Professor Helen Calary walked slowly around the large classroom, her hands clasped behind her back, the heels of her shoes clacking loudly against the floorboards as she made her rounds amongst her students. There were twenty students in all, all teenage girls between the ages of fourteen and sixteen, all the earnest, pretty daughters of wealthy New England businessmen. They all sat in a circle, sitting on creaking wooden chairs in front of easels, furiously drawing away with their pastels on large sheets of rough paper ... and occasionally, glancing nervously over their shoulders in the direction of their stern teacher. Professor Calary was well-known by all the students of Saint Joan's Academy for Girls as a tough but fair instructor, one reluctant to give praise ... but when it was given, it was well-earned.
"Very nice, Abigail ... but the proportion's not quite right," Helen said, tapping a wooden pointer against one girl's easel. "And you, Maddie ... too much shadow. See? Look at how the light falls on our model's body ... try to have a little more nuance with your lighting, hmm?" She pointed expectantly past the girl, at the center of the ring of easels.
On the dais in the middle of the circle of easels sat a model, and for the girls of Saint Joan's Academy for Girls, he was rather a special model indeed. Professor Calary's fifteen-year old son Connor sat on an old-fashioned chaise lounge, posing pensively in a manner similar to Rodin's 'The Thinker', his piercing blue eyes staring down towards the floor. He wore no clothes, with only part of a white toga placed carefully across his lap to properly preserve his modesty in the classroom. He was an athletic, wiry teen, lean and toned with a mop of sandy hair that he constantly needed to brush out of his face with an absent brush of his hand ... and an earnest, easygoing smile that tended to make girls his age melt with delight.
Girls very much like the students in Professor Calary's classroom.
Connor usually helped out with his mother's art classes when he was home from the Breckinridge Preparatory School down in Boston, which was his late father's alma mater. The break schedules at Breckinridge Prep tended to run a bit longer than Saint Joan's, so he usually was home at his mother's townhouse for a few days before the girls went home He'd even posed as a model for the class, once before, over the mid-semester fall break a few weeks before – however, he certainly hadn't ever posed in such a revealing manner for Professor Calary's class then. She'd gotten the full approval of the headmistress for her son to assist in her lesson as a model, of course, so there was no fear of Professor Calary getting in trouble, or any sense that she was doing something inappropriate ... but there certainly was an excited buzz in the air in her classroom, as the eager, nubile teenage girls whispered amongst themselves in the class whenever they thought their teacher was out of earshot from them.
... wow, he's really brave ... not to mention kind of hot...
... wish the Saint Joan's Code allowed us to date, I'd go out with him in a second...
... yeah, right ... he probably has a girlfriend already ... how could he not... ?
... wouldn't mind if that toga fell on the floor ... just for a moment...
Helen allowed herself a small smile of amusement as she heard her students' comments about her son. She wasn't out of earshot, of course – not ever, not in her classroom – so she gave a few of the whispering girls a stern stare. She was delighted just a little bit by their embarrassment ... and pleased by it as well. They thought she might be angry at them for how they were talking about Connor – don't you dare speak that way about my son, they thought her eyes said.
They didn't know how wrong they were.
For that matter, they didn't know how much Helen agreed with them.
If only they could see under that toga, Helen thought with wicked delight, then they'd be really impressed...
At thirty-nine, Helen was a tall, slender woman, still in great shape and extremely attractive. She usually participated in the evening yoga classes offered to the faculty, and jogged most mornings before showering and heading to the art building. Though she wished at times that she could just shed maybe another ten pounds or so – her stomach had just a touch of paunch, and she had more of a curvy bottom than she cared to admit – she looked very much the same as she had twelve years ago, right when she'd started working at Saint Joan's, right after her husband John had passed away.
