#teacher!billy

You’re not sure why you’re stuck in this stupid place – all you did was fail English. 

What's the big deal? I speak it just fine, you think with a roll of your eyes as you set down your things. You slide into the desk furthest from the blackboard and look at the clock. Class should’ve started by now. Your fellow delinquents and flunkees notice, too. 

“Hey, is it true that we get to leave if the teacher is fifteen minutes late?” Tommy asks. “Like, I think we’re legally allowed to.”  

Right as the words leave his mouth, the door swings open. “Try it and I’ll kick your ass, kid,” he says. He’s tall, tan, and gorgeous. You sit up straighter in your chair. 

Wait… is that Billy Hargrove? You haven’t seen him in two years, and it doesn’t seem like anything has changed; he’s still that cocky asshole you pined for when you were sixteen. “I guess they let just anyone teach here now, huh?” you quip before you can stop yourself. Billy’s head snaps in your direction. 

“You got something smart to say?” His eyes are blazing, and his hand clenches into a fist. 

God, and he’s just as volatile as ever, too. You know it would be prudent to shut the fuck up, but it’s like your mouth is bypassing your brain. 

“Yeah, but you probably wouldn’t understand it.” You smirk when you see his jaw tick. Everyone turns to look at you like you’re a fascinating and very stupid zoo animal. Your friend, Christy, hisses at you to cool it. 

“One more smartass remark from you and you’re writing lines,” Billy growls. Your mouth stays closed just long enough for him to let his guard down. He strides over to his desk and sits, kicking his feet up like he owns the place. 

“Yes sir,” you purr. You get a few snickers for that. You all went to school with him; he’s not nearly old enough for that honorific. There could only be one purpose for saying it...especially like that.

“That’s it, (y/n). Up. Get up.” 

“Oh, come on, I’m just being respectful, sir.” You pout at him and he narrows his eyes. You know exactly what you’re doing to him. The look he gives you says this isn’t up for debate, though. Pushing his buttons is fun, but you need these credits to graduate; you stand up and reveal a skirt so short it’s borderline illegal. When you see him shift in his seat, you smile and flounce to the front of the room. “Um, what am I supposed to write?” You almost let that honorific slip again but you think better of it. It’s his turn to smirk.

“Write ‘I will not be a mouthy little slut’ fifty times.” Suddenly, the atmosphere is tense in a way that makes your classmates squirm. No one wants to look at you now. Or him. 

“What? There’s no way that’s allowed–” you try to protest, but he cuts you off.

“You think anyone gives a fuck what I make you do? If they cared about actually teaching you something, they wouldn’t put me in charge.” His smile is infuriating. He laces his hands behind his head because he knows he’s right; there’s nothing you can do but start writing. The rest of the class is quiet now because they’re waiting for him to tell them what to do. 

“Read a chapter or something,” he drawls. “I don’t give a shit; just don’t bother me.” 

By the time you get home your wrist really hurts. You feel humiliated and angry… but your thighs are sticky with arousal. In truth, every line you wrote made you wetter. When Billy looked at you like that and so casually punished you in front of everyone, it felt like you’d been struck by lightning. It was white hot and set your limbs to tingling. 

You lay in bed that night brainstorming ways to piss him off just enough to recreate that feeling. 

The air conditioning at Hawkins High has always been abysmal, but today it has completely broken down. The classroom is sweltering, even with the windows open. Billy is in a terrible mood from the start. It doesn’t help that he looks hungover. 

“Read your fuckin’ books and leave me alone,” he grumbles. He stalks toward the desk again and falters when he sees you’ve taken the seat right next to it, facing away from him. He doesn’t comment, but you can tell that pisses him off, too. He knows you’ve got something up your sleeve; he just doesn’t know what. 

You open your book slowly, holding it up directly in front of your face. No one else sees what he can. You’ve taped a Playboy centerfold to the pages just to provoke him – a busty redhead with nothing on but a pair of sunglasses, laying on a towel at the beach. You feel the anger and frustration radiating off of him before he says a damn word. 

