*This is one of my bimbo stories inspired by CrystalWynd's distinctive collection. Like him, I'm choosing to set all my bimbo stories in a fictional town. Mine is an island I've named Vaunt Isle. Other than that connection, every bimbo story is a standalone. They are predictable stroke stories usually in the first person. They are also extremely unrealistic in countless ways. You have been warned, so please to enjoy!*
"Any more questions?" I asked without really asking. I made it extremely clear over the course of the year that I didn't like stupid questions. Whomever said there's no such as a stupid question had obviously never taught at Vaunt Isle High.
Just my luck though, Matthew Scribe raised his hand. Easily the biggest idiot of all the idiots. This was his second year being held back.
"What?" I snapped.
"Yeah, Miss Jameson. Um, what'll be on the exam tomorrow?"
There was a chorus of snickers, and for once, I let them slide.
"Mr. Scribe, I just spent the entire class answering that exact question. You can apologize to me for not paying attention by staying after class."
There was the predictable chorus of "oooo"s and "you're in trouble"s which I instantly silenced with my trademark glare. I knew my reputation as the school's ultimate bitch and I loved it.
I didn't really have much time to stay after class on account of promising to pick up my deadbeat daughter from her piano lessons - the one thing she still did with any diligence -- but I gave no exception to a student in need of punishment.
I wished I was able to be as strict with Anna as I was with Matthew and the rest of my class, but she was my daughter after all. And she reminded me too much of me at that age. Except that when I was 18, I already had a 3 year old daughter.
In some horrible part of my brain, I wanted the same to happen for her. It was having Anna when I was so young that made me get my shit together and have responsibility in my life. I had absolutely no idea where her father was, but neither of us ever needed him. I've had this comfortable teaching gig for over 10 years, easily being able to provide for Anna and myself.
Strange rumours had been going around about Vaunt Isle recently, but I had no intention of moving. I've lived here my whole life, and it's always been a beautiful city, feeling peacefully cut off from the rest of the country.
The bell rang and the class filed out except for Matthew Scribe. Maybe he was a horrible student, but he always stayed behind when I asked him to. People could (easily) fail my 12th grade English class, but they could never cross me.
"How have you still not learned?" I said to him, expressionless, as he strode toward me in his usual confident way.
"I'm passing every other class this time, Miss. I just need yours to graduate," he said. He was 20 now and was really starting to look like a man. More so than anybody else at Vaunt Isle High. Despite taking great care of my body and looking amazing for 33 (if I do say so myself), I had not been with too many men after Anna's Dad. I had just been too busy. I wasn't oblivious to the rumours the students spread that I just needed a good fuck. Sometimes I wondered if there was any truth to that. But I had my vibrator and erotic novels, I could take care of myself.
"I can't pass you in this class just because you're passing your other ones, Mr. Scribe. You know that. That's not how it works."
"C'mon, Miss. You'll finally be rid of me. I'm telling you now that failing me is a really bad idea."
"I'm sorry, but you'll need over 90% on the exam to get a 50% on the course. You should have worked harder." I didn't have time to feel guilty. It truly was his fault. I noticed a stressball in his hand. He was squeezing it pretty hard. Strange, Matthew never seemed the nervous type.
"I'm telling you, Miss. I think it's a good idea to let me pass this year. For your sake."
My jaw set. That was enough of this shit.
"Mr. Scribe, the only favour I'm going to do for you is ignore that extremely inappropriate threat you just uttered. Remember to show up on time tomorrow. Anybody late will not receive an exam. Good day."
Matthew strangely just smiled at me, gave the stressball one more squeeze, and ambled his way out of my class. If I didn't know better, I'd think I stole a look at his ass.
I gave it thirty seconds before rushing out to my car. I wasn't pleased with Anna's life choices, but she was the one real friend I had, so I didn't want to upset her. I actually hadn't seen her in a few days -- I had been staying late and she was always locked up in her room -- so I was looking forward to our usual banter.
I pulled in front of her piano teacher's house just in time, but almost didn't recognize my own daughter as she stepped out. Anna, who was usually raven-haired like me, was now a full-blown blonde. And did she get extensions? I could have sworn her hair wasn't that long a few days ago.
I was still in shock when she got in the car next to me. Anna rebelled in a lot of ways, but she never once even expressed interest in dyeing her hair. I was so shocked by her hair, that it wasn't until she was putting on her seatbelt that I noticed her outfit.
Her usual black sweater and baggy jeans were replaced with a tight white tank top (when did her boobs get so big?) and little pink booty shorts.
