Miss Bixley Lends a Hand

It was a skirt Miss Bixley had never worn before. She had not intended on ordering it. Either she had clicked the wrong one on the website or they had sent her the wrong one. She didn't send it back. She never sent things back that she mistakenly ordered or were mistakenly delivered. She felt that if it was her mistake she should suffer the consequences, and in the absence of knowing if it was her mistake she felt she should assume that it was her responsibility. Plus, perhaps someday she would in fact change her mind and find some use or value in the mistaken order, or at least give it to charity. Well, apparently a useful day had finally arrived for this skirt.

Miss Bixley's blouse was also rather provocative, as it was quite diaphanous. If it wasn't for her jacket a person would easily be able to see her brassiere through the very sheer material. Of course, the presence of the jacket did negate to a large extent the effect of the blouse. But, one could still see the top of the sheer blouse, with a bit of lacy trim, as the jacket was not fully buttoned to the neck. So, it would be quite evident to an observer that if the jacket was removed, or even just opened, Miss Bixley would be rather exposed. And, even if that didn't happen, she was indicating that beneath that conservative jacket was a woman who wore very sexy blouses, along with her very short skirt.

Henry knocked timidly when he arrived and Miss Bixley strode to the door to open it and greet him.

She was wearing heels that made little clicking clacking sounds as she strode across the hardwood floor of her office. She rarely wore heels, but she did this evening as she knew that they made her calves, her legs, and her bottom, more shapely.

Henry was instantly hit by the very pleasant albeit strong scent of Miss Bixley's perfume. "Um, Miss Bixley?" He was kind of overtaken by the intoxicating force of the scent. Fresh perfume in an enclosed office has nowhere to go. It was a very wonderful scent, really quite pleasing and delicious, but at the moment it was just so overwhelmingly powerful.

"Well, yes, yes, Henry, please, please, come in, have a seat," she instructed, as she took a seat on her couch and patted a spot next to her for him.

Henry noticed how Miss Bixley's skirt rose up rather high on her thighs when she sat down.

Miss Bixley noticed as well and quickly pulled on the hem to try to keep her thighs concealed. She cursed herself for not having practiced sitting down with the skirt, but it was also a matter of where she was sitting. The couch was rather deep. She had noticed many times how girls would find the couch rather discomforting when it came to short skirts. It was perhaps a lesson for them to learn, but she typically advised that they sit in the less comfortable but more befitting guest chair beside her desk.

Henry took a seat on the couch, albeit some distance away. Perhaps it was the late hour, the empty building, the perfume, the sheer blouse beneath her jacket, perhaps it was how the professor's skirt slid up her thighs as she sat down, but he felt a bit uncomfortable about this appointment. Miss Bixley was a rather pretty professor and he didn't want to seem forward or inappropriate. Everyone knew that Miss Bixley was a prim and proper woman, and he had no interest in giving her the wrong impression. Imagine having a professor accuse you of being suggestive, forward, or frankly trying to seduce her. That would not be good, not at all. Yet, frankly, he would have to be numb not to sense something in the air, in addition to Miss Bixley's perfume.

Miss Bixley was disappointed at how far away Henry was sitting. She thought the message she was conveying was quite clear. "Henry," she encouraged, again patting the empty spot next to her, "why sit so far away? How are we to get to know each other if you sit so far away?"

Henry wasn't aware that he was going to get to know Miss Bixley. "Oh, I'm fine, it's fine." Miss Bixley was certainly acting kind of strange. He thought he noticed colorfully flowered lace peeking out from where her jacket opened out a bit. He could feel his penis stirring in his slacks. That was itself a good reason to keep some distance between them. He even hugged the arm of the couch.

Miss Bixley sighed. She wondered if perhaps this wasn't such a good idea after all, or at least not an idea that was reasonable or likely. Perhaps though the boy was just a bit shy? Certainly if she was in his shoes she would be rather intimidated. "How long had you and Sally been dating?"

"About half a year," Henry replied.

Miss Bixley wondered if that was a long time or a short time, at least from his perspective. It would be a long time for her. She never dated for very long. "Goodness, it must be difficult then, to have it end."

"Yes, Miss Bixley," he softly replied. He was beginning to wonder how this session was going to be especially productive, or even helpful, as Miss Bixley had suggested. She hadn't even brought up the subject of romance literature.

