Chapter 2: Caught
Akira's P.O.V
"...and then, he pushed into me so hard that I could feel him hitting my g-spot right away. And you guys wanna know how he made me climax?"
"How? How?" a chorus of whiney voices followed. I had a hunch it had more to do with techniques than how the narrator had the most mind blowing orgasm of her life.
"He bit down on my nipple soooo hard that I still have his teeth marks on them. OMG! It was like, the best night of my life!"
Another chorus of "Ooooh's" followed by shrill ear splitting laughter and then everything went quite.
“Ow!” I rubbed my ears. Auditioning for witchcraft, someone?
I opened the door quietly and tippy-toed out of the stall. Note to self, washrooms are the best place to gather motivation...and techniques.
And you must be wondering, why I was hiding in a bathroom stall, eavesdropping on the queen bees talk about their sex lives? Then let me introduce myself, my name is Akira Sanders, pen name Miss.OG (short for orgasm) and I'm the best erotic romance writer in Imphal, a small town near Montana.
And all erotic writers need experience, which I sadly lack since I'm still a virgin, that too at 18 years of age. And yes, you that heard right. And no, not all erotica’s are sluts, we just have a better idea of what maximum of the populace likes to read...under covers. And yes Miss-Goodie-Two-Shoes, that includes you too.
Anyway, getting off track here. So as I was saying, I'm an erotic romance writer (yes that's a category), which means that it's not all about just sex, sex and more sex, contrary to popular beliefs, erotica’s have story lines too. And it does not include sleeping with every XY-gene on sight.
But like I said before, I am severely lagging in experience and to cover for that, I watch a hell lot of porn and read thousands erotic novels. To say that I could write my very own Kama sutra would be an understatement.
I quickly scribble my ideas on a notepad whose cover had a Miss.OG designed on the inside with my special signature on the bottom. It's my secret diary where I write all my dirty stuff for the novels. Generally stuff that I gather from behind closed…stall doors.
I'm a pretty successful writer but recently I've been running out of luck. I never thought I would be this famous. It had all started from a tiny story that I'd written for a men's magazine, a nerd satisfying her hidden fantasies of a hot blonde haired man giving me the night of my life inside a classroom and the next thing I know, I'm being called to their office, being offered a par time job...which pays better than my three months pocket money combined. And as a result of too much indulgent writing, I’m now running out of ideas with a double edged sword called ‘deadline’ hanging over my head. I just needed one scene though. Just one more epic scene to complete my story and I seemed to have emptied my entire brain right when I when I was about to peak!
Scribbling done, I scowled as I read it over and over but it just didn't seem to fit in with the rest of my story. I mean, biting someone's tits to cause an orgasm, I probably invented that rule...or not? Oh well!
Tucking the diary securely under my arm I poked my head out the washroom door to scan the hallway. Break time was almost over and I still haven't eaten anything, but it was a small price to pay for the big bucks I got at the end of the month. I didn't get anything for the first few months of writing but since I've turned eighteen two months ago, I got a pretty good salary.
The hall was empty so I opened the washroom door fully and stepped out. I might be a famous writer but it was all in secret. In reality I was the awkward nerd with the perfect grades and clean manners who the teachers loved and others ignored. It's a good thing that I didn't get bullied like the typical nerds in the cliché romance novels, everyone just thought I was invisible, which was completely fine by me. It gave me a good cover and helped me stalk them secretly...not that I'm a crazy, obsessive stalker....just that I want to know if someone tried something that I haven't thought of yet.
I was still deep in thought as I walked to my locker to get books for my next class, I didn’t notice what was in front of me and ended up bumping into a wall which had me dropping the diary from my hand and falling backwards. I gasped and closed my eyes, waiting for the impact.
Only, it wasn't a wall that I had walked into, since walls never have hands to grab around your waist and neither do they have delicious manly cologne to blow your senses off proportion.
I peaked open an eye and gasped again.
Oh no! Oh God NO! Not Ethan Fucking Whitmore!
It was an extremely rare occasion that a teacher was awfully famous with his students, or should I say, for sleeping with his students. But Ethan Whitmore was that rarity. He was a fresh out of college, trainee teacher who was as good at teaching as he was in bed and...most of the queen bees have slept with him and not to forget that I might have used him as my ideal male lead in some of my stories....scratch that, most of my stories. If you saw his Greek God-ish looks, you'd understand why I do what I do. And he was a complete jerk to people who didn't fall to their knees in front of him, i.e., me.
"Take a picture, lasts longer." he smirked at me, steadying me back to my feet and then pushing me away. Why wasn't he in jail again?
Because he probably slept his way out of there.
Thank you, dear conscience.
"You wish!" I said, dusting my shirt where he had touched me like it was the worst thing that could happen but inside my head I was doing a victory dance at the fact that Ethan Whitmore had just touched me.
You're so hopeless!
Shut the fuck up conscience!
"Oh, I know you do". His smirk widened.
Ethan Whitmore, despite being a jerk and an amazing teacher, was Godly handsome...had I mentioned that? He had short blonde hair and leaf green eyes that anyone can get lost into, even me, I admit. But he was a womanizer and a heart breaker and he never did girlfriends. He only slept with the senior girls above eighteen...probably the female teachers too; well I think he slept with anything with a pussy.
"Oh? What do we have here? A secret diary?" he said snapping me out of my thoughts as he bend down to retrieve my secret journal.
Oh Shit! Double shit! Triple Fucking Shit!!
I made an attempt to grab the diary but him being so Goddamned tall at 6'4" to my short 5'5", easily held in up to his face and turned the cover.
"What the...?" his eyes were wide as he looked at the logo of Miss.OG and my handwritten signature and then at me. Then repeated the process again.
And that people, is how I knew that shit just hit the fan.