Bad Education

Mrs. Greene was sitting on her desk with legs open to show us her cunt.

Rather than her usual shorts and sneakers she had on a very nice set of lingerie and heels. I'd never seen her in makeup either.

For the first time I saw the M.I.L.F. in that woman, if such obnoxious acronyms are still permitted in a serious erotica like this.

All of us, 26 of the boys in our class, stood around and watched her, hands behind our backs, our pants down to knees. Being naked was weird. Being naked in front of Mrs. Greene though was oddly satisfying.

She used to teach us P.E. back in middle school. We saw her around the school a lot since, still her old self after all these years. Now she was our sex coach. Below the belt she was hairless except for a thin blonde stripe.

"...both labia majora and labia minora serve to protect the openings of urethra and vagina. It's a little dark here but you get the picture. Now can anyone tell me what this small part is called?"

Her voice was pitched low, and she liked to enunciate every spoken word.

The school really took our education seriously. Graduation was around the corner, and they wanted to install a healthy sense of sex before unleashing us into this world. The girls were with Mr. Nelson in the cafeteria now. They got off easy. Mr. Nelson was always so nice.

Unlike Mrs. Greene.

She served in the national guard at one point and still wore her hair in a tight donut bun. I remembered a time when she towered over us all. If you try kicking a fuss, she'd get right up to you and stare down into your eyes with her chin raised, and force you to back up and even trip yourself.

Now she's the shortest in the room. We're still terrified of her.

"Any volunteer? It's not a trick question. You should know by now." Her finger rested at the tip of her mons pubis. We knew the answer but no one wanted to risk it. There's always a way to piss her off, so many that one lost count.

"Very well. Silence is golden. That concludes our short overview. Is everyone wearing a condom right now? Good. It is vital that you use proper contraception at all times during sex.

"Now, let's talk about our exam. What will happen next is that there will be bodily contact between me and each of you. It will be awkward, or even uncomfortable, but it is for your good. Show me what you know about sexual intercourses, and I will give you your deserved scores."

She cleared her throat in a peculiar way that I always assumed she picked up from a drill master during her days of training.

"Now, I have to remind you that I am a married woman. This is a huge sacrifice on my part to make sure you guys are where you need to be. So please respect each other and be mindful of boundaries. You can hold my waist for support, but do not touch anywhere beyond or below--"

She was gesturing at her 'forbidden zones'. I was admiring her biceps as she made imaginary lines and circles across her body, when someone suddenly giggled behind me.

Mrs. Greene's brows furrowed. I knew who that was. Thomas T. Stupid kid never knew where he was or what he's doing. Coach's face turned my way. Her hot glare narrowly scrapped past me, but it still gave me goosebumps.

"Mr. T? You got something you want to share with the rest of the class?"

She always addressed her students in their last names. Somehow that never made us feel like equals, if not the opposite.

"No, Mrs. Greene. I was - I was just..."

"Come here."

Thomas was toast. We all looked down and studied shoe strings like we had seen them for the first time.

"Look at me. Make yourself hard again."

In the corner of my eyes I saw Thomas touching himself like an awkward robot. It went on for a while, though my sense time was all muddy.

"What are you waiting for? Am I scaring you?"

"No of course not, Mrs. Greene..."

Another few seconds passed. Then I heard a groan, not from the coach but Thomas. I raised my head a little. He was standing between her opened legs with no place to put his hands, and was barely moving at all.

Mrs. Greene's fingers kept drumming against the hard wood of her desk. It went on for another minute or two. Only thing Thomas ever did was making that annoying groaning sound. Finally she sighed.

"You can stop now, Mr. T. That was the worse performance I had seen in ages. I can't let you pass this exam. Go home and start on that 12-page essay. I want it on my desk next Monday."

She sent the stupid kid packing and picked Michael D next. That lean tennis boy was smooth. He took hold of the coach's waist and wasted no time. Mrs. Greene's mood had visibly improved. She even moaned along a little, though I knew it was just part of her pedagogy.

Soon trouble emerged. Michael was overstretching himself. He always tried to plow deeper and then pull out further. It surely looked good but was taking too much effort. His breathing got heavier and unsteady. He was inches away from coming.

But real life wasn't porn, and he royally screwed up. Once he pulled too quick and slipped out of her completely, and what's worse his rubber still stuck inside.

The blooper must've crippled his restraint, for Michael began to cum immediately, and the first shot ended right in Mrs. Greene's face.

"Jesus freaking Christ!" She tried to pick it off but it glued to her fingers. Michael's face turned pale. The rest ran down her chin. I checked myself from laughing by biting my tongue.

"Fail! 12 page essay and get out of here!" She pulled the condom out of her and flung it at the exiting figure of the tennis kid. Her roar reverberated from wall to wall. That's how we knew no one's getting out of that office easy that day.

After the incident the coach went real hard on us. It was tough to see, because she's so good at it, but Mrs. Greene was doing all the little acts of sabotage to make us lose. She'd press her feet upon your hips just as she saw you're about to tip over and used her heels to massage you. Several came instantly like that, to her great amusement.

Later I heard that she was as tight as a child's glove. It was hard way in and harder way out. God knows how much Kegel she did in her postpartum recovery.

None of us that followed managed to impress her either, but they did take some of that rage out of her, and a good chunk of her stamina too. The mood was subtly changing.

As her steam wore off, Mrs. Greene seemed to go soft. I even thought she's beginning to enjoy it, like she's in her own bedroom. A redness crept up her cheeks, and from time to time she'd let out a reigned breath.

"You are the worst class I have taught in years." She threw a ball of wet tissue towards the bin. She missed.

She took off her bra and tossed it aside. This was probably the last time she'd ever see us anyway. Plus her tits looked marvelous. Her legs too, the tan stockings gave them a gloss that I couldn't look away from. I wanted to take her feet out of those tight boxes of heels and suck her toes like some desserts.

The fantasy got me so worked up I almost came just standing there with my hands folded behind. It'd make such a mess. The coach would get so mad; she'd have me lick the floor clean.