I matched with a former student on Tinder and slept with him

Before I get going let me just say that the meat of this story happened about three years ago and I am no longer 23 (though I wish I was). Everyone is 18+ in this story, so don’t worry about that. This really did happen, though some of the dialogue is approximated, as I’m trying to remember what was said despite being a little wine-drunk that night. Names are changed out of respect for privacy and locations are omitted because, well, I’d like to keep my job! I was originally going to post this in sluttyconfessions, but then I started remembering little details and couldn’t stop writing, and so it basically turned into a short story, so I suppose it fits better here!



I started as a high school English teacher right of college, fresh faced and idealistic. It was a bit of a wild ride getting thrown around by the higher ups as they tried to fit me into what was a dwindling English department. After being told I was going to be teaching a senior class my first year, I panicked, but ultimately my panic was for nothing. In the end, I taught several classes of sophomore and senior students through my first year and absolutely loved it.

Students come in all shapes and sizes and, most importantly, dispositions. In my senior class during my first year, as I was bumbling through learning the teaching process, I had an 18-year-old student who we’ll call Brock. Where the majority of students really couldn’t have cared less about literature and just wanted to graduate, there was the noticeable exception of Brock. He really had a passion for reading and was confident enough to speak up about it, which made him stand out amongst the class clowns and the quiet kids.

Brock would frequently come to the classroom after the end of school to talk about the assignments or just random books he was reading, something no other students really did, and I appreciatedit. He was enthusiastic, and it was infectious.

I was sad to see him graduate, but excited to see where he’d go. On top of that, he promised me he’d be in touch even as he went away to college. At the time I didn’t realize just how ‘in touch’ he would be.

Fast forward several months and I’m on Tinder. I’m a sucker and pay for the privilege of seeing who swipes right on me. It just makes things easier in the long run when you’re slutty and chasing after dick, at least that’s the case for me. Anyway, I’m scrolling through and who do I see show up on my feed as I’m eyeing the list of names but Brock. I thought it might be a different guy named Brock as he looked slightly more muscled than the kid I used to teach, but no. I didn’t know it at the time, but apparently he decided to go to a local college rather than travel far away from home. And he was on Tinder.

He liked me, his former teacher, on Tinder.

I’m flustered and taken aback for a moment, but I try to rationalize it as him just swiping to say hello after several months of not seeing me. Tinder could be used for that, right? So, me being silly and naïve, I like him back. I send him an innocent enough message asking how he’s doing and what he’s up to before I remember that some of the things on my profile are a bit… risqué. And now he’s seen them. Cue the embarrassment.

But Brock is smooth. He doesn’t comment on the inappropriate insinuations on my profile, but instead he regales me with stories about how he’s doing at college, and he’s asking me how things are going back at the high school. We banter on like that for a while before he brings up the idea of dinner. I, with help from my stupid, ridiculous mind, find some way to rationalize this as appropriate and we set a date to hang out and get some food.

The evening is nice, and the conversation is amazing. We click on almost every level talking aboutliterature and other, less reading-oriented things. I catch him several times trying to steal glances at my chest, or looking into my eyes seductively, and though I know I should be embarrassed, I’m not. He’s an adult, even if just, and it’s nice to be looked at like that.

Then, suddenly, the conversation takes a hard right as he asks me about my Tinder bio, saying it’s “pretty inappropriate for a high school teacher,” to which I blush and admit he’s right. But he assures me he liked it, grabbing my hand. I’m dangerously aware of his touch as he strokes the back of my hand with this thumb, and I can feel myself getting flustered and confused.

It's getting late and we’ve overstayed our welcome at the restaurant, and It's then that he hits me with the ‘ol, “Why don’t we go back to your place so we can keep talking?” line. I give a nervous laugh and naively ask, “Why my place?” to which he responds, “Because It’d be weird for me to take my teacher back to my parent’s house.” I laugh once more and start to say no, but he holds my hand again and I’m flooded by the need to say, “Okay.”

We drive to my modest apartment and walk upstairs silently until I’m at the door fumbling with my keys, making myself look like a clumsy idiot. My hands are shaking at the implication of letting Brock into my apartment. He takes the keys from my unsteady hands and unlocks the door and I’m left to feel like I’m a fucking amateur, which by this point in my life I am assuredly not. We go inside and kick off our shoes before I grab a glass of wine and gulp down a good few mouthfuls before facing him inthe living room. He’s made himself comfortable on the couch, leaning back like he owns the place, and I know on instinct where this is going.

I settle down beside him and we talk some more as I sip my wine, though the conversation is awkward and stunted, mostly because of me. And then he leans over and brushes my red hair back, looking at my neck like he’s a vampire waiting to strike. I have to consider for a long time whether I’m okay with this proceeding any further, but then he looks me in the eyes and I see the need in them. The want in them. Without any more thoughts, I lay my hand on his thigh and tell him it’s okay, and he pushes himself forwards before eagerly kissing me on my shoulder and neck. His hand is gripping my other shoulder as I breathe heavy into his ear, and I run my hand along his inner thigh, feeling him growing hard.

