Yes, I’m THAT teacher. The one you fantasized about. The one in the old Van Halen “Hot for Teacher” video. The one that inspires the comment: “I wish my teachers looked like that when I was in high school.”
I know all the schoolboy fantasies you harbored when you were sixteen:
Private after-school detentions where I draw the blinds and ride your cock on top of the lab table.
Stolen moments in my closet while the rest of the class has gone to lunch. Maybe I’ll wank you until you’re gasping for breath, shooting your cum all over my tits as they spill out of my low-cut top.
Hanging back in the locker room after gym class, where I drop to my knees and suck your dick until you tangle your fists in my hair, screaming as you cum in my mouth.
I know what you wanted back then. I know you remember those fantasies. I know you get hard and stroke yourself while you reminisce about “that teacher,” and that turns me on too.
But there’s a lot you don’t know about me. I have fantasies of my own, and sometimes I act on them in ways you wouldn’t believe. For example, there’s the hot new basketball coach. Yes, THAT basketball coach. The one that all the girls whisper about, doodling on their notebooks, pairing his last name with their first name to see how it looks. Walking the long route to class just to pass by his room, then dropping something by his door so they can bend down in front of him.
He’s the coach that the female teachers fantasize about. The one that they change their schedules for, plan their lunches around, find excuses to email and chat up in the hallways. The one they think about when they touch themselves at night, the one whose name they call out as they fuck themselves with silicone cocks.
What no one else knows is that he’s sexting me while I’m in class, discussing the theme of revenge in Macbeth. The class giggles as my cell phone chimes. I hold up a finger to silence them as I read my message, and immediately feel a rush of heat flood my body. Him: Hey gorgeous. I have to know what panties you’re wearing. Me: Purple lace boyshorts Him: Mmmmm…purple. Want to fuck? Me: Hell yes. Where and when? Him: The field house during your planning block. Me: I’ll meet you there at 9.
I click off the phone and try to get back to Macbeth, but the observant student would notice my flushed cheeks, the gleam in my eye. The observant adult would probably put the pieces together and recognize the “I’m about to get lucky” expression.
If you knew about the sex that goes on in schools, you’d blush. No, I’m not talking about the frantically humping high school seniors that are occasionally caught in the stairway or on the stage in the auditorium. I’m talking about teacher sex: consenting adults engaging in illicit acts in all kinds of places: the supply closet, the teachers’ lounge, the library, the faculty restroom, the couch in the nurse’s office, the roof.
In this case, I’m headed to the field house. It’s a good meeting place because it’s not in use during the school day…ensuring privacy, even if it does smell like dried sweat. Brad is waiting for me behind the tackling dummies, looking fine in his blue jeans and coaching jersey.
“Hola,” he says. I grin in response, and we waste no time before sharing a passionate kiss. Brad and I have been fucking for about a month now. We’ve gone on a couple of dates, but there is no commitment between us. We both just really enjoy sex, and have a mutual appreciation for each other’s body. And sometimes we get so hot we can’t wait for after school. Today is one of those days.
“Oh, my God…you’re wearing those boots again,” he growls as he runs his hand up my thigh and under my skirt. He grabs my ass with both hands, firmly squeezing and lifting me slightly off the ground. Then he tugs at my panties, sliding them down my legs and off. I unbutton his jeans, freeing that massive cock that would send those high school girls screaming in terror.
I know they all fantasize about fucking him. I know the basketball moms that show up early to watch practice are really just watching him, soaking their panties as they imagine what his hot body could do to them. The glazed expressions on their faces tell me where their thoughts are: under the bleachers, on their knees, sucking Brad’s giant cock. That’s when I like to strut my stuff across the gym floor, interrupting practice with a quick whisper in his ear. Sometimes he blushes, like if I tell him I’m wet and ready for a hard fuck in his pick-up truck after practice. Depending on how hard I get him, he might dismiss practice early. I thrive on the jealous glances that get thrown my way, the speculation that’s going on. We both know people talk about us. We’re THAT couple…two hot, single teachers…why wouldn’t we be having sex?
My thoughts are interrupted as he picks me up, hands under my ass, and carries me to the side of the field house, setting me on top of a table where the coaches sit during football practice.
