It was five o'clock; football practice was over, and after the obligatory towel-snapping session in the Boys Locker Room, Johnny Buzzcock reported to the Athletic Supporter's Office as he had been directed. Mrs. Hanson, the Athletic Supporter of the Stuffville High's Trojans football team - a.k.a. the Purple Helmeted Warriors - was in her office waiting for him.
"Oh, there you are, Johnny," Mrs. Hanson said as he waited in her doorway, looking up from her paperwork over the tops of her reading glasses. Mrs. Hanson wore a cardigan sweater that barely contained her ample cleavage. The lacy edges of her black brassiere were visible, and hers was most certainly a well-filled bra.
As Mrs. Hanson absentmindedly nibbled the long strand of pearls that she always wore, Johnny licked his lips - his throat seemed to have suddenly gone dry. Mrs. Hanson always reminded him of a mature version of one of those buxom goddesses in the prints in his Art History textbook.
If a middle-aged woman with half-rimmed reading glasses, hair done up and held in place with a pencil could ever be described as a buxom goddess, that is. It must have been the pearls that did it. Mrs. Hanson always wore them wrapped about her throat three times like a kind of a choker, then the rest of the long strand lay nestled between her full mounds like a puddle of shiny white liquid.
Then Johnny glanced at the framed picture on Mrs. Hanson's desk; young, eighteen-year-old Susie Hanson in her Stuffville High cheerleader uniform, with her pony tails and bright sunny smile, and he blushed at what he'd been thinking.
Whoa, dude, this is Susie's
MOM
you're thinking about here
, he reminded himself.
"Are you ready for tonight, Johnny?" Mrs. Hanson asked.
"Yes, ma'am," he answered nervously.
"Nervous?" Mrs. Hanson asked, with a raised eyebrow and a wicked smile.
"Well, ah, uh . . . . . . yeah, sure, I guess, ha! Ha!" he replied.
Johnny and Susie had been going steady all semester, and they'd gone from some rather innocent French tongue-kissing and feeling up sessions to the point where Susie was letting Johnny rub her on the outside of her panties. Tonight, barely a few short hours from now, Johnny would be taking Susie Hanson to the Senior Prom. Tonight he hoped to make it to 'third base' with her. All the way.
"Did you try out the suit?" Mrs. Hanson asked, bringing Johnny's thoughts back into the here and now.
"Uh-huh, yes ma'am," Johnny nodded. Mrs. Hanson had designed the colors for next year's school swim team's Speedos, and he'd been selected to model them.
"Did it fit?" She asked.
"Yes, ma'am."
"Well, can I see it?"
"Uh, sure, uh . . ."
There was an awkward moment of silence. Mrs. Hanson came around the front of her desk, leaned back on it and crossed her arms under her ample boobs. His eyes inadvertently went to her chest; her pointy nipples, protruding through the soft fabric of her mohar cardigan, gave him an instant woody in his pants. Johnny glanced down, unable to avoid noticing how the tight, black leather skirt she wore hugged her generous hips, and how her patent leather high-heeled pumps set off her shapely, stocking-clad legs.
Johnny glanced back up to see Mrs. Hanson smiling her winning smile, her curly blonde hair framing her pretty face. She looked at him over her half-framed reading glasses, "Come on, Johnny. Let's see it." Johnny died of embarrassment as her eyes unashamedly went to where his cock was straining against his blue jeans.
"I, uh, I'm not wearing it right now."
"Do you have it with you?"
"Uh, yes," he replied. For some reason his throat was drier than the Sahara desert.
"Well, why don't you change into it?"
"What, right here?" Johnny couldn't believe what he thought she was proposing.
"Oh, yes, it's quite alright. It's after five-thirty on a Friday. Nobody's going to come around." Mrs. Hanson went behind her desk and Johnny was treated to the view of Mrs. Hanson's round ass as she bent over to rummage through a drawer. "I've got to take some papers down to Mr. Snotgrass's office, so you can change in here while I'm gone." She seemed to be having some difficulty retrieving whatever it was she was after, and knelt down, then turned. Johnny had to lean over the desk to maintain eye contact with Mrs. Hanson as she looked up over her reading glasses at him.
The view down the front of Mrs. Hanson's cardigan was incredible; her brassiere was now almost entirely visible, the rounded tops of her globes spilling over the black lace trim of her bra made his hardening cock throb. "Is this okay with you?" she asked with a sweet smile.