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There are things that you know you can never tell anyone else.
This is for any number of reasons. Maybe it is because no one would believe the truth. Maybe it is things people are better off not knowing, things they wouldn’t want to know.
Maybe it is because you have done something that, in all probability, you shouldn’t have gotten away with.
For all of these reasons, you are going to be the first I tell this to. Believe it or not, as they say, but it’s all true…
# # #
We would always have a lot of trainee teachers at the college I went to. The regular teacher would have us for a term and the student teacher would sit at the back of the class, taking notes. The next term, they would swap, and we would be taught by the student teacher while the real teacher sat at the back, taking notes. I always thought this was a bit of a cheat, to try an unfledged teacher out on us like we were guinea pigs, but this happened every year in numerous classes; usually language classes.
One particular year, however, I didn’t mind so much. That year we got three student teachers for three classes and they were all hot.
It always helps if you are sexually attracted to a teacher. The classes just fly by. You even find yourself looking forward to them, and are disappointed if they are cancelled, or the teacher in question isn’t there. Your mind focuses instantly on everything the teacher has to say, and memorizes it instantly. You study harder so you have better grades in a hope to please them. I’m all for sexy teachers, I think it’s a wonderful institution.
The first student teacher of note was Miss Banner. She was the English teacher, which isn’t really a ‘language’ class as such I suppose, more an academic one. Miss Banner was great, she was a chestnut brunette with a slightly dopey face (hers eyes never really focused on you), but her body was a knockout. She always wore dress suits and must have been very uncomfortable because she was virtually bursting out of them. They always looked far too tight, straining at the breasts and hips. She always perched above the desk, knees tight together and leaned forward, thrusting her chest outwards in a wonderfully disciplined display of posture. Sometimes, I don’t know if I only imagined them or not, but I thought I could see her nipples.
I used to wait at the top of the stairs for her to arrive in a hope that I could see down her top when she passed underneath me but she always moved quite fast and her shirt was always very tight against her.
I’ve always been very good at English, I just had an affinity with it, and it took next to no time at all to get in Miss Banner’s good books, especially in a class as unruly as mine was. I would often try to find excuses to call her over so she could explain something to me or, even better still, I could explain something to her. Something about a rhyming couplet, or an alliteration, or a piece of imagery, anything to make her lean over the back of her chair and breath on my neck as I drank in her perfume. I had thought about suddenly leaning back into her a couple times, as if by accident, to impress myself on her, but that’s not what I wanted to be to her, someone who grabbed a quick, cheap feel.
I found the opportunity to be something more to her when we had an assignment one day. We were studying English love poems, everything from Donne to Shakespeare, and she set us all a poem to write for class which she would grade. After some complaining, we didn’t have to read them out. After even more, we only had to write six lines, or a limerick.
But I decided to ace the assignment. I would write taksim üniversiteli escort a sonnet.
We had a couple days to turn things in, but I only needed one. I knew that almost everybody else would opt for the easy limerick or cheesy little couplet verses so I had no question that I would be the best of the class. However, I also wanted it to be the best poem she read in a long time, perhaps ever. One that she might even ask me to discuss with her…
So I set to work and stayed up most of the night making the right balance of maturity of feeling and abstract loneliness, with a touch of humour in the rhymes. I finished it to my satisfaction and wrote it up neatly the next morning.
That afternoon, I turned it in to her pigeonhole, a day early.
My mind dwelt on it all that day and I wondered if it was really as good as it could have been. I wrote it late at night and some of the rhymes were a bit cheesy now that I came to remember them. And of course, there’s nothing worse than cheese in a love poem. I consoled myself by saying that it would still be the best in the class, whatever the case.
The next day, I waited breathlessly for English period, the last period, to come around. Again, I was at the top of the stairs, waiting for her, but my mind was so jumpy that I didn’t see her until she had passed me and started letting the other students into class. I hurried in myself.
