Tweakers part 2

A teacher is caught by a student while buying meth. She is forced to trade her cunt for his silence.

Tweakers is a series of stand alone stories about sluts who use meth and the depraved shit the drug encourages them to do.

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Miss Harper, Emily to her friends, Ms. Harper to the 17 seniors in her AP English class, had always prided herself on control. At 28, she was the youngest full-time teacher at Lincoln High, sharp, poised, with a tight body she kept toned from early-morning runs and the occasional spin class. The meth started small: a bump here and there to power through grading stacks or prep for parent-teacher nights. It stayed manageable. No one knew. Not her fiancé, not her colleagues, not the kids.

Until today.

She pulled up to the nondescript duplex on Maple Street at dusk, same as always, parked two blocks away, hoodie up, cash in pocket. The dealer, a quiet guy named Rico, met her at the side door with the usual small baggie. She handed over the folded twenties, poured a small line and snorted it right there.

As she turned to leave, a voice cut through the quiet alley.

“Ms. Harper?”

She froze. Turned slowly.

There, leaning against the chain-link fence next door, phone already in hand like he’d been waiting, was Tyler Brennan. Seventeen. Star of her third-period class. The kid who always sat in the back, quiet but observant, the one who’d once written an essay on The Great Gatsby that made her pause and reread it twice.

His eyes flicked from her face to the baggie she was trying to stuff into her pocket.

“Tyler,” she said, voice steady by some miracle. “What are you doing here?”

“I live here.” He jerked his thumb toward the duplex. “That’s my grandma’s place next door. Been watching you come and go for weeks.”

Her stomach dropped. “This isn’t—”

“I recorded it.” He held up his phone, screen dark but threatening. “You buying drugs from Rico. Clear as day. Timestamped. Your face. Your car plate in the background last time.”

Emily’s mouth went dry. “Delete it. Right now. I’ll… I’ll talk to the principal, get you extra credit, whatever. Just delete it.”
Tyler stepped closer. Smiled, not cruel, but hungry. “Nah. I want something else.”
She knew what was coming. The meth in her pocket felt like it was burning a hole through her jeans.

“Follow me,” he said, nodding toward the back door of his grandma’s place. “She’s at bingo till midnight.”

Emily should have run. Should have called his bluff, dared him to show anyone. But the craving was already whispering, and the fear twisted into something hotter, sharper. She followed.

Inside the dim kitchen he locked the door, pulled the blinds. Then he turned, eyes roaming her like she was already naked.
“Strip,” he said. “Or I send the video to the school group chat. To your fiancé. To everyone.”

Her hands shook as she peeled off the hoodie, then the blouse, buttons slow, deliberate. White lace bra underneath. She kicked off her flats, shimmied out of the jeans. Panties last, black thong, already damp from the adrenaline and the low simmer the meth always left in her cunt.

Tyler’s breath hitched. He was hard in his jeans, obvious.

“On your knees, Ms. Harper.”

She dropped. The linoleum was cold. He unzipped, pulled out his cock, thick for a kid his age, veined, already leaking. Smelled faintly of soap and teenage sweat.
“Suck it like you mean it. Like you’ve been thinking about your students’ dicks all semester.”

She took him in. Warm, heavy on her tongue. The meth haze made everything vivid, the salt, the pulse, the way his thighs tensed when she hollowed her cheeks. She bobbed deeper, gagging softly, eyes watering. He groaned, hand fisting her hair.

“Fuck… you’re better than porn. All those times you bent over the whiteboard in that tight skirt… knew you were a slut under the teacher act.”

Emily moaned around him. She shouldn’t. She knew she shouldn’t. But the high was creeping in just from proximity to the baggie in her discarded jeans, and her clit throbbed with every degrading word.

He pulled out, slapped her cheek lightly with his wet cock. “Bedroom. Now.”

She crawled, actually crawled, down the short hallway to his room. Posters of rappers, unmade bed, desk cluttered with textbooks. He shoved her face-down onto the mattress, ass up.

“Spread yourself.”

She reached back, pulled her cheeks apart. Exposed. Dripping.

Tyler laughed low. “Look at that teacher pussy. Soaking for her own student. What would the principal say?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. Rubbed his cockhead along her slit, teasing, then slammed in, one hard thrust balls-deep. Emily cried out, back arching, fists gripping the sheets.

“Fuck yes,” he grunted, starting to pound. “Tight little cunt. Bet your fiancé doesn’t fuck you like this.”

He didn’t. Not even close.

The meth fog turned shame into fuel. Every thrust lit her up, nerves firing, pleasure spiking sharp and dirty. She pushed back, meeting him, hips rolling like she was riding him instead of the other way around.

“Tell me you love it,” he demanded, slapping her ass. “Tell me you’re my slut now.”
“I… I love it,” she gasped. “Fuck your teacher… I’m your slut…”

He grabbed her hair, yanked her head back. “Louder.”

“I’m your fucking slut, Tyler! Use me!”
He flipped her onto her back, legs over his shoulders, folding her in half. Pounded deeper, watching her tits bounce, her face twist in ecstasy.

“You gonna cum on your student’s cock, Ms. Harper?”

“Yes—fuck—yes—”

She shattered. Hard. Walls pulsing, squirting a little on his shaft, thighs shaking. He didn’t stop, kept railing through it, grunting about how wet she was, how pathetic it was that a grown woman needed dick from a teenager to get off.
When he was close he pulled out, straddled her chest. “Open.”

She did. Tongue out. He stroked fast, then erupted, thick ropes across her lips, tongue, cheeks. One shot hit her eye; she blinked through it, moaning like it was the best thing she’d ever tasted.

He collapsed beside her, breathing hard. She lay there, cum cooling on her skin, pussy still twitching, high or not.

Tyler picked up his phone. “Video’s still here. But maybe… if you come back tomorrow after school… I delete a clip. We’ll see how many visits it takes.”

Emily didn’t answer right away. She just reached for her jeans, fished out the baggie, and right there on his bed dumped a fat line on her tits. Snorted it off her own skin while he watched, eyes wide.

Then she looked at him, lips still glossy with his load.

“Tomorrow,” she said, voice husky. “But bring more than just your phone next time.”

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