Mrs Ripleys Feet Ch 01

I had heard stories about Mrs. Ripley. My older brothers had left the college now that I had started but they would always go on about her tight skirts and low buttoned shirts. I can still remember them fighting over which one she might like more. Attention from her was hard fought, and never lasting. She seemed to have a power over the boys in the college that none would dare acknowledge until off school grounds. Whether she knew this or not was a mystery. I didn't think much of it. She was only a teacher, what's the worst she could do?

But then I joined her class. I remember the first day vividly. I was in no rush so I joined the herd into the classroom. English. It was a relatively small room with small windows and large blinds. When the last few stragglers hurried in and the door shut behind us it felt like we were locked off from the rest of the school.

Maybe a part of me was eager to see if the rumours from my brothers were true, if Mrs. Ripley really was as alluring as they said. So, unconsciously I found myself beelining for a front seat. I dropped my bag, and that's when I looked up.

There she was. Sat at her desk. She hadn't looked up yet. She had the deepest nut-brown hair, curly and frizzy though you could tell some effort was made to tame it. She wore thick black rimmed glasses that sat above a feminine button nose. And her lips -- a subtle red that could only inspire the imagination as to the secrets she could whisper.

I couldn't help it, a strong force, a gravity was drawing my eyeline down.

Her white shirt collar feathered against her neck. I traced the buttons down until I could make out the elegance of her collar bone. The single ray of sunshine from the small windows fell upon her, allowing her pale chest to stand out like marble. I glanced at the bottom of her collar; the gentle curves of her breasts being outlined by the fabric.

I felt a shame grow inside me. Had I been so easily absorbed by this woman already?

Still, the gravity pulled.

My eyeline continued to fall downwards, seeking out the ruffles of her shirt against her stomach. Yet, my attention was blocked by the desk concealing her. For a moment I paused, having to remind myself to breath.

Despite this interruption I found my eyeline continue to drift downward. Peering from the side of her desk was a sight for which my heart could hardly prepare. My eyes fell upon, and were captivated by the seductive legs of Mrs. Ripley. One leg crossed over the other, the shimmer of her nylon tights was magnetic. I could only see the rim of her short black skirt at the top, but my attention continued drawing downward.

The dark nylons were pulled taught against every muscle, every curve of her legs. I could only image how soft the nylons might feel, contrasted against the firmness of her legs. I could not quantify the sacrifices I would make to know their form in greater depth.

My eyes trailed down to her calves, so strong and powerful yet feminine and divine. Such a perfect pair of legs could scarcely be conceived. Yet here they were, beckoning me from mere feet away.

Then, I met the source of the gravity. My heart stopped. My eyes landed upon perfection. Her ankle flowed into a wonderfully round heel still enveloped by the dark nylons. As I followed the curve I was possessed by the deftly defined arches of her feet. My thoughts raced and my heart stood still. I yearned to bring my face closer to this beautiful image. I felt the need to be under those perfect arches, to look at them from the ground up. I hadn't felt this before. I shook away the thoughts and continued to trace the outline of her sole.

And dangling from the tip of her toes was a modest pair of black flats. Well worn and years old. I could glance at the inside sole of her flats, stained and made thin by the sweat of her soles. Up and down they bounced. Up and down my eyes followed. In a trance, all I could think of was her feet. My focus became singular. I wanted her feet. I needed her feet.

The thoughts returned, I imagined myself planting my face against her soles. My breath quickly expelled from my lungs as I would prepare to press my nose firmly in between her toes. I needed to know the smell of her sweaty nylons. I needed to feel the dance of her toes across my lips. I needed her feet.

I saw the flats hanging from her dainty toes once more. As she bounced her foot one last time, I saw the flat leap into the air. Time slowed down. I watched as the flat fell to the floor.

"Eyes front." I heard, not a second later, in a voice so feminine and commanding.

Startled I looked up to Mrs. Ripley's face, my eyes met hers. How long had she been looking at me? In that moment I felt my mind had been read. My inner most secrets and desires did not belong to me anymore. They were hers. That was the moment I knew I belonged to Mrs. Ripley.

A subtle smirk grew from her gentle lips, before I averted my gaze in shame. Did she really see me watching her? Did she really know what I was thinking? Surely it was a coincidence our eyes met. Surely this is all my imagination.

She introduced herself to the class and continued to speak. I could barely make out any words my mind was so foggy. The rest of the day went by without incident. I had hurried out of her class and continued the school day. I was constantly worried our paths would cross, terrified of what she might say to me. But eventually I found myself at home, lying in my bed. I still did not feel safe. That same gravity that pulled my eyes downwards weighed on my mind. All I could think of was her feet.

What would she do if she does know?

She was only a teacher, what's the worst she could do?