Room 211

The Essay

The thirty four year old glanced down at the essay with unavailingly wide eyes, his mouth dry from the penned words streamed across the white lined paper. He had never received this kind of essay, in all his almost ten years of teaching. He didn't know what to do with himself, what to think. He grasped the red pen tightly in his hand, almost snapping it into two as he read on, his eyes painfully skimming the rest of the essay. His heart was racing, the hairs on his arms were sticking up, while his jaw clenched with an undeniable conflict. What if someone came in and saw him reading this essay? Would he lose his job? Of course not, he was tenured... But still, the thought loomed in his mind. God, this is not what he wanted. This is not what he signed up for when he wanted to be a teacher.

'She was panting loudly into his ear as she met his hips with hers. He couldn't help, but let out a groan of pleasure. He was her little secret, she didn't mind. After class he would wait for her to arrive, they would drive to a secluded parking lot and go into the back of her Jeep. Sometimes, she'd even take him to her dorm. She was glad she convinced her step mother to let her live alone. As she bit down on his neck, sure to leave her mark, he rolled his hips deeper into her, causing her to cry out in complete euphoria. Her unyielding grip on his shoulders only provoked him to thrust harder, making her moan in pleasure as he hit her-'

No, he could not go on reading, it was inappropriate! When he told his students that this weekend's homework prompt was up to the student, he didn't expect to get an essay explaining a graphic sex scene. He groaned to himself as he ran a feverish hand through his hair, flipping the essay over trying to ignore the ache he felt below his belt. How could a student write about this? Was it comfortable writing about such an erotic topic? Shaking his head, he shoved the essay into his briefcase and prepared to head home, hoping to get the imagery that the essay painted out of his head by the time he got back home to his fiancée.

"You look stressed out, babe." The dirty blonde echoed from behind the counter. "How was class?" Suddenly, the essay popped into his mind as he set his briefcase on the table.

"It was fine, just normal class. How was your day, Bailey?" She smiled widely while exiting the kitchen. "Did you enjoy work?" She mimicked his infamous shoulder shrug and placed a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth.

"It was good. Not much happens at a hair salon, my dear." With an understanding nod, the six foot three man took his jacket off, placing it on the back of the chair. "Why don't you go relax for awhile? Dinner won't be ready for another hour." Bailey smiled ushering her man towards his office with a kiss on his cheek for his stressed out self.

Sighing of relief, he organized his desk to his liking, placing his briefcase on the dark oak wood. Reaching into the case, he took out the stack of papers.

"God, why did I ever let my students pick their prompts?" He whispered, searching through the thick pile of papers. Taking off his tie, he took a sip of coffee and leaned forward with his elbows on his desk. Finally landing on the essay, he turned on the lamp and exhaled softly. "Alright missy, let's see what you have for me today."

'He was gorgeous, but she knew that he would never have her in the ways that she wanted him. She wanted him relentlessly, against the wall, as he breathed her name in a dizzying climax. Yes, that is what she craved. That is what she thinks about endlessly as she sits in the back of the classroom, watching his every move. His skilled hands writing on the white board. Oh, how she dreamed of those hands working inside of her! She bet he could work magic with those fingers, stretching her and taking her places she had never been before. His unmatched eyes staring into her as he finally pressed into her, yes that is what she wanted, what she so desperately longed for; she wanted him. She desired her professor and she knew that he would never desire her, but it was always nice to dream. It was always nice to dream about the man in Room 211.'

His mouth was yet again dry as he finished her opening statement. His way of writing was a bit unconventional. He required an opening statement that summarized the idea of the essay; it was usually longer than a thesis, but shorter than a full paragraph. As he eyed the words with confusion, lust, and more confusion, he swallowed hard and took a deep breath. He knew this was wrong, reading the essay, but something within him pulled himself to continue. He was her teacher after all... He was supposed to read her work and grade it accordingly, right?

"Oh my god." He exhaled realizing that this essay was about him. One of his students was fantasizing about him! He never thought he was attractive and certainly not a figure to be dreamt about in such a way. No, he got lucky with Bailey. She was beautiful, a goddess. He was certainly going to marry up when the time came. As he skimmed the essay more, it continually got more graphic, more sensual. The student desired him, all of him, and with that knowledge, he began to feel light headed.

"Erik?" Bailey's voice broke his train of thought as his furiously tried to hide the essay before she came into the office.

"Yes! Come in, honey!" He nervously shouted back to her. Soon, her blonde head poked through the door.

"You alright, babe? I've been calling out to you for awhile now." His head was spinning.

