The Naughty Virgin
By: Cassandra DeeI didn’t add that I didn’t plan on staying at the school much longer so reviews were pretty much a moot point. But the little girl didn’t need to know.
Evie bit her lip.
“I guess that makes sense,” she said slowly. “And if I do well, maybe Spencer Prep will funnel some resources into the Biology department. They’ll see that students are really motivated and help you buy some new supplies, some new plants, that kind of stuff,” she said, biting her lip. Was she thinking of the kumquat tree I kept outside the classroom in a big pot? The delicious fruit, golden orange and ripe? I definitely hoped so, and we’d be getting to that soon enough. But for now, Evie’s eyes were filled with hope.
“Would you, Mr. Phillips? If you tutored me, it’d make all the difference,” she breathed. “I want to be a doctor and this will help get my pre-med studies started. But,” and here her chin trembled. “My family can’t afford to pay you much,” she said quietly. “Like I mentioned, we’re working class and I’m actually only here because of a scholarship. We can’t afford someone as highly qualified as you.”
I steepled my hands under my chin thoughtfully.
“Well, we can work something out,” I said smoothly, my face impassive as I leaned back in the chair, casually handsome, in total control.
“Oh, would you consider doing it for free?” the brunette breathed, her eyes going wide with delight. “That would be so kind, Mr. Phillips!”
I threw my head back and laughed.
“Oh no little girl, this isn’t going to be free, not exactly,” I said casually. “We need to work out something in terms of payment.”
And Evie looked at the floor again, her hands twisting into one another, the look on her face crestfallen.
“I’m so sorry Mr. Phillips,” she said quietly. “My family doesn’t have much and it’s tough to drum up more. Fifteen dollars would be the most we could afford and I know that’s not enough for someone with your credentials.”
At that, a wolfish grin came over my face.
“I’m not asking for anything from your family,” I rumbled, “No, I figured the payment would come from you.”
The brunette looked confused, raising her head to meet my gaze with puzzled eyes.
“From me?” she asked quizzically. “I mean, I guess I could help you grade papers or do some filing. Or is there something else?” she asked, perplexed.
I shook my head.
“No, nothing like that. Grading papers would be a conflict of interest, you’d see other students’ grades and I don’t have much filing on hand,” I shrugged. “But I do have something else in mind.”
And the brunette shook her head, the mass of curls tumbling over her shoulders.
“But what?” she asked, her brow creased. “I mean, I’m still in high school so I don’t exactly have any marketable skills,” she said wryly.
And at that, I pulled the kumquat out of my pocket, the little globe orange and juicy, shiny under the classroom lights. Because after Evie had popped it out of her pussy, it’d rolled down the darkened hallway to stop at my feet, and I’d surreptitiously picked it up, stowing it in my pocket until I got home, smelling the tang of her pussy juice, licking the little fruit while re-living what I’d just seen in my head.
And I could tell the brunette recognized the fruit, her eyes going wide, her breasts heaving with agitation.
“Is this yours?” I asked casually, with a smile on my face, holding up the little fruit.
And the brunette’s shocked gasp was answer enough, my body going on alert, hungry suddenly … for what Evie had to offer.
CHAPTER FIVE
Evie
Oh god, oh god. What was that in Mr. Phillips’ hand? Oh god, could it be? I felt myself go hot, then cold, then hot again, my face going beet red, the flush spreading across my chest, my hands and feet suddenly clammy.
I’d searched for the kumquat after my little session during Homecoming, literally crawled on my hands and knees trying to find my lost fruit in that darkened hallway. But I’d come up empty and finally gave up, shrugging my shoulders. It was no big deal, it was just a piece of random fruit, the janitor would pick it up the next morning and trash it.
