Chapter 1

John Baxter sat in front of the classroom, his elbows on the desk, his chin propped up in his hands, his pinkies tugging at the skin below his eyes. From time to time he glanced at the tops of his students' heads while they busily scribbled on their test papers. The thirty-two year old high school teacher sighed knowing he'd be disappointed when he graded their essays and wondered if his life was ever going to have any meaning. He had entered the profession believing he could make a difference by educating the next generation. But like most of his colleagues, he experienced great disappointment. In the beginning, he used the new techniques he was taught in college to get the children excited about learning. He worked a lot from home preparing his next day's lessons and grading papers. He displayed a lot of energy in the classroom -- but found the teenagers just didn't care. No matter how hard he worked, they simply were not interested. Over time, John Baxter, the energetic fireball, became John Baxter the boring English teacher.

Unfortunately his apathy in school carried over into his personal life. His relationship with his girlfriend was getting worse and worse. They were in a rut. John would go to Suzanne's house after dinner a couple times per week and simply watch TV.

He thought about their earlier relationship and smiled. His visits used to involve fervent lovemaking. Their constant touching excited them so much they would tear their clothes off wherever they were and have uninhibited sex. There wasn't a room in the house that escaped their passion. Sometimes they never made it into the house. As soon as the garage door closed, they would go at it; sometimes in the car or more often leaning against the car. Other times they'd leave a trail of clothing from the garage to whatever room they stopped in. They did it in the shower -- the laundry room -- even a closet. The most common place, other than the bedroom, was the kitchen. John would fondle Suzanne as she prepared a meal which usually led to stormy sex. Often ordinary kitchen items were involved. John remembered shoving a large cucumber up Suzanne's pussy while she sucked his cock. Sometimes they'd pour food on each other and lick it off bringing each other to a sexual frenzy. Their relationship had been perfect, but then as John became more complacent at work, his relationship with Suzanne suffered. He'd go to her house, mope, plop onto the couch, and turn on the TV.

The happy thoughts passing through John's mind quickly faded. He remembered the night before and his eyes watered. His pinkies brushed away the tears before they fell. He hadn't planned to be with Suzanne, but his crabby old principal, Ms. Kraus, chewed his ass out at school and he needed comforting. Using his key to Suzanne's house, he had let himself in. He heard strange, but familiar sounds coming from the bedroom. Cautiously, John moved towards the sounds.

"Oh, God. Fuck me! Make me cum! Oh, yes ... yes ... yes!"

What's going on? he thought as Suzanne's screams cut through his heart. With a hand pressed against the wall for support, John leaned to the side and peeked into her bedroom. His breathing stopped, his body froze. Suzanne was naked, her back to him, her long brown hair flying about as she moved. She was on her knees, her legs spread, and the hairy legs of a man were between them, the bottoms of his calloused feet facing John. His girlfriend bounced up and down, her pussy-lips clinging to the wet cock sliding in and out of her. Her buttocks tightened each time she lifted up as she clenched the man's cock with her pussy, and then she'd slam down onto his thighs.

"I'm going to cum. Make me cum. Cum inside me. I want to feel you shoot inside me. Please don't stop. Fuck me. Fuck me. Ooohhh, I ... I'm ... I'm cumming!" Suzanne screamed.

John watched as she crashed down hard on the man's cock, her head thrown back, her hair almost reaching her buttocks. The man's heels dug into the mattress and his hips pushed up. Suzanne remained frozen, her body stiff and shuddering, and then she fell forward onto the man's chest, breathing in short rapid pants like a dog that had run around the backyard in the middle of the summer heat. In this position, her ass lifted a little and white sperm dripped from her pussy down the man's shaft.

John had left Suzanne's house as quietly and undetected as he had entered.

Why did Suzanne betray me? John thought, sitting at his desk. My life has turned to shit.

As much as John detested what Suzanne had done, the recollection of the couple fucking caused his dick to harden. Unconsciously, he began stroking his hard-on behind the privacy of his desk. His eyes wandered around the room at the students busily taking the test. The one advantage of teaching high school was the plentiful supply of innocent lovely young girls usually dressed in revealing clothing.

His gaze lingered on Ivy. Her fiery red hair fell loosely around her face almost to the desk. John smiled thinking she looked like Cousin Itt from the Addams Family. Ivy, how the hell can you take a test when you can't see your paper? John thought, frustrated over how his students behaved. You should tie it up or something.

The girl looked up and brushed her hair off her face. She looked around the room slightly confused and then glanced at the clock on the wall. Removing an elastic band from her wrist, she shook her hair and pulled it into a ponytail, wrapping the elastic band around it twice. Picking up her pen, she returned to the test.

