The Norwegian Made Me Do It

The kids filed in, restless from lunch; most were texting as they went. Several asked to use the restroom, and I was far too jaded that day to fight with them. Dylan and Trevor came in last, swapped a high five, and sat in their seats at the back.

"Movie day today, guys," I said after roll. "Sorry, but I'm just not up to anything else today."

"Long night, Ms B?" Trevor was grinning.

"In your dreams, Mr Gore," I snapped, but my eyes flickered toward Dylan as I said it. His desk was right in front of my stool; a coincidence, I told myself. I started the video, got the digital projector into focus, and mailed it in back to my stool, where I slouched restlessly.

Even I was bored by the documentary, but I'd told the kids they had to take notes. So at least they stayed awake, though several of them huddled in the blue glows of their cellphones. As for me, well, I had another distraction.

Dylan, right in front of me, was sitting forward in his desk, resting his head on his arms. His shirt, a ratty affair advertising some music festival in spiky graphics, rode up his smooth back, and he'd scooted back in his seat enough to make his shorts ride even lower than usual. Indeed, if it weren't for the boxer briefs he was wearing (sky blue today), he'd have had over half his ass on display.

I shook off my heaviness and concentrated on that glorious, thinly covered butt. The blue was very light, but white would have been even better; I imagined I could see, in the dim light from the projector, the shadowy line of his asscrack. I was impressed to see he actually had dimples, cute ones, atop his cheeks.

Intrigued, I thought about my situation. Irritably I pulled the bottom of my dress out from under my butt until it draped over the stool around me; I didn't want to get any pussy juice on it in case I started daydreaming a little too much due to my proximity to that fine male specimen in its shoddy school desk.

Hmm.

That ass was right there. Like, right the fuck there. I crossed my legs, one of my sandals dangling from my toes, and that's when the idea came to me. Oh, it was a wicked idea; pointless, even, with no chance of anything good coming from it at all. But again, I wasn't thinking straight at that point. Hell, even Gina had given up on me. The sandal fell to the floor with a slight clacking noise.

The kids were fidgeting with their phones or resting; a few might even have been watching the film. Trevor had buried his head in his arms, either asleep or close to it. I slowly stretched my foot out, the toes flexing, toward Dylan's bare lower back, with that tempting ass in its thin cotton underwear beckoning me...

Dylan stirred as my toes made contact with his back. He glanced sharply behind him, but I couldn't make out his expression in the dim classroom. I saw him relax as he saw that it was me, then he sagged more deeply in his seat and put his head back down.

Bluish light was shining from the hallway, and I could see the ridge of his spine where it disappeared into the sky-blue waistband. My toes explored it, tracing the vertebrae, inching downward. I was captivated by what my own foot was doing; it almost seemed I had no control over it at all, like I was watching it on a TV screen. I was breathing deeply, totally engrossed in Dylan.

I moved gently up and down his spine a few times, then very quickly snaked my toes sideways to his sides. He squirmed suddenly, and I covered my mouth; the poor boy was ticklish. I let my toenail drift around some more before I returned it to his spine and slowly, inexorably, resumed moving it down.

I knew exactly what I wanted to do.

My big toe was hooked downward; as it made contact with Dylan's underwear, it pushed underneath the elastic. I trapped his waistband between my big toe and its neighbor, and then I started to have some fun. I pulled the elastic back toward me, raising my head to try to get a look at the crack inside, but the waistband escaped suddenly from my sweaty toes and snapped against his skin.

Dylan jumped at that, but nobody else noticed. He kept his head in his arms; I could see his shoulders, bare with the tanktop, rising and falling as his breathing got faster. Stifling a grin, I sent my toes back to work and trapped his underwear again; I moved straight down this time, pushing and pushing until the waistband nestled against the seat.

And, just like that, the half-ass I'd noticed was out there for me to see. Cross country had made his hips and butt into hard, even blocks of muscle; I could see in the light from the hall where his back muscles bunched and spread into the rounded globes of his ass. I was holding my breath now, my eyes wide open, holding his underwear down while, working fast, I let my other sandal fall.