You hear the squeak of the wheels of his office chair as he leans toward you. His voice in your ear is rough, deep. 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” It’s a rhetorical question; you know you’re supposed to simply turn the page or put the book down. Anything other than what you actually do. 

“You don't like it, sir?” you stage whisper. Heads turn toward you again; they can’t believe you’re this brave – or this dumb. “I didn’t take you for that kind of guy. I’ll cut something out of Playgirl next time instead, Mr. Hargrove.” He knows what you’re implying and he doesn’t like it. 

“Get out of my goddamn classroom.” It’s not a request. You roll your eyes and stand up again, bending low to pick up your backpack. Billy can’t help but stare at your ass. After one tense, electrifying moment, he licks his lips and looks away. He must really need this job; it's the most restraint you've ever witnessed from him. 

You get your car keys from your purse and he stops you right as you’re crossing the threshold into the hallway. 

“I didn’t say you could go home, did I?” You spin on your heel. 

“Well then where the hell am I supposed to go?” You’re standing there in that tiny denim skirt and cropped shirt, giving him a pouty innocent look that’s designed to drive him crazy. His eyes darken and your breath catches in your throat. 

“Classroom 302, down the hall. You’re gonna write lines again; same thing as last time, but you’ll do a hundred. Then you’ll read your chapter out loud to yourself, since you like to hear your own damn voice so much.” You turn again and he stops you once more. “I’ll be in there to check your work, so don’t fuck around.” Your thighs clench before you can take another step. 

“Yes, sir.” You just can’t help it, can’t leave well enough alone. 

“Go before I think of something worse,” he warns.

You’re on your sixtieth “I will not be a mouthy little slut” when you hear the classroom door click shut behind you. You shiver, but you don’t stop – not even when you hear the lock slide into place. 

He just watches you for a while. The only sounds are the low buzz of the lights overhead and the scratching of chalk against the blackboard. On line eighty, he finally speaks. 

“You think you’re real cute, huh?” When you don’t answer, he scoffs. “What – nothing to say now? I’m almost disappointed.” You continue on with your silent defiance until you hear him shift, his boots striding heavy across the floor. Before you have time to turn around fully, his hand is in your hair, yanking your head back. You whimper and he grins down at you. 

“I ought to fail you for being such a tease,” he says. “I could. No one would give a fuck except for you and your parents when you have to repeat senior year. I could make your life a living hell. You want that?” 

You start to shake your head, but he holds it in place with another tug of your hair. 

“Nah, baby, go ahead and use that title you love so much for me.” You clench your jaw so hard you hear it crack, but you release before he decides to make it really hurt. 

“No, sir.” 

“That’s what I fucking thought.” Billy releases your hair fast enough to make you stumble; he laughs. “No, you don’t want to fail. I think you want to be a good girl, don’t you?” He uses a mockingly sympathetic tone that makes you blush. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Yeah… but your smart mouth just flies open before you can stop it, am I right?” He towers over you, stepping closer now. 

You nod, casting your eyes down. “Yes, sir.” 

“Seems to me,” he says, tipping your chin up with two thick fingers, “that you need some help shutting up before you get yourself into real trouble, sweetheart.” Your breath catches in your throat. “I know one way I can help. Wanna hear it?” You glance down again and your eyes land on the outline of his dick straining against his jeans. It makes your stomach flip. “Well?” he says impatiently. “Speak up.” 

“Y-yes, sir,” you reply in a small voice. 

“Good.” He leans in and speaks low in your ear again, making you shiver. “I think… your mouth can’t get you in trouble if it’s stuffed full of cock.” You gasp and your legs tremble. For once, you really don’t have anything to say. 

“Genius, isn’t it?” he murmurs. “Simple and effective. And it counts as extra credit, which if I recall correctly… you desperately need.” You try to look down again and he grabs your jaw between his fingers. “I can’t fucking hear you.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“That’s what I thought.” You hear the unmistakable clink of his belt buckle opening, followed by the zip of his fly. “Get on your knees and open that pretty mouth for me.” You slowly lower yourself to the ground in front of him, your heart frantically beating against your ribcage. 

