|An Educational Experience
A Sheryl Kuntz story
by Jaime Anderson ©
My first major crush was on a junior high school teacher of mine. Mr. MacPherson. We used to call him "Mr. Mac." He was hot all right-most of the girls in my classes had a crush on him.
He had thick, blond hair and a slightly brooding air. A tall, muscled man-he taught Math, English and Phys Ed. He must have just graduated from the teaching program, because he looked like he was barely out of high school himself at the time. I remember, girls would sign up for Phys Ed., hoping that they would get into his class. As for me, I wasn't much for athletics, being your classic nerd girl. I entered a speech contest because he was the coach and felt the kind of palpable, teenage beating of the heart at our one-on-one coaching sessions. And he liked me-I knew that. But still, things remained platonic between us. I knew, at the time, that he couldn't possibly be attracted to a geek girl like me: plump and awkward, complete with glasses, braces and occasional acne breakouts. I kept my fantasies to myself and basked in the glow his attention ignited in me.
After I graduated, I still dreamed about him sometimes. I'd think of his sun-bronzed perfection and fantasize about meeting him again, just by chance.
Still, life went on, so I eventually set aside such considerations. I was what you would call a late bloomer. After high school, I began eating more nutritiously. I also discovered Yoga, and I now practiced regularly-the result being that I would get wonderful de-stressing sessions combined with flexibility and toning effects that meant I had gone from flab to fit in the years since I began practicing. Replace glasses with contacts, imagine the tight pants and skirts that go with an improved self-image and you've pretty much got me.
I also discovered a rather fun thing: my inner lips are exceptionally long, and if I don't wear underwear, then whenever I cross my legs (say, sitting down, or standing against a wall), I can masturbate simply by moving my thighs slightly against them. As the movement stimulates my clit, it makes a gradual emergence as well. Usually, a climax demands more dexterous manipulation-i.e. fingers in key areas-but the gentle rubbing never fails to stimulate me pleasantly. So, I rarely bother with underwear. And even though I have rounded breasts (firm, high Bs), I can never stand the restriction of a bra, so I usually hang loose above and below.
Not your average computer programmer, but I had certainly had my share of fun with the computer geeks (a purely affectionate term, I assure you) I worked with. They had come to regard me as a sexual goddess-and I basked in it. Some of those guys weren't half bad, but that didn't even matter. See, I have this thing about smart guys. A guy starts talking about rocket science, or Baudrillard's theories and I start getting hotter and hotter.
One day, my boss (he calls out my name at the point of ejaculation when we have sex. I love that-it really adds a personal touch to the whole experience) rushed out of his office, looking desperate.
I was sitting at my desk, legs demurely crossed, contemplating the GUI for the latest release of one of our more popular products. Aside: that is my particular specialty-kickass GUIs. And before you dismiss that as a "chick thing", think of it this way: I love all things touchy-feely. Hey, I like interfacing with users-so sue me! Just remember, if you happen to see a GUI sporting radio buttons that, when selected, look a little like hard nipples, then just think of Sheryl Kuntz, laboring away in her cube, legs crossed and smirking slightly as she taps the keyboard.
But any-ee-way... Jim, my boss, burst out of his office (visible out of the corner of my eye) and asked me if I wanted to pep talk high school kids about computer programming-tomorrow. Ted, our PR-friendly programmer who usually does this sort of thing, had gotten a sore throat and couldn't go. I said: "Sure." Education is a good thing and we need more programmers with the industry growing like it is.
So, I went. Of course, having had a very active preceding night with the head network support guy, I wasn't exactly factoring in the whole "adolescent hormones" thing when I got dressed. So, I wore my usual: short, tight skirt that rides up to just barely graze the bottom of my bumcheeks when I bend over-and of course, no underwear. On top, I had on a fitted shirt that caressed my breasts into a pair of honeydews (yum!). Bending over therefore presented a double whammy: from the front, people got major cleavage display, while at the back, another pair of curves peeked shyly out from under my skirt, with the promise of much more just out of sight. I figure: I've got the body for it; why not show it off?
Of course, as I say, I belatedly discovered that a high school isn't the best place for such a getup, though the glances from the various students made me realize how much I had changed since I had been in school. 'Really,' I reflected as I thought about it seriously, 'given the style change, the weight loss, the contacts and stuff, if my mother hadn't been in touch with me all this time, she wouldn't recognize me."
At the office, they gave me a printed schedule, with Ted's name on it. Jim had already called and explained, but they hadn't had time to print out a new copy. The sheet had the basic info I needed. Example entry:
8:45 a.m. Rm 305, Math 9.
