The Teacher’s Sucking Lips

It was Friday afternoon very near the end of the sixth and final period of the school day. Jeannie Boyce sat at her desk in the classroom and watched the students gathering their books and papers and baggage and getting ready to dash out. The bell finally rang and she watched as the students scrambled and dashed for the door. She noticed that one of the students did not join the scramble. She saw him walk back to the rear of the classroom and open the door of the cloakroom and enter it. She waited at her desk for a few minutes, but the student did not come out of the cloakroom. She walked to the rear of the classroom, hesitated for a bit, and then opened the door and looked in the cloakroom. What she saw startled her to say the least. She saw the student standing there with his cock out stroking it. She couldn’t help but see that he had a full erection; his dick stood out hard and thick and throbbing as he stroked it up and down. She stood there speechless as he turned toward her, pointing his rigid prick at her and looking straight at her face as he rubbed his cock. She was at a loss what to do; she finally broke away and walked out of the cloakroom.

Later that day she kicked off her shoes and laid back in an easy chair in her apartment and sipped a drink as she reflected on the week that was. She pursed her lips and nodded in satisfaction. All in all, it had been a good week—far better than she had expected; for she had completed her first week of teaching, and nothing catastrophic had happened; she had made no major foul-ups, and nothing really bad had occurred. Her students were for the most part “okay”; a few were rambunctious, but that was to be expected from ninth graders—most of them fourteen or fifteen years old. Yes, all in all, it went pretty good, she thought, all but the incident of seeing the student in the cloakroom. She smiled wryly. But even that was not a catastrophe or a foul-up. It’s funny, she thought. I suppose I should have reported the boy, or admonished him, or something, but…my goodness, he just stood there, looking at me, and stroking his…Umm—his name is Calvin; fourteen, I guess…he just kept stroking it…thick and stiff for a fourteen-year-old boy—umm… Should I report him?…No, not for that…gee, but his—his thing was so thick and stiff—throbbing, straining, and he kept stroking it and pointing it at me—and looking at me.

Her throat and mouth were dry; she gulped and licked her lips; her heart was absolutely thudding, and a fizzy tingling had begun in her pussy and had shot upward to her breasts.

She sighed and wagged her head. Ah—it’s been too long, she thought; too long since I had a…how long? Three months? It’s just that—here I am, in this new position; I don’t know anyone yet—at school or anywhere else—first week of school and teaching and all.

Periodically, through the weekend, she found herself thinking of the student, of his stroking his thick stiff throbbing prick, pointing it right at her, and looking at her as he stroked the cock.

The following Monday she was in the middle of her sixth period class; she had given her students problems to be solved, and they were to raise their hands if they needed help. She saw the boy raise his hand and she walked back to him. He sat in the last row in the rear, his desk behind all the others. She stood over him, and he pointed down on his workbook. “I don’t understand how to do this,” he said. As she looked down she saw that he had his hand on his crotch and was stroking it. She saw that he had a bulging hard-on.

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