“God, I am so sorry, Mr. Johnson, it’s not a chemical, it’s just mouthwash.”
I pause with my thumbs in the waistband of my boxers. I was starting to think I was better safe than sorry and should strip down to nothing at all and wash off.
I let out a sigh of relief.
“Mouthwash?” I say, confused.
Her beautiful porcelain skin floods with color. “The bottle broke in my backpack so I dumped it in the flask so it wouldn’t get all over my homework.
I glance over at the sink attached to table right beside her, and the trashcan just below it. She had two options of easy disposal, but decided to dump it in a flask instead—for which she would have had to use a funnel in order to sift it through the small opening. This is a smart girl with excellent problem-solving skills, not whatever this character is she’s playing—who reminds me more of the ditzy Serena she’s been sitting behind who barely squeezes through life on a C average.
I start to wonder if this has anything to do with the reason those two have been talking in class the last couple of days.
“Can I see your paper, please?” I ask. I want to see if she really did need help with her assignment or if this is some game she’s playing that I have yet to figure out the objective of.
Her jaw clinches, and she takes the paper in her hand, hesitating as though she might not give it to me.
“Georgia? If you don’t turn it in today, you don’t get credit.”
“Can’t I turn it in late?” she asks, looking up at me with those big innocent eyes. The way she bites her bottom lip has me itching to grab her by the sides of her face and bring those lips to mine. If she were anyone else but my favorite student, I would have.
My voice stays firm even though I’d probably cave if she asked me for an extension. “Highest grade you can get when turning something in late is a C.”
Her eyes go bright with fear, and I fight the smile bubbling up. Little Miss Overachiever. I knew that would get her attention. She hands me the piece of paper. Even with the smell of mint still lingering in the air, the scent on her paper fills my head. I’m stunned at first, and glance over at Georgia who stares down at her desk, chin bobbing as if she’s either about to cry or scream, or maybe both.
With the page to my nose, I fill my lungs with the sweet, earthy scent of female cum. I want to close my eyes and live in this moment, stick my tongue out and taste her. I would know this smell anywhere. Hairs stand up all over my body and my dick strains against my boxers. Reluctantly, I put the paper down in front of me to hide my arousal.
When I finally break the hold her scent has on me, I look at the page and realize her work is flawless—like usual. So why had she been sitting there acting as if she were in need of help, unless she meant all of this to happen? I have a sinking suspicion that she was trying to get me out of my clothes on purpose, and that she had every intention of having me smell her cum on these pages. The only question that remains: is this brilliant student trying to start something with me?
I don’t know her well enough to say for sure that she’s not the kind of girl who would carelessly try to hook up with a teacher and risk losing her scholarship, but she definitely doesn’t seem like it. I would never try to do anything to ruin the limitless options of her future, only I’m really struggling not to give in to her.
“Georgia, what’s this about?” I say, trying to mask the lust-heavy undertones of my voice with authority. I don’t know how successful I am at it, but I’m giving it one hell of an effort. “I know this wasn’t an accident. Does this have something to do with Serena and Chad?”