My right foot had nothing in its way, the big toe landing boldly in the top of Dylan's crack. I felt sweat and a little grit there, but I was far too excited to care. Dylan now slumped more, arching his back to push his butt about an inch closer to me, and I no longer bothered covering my grin. Who cared if he looked around at me now? He already knew exactly what I was doing, and he plainly didn't mind very much.

The movie was talking about the construction techniques of the Hagia Sophia, and my feet were exploring Dylan Rotolo's ass with abandon. By this time the boxer briefs had learned their lesson, and stayed scrunched down so that I could use both feet on his cheeks. My mind was full of lust: not so much on my own account, for I wouldn't say that running my feet over this adolescent rear was doing very much for my own sexual needs. Rather, I was trying to stoke Dylan's lust. If he had possibly been in any doubt about my intentions before, there would be no doubts after today: he now knew that I wanted him, and that I wasn't going to stop with just a little harmless flirtation.

Or at least, that's what I was trying to tell him. I hoped my covert, public foot-ass fetish play was sending the proper message.

The movie stopped after 50 boring minutes, and before it did I already had Dylan put back together; my big toe and its immediate neighbor were earning their money today. The bell was going to ring shortly, and there would be no question of me standing up at the door with the kids; there was far too big a puddle on the stool for that. I was glad I'd brought a change of underwear. "Olivia, could you flip the lights on please?" I called. I was already feeling better about my day.

Dylan was the last to get up from his desk, waiting until almost everyone else had left; of course I hadn't moved, either. Before he got up, he turned his head to look at me with smoldering eyes. He shook his head with an oddly lopsided smile, and I blinked back at him in mock innocence.

I spoke first. "I know it was a boring movie, Dylan. I figured I'd try to keep you awake."

He barked a short laugh, then got to his feet and turned around. I covered my mouth, my eyes wide; the cumstain was really quite impressive, spreading across the front of his shorts like a map of Texas. "Holy shit," I said from behind my hand.

"Watch your mouth, Ms Boyle." The boy was not embarrassed at all. He seemed to want me to see what I'd done to him, and I could certainly relate. He stood like a statue, still half-smiling.

"Do... do you have anything you can change into?"

"Just my running clothes," he said thoughtfully, kicking at a sports bag on the floor next to his desk. "There's only one more class left today, but I don't have time to get to a bathroom, change, and get to my next class." He looked at me pointedly, and I got his drift. Heedless of my sodden stool, I jumped off and dived for the door to give him a little privacy from the hallway. Even before I had it closed, he had dropped his inseminated shorts and underwear, and when I turned around I saw a truly remarkable sight: the boy was calmly bending over to dig through his sports bag.

The ass I'd been thinking about for the last couple of years, the splendid ass of Dylan Rotolo, now stared at me in all its full-moon glory. It was so muscular, so tight and symmetrical; it was almost female in its smooth, glorious perfection. The dimples at the sides were like the handholds above a car window, just begging to be grabbed; unusually among most of the male butts I'd seen, there was no hair anywhere. I gawked openly.

His thighs, meaty and solid, were slightly parted, and I could clearly see the big ballsack dangling between. "Holy shit," I said again.

He found his shorts, then turned halfway around as he stood. "What?" he smirked. I could see at least the tip of his dick now, swinging half-hard behind his hip. "Never seen a naked guy before, Ms Boyle?" He lifted his leg to get his running shorts on over his shoe.

"Dylan," I said urgently, still unable to take my eyes off his flexing ass, "this is totally wrong. Nobody can know about this." I was stepping toward him now, watching as he dressed. "I, uh, I'm sorry about this. It's all my fault."

"Don't worry about me, Ms Boyle," he shrugged, tucking his penis nonchalantly into his shorts. "I didn't mind." Then he turned the rest of the way around and looked at me, his eyes running up and down my body. "Uh, can I get a late slip?"

"Sure thing." Hell, if he was fine with this I could be fine with it. At least for now. There were heavy ramifications here, but I couldn't think about them right now and the sophomores were right outside my door. He stood patiently next to me as I scrawled an excuse for his next class, and all I could smell was the sweaty odor of his recent nudity. "One thing's for sure," I said carefully as I signed it, "you and me are going to have to have a talk about all this sooner or later, mister. I'm not sure I need you on my conscience."

