanting to break the girls normal routine and perhaps create suspicion. He sat back and watched Lynda lift her book-satchel. ‘One more thing before you go,’ he said. ‘You have another class here right after second break?’ Lynda nodded and so did Ryan. ‘You can give me a sample then of what you mean by “Anything”, he said. ‘Show me if you’re really serious.’
Lynda stood biting the lip again, and looked at Ryan for a few long sec-onds; then nodded and left the room, blushing.

*

Ryan thought he’d died and gone to heaven. His desk was large with a slight tilt; with a half-moon recess cut into one side (where he sat), and a raised lip along its bottom edge to stop items from rolling of its smooth top. Also side- and front-panels so that only his shoes were visible to his students. The student’s desks were smaller replicas of his own – minus the front cover of course, to discourage them from hiding crib-notes during exams.
Lynda had the desk just to Ryan’s right; just a couple of feet off-centre, and she was busy scribbling at the spot-test Ryan had given the class when they came in. Her knees were a foot apart and her skirt pulled up a bit, and it seemed she’d simply pulled her panties to one side, for Ryan could see a small white triangle, tapering to a thin white strip, right in the junction of her one leg. In the middle, at the apex of her thighs, was what looked to be a short-trimmed auburn bush and fat, pouting pussy-lips. Ryan hastily looked up to see if any of the other students were watching him, but everyone seemed totally engaged by the test he’d set them. He let his eyes wander back to the exquisite sight below Lynda’s desk, and was gratified a minute later, when she let her legs fall open another few inches…
The bell went all too soon, and the girls trooped past him to go to their last class, handing in their papers and saying good bye as they went. Lynda was the last to leave, and she blushed and nodded when Ryan softly mouthed three o’clock to her…

