Mischievous Miss S Ch 01

This story takes place in Chennai, India. Although it is quite universal. The only thing that might be confusing to non-Indians is the U.P.S. (Uninterrupted Power Supply). Indians who can afford it keep a small battery-powered back-up electrical supply called a UPS. It runs lights and fans for a short time while the power is out.

This is my first story. Any feedback would be appreciated.

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"Damn it. Not an Uber in sight. This happens every time it starts to drizzle." Miss S shoved her phone back into her small leather handbag.

I was standing next to her in the veranda of the Madras Club. We were just leaving a book launch. One of those usual Madras "old society" events where everyone knew everyone, the cocktails were watered down and the finger food was barely edible. It was now nine o'clock, and everyone was leaving as fast as possible to avoid the oncoming monsoon storm.

"I can drop you home, Miss S," I offered.

"Don't be ridiculous, Vikram," she replied.

"I'm practically driving past your house. It's a 10 minute detour."

"Are you sure?"

"Not a problem at all."

"That's so sweet of you, thank you so much. Let me check if my husband can pick me up before I bother you. He should be on his way back from the airport." She fished her phone out of her bag and dialed.

Miss S was my geography teacher in school when I was 13. We used to call our teachers by their first names, but with a Miss or Mister in front. Her name was actually Samyukta Anand, but she let us call her "Miss S," which already made her cooler than the other teachers. In fact, she wasn't anything at all like the other teachers. They tended to be dour, old and more traditional. Her classes were fun and interesting and she went the extra mile for her students. There was always a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, which were highlighted in the lightest touch of eye-liner. She had perfect almond coloured skin that didn't require any more makeup.

What I remembered most was her body. Miss S was the subject of many a boy's wet dreams and jerk off sessions. At about 5'2" she was a little taller than average. Her hair used to be tied back in a long high pony tail that bounced as she spun around the classroom. On the occasions that she wore it down, it came down to just below her shoulders. She was quite petite, not that I knew the meaning of the word then.

But what really stuck out about her was her bust. She had massive breasts, that stood proud and were magnified by her tiny frame. Every time she moved, there was a hint of jiggle. All the boys in my class were mesmerized.

Not that she ever wore anything inappropriate. It's just that the very thought of those tits sent all of our adolescent minds into a tizzy. She wore saris, mostly, with her pallu pinned carefully to avoid even a hint of cleavage. She would occasionally wear kurtis that were loose enough to cover her tits, but were taken in a little at the waist so that they didn't look shapeless.

I felt my cock twinge just a little, thinking back to those days in school, 22 years ago. I'm 35 now, which I guess made Miss S about 50. She still looked amazing, talking on her phone to her husband. She wore her hair in a well styled bob, just below her jawline. It was sprinkled with white hairs, but it was still more pepper than salt. Her skin was still a lovely shade of nut brown. Her eyes were still mischievous, with a touch of smile lines. The make up was still quite minimal, just a hint of dark brown lipstick and a slightly thicker eyeliner.

I'm a sucker for women with youthful faces and a dash of white in their hair. Women who don't dye their hair are usually quite confident in themselves. They feel no need to hide their age, and celebrate the breadth of experience that comes with it.

Her body wasn't petite anymore, but it was still on the smaller side and in amazing shape for a woman of her age. She had a little bit more junk in the trunk, and her breasts had become even bigger. She was wearing a fitted white formal shirt, untucked, that accentuated her flat tummy and the small rise of her bum. There was the slightest hint of cleavage, almost subliminal, something you really had to stare at to see. Below, she was wearing some khaki trousers and simple flat sandals. In one word, she was elegant. She wasn't wearing too much makeup or jewelry, and wasn't trying to hide her age.

I felt my cock twitch again.

She hung up her phone and turned to me. "Looks like I'll have to take you up on your offer," she said. "My husband's flight had to be diverted. He'll be spending the night in Bangalore. Apparently the airport has been closed because of the rain."

I looked out into the dark parking lot. The drizzle had become a little more insistent now. In the distance I could see some lightning.

"Well," I said, "we should get you home before it becomes any worse. I'm parked a little ways over there. Wait here, I'll bring the car over."

"Don't be silly. It's just a drizzle. Let's run."

