Ms. Wilson needs a male volunteer

"So for the next part of the lesson i'll need one of the boys to help me out, any volunteers?"

A few boys raise their hands, including your old friend Sam. It's quite obvious that their enthusiasm has less to do with academic growth and more to do with Ms. Wilson's expansive cleavage. Ms. Wilson looks over her options a couple of times and then says "How about you, John?" You can't say you didn't expect it, you stand up and walk to the front of the class at a leisurely pace. Once you're standing next to Ms. Wilson you turn to face the all female class.

"So here's what we're doing," says Ms. Wilson "i'm going to read out one chapter and give Mr. Doe a thigh job while I do it. When i'm done with that one of you will take my place and we'll continue until the bell." She turns to you and says "Well, lets get started."

You can't help but grin as you undo your belt and whip out the nine incher that got you into this school in the first place. You can remember the principal talking about how the girls need experience interacting with a boy in a controlled environment, and how suitable you were for the job. Ms. Wilson licks her lips and assumes position in front of you. You only have to roll up her skirt a couple of inches to completely expose her thighs, you give them a squeeze and slide your dick in between them. You then move your hands to her hips and wait.

"The sour sun dolled-" and you're off, thrusting into her soft, jiggling thighs with glee. This is a new experience for you, they're not as tight or wet as a vagina yet still managing to envelope your cock with pleasure. You tighten your grip on her and escalate the intensity of your pounding. The sound of flesh-on-flesh slapping now surpasses the volume of Ms. Wilson's voice, not that it really matters. You know you're not paying attention to her, and judging by the fact that all of the girls are staring at your dick rather than their books suggests you're not alone.

You can feel a nearing orgasm when suddenly Ms. Wilson wriggles out of your grasp. "That," she says "was the end of the chapter." She turns to the class and asks "Does anyone volunteer to take my place?"

Before the sentence even finished just about every hand was hanging in the air. You glance at the clock and guesstimate that you'll be able to get two more thigh jobs out of this, Ms. Wilson glances at you and says "Take your pick"