"Don't worry," he said again, and this time he put his hand on the small of my back, just above my ass. "I'm not some scared freshman. You're good." His hand did, then, drift down to my ass, which he squeezed once before he took his slip. I gasped. "See you later?"

"Hell yes," I smiled. He really was a nice kid.

* * *

I wasn't sure whether I was looking forward to that weekend. I mean, it's always nice not to have to go to work, but I was slowly starting to accept that, for now at least, I was a happier woman when I saw Dylan. But it was supposed to be a nice, warm Saturday, a perfect one for sitting outside with a book.

Our house fronted a quiet side street that ultimately curled back up toward the main drag leading to the harbor. The backyard sloped down to a salt marsh, which sounds unappealing but was actually really nice; it almost never flooded. So it was always nice to sit and watch the birds out there. A small path split off into the marsh, and at low tide it was a great place to walk.

It was also a popular choice for the cross-country team to do their weekend runs. They'd been using the path for years, heading down into the marsh in groups and clusters and coming out by themselves, the paths making it impossible to stay together. They'd usually just continue the three miles back to the school by themselves from here.

The path led right past our backyard, and as I sat out in the shade of our big oak tree and read the newer biography of Catherine the Great, I sighed happily. The birds were calling from the tall grasses, a gentle breeze wafting them lazily. At last, after my jittery week, I'd gone into an exhausted sleep the night before and felt more refreshed; my vagina seemed to have calmed down a bit after the episode with Dylan's ass at school yesterday, followed by a feverish adventure with the shower head this morning after my workout. So I was a happy woman.

I'd just put down my iced tea when the first tribe of runners came by in the near distance, chugging toward the marsh at top speed. These were the varsity boys, the four or five lanky dudes who were trying to be competitive at States; the weekend runs were optional, but not for the really fast kids. Half of them had their shirts off, and I couldn't help but look; pale, skinny bodies flashed in the sun as they plunged into the marsh grass. Another knot came by, our fastest girl along with them; that'd be Gretchen Barry. And then came the third group.

Which had Dylan in it.

He was better at track than at cross country, but he was no slouch this morning: head back, arms moving smoothly, he seemed to float over the grassy path with the others. I sighed, watching as his legs flexed with each long stride. He didn't see me; the kids ran away from our house going into the marsh, but there was an excellent chance he'd see me on his way back.

My pussy stirred then, treacherously I thought; I'd been having a nice morning, and now it would be ruined. And my vibrator wasn't due to arrive until Monday. I was in cut-off shorts and a loose shirt-sleeved shirt, sitting in an Adirondack chair with my sunglasses on; no bra required, so none worn. Idly, I tried to remember which underwear I'd put on this morning, and then I chided myself.

No reason to go thinking about anything like that; the boy had just run by, and it would be ten minutes or so before he saw me. Maybe. And what was I thinking? It's not like he was going to come running over and take me on my own lawn. But see, that was exactly the kind of image I didn't need; now it was hard to concentrate on my book, and I sighed as I watched the rest of the team lope by. My head hit the wooden slats of the oversized chair as I looked up at the drifting leaves above me. I wasn't sure what was going through my mind anymore, but I knew that the last thing I'd needed was to see Dylan running by. I ought to just go inside and take a nap.

Ah yes. I remembered. I was wearing the hot pink French-cut pair I'd bought last week.

Through the clear, warm air I saw the first of the varsity boys come flying out of the marsh, pounding along the path; the first two didn't even notice me, but the third boy was Marty Bosco, one of my AP kids. "Hey," he said, very breathlessly, with a tired wave. He seemed surprised to see me.

I smiled and waved back. My chair had an unattached footrest, and I stretched my legs onto it, my bare feet crossed at the end. There were long gaps between the runners now, many of them plainly having walked through the marsh instead of running; when Dylan came out of the tall grass, he was very much alone. I held my breath as I spotted him. He'd taken off his shirt now, rolled it up, and tucked it into the back of his shorts; the sweat glittered on his skinny chest. He was still running quite strongly, looking around behind his sunglasses, now turning his head a bit as he caught sight of a woman in her backyard. Just the usual thing you see when you're out running...

Until he noticed it was me. I saw him do a double-take, the smoky lenses not enough to completely conceal his wide eyes even at this distance. He slowed down, running a bit less certainly now, and then he made up his mind and sped off the path.