"How long has it been, um, since it, well...it ended?"

"Three weeks."

"Goodness, that long?"

"Yea." 'Is she trying to be a counselor or something?' he wondered. If so, she wasn't doing an especially good job.

"Three weeks without a girl, that must be difficult. Do you still think about her a lot?"

"Yea, actually, I do."

"And that's what made it difficult for you to study for the test?"

"Yes, ma'am. I am sorry about that. I'll do better on the next one, I promise."

"Do you think about her a lot...well, you know." She said much more softly. "In that way?"

Henry's eyes widened. In that way? What did she mean by that? In what way?

"Were you two, well...intimate?"

Whoa! Now he understood. Miss Bixley was asking about their sex life? How is that any of her business? Frankly, he had never told anyone about their sex life, not even his best friends, and he certainly wasn't going to tell a professor, even one as pretty as Miss Bixley. But, still, she had said that if he attended this session she would wave off the C grade. Frankly, he would probably tell her his masturbation fantasies if she would wave off that grade. But, as soon as he thought that he realized that perhaps he really shouldn't tell her about that. Hopefully she wouldn't go that far. "Yea, we were," he replied, averting his eyes as he did so.

"It's always more difficult to break-up after you've been intimate," she said. Frankly, she had no idea if that was really true, but it sounded like it might be.

"Yea, yea, I guess it is."

"Do you wish you were still intimate, with her?"

"Well, yea, sure, I guess."

"You know, if you were intimate with someone else, it would help you forget, help you not to miss her so much."

His friends had suggested that he go out clubbing but that wasn't easy for him. He was too young to go to a bar and, besides, it just wasn't in his nature to do stuff like that. Frankly, he seriously doubted that he would be successful anyway. "Yea, I guess it would," he acknowledged, without much enthusiasm.

This wasn't going so well. Miss Bixley had hoped by this time he would be asking to have sex with her, just like Ralph had done. She had never been the aggressor within a relationship. She had never been the one to try to initiate a sexual encounter. It was a lot more difficult than she had anticipated.

She got up from the couch, holding down the hem of her skirt as she did so, but then realizing that doing so was precisely the wrong thing to do if she wanted to entice the boy into making an advice upon her. "Yes," she said, as she strolled across the hardwood floor to her desk, her heels clicking and clacking along the floor, her fingers unbuttoning her jacket as she did so. "I know it was very difficult for me, when I broke up with, um...Jack." There was not in fact any Jack in her past. "It was at times so, well, frustrating." With her back to the young man she pulled off her jacket and carefully laid it across the back of her desk chair.

Henry could understand why Miss Bixley would want to remove her jacket. It did seem rather warm in her office. But, he also noticed that he could now very plainly see the straps of Miss Bixley's brassiere through her blouse. He wondered if she knew that they were so clearly evident. His dick swelled. He figured the front of her blouse must be different. He had noticed blouses like that before, where they were sheer in some locations but not in the most important locations. He hoped this session would end soon. He was really beginning to feel quite uncomfortable.

Miss Bixley took a deep breath and turned around to face the boy. "I know that boys have feelings, Henry, that just, well...are difficult to go unsatisfied."

Henry's eyes almost doubled in size. The front of the blouse was just like the back, although very different in that in the front he could now very plainly see the cups of Miss Bixley's brassiere. And, it wasn't like she was wearing some old plain white boring brassiere. It was white, but it was all decorated with little colorful flowers with the top half of each cup just lace. And, if that was not enough, it was a push-up, plunging brassiere. Her breasts were standing up like dessert cakes at a bakery. Sally had never worn any brassiere as attractive as Miss Bixley's, although he really shouldn't hold that against her. Miss Bixley obviously could afford much finer niceties than Sally. Henry crossed his legs to hide a now very obvious reaction to Miss Bixley's state of apparent undress, and he then realized that he was no longer paying attention to or even listening to what she was saying.

"Well, has it been difficult for you?" Miss Bixley asked.

Not actually realizing she was talking about sex, he said, "Yes, really very difficult." He thought she was again talking about just missing Sally.

She smiled sweetly at him. "Yes, I imagine it has."

