Desiree put down her pencil and looked around the class. As always, she had finished the test before anyone else. She smiled and looked to the front of the room trying to catch Mr. Harris's eye. She focused on his lips as she willed him to look up at her. Finally, his green eyes met hers and he gave her a quick smile before going back to grading homework.
Desiree's heart fluttered. Like every other female senior in his class, Desiree had a crush on Mr. Harris. It wasn't only his gorgeous eyes or the muscles she could see through his button down shirts, he just always seemed so happy. He seemed to know how to get each student to do their best. This was the first class Desiree had felt this confident in.
The problem with having a crush on such a happy person was that she couldn't tell if his smiles were meant flirtatiously. She shook her head. "Probably not," she thought, but that didn't stop her from daydreaming.
Desiree played with her hair as she looked out the window and waited for her fellow classmates to finish. She wrapped one chestnut curl around her finger again and again.
She thought about running her hands over Mr. Harris's muscles. First over his pecs, then his, abs, and then back up again. He would pull her closer until she was so close she could smell him. He would look at her straight in the eyes, licking his lips, as he slowly took off her school cardigan. She would look down and see a growing bulge in his pants.
Mr. Harris glanced over at his star student. She was gazing out the window. Her dainty face framed perfectly with curls. Her green tartan skirt was caught, so he could see her upper right thigh where he noticed three freckles making a small triangle. They stood out next to her pale skin.
He imagined kissing each of those freckles. He would kneel down in front of her desk, push up her skirt a little more, and kiss each one. Then he would look up at her as a smile played on his lips. She would look back, biting her lip, and pull up her skirt a little more, inviting him in.
As he thought this, he saw a grin flash across Desiree's face. He wondered what she was thinking about. He knew she was 18, but it still felt so wrong.
RING RING RING
The school bell snapped Desiree and Mr. Harris out of their daydreams. Desiree's mouth was dry and she could feel her panties beginning to get wet.
Mr. Harris stood up, but quickly sat down again so the students wouldn't notice how excited his cock had become.
The students began filing out, leaving their tests on Mr. Harris's desk as they left to go home for the day. "Have a good weekend, Mr. Harris," said Desiree as she gave him her test and began to leave.
"Wait a minute Desiree," blurted out Mr. Harris. She poked her head back in the room with a quizzical look. "Damnit," he thought to himself. "Now what am I going to say to her?"
"Um," his cock jerked excitedly. "Good job today," he ended lamely. His cock deflated as she left. If only he had the nerve to grab her by her hips and pull her into him.
Desiree headed down the hallway and watched as students ran to their cars, trying to be the first ones out of the parking lot. She was normally one of them, but her head was too full of Mr. Harris to move quickly.
If she wanted something to happen, she knew she had to make a move. She took a deep breath and turned around, headed back to the classroom.
The door was closed. She knocked lightly before opening the door. "I'm here because..." she started, before realizing she didn't have a plan. "I'm here because I think I got number four on the test wrong."
He looked disappointed, as he motioned for her to take her test back out of the pile. Her mind was running a million miles a minute as she reached for the tests on his desk. Her elbow hit his glass of water. Before she knew what was happening, there was water all over the desk and the tests.
Desiree blanched. "I'm so sorry. I'll get paper towels." She said it so quickly it sounded like one word. She bounded out of the room towards to restroom. Her cheeks flushed as she pictured the scene. Why did she have to be so awkward! God! She grabbed a handful of paper towels before hurrying back to the classroom.
Mr. Harris had already moved the tests off the desk. He helped her mop up the water. As she wiped the table dry, she realized water has also gotten all over Mr. Harris.
She immediately kneeled beside his chair and began trying to dry his pants with a paper towel.
Mr. Harris reached out his hand to stop her, but then she wiped the towel over his crotch and he let out a light moan instead.
Desperately trying to get the water out, she wiped harder over his crotch. As she did, she felt a movement. She jumped back. "I'm so sorry," she stuttered. "I didn't mean to cause... I mean, I didn't know that ..." She looked up at him embarrassed.
"Don't be scared," he said despite the fear he felt himself. He grabbed her hand and pulled her closer. "My pants are still wet you know," he said with more bravery than he felt.
Her eyes lit up and she slowly brought her hand back to his legs. She took a paper towel and began to rub at his crotch again. This time she looked at him in the eyes as she did it.
She started out slowly, rubbing in circles one ways and then the other. His cock reacted immediately, pushing at the zipper of his pants, yearning to get out. She didn't shy away from it, pushing slightly harder, now openly staring at her work.
Mr. Harris watched her as she worked. Her mouth was slightly open and her eyes seemed eager. "I've thought about this a lot," he said with a groan. She threw the paper towel away and ran her hands over his inner thighs and then up again. Down then up. Down then up.
"So what happens next?" she asked. He pushed back his chair a little and led her so she was between his legs, her back touching his desk. He silently began unbuckling his belt. He pulled down his zipper and then stood up in front of Desiree. He pushed his pants down to his ankles.
His crotch was directly in front of Desiree. The door wasn't locked, but at this moment he didn't care. The thought that anyone could walk in made the situation even hotter.
