Head Teacher Part Two: My A-Drive Needs Attention

“Okay, Mr. Clark, you can go now.”

Sandy was Karen Robertson’s secretary. The head of the school’s sentry, who protected her from a world of urgent, worried parents, arrived sellers and so on. You have nowhere without Sandy’s permission, but I was lucky: she seemed to love me. When I arrived just as she was leaving – in this case it was lunchtime – she didn’t give me a grill, as I had seen her do to other people.

I could only assume that it was because Mrs. Robertson had said nice things about me. So when I arrived with my briefcase under the vague pretext of doing something with the school computer system, Sandy was everything to her. She knew that Mrs. Robertson would be happy to see me and pleasant and relaxed after I left.

It was the same Karen Robertson I had met through an adult dating site a few months earlier. It had been a somewhat agonizing opportunity at first. A little coat and dagger, with the unexpected complication that we actually experienced each other, but only realized when we arrived, at the hotel where we had arranged to have a sizzling encounter, but somehow Impersonal.

When it turned out that she was Ms. Robertson, the principal of my son George’s old school and Mr. Clark, whom she had met at parents’ parties and sports days. It was a shock thing after our online alter egos had described in gloomy detail what we were going to do to each other, in this frank and reckless way that anonymity facilitates.

“Oh, yes. You must be the guy who wants to put his tongue between my butt and stimulate my nerve endings.

“What I am, Mrs. Robertson. Glad to meet you.

After the awkward start, that first night had been a huge success, as you might say in the school magazine. I had indeed licked its bottom and we had both enjoyed it immensely, to the extent that we had come down for dinner to savour the moment, before returning to the room, softened by food and liqueurs, retrace our steps and to add a little more, including her sucking my penis and icking my crotch with the kind of abandonment that suggested she was as depraved as I was.

And we ended the evening with a tumultuous fuck that culminated with me cumming in his mouth.

And then, in several clandestine meetings in his office, our sexual practice had focused on the first act we had committed. We had established a rimming-only date model, which gave us both great satisfaction and freed her from the pressures of avoiding pregnancy and the more mundane cleansing issue afterwards.

Her husband, unless there was traces of DNA from my saliva between the cheeks of his wife’s, would not notice anything incriminating. And unless Sandy the secretary kisses my nose when I left Mrs. Robertson’s office, she too would not be wiser.

She was very discreet, Sandy. On the rare occasions when she needed to talk to her boss urgently, she would use the phone. She was not one of those arrogant PA who would take it upon herself to break in, or attempt to barge in and find the suspicious door locked.

As Sandy pulled out his outer jacket, I knocked quickly and quietly on the manager’s door and opened it before I heard, “Come on.”

“Mr. Clark,” said Karen, walking towards me, her hand outstretched, as if in a true greeting. “How nice of you to come on such short notice.” She locked the door, then stood right in front of me, looking up, with her knees pressing against mine and her breasts in intimate terms with my ribcage.

“I’m sorry, darling,” she said earnestly. “I just had to see you.”

“What seems to be the problem?” I said, as I have often done with clients who have appreciated my doctor-like approach to their computer problems.

“My A-drive needs attention,” she said.

“Oh well,” I replied. “Let’s take a look.”

Karen unzipped her gray striped pencil skirt and dropped her to the floor. I knelt in front of her and pulled her panties down. If she wore a thong, as she sometimes did, I would sometimes not even bother to remove it, because the string presented no real obstacle to our mutual pleasure. But today she was wearing large Bridget Jones-style pants that were supposed to help conceal a bigger stomach than she wanted. I pulled them down to her feet and held them as she came out of them.

Her carefully trimd pubic hair looked positively prim as I gave her an affectionate kiss. And then Karen turned and leaned with both hands on the desk. I kissed him slightly on both buttocks, then separated them from looking awe at his beautiful hole, whose folds formed a perfect circle, like an illustration of the sun.

“I see what the problem is,” I said thoughtfully.

“Can you fix it?”

“No problem,” I said. I said, “Two minutes.”

On his knees, fully clothed behind this woman who was naked from the waist down and whose pieces were completely exposed to me, he briefly crossed my mind what someone watching – Sandy, for example – might think. Something about a balance of power, maybe.

But I was not a servant of Karen. Or rather, she was as much my servant as I was. We loved doing this together. She gave me the most intimate and secret part of her body, and I gave her complete love with my tongue. I could play Karen’s like a concert pianist plays a Steinway.

I ran my tongue on either side, trying to feel the creases with my tongue. I breathed the wonderful natural aroma of it. I teased her by sliding my tongue up and down the slide above, where the lower back becomes a smooth and safe passage between her twin mountains.

Then I dived, right into it, licking heavily in the center, this wonderful part as the shutter of a camera, which is called in action quite rarely and for the rest of the time remains tight but effortlessly closed.

A woman’s well-maintained leisure anus is a marvel to see and have access to.

Karen gasped slightly, as she did when she began to pass excitedly and towards her peak. A few minutes was all it took, such was the accuracy of our contact and the compatibility of our desires. I licked her gently, tickling her a little, then more strongly, pushing her towards her orgasm, and she began to squirm almost imperceptibly, totally absorbed by the beauty of what was going on between us.

Sometimes, when she had reached her peak, I masturbated in her crack, then wipe my cum out of it, but not always, and today was one of those days not always. The strength of our special relationship was that I gained as much pleasure, so much thrill, from licking it as it drifted from being licked. And while the process inevitably led to his cumming, that was enough for me. I didn’t have this teenage compulsion to ejaculate, as if it were the be-all and the end of the exercise.

My love for Karen and her transcended these selfish ambitions. Maybe it’s like the deep satisfaction a chef gets in providing a dinner with a wonderful meal. He doesn’t feel the need to go out there and sit at the table and enjoy the fruits of his own brilliance.

Of course, sometimes it was good to lie there and bask in the bounties of a complete sexual experience, but such occasions were rare for us and these small episodes, these brief but thrilling explosions of excitement, kept us at once both more than happy.

Karen was adept at cumming quietly, somehow channelling the urge to scream and celebrate in an extra-long orgasm in which her body trembled and shook and vibrated.

This is what she was doing now, her simmering and exultant flesh oozing her thanks to me, as I clung to dear life, in my own private ecstasy in her beautiful antechamber.

When it was over, we would embrace and mumble sincere works to each other. She would get dressed and I would stand up and compose myself to greet Sandy, or anyone else who might be there, looking for a piece of Mrs. Robertson. But the piece of Mrs. Robertson that I had, as often as possible and grateful for her, was an indescribable, indescribable piece of heaven on earth.

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Headteacher Part Two: My A-Drive Needs Attention