Chapter 1

Ever since the day you started school at the tender age of four and a half, getting you there on time had been the bane of your poor mother's life. The tantrums, the excuses, the pleadings, the bribes... it had seemed like the hostilities had been ongoing for eternity. But now, suddenly and to your mother's amazement, everything had changed. Now you were springing out of bed almost as soon as the alarm began to ring. Some quick ablutions would follow and then downstairs for coffee and toast before you rushed out the front door. Even some of your neighbours had noticed the change... but some things hadn't altered and your grades had not improved at all. In fact, in some subjects, notably mathematics, you'd got worse Of course, what your neighbours didn't know was that these two symptoms had a common cause in the form of your new mathematics teacher, Mrs Dougherty. To an impartial observer it was a schoolboy crush you had developed about her. A more cynical one might well have put it down as a mixture of lust and raging hormones. To you, however, it was love... and the beginnings of what was to become a life long drive with you, the need to dominate and humiliate the fairer sex. Frankly, your maths grades were going down because that was the best way you could think of to gain more of Mrs Dougherty's time and attention... and the early morning rush to school? That was easily explained away by the fact that the object of your infatuation rode a push bicycle in to work and she always arrived half an hour before the school opened officially. "So what?" an unknowing observer might ask... again a simple answer. Mrs Dougherty had a tendency to wear short, tight dresses or skirts and, as she peddled along, a boy hiding in an appropriate place by the school gates could get a prolonged glimpse of her knickers as she approached, her thighs alternately lifting one side of her hem and then the other...

Today, you noted eagerly, she was wearing red, a fact that would have to be jotted down in your diary later. This being a pleasantly warm autumn day, she was wearing only a bra and thin blouse which allowed you to watch as her boobs moved rhythmically to the right and then to the left in a lazy motion. Down in your pants, something eager stirred, stiffened and start to ooze. God, you wanted her so bad! It wasn't as if you were a virgin - you'd already had Linda Peters (but so had every boy in the class - Linda was well on her way to sluthood) as well as the altogether tougher challenge of Mary Tyler... and even that stuck up Mandy Jefferies who you had persuaded to give you a hand job behind the bike sheds. But Mrs Dougherty... ah.she was something else... a mature woman for a start... a woman with experience... a woman who needed taking down a peg or two... and a woman you were going to have!

Assembly time and, along with the rest of the school, you were standing about awaiting the arrival of the staff upon the raised stage before you. Not that you gave a monkey's toss about the others, but it was a chance to ogle darling Mrs Dougherty from afar. It was odd really because there was little, physically, to recommend her. In her mid thirties, she wasn't the youngest female teacher in the school, nor was she the prettiest for she was fairly plain looking with a few extra pounds about her person than was good for her. But there was something about her that triggered your interest and needs. She had a domineering personality and you were just itching to take her down a peg or two. And then there was the fact that she was a tease. She knew full well the effect that her short skirts and low cut, loose fitting tops had on the boys in her charge... and she adored it. She seemed to get her kicks that way... but one day, you'd teach her not to play with fire.

After boring old Mr Prat, the headmaster, had finished off his talk and a hymn had been sung, the teachers filed down from the stage and took up their stations before the class they were to take first. Unfortunately for you, your first lesson was sex education with Mr Brown... now why couldn't that be with Mrs Dougherty, you thought with a smile. But she the maths mistress had 5B this morning so at least you got to be near enough to her to smell the exhilarating allure of her perfume as she collected her charges. All of which meant that you were in just the right place to see what happened next. As he drew level with you, one of the 5B boys quite blatantly slipped his right hand under the hem of Mrs Dougherty's skirt and goosed her! For a second, nothing seemed to happen, then the teacher yelped, spun round and aimed a slap at the boy's face. The boy, a good three or four inches taller than his victim and several pounds heavier, easily blocked the slap with his left-hand and then drew back his right ready to punch the woman. Acting almost without thinking, you lunged forward and landed a powerful hay-maker on the side of the lad's head. He crashed sideways into the wall and then started to pull himself upright before turning to face you, anger burning deep in his eyes. Then the staff arrived en masse; the lad was hustled away from the scene and the classes bullied back into line and away to their rooms. You never saw the other boy again - expelled, it was rumoured - though it was also said that he'd done the deed for a bet. As you sat at your desk in Sex Education and the girls giggled while Mr Brown battled to get a condom over a rather old and mushy banana and the boys tossed in some very unhelpful suggestions, you played the scene in the gym over and over in your own mind... and the two things that stood out in your memories most were just how long it took Mrs Dougherty to react and the look of bliss on her face just before she yelped...

