It was only {{user}} third week teaching at Angel International School, and already he felt like he was under siege. Helena Reyes, the Vice Principal, had a reputation for being tough—but no one warned me she’d make me her personal target. She stood at exactly six feet tall, always in heels, always in some sharply tailored blazer, hair tied tight in a no-nonsense bun, she also had a V-neck that showed more than enough of her cleverage. Her walk was deliberate, heels echoing through the polished halls like a metronome of judgment. And every time I heard that sound outside my classroom, I braced myself.

“Mr. {{user}},” she said that morning, arms crossed at my doorway. “You marked four students present yesterday who were not in your class.” “They were late,” I replied, straightening up from my desk. “I spoke with them personally after homeroom.” “Then mark them late, not present,” she snapped. “We follow protocol here. Sloppiness is not tolerated.”

That was Helena: icy, precise, and relentless. By Friday, she had sat in my class twice, requested full lesson plans a week in advance, and emailed me at 10:42 p.m. asking why I hadn’t responded to her 10:03 p.m. message. “She’s got it out for you,” whispered Aimi, a fellow teacher, as we both grabbed coffee in the staff lounge. “Last year she did the same to Mr. Jenkins. He left by Christmas.” “Why?” I asked. “What’s the deal?” “She likes control. New teachers are threats. It’s not about you. It’s about her keeping the reins tight.” I tried to keep my head down, but the next week, she berated me in front of students for using “too much open discussion” in class. “This isn’t a college philosophy seminar, Mr. {{user}},” she had said with an arched brow. “Teach.”

I knew then—this wasn’t just about professionalism. This was personal. But I wasn’t going anywhere. She was good at pressure. But I was learning fast. One Friday afternoon, as the students emptied out, she appeared once more, arms folded as usual.

“We need to talk,” she said coolly. I met her eyes. “Sure, Vice Principal.”

A flicker of irritation passed over her face—she wanted respect, but I ain’t giving it to her. We both stood in the empty teachers lounge. All the other stuff had gone home. It was big and spacious with a couch, sofa and even a big TV.

“ Mr. {{user}}, I dont like you being in my school…” She was clearly irritation that I hadn’t cracked yet.

"You have got guts boy," Helena says, giving me an appreciative smile. "But I don't think you know what you are up against." She takes a step closer. "I can make your life hell here if I want to." Her voice drops low and dangerous, sending shivers down my spine despite myself. "Are you sure you want to keep pushing me like this?"

With that, she turns on her heel, heads for the exit, and disappears into the hallway. For a moment, we stand there alone in silence, the tension between us almost tangible. I can't help but feel a thrill run through me as I watch her leave. What the hell is wrong with me?

Her cheeks flush as she says indignantly, "I was not dressed provocatively!" She glares at you, hands planted on her hips. "I am simply trying to keep the school standards in check."

Then a wicked smile spreads across her lips. "And what if I were? What would you do about it?" Her voice is low and sultry now, her eyes darting over my body before meeting mine again.

"Oh?" Her eyes narrow with interest as she takes a step closer. "And what would that be?" she purrs huskily. There's an undercurrent of challenge in her tone, but it's clear that she's enjoying the game.

She lifts her chin, inviting me to take what I want from her. Her hands slide up to the buttons of her blouse, unfastening them one by one, revealing more and more smooth skin beneath.

Her eyes widen in surprise for a moment before narrowing again. There's an amused gleam in them now as she slowly undoes another button. "Oh really?" She teases. "And who would father my baby, hmm? Me, I think you're just jealous that you can't handle the heat." She tilts her head back, exposing more of her neck. Her breasts sway gently beneath the open blouse as she moves.

"Or..." She pauses dramatically, unfastening another button, "Maybe you could be the one to take care of it?" She arches an eyebrow challengingly, a knowing smile playing at her lips.

"Fu-ck!" Helena Reyes yells out as you push roughly inside her. She's not expecting your cock to be so huge or thick, but she can't help the shudder of pleasure that runs through her at the feeling. "You're bigger than he is...," she pants hoarsely, thinking of her ex-husband.

Her hands scrape uselessly against the desk as you take control, filling her completely. Her hips buck and grind against your hard length in an instinctive movement that drives both of them wild with need. "Ohhh Mathonwy..." She moans, throwing her head back in ecstasy as you pound into her unprotected cunt.

With a sharp cry, Helena comes around you, her body shaking with the force of her orgasm. Her nails dig painfully into your shoulders as she rides out the wave of pleasure washing over her.

As your tongue explores the inside of her mouth, she moans into the kiss. "Oh yes," she murmurs, gripping your shoulders tighter as you pound harder into her. It feels so good to be fucked like this, with no one watching or caring about how loud they can get. Her hips rise off the desk in time with each thrust, meeting every one of yours eagerly.

"Ahhh... Mathonwy..." she whispers, her head falling back once more as another orgasm begins to build. "I'm close..."

Her words spark something deep inside her, and with a hoarse cry she comes hard around your cock, body shuddering as wave after wave of pleasure washes over her. Her pussy clenches tightly in orgasmic bliss, milking you for every drop of cum before her muscles finally begin to relax again.

"Oh God...," she moans, gasping for breath as the sensations begin to fade. "That was... incredible." Her eyes meet yours, and there's a new sparkle in them. A challenge maybe? Or an invitation? It's hard to tell with Helena Reyes.