Classes started in the fall like any other year. I had been teaching since I graduated from college at the same school for the past 10 years. I didn't anticipate that this year would be any different. I was actually beginning to feel like I was finally hitting my stride. I knew my lessons, and I knew what worked for my students, and what the hard topics were.
When the final class of the first day rolled around, the excitement of the first day of school was beginning to wear on me. Like every year, summer break was a great respite, but as a teacher, I also got out of shape. People often don't realize that standing in front of groups of kids all day, talking and writing on the board, answering questions, and in general being in charge of a group of sometimes unruly kids can be exhausting if you are not in shape for it. This year started like no other, and I knew that in a week, I'd be back in the swing of things.
My last class was a senior only class. It was really a poorly devised last chance class for seniors who had struggled in in their first three years of high school math. All the kids who needed just one more year of math with a passing grade to graduate ended up in what everyone called "Math for dummies". Not only did the moniker bother me, but having it at the end of the day, all year long, was a terrible time of day to try and teach kids who really didn't like math. But, this year, it was my turn. All the math teachers rotated through this course, and I had enjoyed my 3 year hiatus from it, and it was time to do my duty.
As the kids strolled in, it was clear they all knew the drill. None looked at that pleased with being there, but they also knew that somehow together we were going to have to survive this or some of them would not be in the graduation procession come June.
As I was calling roll, reacquainting myself with the kids, one name came up that I didn't recognize. While I hadn't taught all of the kids in their earlier years, you pretty much know every kids on campus after three years.
"Mortisha Hanson? Miss Hanson?" I asked, looking around the room. "Miss-"
"-tress," a voice cut in. A few kids laughed at the joke. I found the source of the voice. She was hiding in the back of the room. She had long black hair, and wore a rather skimpy halter top. Her eyes pierced me as if she were staring through me.
"What?" I answered, both a bit startled by her piercing eyes as much as what I thought she or we had said.
"Tish, you may call me Tish," she said in a voice that belied her small frame and exuded confidence and directness that I didn't expect.
"Oh, ah yes Miss Hanson, ah, I mean Tish. Welcome. Are you new to the school?" I asked, trying to recover.
"Yes, I am," she replied in a way that said 'and I'm not telling you anymore, so don't ask'.
I smiled at her, and getting myself refocused on the task at hand, finished taking attendance. The class went by rather uneventfully. Textbooks were distributed, and class expectations were covered. It was my normal first day speech, and I added in an extra few minutes for this group about how we would all need to work together since we all knew how important this class was to their futures. That last part got me some looks of absolute terror from those who really did want to graduate, but for whom math was real challenge, and from others, bored stares. Throughout, I noticed that Tish sat at her desk, hands folded on top of her textbook, eyes still drilling right through me. She followed every word I said, and seemed like she was deeply considering everything I said.
At the end of class, the bell rang, and despite how lethargic some of the kids had appeared, they all bolted out the door at an amazing pace. All except Tish. As I was collecting my things, she continued to sit at her desk. I could feel her eyes still boring holes right through me. I tried to just keep packing my bag, but I couldn't keep my eyes down, and I looked up at her and met her gaze.
"Er...um...Tish, is there something I can help you with?" I asked in my best helpful teacher voice.
"Yes," she said, again with that confident voice of hers. She stood. It was only now with all the rest of the kids gone, and my view of her unobstructed that I could see all of her. As she walked to the front of the room, I was unable to not give her a once over. She wore knee high black boots with dark red laces that criss-crossed all the way to the front of the boots. Her skirt was a black, red, and white plaid, pleated, and almost Catholic school uniform-like except that it was way too short for a school uniform. A black belt was slung around her waist that served no purpose except as adornment. A worn skull belt buckle sat just below her navel. Lined with metal square studs, it sat at an angle, sitting high on one hip, and falling down on the other side. It helped to make her thin waist look even thinner. Her black halter top turned out to be more corset than halter top. It too had traces of dark red stitching that ran in vertical lines along her torso. The curves of the lines also accentuated her thin waist. As my eyes followed these lines up to her breasts, she cleared her throat. I realized that she was now standing just a few feet from me. I quickly moved my gaze to her face to find her smiling at me with a knowing smile. I was caught.