At this point, we’re done with the shitty, meager conversation. He pulls back and starts kissing me on the lips, and I lean into him as he starts to unzip my dress, freeing my breasts. I have a tattoo across my chest just underneath them, and he stares at it and grins before saying, “I never knew that was under there.”

“Yeah,” I tease, “because when would you have ever had the chance to see it before?” I fumble with the zipper of his pants but, through wonderful kisses, I manage to get him freed. I look down and, though I’ve seen a good many cocks over the years, feel substantially dirtier looking at his. He’s a solid six inches hard, and he stops kissing me as I hold the base of his penis.

Noticing my hesitancy, he breathes, “We can stop any time you want,” before kissing my cheek, and resting his nose on my skin. I shake my head.

“No, it’s okay. Better than okay,” I smile, knowing I’m more than capable of doing this. Knowing I’m actually very good at this part. And then I back up on the couch and push my body down, taking him in my mouth. I don’t know if the wine is giving me undue confidence or what, but I think I give some of the best head of my life, or at least he makes noises that make me feel like that’s what I’m doing. It’s messy and I’m drooling, fondling his balls and occasionally taking him out of my mouth to suck on them while my hand jerks him, wet with my saliva. I’m lost in sucking his cock, so I don’t hear him when he initially says he’s going to cum if I don’t stop. It takes a couple of taps on the head for me to come up for air and look at him, my hands still wrapped around his balls, and I can see he’s on theverge of cumming.

“Do you want me to finish you off?” I ask stupidly, and he responds by shaking his head and kissing me passionately again.

Though I don’t remember moving, we’re off the couch and in the bedroom. My dress is on the ground and he’s finishing disrobing, sitting on the edge of my bed with his cock pointing up towards the ceiling. He scooches backwards a little further and gestures for me to come forward and sit on him. I climb up onto the bed and awkwardly try to position myself, but I’m all legs thinking about taking him inside me, and so he has to help. He holds me up—he’s got the muscles and the height to do that. When I settle down on top of him and he enters me, I gasp. He pulls on my legs and I wrap them around his waist and we just sort of sit there for a while, enjoying the warmth of one another, holding onto one another, kissing, somehow too worked up to do much fucking.

Slowly, I start to move my hips, my hands mussing up his hair and stroking his face. His own hands are playing with my back, rubbing against my skin and creating goosepimples where they move. And then he’s moving down to my hips and butt, helping me go forwards and back. As we play with one another, I become conscious again of the fact that, not even a year prior, this guy was coming to see me in my class after school to talk about fucking books. But I just hold on tighter and try not to let thisincredibly taboo fact ruin the moment. I thrust back and forth for several minutes, while he finds an intense fascination with my tits. He grabs them and starts sucking on my nipples.

I unwrap my legs and get positioned so I can start bouncing on his cock, and he leans back, letting his hands dig into the mattress as the sounds of our sex reverberate through the room. I’ve forgotten all my reservations as one of his hands comes off the mattress and gives me a hard slap on the rear. I grin at him, and the wine helps me get mouthy as I say, “Fuck me, Brock. I’ve been a bad girl.”

He retorts with cries of, “Ms. Smith. Oh god, Ms. Smith,” and I’m melting. Never in my wildest, sluttiest dreams would I have thought about myself with a former student, but here I am, fervently riding one’s cock. He bucks up into me and grabs more fistfuls of my breasts, kneading them and pinching my nipples as we’re moaning and grunting, and then, before I can come to my senses, he’s cumming, giving me three lively thrusts as he pours himself inside of me. I feel it, hot and sticky coming from histhrobbing cock. I throw my hair back over my shoulder, as it’s trying to stick to my sweat-riddled face, and lean down to suck on his lips and his tongue, drunk off the sex.

When we’re finished making out and he exits me, his cum leaking out and staining my bedsheets, he gives me another smack along the ass and grins at me.

“That was fucking incredible,” he says as I climb off him and hurry to the bathroom to clean up.

I laugh at his words and say, “Childhood fantasy successfully completed?” to which he just smiles and falls back on the bed, letting his hands rest behind his head, saying nothing more. Brock stays the night with me, and though we don’t have full-blown sex again that evening, I do give him a blowjob after a fun and teasing shower and before we fall asleep, letting him cum on my face. He’s practically giddy to do it and watches me with silent astonishment as I take his cum in my hand and lick it off.

“If you had told me a year ago that my favorite teacher would be eating my cum off her face, I’d have called you insane,” he said.

“And if anyone were to find out that I let a former student cum inside me, I’d be fired,” I said, gettingserious for a moment. “You can’t go and brag about this to your friends. You can’t tell anyone about this, Brock. I would almost assuredly lose my job if they knew what I just did.”