Fuckin'-A. That's the way to go, Ivy. Maybe there's hope for you after all, John thought.

Ivy looked up again, this time at John. She smiled weakly and then looked back down. Her skin was so pale. If you were close enough you could see the few freckles dotting the bridge of her nose, that is, if you weren't distracted by her powder-blue eyes. She was wearing a very tight skimpy pair of white denim shorts. John had noticed them earlier when she strolled into class giggling and chatting nonstop with several friends -- at the zipper that was open a bit at the top causing a gap. Not that you could see anything, but that probably made it sexier -- the mystery of what was hidden. Her top was hot-pink, the shirttails tied below her quite large breasts for someone who just turned 16. John peered under her desk. She was leaning on her elbow while writing furiously, the side of her face resting on her fist, her knees wide apart. He let out a little sigh as he continued to rub his dick. Her shorts were so tight they parted her labia, the shape of her meaty vulva clearly defined.

Glancing on, his eyes stopped at his favorite. To him, Heather was his cutest student. She didn't have the curvy body Ivy did, but her small breasts, lack of womanly hips, and thin legs made her seem younger than her 15 years. She reeked of purity and innocence, especially today with her blonde hair in pigtails with green bows tied at their ends. She was wearing a pleated green plaid skirt, and as usual it rode up her thin thighs. C'mon, Heather, spread your legs a little, John thought. Just then, Heather's legs opened giving him a view of her inner thighs. "Thanks," he muttered under his breadth as a smile appeared on his previously sorrowful face. John continued to daydream. Heather, be a doll and spread your legs more so I can see your panties.

The hand in John's lap froze and his eyes opened wide. The young girl's legs had separated more. He quickly looked around the room to make sure no one was watching, and then he stared between the teenager's legs. From time to time he'd get a quick peek at some girl's panties, but this was different. It wasn't a fleeting glimpse. Heather sat before him, her knees wide apart, the crotch of her pink panties clearly visible. He wondered if she was reading his mind. Heather, rub your nose. John gasped when the 15-year-old did.

John jumped when the school bell rang. The students' heads all popped up at the same time, their weary eyes locked on their teacher. "Okay, class, the test is over. Leave your papers on your desks face down. Heather, please help me gather the test papers."

As the class shuffled out of the room, John Baxter and his favorite student went from desk to desk picking up the papers. When they met in the middle of the room, Heather handed her stack to her teacher. He couldn't help touching her soft hand. Heather, wear a short skirt and green panties tomorrow, he thought while looking at the young girl. Out loud, he said, "Thank you, Heather," as he took the papers from her.

After he was left alone, John considered what just transpired. His logical mind won out and he believed it all to be coincidental.

The next day, John sat at his desk watching his last period students stroll into the classroom. He was on the edge of his chair, back straight, fingers clenching and unclenching the armrests. Most students were busy chatting, but occasionally one would say, "Good afternoon, Mr. Baxter," which would require him to respond. But his eyes never left the door. And then he leaned forward -- Heather had entered. His eyes quickly scanned her -- to her short skirt -- and his mind began to race. What am I thinking? I didn't make her do it. She wears skirts a lot.

While the class settled into their seats, his eyes never left Heather. She slid under her desk with her knees together, lifted a bit, pulled the bottom of her skirt forward, and then smoothed the top part over her thin legs. As usual, the skirt only covered half her thighs. John bit his lower lip and thought, Heather, spread your legs so that Mr. Baxter can see your panties.

John's breathing stopped when her legs immediately parted. He could see her panties -- green ones! His mind raced. Am I going crazy? Yesterday I told her to wear green panties today. But this can't be happening. It's impossible. But then he thought, Heather, put your legs together. Her legs snapped shut and John gasped.

"Mr. Baxter, you okay?"

John turned and looked at the chubby girl with frizzy hair wearing round glasses too big for her face. "What? Um, yes, I'm fine. Why?"

"'Cause you look funny and..." John looked sharply into the girl's face. "Never mind." She quickly turned and almost ran to her desk.

John had trouble concentrating on the lesson. He struggled through the session while thinking about his ability to control Heather with his thoughts. He wondered if it only worked on her. Looking at a dark haired boy sitting in the back of the room, John projected a message. Steve, your balls itch. He looked on in astonishment as the student casually scratched between his legs. Right before the class ended, he sent a message to Heather. Heather, when the bell sounds and the other kids leave, you will stay in your seat because you want to tell Mr. Baxter something.

The bell rang and the students jumped to their feet, bumping into each other as they dashed for the door -- all but one.

Heather remained seated, the side of her face in her hand and her eyebrows furrowed. She knew she wanted to tell Mr. Baxter something, but just couldn't remember what. Then, all of a sudden, her mind became clear.