My mind immediately flashed to the thought of seeing her white shirt wet so that I could see what type of bra she was wearing underneath. Might as well make the best of the situation, I thought.

"Follow me," I said as I started jogging over to my car. As I approached, I unlocked it, and opened up the passenger door. My little car doubled as my field office, so there were bags, books, samples and paint swatches all over the front seat. I threw them into the back along with my other gear. Then I got up and closed the door to stop anymore rain from getting in. I waited for Miss S, who was clutching her small hand bag under the shade of her tits as she jogged. Her tits bounced enticingly. I held the door open for her as she approached.

"Oh, what a gentleman," she said, sliding into her car seat. The top of her shirt was damp and sticking slighting to her breasts. Two white bra straps were barely visible on top. I was a little disappointed, but I did get an excellent eyeful of her cleavage.

"Good schooling," I said, before closing the door. I got into my seat and started the car.

"So, what did you think of the book reading?" she asked as I pulled out onto the road.

"Uhm..." I had to choose my words carefully, I didn't want to offend her, but I didn't think highly of the book I had just spent four hundred rupees on. "Her style of writing isn't my cup of tea."

"I thought it was terrible!"

"Oh thank god! Yes, so do I! I don't think I'll even read the book. A waste of four hundred bucks."

"I'll have to read it. The expectations of traveling in the same social circles."

"It's all purple prose. She writes like a pretentious teenager."

Miss S threw her head back and laughed loudly. The smile lines around her eyes scrunched up. Her mischievous laugh was exactly the same. The seat belt had settled in between her breasts, defining their shape a little bit.

We started gossiping about the author and the guests at the book launch. The rain slowly and steadily became heavier, causing the traffic to crawl at a snail's pace. Fifteen minutes into the drive, we had barely traveled a kilometer, and the rain was pouring down hard. My wipers were quite ineffectual against the downpour. The only good news was that the two wheelers had pulled over to the side of the road allowing the cars to speed up a bit. But our top speed was limited by the rivers flowing through the streets.

"I guess this is why they had to divert Anand's flight," Miss S said. Using her shirt sleeve, she wiped the condensation on the windscreen.

"Could you do that on this side as well, please?" I said. I was trying to concentrate on driving through the rapidly deteriorating road conditions. "Sorry, my defroster isn't working. There's a t-shirt in my swim bag in the back. You can use that instead."

Miss S unbuckled her seatbelt, turned around and tried to grab my bag from the back seat. "Your car is a bloody mess," she said as she got on her knees to reach back.

"Yeah, my car is sort of an extension of my office," I said. Her bum looked awesome. There were barely visible panty lines where her trousers were pulled taught.

"What are these?" she said, holding my wet speedos.

"My speedos. I went for a swim before the talk."

"Not much fabric here at all. Don't you wear shorts?"

"No. I made it to state level in school, and that's what we wore then. Shorts don't feel right. Plus, I haven't heard anyone complain."

"I'm sure." She leaned back and continued rummaging through her bag. A moment a later, she returned to the front seat with my t-shirt. She opened it up, leaned forward and started wiping the windscreen. I feigned looking right and left to look out for traffic. But I was actually trying to get a peak at her breasts, straining against her damp shirt.

"Do you still swim a lot?" she said, reaching in front of me.

"Enough to stay in shape," I said.

"Well, keep up the good work."

We drove the rest of the way in silence. The sound of rain on the roof made any conversation impossible. It was another twenty minutes before we turned into her neighborhood.

"You'll have to direct me now," I shouted over the din of the rain.

"Turn right after the pharmacy," she said, pointing up ahead.

I turned right. The road was small and cars had been parked haphazardly, making it a bit of an obstacle course.

"That's my apartment on the left."

Suddenly, there was a loud crash and a large tree fell over onto the road about fifty feet ahead of us. I slammed the brakes and jerked to a halt. The tree had crushed one parked car and completely blocked the road. All the street lights went out.

"Holy shit!" Miss S shouted.

"I better drop you off and get home as fast as possible," I said.

"Don't be silly," Miss S said. "There's no way you can drive home in this rain. Park the car in front of that gate and then come in with me."

"But-"

"You won't be blocking them. They're traveling and won't be back for a week."

"But I can't just-"

"Vikram," she said in her best teacher voice, "park your crappy car and come inside. There's no point risking your life. You can go home tomorrow morning."

