**This story was written for a very special lady. A distance in miles and in years keeps me from knowing her in real life, but that hasn't diminished the respect I feel for her as a person. Suzanne, thanks for being flirty, intelligent, fun, and above all, for sharing your fantasies with me.**
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Suzanne McMillan's anger had given way to nervousness. The school board had been unbending; she was needed to teach the higher grades, due to the toll Covid-19 had taken on teachers there. That was the order. The only alternative was to leave the career she had grown to love. The first-graders were so cute and energetic! She loved being the first adult, other than their parents, most of them ever interacted with. That first impression was so important, growing up. Most of them only had one parent, anyway. Or only grandparents to raise them. It was sad, but being there for them gave her a sense of purpose.
For nineteen years she had fulfilled that purpose, and now she was being asked to teach teenagers in their last year of school! She had no idea how to act towards these students. They were young adults, fully formed both physically and emotionally; complete human beings, with different needs than the first-graders she had loved so much.
"You'll do fine. Just give them enough homework to respect you, not enough to hate you," her peer counselor had told her. Mike Broderick was a veteran of both middle school and high school. His view was mostly sardonic. "They're not going to listen to you anyway," he would say cynically. "Let them know who the boss is, try to impart a little good judgement into them and send them on their way."
Now, on what was to be her first day of class, Suzanne found her hands trembling as she pulled on her thong panties and studied the skirt and blouse she had chosen. Were they too casual for class? Mike had instructed her to have fun and not to be too formal. The students, he said, would judge you on first impressions. Too serious, and you would lose them, he said. "Besides, you've got great legs. You should show them off!"
Suzanne noticed her nipples were hard. Was that nervousness, or knowing she was putting herself on display? At forty-eight years old, she knew she was still attractive. But was she trying too hard? She pulled on the skirt and zipped it up. It was a black A-line, and only came to mid-thigh. Too short? Sighing, she unzipped it and let it fall to the floor. She rifled through her closet. She couldn't find anything she wanted to wear on this first day, so she pulled the black skirt on again and studied her reflection in the full-length mirror.
"My legs do still look nice," she said aloud, but her gaze kept going to her breasts. Her nipples were standing out proudly atop her B-cup breasts. They showed little sag, and as she pushed her shoulders back she thought they looked pretty presentable for her age. She pulled on a beige bra with just a bit of lace atop the cups. Her mind drifted back to early last year as she worked the clasps.
She had been out with some friends, a girl's night out at a club just over the state line. A young black man had flirted with them, and it brought back memories of her college days. There had been an affair back then; another, older black man, who used her as he wished. She kept coming back, discovering she enjoyed being submissive to him. This man was much younger, but used to flirting with white ladies. His charm was not lost on Suzanne. She met him two weeks later at the same club; this time on her own. That night and the next day he fucked her roughly, the way she wanted him to. She loved it. Then the pandemic hit.
She sighed. She had a good marriage to a successful man. Why would she crave something like that? Her sex life was still good, if a little boring. Her husband treated her gently in bed; too gently. If he only knew what thoughts ran through her head!
She put on the blouse, a soft tan number, slightly tight. She liked to inhale and see the strain on the buttons. It made her feel sexy.
Class. The students entered in a rush, seated themselves as she waited. Seniors Lit was written on the chalkboard, but no one looked at the board. They conversed among themselves as Suzanne sat and watched, waiting for the time to get their attention. At last, the second bell rang, and she stood.
"Hello, class. I'm Mrs. McMillan. We'll be reading some classics and discussing them. Does anyone have any favorites they would like to recommend?"
Silence, for 10 seconds. Suzanne waited, until someone blurted out, "Fifty Shades of Grey?"
The class erupted in laughter. Suzanne smiled briefly and told them that 'Fifty Shades' might not be considered classic literature for a long time, if ever. The same voice said, "Yeah, but it's got some great scenes in it!"
The rest of the morning went pretty much like that, and during lunch break Suzanne sought out Mike to vent. "Not to worry, kid," he teased, "in my second period I intercepted a note going around that suggested there was a mass suicide going on in the Home Ec room, and anybody that wanted to join in was welcome."
Suzanne shook her head. "Holy crap," she exclaimed, "what happened?"
"Dunno. I decided I'd rather eat lunch," he said dryly. Then he laughed, a huge gale of laughter that had the other teachers giving him disdainful looks.
"Look, I know it's a lot different than teaching five- and six-year-olds," he told her. "You just have to know when to react and when not to. These kids will try to get under your skin, or with a pretty thing like you, under your skirt, maybe. Just remember, we all have to be here, but at least we're the ones getting paid." With that he left, chewing on a cold piece of chicken he'd filched from someone else's lunch bag.
The afternoon classes brought at least one surprise. One of the kids had been one of her first-graders, years before. James Robinson came up to her just before class and said, "You probly don't remember me, Mrs. McMillan, but you was my teacher back at Melville Elementary," he said.
Suzanne looked closely at the boy. "Oh my god, yes!" she said, "I remember you, James. Your mother..." She stopped. The boy's mother was a drug addict, and his father was not around. Social services had become involved, and the boy was shuttled around from relative to relative. He left school for a while, then returned when his grandmother took him in.
James looked down, frowning at the memory. "Yeah, momma passed on," he said. "That monster gonna eat you eventually, you know?"
Suzanne nodded, then put her hand on James's shoulder. "Well, I'm glad to see you now," she told the boy. "You grew up big and strong, and you've always been a handsome boy."
James grinned. "I never thought I'd see eighteen, but here I am." He looked at the attractive teacher. "And here you are, too!" he said. "You always were the prettiest teacher in the school, and you ain't changed none."
Now Suzanne was blushing. The other students were almost all in their seats, and the bell would be ringing soon. "Better take your seat," she told him.
During class, she was distracted. James sat in the back of class, but she focused on him when talking to the class. He really had turned out to be handsome, she thought. His physical presence was...remarkable.
