Teacher

This article was read 7 years back. Found it after some searching.Teacher. I remember, when I was about 14-15, going to a Jr. High School that bore a striking resemblance to a prison. Even the exercise yard, which was surrounded by high fences with barb wire across the top, seemed designed to impress upon the students the importance of obedience to authority.

This concept never sank in with me.

One of my teachers, for social studies, was an exquisitely built redhead, with the kind of freckles you sort of want to count by licking each one. Her blouses always showed so much cleavage, I could almost imagine the nipples sneaking around the fabric to introduce themselves. Her bosom was fairly large, and her face animated and equally luscious to watch. She had long legs, tending to wear about 2" heels that helped display the outrageously sexy curves above. Her waist was thin and her hips/thighs seemed the perfect shape. She was about 28-29, although as I reflect on closer looks at her face later, she could have been 33-38 years old.

I wanted this woman. So did every other teenage male in the school. She spoke seductively in a low, deep voice some women have, you know, the kind that sends chills through your spine. You could amost make out the wet spots on every male student's pants after a class with her. She was the epitomy of the playboy playmate, but of course for being a social studies teacher.

She was also married.

This all worked to the advantage of one of the male students that year.

"oh, not here, Bill," I heard. "Leave me so I can get ready for my next class."

"Okay, but remember what I said... we'll do it again soon." From the shadowed recesses of the janitor's closet came one of the science teachers, Mr. Moody. I had 2nd period with him. He gave some pretty enjoyable demos of chemistry and physics.

Not daring to allow an opportunity to pass, I stepped into the small storage room and shut the door.

"What?," came that incredible voice. She stood there, blouse no longer tucked into her short skirt, hair muffed up, and a touch of disarray in her demeanor.

I grinned.

"Oh, Gary." She continued to tuck in her blouse, straighten her hair.

"What if I tell your husband?" said I. She was startled for a moment, then settled back into a look adults use on children when they've stepped over the line.

"He won't believe you. Now let's get out of here, we'll both be late for class." She moved to go around me.

"Ah," I replied, "But this isn't the first time I've seen you do this. I've got some proof, but instead of your husband, say I let everyone in the school know about it. The principal might have to take action. Then whether your husband believes or not, the two of you will have to figure out what to do without your income..."

Stunned she paused. You could almost see the gears spinning. She paced back and forth for a moment. Then with a disturbed look she faced me.

"Okay Gary, here's what we'll do, I'll meet you at my car after school. We can talk about what you want for your silence then. Now let's get to class before you get us both in trouble."

We both stepped back into empty corridors, as the bell rang. I ran off to my class immediately, thinking of the price I meant to exact. I was lectured for being late of course, but I could have cared less.

I met her by her car. I had to wait well past the end of the school day, she didn't leave right away. Her's was a red sports model. Damn if I can remember what kind. It was that horrific color of red which attracts cops like flys to honey. Somehow, it was extremely appropriate.

She came over, carrying a bag of books, and her purse.

"Get in," she said, opening the car door. I grinned and sat in the glorious hot car she owned.

She started the engine without speaking and started to drive. I wasn't concerned where we were going at all.

"So, you want something for your silence, do you." Her gorgeous freckles wrinkled up with the rest of her face as she spoke. I admired her eyes, which never strayed from the road, as she drove.

"Oh, seems fair to me." I replied. "I'm not sure I want to talk about this in the car though."

She took her eyes off the road long enough to shoot a glance at me. I managed not to waver under her glare.

"Okay." about five minutes later we pulled into a drive way. "We'll talk here."

It was her home. Oh, I didn't know immediately, but by the time I entered the house, I knew.

"Where's your husband?" I asked, stolid as possible, trying not to let my trepidation show.

"He's on assignment in Georgia, Won't be back until Saturday." she plopped down on an arm chair. She sat forward, at the edge of the chair, "Now we won't be interrupted while we talk. Tell me what your terms are, a better grade, perhaps skipping class from time to time?"

Boldly, at least I think it was boldly, I stepped directly in front of her. I reached out a hand, lifting her chin, caressing her cheek. She began to squint.

"OH NO!, no, no, no," she snapped, "You wouldn't dare..."

Taking her face in both hands, I leant forward, eyes open, and kissed her a light first kiss. She shuddered, whether with fear or desire, I cannot say, but I can imagine today what was sailing through her head then, about 22 years ago now.

She must have realized how hazardous being caught with a 15 year old would have been, how it would look. She had to feel a little molested, having been blackmailed to this position. Then again, at 15, I was already 6' 3" and very clear skinned, unlike most of the kids. I've been told I was handsome, but I never would have believed it back then. Maybe she saw an oportunity to screw around with a young 'stud', an appelation I never would have applied to myself at the time.

