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The cost of an education

A teacher uses a student's poor grades to his gain
"Hurry up," her mother snapped. Sayuri Watanabe may have been taller than her mother, but she'd never been able to keep up with her when she was in a hurry.

Sayuri had never been to this part of Matsudo – she'd never had a reason. Not that it really mattered. It looked like any suburb in practically every other city in Kanto, the vast sprawl of cities that made Tokyo the biggest metropolis on Earth. She'd never been to Kansai, but guessed things were the same there.

This far from the rail station the houses were no more than two stories. Each little plywood box a little different to its neighbour, but the inhabitants living out the same take on the modern Japanese dream.

To Sayuri, it was a nightmare. Neat hedges and pristine walls marked the boundaries to lots only a fraction larger than the houses that sat on them. You could open your window and touch your neighbour's house in some of them. You wouldn't even have to lean out. Sayuri thanked, well, something, for small mercies. At least that was one advantage to having a bedroom next to the railway – your view at least extended across the tracks.

Her mother seemed to know where they were going. She'd surprised Sayuri by demonstrating that she had worked out how to use the navigation function on her cell phone. The older woman scanned the names of a laundry-house and yaki-tori joint and took a sharp left. Sayuri's battered shoe didn't quite make the turning and slipped from her foot. She had to hook back to pop it back on. That earned her another barked "Don't be so slow!"

* * * * * *

"Mister Yokomoto, please accept our apologies for Sayuri's poor performance in this year. We are very ashamed." Yuko Watanabe spoke very rapidly, her hands on her knees, not able to face the teacher.

"Mrs Watanabe, please. Don't apologise. It is your daughter that should be apologising. I believe it is her own choice that her grades have suffered. I know Sayuri's type, I see it every year, and if she chooses not to work then you must understand, we teachers, and you as parents, have little choice. Other children maybe we can influence. But not Sayuri."

Yuji Yokomoto observed the girl before him. She was not that bad – class four had at least half a dozen worse. But she was impressionable. Sayuri, when she'd been a freshman, had been a diligent student. Not a genius, but conscientious and hard working and capable of adequate grades.

But then she'd fallen in with the Copacobana Sweet, a self-styled gang of black skinned, blonde-haired hell-raisers that had driven teachers to distraction since Middle School. Hence the figure before him now. At eighteen, her grades in freefall, Sayuri Watanabe had made it clear that she thought continuing her education a distant memory; somebody else's ambition. Sayuri wore her skirt ultra short: it would not have taken Yokomoto much effort to get a good look at her panties if he'd been so inclined. Her school shirt loosely tied at the waist revealed a hint of flat young stomach. Her skin was dark from weekends spent visiting Tokyo's finer tanning salons, her make up a garish mix of colors best left, in the eyes of Yokomoto, to a child's coloring box. She was a model of a manga sex doll and Yokomoto knew other teachers that would respond to such stimulation.

"But Mister Yokomoto, she will not be told what to do. What can we do? A child must learn the value of a good education."

"Yes Mrs Watanabe. They should. But children today are not like we were. What do they know of working together for the good of the country? I'm afraid that there is nothing I can do to help. Sayuri must decide for herself if she wants to apply herself in order to gain."

"Sayuri." Her mother turned to her and glared. "Apologise to Mister Yokomoto."

"Mister Yokomoto. I'm. Sorry. For all the problems. That I've caused you. Please do not worry about me."

Yokomoto did not bother responding. The girl was clearly under duress and didn't care.

"Oh Mister Yokomoto! How can I demonstrate to my daughter that she should make the most of the opportunities her father and I are willing to give?"

"Did you go to university Mrs Watanabe?" The older lady shook her head.

Yokomoto held up a bottle of cold tea, "Drink? Mrs Watanabe? Sayuri?" Both women declined.

The teacher sat back in his arm chair. "Sayuri will not understand the loss of the opportunity until it is too late. Do you have a job?"

Mrs Watanabe nodded, "I work at the local drugstore a few days a week."

"A fulfilling job is it?"

"Work is work."

"Hmm. It is and it isn't. Please excuse my rudeness, but I am sure that it is not very well paid."

"No. We are lucky that we have Sayuri's father to provide for us."

