Synopsis: At an all-girl private school, a student secretly finds out the teacher is having problems with finding the right person to help with a personal problem. Helping her out, the teacher discovers exactly who the right person is...
Author's Note: The events in this story are written not to be realistic, but for entertainment only. Laugh, cry, do anything (as long as it's legal). This story was written by my own imagination.
This story contains graphic descriptions of masturbation and female-on-female acts, plus a non-erotic Would-You-Rather-style list that may be a bit unsettling for some readers. If this sort of material offends you in any way, or if you are under the age of consent, do not read any further. My job is now done, you have now been disclaimed. Have fun!
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I hate school.
I know, most students will say that, but it's true. I hate getting up in the mornings, I hate having to get into a cold shower because the water heater's broken. And most of all, I hate the dress code.
Business and demure is not my style.
I go to a private school. Lindinburg High, an all-girl school. I didn't want to go there, my parents made me. It sucks because I am 18 years old and I am still living in my parent's house. It's not because I want to do that, either, it's just that I don't have enough money yet to move out. But I'm not that poor, I do have my own car. It's a 2002 Firebird, and it's a really fuckin' nice car.
I apologize, I don't mean to use bad language.
The only time I do ever use bad language is when I'm really excited or really angry. Right now, I am really angry. But like I said before, I hate my school. The only reason I am still going there instead of to a public school where I can get a date is because I want a nicer job in the future. Nicer, hopefully, than when I worked at the mall.
I worked at the Taco Hut. Worst job ever.
My entire part-time shift consisted of the following:
4:00 p.m. -- Walk in the door to the Taco Hut. Punch in.
4:01 p.m. - 4:10 p.m. -- Load the meat machine and get out a fresh set of taco shells.
4:11 p.m. - 4:40 p.m. -- Go in back and get the bugs out of the bags of shredded lettuce and cheese.
4:41 p.m. - 7:30 p.m. -- Take people's orders while simultaneously trying to prevent the groping of my breasts and crotch done by my boss and co-workers. There were somehow no rules against that.
7:31 p.m. - 8:00 p.m. -- Get ready to close up shop which was actually someone else's job (my boss's job) but he wanted to sit back and watch me bend over to switch the OPEN sign to CLOSED. Also, because he made me wear a uniform even though no one else had to, I had to go into the private stall made just for me and change out of my uniform. Until I left that job after so many long years, I never knew that what I thought was a wall was actually a one-way tinted window that I couldn't see through but anyone else who wanted to could. I had always wondered why we had so many people come around near closing time.
I hated that job, but less than I hate school. Maybe because when I worked there, I felt pretty and sexy. At school, no one complaments me on my breast size or the fact that when I am horny and I bend over wearing my favorite panties and a skirt, you can see my pussy lips as if I was not wearing anything.
Anyway, I've spent three years so far in that school and it's just another day today. I hear an annoyingly loud buzzing sound that I soon realize is my alarm clock. I reach my hand over and pound the snooze button before I try to fall back asleep again. Two minutes later, it seems, it buzzes again. I sit up and slam my fist into my alarm clock.
Dumb move. Now my hand hurts.
I slide my body over to the edge of the bed, stand up, take a quick glance at my computer, and I walk over to my closet. I take out the my hideous uniform. Red plaid skirt that reaches just under my knees, white blouse and a black... something. It looks like a blouse, but it was something that was custom made for everyone at Lindinburg. Red ribbon to tie back my long, silky, brunette hair and black, shiny dress shoes. I also wore a black lace bra, just because, and black lace panties to match.
I look over at my alarm clock to see how much time I have. The alarm shows 5:30, and my class begins at 7:00, so I should have a lot of time.
I walk over into the bathroom that is connected to my room and I lay my clothes over the toilet. I got out of bed wearing my usual pajamas, a simple white silk robe. I reach down to the belt that it has attached to it and I yank on the loose part of the belt, letting my robe open. I am naked underneath, so my D-cup breasts force the robe wide open. I look in the mirror and realize that I should have a boyfriend because I have a really sexy body. Slim, sexy, big breasts, and a patch of hair down there that I shaved into a triangle, I am sexy as can be.
Truth be told, because of my school and me being lonely, I have recently accepted the possibility for having a girlfriend. Not just a friendly girlfriend, but as wierd as it sounds, I would even have sex with a girl if presented with the option.
Anyway, I get dressed and look back over at my alarm. Only six minutes have passed, and I go back in the bathroom. I don't shower in the mornings, but I do shower every day after school in the afternoon. I put on some crimson lipstick, eyeliner, blush, mascara, you know, typical makeup. I put on deodorant and I slip a fresh tampon inside me. I am completely ready for school. My alarm says 6:43, but I decide to flip through my magazines until I leave for school.
Not surprisingly, I show up at school on time. Just because I hate school doesn't mean I want to be late for school. Soon, though, it won't matter. I'm 17 years old and in a year or so, I'll be out of school and old enough to get my first full-time job, along with my own house.
The day goes pretty normal until after lunch. I am the first one back to my class and I catch our teacher, Ms. Pettison, on the phone. I hear her tell the person she's talking to something about she needs to get laid and she doesn't know any guys that like her. She turns her head, sees me, then quickly flips her phone shut and drops it beside her desk so it lands in her purse.
"Oh, hey! Molly, how are ya?" she asks me.
"I'm great, Ms. Pettison. If I may, who was that on the phone?"
"Just, uh... my friend Jill, why?" she asks.
"You and your friend talk about who you want to get laid with over the phone?" I had to ask her.
"Oh! Uh... you heard that. You see, well... uh... it's just..."
"It's okay. You can talk about it with me. No need to be worried. Girls need to have sex sometime just like guys do, you know?" I try to reassure her.
"You see, I... uh... have this problem when it comes to sex. It's just that whenever I'm having... uh..." she stammers.
"You can tell me," I say.
"Well, uh... whenever I'm having sex, I never seem to get to the point of orgasm. I mean, it's not that I can't have an orgasm, it's just that whenever I'm having sex with a guy, I never seem to want to. Do you understand?" she asks.
"I guess you have to find the thing that turns you on and have him do that thing," I say to her.
"But that's just it! I can't ever seem to pinpoint what turns me on. I need help," she begs.
"Well, maybe I could help. A sexy lady like yourself should be able to have sex, don't you think so, Ms. Pettison?" I ask.
"Yes I do, and..." she gets cut off by the sight of students walking into the room.
Lunch is over and I have to go back to my seat. We decide that we'll continue the conversation after school. As I sit in my seat, I realize that she really is a sexy woman. She looks like the type of teacher that would be seen on porn. She is at most 31 years old, maybe 34D bust, and she's slim. She wears thick, black-framed glasses. She always dresses in black with the top buttons of her dress unbuttoned so that anyone who wanted to look could see the long line of her cleavage (not enough to make her look like a slut, yet still enough to make you wonder just what her breasts look like underneath).
She also has one of those wands that professors use to point to something high up on the board. Other days, when she would reach to point to something high up on the board, because her dress was barely long enough to cover up her panties, her dress would raise up enough to show everyone her panties, waistband and all. She never stretched like that today, though.
About an hour passed and the bell rang. Time to go home, or in my case, time to continue the conversation. As I walk up to the front of the class, where the teacher was sitting, I glanced at each sudent walking out the door. When I finally stood right in front of the desk, the last student exited the class. I wanted to resume the conversation.
"So, back to our earlier conversation, what was your problem again?" I ask her.
"Will you still help me?" she asks me back.
"Of course, Ms. Pettison," I told her.