Probably only half the class had done the assignment, which was no surprise to me or, it seemed, Miss Banner but she tried to sound angry and put out anyway. She mentioned that it was a disgrace and that she had already had one person’s poem in already. I held my breath that she wouldn’t say it was me, because that would be hard to live down. She didn’t though, very luckily, and asked for everybody else to hand in their assignments.
She started again with the lesson and got us reading an extract of Don Juan by Byron. I was just getting into it when I felt Miss Banner brush her hand across my back. Suddenly, I was aware that she was leaning over me.
‘You’re poem was very good,’ she said, in a low whisper. ‘I would like to talk to you about it after class.’
As she said this last sentence, she leant into me, pressing her firm chest against my back. It was all I could do to say ‘sure,’ and then she was gone. I replayed the feel of her against me in my mind and, although I read it through five times and listened to her speak about it afterwards, I didn’t hear a word of Byron.
Everyone had filed out now. I fussed around and dropped papers in a clumsy manner so that I would be the last one in the class. Miss Banner just sat at her desk, reading over some papers. I went over and stood by her desk. She looked so sexy sitting there, wearing her glasses. She was framed in the late afternoon sun which fell through the windows. She was leaning over and I almost thought I could see a frilly whiteness that could be her bra between the two swells of her breast.
She looked up at me.
‘Could you close the shades please? The sun’s getting in my eyes…’
I went over to the window and started to pull the shades.
Behind me, I heard a click. I turned my head and saw that Miss Banner was by the door, she had locked it. I turned around quickly, pretending not to have noticed.
When I finished, she was sitting back at the desk, acting like she had never moved.
‘Thanks. Have a seat…’ she gestured to the desk across her own.
My heart was pounding extremely fast as I lowered myself into the chair. I was shaking terribly tophane escort on the inside, but tried to be smooth.
‘Your poem was great,’ she said, standing. Her skirt had hitched up a little and she paused to straighten it. She leaned forward to do so, thrusting her chest out. I’m sure if my mouth wasn’t closed, I would have drooled.
‘It was a little raw and coarse in some places,’ she continued as she walked around the desk.
‘But it had real feeling, and that’s the most important thing in a poem. More so than structure, metre, rhyme, any of that crap we’ve been talking about in class.’
For some reason, that word ‘crap’ startled me, almost made me jump. I’d never heard a pretty, grown up woman say that before and it excited me. It was like something forbidden.
She leaned against her desk. She was quite close and I had to look up at her. Her hands were on the desk, propping her up, making her chest thrust outwards, straining against the fabric of her suit jacket.
‘If it would be okay with you, I would like to help you develop your sense of… poetry in evening classes like this one.’
Here, she did something unexpected and raised her leg up, placing her high heeled foot on my desk. I looked up and down it, hypnotised. It was firm and voluptuous and the curves of the swollen calf and inner thigh set my adrenal glands pumping. I could see into her skirt and saw that although she wore stockings, she had no panties on.
‘That is, if you are amenable?’
It was all I could do to nod.
‘Good,’ her leg swayed outwards a little. ‘Then get over here.’
I stood up, my heart in my mouth, and walked around the desk. She raised herself back up. I stood in front of her.
I couldn’t believe she was telling me to do this. I stepped closer, too shocked to actually touch her.
She leaned forward further, her breath hot on my face. I felt her leg press into my side. I was paralysed.
‘Don’t be afraid,’ she said as she grabbed my hand, causing electricity to flow through it. She paced it on her leg which was gently brushing against mine.
‘Relax…’ she moved my hand up and down her leg. It was smooth, strong, tense. I felt myself starting to melt.
‘…True poetry comes from within.’ Her other hand was around my but now. She pulled me into her. Her hips pushed into mine. I could feel her soft hotness through my jeans as her thighs squeezed into me.
We were breathing onto each other as her hand moved up and down me. My hand was roaming freely over her leg and found the hem of her skirt. I pushed up into it, exploring, caressing her round ass.
It was here that we kissed.