"Hi Mommy!" she said.
Mommy? That was a first.
"Um, hey Anna. You look -- er -- nice. How was your lesson?"
"Ohmigod, Mommy! It was SO much fun! I, like, couldn't really hit the keys so good this time, but Mr. Gable was SO nice about it," Anna said before looking strangely confused. As if she didn't really expect the words that had come out of her mouth.
I didn't blame her, because I didn't expect the words either. Anna had never talked like that before.
I also didn't doubt that Mr. Gable had been nice if they had a bad lesson. I mean, he was a nice -- if lonely -- old man, but even a bastard would be a sweetheart if he got the view the old man must have had of my daughter's vast cleavage. But seriously, was that why she had been wearing baggy sweaters for so long? To hide this massive bust? I had never considered that possibility. When she never developed during high school, I just assumed she would always be flat like me. Was I an ignorant mother?
"But you really like my outfit, Mommy?" Anna asked, looking down proudly at herself, "I thought it was time to show myself off!" Then she giggled.
Now, my daughter may have been a deadbeat, but she wasn't an idiot. She was certainly acting incredibly strange.
Our conversations were usually candid and sarcastic. But this time she felt distant -- and dare I say it -- dim. Oh well. As a mother, I had to be used to many phases. And being a fake-ditz was better than the phase when she really hated me.
Still, it made me uncomfortable, so I stayed silent for the ride home. Anna seemed content to do so also, and hummed absent-mindedly to herself. I thought I saw her twirl her hair with a finger out of the corner of my eye, but my mind must have been playing tricks.
The rest of the evening passed largely uneventfully. Anna dashed her way to her room and I went upstairs to read.
I was half-way through Moby Dick for maybe the twentieth time. Books were my greatest company besides Anna, and this was one of my favourites. Still, I was having difficulty reading it this time. Maybe I was more shaken than I thought by Anna's behaviour, but I was having a hard time forming the words in my mind. I felt like what I imagine a third grader felt like if she tried to read such a book. The sentences weren't making sense and I had to think pretty intensely to work out the most basic of analogies.
I figured I was just extremely tired, so I decided to call it an early night.
I was a shower-in-the-morning type person, but I was feeling itchy all over and really needed to relax, so I stripped down in my washroom and turned on the shower.
The water seemed to soothe all the anxiety that had accumulated over the day's events. I relaxed into the feeling and slowly started to wash myself.
I wore a bra to be professional, but truly I didn't need one. As a AA cup, my breasts have never been my sexiest asset. I have tiny, extremely sensitive nipples, but they rarely got attention the few times I had been with men after Anna's father.
Despite being sensitive normally, they seemed even more so during my shower. I rubbed soap over my chest and gasped in unexpected pleasure. I let out a giggle and immediately covered my mouth. I guess I just wasn't expecting it to feel so good. Absent-mindedly, I brought one hand down to one of my nipples and twisted it softly as my other hand attempted to clean my body.
As my nipples grew harder from the attention, my hand automatically started to knead my breast as well. Having done this many times during masturbation, I stopped suddenly. Were my breasts larger? I looked down and dropped the soap to bring both my hands to my chest. It was subtle, but they seemed to have a little more shape than before. Yes, they had definitely gone from bug bites to the smallest of mounds.
My mind flickered in the image of my daughter's valley of exposed cleavage. Could there be a connection?
Just as quickly as it came into my head, I pushed that idea out. How silly! I must be gaining some weight overall. I had been eating pretty poorly recently. I certainly seemed to still be my usual slim self just from looking down, but what else would explain breast growth at 33?
Feeling better about it, I giggled again and reattached my fingers to my nipples. Why was I so giddy? Maybe it's because I've always dreamed of having bigger boobs. Not huge ones, mind you, but at least something to grab onto. The pleasure I was giving myself by playing with my own little pink nipples cleared my mind. My horniness ramped up more quickly than I was used to and I shoved another hand between my legs. Something felt strange there too, but I was too worked up to give it any thought. I really, really needed to get off. More badly than I could remember.
I craved dick too. In a way that I hadn't in a very long time. I could almost feel a thick cock entering my mouth as I serviced a faceless man on my knees. More strangely, I craved the taste of cum. That was completely new. I had swallowed a load once and that was enough for me. Now, in the shower, I wanted my mouth to be filled with the wonderful white stuff. I wanted the shower to be covering me in cum, not water. Without really realizing, I started screaming in pleasure in the shower. Anna might be able to hear me, but for the first time I didn't care. I was too horny. I needed to get off too badly.
