As with all my stories, you must be over 18 and unoffended by graphic descriptions of consenting sex between adults. I know this story is unfinished. This is the first time Iāve written a story from someone elseās perspective and by request. Iām not sure if Iāll continue it. Please feel free to leave me feedback or message me and let me know what you think. If I get enough positives, I will work on getting the rest of the story done. Thank you. ~ Angel
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Itās amazing sometimes, the thoughts and feelings that one can conjure up just by remembering a certain time. For me, itās always high school. The smell of fall takes me back to my senior year; the first time I had to take Mrs. Hadleyās geography class. I hated geography, and hoped to just breeze by. Unfortunately, she sat us alphabetically. Usually thatās not a problem. She decided to do it in reverse order and so suddenly, my āWhyetā last name brought me front and center. So much for back row goof-offs.
I found I didnāt mind this so much. Itās amazing how little it takes to set off a teenagerās mind in the perverted fashion. She was younger than most my teachers. I heard she was only in her mid-20ās. She had this long dark hair she wore up in a soft bun and these eyes that were like liquid smoke. Her skin was a dark crĆØme and I felt like when she looked at me, my knees melted. I know, I know. Iām 18⦠Iām a teenage boy, anything turns me on, right? But when sheād come into class with her skirts on and turn around, letting them move and show her stockings, I could count on some kind of amazing boner to pop up.
I found myself fantasizing about her, about her under things and her likes and dislikes. She was always the victim in my fantasies. Iād find her stranded on the highway and offer her a ride, and sheād repay me with a blowjob. Sometimes it was her caught doing something she shouldnāt, and Iād get to fuck her to keep me quiet. I would cum hard and fast, hiding in the shower or under my covers after everyone went to bed. Sometimes in class, sheād look at me with that knowing grin and Iād swear she knew that all she had to do was lick those lips and Iād get a hard-on.
The class was full of the usual assortment of jokesters and brains. I always fell somewhere in the middle. I wasnāt a jock, so I didnāt have to worry about making the grade, and learning was something I did better outside. School progressed without any major problems for the first 9 weeks. I thought I was doing ok. I stayed awake⦠predominately by daydreaming about having sex with her! Furthermore, I didnāt talk back, and most of the time I did some of the homework, but only after thinking about fucking her!
One day though, I fell asleep and I guess my dreams got the best of me. I had a hard-on that a cat couldnāt scratch. When I woke up, the bell was ringing and Ms. Hadley was staring at me. I tried to cover it up with my books as I stood up, my face was burning and I knew it was red. How could I have fallen asleep?!? I knew what happened when I thought about her. As I was walking out, she stopped me, calling my name and asking me to come to her office after school. She didnāt look happy. I spent the rest of the day uneasy, wondering what she could do about what had happened.
Finally, the 3:05 bell rang and I walked down the hallway to her office. As she was new, it wasnāt the best one in the hall, set down at the end, no windows and next to the size of a broom closet, but she had livened it up in ways only female teachers can manage. I knocked, nervous, and waited.
āCome in,ā I heard her say. I pushed open the door and entered. She was sitting at her desk, grading papers. She looked up when I entered. āHello Marcus. Please, sit down,ā she motioned toward the chair on the other side of her. I sat, folding my hands in front of me and putting my book bag on my lap.
āDo you know why I asked you to meet me after class here?ā she asked.
My mind leapt to lots of answers Iād love to hear, but none Iām sure would make her happy.
āUm, n-n-no,ā I stuttered, nervous as hell. My palms were sweating like crazy. I tried to wipe them on my jeans without her noticing.