"Mr Watanabe is a good man. He works hard, I'm sure" Mr Yokomoto stood up and wandered across the room. He made a show of brushing a few motes of dust off the small shrine in the corner.

"Tell me Sayuri, would you want good grades?"

"Eh? I mean, sorry, Mister Yokomoto. How would that be possible? Sure I want good grades, but there's things to do."

"Hmm. No. You could not get good grades on your own. You don't seem to have the attitude. However I could. I'm a teacher."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, for half a million yen, perhaps there is something I could do. To improve your scores, I mean."

This time Mrs Yokomoto's joined her daughter in exclaiming. "Half a million yen?"

"What, is that too much?" asked Yokomoto disingenuously. It should be. He guessed it would be close to one month's salary for the Watanabe's.

"Yes Yokomoto. I mean Mr Yokomoto. We could not afford that. It is out of the question."

"But you'd pay it if you could then? I mean, you'd buy the grade? If money were not a problem, you would pay me?"

Sayuri looked from her mother's face to the teacher and back. Something in her mother's face said yes. For Sayuri, suddenly the idea of a fresh start flickered. An opportunity to make a break from the oppressive atmosphere of the homeroom and shoplifting in the Soko Plaza. She nodded at Mister Yokomoto.

"Yes, Mr Yokomoto," said her Mother's voice, thick with guilt. "I would pay."

Sayuri hung her head as her mother spoke. She couldn't let him see her eyes. This chance was here, so close. Her grades weren't that bad. A little lift, it might make the difference. But 500,000? Her mother would not have that kind of money.

"You see Sayuri. If your Mother had been to university, then perhaps she might have a more interesting job than she does now? I'm not one of those old types. Women should have a better place in Japan. But for people without education? Well, the fate's the same. Do you understand?"

Both Watanabe's sat still, their faces turned down as Yokomoto spoke.

"But moreover, perhaps she would have the money from such a job to allow her to pay the sum I ask, and the investment in her own education would be reinvested in yours. It would be so much more elegant, wouldn't it?" The teacher paused, looking at the mother and daughter – two attractive heads held low in shame before him.

"I am an educator. I could not possible compromise my morals for small sums, so there is nothing I can do about the asking price. You must understand. I am very sorry."

Sayuri's heart sank. It had been so close, and here it was slipping away. She looked, almost frantically, first at her mother, then Mr Yokomoto. The old man was smiling.

"But..." he began, "perhaps there's another way we could come to some arrangement."

Once again, Sayuri's emotions went into a spin. She instantly knew what was coming. Heck, it wasn't even that uncommon – friends of hers from Kanajo High had told her about one student who had been expelled for sleeping with three faculty members. Even girls in the CopaSwe were rumoured to have done it. Sayuri herself had given boys head in exchange for a perfume and make-up. Sucking a sweaty cock on the late train home had been an easy way to acquire an MP3 player too.

But this would seem too wrong – dishonest even – what about her old friend Mitsuyo who studied every evening at two cram schools after class to get grades only marginally better than Sayuri's now?.

And what would Yokomoto want in exchange for half a million yen's worth of grades?

Sayuri looked across at her mother. The last chance was that the woman would spare her – would somehow agree to find the money, or even just tell the old man to forget it. Mrs Watanabe's head was still hung low, staring at her hands in her lap. So this was it? Her own mother would sell her out? Let this old pervert strip her daughter's school uniform off and use her for his own ends, just so she could tell her friends her daughter got in to some university?

"I'll do it."

Yokomoto smiled. Sayuri froze. What had her mother just said?

"Mrs Watanabe? I'm sorry. I couldn't hear what you just said. Could you repeat it?"

"I will do what you ask. Please use me to enjoy yourself."

"Mother? What are you saying?"

"Sayuri dear, please let me offer myself to Mr Yokomoto. My body is not as young as yours, but he will find me most accommodating. Please save yourself for your husband." Sayuri's mother was being strangely calm and polite.

"Ha! Sayuri's no virgin, are you Sayu? I've seen the grafitti in the seniors' washroom." Sayuri shook her head in agreement. In light of the position she and her mother found themselves in, it barely seemed worth denying it. "Indeed, your daughter seems quite talented according to some testimony. You should be proud, perhaps, for she seems to excel in one area."

