Let me start by saying I love teachers. Many of my dearest friends are teachers. Y’all have a depth of patience that I cannot begin to fathom.
This story came about in 2014. Several nights in a row the news told me of some new case of a teacher messing with a student. Ten cases, eight were perpetrated by females. Even as I wrapped the story up news broke of a very hot teacher who’d been banging a 13 year old for a year. Even after the research I did for this story, I don’t get it. In 1997 when Mary Kay Letourneau rose to infamy, I didn’t get why a hot looking woman had to turn to a kid when any guy with a pulse would have thrown her a bone, so to speak. I still fail to grasp why. The facts strewn about in this are a result of my research, but I found no practical way to use them in the story so I just had folk say stuff.
While the bulk of this story came from my imagination, the work place conversations for the most part are from my memory and every action credited to a teacher character in this story was really perpetrated by a teacher in real life. The psychology theory rendered by a character is my own idea, I never heard back from anyone in the psych community that I reached out to, so I can’t vouch for its validity.
I do need to thank LJ for his legal advice, even though it trashed an early plot scheme. Also thanks to Gus for his legal input as well. Special thanks to teachers Laura(s), DB, BK for answering questions. MK at HCDA office and those who asked to not be publicly thanked.
Thanks to Cute3Kitty for the read MistressJoanna for the supreme job of editing. All sexual participants in this story are over the age of 21.
Headline News: Teacher’s Pet
I awoke with her fragrant hair in my face; hair that smelled of coconut and sex sweat. I knew it was sex sweat because that’s exactly what we’d been doing prior to going to sleep. Her legs were intertwined with mine and I held a large firm boob in one hand. Her hot ass rubbed against my rock hard cock. I rubbed her nipple, and she stirred and moaned, “Baby, you don’t have time”
According to my cock I had plenty of time. I rolled my wife’s nipple between my thumb and finger eliciting another soft moan. My cock was buried between her ass cheeks and I could feel her starting to heat up.
“Baby, you’re going to be late,” she breathed.
I traced a circle around her nipple then lightly slid my hand down along her torso, over the gentle swell of her hip, down as far as I could reach on her thigh. I felt her goose bumps as I reversed direction and slid my hand to her sex.
“Oh fuck me baby!!”
I moved my fingers over her hairless mound, and found the top of her slit. As I found her clit I nibbled on the side of her neck just below her ear. She groaned and arched her back, pushing her ass into me, and I took that opportunity to push my cock into her hot, wet, and willing pussy. Neither of us were concerned about the time for a while.
“God damn! Another one? What the fuck is wrong with these people?”
I looked up from my spaghetti filled Tupperware container to see what had Bruce so riled. He was looking at something on his cell phone.
“What gives Bruce? Someone steal your grannie’s false teeth, stick ‘em ‘tween their butt cheeks and take humorous photos?” I asked.
“Jace, I don’t know where your ideas come from, but you really oughta keep em tucked in your ass.”
“What did you do to Bruce now, Jace,” asked my buddy Sal as he joined us at the break room table.
Every day for the past seven years the same faces graced this particular table every break and lunch period. Bruce Macalister and Sal Perez worked together on a machine that fed the rest of our line. Dan Grady, Tory Newton, and Pamela Miller filled out the rest of the crew.
I said to Sal. “Do I really have to do anything to make Bruce pissy? Fuck. He gets upset if his ice cream is cold.”
Pam smiled and teased, “I suspect somebody is sending him nude pics of his mother by his reaction.”
The rest chuckled and Bruce just huffed, “Fucking bunch of clowns.” He was a nice guy once you got past his grouchy exterior, but he let very few past that exterior. Not many people outside of our group could give Bruce any level of shit and not pay a price.
“So what does got your panties in a bunch Bruce?” asked Tory with a mouthful of sandwich.
“Another one of these perverted fucking teachers got arrested for screwing a kid,” Bruce said as he scowled at the screen of his phone. “This shit didn’t happen in my day.”
