Tights of a Teacher Ch. 02

After I had sex with Ms. LaBelle, I went back home. The spiral staircase leading to her abode led right back to my house, as she said. The weekend was pretty boring. I was able to finish all my homework on Saturday morning, and spent the afternoon playing video games. Mom and Dad were busy with their own work all day, and they went out that evening.

Bored out of my mind, I got the key Ms. LaBelle gave me and used it on the lock on my closet. The interior of the closet had changed into the spiral staircase, and I went down into her abode. I went straight to the bedroom and opened the top drawer of her dresser. Inside were tights of every colour, folded and arranged neatly. I reached in and grabbed a red pair, and headed into the living room, dropping the tights on the couch.

Inside the living room I started to search through the bookcases. One of them was filled with photobooks, and searching through them revealed they were filled with nothing but pictures of Ms. LaBelle. Some of them were from her modelling days, cut out from catalogues and fashion magazines. But most of them weren't-these were proper photographs, and they had multiple pictures of her in each outfit. The pictures started out pretty tame and could have been from a fashion catalogue, but as I flipped through the book they became much racier, eventually showing her fingering herself.

Hard as a rock from that, I went to another bookcase, this one filled with DVDs in blank cases. I took one out and put it into the DVD player connected to the TV, and headed over to the couch. The remote for the TV was lying on the coffee table. I picked it up and pressed the on button.

As soon as the TV turned on, Ms. LaBelle was on it. She was wearing a pink sweater, with a dark grey skirt reaching down to midcalf, smoke grey tights and matching pumps with four inch heels. She was leaning against a bed covered by a purple blanket, her ankles crossed. She was looking straight at the camera, smiling seductively. I brought the tights from the drawer to my erect cock, putting it inside the waistband.

Without a word, Ms. LaBelle uncrossed her legs and kicked her left leg up into the air, touching her calf with her right hand and bringing up to her foot. She carefully angled herself so that I couldn't see up her skirt. I began to stroke myself slowly.

Ms. LaBelle then brought her leg down, then reached down to the hem of her skirt and pulled it up until her lower thighs were invisible. She turned around, granting me a full view of her gorgeous legs enhanced by the tights. I began to stroke faster, breathing in and out of my mouth as my lust began to overtake me.

Blushing, Ms. LaBelle brought her skirt back down and smoothed it out with her palms, and then lied down on the bed. The camera went up her body, starting at her feet and ending at her head, then zoomed out to fully show her. She lifted both legs into the air, and pulled down her skirt. The camera moved above her, granting me a full view of her lower body. Her legs were absolutely beautiful in the grey tights. She wasn't wearing any panties, and she was beginning to leak as shown by the wet spot on her crotch. As I continued to beat myself off, I felt pre-cum bubble out of my cock onto the gusset.

Ms. LaBelle brought her legs back down, careful not to let her skirt back down. The camera went right above her crotch, allowing me a full view of her nylon covered cunt. I saw her left hand go to spread her cunt apart, while she put her right into the waistband and into herself. She began to pump her fingers in and out, moaning softly, and the wet spot grew. At this point, the tights around my cock were soaked in precum and I could feel the build up in my balls.

Ms. LaBelle sped up, and the crotch of her tights became completely soaked. Her juices were spilling out of her cunt and onto the bed, and her moans became gasps of pleasure. I was also beginning to grunt in pleasure, and I felt the pressure as I was about to cum. Suddenly, she ejaculated, screaming and covering the bed as sexual fluids burst out of her. At the same time, I felt a load discharging, going into the tights, covering the inside of the gusset and down the legs. This happened three more times, before I released one final, massive load and Ms. LaBelle disgorged one last time, soaking herself and the bed in a massive burst. Drained, I took the tights off my cock as Ms. LaBelle took her hand out. The camera focused on her face, filled with contentment. "I knew you would enjoy this, Adam. Don't worry about the tights you took, just leave them there and let me take care of it." The video then stopped and the disc ejected.

I zipped up my pants, put the disc back into its case and on the shelf, and left the abode. While it hadn't compared to actually having sex with her, jerking off to Ms. LaBelle with her tights was by far the most pleasant masturbatory experience I ever had. I would have to come back.