"Y-Yes! What do you need?" He was nervous, so nervous.

"I just wanted to know if you wanted chicken or pork for dinner..." She eyed her fiancé oddly, trying to figure out why he was sweating. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"Pork! Great, thanks!" Slamming the door in her face with his foot, he turned back to the essay that had inconveniently turned him on, a lot. His slacks were much tighter than when he originally sat down to read.

'She dreams of him taking her against the desk, bending her over until she feels the cool wood against her breasts. She longs to feel his fingers digging into her waist as he mercilessly pounds into her from behind, making sure she won't remember her own name and she only remembers his. She wants him to be rough, oh yes. She believes that his shy demeanor, his quiet teacher personality is just a façade. Within him is a beast, a beast that cannot be tamed. She only wishes that he would show her what lies within him, while he... Lies within her...'

"Fuck." He hadn't noticed that he started reading the essay without realizing who actually wrote this essay. Turning the essay back to the front page, he glanced at the upper right hand corner. With a completely surprised face, he could practically see the guilty victim.

She was about five foot three, her hair curly as ever. She sat in the back row of the class, in the left hand corner next to a blonde haired girl and a red head. She was talkative, but a good student. She never failed a test or turned in homework late. She was only a freshman in college, but this was an advanced English class meant for mainly upperclassman. He remembered her, because she had bright green eyes and a giant smile; every time she entered class she would wave to him and be the first to hand in her homework. She was smart, always offering to help the jocks with their essays. He never knew that she was this lascivious, this sexy.

"Christine, Christine Daaé..." He muttered, reading the name off of the corner. Rubbing his eyes, he put the essay back into the briefcase. He just wanted to enjoy the rest of the night, hoping that he would get some answers out of the five foot three girl tomorrow. Honestly, he just wanted a reason to talk to her.

"Your homework tonight is to hand me completed outlines tomorrow, please!" The teacher shouted as he earned some groans from some students from the front rows. "That means you, de Chagny." The jock smiled slightly, trying to mask his discomfort. He never studied or did his homework. It would be a miracle if he came to class tomorrow with a pencil. "Christine? May I speak to you after class?" The tiny girl looked up with bright eyes, pressing her books to her chest. She wore glasses today.

"Just head to lunch without me, I'll meet up with you guys." She smiled sweetly, making her way up to the front of the class. "You wanted to talk to me?" Her voice was happy, her smile wide.

"Yes..." Erik began, gesturing for her to pull up a desk. "Please sit, Ms. Daaé." Erik smiled wearily, adjusting his blue silk tie, a gift from Bailey. She plopped down on the desk, placing her books on her lap. Her heather gray v-neck scooped low, showing off her decent cleavage. Erik groaned to himself.

"Am I in trouble?" She bit her lip in nervousness, tilting her head.

"No, no... I just wanted to talk to you about your essay. The one you did on the free prompt?" She began to blush, looking down at her worn out Converse. "It seems as though you have, uh, quite the imagination."

"I just thought I would try a different style of writing, you know?" Her voice was quiet. "I can rewrite it, if you want something else, Professor Lantier." Her finger circled the books beneath her mindlessly as she sighed to herself.

"What caused you to write it?" He asked as he mentally skimmed the essay.

"Honestly, I just never had written anything like it. I wanted to explore that side of writing. I thought it came out pretty good, Professor Lantier. Don't you?" She giggled to herself, biting her lip once again. "I'm sorry if you felt objectified."

"That-That essay was about me?" He tried to sound as stupid as he could, but it didn't work.

"My essays are always about you, Professor Lantier." He could feel the heat in his throat again. She hopped off her desk, placing her books to the side. Making sure no one was around, she leaned forward onto the desk. "You're all I think about." She purred into his ears, her fingers tugging at his tie.

"I'm f-flattered, but this is inappropriate! You're much, much younger than I am! I'm engaged, for Christ's sake!" He ran a frantic hand through his hair as her unrelenting gaze peered at him. "Listen, I'll just give you a B on the essay and we'll pretend it never happened, okay? How's that, Miss Daaé?" She tilted her head, unsatisfied with the terms. "I can't do this with a student, it's w-wrong! You're what, 20? 19? God, no! Just take my offer and we'll be done with it, dear." He shakily spoke as she pondered on his offer.

"I'm 18, actually. I turn nineteen in December." She grinned widely, flipping her hair backwards. "You're not that much older than me."