'Good enough,' I thought. After assuring them it was fine, I walked to the first classroom where I would be presenting my spiel. I noticed the teacher glaring at me.
"I'm Mrs. Puente," she said, her tone stern as she looked me up and down.
'Up yours, Mrs. Puente,' I thought. Aloud, I simply said: "Please to meet you." The soul of discretion.
It went very badly. I doubt any of the kids heard what I was talking about-the guys were too busy staring at my cleavage and butt, while the girls were too busy being pissed off because the guys were staring.
And so the morning went. After a quick lunch, I searched for the classroom where I'd have my next presentation. I found it well before the break was over, and entered, ready to just settle down and wait.
He looked up from the desk where he had been doing some sort of teacherly work and just stared. His mouth dropped open. I was speechless too, for a few moments-after all, here he was. Mr. Mac, staring at me with the kind of lust I had only dreamed of in my high school days. He hadn't aged at all-still the healthy, golden physique, still the curling blond hair and chiseled features. Though, truth be told, while the packaging was nice, it was really his immense intellect, and the sarcastic, tender personality that I remembered that got me wetting myself without peeing. I suspect it was he who got me onto this whole smart guy kick in the first place.
"Uhhh, hi," he finally managed.
"Hi! I'm the programmer, here to do the talk."
"Oh, hi," he repeated, getting up from his desk and licking his lips nervously as he walked towards me. His eyes kept lingering on my cleavage. "Uh, sorry... They, uh, told me to expect a Ted something, so I assumed..." he trailed off, still trying to ogle me discreetly.
"That it would be a guy? Actually, you were right. I was a last minute replacement because Ted came down with a sore throat." God, he looked good. Better, even, than I remembered. Now that he was closer, I saw a few more lines, but his face and body had grown more defined over the years. I also noticed that he didn't sport any rings. Good, because I wanted to lick the line of his jaw, and I doubted any wife he might have would approve.
Instead, I grinned at him. With all due modesty, my smile has been called lethal in some circles. After the braces came out, my teeth had been transformed from gnarled to naughty. Somehow, their shade of white also contrasted perfectly with the slightly tanned tone of my skin, my dark eyes and long, black hair. You can rest assured I gave my orthodontist a very pretty thank you when I saw the results.
Mr. Mac also seemed impressed with Dr. Cal's work. He looked suitably dazed. "Did you want to sit down?"
"Sure," I began, then accidentally allowed the sheet with my day's schedule printed on it to slip out of my grip as I walked towards him. It fluttered to the ground behind me. Before he could do anything noble, like bending over and picking it up for me, I exclaimed "Oops!" while swiftly turning. I bent down with my legs almost straight and my torso folded over-a variation of one of my yoga moves, with the added bonus that, under ideal circumstances (like these ones), this put a high quota of my butt on display. By the time I had straightened and turned to face him once again, he looked like he had broken out in a bit of a sweat. His eyes were slightly glazed and his lips-gorgeous, firm lips-were parted slightly, as though he were having a little trouble breathing.
I smiled innocently and said: "Wouldn't want to lose my schedule!" Then, I shrugged. With the kind of shirt I was wearing, a shrug has dramatic consequences. Two honeydews pushing together under fabric. Peach curve cleavage momentarily exaggerated on lightly tanned skin.
"No, wouldn't want to lose that," he agreed, clearly diverted by other thoughts.
"How about you show me around the classroom?" I gestured and walked a little away from him, swinging my hips a little.
"Sure, though there's not much to show," I felt his eyes on me as he spoke. This was better than any of my fantasies. He wanted me so badly. I stared at him, loving it. I basked in his hot stare, though what I really wanted was to be basted by his hot tongue. My own temperature had been slowly rising during our conversation.
Running my tongue over my upper lip, I leveled him an intense glare. "Why don't we start with that little nook over there?" I pointed at the one corner of the classroom that would be impossible for anyone looking through the windows in the doors to see. His eyes widened. Before he could respond, though, I added: "Better lock the classroom door first. Don't want anyone interrupting this tour-I always get annoyed when a 'tour' gets interrupted. It's just so frustrating."
As he went to lock the door, I walked over to the nook and leaned against the wall, legs crossed. I began gently massaging myself with my thighs.
When I heard him approach, I got an idea: leaning my upper body forward to look at a low bookshelf, I splayed my legs widely apart. As I bent further and further over to examine the lower shelves, he could see more and more of me. By the time I was able to see the bottom shelf, my vulva was playing peekaboo under my skirt as he came up behind me.
"You are... incredible," he murmured.