Most of the girls in Helen's class wouldn't have considered their art teacher to be all that attractive, though. After all, she kept her long, curly blonde tresses tied up in a neat bun, and wore stern glasses with heavy black frames. She always wore a gray or brown tweed jacket, with a matching pencil skirt – on this particular day, it was gray – and a plain white blouse, with black stockings and simple black flats. Never anything revealing or risqué – always boring and perfectly ordinary.
Nothing that any of the other teachers could gossip about.
The bell rang. Slowly, the girls' heads all turned towards Professor Calary. Their pastels fell silent, even as their teacher folded her arms across her ample chest. Slowly, she walked past all of them to the classroom door. Her heels seemed to echo even more loudly through the large studio as she made her way there ... and then she reached for the large, brass doorknob, turning it and pulling the door wide open.
"Go," Professor Calary said, sighing as she turned to face her astonished class. She twirled her hand over her head in a dismissive wave, gesturing towards the hallway outside. "I can tell the holidays are already on your minds. But be prepared tomorrow to finish your drawings, my dears ... our model's only available for one more day, after all."
There was a mixture of cheers and soft groans from the girls as they got up from their seats and began hurriedly filing out of the classroom. Helen typically kept her students after class until their work was done to her satisfaction, much to their dismay. Since her class was always the last of the day, it wasn't uncommon for her to keep her lagging students at work for another half-hour past the bell, sometimes even more. So the fact that she was actually letting them all go on time for once, even with unfinished projects, was something of a pleasant surprise...
... except their dismissal also meant leaving the only male teenager their age on school grounds.
The only sexy, amazingly good-looking male teenager their age.
Most of the girls gave their male model friendly, longing waves goodbye as they picked up their book bags and filed out of the classroom. A few even winked playfully at him ... and one of them was even brazen enough to quickly blow him a kiss. All of the girls, though lowered their eyes to their shoes, though, as they reached the door ... and as they also reached their professor's withering stare of disapproval. As the last of her students filed out of the classroom, Helen reached for the door, firmly closing it behind all of them.
"Alone at last," Helen said softly, as she watched the last of her students exit her classroom. "Finally ... I thought those little tramps would never leave." Folding her arms sternly across her chest, she strode over to her son, stepping up onto the dais in the middle of the classroom. Calmly, she took off her glasses, tucking them into the inside pocket of her tweed jacket, and pulled out the hairpin holding her blonde mane of hair in a tight bun. She shook her head, and her hair spilled down her shoulders in a messy, golden cascade around her pretty face.
With a mischievous gleam in her eyes, Helen shrugged off het tweed jacket, letting fall in a crumpled heap under the lounge. Slowly, she pulled the strategically placed toga on Connor's lap away, tossing it casually on the floor. A broad, wicked smile crossed her face as she gazed down at her son's massive erection ... and she licked her lips, savoring the sight of it.
"I couldn't help it, Mom," said Connor, smirking as he saw the hungry look in his mother's eyes, "I was thinking of you. It's been a couple of weeks since you visited me at school ... I can't wait until we get back to the townhouse." He glanced down somewhat proudly at his stiff dick, which stood rock hard at attention at just over nine inches in length, a monster between the wiry, athletic teenage boy's legs. To Helen's great joy, she could already see that the fat head of his cock was already glistening and wet, as pre-cum dribbled lewdly from the tiny slit at its tip.
"I know ... I've been thinking of you, too," Helen murmured softly. She barely noticed as her right hand slipped between her legs, her fingers stroking over the wool of her plain skirt, softly caressing the thong panties she wore beneath it ... and the outline of her moist slit as well. "I almost canceled class today ... if it wasn't the end of the fall semester, darling, I would've. I so would've rather been naked in bed with you all day..."
"Really?" Connor said. An amused grin crossed his face as he moved over slightly on the lounge, still not bothering to make the slightest attempt to cover up his erection. Instead, he simply patted the velvet cushion next to him, inviting his mother to sit at his side. "And what exactly would we have done in bed together, Mom?"
.... There is more of this story ...