This finally raised a blush. Sayuri's cheeks felt like they would burn off. That would probably be Shota Haneda. For his strong, lovely cock Sayuri had always made a special effort and he'd always commented on it. Some dirty pricks were horrible to look at, all purple and mushy and almost worth just stuffing away so you didn't have to get too close or even look at it.

But Shota's was different. Smooth and long, Sayuri loved to take time over pleasuring it, watching it twitch and dance as she used the full range of her tricks to bring it to the brink. Best of all, Shota was not obsessed with the style of the skin flicks and didn't aim all over her face, in her hair or eyes like most other boys would do. Instead he was happy to lose himself in her mouth, flooding her welcoming tongue with his rich, gooey cum, again and again, until she could swallow it down.

Shota even tasted sweeter. Looking up, Sayuri wondered how Yokomoto would taste.

"Now that is a good idea!" Exclaimed Yokomoto, striding to his tiny kitchen. "This calls for a drink. Mrs Watanabe? Sayuri, I think you are too young. Please have a coffee."

Without asking again, Yokomoto handed Sayuri a can of cold sweet coffee and Mrs Watanabe a frosty beer. She took it and drank a long draft. Yokomoto stood in the middle of the room. There was the unmistakable tenting in his trousers that told Sayuri that Yokomoto was extremely pleased with the situation.

Sayuri tried to take stock of the situation. Her mother seemed detached, calmly removing her cardigan and setting it to one side. Sayuri herself did not know what to do. The house probably only had two or three rooms upstairs and she would be able to hear everything! The thought terrified her.

"This is a most excellent idea." The teacher repeated. "Mrs Watanabe, how could I resist the advice offered by that act of vandalism in the school toilets? To pass up such an opportunity to experience one so good at what she does. And your daughter is a fine reflection of yourself – she is a very attractive young woman. To receive pleasure from such a beauty would be a medal in a sexual career."

Yokomoto was now clearly excited: the bulge in his crotch pushed out wide. He went on, "But why have grape juice, sweet and fruity as it is, when you can have a fine wine. Mrs Watanabe, you are an elegant woman for one who has had to work so hard. I will take great pleasure in receiving your gifts.

The teacher stepped up so he stood in front of Sayuri's mother. The older lady sat on the edge of the leather sofa, her hands on her knees, folded politely as if listening to a poetry recital. She did not raise her face to meet Yokomoto's, and sat staring straight ahead, straight at the bulge in his trousers where his cock longed to be free.

Natsuo Watanabe was a good looking woman. Dressed as she was in a black skirt, white shirt and red cardigan she looked like a senior office lady. Her glossy black hair was cut just above her shoulder line and framed a proud face with an unusually long and elegant nose. Years of swimming, a childhood habit she had never left behind, gave her firm arms and legs and not a trace of fat. Yokomoto took in the sight of her legs, her toes held together in delicate tights. His cock twitched at the though of shooting his cum on her lap, watching it dribble down her leg and soak in to her nylons

"Mr Yokomoto. What do you want to do?"

"Take out my cock please, Mrs Watanabe. It longs to be free."

"Ehhh? What?" Sayuri couldn't help herself. They were going to do it here? In front of her? Impossible. She stood up to leave.

"Sayuri. Please sit down. You must stay so you can fully appreciate the sacrifice your mother is prepared to make for her only daughter. If you leave, our agreement is off." Yokomoto addressed the girl even as her mother began undoing his fly and pulling out his cock. Sayuri tried to look to her mother for support, but the woman seemed entirely focused on removing enough clothing to free her teacher's engorged prick. Reluctantly, Sayuri sat down once again.

Yokomoto sighed as the older Watanabe, with unexpected tenderness, slipped a warm hand around his cock and pulled it out, slipping his trousers off his hips. Sayuri, not wanting to look, was nonetheless transfixed. Yokomoto's cock was purple and angry. It was fat too. Not the long beauty of Shota's dick; it was a brutal tool that was going to get its price. She watched as her mother, still sat on the sofa, her knees demurely together, cupped the man's balls and gently stroked a ring formed by thumb and middle finger up and down the shaft before leaning forward, and without bidding, slipped it inside her mouth.

