Chapter 1
The boy in the back row of Miss Joyce Jensen's study period class spelled nothing but trouble for her-but she could hardly tear her hungry gaze from him. He wasn't much different from the other boys and girls in her tenth grade class. His brown hair was of medium length and streaked with blond from a summer of sun. He was of average height and weight for a fifteen-year-old. His tight jeans and tee shirt were quite the same as those the other boys wore, and his beardless cheeks were just as smooth as any of the girl's in Joyce's classroom. She didn't know if he was bright or dumb, innocent or mischievous. Since it was the first day of classes at Belmont High School, she didn't even know his name. But she did know she wanted him. Lust for a fifteen-year-old boy spelled danger, trouble for any schoolteacher, and particularly this thirty-four-year-old one who had already been burned from such an unnatural craving. But Miss Joyce Jensen couldn't help herself-her breasts swelled with longing to feel his young body clasped against them, and her cunt was weeping in its need to feel his hard boydick sliding into it.
She tore her gaze from his lowered head as he worked on the time-consuming lesson she'd assigned the class. She looked around at her other busy pupils, trying to find some other boy with a face that reminded her of Robbie, the boy she'd loved so much, the root of all her past troubles. None of them even vaguely resembled her lost young Romeo. For the life of her, she couldn't recall just what Robbie looked like now, after seven years of missing him, hungering for his sweet lips and his virginal cock. All she could see was that boy in the back row. She feasted her eyes on him, and she indulged her starved lust by sending out her thought waves to him.
Yes, you. Little boy, you're the one I want. I want you backed up in a corner, scared half to death, but with such a hard boner in your pants you can't turn away. I want to strip off all your clothes, piece by piece, and look at your pure, tanned body while I hold your jockey shorts up to my nose and smell your sex. I want to look at your hard prick till my mouth is watering, and then I want to taste it, suck it, kiss your balls and your asshole, then slurp up a pint of your hot cream!
She had to look away lest she get carried away. She had to get her dirty thoughts off that sweet young lad before she drove herself crazy. Hands off completely with him. If she even let herself be alone with him, it would make her Robbie troubles seem trifling in comparison. Joyce could control her eyes, could partially control her thoughts by picking a folder from her desk to read, but she couldn't quite control her body.
Warm beads of perspiration were trickling down from her shaven armpits, trickling along, wetting the wide band of the necessarily substantial brassiere she was wearing. Tiny droplets of sweat were on her upper lip, not from the heat of the day, but from the heat of her body. This perspiration she could wipe away, but that under her blouse and jacket kept tickling down her sides like little fingers, aimlessly wandering toward her steaming crotch. Her bottom itched. It itched all over. It was a sweet little itch, one which she'd known what to do with at the apartment when her roommate was gone and she was alone. But now there was little she could do about it but cautiously squirm her bottom on the seat of her desk chair. She knew her desk obscured her actions from her pupils, but she couldn't believe that the students weren't fully aware of just how sexually aroused she was.
Foolish notion. She looked entirely prim and proper behind her steel-rimmed glasses, with her thick brown hair drawn back into a glossy bun. Children that age were stupid about sex, or at least inexperienced. She knew that for a fact. And with this knowledge she felt secure in slipping her hand inside her jacket. There, hidden by the folder she pretended to read, she touched her left nipple. It was every bit as hard as she had known it would be. She could feel its rigidity through the stiff fabric of her bra and through the white dacron blouse she was wearing. She could feel its stiffness and scratch at the persistently growing itch and she could pretend it was that boy's fingers joyfully playing there. She looked up at him again, just in time to see him quickly lower his head to his notebook.
Darling, I don't mind you looking at me. If you think I'm worth looking at now, you should see me without these silly clothes. It's hot. Want me to take them off? All of them? Or would you rather do it for me? Come along, darling. Tsk, I don't even know your name. Oh? It's Robbie? I used to know a boy with that name, a very sweet boy, a sexy one. But, come along. We'll go in the boys' rest room. It's right next door. Would you like to look at me through the peephole behind the flag while I undress for you? Would that make it better? Here, I'll just take my hair down as we walk, and I'll get rid of these glasses. I don't need them anyway. And here, darling Robbie, here are my breasts, my tits. Put your hands on them. Put your lips on them. Lick them. Love them. You like my body? That bastard Morris said I was wasting my time being a schoolteacher with a body like mine. He said I should have been a film star or a Las Vegas showgirl. I hide it from everyone else with those stuffy clothes I wear, but you can see it any time you want to. You can see it, touch it, play with me, kiss me-anywhere you like, anywhere at all. Yes. Yes, kiss my pussy. It's so good, it loves you so. Mmmm. Make me come, lover. You can do it better than anyone, Robbie. And slip that hard dick in me, still wet from my kisses, and fuck me, Robbie, fuck me good and hard and fill my twat up with your hot cream!