I parked the car in front of the gate and turned off the lights.

"Your turn to follow me," she said.

"Wait a second," I said. I rummaged around the back of the car and pulled a plastic bag out of my swim bag. "The perks of having a crappy car."

I put my cell phone in the bag. Miss S took out her house keys and put her hand bag in as well. I tied a double knot and sealed the bag.

"Ready when you are," I said.

Miss S laughed, opened the door and started running. I followed a few feet behind her, clutching the plastic bag. She was screeching as she ran into the apartment building. Inside, the power was out, and the elevator wasn't working.

"I'm on the fifth floor," she said. She took off her sandals and started jogging up the stairs.

Again, I followed, my face a few feet from her jiggling bum. I shook my phone inside the bag to turn on the flash light. I pointed it in front to give both of us a chance to see where we were going. This had the added benefit of lighting up her ass and back.

She was soaked through. Her trousers were sticking to her ass. The panty lines were clearer now. The back of her white bra was also visible. The band was quite wide and heavy duty, with three or four hooks.

As soon as we got in to her flat, she turned on the lights. "Wait here," she said while she walked away into a room.

The flat was quite spacious. To my right was was a small round dining table with a vase of fresh flowers in the middle. In the far corner was a wrought iron spiral staircase, which I assumed went up to the terrace. To my left, was the living area. There was a corner sofa and some chairs facing each other. Unlike most homes, there was no TV to be a focal point. One wall was covered in family photographs, while the others had a wide range of art. As with Miss S, the flat was tastefully and elegantly put together.

"Here you go," said Miss S, coming out of a room, carrying a small bundle. "Here's a towel and some shorts and a t-shirt. My husband is a little bigger than you, but they'll have to do."

She handed over the towel and clothes, letting me see the front of her soaked body for the first time. The shirt was transparent and hid nothing, in fact it accentuated every one of her curves.

"I'm sorry, there's no hot water," she said. "Because the power's gone, I can't turn on the heaters. You'll just have to dry yourself off."

She made no attempt to cover herself up. She was either unaware or didn't care. Through her shirt I could see a white industrial strength bra, in stark contrast against her brown skin. Her breasts were practically imprisoned, but every time she moved, there was a tantalizing jiggle. It took all my strength to not stare at those beauties.

"The guest room is over there," she said, pointing. Her breast jiggled some more as she moved her arm. "Get changed, then I think we both deserve a drink."

"Especially after that tree scare," I said.

"Especially after that horrible book reading!" She said, laughing. Her breasts shook in her bra. "Anyway, I better go get changed." She turned around and started unbuttoning her shirt while walking away from me. As she walked into her dark room, she was silhouetted by the light when she took her shirt off. She turned, giving me a brief look at her bra clad breasts in dark profile, before disappearing into her room again.

I made my way to the guest room, took my own soaking clothes off, wrung them and hung them up to dry in the bathroom. She had given me a white t-shirt and a pair of gym shorts. They were way too big, but there was no way of hiding an erection in them, if the situation came up. I giggled at my little pun, more out of nervousness than anything else and put the clothes on. It felt strange going commando in Miss S's husband's shorts. I hung up my towel next to my clothes in the bathroom before stepping out into the living room.

"There's a bar," she shouted from her room, "help yourself to a drink."

I opened up the bar. It was fully stocked with everything a proper hostess would need.

"There's a single malt in the back," she shouted "I'll have a large, with a dash of water."

I pulled out a bottle of Dalwhinnie 15 and two whiskey glasses. I poured the drinks and, placing her glass on the coffee table, walked over to the spiral staircase. At first I thought it was an antique. But on closer examination, I saw that it was a reproduction.

A minute or two later, Miss S emerged from her room in a light green cotton kaftan type nightgown, with buttons going down to her waist. Her grey hair was still damp, and had been combed back and tucked behind her ears. It was clear she wasn't wearing a bra. Her breasts had a life of their own, bouncing and swaying as she walked around the room turning off most of the lights.

"The power's out and we're on back up U.P.S.," she explained. "We better conserve some power. Can you turn on that lamp behind the sofa?"

I did as I was told and sat down on the sofa.

"Just give me a moment," she said as she trotted up the staircase, "I'll be right back."