Yuji Yokomoto sighed as Natsuo went to work on his cock. Her left hand held his balls, applying just the right amount of pressure, one finger gently playing with the soft skin underneath, while her right drew up and down his shaft. Inside her mouth her tongue danced around his head, tracing its shape and flicking at the slit at the end that was already leaking pre-cum into her throat. It was exactly how he'd always liked it, exactly as he'd remembered.

He stroked the side of her face and pulled the hair away so that Sayuri could see clearly as his cock slipped in and out of her mother's mother, her dark red lipstick leaving a tidemark at the base of his prick. Yokomoto began very lightly to rock his hips and Sayuri gave a little gasp as he withdrew all the way and she realised just how much her mother was able to take in without gagging at all. It occurred to Sayuri that her mother was very experienced at sucking cock, and from the expression on Yokomoto's face, she was good at it too. At last! They had something in common she noted wryly.

Just then Mrs Watanabe changed tactics. She sat back and for the first time looked up at Yokomoto. He looked back down at her and gave a small smile. Natsuo began rubbing the cock before her in long, slow strokes, twisting her hand up and down its length, her fingers just brushing it lightly.

"Mrs Watanabe, you suck cock like a professional. It is a great skill you have. I wish to repay the favour."

Mrs Watanabe did not reply, she merely nodded and stood up. She went to undo her skirt.

"No, leave it on. Just remove your panties."

Hitching her skirt up, she revealed a delicate triangle of black lace. Natsuo slipped her panties down and stepped out of them. She left her stockings on and stood, hands by her sides, her face turned down.

"Sit down Mrs Watanabe," instructed Yokomoto. She did as she was asked. Yokomoto knelt infront of her and Natsuo allowed her thighs to be parted by the educator. As if embarrassed she turned her face to one side.

"Hold yourself open to me," he ordered, indicating that she was to hold her legs up and apart. This gave Yokomoto and Sayuri a clear view of the tangle of fine black hair, matted from the considerable dampness that already emanated from the older woman's puffy pussy lips.

Dirty bitch, thought Sayuri almost involuntarily, she's enjoying it!

Yokomoto reached down and ran his middle finger up and down Natsuo's slit, then slowly slipped it in. He moved it up and down, slowly at first, but all the time keeping close to the sensitive opening. In the quiet of the room Sayuri could hear her mother's wetness being exploited by this man she called "Sir".

He played his finger in and out the sensitive opening to her pussy, occasionally pulling his slick digit out to moisten her nub, then slipping it in, waggling it up and down. Natsuo slowly began to respond to this gentle attention – Sayuri could hear her getting wetter, and her hips were beginning to move, as Yokomoto stoked the heat in the woman's belly ever higher.

"You are a special woman to do this Natsuo Watanabe," said Yokomoto as his fingers flicked in and out of the woman's soft opening, "to give so much of yourself for someone you love, and to do it all so willingly. You should taste your shame."

He pulled out his finger and in the room it was clearly slick with Natsuo's juices. He held it up to her face and for the first and only time Sayuri saw something akin to reluctance on her mother's face. She shot a brief glance across at Sayuri, pulling away as she saw her daughter's slackjawed face taking in every detail, just as she'd planned. Her head bobbed forward and she took the digit between her lips and sucked as she might a lollipop.

Yokomoto returned his hand to Natsuo's crotch and Sayuri watched as he this time slipped in a second and then a third finger, all the time his hand movements getting more vigorous. He was frigging her whole cunt hard.

Sayuri shifted uncomfortably. Shame was tearing in to her heart. Despite what she was seeing –her own mother letting herself be fingered and abused by Sayuri's teacher just so that she might be able to go to college – something deep inside her was being turned on. In fact, it wasn't so much the sight of her mother sucking her own pussy juices off her teacher's fingers getting to her as the circumstances. That here, on this normal street in a normal town, the three of them were engaged in this sordid act of depravity.

