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Student/Teacher 9
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Student/Teacher 9 Again we didn’t mess around on a daily basis. Things were professional as the semester started to wind down. Christmas vacation was coming up, and with that Ms. Fisher started wearing cardigans, sweaters, and longer skirts. Gone were the days of me imagining her knee-length skirts sliding up her legs as she straddled me. In fact that last even was starting to blur in my memory. The feel of her lips, the taste of her tongue in my mouth, the intimacy of her rubbing herself against my hard cock (granted through two layers of thin material). I was waiting for our relationship to get more complicated, as she promised, but no dice, as yet. I had taken the SATs a few weeks prior, around Thanksgiving break, and had aced them as expected. I didn’t score a perfect 1600, but with the school I was attending, my GPA, and in the low-1500s, I was doing fine. So our study sessions became a bit more laissez-faire in regards to getting anything done. In fact, we didn’t do much more than chat about the weather, fill out college application forms, and mildly (and can’t stress the “mild” part) flirted. I would try to steer the conversation into sexual territory, but being experienced and crafty, she’d always steer it away from any obvious sexual undertones. It’s not like we lost our connection from the previous years, it was just that we could tell our time together was winding down, although I still had months left for my final year. But the need for our extra sessions were starting to dwindle, so much so, that it becamse apparent that the only thing left for her to teach me was something a bit less academic and a bit more sexual in nature. Well, probably all sexual in nature. “So this weather, making us bundle up a bit more,” I noted while watching thick white flakes fall outside. I was standing near the window watching the snow accumulate on the campus. Ms. Fisher walked over to me and stood about a foot to my right. “Yeah, I’ve had to cuddle up in wool slacks and thick sweaters.” “A bit different than the skirts and blouses,” I hinted. “Such is the drop in temperature. It makes me just want to cuddle up with a good book and some hot cocoa.” I could think of better things to cuddle up with that would warm her up, but I kept that to myself. Instead I glanced over to her and admired how her sweater showed off the perkiness of her breasts and how her slacks molded to her firm butt. I noticed no panty line and thought about her grey, lace panties from the previous session. “Well, I’m going to grade some papers. You can entertain yourself,” she asked while smiling at me and walking back up to her desk. I nodded and let her drift back to the front of the room. My eyes riveted on her backside the entire time. I so wanted to pull her pants down and do the one thing I was aching to do to her. Instead time clicked by in boredom and an idea clicked into my head. I cracked open the window and slid a bundle of snow into my palms. Closing the window with deliberate slowness, I watched to see if Ms. Fisher had noticed. I was in luck, and walking towards her, I started to massage the powdery snow into a small, dripping ball of ice. Ms. Fisher was bent over her papers, her hair tied up in a bun, exposing her neck that I wanted to run my tongue up and down. Instead I pounced at her collar and shoved the<b> snowball </font></b>down her back. “You little,” Ms. Fisher squealed as she stood up, pawing at her sweater, “shit.” The<b> snowball </font></b>must have stuck to the wool of her sweater because it wasn’t coming out. She yanked her sweater over her head and flung it to her desk. I should have ran for it, and if I had done that to one of my schoolmates, I would have been yards away. But as it was, her flat stomach, topped by her silken bra kept me rooted to the ground like a redwood. She had a devious smile across her face as she rooted through her sweater, finding the mostly melted snow mound. “Come here,” she said while reaching towards me. Again, I was rooted to the ground by the sight of the sexy, half-naked woman telling me to ‘come here.’ With two quick steps, she grabbed the waistband of my khakis and jammed what was left of the<b> snowball </font></b>down my pants. Maybe it was revenge and maybe it was desire, but she definitely took her time in my pants to make sure all of the cold, wet mass was slathered across my wakening cock. She looked up, her hand in my pants, massaging my hardening cock, sweater off, and erect nipples slamming through the thin material of her bra. Of course I took that opportunity to let my hormones take over. I pulled her to me and our faces immediately knew what to do, like two partners doing a tango. Our lips met again, tongues finding each other, our hands caressing anything they could touch. After a minute, she broke away. A little breathless, she gasped out, “You need to get to dinner.” “Yeah,” I gasped back, “I do.” We straightened ourselves and said our goodbyes. I could still taste her on my lips as I headed out of the room and to the old reliable bathroom down the hall to take care of the full hard-on in my shorts. As I turned the corner, I saw a yellow “Out of Order” sign on the bathroom. I had forgotten somebody had thrown a cherry bomb down one of the toilets and it was shut down until the culprit cleaned up the bathroom. “Shit,” I said to myself. I was already half unbuttoned and massaging myself through my pants. I was mentally at the point of no return. “Shit, shit, shit.” I panicked and looked around the hallway. I knew the next bathroom was far enough away that my cock would stop thinking for me. Running out of options, I brainstormed through my past experiences and ran out of options, save one. I walked back to the biology classroom, hoping I could find a quiet spot while Ms. Fisher was off somewhere. As I opened the door and looked around, I saw the familiar backroom light on. Oh yes, I remember the good old days of sneaking a peek. I’d be done in no time at all. I crept to the door again and looked inside. Again, Ms. Fisher was inside, pants pulled down to her ankles and her shirt was off again. Her left hand was down her panties, rubbing herself and moaning. Relieved, I unzipped and started to pull myself out. But I stopped as an idea popped into my head. Instead of letting my pants fall to my ankles and awkwardly stumbling around, I cracked open the door enough that I could slip in without being noticed. Then, standing just a few yards away, I leaned against the doorframe and pushed down my shorts. Out in the open, I started to stroke myself, not hiding my intrusion one bit. Ms. Fisher started to moan softly as her eyes were squeezed shut. I was stroking at the same speed she was, and let my own sigh of pleasure escape my lips. I thought it was inaudible, except to me. But apparently it wasn’t. Ms. Fisher’s eyes flipped open as she became startled, until she looked my way. Our eyes locked. Our hands at the ready, hers in her underwear and mine in mine. It was almost like two gunslingers sizing each other up. |
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