A Different Kind Of Lesson

A Different Kind Of Lesson

From student to teacher?

Chapter 1 by Faustus Faustus

Ms. Bickler was doing her best to hold the attention of the class. In a way you felt sorry for her. Even to the point of trying to pay attention yourself. The class, a mixture of senior boys and girls, would much rather joke around and play on their phones.

You notice your teacher wiping her brow, then quietly pleading to the class to try and focus for the remaining half of the hour. Her blue eyes meet yours, seeming hopeful to have at least one student listening to her.

Stacy Bickler was one of the younger teachers at Westside High. Her face, and body for that matter, looked younger than her twenty-seven years. You make note that she seems to be trying to hide her figure under a sensible outfit, but her wide hips and firm breasts still fill out the skirt suit she has chosen today.

Her dirty-blonde hair tied up in a loose bun, combined with her outfit, gave her the makings of a naughty librarian. Or teacher in this case. As your eyes follow along her form, you feel the familiar warmth of your erection growing down your pant leg. Luckily there's still twenty minutes left before the bell rings. Letting your cock do as it pleases, you let your eyes roam over Ms. Bickler's assets.

Fully erect now, the heat of your swollen cock pressed against your leg, you realize that you've failed at trying to pay attention just like the rest of the class. You figure that Ms. Bickler is quite aware of how the female form might distract the young men like yourself in the class, and conclude that is why she chose the outfit and hairstyle.

Guided by the stiff prick in your pants, it's easy to visualize what she might look in some skimpier clothes, some sluttier make-up, and a more provocative hairstyle. Surely most of the boys, and a handful of the girls, would all be failing.

Much like Ms. Bickler was now. You watch as she shrugs her shoulders and gives a resigned sigh. "Fine. It's Friday, and it's your education you're throwing away. I can only do so much. For those of you who would like to be employed one day, take out your textbooks and read chapter nine. The rest of you, do as you like, but do it quietly."

You watch as Ms. Bickler returns to her desk, your hard-on pulsing with each heartbeat. As frumpy as she tried to make herself, her skirt can't help but cling to the curves of her rump. Feeling slightly guilty for lusting after your teacher, you do your best to make up for it by diligently reading the chapter as she asked.

It's futile though. You're a whole two pages in before your eyelids droop and your lust is replaced with drowsiness. It's the last class of the day. If you can keep awake for fifteen more minutes, then you can nap when you get home.

Blinking, then yawning, you try your best to read on. The book on your desk gets blurry though, and the few words you make out, don't make sense. Then, noticing how the pages look fairly soft, you lower your head.

What's next?

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