Chapter 2
The control Joyce had maintained during her interview with the sexually aroused boy had been a minor miracle. Now Joyce sat slumped over her desk in the empty classroom, touching her lips with the fingers that had tipped Kenny's prick. She could smell her cunt on those fingers too, mixed with the scent of his semen-and that was just the way it should be. She pulled up her skirt and cupped her hand over her throbbing cunt and squeezed it-hard -moaning softly and writhing in her chair.
It had gone unbelievably well. It was as if Kenny had been sent from heaven to her to make up for the years she'd spent as Morris's sexual slave. She wanted to sit there and frig herself to a dozen hot, rapid orgasms, but she abstained. If things went well with Kenny and her for just a little longer, she'd have all the orgasms she wanted. And they simply had to go well. To hell with school, to hell with her career, she had to have that boy at any cost- if he was indeed the right one.
She was still rubbing her pussy through her skirt as she walked on shaking legs to where the flag was draped in the corner of her second floor classroom. Behind that flag was a peep hole, undoubtedly placed there by some teacher-male or female-who had a craving to observe the boys who used the toilets and urinals in the room next door. Joyce had discovered the little hole the semester before. She had looked through it only once, and had then abstained, resisting temptation completely. She had not, however, had the inner strength needed to plug that hole up, and now she was very glad of that. With her hand moving on her feverishly warm twat, she held her breath and peeped through the hole.
There he was. There was Kenny, not ten feet away from her. He was standing in one of the toilet booths, in profile to her, matches in one hand and the wonderfully smutty picture he'd drawn of her in the other. He was gazing at it intently. She could see the bulge of his prick through his pants, and every fiber of her body craved to see it bare, naked. He lit a match, and she held her breath. He touched its flame to the corner of the paper, and her hand stopped moving on her cunt, and she moaned, "No. Oh, no."
Immediately he blew out the flame, looked quickly out of the booth toward the door, and when he saw he was quite alone, he frantically began to open his pants. Joyce smiled, and rubbed her gloating cunt.
Down they went around his ankles. His shorts, slightly soiled, followed. She saw his boydick then. Beautiful. Straight as an arrow. Hard, hard. Its shaft was white, pure white. Its head was pink, like a rose, and just about the size of the bud on a big tearose. It was an absolutely beautiful prick, and she would never forget this first sight of it. She only saw it for a moment, however, for at once it was in his flying hand, being pumped with mad urgency as he panted and stared at the picture-the picture of her!
"Kenny, I love you," she murmured, and rucked up her skirt. She wriggled her finger inside the crotchband of her panties, got it right on the quick of her clit, and moaned, "We'll do it together, my darling. Fuck, we'll do everything together!"
His fist was moving fast, but it only took Joyce moments to catch up with him. All she had to do was rub that hot little button and she could feel what he was feeling-the wickedly delicious chills shooting clear up through her shoulders, the swelling of her ass and titties, the tensing and trembling of her legs, the soaring feeling of marvelous freedom and exhilaration as that point of no return is reached, as the start of orgasm is reached.
"Jeezus-peezus!" he squeaked, as if he was really having a good one. Joyce could hear him through the peep hole, and she knew just how he felt as that first dart of gooey white cum came jetting out of the bulbous red head of his pecker.
"Cum, cum, cum-m-m-m-m," she moaned, pressing her lips against the cold wall, jerking her hips up against her rapidly frigging finger.
He did cum, right along with her. She could see it all, each hot jet of white jism that spurted from his cock, hitting the metal partition, spurting against the toilet paper holder, squirting up to kiss the picture of her he held in his quaking hand. He was really squirting hard! And long! Jet after jet of white was pumped out. Some of it was caught in his masturbating hand and smeared over the head of his bursting cock, making it gleam even more beautifully. Most of it was squirted out-wasted.
But Joyce didn't bemoan that waste. There would be more of it-much more-and it would belong to her. The thought of that made her moan anew and work her finger with new energy against her clit. She arched her hips forward, pressed her frigging hand against the wall, fucking it, fucking the boy on the other side of the wall, as he began to slow the movements of his hand and as his shoulders began to slump.
A grin creased his beautiful young face, and she wished she was there with him to slip her tongue over his penis. He looked around with guilty glee-looked directly at her peephole- and ripped off a handful of toilet paper with which to clean himself up. Joyce smiled too, a calculating smile, as she slipped her finger out and kept the last orgasmic tingles going by rubbing her twat through her very wet panties. She was too wet there. And so, quickly, she stripped off her panties and blotted her swollen vulva with them, wiping away the overflowed juices from her inner thighs. Another quick look through the peephole, just in time to see him zip up, too late to see if he'd wiped every last bit of sweet cream from the rosy head of his dick. She did see him fold her picture and slip it in his hip pocket, and that made her smile.
