“I have got to find myself a man,” she said. “A man that can take care of that itch deep inside my horny pussy,” she laughed.
Chapter 3
When she arrived at her class the next morning, Nicholas was already there in his usual chair. “Good morning, Nicholas.”
“Good morning, Mrs. Jones.” She looked incredible this morning, better than usual he thought. Her skirt was a little shorter than what she usually wore. It was one that he hadn’t seen before. The blouse seemed tighter, and her breast appeared to be larger, or was it his overactive imagination? It must be, but she looked incredible, he thought, as he started to swell forcing him to adjust himself slightly.
When she finished the lecture part of the day’s lesson, she sat down at her desk. She looked directly into his eyes as she spread her legs slightly opening herself for him. He looked down for a second and then back into her eyes. His erection was getting embarrassingly large and quite uncomfortable.
“Can I be excused for a few moments, Mrs. Jones?”
“Certainly, Nicholas, you may.”
She knew exactly what she was doing this morning. She had put one of her sexier, yet conservative outfits on. It showed a little more of her ass, her legs, and her breasts than she would normally allow. It had the intended effect. If he was actually going to describe a sexual situation between the two them and then make her read it, she wasn’t going to make it easy for him. She was going to make him squirm, and it appeared to her that it was working.
She could easily see the bulge in his pants, and when she sat in front of him and spread her legs, she knew what his reaction would be. She smiled when he had to leave the room. She knew that he was going to go pleasure himself so he could get rid of his erection. The only problem was that she was sure that her panties were wet enough that she might have a wet spot in the back of her skirt. It was like a double-edged sword, teasing him teased her, as well. She still couldn’t figure out why he turned her on so much or so easily. She just knew that she was not going to fuck him. However, she sure did like thinking about it.
The next few days were a little easier on Nicholas. She decided that she shouldn’t be so obvious, even if they were the only ones that knew what was going on. She couldn’t take the chance that someone else might notice. She had to admit though, that he was being very discrete. He did not show any indication that anything was going on between the two of them them, which of course there wasn’t.
“Good morning class. This is the second to the last week of school, and I need all of your transcripts turned in by the end of the week so I can post your grade by the following Friday,” she said. She smiled at Nicholas and asked, “How are coming with your story, Nicholas?”
Nicholas had been working his ass off dreaming and fantasizing about working her ass off.
He grinned. “I’m doing very well, Mrs. Jones. In fact, I’m almost finished. I have a couple of things that I need to tidy up, and then I should be finished with it. Mrs. Jones, I have never enjoyed anything as much I have enjoyed working on this story,” he said, smiling directly at her.
“What are you writing about Nick?” asked the girl behind him. Mrs. Jones looked carefully at him as he replied.
“Nothing much, just a camping trip my parents took me on a couple years ago. Kind of boring, I’m afraid,” he replied.
“I’m sure it will be fine Nicholas. I am anxious to read it. You can turn it in early if you want.” “Okay, Mrs. Jones. However, there are a few things that I am not quite satisfied with.”
“Good writers are never satisfied with their work, Nicholas,” she said, thinking that what she really wanted was to get her hands on his story and see what he had planned for her and her body.
“Okay, Mrs. Jones. If I finish it early, I’ll turn it in.”
“Oh, listen up class, I forgot to tell you that as soon as you turn in your manuscript, you don’t have to attend class again until next Friday to receive your final grade,” she announced.
What if she doesn’t like it, he thought, beginning to feel some self-doubt? What if she doesn’t like erotica? There wasn’t anything that he had ever seen or heard of that would make him think that she would be anything but straight laced. He wondered how she would take to the idea that, in his mind, he has fucked her, and has given her oral sex until she almost fainted. Shit, what if she doesn’t even like sex? Worse yet what if she is repulsed by it? What if she flunks me for being so crude? But erotica is not crude. It’s where a writer uses base words to create a thought, a feeling, or an image.
He worked on his assignment all weekend and was ready to turn it in, or in his case, he would be emailing it in. Monday morning he was the first person in the class waiting for her to arrive. When she finally got there, she was gorgeous, as usual. She was wearing something different, a business suit, but it was so closely cut that it accentuated every incredible aspect of her figure. She was so sexy it hurt him to look at her. Their eyes locked a couple of times during class, and each time they did, they did, he thought that his heart would pound right of his chest.
She knew that he was looking right at her ass the entire time she was at the blackboard. She could feel the heat from his gaze burning a hole through her panties and into her sex. She knew that he was studying the roundness of her ass and the way her hips curved into her thighs. That’s what he does. He knew the curve of her breasts because he looks at them when she turns sideways. What’s so aggravating, she thought, in a weird kind of way, is that he makes sure that he stares long enough, so that she will see him.
His boldness is disarming, and he is fucking turning me on, she thought. When she was finished at the board, she turned around and looked directly at him as she felt a little wetness in her panties. Every time he looked at her now, she got that queasy feeling in her stomach. How can a boy, twenty-three years her junior make her panties so wet, she wondered.