It reminded Sayuri of the thrill she felt when she had sucked Shota off in a karaoke booth in Shibuya. She had been singing an Ayu ballad, really putting her heart into it, mimicking the way Hamazaki writhed and wriggled in the video, and as she'd reached the end she'd turned to him and given a little shriek. Shota was spawled on the couch, his fly open; in his hand his gorgeous prick. He was stroking it up and down as his eyes feasted on her gyrations For the lust in his eyes she may as well have been naked before him and in that moment she had never felt more sexual. Sayuri had glanced across at the glass door of the booth, its frosting making it hard, but by no means impossible for passers-by to see in. After a brief moment's thought she'd dimmed the lights and, without saying anything more, she'd lent over and taken his length in her mouth. As Shota's next choice, an old L'Arc en Ciel number, played out wordlessly, she'd sucked and guzzled. His hands reached across and she'd parted her legs. He was rubbing lazily across her clit, a spreading dot of dampness staining her plain white panties but for her the biggest thrill was the sounds of people walking up and down the corridor outside. At the very moment that Shota erupted in her mouth, the door opened. All Sayuri could do was to suck up the cum as it kept pouring out: she'd dared not look up, preferring instead to let her hair cover her face and Shota's cock buried in it. But the thrill of being caught sent her whirling inside. The bookish university student who was running the nightshift came in and wordlessly added two fresh glasses of cola to the empties on the table. Shota casually thanked him, as if what was happening was entirely natural. In that moment, as Sayuri realised that the nerd wasn't going to comment on the scene before him and instead closed the door, she herself had cum with a force that surprised her, causing her to whimper and curl up.

It was the same whimper that escaped Natsuo Watanabe as, with stomach wrenching spasm, she collapsed sideways on the sofa. Yokomoto held up his hand, gazing at it in admiration – Sayuri could see her mother's juices dribbling down his wrist. "Every time," muttered Yokomoto to himself, smiling, "every time."

Yokomoto knelt down and began licking at Natsuo's slick thighs. Sayuri realised for the first time just how wet her mother had got – in her reverie she had missed a damp stain growing on the cotton cover of the sofa. Had her mother come like the whores in the skin flicks?

Yokomoto held up Natsuo's legs, pressing her knees in to her chest. He ran his tongue down the back of one leg then the other, before buring it inside the woman's pussy. Natsuo let out a whimper, at first just one, then becoming a regular squeal as his tongue settled on her clitoris and began rocking back and forth over it.

Sayuri's discomfort grew still further as she felt a shameful dampness building up between her legs in response to the sounds her mother was making. Sounds that she knew she herself made when her clit was lapped and sucked. The heat in her stomach was becoming unbearable, and there was nothing she could to relieve it. The sight of her mother being brought to the verge of another orgasm by the skilled tonguing of this man who wasn't her father was so perverted that Sayuri knew she would be replaying the image in her mind's eye that night.

Again her mother gave a loud grunt and her stomach twitched. Sayuri understood the exact sensation that her mother would be feeling, the rush that was spreading out from her hips and echoing through to the very tips of her fingers and toes. Sayuri knew, because she herself would be able to experience those feelings herself if only she could slip her fingers under her skirt for just a moment.

Yokomoto stood up as if surveying his handiwork. "Mrs Watanabe. You come in to my house and sell your self to me and behave like that? You are a filthy dirty bitch."

"Yes, Mr Yokomoto."

"You're filthy dirty bitch?"

"Yes Mr Yokomoto, I'm a filthy bitch."

Sayuri felt that she should say something, but she didn't know what. Her mother was sacrificing herself and Yokomoto seemed determined to shame her utterly. But something in her mother's demeanour seemed to indicate she accepted it.

"You're filthy dirty bitch and you will pay for your slut daughter's behaviour. Do you understand?"

"Yes Mr Yokomoto."

"Stand up."

Natsuo did as she was told and Yokomoto manoeuvred her so that she bent over the back of the sofa. He positioned himself behind her and lifted the hem of her skirt out of the way. Sayuri saw the pale white of her mother's bottom, framing a splash of red and black, before it was eclipsed by the equally pale bottom of her teacher.

Yokomoto took Natsuo's waist in one hand and, gripping his cock with the other, rubbed his head up and down her slit, coating it with her wetness. Gently he pushed forward until her lips were wrapped around the fat bulb of his cock – she shifted slightly to open herself a little more. Then with a push he forced his whole length in to her. For a moment he paused, revelling in the sensation, every pound of his being gripped by the hot press of Natsuo's sex, then he pulled back until he was almost out, then with a grunt, fucked her again. He felt so strong fucking this woman that he wished it wouldn't ever stop, but such was the hunger inside him that he knew this couldn't last much longer.