Her soiled panties went into her purse. She met Kenny in the hall. He was smiling nonchalantly as he came out of the swinging door. Joyce curtly said, "My matches, please," and held out her hand.
"Oh, sure," he said, and quickly produced them.
He couldn't keep the smirk from his lips, but she erased it by saying, "Come with me, young man. You and I are going to have a talk."
She turned on her heel and headed down the abandoned hall, with the boy right at her heels. There wasn't a student to be seen, and by that time, most of the teachers would have gone home too. She marched him down the hall, behind her hotly squirming buttocks, and led him to the Teacher's Lounge, unlocked it and held the door open so he had to go past her. She looked grim, and he looked scared to death as he slunk into the room that was strictly off-limits to students. She locked the door behind her with the bolt, and turned to face him.
"Did you burn that picture as I told you?" she crisply asked.
"Well, sure I did!"
"I'm sorry, I don't believe you. I can tell when a boy is lying, and you're lying to me now! Hand me that notebook!"
He handed it over in an agony of embarrassment. She quickly riffled through it and flung it onto the couch. "It's in your pockets. Step forward. Hands out from your sides. Last chance to give it to me, Kenneth. . . ."
"I told you, I burned it!" he said, with very little conviction. "You can't. . . ."
"Quiet! You had your chance," she said, and took that lovely step forward to where she could breathe in his sexuality, and he could breathe in hers. She'd worn a very musky perfume that day, and now she knew her body heat was sending off clouds of her scent, both real and artificial. He pleaded to her with his eyes, but she ignored his plea and thrust her hands in his front pockets.
She probed all around, staring into his eyes, feeling coins and a pocket knife, feeling the warm hollows of his loins. Their hot breaths mingled as she delved in his pockets, fingers turning, reaching, tickling so that he squirmed before her. His prick had to be hanging straight down, for she was unable to touch it. She was able, however, to start it getting hard again, of this she was certain.
"See? I told you," he said in a quavery voice as she pulled out her hands.
"And I told you to be quiet!" she said, and yanked up his tee shirt.
She slipped her soft hands around his waist, reaching fingertips down inside the low waistband of his jeans, as if in search of the picture. She had to lean close to him to do this. Close enough to kiss his chest with her two hard nipples.
"I know you've still got it," she said, hands trailing around his goose-pimpled waist. "Turn around."
"No! I don't have to! My Dad'll...."
"You obey me! Always!" she said, and grabbed him by the ear and spun him around.
She slipped her hands inside his hip pockets, felt the sweet trembling roundness of his buns. She wormed her fingers deeper, past the piece of paper that was bringing them together, while he stood tensed and trembling, hoping he'd somehow escape, not knowing the sweet fate in store for him. His shoulders slumped, however, when she slowly pulled out the paper.
"I'm sorry," he moaned. "I'm sorry, Miss Jensen. I just couldn't do it. Don't have me expelled. Please, Miss Jensen."
She turned him around to face her, and just as she had hoped, he was crying. Boyish tears ran down his cheeks. She smiled at him, very warmly. She touched a tear and licked it off her finger, and surprise and hope shone in his eyes. She held him by the shoulders and kissed another tear away, and his face grew radiant.
"The tears of the innocent are good luck," she said. "Come. Sit here on the couch with me. We'll talk about your little problem."
They sat half facing each other. She moved a bit closer, so her nylon-covered knee was kissing his. By another stroke of good fortune, she hadn't worn her usual pantyhose that day, but had on the kind that are held up by their own elastic that clasps the wearer's thighs. Everything was going her way on this first day of school.
She studied the picture for perhaps a full minute before she said, "You're really quite a good little artist, Kenny. Especially since you weren't able to see all of your model."
"I. . . . What?"
"I said, you draw well. You could do better, though, if you knew more about what you were drawing." She laid the picture in her lap, looked him in the eyes, and said, "Have you ever seen a woman's private parts? I mean in the flesh, not just in sexy photos. What's wrong? Cat got your tongue? Answer me, dear. Truthfully. Have you ever seen a woman with her clothes off?"
He couldn't answer, but he could shake his head, no.
"Would you like to see a naked woman? Answer me truthfully, Kenny."
"I sure would," he fervently said.
She picked up his hand and kissed it. "That's for telling me the truth, Kenny." She placed his hand on her warm knee, thrilled to its hot quaking there, and softly said, "Kenny, would you like to see me without my clothes on?"
"Oh, Miss Jensen. I'd do anything for that!"
"The truth again," she said, "and it won't go unrewarded."
She got up and turned on the lounge radio, soft and low, nice rhythmic music. She sauntered back till her knee was kissing his again as she stood over him, and there she began to raise her skirt. She swayed from side to side, lifting its hem an inch on the right, an inch on the left. He was completely hypnotized by its twitching elevation before she'd exposed the tops of her tan nylon stockings. Her legs were very good. Nicely tapered, softly muscular, entirely shapely. Her thighs were white and full, and they effectively held her skirt up as she slipped off her jacket and let it fall on the couch beside him.
