Amanda walked slowly down the hall toward the class room, fear building with every step she took. She dreaded the meeting about to take place, but it was necessary if she wished to graduate.
Amanda had just turned eighteen, was a senior in high school and graduation was only four weeks away. For the most part, her grades were pretty good, all of them except one. She had been struggling in Chemistry all year, never getting anything over a C minus on any of her exams, and it had been slipping steadily all semester, something that upset her mother to no end. It was time to try and get help from the only person she knew could help her.
That person was Ms. Thompson, the Chemistry teacher. Amanda liked Ms. Thompson, but the older woman made her nervous. Ms. Thompson was 28 years old, 5' 10" tall, slim in build, with shoulder length red hair and piercing, hazel-green eyes. In contrast, Amanda was 5' 7" tall, also slim in build, with long blond hair and light blue eyes.
Final bell had just rang for the day, and Amanda stood out side the Science Lab, waiting for the room to empty out. She could hear Ms. Thompson giving the Freshmen science class a few final instructions as they filed out. After the last of the students had left, Amanda tentatively walked into the class room.
"M-M-Ms. Thompson?" Amanda asked shyly.
"Yes? What is it Amanda?" Ms. Thompson said without looking up form the notes she was writing.
"I need to talk to you about my grade ma'am," Amanda stammered. Her mouth felt dry and her palms were sweating. She could feel the blood rushing to her face as Ms. Thompson looked up at her with those piercing, green eyes.
"I've been meaning to talk to you about that myself," the older woman said as she leaned back on her desk, motioning for Amanda to have a seat. Ms. Thompson was dressed in a pale blue blouse, a knee length denim skirt, sheer stockings and three-inch black heels. Amanda was dressed in a thin white blouse that showed she was wearing a bra, knee length plaid skirt, white ankle socks, and brown penny loafers.
"Your grade has been slipping all semester, young lady," Ms. Thompson continued. "I'm afraid that if things continue at this rate, I will have no choice but to fail you."
"P-P-Please, Ms. Thompson," Amanda said, tears starting to well in her eyes. "I just have to pass. If I don't, my mom will kill me. Is there some kind of extra-credit work I could do?"
"I don't know, Amanda," Ms. Thompson said, looking down into Amanda's pale blue eyes. "Your grade is pretty bad. I don't know if there is enough time left in the school year for you to make it up, even with extra-credit."
"Please, Ms. Thompson," Amanda said, tears running down her checks, her mouth trembling. "I'll do anything to bring my grade up. I just have to pass. I have to graduate." Amanda began to cry into her hands, her stomach feeling upset.
"Anything?" Ms. Thompson said, arching her eyebrows.
Amanda looked up at Ms. Thompson, a small ray of hope building inside of her. "Y-Y-Yes, ma'am," she stammered. "I'll do anything to pass and graduate."
Ms. Thompson crossed her arms and studied the young girl for a moment, her eyes narrowing.
"Well then," she said finally. "Perhaps we can work something out. It is going to take a lot of hard work to bring that grade up, and with only four weeks of school left, we will need to work on it every day until school is out. That includes weekends. Are you willing to do that?"
Amanda sat there and looked at her teacher for a moment. She had not counted on giving up all of her free time to raise her grade, but knew she did not want to face her mother with a failing one.
"Yes, Ms. Thompson," Amanda said with a hard swallow. "I have to graduate. I have no choice."
"No, it appears you don't," Ms. Thompson said, reaching for a pen and paper. "Here is my address. I want you there at five o'clock sharp. No excuses. If your mother needs to know, just tell her that you are getting help with your chemistry. Understand?"
"Yes ma'am," Amanda said, taking the paper. "I will be there."
"See that you are," Ms. Thompson said returning to her notes. She watched Amanda leave the room out of the corner of her eye, a smile coming to her lips.
********************
Denise Thompson rushed home as fast as she could, cursing every red light between the school and her home. She rushed inside, checking the time.
'Only an hour to get ready,' she thought as she set her briefcase down.
She quickly undressed, wondering if she had time for a shower. She dismissed it, an idea forming in her ever active imagination. Instead, she went to her bedroom to get ready for her "guest".
She started by pulling on a very small, tight, black thong. She decided against a bra, slipping on a thin, white silk blouse. She pulled on a black leather mini-skirt, followed by her black leather thigh-high boots. She checked to make sure that all of her equipment was in place, ready for use. She then went to the living room and waited for the agreed upon time to arrive.
She kept glancing at the clock, then the mirror. She was a bundle of sexual energy, waiting for release. She kept going over everything she had planned in her mind when she heard the light knock on her door.
Denise checked the clock before going to the door. As she opened it, she drank in the sight before her, and fought back a smile.
"You are five minutes late, young lady!" she said to Amanda. "Maybe you were not serious about raising your grade this afternoon."
"B-B-But my watch says five o'clock," Amanda stammered, her eyes wide with shock and fear. Seeing the way her teacher was dressed made her face turn a bright red, suddenly wondering what she had gotten herself into.
"I don't care what your watch says," Denise said, grabbing the trembling girl by the arm and yanking her inside. "My clock says it is five after. Do you still wish to raise your chemistry grade, Amanda?"
"Yes, ma'am," Amanda whispered, swallowing hard. She found herself staring at her teachers breasts, mesmerized by their fullness.
"You will call me Mistress Denise while you are in my home, slut," Denise said, locking the door. "Do you like staring at my breasts, slut?" she asked, slapping Amanda across the face, her palm leaving a nice red mark on the young girls face.
"Yes, ma--Mistress, I mean, no Mistress," the young girl floundered as she dropped her book bag and raised her hand to her stinging cheek.
"Quiet slut," Denise said as she guided Amanda into the living room. Denise sat on the sofa, looking at Amanda. "Take off your clothes, slut."