"Uh...Tish, what did you want?" I stammered.
"I just wanted to let you know that I look forward to your class this year. I hope that you can help me explore new things this year, won't you!?" she offered. It was both a statement and a question.
"Tish, that's great to hear you are taking your studies seriously. I'm always available to you and will do everything I can to help," I answered in my best veteran teacher I-know-more-than-you voice.
Something flashed in her expression, but I couldn't read it, and it was gone quickly. She smiled at me with a very practiced veteran student I-know-more-than-you-think look.
"Then we are in agreement. Thank you, Mr. Daniels."
With that, she winked, turned and walked out of the room. I couldn't help but watch her hips and ass sway back and forth with each step, heels clicking on the linoleum floor. Somehow, I knew that something bad had just happened, but I couldn't quite figure out what.
The first few weeks of school went by in a rush of activity as it always does. Everything seemed to be off to a relatively good start. Kids seemed to be happy enough to be back from summer break, and I felt like I was back in stride. The bell rang, and the kids were taking their seats for the last class of the day. It was time for "Math for Dummies" again. The kids were clearly a little nervous as they watched me pull a folder off of my desk, stuffed with papers. Yesterday, I had given them a quiz, and everyone knew I was about to hand them back.
As I walked around the room, returning papers, I observed the usual reactions from the kids -- surprised jubilation, total disappointment, complete indifference, and simple satisfaction. No one had done too poorly, but the class grades did have a pretty typical bell curve. A few high marks, a few low, and lots in the middle. One student always has to have the lowest grade in the class, and this time, it turned out to be the new student, Tish. I had added a small note on her quiz, asking her to see me after class.
The rest of the class was spent reviewing the quiz questions and fielding questions from the kids. At the end of class, the bell rang, and as usual, the kids disappeared quickly. Tish remained in her seat as she had all year, hands folded on top of her textbook, her eyes drilling holes in me.
"Tish, I don't want to keep you long, but you didn't do so well on the quiz," I started, "Did you feel prepared for that quiz?"
"Yes and no," she answered quite directly, "I listen to you in class, and it always seems to make sense when you talk about it, but I guess I just didn't remember it as well."
"OK. I have noticed that you don't really take a lot of notes?"
"I learn better when I listen. I also learn well when I do, but writing things down never seems to help. Maybe I'd do better on a quiz if I didn't have to write my answers? I always thought that I would do better with an oral test, but the teachers in my last school didn't allow that."
"Hmm...well, perhaps that's true. I'll have to think about that. In the meantime, I'm happy to spend extra time with you after class to answer questions and give you extra help."
She smiled the same smile she gave me when we first met, and I had a feeling somehow this was all part of some grand plan. Unfortunately, no one had clued me into what that plan was.
"That would be great. Thank you," she answered, "We can start today."
I was a bit surprised that she was so eager to begin, but as a teacher, I was not going to turn her away. She moved to the front of the classroom. Right from the start, she started asking me to do problems on the board. She continued to pepper me with questions for another hour. Throughout, her piercing gaze burned holes in me, and I found that I could not look directly at her face. Instead, I averted my gaze, looking down at her hands, neatly folded on her book. Near the end of it, I suddenly realized that her line of questions was not one of a struggling math student. In fact, I started feeling like I was the one being quizzed. I wiped my brow, noticing that I was actually working up a little sweat trying to keep up with the questions Tish tossed at me. By now, I had run out of room on the chalk board, and moved to a side chalkboard that stood behind my desk.
"Tish, I'm starting to wonder if that oral test isn't a bad idea? You seem to be on top this when we talk about it," I said.
"Just a few more questions, please," she replied. Her voice carried as a command more so than a request. As I turned to the board, and began to write down another example to illustrate her last question, I heard her heels clicking on the linoleum. As I finished writing, I turned back to find her sitting on my desk, right behind me. Her legs were crossed, and one black booted foot pointed at me.
