"He was at it again today!" I called to my husband when he asked how school went.

His chuckle from the garage door was unsettling. "The little pervert! Are you going to tell Old George?"

I had no intention of telling my principal that my junior student was staring at my bust in class...again. George Walters’ gaze was no better. "He will tell me it’s normal hormones, and if I just keep him after class to scold him, it will embarrass him enough to stop."

Charlie came in the kitchen and gave me a peck as I stirred the sauce for the coq au vin. "Sounds like you already have told him."

"No! But that's what he said when Joyce reported a similar thing. Only Jeffrey Molar actually rubbed her bottom!" My face flushed at the thought. My colleague, Joyce, had been so disappointed in our principal’s inertia. "Can you imagine?"

Charlie wrapped his warm arms around me and nuzzled my neck. I hummed softly. Then he ruined the moment. "I can actually. Joyce has a nice bottom."

I gasped and swung around to smack him on the arm with my spoon.

"Hey! You got sauce on me!" He complained as he laughed toward the plate cabinet.

"You are lucky that's all you got! Set the table, you lech!"

Dinner was lovely, and the television offerings of MASH and Mary Tyler Moore were followed by my new French novel. After I set my hair for tomorrow, we read in bed. The conversation came around to my husband’s new favorite topic. Charlie was really pushing the pregnancy plan lately.

"If we do it now, you will have the baby in late June or July, so you can quit at the end of the school year without ‘abandoning your students’.”

I grimaced a bit. He sighed, his handsome face showing concern. "Come on, MaryAnn! We've talked about this. The baby needs his mother more than the students need Madame Lemont."

"His?"

"You know what I mean. And we really shouldn't put this off anymore. You turn thirty this year, you know."

"You do not have to remind me,” I said coldly. I put down my book and turned off my lamp.

"Good Night, Charlie. I love you,"

He paused for a minute, then groaned. "Okay, I'm sorry...we'll table it for now." He sweetly rubbed my shoulder and kissed my neck. "Love you, M.A.," I sighed. He was a great kisser. His hand ran over my shoulder and down my left breast, which was sporting an aroused nipple. I playfully slapped it away.

"Not on your life, mister. Good Night."

He grumbled, “Love you too,” and soon his light was off and he was softly sleeping.

I lay there with a mind that would not settle. I wanted children, of course I did. But I loved my students so much. How could I choose?

My age was only one concern: the biological clock, etcetera.

My mother had been so “relieved we were finally getting married” at 25, so she could have grandchildren while “still able to play with them”. Well, sorry Mom, I had said, I selfishly have a master's degree to finish in Belgium. Sacré Bleu!

Babies… my students…Weren’t they my babies? Joyce always told me not to get attached as they move through so quickly and are off to college. But some of them were so wonderful and special. Kids like Oliver just needed a role model. His own mother had passed away when he was twelve. I am no Freud, but maybe that’s why he was so fascinated with my breasts.

Admittedly, they were my “best asset,” as my mother would say. At 38D, they held up well on their own.

I sighed and thought of motherless Oliver Kelly. I teared up for a moment. He was such a good-looking young man with a soulful sadness even at seventeen. Not brooding, he was introspective.

And … Handsomely magnetic.

A warmth came over me, alerting my nipples, pooling below my trim belly and above my well-shaped hips.

I felt…the tingle.

Now? After I had already refused Charlie? Darn it! My monthly was soon, and my playful lady bits were just as restless as my brain.

I thought about nudging him back awake, it had been four days since we had last made love, but other naughty things were clouding my brain. I kept thinking of Oliver. His green eyes, wide with fascination, were an image I was seeing almost daily now, both in the classroom and in my thoughts.

Suddenly, I had a naughty vision of me undressing in front of him. Unzipping my dress, and allowing it to fall off my shoulders. Unhooking the back of my brassiere and letting the cups fall forward.

I lay there and softly moaned. With a quick check on a soundly sleeping husband, my manicured fingers drifted underneath my nighty. The matching panty was soft and lacy and yielded easily at the waist. I felt heat and moisture tickling my pubic hair.

Charlie grunted and rolled, and my hand shot back! I turned away from him and quietly admonished myself, “What are you doing? He’s a student!”

My fingers smelled like sin. My heart was racing! My forehead was sweaty.

After some calm breathing, I started to drift off… thinking of green eyes and bra straps.