And I did. Going to Ms. LaBelle's abode and masturbating to her into her tights became a daily habit. I went on there on Sunday after church, and when the school week resumed I went there right after school. Each video I watched of Ms. LaBelle had her wearing different clothes, and I took different tights each time. Two times that week-on Monday and Wednesday-I texted Ms. LaBelle and asked if we could have sex, but she kept telling me she was busy. As per her rules, I kept our contact at school to a minimum and strictly limited to class and homework.

That Thursday was a big day. Not exactly for me, but for my family. It was my sister Ariel's birthday. She was twenty two, and in her last year of university. Mom and Dad were going to come home early from work to make a special dinner for her, and my other sister, Anne, was coming as well. I couldn't go to the abode straight away. I had to go straight home to help with the preparations. Ms. LaBelle hadn't been there that day, instead leaving the class to a substitute teacher who just had us read while she browsed through Facebook on her phone.

I got home at around three. Mom was already there, cutting up carrots and tomatoes. "Oh, good, you're home dear!" Mom said when she saw me, coming over and hugging me. She was wearing a blue apron over her work clothes, a white blouse and brown pants, with a pair of leather brogue shoes. Three pregnancies and decades of hard work to keep her business, an independent financial consultancy agency, afloat had not been kind on her. Her belly was visibly stretched, and rolls of fat jiggled when she moved. Her face was heavily wrinkled, and her eyes were perpetually dull and weary. Her hair, tied into a bun, was entirely white.

I returned the hug briefly before letting go. "What is there left to do?" I asked, wanting to make myself useful.

"We need flour and frosting for the birthday cake, and we don't have any potatoes to mash," she said, reaching into her pants pocket. "Hold on, Adam," she said, pulling a pen and notepad out. She wrote down a list of things that were needed. "Here's everything we need," she said, tearing off the paper from the notepad and handing it to me. "Go to the grocery store and buy these. Get the money from my purse."

I took the paper from her. "Before I go, where's Dad?" I asked. "Wasn't he supposed to come home early too?" Mom's mouth narrowed, and she looked away. For a second I thought I caught a glimpse of anger in her eyes.

"Mark said that he had to stay at work. Something about a major news conference to prepare for." My father worked as an executive for a major pharmaceutical corporation, and his job meant he often worked late and traveled. But I heard him and Mom arguing with each other when they thought I wasn't listening, and I knew there was friction in the relationship.

"I'll go get these," I told her. I went around and headed to the door, getting a hundred dollars in twenties from Mom's purse. I put my jacket and backpack back on and left. The grocery store was about twenty minutes away walking. Mom's list of food was pretty short. Milk, flour, sugar, potatoes, herbs, tea. I could get these and return home inside of an hour.

The grocery store was beginning to get crowded, since rush hour had just begun. I went through the store and got most of the stuff pretty quickly. I went to the baking aisle to get the flour, when suddenly I saw Ms. LaBelle pushing a shopping cart. I stopped. She was wearing a sky blue blouse underneath a black cardigan, a shiny black pleated skirt reaching down to mid calf, opaque navy blue tights, and blue pumps with four inch stilletto heels. Her hair was worn loose, perfectly straight. I only saw her for a second, watching her push her cart past the baking goods aisle, but it was enough.

As much as I wanted to, I didn't go talk to her. Her rules meant I couldn't talk to her outside of school or the abode, and I didn't want to anger her. I got a bag of flour and went to get the last thing needed, the tea. Mom hadn't been specific about what kind of tea she wanted, so I got boxes of green tea, camomile, orange pekoe, and mint. Just as I put the last box into the handbasket, I heard the clip clop of high heels behind me. "Adam," I heard Ms. LaBelle's voice say. I turned around and saw her right behind me, her shopping car facing down towards the cash registers. "I want to talk with you," she said, taking her hands off the handle of the cart as she turned towards me.

"I thought we weren't supposed to talk to each other like this," I told her, trying to brush her off. It wasn't that I didn't want to talk to her, but I needed to get home soon, so that the milk wouldn't spoil.

"No, you aren't supposed to approach me outside of school. I can do what I wish." Her tone had become somewhat snappish. I shrugged my shoulders. "If that's how it works, then alright then. But why are you here? I thought you lived downtown."