I glanced up between my parted legs and saw that his stare was fixed on the curve of my butt, one hand partially reaching out to touch it. It was just close enough to reach, so I grabbed his wrist and pulled it in so that he was touching my clit. His eyes shuddered closed. I didn't see how long they were closed because my own eyelids were pressed tightly shut as I felt the golden, glowing surge of liquids and heat at the moment of his touch. I let out a low, involuntary grunt and slowly straightened, one hand keeping his between my legs.
I heard the rasp of a zipper and opened my eyes to see him unfastening his pants while his other hand stirred my clitoris expertly.
Then, his penis was out. We were standing close. He hiked up my skirt so that it rode around my stomach. Pushed me up so that I was propped against the top tier of the bookshelf, which was a little above waist level for me. Just the right angle for him. Slowly, he eased himself into me and began thrusting.
That was when the power balance shifted. I had been the one in control until that moment-calling the shots, titillating him with my various techniques. But now, with each inward push, I felt as though he were penetrating deeper and deeper into my being. He ruled me and I submitted. His hands left a blazing trail of sensual fire as he ran his adept fingers up the length of my arms and stroked my neck. His mouth created hot, damp circles as he lightly grazed my collarbone with his teeth. I didn't even know what kind of sounds I was making. Didn't care. I get like that after a certain stage, but I hadn't reached that point in a very long time. In the moments before his hot semen jetted into me, his hand covered my mouth, and that was the only reason I realized that I was yelling, my hands locked in his hair and my legs wrapped tightly around his body.
Then, as I spiraled down from purest bliss, I saw a slow return to sanity in his expression as well. Slowly, he pulled out. I yanked down my skirt. He brought me some tissues from the box on his desk. As I wiped between my legs, he spoke:
"So do I know you from somewhere?"
I looked up immediately. His blue, blue gaze had been following my movements as I wiped the thick liquids between my legs.
"I mean, were you one of my..." He trailed off, flushing as he realized what that would mean.
"Why do you ask?"
He shrugged, creating a rather interesting ripple effect of his own, through the fabric of the polo shirt he was wearing. Just as I remembered. Devastating. "Because, just before you climaxed, you shouted out: 'Oh, Mr. Mac!' That's what the kids used to call me back when I first started teaching." He tilted his head, staring at me intently. "But, I'm sure I would have remembered you."
"Maybe you do," I said smiling. "My name is Sheryl. Sheryl Kuntz."
His eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. "Sheryl? I'm sorry, honey, I would never have recognized you. Ever."
"Well, I've changed a lot."
He nodded, his gaze travelling over my body with a renewed appreciation. "I guess you have. You know, I'd often wondered what became of you. You were so awkward and shy. Your brought out a kind of protective instinct in me, you know. I kept wanting to call you 'sweetie' and 'honey' but had to stop myself. You're so beautiful and confident now-I'm glad." He smiled at me with warm approval, and I hoped his dentist had also been duly thanked for that flash of white.
Just then, the bell rang, signifying the end of lunch break. The students would have another five minutes to get their books and get to their classes before the second bell rang. He shook his head, blinking, then began finger combing his hair into order. We hurriedly examined each other to ensure that all signs of our encounter were concealed. Then, he went and unlocked the door.
Once the kids had settled into their seats, Mr. Mac introduced me: "This is Ms Kuntz. She's actually an ex student of mine who's done very well. She's now a successful programmer."
As I spoke to the students, I realized that we hadn't actually concealed all the evidence: at the back of the room, the books on the top shelf of the bookcase had been knocked askew by our exertions and we hadn't thought to fix them. I felt myself getting hot all over again, as my mind inevitably began reflecting on the things we had done in order to make such a mess of the books.
After the class was over, Mr. Mac came over to me. As the kids were filing out of the class, chatting loudly, he murmured: "I know it's kind of late to ask, but are you involved with anyone right now?"
"Not seriously. You?" He shook his head. I gave him the flirtatious version of my grin. "Why, Mr. Mac-are you interested?"
He nodded. "Very. By the way, my name is Brian."
My grin widened, and I glanced around to see that all the kids had left. None of the students for the next class had arrived yet. "Hmmmmm, I think for now, I might just call you Mr. Big Mac instead. I've always been fond of Big Macs, you know."
"Well, I have a spare right now. For lesson planning."
That's why there were no kids coming in. "Lesson planning, eh?" Then, I remembered the reason why I was at the school in the first place and grimaced regretfully. "Unfortunately, I don't - I have to go do another talk. But we can meet afterwards."
I glanced down at his crotch, where I could see he had already started to harden again. "I've a hankering for the taste of a juicy Big Mac, if you know what I mean."
I squeezed his crotch briefly and watched as he closed his eyes a moment. Then, turning to leave the room, I paused and winked over my shoulder. "See you later, Brian!"
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