The next day, I purposely wore a rather plain knee-length red and yellow tartan-patterned dress. It had a placard down the front with cute orange buttons. My favored long sweater with the belt matched the autumn colors quite well. I suppose I had struggled with trying to dress myself down.

The images that had stolen my morals and ethics last night had faded and the late September day felt quite normal. Until sixth period arrived. The bell rang, and in they all galloped. "Bonjour, Madame" s greeted me as they noisily settled. I closed the door not wanting to make eye contact with the boy in the front row with the soulful green eyes.

“Écoutez, s’il vous plaît!” (Listen, please!)

The lovely juniors swiftly complied. They enjoyed me and I enjoyed them. After our review of the daily terms for the date, the weather, and the season, I began to give instructions as they took out their cahiers or workbooks. The lesson had a conversational component and the students needed to pair up.

Unfortunately, or not, the numbers were uneven today and who should be partnerless but young Mr. Kelly. I did not want to think the worst, yet I believe it may have been intentional on his part. Sweet Simone Jeffrey had approached him, but he had shaken his head. The poor thing scarleted and ended up with the quiet Teddy in the back row.

I told Oliver to come up to my desk; I would partner with him. His eyes lit up, and he said, "Oui, Madame, merci, " sat in the chair next to my desk, and began his work.

He was quite talented with vocabulary and pronunciation. He naturally understood the music of the language, and I found myself watching his mouth more than I probably should have. When he stumbled on a word, I carefully pointed it out on the page and gave the correct pronunciation. And that’s when our eyes locked.

It felt like a scene in films and books where electricity seems to travel between characters. I had had these moments myself when Charlie and I first started dating in undergrad. Yet this was completely different. His eyes’ inexplicable, soulful sadness had something agitated behind it. Not lust, more like infatuation. It was classically endearing and my lower region fluttered a moment.

My fear was that I may have been returning the same type of infatuated gaze.

He blushed slightly, and his eyes went down. Where else would they end up but on my full and ample bosom? Why I had been so foolish to partner him was not relevant. What was important was nipping this in the bud. I closed off my sweater and tightened the belt. I hoped the act would break his gaze. I took a deep breath and realized that probably wasn’t the best move, as my round bust line rose and fell in an unintentionally seductive manner. I was relieved that the noise in the room covered my voice.

“Olivier,” I said calmly, using his French class pronunciation. “I would like you to stay for a moment after class. We need to talk.”

Well, you would’ve thought that I slapped him across the face! His face seemed to have been switched off. That once mysterious demeanor looked crushed and mortified. He grabbed his cahier and four-colored pen and headed to his desk. It was then that I’d realized I’d let this part of the lesson extend beyond its allotted time and I refocused, my sweater tied even tighter.

When the bell finally rang, they filed out sweetly, saying "Au Revoir" as I reminded them of their homework. I walked to the door and was thankful my office hours were after this, so I could keep Oliver for a couple of extra moments. I turned and saw the poor young thing still at his desk, looking straight down as if he was about to head to the executioner's platform. His left leg was bouncing, and his pen tapped his book's binding.

I promised myself to be quick as I took the chair next to him and started a conversation that I had played in my head many times since yesterday. I was using a normal tone for an abnormal subject.

“Oliver, you are a very bright young man and one of my favorite students. Don’t tell anyone.” He looked up and softly smiled through his blush. I gave him a playful wink. Probably not the best choice in the moment. “I have noticed that you have been…watching me closely. And while I can't fully understand what it’s like to be a young man at your age—“

He closed his eyes and cut me off. “Madame! Please don’t! I’m so…embarrassed you saw that." He looked away in frustration. "Can we please not talk about this. I promise I won’t do it again.” Perhaps my principal was correct; the embarrassment would adjust the behavior.

I noted the sadness in his eyes had come back and was begging for a more thorough ending to the incident. He scrambled to get his things to leave, but I put a hand on his arm to stop him.

“Olivier, stop please, it’s all right. I’m honestly...flattered." I took a risk with the next. "It must be...difficult not having a mom at home." This caught his attention, and he looked confused yet not bothered. "I just want you to know that I’m here for you if you need to talk about anything else. Or perhaps you'd like to maybe see Monsieur Warren (the counselor).” He groaned and rolled his eyes, his left hand rubbing his wavy brown hair.

He honestly looked quite adorable, and I had to cross my legs to help stifle some of my inappropriate arousal. The smitten teen stole a glance at my knee exposing hemline. I smoothed the dress maybe a bit too slowly.