Finally, the bell rang announcing that class was over. As everyone left for their next class, Nicholas walked over to her and told her how much he liked her class and how much he had learned from her.
“This will be my last day here until Friday because I am going to send you the manuscript this afternoon. Could you just let me know that you received it, so I won’t worry?”
“Sure, I will send you a confirmation note. Nicholas, having you in my class has been … stimulating to say the least. I’ll see you on Friday,”
That afternoon he quickly checked a couple of things, pondering, and thinking about his choice of words in certain situations. Fearing the worst and hoping for the best, he finally built up his courage and sent her his manuscript with the following note.
“Mrs. Jones, here is my story. Please don’t take anything that I have described as any form of disrespect. I have enjoyed this process more than I can express. So much so that if I thought I could make a living writing erotica, I would do it, or at least try. Perhaps it could be my avocation if I’m not good enough to make a living at it. In any event, I know that this is my fantasy and not yours. I shall miss you as an instructor and as a person. Sincerely, Nicholas Adams.”
A few moments later, he received her response. Nicholas I’m eager to read your story. I will see you on Friday and let you know what I think of your work. He took a deep breath, and with a sigh of relief, he figured that the hard part was over. There was nothing more that he could do now but wait and see what her reaction would be.
Instead of reading it on her computer, she printed it, opened a bottle of wine for moral support, or was it immoral support, went out back and sat in a lounge chair under the veranda. She closed her eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, sighed in an effort to relax, and took a sip of wine. Her feelings were on edge as she contemplated reading the first line. She had given thousands of people orgasms on paper. However, this was going to be the first time that someone else described her down to the last sexy detail with the blatant intention of giving her an orgasm, on paper.
She sensed that
her trepidation was coming from the fact that this story wasn’t just about anybody, whose name had been changed to protect his or her identity. No, this story was about her, Samantha Jones, and both of them were acutely aware of it. There was no anonymity here. There was no safe haven to retreat to. This was about a young man and his teacher, and she was the teacher.
“Thanks Crystal,” she mused. “Hell, what am I afraid of? All I have to do is read it, judge it on its merits, assign a grade, and it would be over, right? Taking another sip of wine, she began.
“My infatuation with one of my instructors happened over a period of time. She teaches part time at one of the high schools in the suburbs of Charleston, South Carolina. She only teaches one course, creative writing. I first noticed her two years ago walking across campus with a couple of students visiting cheerfully as they walked along. There was something about her that made my heart skip a beat.
It was more than just her incredibly good looks. It was the way she carried herself. She had dignity, poise and an unmistakable charm. Her long, dark-brown hair bounced around her shoulders curling down to the top of her breasts. From that distance, I couldn’t see her eyes, but I later found out that they were green with dark brown specs that matched her hair. What I could tell from that distance was that her body was to die for.
She appeared to be about five-nine or ten with a slender frame. She had a thin waist with narrow hips and a bottom that most people only dreamt about. From where I was, I could see guys turn and stare as her bottom as she walked along unknowing. When I first saw her, I thought that her breasts were huge but I later determined that I was wrong. They weren’t huge; they just looked huge on her athletic frame. She was wearing a bright-red blouse over a tight, emerald-green skirt with red high-heels and a matching belt. The only thing that comes to mind, in an effort to describe her, is that she was stunning. Even her name intrigued me. It has an air of southern sophistication, Samantha, Samantha Jones.
Over the next two years, I took every opportunity I could to see and watch her walk to and from her classes. It turned out that she was very popular with the student body and one of the better teachers in the school. During this time, I fantasized about her a lot. I dreamed about her panties and bra. What they might look like, what color and how they fit that gorgeous body. I could shut my eyes and see her standing in front of me wearing thin, lacy panties, a matching see-through bra and high-heels. I don’t have a clue how many times I pounded away to that image of her.
I would walk around her and feel her silky smooth skin. I would slip my hands around her from behind, cup her perky breasts, and gently squeeze her erect nipples. Then I would wrap both arms around her, pull her close from behind, and push my erection against her magnificent ass as she leaned back with a moan. I unfastened her bra, and let it slide forward off her shoulders to the floor. I reached up and cupped her bare breasts with my warm hands. I bent my knees, so my cock pressed between the cheeks of her ass. God, was it ever soft and firm at the same time. I knew she could feel the wetness of my excitement as I left small, slick, wet spots on her bottom. I palmed her erect nipples as she tilted her pelvis trapping my cock in the grove of her pert little ass. She began rocking her pelvis up and down, sliding her tight cheeks over the length of my erection, as she tried to stroke the pleasure from body.”
She put the manuscript down. She grabbed her wine glass and took a few sips as she thought about what she had just read.
“I’m already hot and steamy, and I know damn well that I’m wet,” she mumbled, as she slipped her hand in her panties in confirmation. She slid two fingers into her pussy, and brought them to her lips where she could smell and taste herself as if she were judging the quality of his work.
She tasted herself and quivered with excitement as she felt the first twinge deep within her groin.
