Ms. Waler's Class

This is chapter one of a new story...I hope you enjoy it! Please, let me know your feelings on the subject. Send comments and feedback (my favourite), and don't forget those stars!

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Miranda Walker was nervous. It was her first day of school... sort of.

It had been years since she was in this situation, and a lot had happened since then.

Let's see... was teaching... met a guy... fell in love... got pregnant... got married... stopped teaching... gained twenty pounds... lost the baby... gained another twenty pounds... found out husband was cheating bastard... divorced cheating bastard.

Then there was the long road back, which started with a decision to take control of her life again.

Started working out... lost some weight... started riding a bike... lost more weight... went back to school... updated teaching credentials... got in great shape, better than ever. Felt great, but her once proud D cups, which had ballooned to EE when she was pregnant, had deflated to a rather disappointing pair of floppy Cs.

That disappointment had led to a wonderful plastic surgeon, with whom she had been involved for a short time. It had been his idea to go bigger with her implants, but, truth be told, it hadn't been hard to convince her. Now, she was glad he had. He had taken such care in skillfully augmenting her breasts, that she hardly had a scar visible on her magnificent G cup bust. Riding the bike had toned and tightened her thighs and ass, so that despite her African American Heritage, she didn't have excess 'junk in the trunk'. However, with her long, strong legs, and shapely rear end, she was a force to be reckoned with in a short skirt.

Then, during the Christmas holidays, a local high school biology teacher, visiting his family in Michigan, had been involved in a terrible car accident. He would recover, but not this school year.

So Miranda had received the call to take over the class, and 19 years after she had left this same school, she found herself walking through the front door, feeling pangs of fear. She found the restroom, right where she remembered it.

"Jeez, Miranda, you're a thirty-eight year old woman, not a teenager, and you're the teacher," she muttered to herself in the mirror. "Pull it together." She gave herself another hard look. She thought she looked pretty good. Her skin was a smooth mocha colour, without a wrinkle. She had the stereotypical wide nose and pouty lips of a black woman, but, thanks to her flat iron, her hair was straight and smooth. She wore a dark reddish brown shade of lipstick, less overtly sexy than a brighter shade, and closer to the natural tone of her wide lips.

She walked out of the restroom, and went directly to the administration office to meet with the principal.

****

Michael had always hated biology class. He and the teacher, Mr. Pendergrass, had never seen eye to eye, but that honestly may have been largely his own fault, the result of a poorly timed joke that had run him afoul of the prof early in the school year. He had heard about Mr. Pendergrass' accident, and wondered if that made the situation better or worse. They'd probably get some old fart as a substitute.

That's when Miranda walked into the classroom.

Holy shit!

Michael thought,

that's our substitute? Wow!

He was enthralled by the tall, beautiful black woman who took a position behind the teacher's desk. She was wearing a matching navy blue jacket and skirt, with a white blouse, and when the jacket came off, he made the defining discovery about his new teacher; she had huge tits, which the lab coat she donned did little to hide.

The classroom was noisy, as one would expect when the students all knew they were getting a substitute teacher. Miranda chose not to compete with the cacophony, instead standing quietly at the front of the class, arms crossed, waiting for them to settle down. One by one, the students noticed her and fell silent.

"Thank you," she said. "As I'm sure you have all heard by now, Mr. Pendergrass was injured in a car accident during the holidays. He will be fine, but it looks like he's out of commission for this school year, so I will be taking over for the duration. Could someone please tell me what the last thing you covered was?"

That question would have normally been answered by one of the brown-nosers that every class inevitably has, but there was something about the new teacher that compelled Michael to pipe up. Actually, make that

two

things.

"Yes, Ma'am," he said quickly, before anyone else could respond. "We had just started Chapter Eight before the holidays." There were a few derisive 'kissy' sounds from the equally inevitable disruptive students.

"Thank you,...?" Miranda said, asking his name without asking. He finally caught on.

"Oh... Um, Michael Smith, Ma'am" he answered.

"Thank you, Michael, and please, everyone... call me Ms. Walker. I'll get your names as we go along. Okay, open your textbooks to Chapter Eight, and we'll get started..."