The boy glanced up and Joyce quickly looked away. Were his cheeks really as red and flushed as hers felt? This was total insanity. She had to stop it, but she couldn't. Her right hand had fallen from her breast to her lap, and even as she silently cursed herself for her madness she was inching her skirt up, shifting her hips to accommodate its rise, desperately and quietly trying to get at that ungodly sweet itch between her trembling thighs.
Her stiff spine wilted a bit when her finger touched the spot. Right there. Right on her button. She slid her hand down and up again, feeling with her finger the slick wetness of the bulging crotchband of her tight white panties. She should have been amazed at how wet she was, but on this first day of school, in her condition, nothing amazed her. What she wanted was to scratch that itch hard. If she was at home, she'd do it, orgasming endlessly, thrashing up the bedclothes. But here, with forty pupils right in front of her, all she could do was press that button-hard-and talk to the boy through her silent eyes.
Aha, I caught you looking at me again. Don't be afraid, darling. You can look all you want. You just can't touch, and damnit, neither can I. Yes! Yes, look into my eyes! Don't look away again, darling. I've got soft eyes. Behind these glasses are eyes that want to eat you up, just like these hot lips want to suck you, kiss you, make you feel as you never have before. Fuck me? Forget about convention, forget about the twenty years between us, and please, please fuck me?
Roll on a bed with me, stark naked.
Let me feel your hot hardness against my hot softness.
Stick it in my cunt, my ass, anywhere you like, I just want it!
Trouble or not, I want you, I want your body, I want your dick.
No, don't look down!!! Don't be afraid of me!!! Robbie!!! Robbie, come to me!!!
The cowardly little bastard, he was afraid of teacher. But she was no longer afraid of him. She would put the fear of God in him. She'd give him something to be afraid about!
Joyce took her hand from under her skirt and got up from her desk. She glanced back at her chair, expecting to see a puddle of cunt juice lying in its seat. Several heads looked expectantly up at her, but not the head of the boy in the back row, corner seat by the door. She started strolling the perimeter of the room, reassuring her pupils as she went.
"Just go on with your assignment. Continue writing your mini-biographies while I peek over your shoulders and see what kind of penmanship you have."
Joyce paused to make a few softly spoken comments as she made her rounds, progressively heading toward the corner of the room. She stopped at the desk right next to the boy's and quietly told the black girl sitting there that her penmanship was quite good. Already she was within the aura of the boy's innocent sexuality. It positively radiated from him, increasing the tingling warmth in her mature body. His sexuality was tugging at her, his innocence was appealing to her to pass him by.
She almost walked right past his desk behind him, feeling dizzy, feeling feverish. But then at the last possible instant she simply had to know his name, immediately. If it was Robbie, she would know that destiny had sent him to her to make up for the years of servitude and loneliness she'd known. If it was anything else, she would somehow kill her yearnings for this young innocent. Joyce stopped and almost swooped down on him.
She told him his penmanship was good. She didn't know quite what she said because now she could smell that aura of boyish sexuality that surrounded him-clean sweat, soap, summery days, and the indescribably delicious scent of young male sperm.
Kenny was his name, but that made no difference now for she was caught in the net of his proximity. She leaned closer over his shoulder, all but brushing him with her bosom. She reached her right hand down to point at his page, placed it lightly on his right shoulder and murmured. "Be more careful how you cross your T's, Kenny."
"Yes, ma'am," he said, looking up at her, nostrils flaring, brown eyes shining with liquid warmth.
He was sexually excited! The signs were there! Christ, the boy was as hot as she was, and there was no way in the world now that she could end their mutual yearnings just like that.
"Would you collect the papers for me and bring them to me after class?" she murmured, soft and low, and he nodded, telling her things with his eyes that he'd never in his life said with his lips.
Joyce straightened up and started back toward her desk. Her breasts felt proudly heavy, her hips had a sensuous roll to them, and the itching of her bottom was now being massaged by the hot gaze of the boy in the back row, her Kenny. She sat down, squirming her bottom luxuriously on the chair seat, and again she wiped delicately at the droplets of perspiration on her upper lip. And for a moment she was shocked, for her fingers smelled distinctly of her cunt.
They smelled of woman in heat, for indeed they'd been touching her sopping crotchband. It made her blush, and it made her look at young Kenny, gazing back at her with thinly veiled longing. He'd smelled her fingers when they were on his shoulder. It might have been the first time he'd sniffed hot twat, but it was that which had triggered the desire in him, a desire that was directed right straight at her! She smiled warmly at him. She couldn't help it. She smiled, and she licked her fingers and turned a page of the folder on her desk.
