So, my name is Jimmy, and if pushed, I’d have to admit that I was a pretty average seventeen-year-old virgin. Average looks, average height, average weight, average intelligence. I was even possibly only averagely horny; I beat off a lot, but I suspect that most other guys my age did too. I’d had a few girlfriends, but I suspected that I was too nice, or they were too nice, or most probably a bit of both, so although we had fun, we never actually ... did it.

That all changed due to a moment of clumsiness on my part.

I was late getting to class after I’d had to go to the bathroom. Coming up the stairs, I met Miss Coombe on her way down. We did that sort of dance where you both go the same way, half smile at each other, and then do it again. On the third attempt, we collided, knocking some of the papers out of her arms. Apologizing profusely, I knelt down to pick them up. As I did, she lifted her foot, which had ended up on top of one of them, and moved it to the side. This had the effect of spreading her legs a few feet apart, and I became aware that I could see a little way up her knee-length, pleated skirt.

That was the point at which time seemed to slow to a crawl. Leaning forward just slightly and turning my head, I found that I could see straight up her skirt. The first thing that I noticed was that what I’d assumed were tights were, in fact, stockings. Above those were a pair of creamy-colored thighs, and between those was ... nothing! Not literally nothing, but no panties and no pubic hair! I had a perfect view of her perfect pussy! I’d never seen one IRL, and the soft mounds separated by rosy-pink lips took my breath away. But, astonishingly, there was something that dragged my eyes away from even that: between her beautifully rounded butt cheeks was a jewel. I’m not getting all poetic about her butthole; there was a red, heart-shaped, sparkling jewel nestling in her crevice. Miss Coombe, my prim math teacher, was going commando, was bald as a baby girl, and had a butt plug in her ass!!

It could only have taken a few heartbeats for me to take that all in, at which point Miss Coombe squealed, pushed her skirt between her legs with one hand, snatched the papers from me with the other, and hurried away. I knelt there, speechless and fully erect for maybe twenty seconds as my brain tried to process what I’d just seen. I was jolted out of it by the bell sounding for the next period, and I got up and stumbled my way to my class in a daze.

That was the first lesson of the afternoon, and Miss Coombe’s was the last. She must have known what I’d seen, and I spent most of the afternoon trying to plan how to play it when I saw her. In the end, I concluded that all I could do was to try not to make eye contact, and, if she challenged me, to pretend that I hadn’t seen anything.

It seemed to be working just fine until the final bell went, and she told the class to pack up and leave. My heart was just beginning to settle, and I was halfway to the door, when she said, “James Russell, could you stay behind, please?”

Suddenly, my heart was hammering in my chest, and thoughts were racing through my mind. It wasn’t fair! She couldn’t punish me! It hadn’t been my fault! I hadn’t meant to look up her skirt!

But strangely, she didn’t look angry as I stood before her desk; if anything, I thought she looked as frightened as I felt.

“James,” she said softly, “or is it Jimmy?”

“Jimmy,” I mumbled into my chest.

“I think we need to talk ... but not here,” she said, and then handed me a small piece of paper. I looked at it, and it was an address. I recognised it as a street about a mile away. “I believe that it’s almost on your way home ... if that’s OK?”

I was confused, but it wasn’t a detention or having to see the head. “Yes, sure,” I agreed, hugely relieved.

On my way to my bike, I was wondering what was going to happen. Just in case, I rang Mom to tell her that I might be a bit late. She wanted to know why, so I improvised, “I’m getting a little extra tutoring in math,” I explained. I thought it was genius: if anyone saw me at Miss Coombe’s house, it would explain everything. And it wasn’t as if I didn’t struggle with the subject. Mom seemed happy with that, and I cycled fairly slowly to the address that I’d been given. I leaned my bike against a hedge and then took a deep breath and rang the bell.

Before I continue, let me describe Miss Coombe as I knew her up until that day. She wore no makeup, her hair was palest blonde, almost gray, and always pulled severely back and up in a bun. She tended to wear baggy cardigans and thick woollen pleated skirts that came to just below the knee. She certainly wasn’t fat, but her clothes gave little idea of what was under them. If asked to guess her age, I would have said anywhere between thirty and forty-five.

When I knocked on the door and saw the woman who answered it, I had to check that I’d gotten the right house number. The woman who stood before me had her platinum blonde hair cascading in soft waves down to her shoulders, a slash of bright-red lipstick accentuated a sensuous mouth, and she was wearing a silk kimono, the same color as the lipstick, that clung to her perfect breasts and clearly erect nipples like a second skin, and came maybe a third of the way down her shapely thighs. She was gorgeous.

“Jimmy,” she said softly, dispelling any lingering doubts that I might have had about being at the wrong house. “Please come in.”

We stood in her lounge, facing each other. “Miss Coombe--” I said, trying to begin the little speech of apology that I’d come up with on the way.

“Tricia,” she interrupted.

“Tricia--” I began again, but she held a hand up to stop me again.

“We both know what you saw earlier, Jimmy,” she said. “I know I shouldn’t do it, but it brightens my day. Do you have any idea how boring it is, teaching the same thing, year after year?”

I shook my head and tried to look sympathetic.

“So, what’s it going to take for you not to tell anyone?”

I almost laughed. “Tricia, I’d--”

I was going to say, ‘never tell anyone’, but she spoke over me, “Do you want to see me completely naked?” The words died on my lips, and I stood there, my mouth opening and closing silently. “More?” she asked, “A blowjob?”

My poor brain was fizzing, and before I could even think how to reply, she undid the sash and let the robe fall off over her shoulders and onto the floor.

I literally whimpered at the sight of her wonderful body: her high, pert, upturned breasts, with fat, long nipples, narrow waist with flaring hips, long, slender legs, and, of course, her bald, luscious pussy.

In seconds, I was so hard that my cock was bending uncomfortably in my briefs. She looked down at my groin, and her lips curled just slightly at the edges. “I see,” she said, coming over to me and kneeling in front of me.