"Why don't you just start seeing the girls your own age," she began to plead, "you've no idea what you're asking."

I simply lifted her face again, and slid my tongue into her mouth, seeking after the back of her throat. She tasted delightful. I lost myself somewhat in the soft richness those lips represented. She began to lose herself too, her eyes shuttering against the vision of a 15 year old breaching her defenses.

I knelt before her while we necked. After a time, I couldn't tell you how long, I allowed my right hand to move. It traced along her shoulder, and my fingers felt the touch of her bra strap, a totally alien contact to me at the time. It wasn't until much later that I figured out the engineering behind those enticing articles of clothing. I began to follow its lines down towards her breast.

She gasped, and opened her eyes wide. Her hand rose to clasp my wrist as I'd found her tit. But reluctantly, all she did was hold my wrist as I began to knead her boob. This submission to my seduction, okay, clumsy blackmail, brought my penis erect within my pants. I felt a bump start to swell in my palm. The nipple had started to respond to the physical contact, and I began to work it between my fingers while a lump formed in my throat.

Her eyes, her eyes. They were a glorious deep green. But the blinds of these portals kept flickering to half mast, as I kept my tongue wrestling with hers, exploring her mouth and teeth. I could sense her breath, like mine, coming in little panting gasps of pleasure. She tasted like ambrosia, a necter of the gods.

I began to work my hand inside her blouse. She tried to stop me, her hands snatching at mine. I once again asserted authority in the activity by flinging her arms to her sides and unbuttoning her blouse and skirt with abandon.

Her breasts were still bound up by the bra she wore, but I finally was getting a better view than the cleavage she displayed in class. This was substantially better than seeing them from row three. I began to delve, for the first time, into the mystery of the article of clothing used to hold a womans tits at salute.

It was not common at the time to have clasps for bras in the front. She was wearing a normal bra. Now, I know it isn't fair to take you away from the unbridled lust of teenagerhood. But bras are unique and deserve to be discussed for a moment, right about now will do fine.

If ever a device for the torture of adolescent males was specifically planned, the common woman's brassiere is it. Designed with the purpose of providing support to two of every woman's most wonderous assets, the bra uses the most irritating and difficult to manipulate eye hooks invented. At least, when they hook in the back. These days, through the wonder of technology, the bra often has a single rotation hook between the cups to allow for quick release. Obviously some clever fellow, trying to get laid, was frustrated in his efforts once too often because of those rear hooks. Of course, some women wear such bras just for the purpose of having a stop point to prevent further injudicious advances. Well, oh yeah, where was I.

I was inept as any other male adolescent trying to extract the hooks from their catch. No big surprise, eh? My red headed social studies teacher was willing to try to retake the initiative whilst I struggled.

"I won't do this Gary." she said between panting breaths. "You'll just have to find another price for your silence."

At the moment she got the words out, I sprang the escape latch and those wonderful, glorious, spectacular, freckled boobs popped loose. I plunged my lips and tongue into immediate worship of the nipple on the right breast.

"Did you hear, oh my," she mumbled that last, "oh yes, STOP!, don't do that, Gary, Stop! don't."

Well as you can imagine, I wasn't about to stop for anything less than violent resistance. But she was pulling me to her breast, not pushing me away! The "Stop! Don't" soon turned into the cliche "don't stop!" followed by a slow looooww sexy moan. When I finally looked up after many minutes of licking, sucking, nibbling and an occasional nip or two at her nipples, her head was flapping from side to side, her tongue working pressure against her lips.

I pulled her to the rug. Again, we went into a necking frenzy. This time though, her bare boobs were where I could feel every inch of their floppy flesh. She wasn't hanging loose, don't get me wrong, but they were large enough to have a bit of play.

Everything was in my court. She wasn't taking any initiative at all. So I reached down with my right hand, pulled up her skirt, and began to feel up her 28 year old snatch. What I found of course was a pair of silky panties, soaked through. I managed to pull them down enough to let my fingers slip across her labia. Back then I proved to be hard pressed to figure out just what I was reaching for...

She made one last valiant attempt to stay my advances. She tried to push aside my hand, but by now she was beginning to moan, and beg, "please, oh yes, please" as I nipped at her bottom lip, or slipped a tongue enhanced kiss on her eyelids. Her tongue by now was as anxious to enter my mouth as mine was to violate hers.

I played with her pussy lips for some time. She was well over the edge, far past the point of no return. I stood for long enough to strip myself, and now she joined in, pulling her skirt off, getting the blouse the rest of the way off, removing her panties. She spread her arms wide apart to encourage my quick return to her embrace.