The bell rang moments later, signaling the end of the school day. It took her pupils forever to shuffle out of the classroom, and her Kenny dallied endlessly in collecting the papers from the empty desks. She took off her glasses and smiled invitingly until he was standing at her side and placing the papers before her. He had his notebook tightly clasped with both hands in front of his loins. She knew he had a stiff dick. She could smell it. But she wanted to see it, she had to see it.
She thanked him for his help and asked him to wait while she read his paper. He stood there, unconsciously adding to her seething excitement, while she read his paper-very brief -and learned that his father was apparently a widower, that he'd spent a lot of time at the beach that summer, and that he liked the usual things that fifteen-year-old boys like.
Joyce asked him what classes he had and whether he thought he'd like high school, and he stammered his nervous replies. She was then in a safe position to say, "Give me your notebook, Kenny, and I'll show you how to organize it for your classes."
"Oh it's okay," he quickly said. "I got it all figured out."
"I'd like to see it," she said, and held out her hand.
It seemed to take forever for him to hand it over to her. It seemed as if he was handing over the family jewels, but at last it came away from his loins, at last Joyce saw the outline of his hard boydick. It was clearly there. It was bigger than she'd expected. As a wonderful added bonus, its poking blunt end had made a dime-sized wet stain on his blue denim jeans. Joyce had only had a glimpse of it as he stood beside her, but it was enough to make her feel drunk with giddy desire as she opened up his notebook and went through the motions of helping him organize his. . . .
"Kenny, what is the meaning of this?!?!?!" she exclaimed, and pointed a trembling finger to the crude but clear pencil drawing of herself, seated before the class, wearing her glasses and her cool teacher's smile, and nothing else at all. Her tits stood out like wall-eyed artillery shells. There was no desk in front of her, and between her widely parted legs was the long vertical slash of her cunt, thickly bordered on all sides by a mass of penciled curlicues that represented her pubic hair. Below this was a prick and balls, pointing up at it, spitting streams of jism at its target.
"Kenneth, I am shocked," she said, looking up at him, seeing him utterly terrified, far more so than she'd imagined him in her fantasies. "This is why your paper was so short. You were drawing dirty pictures-of me! Do you do this all the time?"
"No! Honest, Miss Jensen, it's the first time I ever did anything like that," he said, blushing scarlet, twisting his hands in front of his loins as if he had to pee in the worst way.
"Do you realize this is very wrong for you to do?"
"Yes, I know it is," he pleaded. "I don't know why I did it."
She looked at it again, clucking, shaking her head, inwardly thrilled at the voluptuousness he'd detected in her. She said, "I don't know what your father would say if he knew about this."
"He'd skin me alive! Please don't tell him, Miss Jensen. Please!"
"And of course you could be expelled for doing something like this."
"On the first day of high school ? Oh, no," he moaned. "I promise I'll never draw sexy pictures again. I promise!"
"Do you use these pictures you draw to masturbate? To play with your penis?" she asked, turning to nod directly at his loins. She was immensely proud of the facade of coolness she was showing.
"No! I don't do that."
"I certainly hope you're telling me the truth. So many boys your age do play with themselves. Some of them masturbate two or three times a day."
"No! Really?" he said, hiding his erection with his hands again, but unable to hid the lies in his eyes.
"Yes, really. Some boys are oversexed. Every woman they see excites them. Girls too. And pictures of women. I have a whole pile of photographs at home that I've taken away from boys like those. Pornography. I hope you're not that kind of boy, Kenny. Those kind of boys need help. They just play with themselves all the time. They get into the habit of masturbation, or jerking off if you want to call it that, and later, when they should be having sex with girls and women, they still jerk themselves off. It's very harmful, and it's very hard to break that kind of boy of the habit. Now, tell me the truth. Do you play with yourself often?"
"Never! I never do, Miss Jensen!"
"Oh. I see. I could probably help you if you did play with your prick a lot and have wet dreams at night."
"W-Wet dreams?"
"You know. When you dream about someone you know-like one of your teachers. When you dream you're doing things to her, taking off her clothes, for instance. Kissing her. Playing with her breasts. Looking at what she's got down between her legs. Some boys even dream about kissing her down there, and sometimes that makes them have what we call a nocturnal emission. In lay language, that means cumming in your sleep. And they'll dream about slipping their pricks in her hole. That almost always makes them cum in their sleep."
"Really?" he said, as if he'd never heard of such a thing.
"I wouldn't lie to you, Kenny. I had one student, years ago, who used to have dreams about me. His name was Robbie. That was when I wore my hair down, like this," she said, and turned in her swivel chair to face the fascinated, trembling boy before her.