We all laughed, and I wondered who’d say something first. I had a mouthful of food and Sal was looking up the story on his phone, but Dan didn’t disappoint. “Shit Bruce. Back in your day you was too tired from walking ten miles up hill in six feet of alligator infested snow to have relations with your school marm.” Bruce gave him a one finger salute for his effort.
“I see how the girls these days dress at the damn malls,” said Tory. “I can only imagine what it’s like to be stuck in a room full of hormonal teens in miniskirts all damn day. Hell, I’d be worried of the teachers weren’t thinking of fuckin’ a few of ‘em.”
“Thinking is fine Tory,” said Pam. “But when the bastards actually do something with these young girls it is sick.”
“Do you guys know how hard that could be?” I asked. “Several times when Becky has had sleepovers or pool parties I have had young luscious tits thrust in my face. One friend of hers has actually came to me butt naked telling me she wants me. There ain’t enough cold water in Texas sometimes, but I know if I give in and do it, I’m nothing but a piece of shit.”
“Damn,” Sal groused. “Why’d Elaine have only boys?” Everyone chuckled except Bruce.
“Weren’t no guy with hormonal teen girls,” groused Bruce. “Was another damn woman messin’ with little boys. Just over in Spring.”
I knew soon they’d be looking at me. Tomorrow I’d get the questions.
Did y’all know her? Have you met her? Is she hot?
That last one would be asked by Tory. He was a major horn dog.
My wife Katie taught eighth grade English at a middle school in Spring, a suburb of Houston. I knew that my wife likely knew or knew of the teacher in trouble. Hell Katie knew teachers all over the city and all the way down in Galveston.
“Damn,” said Pam. “That’s the third one in Spring ISD this year.”
“Shit next these horny little fuckers will be taking teachers to prom,” quipped Dan.
“Who says it’s just horny little fuckers,” asked Sal. “Are these schools hiring nothing but kiddie fiddlers these days?”
“I blame the damn internet,” said Bruce. “These fuckers know sex shit I ain’t never heard of.”
“Damn it, Bruce! I’m tryin’ to eat over here and I don’t wanna picture what you may know or not know about sex,” I said drawing a laugh even from other tables.
“Well, Jace, what do you blame it on? You’re married to a teacher, what’s her take?”
“I never asked her about her take Bruce. I just wanna know why there’s so many of these predatory whores teaching children in the city of Houston.”
“Hell,” added Pam. “The whole state has a problem. I read last night that Texas is number two in the nation with this issue.”
“Probly them perverts in New York is number one,” added Sal.
“No. Actually, California is number one. Houston is number one in the state.”
“Not surprising,” said Tory. “Did you hear about the teacher a couple weeks ago?”
“Yeah,” said Pam. “That’s what made me read up on the subject.”
Bruce chimed in, “You mean that sick bitch in Aldine who gave the fifteen-year-old kid a lap dance ‘cuz he made an A on a test?”
“It wasn’t for an A,” I added. “Fuckin’ kid said it was his birthday.”
“I wonder how it is the husbands never figure this shit out,” said Sal.
“What do the husbands have to do with it?” asked Pam.
“Well. You read them stories on the internet and the guy always knows his wife is cheating on him. Either there’s a strange car in the driveway when he comes home unexpectedly, or his wife feels stretched out from another guy’s cock.”
For a moment the table was silent. Sal looked like he had just discovered the cure for cancer and would win a Nobel Prize. I, however, was ready to shit on his parade.
“Dude,” I told Sal. “If an eighth-grade boy is stretching your wife out to the point that you notice it, you have bigger problems, well so to speak, than being married to a pedophile.”
The whole room erupted with laughter and Sal turned red. “Hell,” added Tory. “That strange car in the drive will either be a Huffy or it will be a minivan containing a soccer mom; which on second thought might not be all that bad.”
“I guess next time I pull up to the house and see a hoard of bikes in the front yard I need to be prepared to bust up an orgy,” howled Dan.
Sal to his credit tried to defend, “I’m just saying that most guys know when their wife is cheating. Why don’t these husbands know?”
“I know personally, I could never fathom Katie being a pedophile. I imagine the other husbands are in the same boat.” I said.
.... There is more of this story ...