There was tension in the air, I was breathing quicker, and my heart was racing. The bell rang to end the passing period.

I deflected. “Are you all right, Oliver?”

He hesitated. “O…livier…I like it when you call me Olivier. Makes me feel different, special.”

There was less blush this time, but it was still present. He sat up a bit more, and I noticed his trousers had a noticeable tent. My eyes must’ve widened because he looked straight down and nearly fainted.

“Oh my God!” he said almost in tears. “Can I please go?”

I was caught between being mesmerized and mortified as he was. My mind flashed to someone in the hall seeing him rush out of my closed classroom with an obvious erection. The scandal would be career-ending. Quick thinking and compassion won out.

"Olivier! Wait! it’s... very natural and I’m not upset." I stood. "Why don’t you, um, sit here for a few minutes while I go to the Foreign Language office and get myself some coffee. When I come back, if you are still here, we can keep talking. If you are gone, I will understand why. Just know that I have no intention of telling anybody anything about this." He groaned. "I care for all of my students, and I want you to feel like you are safe in my classroom.”

By now, he had laid his books across his lap in an attempt to hide his growing issue. He was looking away; I was not.

He softly nodded. I straightened my dress and grabbed my purse. My heels clacked as I headed for the door without even glancing back. I was angry at their naturally seductive sound, yet I knew I put just a little bit too much sway in my hips. MaryAnn, you’ve got to get a hold of yourself!

"Wait! Madame, please, wait..."

I did and looked to find him standing, now genitally adjusted, books back on the desk. "You are my favorite, like all-time favorite teacher. I really like you - um, your class! And I think you are tres belle…very...pretty."

He was shaking a bit. His strong teen body showing nervous energy that he was desperately trying to dissipate. My heart had stopped racing and was now one steady hum. My palms were sweaty, and my throat went dry. I should have dismissed this as a typical teen crush, yet my annoyingly active vagina was hot and wet. This boy's infatuation, no, attraction was turning me on! I shook my head and tucked my hair behind my ear, a classic nervous tic of mine.

I was dumbstruck. I wanted to run.

I wanted to rush into his arms.

I wanted to hold him to my breast; damned maternal instinct arriving months too early!

Mon Dieu!

His confession was bold and a perverse part of me wanted to reward his bravery.

Dismissing all sense of decorum, I set my purse down on the nearest desk and turned to lock the door. I held the nob for a moment and tried to steady my breathing. I turned off the lights and held still, muttering to myself, "Mary Ann, ce que te fais est fou!" (What you are thinking of doing is crazy)

He inquired, "What was that?"

I did not answer but stepped and took his hand.

“M-M- Madame…?”

I led him to the back of the room, away from the sight of both door and windows. His voice was shaky. "Um, Madame...what is-?"

"Shh, no one can ever know about this. Tu comprends ?" (you understand?) He nodded and gulped.

My dress had a row of orange buttons down the bodice. With a glance at the door and a deep breath, I locked eyes with this handsome young man and began to undo them. My brain was adrift between utter madness and moral dismissal.

He audibly shuddered. “Oh la vache - !" (Holy cow!)

I put a finger to his mouth, and he quieted. His eyes now locked on my working fingers. One, two, then five buttons now undone, just enough, I guessed. I took hold of the two sides and slowly opened my dress to reveal a soft beige bra. It was one of my boutique purchases in Paris last year. Perhaps I had unwittingly predicted this moment when I donned it this morning. Though I was unsure how as it was completely deranged!

He was wide-eyed and smiling. His voice was soft and sweet, "...magnifique..." leaked out. I was so aroused that I just melted at the reaction. Then I went further into the world of the unprofessionally damned. I took hold of his shoulders, then slid my fingers up to his head and slowly pulled him to my bosom. His mouth settled on my breastbone and a significant rise of cleavage. At first, he did nothing, just breathed. I moaned softly and stroked his hair.

I closed my eyes and sighed. It was ethereal. Right and wrong boiled together and a queer sense of kindness surfaced. This felt...natural.

Olivier’s mouth began to move. Soft wet kisses began to pepper my skin and I shivered. My nethers nearly wept. My grip tightened and I squirmed. I bent and kissed the top of his head and he let out a strangled sigh. His energy jumped and he boldly held my breasts on their sides.

"Oh my...Oui!" I breathed out in a lust that was not tawdry, but still not appropriate. Its maternal undertones were disturbingly pleasant. It was one of the sensations that were battling inside my conscience.