Her parted knees were almost touching his, and she was looking straight ahead at the wonderful bulge of his prick as she took the pins out of her hair. Reaching back like that, her jacket opened and her pointedly prominent breasts stuck out at him, much as they had in the picture. His jaw hung open and he frankly stared, first at her big, thrusting tits, then at her hair as she loosened the bun and shook out a cascade of glossy brown tresses around her serenely smiling face.
Her pussy was throbbing steadily inside the tight bulge of her crotchband. She could smell herself, the woman in heat, and she knew his masculine nostrils, immature as they were, could smell her scent even more strongly. She also knew she should quit before it went any farther. But she felt so totally in command, she felt so supremely alive and good, that she knew it was safe to go on-at least for a bit farther.
"Yes, Robbie started having wet dreams about my hair. He'd dream that it was flowing over his prick, his penis, and that would make him cum in his sleep. From there he began to dream about kissing me, and that made him cum too. His dreams went on, sexier all the time. For two weeks he had the same dream every night. I'd be dancing in front of him with nothing but some lacy little panties on. I'd dance closer and closer to him, smiling and winking at him like this, with my arms out to the sides, like this. And when I was close enough, he'd reach his hand down inside my panties. They were very tight. And just when he'd reach his fingers into my pubic hair, very thick and bushy and wet, then he'd wake up and he'd be filling his shorts up with cream. Those were the words he used to describe his nocturnal emissions."
"Really, Miss Jensen?" Kenny's eyes were wider than ever, and the wet stain on his denims was now the size of a quarter.
"As I said, I'd never lie to you, Kenny, and I'd never want you to lie to me."
"Oh, I wouldn't!"
"Do you wear shorts or pajamas at night?"
"Huh? P-Pajamas. I mean, shorts."
She laughed lightly and lightly patted his hip, thrilling at the warmth of him. "Just relax, Kenny. This is our secret, just between the two of us. This Robbie's dreams went farther. Do you want to hear about them?" she asked, and took his hand in hers, smoothing her fingers over his very moist palm.
"Sure! I mean, yes, ma'am!"
"Well, then Robbie began having dreams about me performing fellatio on him. He called it sucking him off, or giving him a blow job. That was when I used to wear make-up to school, and he'd dream about slipping his stiff prick in between my red lips. He'd dream I'd kiss it and suck it and then . . ." She shrugged. ". . . and then he'd cum in my mouth. Don't look so shocked, Kenny. Today, that's not such a perverted thing to do. I mean, lots of wives suck their husbands' pricks, just as lots of husbands kiss their wives' vaginas."
"Did he . . . this Robbie ... did he dream about doing that to you?"
She laughed and squeezed his hand with both of hears. She breathed deeply of his sexy, sexy smell, feeling wonderfully giddy on it. Then she said, "Oh, lots of times. He'd dream about kissing me down there and he'd dream about having coitus with me. You know, fucking. He'd help himself to have those dreams, Kenny."
"Yeah? How? How did he do that?"
"He'd think about me when he went to bed. He'd concentrate hard on doing all sorts of sexy things with me before he went to sleep, and usually he'd go right on and fill up his shorts with cream then. But he never touched himself, never played with himself, at least at first. After a while, though, he started doing that, too. Sometimes right in class."
"Yeah??? How do you know that?"
"Oh, he came to me and told me. He trusted me, Kenny, just as you should trust me. He confessed everything to me, and I-well, naturally, I helped him with his problem."
For a moment Kenny's hand closed on hers, and he said, "You did? How, Miss Jensen, how?"
"Oh, we teachers have ways," she said with a knowing smile. "At least some of us do. I had some, well, I had some private talks with him at my apartment. I lived alone then. And they did a world of good for that particular oversexed pupil of mine. I could help you in the same way, Kenny, if you were one of those oversexed boys who play with themselves and have wet dreams. Now, are you? Tell me the truth, and you won't get into any trouble over this sexy little sketch you did of teacher. Well, Kenny?"
He took his hand from hers and clasped it with the other one. He wrang his hands in front of a prick that had to be on fire by then. He hemmed and hawed while she smiled up at him, hands moving softly on her parted thighs, entire body throbbing with longing for him. And he said, "No. No, I never play with myself or have those kind of dreams, Miss Jensen. Never ever."
"What a good boy you are," she said, and patted his hip, grazed the wet bulge of his prick with her fingertips. "And since you've been so honest with me, I'm going to give you a break. I won't mention this picture to anyone and I won't have you expelled. Here are some matches. You take this picture next door to the boys' lavatory and burn it, and that will be the end of this matter."
"Thanks, Miss Jensen. Thanks a whole lot," he said, and hurried out of the room, taking his picture and his excitingly hard young prick with him.