Just like that, she was in control. 'Teacher mode' kicked in, and the butterflies in her stomach settled down. Mostly, anyway. They seemed to take flight again whenever she looked in Michael's direction, and she didn't know why. Sure, he was a big, handsome, strong young man... with piercing blue eyes, and big, strong hands, and...

Get a grip,

Miranda, she reminded herself, but her loins still tingled at her previous thoughts.

She settled into her new routine. There were notable exceptions of course, but most of 'her' kids were pretty good, and she was enjoying the challenge of teaching again. Days became weeks, and weeks became months.

****

Then one day things changed dramatically.

Miranda looked up from her class schedule to see what the commotion was, and saw Jennifer, a petite blonde, talking to Michael. She walked away, and Michael, visibly upset, kicked his chair back against the next row.

One of the other boys in the class walked by. "Tough luck, Wilbur," he sneered, unfortunately not quite out of retribution range. Michael grabbed him by the shirt and yanked him back, cocking his right hand maliciously.

Miranda saw it happening, and was quickly there to break up the trouble. "Stop it, both of you!" she demanded. "You," she pointed at the instigator, "mouth shut, and get out!" Michael released him, and started to leave himself. Miranda knew that once they left the classroom, it would flare up again, unless she held one of them back. She also wanted to know what had precipitated Michael's mood swing. He was normally a good kid.

"Michael, you stay, please," she asked, softening her tone. "Take a seat." She looked at him, waiting for him to look up. Eventually, the silence got to him, and he did. "What's up," she probed, "it isn't like you to start a fight."

"I didn't start it!" Michael snapped immediately, angrily.

"I know. I heard what he said. That's not the question. What has you so upset that you wanted to punch someone?"

Exasperation overcame anger. "Never mind... I promise not to do it again."

"I know that, too, but I'm offering to help you sort out something that's obviously bothering you. Was it Jennifer? Is that what started it?" she asked quietly. There was a long pause before Michael replied.

"Yeah... I guess she is what started it, this time... but it's not her fault really. She's just the straw that broke the camel's back," he answered, baring a little more of the truth for Miranda to work with.

"Okay. What's the problem with Jennifer? She's cute, right? Did you ask her out?"

"Oh sure, she's cute," he answered, almost, but not quite smiling, "and I did ask her out. We were supposed to go out tonight, but she cancelled, because she talked..." He stopped abruptly, anger welling up again.

"Calm down. You were doing so well. Who did she talk to? What did that have to do with her cancelling?" Miranda asked.

Michael rubbed his hands on his thighs, blew out a long breath, and relented. "Okay, but remember, you asked for the whole story, right?" Miranda nodded. "Jennifer talked to some of the other girls I've gone out with... ones where things got, um, uh,... physical... and they told her not to go out with me."

"Really? That's not very nice. What did you do wrong to them?"

"I didn't force them to do anything, if that's what you mean."

"Continue..." she said, starting to put things together, or so she thought.

"So... when that asshole called me 'Wilbur', I just snapped. I'm sorry, Ms. Walker," he finished.

"What's with that, anyway? Why Wilbur?"

He seemed surprised. "You really don't know? I thought everyone did. That's the problem."

Miranda put her confusion aside for the moment. "Well, I'm new, right? Suppose you fill me in." That particular phrase would be somewhat prophetic.

Michael seemed reluctant, again, looking down at his feet, but couldn't take the silence. Finally, he looked up, his eyes inadvertently tracing up her body, and lingering momentarily on her impressive bust, on the way to her eyes. He sighed.

"Do you remember the old TV series from the 60s... about the talking horse? "

"Well, not personally," she laughed, "a bit before my time... but yes, I've heard of it. 'Mister Ed', wasn't it? Wilbur was one of the characters. He was the owner of the horse. What, they call you Wilbur because you own a horse?" So near, yet so far off.

"Um, no... not quite. It all started in gym class. In the shower?"

Suddenly, the light bulb went off over her head. "Oh my!" Miranda gasped. "So, you're saying that..." she gestured in the general direction of his crotch, desperately trying not to look. It didn't stop her imagination from running wild, however, and her pussy dampened at that thought.

