Based on a true story - Sparks fly in the classroom!

Every February, we celebrate the shortest month of the year with the shortest stories allowed on Literotica. The 750 Word challenge is an annual writer's challenge to write the most complete story you can create using exactly 750 words.

This story is part of the 750 Word Challenge. Below this line are exactly 750 words.

<><><><><>֍<><><><><>

Ever since Clarissa Kensington enrolled in my English Literature class, I knew there would be trouble. Clarissa Kensington was held back one year in high school for, shall we say, performance issues? Then last year she broke her leg and hip skiing at Chamonix-Mont-Blanc in the French Alps, and she ended up short several classes for her high school diploma. Here she was, old enough to be a sophomore at Brown or Dartmouth, and mother dearest enrolled her in a public school to show Clarissa what she missed by going to private schools her entire life.

When she walked into my class, she recognized me immediately: Gary Pohl, working class schlub. My only hobby in life was the same as hers: skiing, except she slept in four-star accommodations on mummy's dime, I slept in my car.

"HI MISTER POHL!" she sang when she entered the classroom.

Recognizing her, I groaned inwardly. "Hello Claire."

She came up to my desk and leaned over, giving me a down-blouse view of her flawless cleavage. Those immaculate, firm 34DD breasts on that 34-22-33 body were oversized to perfection. "It's Clarissa D'Arcy Caprice Kensington," she crooned, each syllable rolling off her tongue and over those flawless lips like an auditory blowjob. We met on the slopes while she was recovering, and I never dreamed she would end up in my classroom.

Never.

From that moment she went on a sexual rampage, taunting and teasing. She even turned Lord of the Rings into a fantasy version of Lady Chatterley's Lover. "Mister Pohl, do you think Elves use anal as birth control? I mean, it works for me."

"Mister Pohl, am I reading into this, or is Sam Frodo's gay lover?"

"Mister Pohl, I think Théoden was boning Éowyn the whole time and Gríma was jealous, so Gríma sold out Rohan to Saruman."

Her questions amused her fellow students, but at least she was reading the material.

Then came what will always be remembered as the Day of the Sweater. Clarissa arrived in class wearing a Bolivian vicuña wool cardigan sweater she got for her eighteenth birthday from her absentee father. The wool for that sweater alone costs $300 per skein. It hid those delightful curves and those tempting breasts, and I knew something was up. "Class, I want a thousand words on Frodo and Sam's entry into Mordor, by tomorrow. Typewritten or handwritten, your choice."

"Mister Pohl, I have a question."

"Come up here to ask it, people are working."

As she walked up to my desk, she unbuttoned that sweater, slowly, button by button. When she got to my desk, she planted her hands and leaned over, and the sweater fell open, revealing her naked breasts. They were perfection, round and firm; her areola were perfect quarter-size circles of coral pink flesh on mounds of ivory. Her nipples were hard and pointing at me, begging me to suckle them. I did not know what Claire said to me... her breasts were calling out to me far too loudly for me to hear.

Frustrated, she closed up her sweater and stormed off, causing twitters of laughter to roll through the class. "Back to work everyone," and I wiped the sweat off my brow. I was still shaking and hard as a two-by-four when I got to my car to drive home. I opened it and sat down, and fell back. The seat was moved all the way back, and the backrest was flat, and I didn't notice it until too late.

Clarissa struck! She had opened my pants and fished out my cock and had it in her mouth before I realized that she was there. Her mouth rose and fell on my cock like a well-oiled machine as she sucked and pumped me to ecstasy. That sweater was still unbuttoned, and I cupped a perfect tit, pinching and twisting the nipple. She squealed happily and sucked my cock even harder, my breath steaming up the windows. Her hand moved away from my cock and I felt the head of my pecker squeezed by the depth of her throat as her nose buried in my pubic hair.

I came like a madman; all that tension from that tit-show in class must have saved up a gallon. She swallowed every drop, and then we kissed. "Please don't forget honey," said Clarissa. "Daddy will join us for dinner, and we need to pick a photographer for the wedding,"

"Yes dear." Sometimes you meet the nicest people when skiing.