It had been a reasonable request. When a student who missed school – through no fault of her own, at that; sickness happened whether it was convenient timing or not – wanted some extra coaching to catch up, that was initiative that Matthew Zweigart wanted to reward and encourage. So it took some extra time after school; for a worthwhile cause like that, he’d make time. And the student in question was a decent student; he’d never regretted juggling those hours around to make those sessions happen.

The way the dog lit up under his direct attention didn’t hurt, and while it might not have been just the look of an eager student getting the instruction she needed, there was enough of that to disregard the possibly-lurking less-proper things.

So, once again, that brought them to his classroom for the hour after school. Jessie-Belle had put in good work between sessions, and he had no problem telling her so. Especially not with the way it made her smile.

She soaked up what he told her, asked few but significant questions, and applied herself to the work with energy that was downright inspirational. Her work wasn’t perfect, but she tended to catch her mistakes quickly, and as such he was sure to wait until she was clearly stuck before chiming in with a correction. She worked well figuring things out for herself; cutting in the moment she made a slip would only interfere with that.

And her company was pleasant enough that he almost regretted they’d not have very many of these sessions. Almost.

She sat up straighter, frowning at the page of formulae. “Can I get a drink of water?”

“Of course. I’ll just look over what you’ve got so far,” he said, turning the page slightly towards himself as she got up and slid out from behind the lab desk. He had a pitcher waiting on his desk; while he wasn’t about to let any student take water to the lab desks, however carefully they were cleaned, neither did he see any point in forcing her into the quiet halls – now the domain of janitorial staff who might be a bit overzealous when faced with an unaccompanied student – to get to a fountain. Meanwhile, he glanced over her as-usual good work, making clarifying notes and a scant few corrections.

She sat back down beside him, looking over the notes he was making. Presently, the pencil she was turning between her fingers slipped and fell to the floor between them. With a murmured apology, she slid off her chair and bent down to pick it up; intent on finishing his notes, he didn’t shift over as promptly as he might have done.

Which may have explained why, when she was pulling herself up, her hand landed not on the edge of his chair, but quite squarely on the fox’s lap.

Jessie’s gasp was barely audible over his own. She froze, staring up at him wide-eyed. He got a hand on her shoulder, meaning to help her upright and back squarely into her seat, but then his cock pointed out that it hadn’t got much attention lately and those touches felt good, and all he did was squeeze gently, jaws parting to let that breath back out in a low groan.

Her fingers shifted, not drawing away, but moving along that ridge in his slacks, exploring it, tracing its outline even as it rose to greater prominence. He should have stopped her – there were plenty of reasons to do so, and he wouldn’t have needed to be harsh about it. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to interrupt, couldn’t do more than whisper her name; and even he could hear the longing in that whisper, doing far more to urge on her attentions than to check them.

The whine of the power scrubber had long since proceeded past the classroom door and down the hallway; the blinds were already drawn against the afternoon sun. Really, said that needy part of himself, no one needed to know. It wasn’t like he was forcing himself on her.

And by the way she fondled him, he rather doubted his was the first cock she’d encountered. Maybe she wasn’t all that deft about loosening his fly or fishing his shaft into the open, but she wasn’t terribly clumsy either; deft enough to keep the zipper from touching his skin, certainly. She knew what she was doing, and she knew she wanted it to happen.

Faced with that realization and his own pent-up need, objections like the relationship between them, the exposed nature of their location, and even his marriage all faded into the background of his rising need. They were as safe from discovery as they could ever expect to be, and so long as he didn’t show her special favour for it, a moment’s indiscretion wouldn’t hurt. She might not even know he was married; he didn’t wear his ring at school because it might cut through a glove, and it wasn’t like chemistry gave him cause to bring her up on a daily basis. Through the blissful haze of sensation wrought by her caress, he couldn’t recall if he’d ever brought up his family in her hearing.

No, this was just a moment of honest, accidental intimacy. Nothing untoward about it.

He was starting to fret about telltale stains on his slacks when she shifted over, bent down, and wrapped her lips around the head of his cock.

He bit his lip, muffling, if not entirely stifling, a grunt. His hand tightened on her shoulder, breath quickening as she lapped at him, her fist still working his shaft, squeezing and releasing, tugging in quick, shallow strokes.

How long had it been since someone worked him that eagerly?

With a swiftness that was at once embarrassing and merciful, his climax surged, breath catching as his cock pulsed over her tongue. She stayed right on him, lapping at his glans all through his climax, not missing a drop.

Very deliberately, he forced himself to make that last note. She lifted off his softening cock, tucked it back into his slacks, zipped him up, and sat up straight, taking his cue to turn back to the work at hand.

And that was that. Just one quick, physical interchange. Harmless.