It had started out so innocently. Both were new teachers at a large urban high school; both were from small, rural middle schools, albeit at opposite ends of the state. They'd found themselves in adjoining classrooms on the second floor of an old annex to the more modern building. With less than a week before school opened, they were both experiencing a level of stress hitherto never felt at this time of year. Moving to a large city had seemed such a good idea earlier in the summer, but neither had foreseen the amount of bureaucracy that would face them in a school district so much larger than the ones from which they had come. Indeed, nothing had prepared them for city life at all. Finding an apartment, finding parking spaces, getting groceries from the car to the apartment, learning to live with neighbors so close, knowing which areas to avoid had seemed like monumental challenges, but they paled into insignificance when compared with the challenges of getting supplies, preparing plans for several vastly different classes, remembering how to get from room 143A to room 322C within the five minutes allotted to class changes, memorizing the multiple passwords required for inputting student grades, and knowing which teachers to avoid in the faculty lounge.
It was only natural, therefore, that they had started to spend a quiet hour or so in their classrooms at the end of the day trying to catch up on parent phone calls and the myriad of forms that seemed to need completion. And it was only natural that, when they were both too exhausted to continue, they would get together over a cup of coffee at the cafe on the next block and compare notes about their day, hoping perhaps to benefit from an epiphany that the other might have reached, or at least, to sympathize with each other. It was even completely natural that they would sometimes linger over coffee long enough that it seemed only logical to order dinner.
As the year wore on and aspects of their profession became more a case of habit than a source of stress, their conversations became more relaxed, social events instead of a frenetic exchange of school-related topics. It was then, after dinner and a bottle of wine one evening, that their relationship began to move in a slightly different direction. They were walking from the restaurant to her apartment when her shoe caught on a loose piece of concrete. She stumbled, he caught her. Simple enough. But instead of letting go, his arm remained around her, and instead of moving away, she pressed her body closer to his. That evening was the first time he stayed at her apartment. Other nights followed. Their students would have been amazed to see their teachers' alter-egos. From mild-mannered, but authoritarian teachers to wanton, sex-crazed individuals, each night bringing them more passion than they had ever imagined. The first night he had taken things slowly, kissing her while his handed caressed her back and pressed her body closer to his. His lips had parted hers, his tongue entwining itself with hers as he kissed her with increasing excitement. He had released her and sat back while she undressed for him, tantalizingly, a button at a time, her skirt lowered in slow motion until it fell from her hips. Her lacy panties and matching bra were a surprise, a pleasant deviation from the more conservative outer clothing she wore at school. Her figure, never delineated by that clothing was perfect. Her large breasts strained at her bra, the cleavage impressive, and the nipples pointed and hard. Her legs were long and lean, her stomach flat. The lace of her panties left little to the imagination, its sheerness allowing to him to see a neatly trimmed pussy and an expanding wet spot. She was equally impressed as he removed his clothing. He was well-muscled and lean, and his manhood was impressive in length and girth, particularly as it was now rising to the occasion.