She crossed her legs at the ankles. "I needed to buy groceries, and I wanted to talk to you. About why you didn't come to my abode right after school like you did the rest of this week." I froze, nervous. She had hinted at a mercurial personality before, and I wondered if I had angered her without knowing it. She realized I was nervous and smiled kindly. "I'm not mad, Adam. My abode is yours to go to whenever you desire. I was just curious, that's all."

"Where were you today?" I asked, wanting to change the subject. My home life was none of her business.

"I was busy putting together the midterm project for the grade tens, and my department had a meeting. It should have taken less then half an hour, but Mr. Myers came in to harangue us for not disciplining our students properly." She pursed her lips, angry. "I can't stand him, the way he insists we address him as Sir and bring our feet together to talk to him. He needs to learn he's not in the army anymore." With a sigh, she brushed her hair to the side. "But don't avoid the question, Adam. Let's talk. That's how relationships develop, after all. Besides, right now we're all alone." I suddenly noticed the lack of ambient noise in the store. Glancing around, I realized there was nobody else in the aisle, the meat section or the cash registers.

I drew a breath in before answering. "My second sister, Ariel, is coming over to my house to celebrate her birthday. She's twenty two today." I told Ms. LaBelle. "My mother came home from work early to prepare for the dinner, and I wanted to help out. That's why I'm here right now."

Ms LaBelle put her left hand on her cheek. "I see. And did you do so because you want to see your sister, or just because you feel obligated to?" I hesitated before answering. I had never gotten along with Anne and Ariel. Anne, the oldest of us, had always been a bitch, playing pranks on me, going into my room and knocking my things around. She was the reason why my closet had a lock on the door. When she was in high school, she had been a cheerleader, and in university she had been a high-ranking sorority member. She definitely had the bitchiness to excel at both. And while she had been working at her company for only two years, she was already in a managerial position. She said it was because of her confidence and leadership. I knew the truth, that she just bullied others and took credit for their work.

Ariel was better, but not by much. Outwardly, she was sweet and considerate, but that just covered up her passive-aggressive narcissism. When we were kids, she would hog the TV and computer, "letting" me use them when she was done. She might protect me from Anne one minute, only to side with her the next if she had something to gain from it, and she always had some kind of cutting remark about me even when she was taking my side. I was relieved when she and Anne had left home to attend university. It made my home life much easier.

"...I have my reasons." I told Ms. LaBelle. It wasn't convincing at all, but my home life was none of her business.

Luckily, she took it in stride. "I understand," she told me, uncrossing her legs. "It's your family, and if you're uncomfortable about talking about them with me that's okay." She turned and put her hands back on the shopping cart. "I need to be going. I need to put all this away, make dinner and mark those essays. And you should probably get going too." With that, she walked off, her heels clicking on the hard tiling of the store.

I paid for my things and got out. The store was beginning to become busy with people just let off from work and school, and I had no desire to get caught up in the crowd. Another twenty minutes and I was home. I saw Dad's car, a blue station wagon, in the driveway. He was finally home, and no doubt there had been a vicious argument that was likely still ongoing.

As I entered the house, I saw dad's grey suit jacket hanging from the coat rack. In the kitchen, Mom was still preparing a chicken to roast. "Oh good, you're back. Did you get everything?" She asked, walking over to the fridge.

"Yes, Mom," I responded as I took my backpack off and took out everything. "Here's the change," I told her as I pulled out my wallet and got out two twenties, a five and some loose coins, putting it on the table.

"Thank you, sweetheart. Could you wash these dishes here? We'll need them to finish the cooking."

I rolled up my sleeves and turned the how water tap on, squirting some detergent into the sink. "Where's Dad?" I asked suddenly. "I saw his car in the driveway and his coat on the rack."

Mom looked away, anger in her eyes. "He's in his office in the basement. He said that he had some work to do before he could help out." There was bitterness and resentment in her voice. "Please, do up the dishes dear. I need all the help I can get."