Her lips were soft, full, hot, and wet, everything I had fantasized. I checked myself and realized that this was a teacher that I was getting intimate with. I could hardly believe it. All I knew is that it couldn’t be a dream. None of my dreams are this good.
I brought my hands up to what I had desired for so long, her breasts. I squeezed and rubbed those large, hard mounds voraciously, almost violently. She pulled out of my mouth as I did so and gasped.
She placed her hands on mine and moved them around, guiding them, controlling them. My hands ached to get underneath her starched fabric, but I couldn’t take them away long enough to remove the buttons.
She must have read my mind though, because she took hers from mine and took off her jacket. Then she started unbuttoning, slowly, from the top, as I cupped her breasts. She slid her shirt out from underneath my hands and I was left rubbing her lacy topkapı escort bra which was thin enough to reveal her hard, small nipples to my touch.
I moved my hands up to her shoulders and pushed the straps of her bra down slowly. Miss Banner was perfectly still as I performed this ceremony, although her chest heaved heavily.
Her cups were still against her breast as her straps fell down her arms. I slowly raised my hands and peeled them way, savouring my first glimpse of her nipples. They were incredible.
They were just the right size to my mind, and hard. I spent some time running my palms across them as she watched me. Her arms raised and I felt her hands around my neck. She started to lean back, flat against the desk and pulled me with her. My face was no directly between her breasts. I tilted my head slightly and kissed one, gently. Then I did something I’d always wanted to try. I stuck one in my mouth.
I closed my eyes, savouring the experience. I loved the feel of something at once hard and soft in my mouth. I sucked long and hard as my other hand found her other breast and massaged that. There was something primal about that moment, something that made me feel alive. She seemed to be liking it too because her breath was quicker, shallower. She started to flex and squirm beneath me.
I could have stayed, sucking her forever, but eventually she pulled my head up to her face. I shifted myself more on top of her, balancing myself, as I felt her hands at my crotch, loosening my jeans. I raised myself and felt her hands, her lovely soft, womanly hands, reach inside and pull me out of my constrictive boxers. Her hands worked me for a few seconds, spreading my precum all over. Then I felt her legs widen further apart, and the balls of her feet press into my buttocks as she pressed me into her. My chest was against hers, our faces close together, breathing heavily onto each other. Her hands were guiding me now, to her hot inner place. I felt myself at her opening, harder than I had ever been in my life, and then I was inside of her.
We both gasped. Partly at the physical sensation but mostly, for my part, from the thrill of the forbidden. The taboo of the teacher fucking her pupil, the true realization of a fantasy.
Inexperienced as I was, Miss Banner did most of the work. She rocked back and forth into me, so it was all I could do to hold on, breathless, and try to prolong the inevitable.
I placed kisses on her face when she came close, but otherwise I held the desk edge hard, feeling her squirm beneath me, pressing against me. Just when I thought I could hold myself no longer, I felt her buck and stiffen herself in orgasm. She bit her lip, trying to stiffle her moan of ecstasy. I felt myself go, spurting into her as I pressed deeper, deep as I could go, planting my seed far inside of her.
Miss Banner thrashed harder against the desk as her pleasure increased. I held on hard, my eyes wide at the sight of my teacher writhing in erotic joy, writhing at the end of me. I kept myself hard at this sight and I swear she orgasmed several more times before she finally calmed and relaxed.
I pulled out of her and bent down close to her. I kissed her and she kissed me, and then we got up and started arranging our clothes. Once we had, she unlocked the door and, without a word, I left, glancing back at her as she sat at her desk. It was over just like that.
I stood at the doorway a second and waited to see if she would look over at me. She did; she smiled, and winked, and I left.
# # #
I dwelt on that experience all through the weekend, wondering if it was just a single incident, or if I would have the chance to get to know her even better. There were tons of things I had read about in dirty magazines that I was dying to do to her.
All in all though, I figured myself as the luckiest guy on earth. That was, until I caught sight of the French teacher…
To Be Continued…
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32