He couldn't really understand why missing Sally would warrant her smiling at him. He vowed to pay closer attention to what she saying rather than what she was wearing, or wasn't wearing, but it was really very, very difficult to take his eyes off those breasts. No professor had ever looked more attractive. Of course, no professor had ever let him feast his eyes on her brassiere before.

"I think I know of a book that might help."

A book? Well, yeah, maybe she has some sort of self-help book for relationship break-ups. Henry took a deep breath. He was reminded of when his mother gave him a book on the birds and the bees. That hadn't been very helpful. This is one weird counseling session. But, his mother hadn't been dressed so revealingly. He could suffer pointless advice and vague platitudes if they were dressed in such an alluring manner.

Miss Bixley turned away from Henry, took another deep breath herself, and bent over, keeping her legs as straight as possible, bending over as far as possible.

Miss Bixley had pretty nice legs, and an even better bottom. At least she felt that way, although she had no confirmation of that by of any the few men she had dated. Her best feature was really her face, which was undeniably cute, but apparently that had not done the trick with this boy.

This she had never done before. She would never be this provocative, this wanton, with a man, but she felt so much more comfortable doing so with a student, a young man. She was the one in control. She knew that Henry would not suddenly attack her, force himself upon her, or at least try to place her in a position in a way that she would find objectionable. She just wanted him to get the message. She presented her bottom to the young man like a doe would to a buck.

Henry's eyes lit up like a deer caught in the headlights. He gawked at the pointed heels, the sharp ankles, the lovely curved calves and soft white thighs of Miss Bixley, the muscles tightening as she bent over. And then the display, the presentation, dramatically improved as her already short skirt rose up her thighs, revealing to his ogling eyes the tops of her nylons, garter belts, and then a matching set of tight, white bikini panties, again all covered in colorful little flowers, trimmed with lace and, most importantly, the little flowery cup that was Miss Bixley's cunnie. Henry uncrossed his legs, reached into his lap and adjusted his cock. He wondered how he was going to possibly hide his erection. He rested his books in his lap.

"I can't seem to find it," Miss Bixley said as she searched around for something on the bottom shelf.

As she did so her dress rose up even higher, revealing much of her bottom, which was now so fully rounded by her posture, her pose. It looked like a valentine heart, and a very colorful and sexy one at that. Henry didn't understand what was happening here. Shouldn't this teacher know how much of her panties, her bottom, she was revealing to him? Should he tell her? Shouldn't he respectfully look away? But, he couldn't. Well, he could, but he certainly wouldn't. The one thing he did know for certain was that he would be jerking off tonight to the fantasy of someone other than Sally. That would be a nice change.

Miss Bixley, keeping her legs reasonably straight, her pretty round pantied bottom up, exposed, and presented, she turned her head back, looked at Henry and asked, "Is everything okay, Henry?"

Henry tore his eyes away from Miss Bixley's bottom, not only to respect her privacy, her modesty, but also to avoid being caught in such an indiscrete violation of her propriety. He forced his eyes to look directly at hers, at her face smiling so innocently back at him. Miss Bixley had a face that always looked so modest and sweet, even when she is showing you her panties, bottom, thighs, garter, and pussy. "Yes, Miss Bixley," he replied, "Everything is fine," although it was all so terribly, terribly far from fine.

She asked, inquisitively raising her eyebrows and biting demurely on the tip of her index finger, "Is there anything you might want?" She shifted a hip, making it quite difficult for Henry to ignore that brightly colored and delectably presented derriere.

Yes, there was something indeed he would like from her. He would like her to reach back and pull down her panties. But, clearly that was something one should not ask of a teacher, and especially not the sweet and modest Miss Bixley. "Um, no, no, Miss Bixley." He began to wonder if he was just dreaming, if he should pinch himself to wake up, but if it was a dream he most certainly did not want to wake up.

Henry was having a very hard time believing that Miss Bixley didn't appreciate how much of her thighs, bottom, and cunnie she was showing to him. She always came across as such a guileless and wholesome teacher that one really couldn't imagine her ever doing such a thing, at least not on purpose. Perhaps Miss Harding would do something like this, but even that was hard to imagine, at least for Henry, and impossible to imagine from Miss Bixley, which made his dick strain even harder within his pants.

Miss Bixley really had a hard time believing that Henry wasn't noticing how much her thighs and bottom she was showing to him. She couldn't really see for sure how much she was showing, but she could feel that her skirt had risen up pretty high. He must be seeing quite a bit. Why doesn't he react? Why doesn't he try something?