"Christine, I'm sixteen years older than you! Jesus, that's a whole legal driver's age older than you!" Erik ran a distressed hand through his hair. God, he didn't know what to do. His heart was telling him, 'Don't you dare cheat on Bailey,' but everything else in his mind was telling him that a one time thing shouldn't feel this bad. "Just take the B and leave it at that."

"I have a better idea." She skipped over to behind the desk, eyeing the teacher up and down. He was built, but not the point where it became disgusting. Leaning forward, she pressed a kiss to his heated lips. He didn't pull back. "Don't tell me you didn't like my essay, because I know you did... Was it all you could think about last night while you fucked your fiancée?" He didn't answer. "Did my story make you horny? Did you wish it was me you were having sex with last night?"

He knew what he was getting himself into was wrong, but everything she was saying was true. He couldn't stop thinking about what she wrote, how she wrote it. It was so detailed that he could practically feel her on him, around him. After dinner, Bailey wanted to get frisky and of course he obliged, but Bailey wasn't on his mind... His student was. Oh god, he was certainly going to hell for this.

Christine nibbled on his earlobe, pulling his tie up and over his head. Her smooth lips traveling up and down his stubbled jaw. She seemed to pay no attention to his mask, which was nice. With one move, her shirt was up and over her head, her black lace bra exposed. He swallowed hard once more. Bailey never wore lingerie like that on a daily basis. With a lustful wink, Christine straddled the older man, grinding her sex into his. Erik moaned, moving her hair to her opposite side as he trailed a line of kisses down her collar bone. He suddenly paused, making her very aware that she was shirtless and on top of her professor.

"What's wrong?" She asked with concern.

"I have to-I have to go close the door, lock it." He breathed out, trailing his fingers down her impossibly sexy spine. "Stay, stay here." She gladly stood up, allowing him to lock the door and pull the blinds down in front of the window. He still couldn't believe he was doing this.

"What's your name? Your first name." She asked, pushing him back into his chair. "I just want to know what to call out louder, seeing that... I'll be forgetting my own name." Erik blinked furiously as all the blood rushed to his sex. Bailey never talked this dirty to him.

"E-Erik, it's Erik." She nodded approvingly, attacking his lips with hers in fervor that he couldn't catch up with, not that he was complaining. "Christine..." He exhaled, pulling away from their heated kisses.

"Yes?" His shirt was next to join the pile of clothes as her fingers worked on his belt. He caught his breath and finally gathered his thoughts.

"Why me?" With a wink, she slid to her knees and ushered for him to lift up his hips. Lifting them up, she pulled his pants and boxers down with it. Raising an eyebrow at his hardened sex, he blushed deeply. With a kiss to the tip, she leaned forward and exhaled a long breath, looking up at the man who stole her heart months ago. Truly, this was a dream come true.

"Stick around and maybe you'll find out why I chose you."

That night at dinner, Erik felt an undeniable wave of guilt wash over him as he sat across his beautifully stunning fiancée. She was chatting up a storm, talking about wedding plans. He mindlessly nodded, thinking about the horrible act he committed earlier that day. He had never thought about cheating before he read that essay. Maybe it was because it was so detailed, that it couldn't help itself but get engraved into his brain. As Bailey talked endlessly about the wedding, Erik sat there trying to decide if he should pretend like that afternoon never happened or talk to his student to make sure she knows that it will never happen again. With a great sigh, he stabbed the piece of chicken with his fork and tried to listen to his fiancée go on about flower arrangements. It's not his fault his mind wandered.

"What did you do in class today?" Erik accidentally dropped his fork onto the ground. Leaning down to grab it in a hasty manner, he hit his head on the table on the way back up to the surface. "Jesus, Er... Are you okay?"

"Fine, fine! Why wouldn't I be fine?" Erik rubbed his head slightly, trying to gain his bearings. With a smile, he stood quickly and rushed to the kitchen. "Goddamnit." He mumbled, looking for a new fork.

"They're in the draw beneath the microwave." Bailey and Erik had just moved into this house and it was still confusing to him. Sighing to himself, he noticed that one of the buttons on his shirt were missing. "Erik?"

"Damnit! I spilled some teriyaki sauce on my shirt, I'm going to go change!" With a wave of his hand, he was already upstairs. "Fuck..." He repeated as he tore off the dress shirt. Rapidly searching for a plain t-shirt, he finally stumbled on an old band shirt that Bailey got him for his birthday.

"Erik, is something wrong?" Bailey's small voice beckoned from the bedroom door as Erik slowly emerged from the closet. Smiling softly, he placed a soft kiss on her nose.

"Nothing my dear, nothing at all. Shall we return to dinner?" With that, the couple made their way down to dinner as if nothing had happened.