The events and characters in this story are fiction. All characters are eighteen or older.
My favorite teacher was my math teacher, Mrs. Gibson. She was in her late thirties, a wife and a mom, but man, was she sexy! She had long full blonde hair, a pretty face, was average in height, and had big tits. Like most of the teachers she dressed casual more than she dressed up, but whatever she wore, it was hard to hide her hot body. I wasn't much of a math student, and since I had math my last class of the day, I spent most of the period staring at Mrs. Gibson and having fantasies about her. She didn't wear skirts very often, but when she did, I would try to look up her skirt as she sat on her desk. Sometimes I was rewarded with a glimpse of her panties. I also liked watching her ass wiggle when she wrote on the board. But mostly I stared at her tits, especially if she wore something tight or something that I could see her bra through.
My class was a handful for her, but she kept control. There were fifteen of us in the class, nine boys and six girls, and I think that most of us guys were bad at math, and we had some aggressive guys that misbehaved pretty often. Early in the year Mrs. Gibson seemed like a bitch, but once the class got used to her discipline, she seemed to loosen up, even get friendly. Still, we were a rowdy bunch, and she seemed to accept some of the boys' minor misbehaving.
With a bunch of horny guys in a class that had a big-titted teacher standing in front, there was often a sexually charged atmosphere. Some of the boys' remarks were of a suggestive nature, but Mrs. Gibson tolerated the comments, even firing back with little innuendos of her own, especially before the bell when many of the girls hadn't arrived yet. During class, some of Mrs. Gibson's leg crossing and other posturing seemed be an attempt to get our attention, but I thought maybe that was my overactive imagination.
The problem remained that most of us boys weren't very good students, and it seemed to frustrate Mrs. Gibson. One day near the end of the first semester, she dismissed the girls and asked all of the boys to stay late. She gave us a speech on how many of us were in danger of failing the semester. She intimated that it reflected poorly on her, and she badly needed us to improve the final weeks of the semester.
"What can I do to motivate you to work hard these last few weeks?"
From the back of the room, I heard Steve mumble, "Show us your titties."
He said it a little too loud, and we all heard it, and there was suppressed laughter. Mrs. Gibson also heard it. At first she had a deadpan look on her face like she was mad, then a little smile appeared. "If I did would you study harder?"
Jim said, "Even I'd study for that!" and we all laughed.
Mrs. Gibson sat on her desk thinking, hiking her skirt up high to expose most of her thighs. "OK, Jim," she finally said, "I'll give you that opportunity. In one week I'll give you boys an oral exam on Chapter Twelve, and for each answer that someone gets right, I'll take off an article of clothing. Kind of a Strip Math game."
"Yea, right," Jim said. Like you'd do that."
"Jim, I promise. I'll wear the same outfit that I'm wearing today. I'm wearing eight articles of clothing. I'll give each of you one problem, so if eight out of nine get the correct answer, all of my clothes will be off. But you all have to be very discreet about this. Tell no one, deal?"
"Deal," we all said, and she dismissed us. The nine of us regrouped by our lockers and discussed whether or not she was serious. We didn't totally believe her, but we decided as a group that we would actually study hard for the next week, to see what would happen. We checked with each other every day, even helping each other study, to make sure that everyone knew the chapter well.
The following week, as the class began, Mrs. Gibson gave each of the girls a pass to the library and gave them a worksheet, saying that she was going to review with the boys. After the girls filed out, Mrs. Gibson closed and locked the door. I noticed that the door's windows had been covered with paper. She was, indeed, wearing the same gray skirt and white sweater that she had worn the previous week.
"OK, ready? Brian, here's your question." She wrote a math problem on the board. "You have two minutes." Brian started writing on paper. In a minute he announced, "Seventeen."
Mrs. Gibson looked at him and said, "Seventeen is correct." Standing in front of the board, she leaned over and lifted her leg, took off her right shoe, held it up, and dropped it. We all exhaled and congratulated Brian and applauded, but Mrs. Gibson indicated to us to keep our voices down.
