To her place.

Dinner passes by in a blur. You shovel rice noodles and spicy sauce into your mouth, but you're hungering for something else. Ms. Larson's sweet whispers play in your head, spurring on your mastication. Your plate is emptied within minutes, though you still have to wait for your teacher to finish; as though chastising you for your impatience, Ms. Larson gives you a teasing wink and lip-licking every now and then, forcing you to will away your boner.

Thankfully, Ms. Larson finishes her meal after ten minutes' worth of eternity, and the two of you wordlessly proceed to the counter. With no more than a nod the man at the register accepts Nicole's payment, though you can't help but wonder at his stoic expression - does he suspect anything? The query vanishes at the back of your head as you step out into the twilight, following Ms. Larson as she leads the way to her car. A nightly breeze carries a waft of her perfume, and you hungrily take a sniff of the gently floral yet musky scent. Memories of the afternoon's discovery start surfacing in your mind, and your rod starts to chafe your boxers.

As your teacher drives her car out of the parking lot, thoughts fill your head one after the other, none of them coherent. You glance to your side, beholding Ms. Larson's calm, sexy profile, as she guides her modest machine along the roads. Having known your math teacher to be the playful sort, you find that she's pulling off the seductress look very well... As the notion briefly crosses your mind, your manhood sends off another twitch. By the time the car pulls into the apartment complex Ms. Larson stays in, you're pitching a tent in your nether regions; luckily for your dignity, no one else is around to witness your naughty getaway.

"Make yourself at home," Ms. Larson assures you as she unlocks the door to her apartment, leading you into the living room. "I'll just be a moment."

You've never been in the home of a teacher before, and now that you're actually in one, it doesn't really feel like it. Save for a collection of photographs framed on the wall, Ms. Larson's apartment looks like the average young single woman's humble abode. You glance through the pictures; various groups of students with Ms. Larson in the center pose merrily for the camera. If nothing else, she does seem to be a teacher who enjoys getting close with her young charges... though how close is up to your imagination.

"Are you going to make me wait all night?" your teacher calls out, and you head in the direction of her voice and bedroom. Upon a queen-sized mattress illuminated by a slightly dimmed ceiling lamp, Ms. Larson sits with her legs crossed and arms supporting her, clad in nothing but a lacy, enchanting purple set of lingerie. Her hair cascades down her head, bouncing about her jutting shoulders, which sway from side to side with a hint of "come hither".

"So..." purrs Ms. Larson, pursing her pouty lips, "Think you can handle this?"