The morning dragged on but, thank the lord, ten-thirty finally arrived and, with it, mathematics. You and the rest of your class trooped to Mrs Dougherty's territory and you took your seats. You fished out your deliberately error filled homework and settled down to wait. It didn't take long before her shapely legs carried her down the aisles ever closer to you, pausing at each desk on the way to offer encouragement, congratulations or chastisement as the pupil needed. And each time she bent over a desk, her skirt rode up and give you a fleeting glimpse of pale thigh and the treasures beyond. And then it was your turn for the object of your desire was now leaning over you from behind, her blonde hair falling forward and tickling your neck. Sighing, she picked your book up and stood upright. For a long minute, she looked at the work there, tutting aloud, before she moved to the front of your desk and replaced the book. She then placed one hand on each side of the desk and leant frowned. "It's no good, Davies, your work is simply not good enough," she admonished you.

"I'm sorry, Mrs Dougherty," you stammered as she turned her head away to address the rest of the class.

"Davies here hasn't got a clue, class," she went on, but you didn't care for with her gaze elsewhere, you could (and did) take the opportunity to stare down her cleavage at a range almost undreamed of previously. In your pants, John Thomas sprung to attention again like an eager retriever. The valley between her tits went on and on... and there, just there was the start of her white bra. Oh, god, you so much wanted to fondle those breasts... to fondle them and torment them until she begged you to stop...

"... did you understand that, Davies?" The teacher's voice asking a question brought you back to reality.

You glanced around at the smiling faces of your classmates, as if hoping for some inspiration to spring from their faces... but it was not to be. "I... er... I'm sorry Miss... I... erm..." you finally managed to stutter.

Mrs Dougherty sighed with exasperation. "I said, Davies, that you are to stay behind after school for some extra tuition from me in the hope that we can get what currently passes for your grades up. A little one-on-one tuition..." And then she turned and left.

Extra time with Mrs Dougherty! Bliss! Staying in school under those circumstances wasn't a punishment, it was a prize. And what precisely did she mean when she said one-on-one? It was almost a coded message... or maybe she was just teasing you more? And that reference to getting it up...

Your body suddenly jerked and you arrived back in the real world as, from her place across the aisle, Linda placed her hand on you bloated penis and gave it a friendly squeeze. "Down, tiger," she whispered as she squeezed again.

"No! Don't!" you whispered frantically back as the little vixen squeezed a third time... and your spunk exploded into your y-fronts. You sighed heavily and closed your eyes for a second before opening then only to see Linda giving you a knowing smile. You leaned in towards her, "Thanks very bloody much, you randy little cunt!" you hissed but without much rancour.

"My pleasure," she replied and settled back into her chair as Mrs Dougherty finished with the last of the homework and again took up her position at the blackboard. You too leaned back... and tried not to think too much about the now cooling sticky substance coating your flaccid cock...

The rest your day, with one hectic diversion over lunch, seemed to drag terribly but. finally, the 3.45 bell rang and with many a whoop and cheer, two hundred and seventy-eight boys and girls streamed out through the school gates leaving just one eagerly nervous boy behind - you. With butterflies fluttering in your stomach, you headed back towards Room 214 and your meeting with Mrs Dougherty. When you arrived, she was sitting behind her desk, checking some exercise books. The object of your desire (or should that be lust) barely looked up as you knocked timidly on the door but her beckoning finger indicated that your were to enter and to stand before her. Once again, you didn't exactly object to this as it afforded you yet another chance to peer down into the gap between her bust and her blouse. All to quickly, however, she pushed the last book to one side and looked up at you... just affording you time to divert your own gaze away from her boobs.

"So, young mister Davies, what am I going to do with you?" she asked in an exasperated voice.

'I know what I'd like you to do with me, ' you thought to yourself before saying aloud that you didn't really know.

Smiling a wan smile at you, your teacher stood up and walked round to the front of the desk where she hitched herself up onto the surface, the hem of her skirt rising well above her knees, before she commented that she didn't either. "If I didn't know better, Davies, I'd say that you were purposely failing the course for some reason. But that wouldn't be true, now would it?"