He makes a zipping motion with his finger across his lips and pretends to toss away the key. “Your secret’s safe with me, Ms. Smith,” he says as we get in bed together post-cleanup and start kissing again, him stroking my back, me stroking his leg and digging my nails into his behind. I fall asleep a little later with him holding onto me, spooning me from behind.

The next morning, I wake up to a hard-on pressing into my backside and a hand between my legs. My alarm’s going off and I reach to silence it. It’s early and I have school to get ready for, and as much as I want to stay there and let Brock finger me before we get down and dirty again, I figure we have to call it. The thought does cross my mind that I’ve given myself enough time by setting the alarm to have a little more fun, but the concept of doing it right before I go in to teach overpowers my horniness.

I pat his hand and say, “Easy there, Tiger,” even though I’d rather moan, but I stifle it as I remove his hand from my pussy and try to climb out of bed. In an instant, however, he’s rolled over and grabbed my wrist, kissing me on the lips, and I don’t do anything to fight it, even though I know I probably should. “What are you doing?” I laugh between kisses.

“Come on, Chloe,” he says, releasing my wrist and running his hand through my hair, stroking my head. “We’ve got time to make you feel good. To get the day started off on the right track.”

“Mmmm, just being in bed with you is enough to get my day started off on the right track,” I tease, nipping at his shoulder with my teeth. But Brock isn’t satisfied with my answer.

“Give me ten minutes,” he says, scooting down the bed, picking up my ass, and moving me into a more comfortable position. His tongue is out before I can protest, tracing patterns around my pussy.I pull a pillow behind me and let my head fall back.

“Ten minutes,” I say before letting out a moan as his fingers get into the mix, prodding me as he finds my clit and toys with it. It’s two minutes before I say, breathlessly, “You’re very good at this. You’re too good at this.”

He raises his head and smiles at me, and I can see that I’ve gotten my wetness on his face. “I’ve had practice,” he says before going back down. I wonder how much practice a nineteen-year-old can really have with eating pussy, but then I remember my own sexual history and realize it’s not that farfetched.

Five minutes in and I’m trembling. Six minutes and I’m grabbing his head and pushing him deeper down into me, his tongue vehemently working away. Seven minutes and my legs are involuntarily shaking, and I’m so close to cumming that I cry out and sit up, gritting my teeth and running a hand through my hair before putting a finger in my mouth and sucking on it.

And then I cum, practically screaming because it’s so intense. Shivers wrack my body as I fall back onto the mattress and Brock lifts his head, grinning that stupid, shit-eating grin at me. He’s proud of himself, having eaten out his former teacher. I’m panting as he sidles up beside me, kissing and licking me all along my body as he moves up. He snuggles into the nook of my neck and nips at me, and I hold onto his arm, still trying to catch my breath.

“So,” I huff, “you’ve had practice,” at which point he laughs and turns me on my side, taking a fistful of my ass and kissing me.

“I don’t think that was a full ten minutes,” he says, “which leaves us time for this.” He grabs his cock and sticks it in me from behind as I’m lying on my side, still sensitive from cumming. It feels amazing as he enters me, and he takes my hair and pulls it back gently as he starts thrusting into me. His other hand lets go of his cock and wraps itself around my throat, not hard so as to choke me, but in an “I own you right now” sort of way.

And he does. I can’t deny it. We’re not at it long before I’m shaking again, the bed rhythmically thumping against the wall, my neighbors no doubt getting a good show to listen to. He forces my head to turn and kisses me, sticking his tongue in my mouth as he fucks me from behind.

“I’m going to cum on your cock,” I whisper. Or whimper. I’m not proud of how badly I’m under his control, but I can’t deny it. Looking back, I think I would have skipped school and let him fuck me all day if that’s what he’d suggested we do. But as it were, I finish again, kissing him as hard as I can, and he finishes, thighs slamming into me until he pulls out and bolts up, leaning over me as he strokes his cock, cum spurting out and covering my ass, back, and bedsheets.

“Fuck,” he says, out of breath, and I mirror him with my own rendition of, “Fuck.”

We shower again, taking perhaps too long with the constant touching and kissing, but eventually we do get out and get some clothes on. I try my best to look like a respectable teacher and not like somebody who just had their brains and common sense fucked out the night prior, and Brock gets in the clothes he wore to my house. We eat breakfast together. Cereal, boring, and then we say our goodbyes, but not before he gives me another slap on the behind and kisses my forehead.

“They say getting older sucks,” he says, “but so far I’m having a hard time seeing the downside.”

“I don’t think this was what they had in mind when ‘they’ said that,” I joke. “Fucking your former teacher isn’t exactly the most common side-effect of growing up.”

He grins at me. “Well then I’ll settle for being lucky, I guess.”



And that’s all I have today! We parted ways that morning, him going to his college classes and me going to teach knowing in the back of my mind that I just did something incredibly inappropriate. We keep in touch after that and there are other, sluttier things we did, but they’ll have to come in another story! Thanks for reading!
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