I washed the dishes, turning on the cold tap and filling the sink with warm water. I scrubbed away the dishes in there-pots, pans, cutlery and serving spoons-for about ten minutes. Just as I finished, my father, Mark, walked into the kitchen. He wasn't a particularly attractive man. The top of his head was bald, and what hair he did have was a mix of grey and black. He had a bushy, greasy mustache on his round, fat face. He had a noticeable belly, which jiggled with every step he took. He was wearing a white dress shirt with a grey and green checkered tie, with grey suit pants and shiny black Oxfords. He had rolled up the sleeves past his elbows. "Well, I think I'm done doing the initial research for that deal," he said, before opening up a drawer.

Mom turned to him, her eyes flashing and anger in her voice. "It's almost five, Mark. You said you would be home by three, and be ready to help prepare for Ariel's birthday."

Dad shrugged his shoulders. "We have a major deal coming up with the city's health department. There's a ton of legwork to do before we can even bring up terms."

"You're never around for these events! You're always doing something at or for work!" Mom snarled, her anger boiling up. "These are your children, Mark! You were barely around when they were children, and now that they're all adults you've thrown away whatever attention you did give them! For once, just once, let somebody else do the work and act like a father!"

Dad folded his arms, his face blank. "I have my reputation to consider. If I did just pawn off the work to someone else I wouldn't be where I am today. This could be the most profitable deal we've made in years, and I'm not going to fuck it up by handing it off to someone less experienced. Besides, you're not one to talk. How many late nights did you work just trying to get that firm of yours to break even?" Mom put her hands on her hips. Her voice was calmer but no less furious.

"That was different. I had to work that hard. You have plenty of colleagues, as well as interns and junior employees who could benefit from the experience. And I spent as much time with our children as possible. It seemed like every time you weren't working you were drinking or bowling with your work buddies." Mom's voice had gained a steel edge.

It intimidated me, but not Dad. He walked over, stopping less than a foot in front of her, and loomed. "Don't fool yourself. Your eventual success was because I pulled strings with friends and superiors so that some powerful men would hire you over more established firms or their own people."

"I'm going to put out the tablecloth and napkins," I said suddenly. "Then I'm going upstairs to my room. I have tests tomorrow and I need to study. Call me down when you're ready to lay out dinner." I went into the dining room and got the tablecloth and napkins out from the closet in there. I draped the tablecloth over the wooden dining table and put out five napkins, each one in front of a dining chair, then went upstairs.

I didn't know if Mom and Dad were still arguing or preparing food in silence, and didn't care. Ever since I was a kid, they had fought, although then they did so when I thought I wasn't listening. Truth be told, I didn't know what they saw in each other. They only ever displayed affection to each other in public, never at home. At best, they showed benign indifference. I hated it. Why couldn't I have a family where squabbles weren't an everyday occurrence?

Once in my bedroom, I pulled out my notebooks and textbooks and studied. There were indeed two tests tomorrow. One was for world history, the other was for international politics. My two favourite subjects. And yet I couldn't get my head into it. My thoughts were focused on how broken my family was.

Without thinking about it, I opened the top drawers on my desk. Inside was the key that let me into Ms. LaBelle's abode, and the other was the flipphone she had given me so that we could remain in contact. I opened up the flipphone. There was one new text message. Are you all right? It read.

For a minute, I considered saying that I wasn't. More than any other time, I wanted to go to her abode. I wanted her perfect, silken legs wrapped around me as I got lost in her pussy. But I couldn't, not now. I'm fine, I texted back. It was a lie, but a necessary one. Almost immediately, she responded. If you say so, her response read.

I turned the phone off and put it back into the drawer, closing it. I continued to study half-heartedly. I heard a car pull into the driveway, and looked outside. It was a red Mazda. Anne's car. "Adam! Dinner's ready!" I heard Mom call up. I got up from my desk and headed downstairs. I knew what had to be done. Get out the glasses, bowls, plates and cutlery, lay it out and then bring out the food.

As I entered the kitchen, I saw Mom pulling the chicken out of the oven. She had changed her clothes and hair. Her hair was now worn loose, reaching past her shoulders, and without the bun was moderately curly. She was wearing a long-sleeved black dress made from fine wool. The neckline of the dress didn't show anything below her throat, and the hem reached her ankles. I saw that she was wearing black tights and orthopedic shoes. The dress did not cling to her aged figure, covering up as much as possible, and had a high waist. It was her standard special occasion dress.