Kenny glanced at her jacket, looked at her full bosom and licked his lips, then returned his hot gaze to her skirt as she lifted it slowly higher. Her twat was shouting to feel the kiss of his hot eyes. With her feet a foot apart, she slowly lifted her skirt to her waist, shuddering with pleasure at Kenny's delighted little gasp as he saw her cunt, the first in his life.
The fabric of her skirt was stiff enough to stay bunched at her waist all by itself. But she held it there for a time, swaying provocatively to the music, while the sight of her beautifully furred cunt further captivated the boy. She could feel his breath on her, but she had to feel more than that.
"Kenny," she said, "as you can see now, a woman's slit isn't nearly so visible as you made it in your sexy little picture of me. The hair covers it up, and all you can see is a little line. See? Even when I run my finger up and down it, my cuntlips close right up again, for the most part. You've drawn my pussy as an ugly gash," she said, sliding her finger up and down through the slippery wet furrow of her cunt, following the curve of her crotch with it in leisurely fashion. "When actually a woman's pussy is a pretty thing. Don't you agree?"
He nodded his head.
She took her hand from her crotch, lifted his face with it, and said, "What did you say, dear?"
"Beautiful. Your . . . your pussy's just beautiful."
She smiled and brushed her fingers over his lips, and she said, "You have the taste of a true artist, Kenny. Would you like to touch me there? The truth, now."
"Oh yes. I'd just love that, Miss Jensen!"
"You may," she said, and stood there with her hands on her hips, slowly rotating her hips to the music, dreaming, feeling ever so good. This was an excitement that went beyond anything she'd known in years. It wasn't even excitement, really. She felt too confident of everything to be excited. It was glory she felt, it was heaven. She'd heard of the rush that heroin addicts know when they push the needle in their arms, and this was perhaps like that. She just felt good all over, everywhere, when her little boy pushed his fingers into her pussy.
He probed about a little at first. He touched her hair, he touched her lips, and then he slid three fingers in her slit and spread the rapidly welling moisture there. She watched it all from high on Mount Olympus, the greatest sex goddess of all time. She felt him timidly probing the orifice of her hole, and she loved it. She felt him test the firmness of her cuntlips, and she did a slow-motion bump and grind to encourage him-not that he needed it. She felt him touch her super-sensitive clitoris with his cunt-oiled fingers, and that kept the well-controlled orgasms flowing and flowing in her everywhere.
From her dream world, she said, "Do you like to touch my pussy, Kenny?"
"Oh, yeah-h-h-h. It's so smooth. So nice and wet and warm."
"As long as you keep telling me the truth, darling," she said, and softly ruffled his hair, "then I'll keep giving you rewards. For being truthful this time, I'm going to let you kiss it."
There was fear in his eyes when he looked up at her now. She knew she had to be cautious with him at this crucial point, but she also knew she had to feel his lips on her there, she had to! And so she quickly pulled his head forward, before either of them could think about it a moment longer, and pressed his lips against her clit.
Oh God, it was sweet! It only lasted for an instant, but in that instant she experienced an orgasm that exceeded any masturbatory fantasy she'd had in the past year. BANG! it simply exploded in her, so fast she could just manage to stifle her outcries of keen pleasure. It was so great, so strong that she had to sit down before she fell down. She let him draw his head back, and through a haze of pink pleasure, saw him wipe his mouth as she sat down beside him.
"That was a nice little kiss. Did you like it?"
"Oh, sure," he said, not at all sure.
She laughed softly, squeezed his leg, and said, "lots of boys like to kiss deeper. Like this," she said, and moved to give him an open-mouthed, deeply tonguing kiss that opened his eyes wide and raised gooseflesh all over his body.
She leaned him back on the couch, kissing and hugging him, mussing his clothes and his hair, fondling his cock and balls through his jeans. She was teasing him-and her-into a state of deep desire that would take more than a day to appease. She was binding him to her for just as long as she could. She washed him with her tongue. She washed his lips and eyes and ears, and she sucked warm kisses on his throat until she had him beside himself with desire for her.
"Darling little oversexed boy," she murmured between her hot kisses. "I've just got to help you with your problem, love. Somebody's got to, or you'll be playing with your dickie all the time. And is there anyone better than your teacher to help you? Of course not. I'll help you all you want. You be truthful with me, that's all I ask. And one other thing, darling Kenny. Don't I beg of you, think you're falling in love with me. Don't do that, my darling boy, because if you do fall in love with me, I may not ever let you go again. Poor boy," she said, milking his bone-hard prick through his pants. "You do have a problem. Let's take that prick of yours out. Let's get right down to the meat of your problem."