Oh, sweet Jesus. The boy was running right toward me.

I guess I was hoping, even expecting this would happen, but I still wasn't ready for it. I brought my knees up, raised my sunglasses onto my forehead, and finally let my breath out. He wasn't paying attention to me, instead looking far over his shoulder to see how far ahead of the next runner he was. There was nobody else in sight, and when he brought his head back around to face me he was wearing a broad smile. "Hey, Ms Boyle!" he called. "Is this where you live?"

"Yes, Dylan," I said evenly. I wasn't sure how I wanted this to play out, but I was very aware there were other runners coming soon. I was also aware of a persistent throb in my vagina. "You're looking good." Goddamn me; the perfect moment for a witty one-liner, and I'd blown it completely. He didn't seem to care, though, as he came trotting up. I couldn't help but look for a bulge in his shorts.

He stopped, breathing deeply and evenly, his legs slightly spread with his hands on his hips. He was looking me over as I sat curled in my chair. "Um, this is weird," he said, checking one more time over his shoulder, "but I kind of need to use the bathroom. Would you mind?" Holy fuck; the boy was inviting himself into my home! No way in hell; he could piss in the marsh. Even Gina wouldn't be stupid enough to let a kid like Dylan into her home.

My book hit the ground so fast it might have been weighted. I snapped to my feet. "Follow me," I said immediately. I took off across the lawn, my unrestrained boobs flopping in my haste to get to my back door. Speaking of back doors, Dylan would be starting at my ass right now; I might have used some extra sway as I took the steps up to the back deck and disappeared into the house. I could hear him coming up fast behind me, and I only had time for a quick scan of the downstairs to make sure he wasn't going to see anything embarrassing.

We had a guest bathroom, a tiny closet beneath the stairs; the only other toilet was upstairs, just off the bedroom. Clearly, it would be a bad idea to let him use our own master bathroom, I thought even as my feet were already mounting the stairs. Predictably, I was thinking with no clarity at all; the shirtless, sweaty boy behind me was on his way to my bedroom, and it was all happening far too quickly for me to manage. Turn around, screamed my brain; it sounded like Gina to me. Take this kid back downstairs! This is a hideous idea!

I took the stairs two at a time. He'd just have to keep up.

Our bedroom was an airy place with a cathedral ceiling and a balcony overlooking the backyard. Windows were everywhere; the sliding doors were open to let the breeze in. The owner had let us paint, and we'd chosen a pale green; Leon had slapped it all up on the wall two years ago. The bed, king-sized, was still tousled. I never bothered making the bed; Leon always seemed to think it was important, but I couldn't figure out why. The place looked lived-in, but not terribly messy; I'd left my underwear drawer open, though. I bumped it closed with my hip just as Dylan reached the door. He blinked as we walked in, clearly astounded to be in my bedroom. I was still leaning against my dresser.

"Right through there," I smiled, gesturing toward the bathroom door. The last person through there had been me, stark naked and freshly masturbated just an hour ago. Now my adolescent... what, crush? Obsession? Fixation? Whatever Dylan was, he smiled warmly as he walked past me and into my bathroom. I heard the clank as he raised the seat, then some rustling; he'd left the door open.

On suddenly shaky legs, I crossed to the bed and sat down. I couldn't see him from here, but the sound of his piss hitting the water was loud and clear. I felt my breathing quicken. The boy had his dick out in the next room, for God's sake, and absolutely nothing to stop me from walking in there. What the hell was he expecting?

I looked vaguely out the sliding screen door, past the balcony rail; single runners were still emerging from the salt marsh. I watched as Gretchen struggled past the last of the grass, a gull flapping by above her. The toilet flush startled me, and I looked to the bathroom door to see Dylan, long and lean, stretching himself as he came through. His armpits were sprinkled with the same curly hair that led into his waistband. I drank him in. "Feel better?" I said, for lack of anything else.

He looked down at me, sitting on the bed in my short shorts and my t-shirt, and he smiled lazily. "Hell yeah. You ever have those times, Ms Boyle, where you just really, really have to go? And you hold it and hold it and hold it, and then when you finally get to pee it's the greatest feeling in the world?"

"Well," I said automatically, "not quite the greatest, Dylan." I laughed until I saw realization dawn in his face.