"You don't mind if I sit here? It's easier to see." Again, a statement, and not really a question. With most any other student, I would have objected. Both to her tone of voice, and for having been so brazen as to sit on my desk. However, something about her confidence kept me a little off balance, and frankly, I was more than a little intrigued by her. She knew more math than she was showing me, and there was more to this than just a little extra help, and I wanted to know what it was. The fact that she was wearing another mini skirt that barely kept covered her when she was standing, let alone sitting cross-legged on my desk provided her a little leeway truth be told. I tried to tell myself to be more professional, but by now, at the end of a long day, being peppered with questions by a confident, young woman, I found I was liking the attention.
She cleared her throat.
Caught again. I was lost in my internal monologue, staring at the junction of where her leg disappeared beneath her skirt. The thought was just formulating in my mind that I could see too much leg, and that she was either wearing a thong or nothing at all beneath the skirt when I heard her. I felt myself flush, my face felt hot as I looked up knowing that she had caught me staring at her again.
"Ah, no...no I don't mind Tish. Where were we? Oh, yes, this equation," I started and turned back to the board and did my best to explain the problem. I finished the problem, and looked back to her. As I did, a pencil dropped off of my desk to the floor.
"Oops," Tish said, "pick that up for me, won't you?"
Her voice carried as a command, and without even thinking, I knelt down and reached for the pencil. As I was doing so, I had to duck my head to avoid her booted foot. Tish moved to allow me to get to the pencil, and in doing so, she uncrossed her legs. As I looked up to avoid her foot as I started to stand, I found myself staring up her skirt. She was indeed wearing underwear, black satin ones in fact. I tried not to stare, but my eyes were glued in place for a moment too long, staring at what was clearly a wet spot on her panties. I tried to look like I hadn't even noticed and looked up at her only to find her looking down at me with that same knowing smile she gave me on the first day of class when she caught me staring at her breasts.
"You know," she said in a pensive sort of way, "seeing you this way, I do feel more on top of things."
I was frozen, kneeling on one knee, one hand still holding the pencil just inches from where I had picked it up. She brushed her hair from her face, pushing it behind her ear, then slid her hand down her neck. My eyes followed her hand as it descended toward her breasts. She was wearing another corset-like top. It was partly covered by her black denim jacket, but as close to her as I was, I could see that it was boned and had embroidered patterns on the satiny fabric. Her hand paused at the corset's edge, fingers playing with the lace.
"What do you think? Do you like your position?" I heard her question, but my mind was unable to process it. "Mr. Daniels? Do you like you position? Do you like you job?"
"Oh,...sorry Tish...er...um I like teaching, yes." I managed, standing back up and placing the pencil back on the desk.
"Good. Very good. I will be sure to give you rave reviews when I graduate in my senior survey...We're done for today. See you tomorrow."
With that, she pushed herself off of the desk, and walked from the room, hips swaying with each step. Again, I watched her exit the room. Her last words repeated themselves in my mind. Was she threatening me? Did I like my job? The senior survey was an annual event for seniors to provide detailed feedback to the school board about the school and the teachers. I went home that night, and couldn't get my mind off of Tish.
She was an enigma to me. She didn't really belong in my class, except that her quiz grade insured that she would stay. Her striking good looks were accentuated by her confidence. She dressed "goth" but from what I observed, did not hang out with the goth crowd which at this school was disconnected from the typical mainstream jock/cheerleader popular crowd. Instead, I had seen her with the popular crowd as well as the band kids, the goth kids, the geeks, the chess club...she seemed to move freely among all the different "castes" that make up a high school social scene. But beyond all this, I couldn't get her out of my mind because I knew she was paying a lot of attention to me, and I was unable to stop thinking of her. It was a cycle that I couldn't seem to escape. Getting caught looking up her skirt, and seeing her wetness on her panties only made my imagination go wild. I told myself that not only was it inappropriate, but it was just plain wrong for me to even have the thoughts that I was having.