Well, perhaps she should better appreciate that he is a young man, and that she is his mentor, his teacher. Not all boys can be expected to be as assertive with women as Ralph. She would have to be a bit more forward herself.

She reached back with her hands, as if she was going to grasp hold of her panties to pull them down. But, instead, she simply grasped her bottom cheeks, and looked back at Henry with a shocked and dismayed expression. "Oh my goodness, Henry, my skirt has come up, hasn't it!"

Henry quickly replied, "What? Has it? No, no, I don't think so." Isn't that what you should tell a teacher who accidently exposes a thigh, a panty, or breast? You should deny that you actually noticed anything. Pretend like nothing had happened. Of course, that's rather difficult when she isn't even doing anything to correct the exposure, and is even calling attention to her indelicate presentation by grasping her bottom with her hands.

"Are you sure, Henry? I've never worn this skirt to work before." A statement that was quite true. "I'm afraid it might be too short. Am I exposing too much when I bend over like this?" She withdrew her hands and wiggled her bottom back and forth, so that he would know precisely where, or what, she wanted him to evaluate.

"Um, well." Could he really pretend that he doesn't see anything? Goodness, if he isn't honest about it she is liable to bend over in front of a class and then how embarrassing would that be! Of course, though, rather entertaining for the students. But, still, this was Miss Bixley, and Henry would never want her to be so embarrassed and humiliated. "Maybe just a little, Miss Bixley."

"Oh my goodness!" she exclaimed, turning her face away from him and covering it with her hands, yet still not covering that which was apparently so immodestly exposed. "This is so embarrassing!"

"It's okay, Miss Bixley. It's not so bad." Actually, it was real, real good, depending upon your perspective.

"What exactly can you see, Henry? Please, tell me, I need to know." She was getting a little tired remaining so far bent over, and so she did rest her hands on her knees, but she didn't diminish the provocative nature of the pose, as she in fact thrust her bottom out a bit, causing the skirt to slip up even higher.

Henry felt that if she didn't want to embarrass herself she really shouldn't stick her butt out like that, but he wasn't about to tell her that. And, frankly, he didn't really want to tell her all that he could see. "Um, well..." He decided it was best to be as honest about it as he could be. "Actually, Miss Bixley, I can see, um...quite a bit." By saying that she would most certainly stand up, pull her skirt back down, and not ask him to discuss it further. Of course, he really didn't want her to pull her skirt down, but he also didn't want to have to tell her what he could see.

"Can you see the top of my nylons?"

'Geeez,' Henry thought, 'she seems to be a glutton for humiliation.' "Yes, ma'am," he softly acknowledged. With her hands covering her eyes he was now again free to reach into his lap, and he squeezed the shaft and plum of his cock through his slacks.

"Oh my goodness, that's so shameful. Can you see my garter belt?"

"Yes, Miss Bixley," he replied, his voice a bit breathy, his hand playing with his cock.

"Goodness, gracious. And, not my panties. My panties too?"

If she kept this up, or at least if he kept playing with his cock as he ogled Miss Bixley's panties, bottom, and cunnie, while she kept talking about it, he would surely cum in his pants, and there didn't appear to be any way he could explain that away. "Yes, Miss Bixley, and your, your..." He added very quietly, "panties."

"Oh my gracious," she said, removing her hands from her face to reach back and feel around on her bottom, all the while describing the location of her fingers as they explored how much was being exposed. "Oh yes, yes, goodness, you can see my bottom cheeks here, and my flowered panties there, and goodness even up along the crack of my bottom as far up as.... here." Her fingers were going up and down the crack of her bottom. "And even down here," she said, her fingers sliding back down and resting on and lightly caressing, her cunnie pouch, turning her head back to look Henry in the eyes as his eyes were glued to the sight of Miss Bixley caressing her own cunny. "You can even see my womanly feminine mound, can't you Henry."

Henry's eyes were glued, transfixed by the sight of Miss Bixley openly caressing her cunt through her panties. She was playing with herself as he was playing with himself, and then he realized that she could now easily see him doing that, looking straight back at him. "Uh, yeah," he gasped, quickly withdrawing his fingers, crossing his legs and squeezing them as tight as he could, as if somehow that hid what was already seen, and noticed.