"Oh…if Coach White knew I was nailing you on his coaching table, he would cream his jeans,” Brad says with a wicked glint in his eye.
I pull his pants down so they pool at his ankles. He slides me even farther to the table’s edge, and I hook my legs around the back of his thighs.
Looking into my eyes, he slides his thick cock into my wet and ready pussy. I love the smug look on his face, like he just climbed Mt. Everest or scored the winning shot in a championship game. Watching my face, he pulls out slowly, then rams back into me with a grunt and a smirk.
“You like that?” he asks.
“I love that,” I gasp, as he thrusts into me again, and again. He hooks an arm under each of my thighs and props my legs up on his shoulders, sliding me even closer to him, then holding tight to my legs as he begins to stroke me harder. I lean back, propping myself up with my elbows so I can keep watching his handsome face. He stays deep, with small, fast strokes that are increasing in tempo and building me up exactly enough. I’m breathing hard and moaning my approval, which seem to encourage him to go harder and faster.
“Tell me what you want, babe,” he whispers, then leans forward and crushes my mouth with his before I can answer.
I’m gasping as our kiss breaks, and I say, “I just love the way you fuck me. This is all I want.”
“I’m going to fuck you until you cum. Then I want to hear you screaming my name, and I’ll keep fucking you until you beg me to stop.”
“Do it,” I say. “That sounds perfect.”
“Speaking of perfect,” he says. “I need to suck on your perfect tits.” With that, he begins to unbutton my shirt, a pure example of multitasking as his cock is still buried deep inside, and he’s still thrusting into me. So I decide to help, and the job goes much quicker. He bends his mouth to one of my nipples, taking it gently between his teeth, flicking it with his tongue, sucking on it. With his free hand, he rolls my other nipple between his fingers.
“Oh, Brad…” I moan quietly. I love the look on his face when I say his name. He grins at me, encouraged like I’ve just praised him, and pumps me even harder. His breathing is heavier, and beads of sweat have appeared on his sexy brow. I prop myself on my elbow and reach up to lick them off. He closes his eyes as my tongue touches his forehead, and the salty taste of his sweat makes my heart skip a beat, strange though it sounds.
Suddenly Brad pulls out of me and drops to his knees. In a panic, I look towards the door of the fieldhouse, expecting someone to come in, but no one is there. Then I feel Brad’s tongue on me, flicking quickly across my clit. “ohhhhh…mmmmmmmm…” I moan. I was already getting close to an orgasm, but now with his tongue working my clit, I know I won’t last long. “Oh, God, Brad…what are you doing to me? That’s SO good…”
He doesn’t answer, since his mouth is otherwise engaged, but keeps tormenting my clit with his strong tongue…circling it, flicking across it, faster and faster. My hips come off the table as I try to grind into his tongue, chasing that elusive orgasm.
“Oh…oh…oh…I’m so close Brad…yes, right there…oh, Brad…oh, fuck, yes…” My orgasm is swift and amazing, making my whole body shudder with pure pleasure as I cry out Brad’s name and thrash on the table under his tongue. Then he’s standing up again, pulling me off the table, turning me around and bending me over it. Before I can even register what he’s doing, he’s slamming inside me again, fucking me from behind.
“I want you to cum again, babe. Just let go, relax and feel it. Feel my cock drilling your sweet pussy. Focus on that feeling and cum for me.”
“Oh, God…yes, Brad, I’m cumming again…give it to me harder!” At that, Brad unleashes everything he has left and pounds me like a man possessed, grunting with every thrust as I press back into him and reach down to finger my clit. I can’t help the screams that escape me, and Brad cums just after I do, gasping out my name as he fills me with his hot cum.
I collapse onto the table, and Brad falls forward onto me. We lay there, sweating, gasping, still throbbing with the after-effects of another amazing sexual encounter. Then reality hits us and I check my cell phone…only 10 minutes left of planning. We dress quickly, share another quick kiss, and dash off to our classrooms. I walk in two minutes late, smoothing my hair and apologizing to my students for my tardiness.
One of the boys raises his hand. “I think you might need to do detention, Ms. Hartmann. For being late, you know. In fact, I think I might need to paddle you.”
I fight back a smirk. He’s cheeky, but I can’t really get mad at him…he’s just saying what they’re all thinking.
After all, I’m THAT teacher.
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