"What's up there?" I asked.

"A terrace and a little sit out," she said, disappearing around a corner.

A moment later, she trotted back down the staircase. Her breasts swayed dangerously within her nightgown.

I kept staring as she plopped down on the other side of the corner sofa. She leaned forward to grab her drink, and her breasts and kaftan momentarily dangling below her. I got a brief eyeful of the top of her braless tits. Sitting back, she tucked her feet under her, and took a sip of her whiskey. The only light in the room was the lamp next to me and a small ceiling light in the dining area. Most of the room was dark, or softly lit. Outside, the rain was really coming down. Occasionally, flashes of lightning would light up the room.

"So, Vikram," Miss S said, sipping her whiskey, "what are you up to these days? Apart from swimming."

"I run an architecture and contracting firm that specializes in renovating old and historic buildings."

"Any interesting projects?"

"Right now, I've got my hands full turning an eighty year old bungalow into a cafe and restaurant."

We spent the next twenty minutes catching up. Her son and daughter were both studying abroad, leaving her an empty nester. I spoke about my return from Australia to set up my company. We refilled our whiskeys and the conversation drifted to talk of her time as a teacher and my school days.

"I really miss teaching," she said. Her cheeks looked a little flushed, probably from the whiskey. "It's amazing to see what you kids have done since then. Scuba diving instructors, architects, designers, film makers. In my day you were a lawyer, an engineer, a doctor or accountant. And teaching. There was nothing else."

"Why did you stop teaching?"

"I couldn't take the politics. Jahnavi was a real bitch."

I choked on the whiskey. Hearing Miss S swear like that was bad enough, and Jahnavi was our vice-principal. My shock must have been obvious, because she started laughing at me. I felt my cheeks burning and I took another sip of my whiskey.

"Did you ever think," she said, putting her legs up on the coffee table, "that your geography teacher could swear like a sailor? And did you ever think you'd be drinking with her?" With that, she downed what was left of her drink.

"What do you miss about teaching?" I asked, trying to change the subject.

Miss S put her spread her arms out behind her along the top the sofa, leaned her head right back and stared at the ceiling. This position showed off her amazing breasts. I could see their shape and heft through the thin nightgown. Her nipples were subtle, but visible. My cock did more than twinge, and I had to change position to make it less obvious.

She stared at the ceiling for a moment and then popped her head up again. "I miss," she paused, smiled, and continued, "I miss working with kids. I miss the energy. You could almost feed of it. It was like an elixir of youth. It was fun getting a class excited and feeling the energy of the room rise up."

"We liked your classes," I said.

"Ha. You're just saying that because you're stuck in my flat tonight."

"No, really. After you left we got another Geography teacher who was terrible. We made her cry and then she left the school."

"How terrible!"

"We had high expectations after you. She didn't deliver."

"I suppose that's a compliment."

"It is. The one we got after that was okay, not as good as you. Certainly not as good looking." I was a little shocked by what I had just said. It just tumbled out of my mouth. I took another sip of my drink, hoping I hadn't ruined anything.

"Yes, you boys were practically hypnotized," she said, with her naughty smile.

"You knew?"

"Let me tell you a little secret. Teenage boys are idiots. Obvious idiots. All of you stared constantly, no matter how conservatively I dressed." She got up and walked to the bar with her empty glass. "Another drink?"

"Not right now, thanks." I thought I could feel something in the air. Something had changed. But I didn't know if it was just the whiskey in me, or something real in the room. I wanted to tell her that I still wanted to stare at her tits, that she was sexy as hell in her kefatan. I decided to take a chance and prod on a little. "You know, we used to pay Anirudh to ask questions so that you would bend over to look at his book. We hoped we could get a small down blouse."

"I knew that. Well, I knew you buys wanted to see down my blouse. But I didn't know you paid Anirudh. And I didn't give you the satisfaction. I had to get shirts specially tailored so that I wasn't showing off my cleavage and making all you boys..." she trailed off for a moment, and poured her drink. "Making all you boys mess up your pants," she said, turning around. "But that was decades ago. Nobody wants to see a 53 year old's breasts." She grabbed her breasts in her hands and lifted them up a bit, squeezing them. I was entranced by the weight of them in her hands. "Just an old, grey-haired woman now."