My body was heated, and lightheadedness was knocking at my door. I quickly slipped my knee length sweater off my shoulders and it pooled across a nearby desk.

The teen mouth was fully licking the slope of my left breast, and I leaned into the pressure. I took my hand and foolishly pulled the elastic binding down, exposing my reddening, stiff nipple.

Olivier gasped and looked up with star-struck eyes. I was panting in open-lipped disbelief and wanton need. I nodded and he opened his mouth and boldly sucked the entire areola in. I had no way of knowing if this was his first breast taken in romantic circumstances. His enthusiasm should have informed me.

He licked and suckled a bit too noisily. I moaned, holding his head as if I was afraid he may vanish. Every lover I had ever had enjoyed my large nipples. I had enjoyed them doing so, but this was on a different level! I was in a state of twisted euphoria.

My legs were shaking as I tried to squeeze away the growing fire between them. Oh, my, was I going to have a climax from my student suckling my breast?! I was dizzyingly aware this was wrong and I did not care.

He was breathless. “Oh my God, this is amazing! I never knew it would taste like this,” the sweet thing said as he lay against my chest. His tongue still lapped my nipple.

In my state of arousal, I happen to grab hold of his waist. This teacher wanted to feel more of her student’s firm form against her.

I wanted to…have my way with him.

Oh, MaryAnn, you are in deep.

He moaned and wrapped his left hand around my waist, pulling our bodies toward the inevitable moment when our privates made contact. I gasped at the firmness, dare I say steel feel, of his erect penis.

“Merde, Olivier!”

I could no longer hold my flaming passion in check. I grabbed his handsome, wet face with both of my hands and kissed him deeply. My wedding and engagement rings flashed in the light and I had a twinge of guilt over Charlie, my professional expectations, and for heaven’s sake, my immortal soul!

My right leg had lifted and a heeled foot had made contact with the back of his thigh. We were one misguided moment away from having intercourse!

My enthusiastic partner felt the capitulation and with teenage bravado, began to grind his manhood into me.

I pulled my head back, and his mouth instinctively went to my neck and continued to kiss with open-lipped passion. “Ohhh….” I moaned like a common hussy. What started as an opportunity to gift a sweet boy some relief was now a mission for sexual satisfaction.

His erection was impressive for his age, and I could not stop myself from imagining it penetrating my precious port.

Suddenly, my husband, Charlie’s insistence on getting me pregnant and my reluctance to do so slammed in like a wave over a burning campfire. I grabbed his shoulders and pushed him off me. The poor thing stood there, gasping and sweating, his eyes wide in surprise.

“Did I, did I do something wrong? Is this too much?”

I shook my head and tried to get my breathing under control. My hands covered my face. Cool air hit the saliva on my breasts, charming up a chill brought on by temperature, fueled by absolute shame.

“Oh my goodness! Oh, you poor young man. I am so sorry this was—oh, can you please forgive me?”

He purposefully took my shoulders in his hand and put his face right in front of mine. I slowly lowered my hands. Masculine and sweet, sadness gone, he was showing…concern, not for himself, but for me.

“It’s okay, Madame.” He smiled and looked more handsome and more attractive than he ever had.

All resistance crumbled and I dove back in and passionately kissed him. I grabbed his hand and led it to my exposed breast. He squeezed and pulled and my body shook with imminent climax! We were kissing with frenzied excitement, his hands, nonstop! One slid down my lower back and was brazenly cupping my bottom. Our grinding was more intense, even desperate!

I did something I never expected nor had planned, nor specifically fantasized about. My right hand slid down his torso and right into his blue jeans. His body froze when I made first contact with his very impressive, throbbing member. I squeezed it once and he moaned and dropped his head on my shoulder. I was in another dimension. Another place entirely as I stroked the nearly explosive sexual organ of one of my students.

I went all the way to the base and felt the curly hair surrounding his testicles. I realized with admiration that he was circumcised. Charlie was not. It felt different; younger, I suppose. Luridly wicked…

Contact with his dick made him bolder and he pushed my bra down to take my right breast into his mouth. My free hand grabbed his curly head, my nails digging into his scalp as I pushed him deeper into my flesh, wanting him to suck milk that didn’t exist. I was a mess of emotions and relationships and possibilities.

I was given a fright when he pulled off of me with a wet noise and nearly yelped. He covered his own mouth as his body spasmed. My hand was suddenly filled with a pulsating teenage manhood, covering my hand in fresh hot jism.