"Yes, Ma'am. 'Like a horse'," he answered, without any of the bravado she expected from a 19 year old boy. He was more sad than anything. "Now you see the problem? None of the girls will go out with me anymore, because they're afraid I'll hurt them if things get physical. I'm a freak. It's a curse, I swear."

Jesus!

she thought, her imagination ramping up even more at his 'like a horse' admission.

Just how big is this kid's dick?

Her pussy reacted again, getting wetter still. Somehow she managed to push the images aside enough to respond.

"I'm sorry Michael... I don't know what to say," she said quietly. "Have you talked to the counsellor about this?"

"Mrs. Lewis?" he blurted, "God, no! She's like, a thousand years old! I wouldn't have said anything to you, but you made me, remember? It's not something I like to talk about, especially with a, uh, uh..."

"A woman?" she asked, successfully jamming her imagination back into the closet and slamming the door.

"Um, yeah... or a teacher." He was calmer now, she could see.

"Okay, so now I've made you late for your next class, haven't I?" she laughed. He nodded, and smiled a little. "Tell your teacher I held you back."

"Thanks, Ms. Walker. Thanks for listening." he said, as he left.

"Anytime," she laughed.

Oh shit!

she thought, as her imagination kicked the closet door open and flooded out, filling her head with images of giant penises.

Big, hard, throbbing cocks, wet with saliva, ready to fuck her dripping pussy.

Thankfully, she had time to get herself under control, as she had no classes until the afternoon.

She closed and locked the doors to her classroom, and thanked the heavens she wasn't a math teacher. If she was, her classroom wouldn't have an attached storage room for chemicals and the like, which is where she was headed. It had no windows, which was good. She didn't want anyone peeking in on her while she was masturbating, which she desperately needed to do to keep her sanity. It had been months since she got laid, and now this whole 'Michael has a giant cock' situation had brought her already simmering desires to a full boil.

Miranda walked slowly into the store room, and closed the door. She kicked off her high heels, and unbuttoned the white lab coat that protected her clothing, hanging it on the hook beside the door. There was a mirror on the back of the door, long enough that she could use it to watch herself if she positioned her tall stool just right.

She caressed her full breasts through her white cotton blouse and bra, but knew immediately that she would need skin on skin to douse this fire. As much as she didn't like the idea of being naked at school, she also knew she needed relief right now, and found the idea of her very naughty behaviour arousing.

She reached behind and unhooked her skirt, stepping out of it carefully to keep it clean. She laid it on the counter, and put her pantyhose on top after she removed them next. Her pussy was very, very wet, and the cool air on her dampness was like an electric tickle, making her even wetter. The buttons of her blouse succumbed quickly to her fingertips, and as she hung the blouse up with her lab coat, she saw her reflection in the mirror.

Her dark, mocha coloured skin contrasted starkly with the white lace of her bra. Her breasts filled the pretty cups perfectly, and there was just a hint of her nearly black areolas visible through the perforations of the lace trim, along with the bumps that indicated her excited nipples. She watched herself reach behind her back, unfastening the last garment between her and nudity. The straps slid off her shoulders, and the bra fell away, to be tossed on top of her other clothes.

Miranda didn't consider herself a vain woman, but... Damn! She looked good naked! Her belly was nice and flat again, confirmed when she turned sideways in the mirror. She flexed her glutes, pulling her ass up into a tight ball that didn't sag appreciably when she relaxed them. She smacked her cheeks with both hands, feeling the fit muscularity there. Turning further, she admired her calves. She completed her turn and stopped, facing forward, where she could check out what she considered her two best features.

"Thank you, Dr. Stephen Milton, FACS," she whispered, caressing the full, round curves of her massive breasts. She loved her tits, and had received no complaints about them from anyone who had graced her bed since her surgery, an admittedly sparse list as of late, hence her frustration. She pinched her nipples, bringing them to full attention, then backed away from the mirror, perching on the edge of the stool. If there was a disadvantage to having her beautiful G-cup boobs, it was the fact that visibility below was sometimes compromised by them, and she liked to watch herself getting off. The mirror solved that nicely.