Sayuri could just make out her mother gripping the sofa. She wondered what she felt like, the fat prick driving in and out of her pussy, the sensation of being rocked by the man as he crashed into her, his thighs slapping against her arse. Sayuri imagined, just for a moment, what it would be like to accept her teacher inside her. She found herself thinking what it would be like to be bent over in front of the man, exposing herself to him like an animal, to feel him moving inside her, feel him pressing against her stomach.

Neither of the older pair was looking her way. She wondered if she could risk touching herself for just a moment – releasing some of the pressure inside her, turn some of these thoughts in to an intense reality. No! That was crazy. She could perhaps cross her legs. If she did that and squeezed her thighs that would at least create some sensation.

At that moment her mother looked under her arm, her left breast bobbing back and forth in front of her eyes, and Sayuri realised that if she did anything, her mother would know what she was doing. For if anything was being revealed to Sayuri that afternoon it was that for the first time Sayuri knew what is it was she inherited from her mother. The sounds, the skills, and, she thought she could catch a trace of it even from here, the smells of her mother in heat were those she herself displayed.

Natsuo Watanabe knew what was happening, but was finding it hard to concentrate on anything other than the savage thrusting in her cunt.

Sayuri was still staring at her. Her daughter's initial horror at what was happening had quickly ebbed away, just as she had expected it to, and now her face was one of fascination. The way the girl fidgeted showed Natsuo that, as she had surmised, perhaps she and her daughter were not so different.

But such thoughts were being hammered out of her by Yuji Yokomoto. His fat cock was filling her, stretching her pussy lips and grinding out of her another orgasm. If he could just keep rubbing his fat bell-end against that same place a moment longer. Please, she thought, please don't let him come yet...

Yokomoto sensed what was happening. The woman was trying to get him to make her come again. She was incorrigible! But it was too late for her; she would have to get her satisfaction another time. Inside he could feel himself ready to explode, the rush beginning in his toes and fingertips and surging toward his balls.

Yokomoto pulled out and rushed around the sofa gripping his cock like a gun. He snatched at Natsuo's hair and turned her face toward where his prick began to spit his come. A great white fountain splattered across her cheeks, a long string shooting down the side of her face and catching in her hair, another hitting the collar of her blouse.

Sayuri watched all this in amazement.

"Sayuri-chan, close your mouth." Her mother told her.

* * * * * *

Out in the street her mother began walking back to the station without a second glance back.

As the come had cooled on Natsuo's skin and begun to drip on the floor, Yokomoto had turned to face Sayuri, his cock wilting rapidly.

"Miss Watanabe, please have a revised version of your assignment on my desk by Monday. I will do what I can for you. I hope you understand that it is important you learn this lesson."

She'd nodded mutely, her attention focused more on her mother quietly, efficiently wiping the worst of the come off her face and hair and getting dressed.

"Mrs Watanabe. I think we can call that half of your debt to me paid. We will discuss the remaining amount another time. Sayuri looked at her mother – this hadn't been the arrangement – but the older woman seemed unconcerned.

Now as Sayuri followed her down the street she could still make out where her mother's hair was matted, Yokomoto still marking her.

Sayuri-chan," her mother said, "please make the most of the sacrifice I have made here. Learn from it."

"Yes mother. I will do what ever it takes."

"Good." She held out her arm. Sayuri paused a moment then accepted. Together the two Watanabe women made their way to the station.

* * * * * *


On the train Mrs Watanabe felt her phone vibrate against her hip. She popped it open. An email from him!

"Natsuo Fujiwara, your pussy was a wonderful as ever it was. I hope I played my part well enough for you. I can't believe how you choose to discipline your daughter, but if I can help out again, my cock is yours for ever. If that dumb fool Watanabe had not gotten you pregnant I would have taken you away with me to Osaka U and kept you locked up in my dorm to fuck everyway I could. That just leaves the question of that 250,000 yen (^o^). Love Y"

Oh no! She thought to herself, a smile forming. She'd quite overcharged him the first time. She owed him far more than that...
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