The After School Special

Three time Parish Teacher of the Year. Twice mentioned in Who's Who of Southeast Region Teacher Almanac. My students outperform 95% of their peers on standardized tests.

Phi Kappa Phi. Deans list. Fellows scholarship.

Valedictorian of St. Perpetua Academy for Girls, Class of 2004.

My resume speaks for itself. I'll admit it. I'm a pretty good teacher. Ok, a really good teacher.

But why am I bragging, you ask?

I guess I do it as an affirmation, trying to weigh down some of the guilt I have. See, I have a secret.

A dirty little secret. A dirty, wonderful little secret.

And I have to tell someone about it, like King Midas' barber, who had the terrible secret that he whispered into a hole. Remember that story? The children love that story, especially the part about the king having donkey ears.

So thank you, dear reader. Thank you for coming to my classroom today so I can confess this to you. I apologize for the mess. By the end of the day, the children leave this place in shambles. Just promise me you won't repeat any of this, okay?

Sit in that desk on the front row and I'll tell you about it. I know its a small desk. After all, I do teach fourth graders. But I just need to tell someone this.

Behind me? This? Oh, thats our Art Awareness bulletin board. The right side changes every week. This week it's Winslow Homer, "Snapping the Whip." The left side is "The Girl with the Pearl Earring." That's right, everyone says that. The children always say, Miss Smith*, is that you? I guess there is a lot of similarity, but my hair is frizzier, you know, more wiry. That's why I tend to wear it pulled back in a ponytail like this. I think one reason the children like me so much is that I'm so petite, not quite five feet tall, and just barely a hundred pounds. They must think that on some level, that I'm one of them.

Wonder why there's construction paper over the glass of the classroom door? It's not because it's Nutrition Week, even though its decorated that way, or to help focus my students attention away from distractions in the hall. Its for privacy. My privacy.

See, there's something I like to do at the end of a stressful day. Something I really, really like to do.

At the end of the day, as soon as the last of the school buses disengages its air brake and rumbles off, and the halls are quiet except for the rattle of Mr. Preston's mop bucket, I...and this is hard to say out loud...I play with myself.

Whoo. There, I said it. I play with myself. Right here at my desk. Not every once in a while, not just somedays. Every. Day. Right here. I lock the door and come right back to this chair.

It usually takes me a few minutes to unwind, you know, relax. I might read a few pages from a trashy novel, or fantasize about a past boyfriend. I'm pretty focused during the day, so sometimes it takes a while to get there.

In fact, I try to imagine scenes so vivid that by the time I finally touch myself, my nipples are already really hard and I'm sopping wet down there.

What kind of things do I like to think about?

Promise not to tell?

Well, sometimes I think about the time I walked in on my husband while he was on the living room floor watching the game. I was just in from shopping. I put down my bags and said 'Hi, I'm home.' But he was so engrossed in the game that he ignored me.

So I fixed that. I was wearing a skirt, so I pulled off my panties and straddled his chest. For a split second he griped about not being able to see the game until he realized my pussy was right in front of his face. And it was his favorite. Smooth, bare pussy.

There's a cycle that I go through with my pubic hair. First, full, curly blonde bush. A couple of weeks of that. Then, trimmed triangle with shaved lips for two weeks or so. Next, wide rectangle landing strip, then narrow, then completely bare. Then five o'clock shadow and back to full. Kind of like the phases of the moon. We're studying that this week.

Anyway, he reached under my skirt and palmed my ass and touched his tongue to my pussy. I love riding his face, pushing into him. You wouldn't know it from this little voice of mine, but I like to be in control. He licked me until I came hard on his tongue.

Mmmm. Sorry, I drifted off a minute there. Where was I? What else do I think about?

Sometimes it's pure fantasy. You know, stuff I would never actually do, but it's a lot of fun to think about. Like I tell my students, "Use your imaginations!"

My favorite fantasies involve being with women. Oh, no, I would never act on it. At least, I don't think I would. But you never know. My husband is out of town a lot.

Anyway, we have this housekeeper, really just a little younger than I am. She's a college student and likes the flexible hours. And I hate, simply hate, housework. She looks alot like that actress from the eighties with the red hair, you know. Oh, what's her name? That's it, Molly Ringwald. She looks like her.

So my fantasy? Well, I leave her one day and she's vacuuming the house. I forget something and I come back and she's watching a sextape my husband and I made. By the way, we really did make one, in fact, several. He likes to bring them along when he travels.

So she's watching it, and she's got her khaki skirt up and her fingers are rubbing herself through the cotton of her panties. Sometimes I imagine her pulling her panties to the side and putting a finger inside herself. Finally, she just slips them off completely and pulls up her top, so she can stroke her bright pink nipples, too. I imagine she has dark red, trimmed bush. She doesn't see me, so I can keep watching her.

The tape she's watching is one where I'm riding my husband's cock, and he pulls out and cums on my ass, and then puts it in me for the last few spurts, and I cum right after him. There really is such a tape, it's our best. He'd been out of town and had a lot of cum saved up. My little backside was coated, and the camera caught it all.

So, her eyes are fixed on the tape and and at that point, I can tell she's about to cum. That's when I step out from hiding and tell her that those tapes are private. How dare she?

Well, she tries to cover herself, and she cries and pleads for her job. I tell her I'll think about it, but there's something she has to do for me. I like that aspect of it, the control. You wouldn't think that from such a diminuitive person, would you? I love to be in control. Did I say that already?