She leaned back a bit, and spread her long legs, resting her feet on opposing shelves of the relatively narrow room. Her labia, hairless and very dark brown in colour, were glued shut by her juices, but opened like a bright pink orchid when she ran her finger along the lips. That's why she liked to watch, because her cunt, when open was so dang pretty. The bright pink inner folds virtually glowed in the dark frame of her crotch, and she dripped with a nectar so fragrant and succulent that she sometimes wished she could contort her body enough to lick her own pussy. Failing that, she could at least lick her fingers, and did so now, tasting her delicious juices and moaning in delight.

Miranda spread her lips with two fingers of her left hand, and dipped two fingers into her juicy gash, finger fucking herself with a staccato rhythm. In the silence of the storage room, Miranda could hear her pussy making wet, squishy sounds as she reamed herself. A few seconds later that sound was lost in the ragged, excited breathing that filled the room. She watched her reflection, as she slid her fingers deeper, and hooked her fingertips up. She saw her face contort with pleasure as her fingers reached and searched, just able to find that little patch of walnut-shell texture that marked the fast lane to orgasm. The fingers that had held her pussy open now shifted to manipulate her clit, and she moaned softly at the dual stimulus.

She was a highly effective masturbator, having discovered this particular technique in her youth. It never failed to bring her to an earthshattering orgasm, and that's what she needed right now. Right now. Right... fucking... NOW!

In the corner of her vision, she saw her toes curl, while straight ahead, the face in the reflection showed the ecstasy that washed over her as she came hard. As well coccooned as she was in this closet, she couldn't forget that people who wouldn't forgive or understand her needs were within hearing range. She tried desperately to stifle her sounds of bliss, managing to keep it down to a few groans and sharply exhaled breaths. When the waves of pleasure subsided, Miranda melted, breathing hard in recovery. She licked her fingers, revelling in her own taste, going back for more, again and again, until her oozing cunt was as clean as she could make it.

"Oh fuck... That's better," she whispered as she lowered her legs and sat up. Her nipples were inch long hat-pegs in the aftermath of her orgasm, and she couldn't resist tugging on them, which made her clit tingle again.

She stood, a little unsteady, and stepped over to retrieve her bra, which did nothing to conceal her erect nipples when she slipped it on. A few moments later, she was fully dressed again, but her stiff nips were still as obvious as before, poking at the white cotton of her blouse as though there wasn't an intervening layer in place.

"Hmmmm?" she giggled. "Can't go walking around with high-beams like that, can I?" She put her lab coat back on, which hid them enough to leave.

Miranda didn't know that this activity would become a habit, but it did. Every time she had Michael in her class, and thought about their conversation, and his 'problem', she wound up locking herself away and abusing herself. She couldn't get 'it' out of her mind.

****

The school year ended, all too soon for Miranda. It marked the end of regular employment for her, as Mr. Pendergrass was now recovered, and had made no secret of the fact he expected his job back. It also ended her association with Michael, such as it was. She still occasionally brought herself off to mental images of what his cock might look like, but not seeing him several times a week made him gradually fade from the forefront of her mind.

Summer had just begun, and Miranda had altered her routine, which meant more workout time, letting her take longer rides on her bike. She was now a pretty avid rider, and had invested in an ultra-light carbon fiber bike. Then there was her attire. Think 'Tour de France' meets Victoria's Secret. Pink and black, styled in a way that made her already mind-blowing curves look even more spectacular.

She was still several miles from home, on the second half of a thirty mile ride. It was hot and she was sweating profusely, but that was part the allure for her. She liked feeling the cooling effect of her sweat evaporating, especially the way it made her nipples tingle.

She heard the car approaching from behind, expecting it to swing out and pass her, but it slowed.

"Holy shit, will you look at the ass on her!" the anonymous voice called out. "Hey baby, maybe you'd like to ride me like that? I'll give you plenty of exercise!"

Miranda didn't look at the car. She just kept her legs moving, powering over the top of the hill that had slowed her down and allowed the car to draw as close as it had. On the downslope, she geared up, and flew around the twisting curves, pulling away from her audience. The breeze blew through the wide open zipper of her top teasing her nipples into even more abrupt points than they had been.

The car caught up, pulling even with her this time.