I tried watching TV to get my mind off of her, but found that after two hours of channel surfing, that I was not really able to focus even on the simple predictable plot lines of a sit-com. I went to bed, and as I closed my eyes, all I could see were Tish's panties.
"Do you like your position?" she asked. I looked up, and I was staring up her skirt, between her legs. Her black panties were spotted with wetness. Her hands rested on the edge of the desk, between her legs as she leaned down toward me. "Mr. Daniels? Do you like your position?" she asked again. I tried to speak, but nothing came out. One of her hands moved along the desk, toward her crotch. It slipped beneath her short skirt, and her finger along the edge of her panties. I watched as if in slow motion as her finger slipped beneath the edge of her panties, and pushed them aside exposing her pink lips. She was devoid of pubic hair. Her smooth lips parted slightly, wetness showing.
The bell rang, and kept ringing. Then all went black, and I realized that the sound was my alarm clock. I reached over and hit the snooze button. I opened my eyes, and found myself awake in bed. I had a vivid picture in my mind of Tish's pussy and her voice, "Do you like your position?" I also had a raging hard on. I closed my eyes, thought of my dream, and began to stroke myself. I thought about the dream and about the end of the extra help session the day before. Kneeling before her, seeing her panties excited me. Knowing that she knew I had seen her scared me. Her question clearly told me she knew I had looked up her skirt, even if by accident. At the same time, knowing she knew seemed to excite me too. Knowing that I shouldn't be thinking about a student let alone a girl a dozen years younger than me excited me. Finally, the fact that she didn't scream and run from me like I was a lecherous old pervert, and instead that she taunted me excited me even more. She hadn't closed her legs, and she hadn't seemed embarrassed. She was wet. Was she excited too? Had she dropped the pencil on purpose? She had told me to pick it up. My mind was racing with all these thoughts, and my hand was stroking my still rigid cock. I wondered what it would be like to lick her pussy. I began to fantasize that I had knelt before her sitting on my desk, wrapped my arms around her thin waist and pulled her panty covered pussy to my face. I could smell her arousal. She reached down, and pulled her panties aside, and I was reaching for her with my tongue. I could feel my balls tightening as I was about to cum.
My alarm clock blared again, the snooze alarm telling me it was another 10 minutes later. The sudden blaring sound was enough to jar me from my fantasy world. My real world thrust itself back into my consciousness, and I felt myself soften. Fate had denied me my orgasm, and I rolled out of bed, and made my way to the bathroom to get ready for another day of classes.
The school day flew by. Nothing out of the ordinary, just classes and kids. Kids were kids, and I had kept myself busy so that I didn't really have time to think about what had happened the day before until the last period of the day arrived. Today, unlike all the day's previous, Tish took a seat in the front row. While I didn't have assigned seats, kids tend to sit in the same place everyday. The boy who usually sat there walked to the seat, saw Tish, and was about to say something when Tish gave him a look. I couldn't see it, but it clearly delivered a message as the boy's shoulders slumped, his eyes dropped to the floor, and he quickly moved away to the back of the room like a scolded puppy dog.
Having her sitting up front, feeling her eyes locked on me, was disconcerting. Today she had on a black mesh top over a black bra. The top wasn't so revealing that it violating the school's dress code, but it was see-through enough that I could clearly make out the outline of her bra. Ankle high boots with steel stiletto heels, and fishnet stockings that disappeared beneath another tiny mini skirt. As I covered the new lesson, I tried to ignore her as best I could, but sitting dead center in the front row, it was hard to not see her. Near the end of class, as I looked around the room at the students, trying to gauge if they were still following me, my eyes fell upon her's. She winked at me, and ran her tongue along her lips.
I stumbled a bit in my lecture, and I tried to recover for the last 5 minutes of class. They were not my best five minutes as my brain tried to process what I saw, and what it meant. She was toying with me, and I knew it. She was gaining control, and I was helpless to stop her. When the class ended, she remained behind once again. I stood behind my lectern afraid that my cock might betray me.
"Tish...um...do you have questions about tonight's homework?"