She wraped her legs around one of mine and began to hump her groin against mine. After a few more minutes of necking, I was determined to get a better visual assessment of this creature's rare bit of snatch. So what did you expect, I was a teenage male, hotter than hell for sex at the time.

Turning at her side, I knelt over her crotch from beside her. With my fingers I began to separate the flaps of the red, almost white, curly hair covered cunt. The light shade of pink inside was a wonder to behold, a small knob of flesh stood erect at the top. Now this was where the stolen moments of porn reading paid off, I knew immediately that I had found that wonder of wonders, the clit.

Doing exactly what I had read you were supposed to do, I began to rub the fleshy little knob with my forefinger. Instantly her hips began to buck, her throat emitted moans of such intensity I thought I might have hurt her.

"Oh god, that's perfect!" she exclaimed as I stopped, "Don't you dare stop now, Gary, I couldn't let you live!"

Pleased I had attacked the problem correctly, I set to rubbing, caressing, and finally licking/nibbling at this secret part of her anatomy.

About now she did something unexpected. She took my cock in her hand, guided me over her face, and began to lick and suck me between her gasping pleasure moans. I was in heaven, shoving my manhood twixt those lovely lips I adored from a distance for so long.

Suddenly she pushed my hips to one side and let out the most ear shattering scream. She was gyrating back and forth, thrashing madly, and screamed at the top of her lungs once again. I refused to cease my administrations on her joy button, and was rewarded with another lashing howl, a frantic cry, and a plea to allow her release to end. None the less, I forced her through three more jolting orgasms before I stopped playing with her controls.

While she lay panting, begging me to let her recover, I slipped down between her legs. I lifted her ankles to my shoulders and started to direct my penis, damp from her mouth, into the hole I knew lie within the recesses of her crotch.

"No Gary, please wait," she whimpered. "Please, not now, not tonight."

But I wasn't having any. She was ready and willing, just reluctant. I pressed it home faster than I'd intended. She was so wet from coming, she was slick and smooth. I could feel the walls clutch at my prick, still clenching from her incredible series of orgasms.

I can tell you now, with certainty, some women have multiple orgasms, some women don't. The ones that don't will be pissed at you if you insist they can, they don't like to be told they're sexually inferior to the women to can. My redhead teacher could most certainly come again and again. In fact, it became apparent, she had to. When properly stimulated...

Her head once again started to wave from side to side, she whimpered with rising pleasure as I thrust into her cunt. And thrust again. To my surprise, she came again, before I came the first time. Her screaming, was as intense an experience as I remember having in bed with anyone. She began to call me names, frantically reaching for each plateau as it came.

"You fuckin' bastard, don't make me do it again, GODDDDDD, YESSSSS YESSS YESSS YESSS YESS, oh oh oh, you asshole, stop it, you little fucker, stop it, you've gone too far, stop, GODDDDDD YESSSSSS YESSSS YESSSS" came in bursts of panting thrusts of her hips. Her entire body was rapidly becoming one puddle of sweat. Her eyes were wild, like an animal, lust in heat. The bitch was unable to stop herself.

The white heat that rose from within me came up through my scrotum, past my penis and poured hot as lava from the tip of my penis. I was imbedded as deeply as I could manage within the dreamy cavern I had lusted after every day in school. She uttered one more hoarse cry of release.

For a time, again I don't know how long, I lay over the top of her body. Now and then kissing her mouth, lazily sliding my tongue along the freckles at the edge of her lips. She would pant, smile, and pant again. Her heaving chest, pumping air in and out, was an undulating beauty of flesh. Her nipples remained hard. Amazingly, they stood up like little teepees, stiff and still aroused.

We must have laid there, like that, still connected at the hips for quite some time. The light started to give out, the sun going completely away. I was in heaven, unwilling to move to save the world.

The phone rang. She rose to answer it, giving me another lusty kiss on the mouth.

"Hello?" "Oh hi Bill." "No." "No I won't." "I'll just have to find some other way to get my jollies then, won't I?" "Damn straight." "Forget it." "Nope." "Goodbye Bill."

I got up. We both got dressed, she tried to tell me this was just a one shot thing. But I knew from the way she'd brushed off Mr. Moody on the phone, it wasn't over.

Sometimes I would slip up on her after class and tweak the nipple of one of her breasts, only if no one could see of course. She would let loose a light moan, and scold me to wait until later. Once I caught her after school, in the empty classroom, and got the most spectacular blow job. But the best times remained when we could get naked for hours.

Until the end of the year, whenever her husband was away, she would leave a small red matchbox car on her desk. Just so I would know to meet her at her car.