I slip the short knit sweater dress I'm wearing over my head, and take off my bra and panties. She keeps pleading with me not to fire her, she really needs this job. My pubic hair in the fantasy usually matches how I'm currently wearing it when I'm having the fantasy, but my favorite is narrow landing strip. I like to think about tickling her nose with my hair.

I straddle her and my pussy is right over her face, close enough for her to smell my aroma. She looks up at me like she's saying, are you sure there's no other way? and then she points her tongue and touches my pussy lightly.

Sometimes that's when I cum. There've been times when I cum two and even three times with this fantasy. She slowly gets into it and her face is shining from my juice, and finally I cum, scooping her head up into me.

Then do I go down on her? No, that doesn't excite me. Usually, if I've gotten that far, in the fantasy without coming, I mean, I allow her to make herself cum. Sometimes I tell her I'm going to video it and show my husband. Let's see, what else. In this drawer here I have...let's see...right here. This hand mirror. I like to put it at the edge of my chair so I can get a good look at myself when I cum. I like to see my pussy lips get so wet and swollen that they get dark. And I like the way my pussy winks when I cum.

Oh, I have to be careful of our janitor, Mr.Preston. Sometimes he'll rattle the lock on the door and say, are you alright in there? Once he did it right when I was in mid-orgasm. I couldn't answer right away, for obvious reasons. He has a set of master keys, and opened the door right as I pulled my hands out from under my skirt and my sweater.

So now I have a 'Do not disturb, teacher working' sign for the door. Teacher working, alright. On herself.

He and I and Mrs. Cook, the principal, are the only ones here this late. The other teachers leave right after the kids leave. I've got the reputation of working hard. If they only knew.

Okay, so what else do I think about?

Oh, I know. I like to be watched, or rather, I like to think about being watched. I don't think I would really do it, but I do like to think about it. So who do I imagine is watching me?

My favorite setting is right here in this room, on Open House night for the PTA. You know, the night when the kids stay home and the parents come to meet the teachers.

I like to think that I'm up here in front of the class, and the parents are sitting in the desks like you are now. I'm wearing a short skirt, heels, a blouse unbuttoned just low enough in the front to show a hint of a black lace bra. My blonde hair's up in a clip in back. The parents can't see my black garter and panties. Yet.

They take their places and I start telling them about the grading scale, class rules, that stuff. I purposefully drop a pen and squat down to get it so the parents on the front row, men and women, can see my black lace panties.

I like to imagine the looks on their faces. I wink at one of the men. I think about them stirring in the tiny desks, trying to get their cocks unbound, while at the same time trying to hide them.

Next, I go to the filing cabinet. That one over there in front of the room. I need to get something out of the bottom drawer to show them, so I bend way over. Now they can tell that they're not only black lace panties, but black lace thong panties. I know because I can feel the cool air on my cheeks. I turn around suddenly to catch most of the men, and a couple of the women, move their hands away from their crotches.

I sit on the front of my desk and let my legs open. All the while, I'm talking about progress reports, field trips and so forth. I put my foot up on the edge of the desk and now everyone can see my black lace covered sex, and see it very clearly. The lace is very sheer. I continue reading from the sheet of paper that I've retrieved from the file cabinet, but my other hand starts working myself through my panties, while everyone watches.

A lot of the time that's the part of the fantasy where I cum, but sometimes I imagine the dads taking out their cocks and stroking them, and the moms, putting their hands in their panties, rubbing themselves. I like to imagine the sounds of all of them coming, the little white spurts landing on their shirts as they slouch back with their eyes on me. When I cum here, after school, I always imagine their eyes on me, and their hands on themselves.

Anyway, those are some of the things I think about. And while I think about those things, I put my hands up my blouse and unhook my bra like this. Front hook today, a lot easier. Then I slip my arms out like this, and then...it's off and I slip it out from under my blouse and put it in my purse. The panties are easy. Just reach up my skirt, thumbs in the waistband, a lift of the hips, past the knees and ankles, and then in the purse with the bra.

You like the red lace? Me too. I have a penchant for pretty underwear. I have all kinds. It's a thrill for me to have it on, especially when I have on something conservative like a sweater twinset, or something else that's very schoolteacher-ish. Generally, the more prim and proper the outside, the more racy the inside.

So once my bra and panties are off, I can enjoy the feel of my bare nipples and pussy against my clothes. Someimes I flip up my top and watch my fingers stroke my nipples. I like my little breasts. What they lack in size they make up for in shape, especially the pert little upturned nipples.

And, like I said before, I like to use a hand mirror to look at my pussy. Right now I'm in the 'full bush' phase. I love the way my pink inner lips protrude from the blonde curls when I'm really aroused. And the way my pussy winks when I cum.

No, you can't watch me. Remember, I only like to think about being watched.

Anyway, once my underwear is off, my busy little fingers can get where they need to go. Where I like them to go.

The other teachers wonder why I never wear slacks. It's not just because I like showing off my petite, shapely legs. It's mostly a question of easy access. I like to press my pussy into the smooth, varnished wood of my chair. Of course, I'm really good with my fingers, too. And there's one more thing that I like.

Let me see, it's in this top drawer someplace. There it is. It looks like lipstick, doesn't it? The switch is on the side. Hold out your hand. Feel it buzz?

So why don't I just go home and do this? Maybe it's the setting. Maybe I have a fetish for the smell of chalk and crayons. Who knows? Doing it here sure makes the commute home relaxed.

So that's my story. Thanks for listening, I feel better having told it. Not a word to anyone, hear?

All this talk reminds me that I have some things to attend to.

Can you lock the door on your way out, and flip the sign around? I can hear Mr. Preston running the floor buffer in the hall.