I was conscious of how dry my mouth was. I kept rolling my tongue around behind my teeth as I walked out the back doors of the school, trying to work up some spit. That had always been a symptom of nerves for me, but it had been a while since I'd felt it at work. Maybe since the first day at this new school last fall. I hoped it wouldn't be obvious to the students milling around during lunch this sunny day, but of course, none of them were paying attention to me. OK, that wasn't quite true: a few teenage boys who hadn't yet learned how to check out a woman without staring were sneaking some long glances, but I was used to that.
At twenty five years old, enjoying my first full-time teaching position after a couple of years on the substitute list, I dressed professionally. However, unlike so many of my colleagues, I made sure my clothes actually fit me. Today I'd chosen a sky-blue blouse with faint pink and white pinstripes, a charcoal grey pencil skirt with a short slit up the right side, and a short string of pearls and matching earrings my parents had given me as a graduation present. It was one of those late spring days that made everyone at school long for summer, so this morning I'd left my pantyhose in the drawer and pulled out a pair of navy peekaboo heels that were a little higher than most in my closet. I knew very well that the outfit accentuated what curves I had, while not crossing any unprofessional lines. I was proud of the work I did to stay in shape, and if that meant some of the students were "hot for teacher" that was their business.
I'd been "hot for teacher" myself a few times in my life. In fact, I reflected in passing, that was part of my problem now.
This sunny stroll outside would have been a lovely midday diversion if I hadn't also been agonizingly conscious of how soaked my panties were. It was as if all the saliva missing from my mouth had been redirected to suddenly leak out my pussy. I was used to a certain amount of moistness down there -- I tended that way more than most women, if my girlfriends were to be trusted -- but this situation was far beyond even my normal. As my heels clicked on the pavement of the parking lot, I could feel a swampy wetness wicking up from the soaked gusset of my silk thong, making the thin strip of material between my cheeks glide ever so gently across my sensitive asshole. A surge of paranoia bit me, and I strained to hear the squishing, slapping sounds I was instantly sure my nether regions were making as I walked. I reminded myself my skirt was a dark one, and resisted the urge to cover myself with my hands. I wanted to break into a sprint, but I was terrified the friction between my thighs would pitch me into an orgasm if I sped up in the slightest.
An eternity later, I was at the door of Portable 6, torn again between a desperate need to get out of public view and a paralyzing fear of what awaited me inside. I sucked up my courage, tried vainly one last time to muster some saliva, and pushed open the door. Rick was at the front of the room, arms crossed under his chest, leaning back against his desk. I noticed the window blinds were shut, and was grateful he'd thought of that before I arrived.
"Close the door," he said quietly, but firmly. I complied.
"Lock it," he continued. I did so with an audible thunk of the deadbolt.
He stood up, and motioned me to join him at the front of his classroom. My heart raced as I walked between the rows of desks. When I stopped close in front of him, I had to crane my neck to look up at his handsome features. He was close to six and half feet tall, with dark hair swept back from his face, broad shoulders that tapered to a slim waist, and a tight butt under his dark slacks. I knew he'd played multiple varsity sports during his high school athletic career, that he'd chosen to continue with football in university, and that he now coached the boys here at Ridgeway Secondary School. But although he retained his athletic body, this was no adolescent boy in front of me. At just over thirty years of age, his skin was a bit more weathered, his jaw more refined, his frame more heavily muscled. More than that, he carried himself differently than most men I'd met. I couldn't put my finger on how exactly, but he had...an aura about him. It was what had captivated me, what brought me here now.
Rick's hand reached up to grasp me at the back of the neck, his fingers in my hair. He slowly brought me close, until I could feel the solid mass of his torso pressed against me, and then he kissed me. The relief of having his wet tongue in my mouth nearly made my knees buckle. The kiss started slowly, but built quickly and urgently. Trepidation about this forbidden encounter supercharged all my sensations and emotions, and my entire body responded to his strength and passion. My hips rotated forward of their own accord, my mound desperately seeking the satisfaction of grinding into him. His left hand held me firmly in the kiss, but the other slid from my hip to palm my ass cheek and drew me to him. I began to whimper into his mouth as I humped at him, but my tight skirt wouldn't allow me to press my crotch to his thigh.
Sensing my frustration, I felt Rick bring both hands to my gyrating ass. But instead of squeezing me hard as I expected, his strong fingers quickly gathered my skirt in a double handful at my waist. Freed from the constraint, my stance automatically widened, and I moved to straddle his leg with mine. I thrust at him, finally achieving the direct contact I craved at the centre of my desire. My hands flew to his hair, and I began to devour his mouth with mine, my need overwhelming me. He palmed my butt and pushed his leg forward so I could focus entirely on my impending release. It hit me quickly and powerfully, and I pushed my face to his chest, clinging to him as I whined rhythmically into his shirt in time with my pulsating orgasm.
He held me like that, supporting most of my weight as the last spasms flickered through my body. It was only then that I felt his hardness pressed against my hip. I disengaged with him, and looked up through my eyelashes in question. The faintest flicker of a smile played across his features, as he unzipped his fly and pulled his turgid cock free. We stood like that for a moment, me staring at his engorged penis, a small drop of precum forming at the tip as it twitched in time with his heartbeat. He broke my hypnotized spell by bringing me up for a quick kiss, and then pressing me down to kneel in front of him. I could smell both my musk and his, my face so close to his rod and the thatch of dark fur peeking from the top of his open fly.