Is this really fucking happening? 

Billy frees himself from his boxers and your eyes go wide. You’d heard stories, but nothing could’ve prepared you for how huge it is. You’re even more nervous than you were a minute ago; you’re not new to oral, but you’ve never taken anything this big. As if reading your mind, he smirks down at you, smug and proud.

“Ten inches, five around. Hope your gag reflex is under control, gorgeous; you’re taking it all, or you’re getting an Incomplete for the day.” You don’t dare close your mouth while he taunts you, and you’re drooling, saliva trailing from your lip to your breasts. 

“Fuck, that’s a good start,” he groans. “Open wider.” 

You obey and he pushes his hips forward. Just when the tip touches your lips, he turns and smacks your cheek with it. You blink, startled; no one’s ever done something so degrading to you before. 

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” he taunts, tapping it against your face again. 

“You… hit me with it,” you murmur, your cheeks flushing pink. 

“Yeah? How did it make you feel?” He tilts his head like he genuinely wants your answer.

“Um… how do you think I fe–” He waits until your mouth is open again and shoves it in. You choke and cry out. 

“Don’t fucking care.” 

You should’ve known better; nothing with Billy was ever what it seemed. His unpredictability and wild streak were what attracted you in the first place when you were just a sophomore and he was the cool senior. You scramble to get yourself under control, bracing your hands against his thighs while you try to breathe through your nose.

“Fuck, that’s so much better,” he grunts. “Finally, some goddamn peace and quiet.” He thrusts in deeper. You gag and he moans again. “Oh, fuuuck yeah. Take it all, I know you can.” To your relief, he pulls back, but he barely gives you a second to breathe before tangling his hand in your hair and pushing you forward onto it again. You gag harder, and you’re grateful you didn’t eat today. 

Billy moves you faster along his length now, fucking your throat. You can feel it twitch inside with every thrust. Embarrassing little noises burst out of you against your will, and tears form at the corners of your eyes. All the while, he never shuts up. 

“My turn to – mm, fuck – talk now, baby,” he pants. “Gotta warn you: if you cry, it only makes me harder.” You can’t help it, and he knows that. When the tears do spill over, he grunts in satisfaction and holds your head still while he pistons his hips against your mouth. Your fingernails sink into the denim and you gag and choke and whimper. “Too much?” He looks down at your face. “Yeah?” He fake pouts and laughs. “Fuck yeah, it is, and you’re taking it like a champ.” Despite yourself, his praise makes you moan. 

“Oh, she fuckin’ likes that,” he says through gritted teeth. He’s practically humping your face and you struggle to breathe. “Such a good, quiet, filthy little whore for me. So ambitious.” You whine and your fingers slide down to touch yourself. He stops moving, his cock still as deep as it can go. You gag and swallow around it. 

“Did I – fuck, sweetheart, try not to do that when I’m saying something important, yeah? – did I say you could play with your pussy?” 

“Nn-nn,” is the only sound you can get out. 

“Damn right. Put your hands behind your back or everything you’ve done is gonna be for nothing.” You don’t need to be told twice. You clasp your arms behind you and he resumes with no warning, no warm-up. 

You’re sobbing with strings of saliva dripping down your chin and mascara running in rivulets down your face. You don’t know how long it’s been, but no matter how much you hollow your cheeks or moan or swallow, he doesn’t say he’s getting any closer. No, he’s just grunting and growling and hissing through his teeth. 

“Goddamn, baby,” he grits out. “Gonna keep you in here all summer.” The thought of him using you like this everyday has your cunt clenching around nothing. You feel your core tighten and you shake. You gasp around him when your orgasm hits and his rhythm falters. “Did you just — did you just cum from being used like a fucking fleshlight?" he asks, incredulous.

That’s what finally tips him over the edge. 

When he lets go, he doesn’t give you the option to spit or swallow – he just spills into you, hot and salty and so much. 

Billy pulls out and leans back against a desk, catching his breath right alongside you.