“OHhhh my GAHHHHD!” he choked out, not wanting to scream.

I actually gasped in surprise, my eyes going wide! Oliver shook as his climax hit its denouement. His neck stiffened, then he collapsed on my shoulder, his lips still close to my breast, pants of breath keeping my nipple aroused.

For fear of making him feel ashamed, I held him with conviction. After all, this was my doing entirely. My choices. I literally was the responsible adult in this unorthodox couple. And part of me had failed him.

But in that beautiful moment of connection, I felt settled. I knew that the benefit far outweighed the consequences. He needed loving, sexual contact and a feeling of satisfaction from someone. The maternal connection was for my benefit.

I spoke with a tone reserved for assurance. “Olivier… we have to get cleaned up. You need to get to your next class and I need to… well,” I looked down at my disheveled and pink-skinned bust, “make myself presentable.”

He stood straight, looking as if he didn’t know where he was. And then his head nodded, mouth still open, breathing in realization and exhaling disbelief. He looked down as it dawned to us simultaneously that I still had his penis in my hand. I pulled out of his jeans, his white release cupped carefully so as not to make a mess. There was still plenty inside of his drawers. I’m guessing that wasn’t the first time he had to deal with that issue.

His semen glistened as we both stared at my fingers, my manicure dripping a slow thick droplet. It smelled like nothing I’ve ever experienced. Perhaps because stroking a man in his clothes until completion was unprecedented. I’d only had sexual contact with three people before Charlie and this felt completely different…also strangely noble.

My head gestured to my desk, where a box of facial tissue sat. He rushed over with a gallant purpose and brought me some to clean myself up. I whispered, “Merci,” as I lifted my hand to inspect the glaze. I think he was shocked when he saw me tasting some of it on my fingers. I blushed at the whorish, filthy act.

Well, it was awful to do but I had gone this far, hadn’t I?

My twisted mind made note that his expulsion tasted much less bitter than my husband’s.

He used a couple of tissues himself to wipe his crotch, and we were soon burying the evidence in the bottom of my trashcan, my bra and dress returned to a presentable state.

I wrote him a pass, noting that he had been kept for “tutoring.” I rolled my eyes at the ridiculousness of it.

We stood just inches away from each other, neither knowing what to say, each of us clutching one end of the yellow paper.

To say the air was thick with uncertainty would be an understatement.

“Madame, I- “

Just as earlier, my finger on his lips stopped him. “This was wrong,” I whispered with weight. He looked crushed. “But not a mistake. It was très bien, monsieur. This made me feel… Alive.” His smile could have powered the entire school.

I continued, “Before you ask, I would like to repeat it.” He was shocked, I was convicted. “Not necessarily tomorrow but… Soon. Maybe not even here. In fact, probably not here!“

“Yeah… probably not,” he agreed conspiratorially. His boyishly handsome face lit up again with possibility.

“But before we accept that, you must swear to me on all that is holy that you will never tell a soul what transpired here today. Our very lives could be in jeopardy.”

He gulped, but then quickly showed a surprising maturity. He nodded with firmness and conviction, and picked up his books to head out. As he passed by me, he sighed with one last look at my face. I turned and gave him one more soft kiss on his lips.

“Ca va?” I inquired. (You okay?)

“Oui, Madame. Heureux” (happy)

He smiled and was gone.

I took a deep breath in the quiet classroom.

Charlie entered my thoughts and I shewed him away. Everything in my being knew I had done a horrible thing save the one corner of my heart that burned for this young man. The incident had left me wanting in a way that threatened to consume me. Perhaps it was because I had not had a climax. Not uncommon for me yet still disappointing.

Images of Oliver Kelly on top of me in my bed, pushing himself deeper on a mission to impregnate me, blew apart any integrity I had left. Climax hit me brought on by the mere thought. I clutched the side of my desk as my body shook and my vagina pulsed. A strangled cry spilled from my mouth as my eyes squeezed tight. It was unlike anything I had ever experienced, magical, ethereal, unexplainable, and raw.

My spent body stumbled and like a marionette whose strings had been severed, I collapsed in my chair and began to cry.

To be continued…

Thank you for reading.

I hope you enjoyed this trip down fantasy memory Lane.

If you liked it, please click the heart. If you really liked it, better get some facial tissue to clean up, and then hit the Star.

And as always, please leave a comment: I try to respond to them all.

Peace and love wherever you can find it, Matt.