*

John Ryan had been head-hunted by the PTA of Lindsey Johns High, Private School for Girls. Just two years after he’d finished his masters, and unhappy with the dead-end he seemed to find himself in. He was a genius at Math and a good teacher on top of that, and although it was not preferred school policy to hire male teachers to teach in an all-girl school, he was simply the best there was. At only twenty-seven.
To top his academic record, he was also an all-star track and field ath-lete, and had in the two years since joining Lindsey Johns, helped im-prove the school’s athletic reputation and competence tremendously. He earned a good salary, and was happy and content in his job. But then Lynda had come along, and content was very suddenly simply not good enough anymore…
It was just after three, and he sat brooding about what he’d been plan-ning; castigating himself for his lack of control and the huge risk he was about to take. But then justifying his intended actions by reasoning that the girl was eighteen; an adult in the eyes of the law and capable of making her own decisions…
And then there was a soft knock on the study’s open door, and there she stood, and all of John Ryan’s reservations fled out of the door she came in…
Lynda wore a flowered summer frock and flat-heeled sandals. The light dress stopped mid-thigh and was slightly see-through. It clung to her body in places and Ryan could see the outline of a bra and panties against the light behind her. Her hair was still slightly damp, and she wore no make-up except a light touch-up of lip-gloss. She had a nervous look on her beautiful face, which changed to slight apprehension when Ryan asked her to close the door – both of them. And lock the outside one.
She did as he asked, but only after taking a peek outside; wanting to reassure herself that nobody was watching. Then came back into the study and closed that door as well.
Ryan sat back and watched her. She was nibbling her lower lip again, and he thought about how much he would like to do that. ‘What you did earlier – in class – was wonderful,’ he said, and watched her blush. He continued, said, ‘Lynda, if this is not something you want to do… If you’d rather leave… I would understand. We could arrange some real extra classes, or something.’
The girl shook her head. ‘I’ve been to extra math-classes before,’ she said, ‘and they didn’t help.’ Adding, ‘And I’ve made up my mind to go through with this.’
‘You’re sure?’ Ryan asked, and she nodded.
‘You’re only nine years older than me,’ she said, and I – and most of the other girls – think you’re very handsome. Half of them would sleep with you if given the chance.’ She looked at the floor and blushed again. ‘I think I would like you to be my first,’ she said.
‘You’re still a virgin?’ Ryan gaped, remembering the brazen way Lynda had behaved in earlier that day; but then reminding himself that he was largely to blame for her behaviour.
The girl nodded. ‘Technically speaking, yes,’ she said. ‘I tore my hymen some years ago when I jumped hurdles with my horse, but I’ve never slept with a man.
Ryan nodded in turn, and sat looking the girl up and down for a min-ute; then he said, softly, ‘Come here, Lynda.’ He patted the desk next to where he sat, and she came over, walking slowly – as if in a trance.
‘If I do anything you are not comfortable with, I want you to immedi-ately stop me, all right,’ Ryan said, softly, and she nodded yet again.
He started at her lower leg – at her calve – and she jerked when he first touched her. Kneading and stroking the muscle and marvelling at the soft yet firmness of her skin, and telling her so; and a minute later, up. Letting his fingers dance across the tender skin at the back of her knee, and then the other leg, and then back again. And up. The silky skin at the back of her thighs, and he heard her give a juddering little breath; stroking and lightly squeezing… All the time reassuring her in a soft voice.
And another minute, and then up again. Long, gentle fingers stroking and then curling around the softest inner-thighs, and he felt her tremble. Fingers as light as feathers; touching and gliding over satiny warm skin, and another small trembling breath from Lynda. And then at last, his hand disappeared under the dress’ hemline, and moved higher still. Forever squeezing and stroking and soothing; and the girl putting her hands on the desk to support her trembling legs. And then the brush of soft cotton on the third knuckle of Ryan’s fore-finger, and she gasped again…
Just stroking around the panty-leg’s elastic then, for another long minute which felt like eternity, and then softer than a feather, across the panty’s crotch itself. And again. And again. He was surprised, and tre-mendously aroused, and had to restrain himself with an iron will, when he felt the soft material drawn into Lynda’s slit soft and damp. Rubbed a bit harder and heard her make a little hmmff sound.
And then: ‘Lift your dress for me, Lynda?’ And compliance: hands leaving the table and lifting the hem of the summer-dress until it just covered the cotton panties.
And ‘Higher, my sweet.’ And the dress rose higher. Exposing a white cotton panty with little blue butterflies, stretched across an ass he couldn’t wait to get his hands on. Gave action to thought then and left the soaked panty-slit for a minute; to stroke and rub higher. To softly rub Lynda’s ass-cheeks through the soft fabric, and when she gave a small sigh, slide his hand beneath the fabric and gently knead what he really wanted to plunder.
And then: ‘Lynda?’
‘Mmmmhh?’
‘Will you take off your panties for me? And lie forward; across my desk?’
A few seconds inaction, and then her two thumbs hooked into the little piece of cotton’s waistband and pulled it ever so slowly down. Exposing heaven. And then – with a small sigh – lay down on her stomach. Ryan was not one for profanity, but the first thought that came to mind was “This must be the most beautiful cunt in the world”.
Lynda’s pussy was poking out between her legs. Puffy and swollen, with dew-drops of moisture already clinging to the neatly trimmed hair. Wet, Ryan thought, but withheld himself from finding out, thinking it a little too soon perhaps.
Stroked up and down the backs of her trembling thighs again, and marvelled at their firmness, the skin’s elasticity. And then up and onto and over her ass. Smooth young wonderful bunches of muscle that trembled and quivered under his touch. Waiting for the unknown… For what was to come…
‘Spread your feet further apart, my sweet.’ And she did, almost a metre apart, causing her upper body to flatten on the table.
And stroking down again; and a little squeal when Ryan’s thumb brushed lightly over the puckered brown rose in the valley between her cheeks…
And further down; and Ryan was slowly losing control now. Sliding the tip of an index-finger between Lynda’s swollen lips; first over her very wet little hole and then rubbing the same finger repeatedly up and down a slippery wet channel, and then brushed her small swollen pink bud, eliciting another little squeal.
‘Lynda?’
‘Mmmh?’
‘Take of your dress. And your bra…’
She stood, and Ryan felt her legs tremble when she returned her full weight to them. He didn’t take his hand away from her crotch, but kept rubbing between her swollen lips. Lynda pulled the dress over her head in a single fluid movement, and then unclipped her bra, and Ryan was in heaven again. Her breasts were perfection. Probably 34 or 36B: nice hand-full’s and as firm and perky as only a teenager’s could be. And capped by dollar-sized dusky-dark nipples.
‘Oh god, Lynda, but you are beautiful,’ Ryan said to the girl, and stopped her when she was about to lie forward again. He stood up in-stead, and for the first time kissed her. but Ryan stopped herAnd then she was laying on the desk again

And then Lynda was begging him to do more…