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Mr_Rochester · 07-08-2014, 02:47 PM

Here's part one of my first story on this site. I hope you enjoy!
-------------------

Sofia sat at the back of the classroom, waiting for her History teacher to finish his summing up. She loved listening to him speak, his knowledge and his confidence immediately engaging, but today she was anxious to leave and join the girls for lunch. They had their leavers prom to plan for, timings to decide on, transport to book and dresses to finalise.

"So," Mr. Francis said, "that will do for now. Leave your books on my desk as you leave please. I'll try and get your homework back to you by next time." He smiled his warm smile. "Have a good weekend all."

"Damn," thought Sofia to herself. She had already packed her book away, and would now waste precious seconds digging it back out again. She grabbed at it quickly, and with a glancing smile at Mr. Francis, put it on the pile of books on his desk.

"Thanks sir," she said as she caught his eye for a moment. "See you on Monday."

* * * *
It wasn't until later, after the excited prom discussions and fevered plans for the summer, that Sofia realised her mistake. In the quiet of her bedroom, she had gone for her notepad with a flutter of nervous energy, ready to write the next part of her story, her 'naughty' story as she had labelled it. She had started it a few weeks ago, something to release the tension of her exam revision and give her something else to focus on. When she first put pen to paper, she had had no idea where it would go. She hadn't written a story since her GCSE English exam, and she had been not much more than a child then. In truth, she had surprised herself with the direction the story had gone. Fuelled perhaps by her musings through the world of fan-fiction, her story had become quickly dark, exploring her hidden desires and dreams, of fleeting sexual encounters and of intoxicating power exchange.

And as she searched for the notepad, eager to write the next section, it was then she realised. She had given it to him. Mr. Francis. Her History book was still in her bag, complete with her homework, and the notepad was gone. She could see herself doing it now, concentrating more on getting out quickly, reaching for the book, catching his eye rather than looking at the book. How could she have been so stupid?

She knew she had a whole weekend of torture now, of wondering whether he would read it, if he would look at it when he realised it was the wrong book, what he would do if he did read it, if he read the story. "Damn it," she said again and again. "The damn story".

She had always liked Mr. Francis. He was a good teacher, and although he was a good deal older than her, in his mid 30s she estimated, he was good looking and good to listen to. He had appeared in her fantasies sometimes over the last two years, authoritative and alluring, and she was glad she had chosen his class. But now, this. How could she ever look him in the eye again? How could she even walk into his room on Monday morning? As she drifted fitfully to sleep, she asked herself the same question again, how could she have been so stupid?

07-08-2014, 02:47 PM	#1
Mr_Rochester Junior Member Join Date: Jun 2014 Location: UK Posts: 8	Sofia's Story Here's part one of my first story on this site. I hope you enjoy! ------------------- Sofia sat at the back of the classroom, waiting for her History teacher to finish his summing up. She loved listening to him speak, his knowledge and his confidence immediately engaging, but today she was anxious to leave and join the girls for lunch. They had their leavers prom to plan for, timings to decide on, transport to book and dresses to finalise. "So," Mr. Francis said, "that will do for now. Leave your books on my desk as you leave please. I'll try and get your homework back to you by next time." He smiled his warm smile. "Have a good weekend all." "Damn," thought Sofia to herself. She had already packed her book away, and would now waste precious seconds digging it back out again. She grabbed at it quickly, and with a glancing smile at Mr. Francis, put it on the pile of books on his desk. "Thanks sir," she said as she caught his eye for a moment. "See you on Monday." * * * * It wasn't until later, after the excited prom discussions and fevered plans for the summer, that Sofia realised her mistake. In the quiet of her bedroom, she had gone for her notepad with a flutter of nervous energy, ready to write the next part of her story, her 'naughty' story as she had labelled it. She had started it a few weeks ago, something to release the tension of her exam revision and give her something else to focus on. When she first put pen to paper, she had had no idea where it would go. She hadn't written a story since her GCSE English exam, and she had been not much more than a child then. In truth, she had surprised herself with the direction the story had gone. Fuelled perhaps by her musings through the world of fan-fiction, her story had become quickly dark, exploring her hidden desires and dreams, of fleeting sexual encounters and of intoxicating power exchange. And as she searched for the notepad, eager to write the next section, it was then she realised. She had given it to him. Mr. Francis. Her History book was still in her bag, complete with her homework, and the notepad was gone. She could see herself doing it now, concentrating more on getting out quickly, reaching for the book, catching his eye rather than looking at the book. How could she have been so stupid? She knew she had a whole weekend of torture now, of wondering whether he would read it, if he would look at it when he realised it was the wrong book, what he would do if he did read it, if he read the story. "Damn it," she said again and again. "The damn story". She had always liked Mr. Francis. He was a good teacher, and although he was a good deal older than her, in his mid 30s she estimated, he was good looking and good to listen to. He had appeared in her fantasies sometimes over the last two years, authoritative and alluring, and she was glad she had chosen his class. But now, this. How could she ever look him in the eye again? How could she even walk into his room on Monday morning? As she drifted fitfully to sleep, she asked herself the same question again, how could she have been so stupid?