“Damn, his writing is good,” she mumbled. She should have known it would be because of the email that he sent to Crystal. Her problem, if there was one, was that she knew who he was, and she knew that he was writing this about her as if he was actually doing it to her. She could feel his hot breath against the back of her neck and his cock tight against her ass leaving cool little wet spots across the small of her back, and she could feel the heat from the palm of his hands as he rolled her hard nipples around in circles.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, this is a problem. He is seducing me on paper, or trying to. I can’t and won’t fuck a student, even if he is of age,” she said, taking another sip of wine. She decided to make herself something to eat before continuing his story. Hell, it could be her story, or their story, for that matter; she thought, as she made herself a turkey sandwich along with some cottage cheese. She took it back out to the veranda, sat down to eat and continue reading.
“I signed up for her class during the final semester of my senior year. She didn’t know anything about me, but I knew almost everything about her, or at least I thought I did. I sat in the front row right in front of her desk so I could get as close to her as possible. I wanted to be able to study her features up close. I wanted to better define the shape of her face, the cut of her nose and the fullness of her lips.
That close, I could get a better, prolonged look at her breasts and observe the way they sat on her delicate frame. I would note the fullness of their outside curve, and watch how they sometimes jiggle when they brush against her arms as she talked or wrote on the blackboard. From where I sat, I could stare at her ass and study its form in detail. Looking at her ass is what would usually give me an erection. I tried not to be conspicuous in class and would tuck it between my legs so no one could see.
Toward the middle of the semester, I got the feeling that she was aware of me looking at her with more than a casual interest. At first, when she caught me staring at her breasts or her ass, she ignored it. However, after a few weeks, she would smile at me and continue with her lesson. Occasionally, she would smile and then glance down to see if I was aroused if she was certain that the rest of the class was not looking. I began to wonder if she was simply placating me, or could it be possible that she was returning the same harmless flirtation.
I couldn’t get my mind off her, and as a result, my actions around her became a little more obvious. I became more aggressive with my looks by holding my gaze a bit longer when her eyes caught mine. I also spent more time around her, getting as close to her as I dare by asking hundreds of stupid questions about the subject matter.
Whenever I got close enough, I could smell her clean, fresh odor and a hint of her perfume. A few days later, while sitting at her desk, she noticed that I was looking at her legs. I can’t say for sure. It could have been my imagination, but it seemed to me that she was trying to help me in my quest to see her panties. She would smile knowingly, and then, almost imperceptibly, she would spread her legs just a little and rise up on her toes so that I could see further up her skirt. I would have given anything to see her panties, but I never could see quite that far up. I do know that whenever she saw my bulge after I looked up her skirt, her face and neck would flush. “She must be reacting to me on some level at least,” I mumbled quietly.
There were only a few weeks left in school, and I knew that any further contact with her after that would be next to impossible. What excuse would I have to see her? Therefore, I decided that I would do something stupid like tell her how I felt, and how much I wanted to be with her on a more personal level. I thought that if I handled it right, she wouldn’t kill me or, worse yet, kick me out of her class and flunk me.
Finally building up my courage, one day after class I stayed around after everyone else had left, and I told her that I had something private that I needed to talk with her about. She looked at me quizzically, and then said that she would be happy to talk with me, however, since she was a part time instructor, she didn’t have an office. We tried a couple places at school like the cafeteria and the library, but they were both crowded. Finally, in frustration, she gave me her cell number and told me to cal
l her after school. In the end, she invited me to her house so we could have the privacy that I need to confide in her.
When I got there she met me at the front door and invited me inside. I couldn’t believe that I was actually in her house with just the two of us there. Just that fact alone got me a little excited.
“Would you like some tea, Nicholas?”
“That would be very nice, Mrs. Jones, thank you.”
“Nicholas, we’re not at school now, you can call me Samantha, or Sam, if you like.” “Okay, Mrs. I mean, Samantha,” I said, nervously. She made us tea and I carried it to the family room and placed it on the coffee table. She slowly poured a cup for me, and then she slowly poured one for herself.
It seemed as though I was going ninety miles an hour, and she was only dong fifteen in a school zone. My teeth were aching and I had a major boner.
“Well, Nicholas, what is it you wanted to speak with me about?”
“It is a little embarrassing for me, Samantha, and I don’t quite know how to start. You could call me Nick if you like?”
“Sure Nick. Why don’t you start in the beginning as if you were telling me a story? We’re both adults, and I’m sure that we can work out what ever problem you might have,” she smiled.
“Okay, here goes, but first you have to promise me that you won’t kill me.”
“Okay,” she laughed, “I promise that I won’t kill you. Perhaps a spanking might be in order if you think I might want kill you,” she laughed, again
“I would definitely let you spank me.” I smiled.
“Okay, I first saw you two years ago on campus wearing a red blouse with an emerald-green skirt, red high-heels, and a matching belt. The net of it is that, over time, I became infatuated with you,” I admitted.
“What?” she asked.
Mrs. Jones' Secret Life Page 4