I have always been mature for my age... don't get me wrong, not mature in my thought processes, but mature when it came to my physical attributes.
At barely 18, I was rather thick and voluptuous. My 36D's sat up nice and perky and my booty was 'to die for', if I may quote the generic high-school teenage male.
My natural tan, brown almond eyes, pouty lips, usually covered in shiny lip gloss, and my long luscious hair (the color varied by the month) earned me loads of attention.
And attention I liked. I craved it. Call me insecure, I don't care. I worked hard for those looks, or rather, my parents worked hard. French manicures/pedicures, hair appointments, dance practice, personal training... comes at a price. I was young, dumb, my hormones were running wild, and thought I was hot shit.
Not only did I think I was hot shit, but so did everything male in a 5-mile radius of me. I was used to getting what I wanted. Until I met, Mr. Siegel...
First Tuesday of my senior year, Algebra 2. Definitely not my forte. At least my outfit was on point. My white flannel mini-skirt provided a nice contrast to my tan thick dancer legs (thick thighs and pretty eyes) and went well with my red wrap-around heels. Did I mention that my pedicure was on point? I was a sucker for pink. My white bare-midriff top was, admittedly, a little heavy on the cleavage, but I did not mind that at all. Some people pay to have tits like that. Plus, I had worked hard for that flat belly and wanted to show of my cute new bellybutton piercing.
My morning hadn't gone ideal. The Starbucks barista had gotten my order completely wrong. How can you mess up on a skinny iced vanilla latte? Then I broke the French tip on my index finger while closing the car door.
Nevertheless, I walked into my first period Algebra class earlier than usual, about 15 minutes late.
And there he was... His back was turned to me writing on the chalkboard, talking about things I had no desire to fathom. Unfortunately, nobody had bothered to oil the squeaky door over the summer, so my entrance was rather obvious.
He stopped mid stroke and abruptly turned towards the door and me. At 6' 2" he was rather tall. Definitely towering over me at five (in heels, that is). There was nothing remarkable about him. He looked like he was in his mid-to-late 40s, thinning blonde hair, neatly-trimmed full-beard, broad shoulders, dad pouch. White dress shirt that needed to be buttoned up. Dude was obviously wanted to show off his chest-hair. Stuck in the 80s. Nice hands though, and an obvious rather large bulge protruding through his skinny jeans. He raised an eyebrow as he looked me up and down for what felt like an eternity. It looked like he had a hard time deciding whether he was pleased or displeased with what he saw. In the end, the latter won.
"And you are?" he asked pointedly and rather unpleasant.
I gave him my most pleasant smile and responded "Ashley."
"You have a last name, Ashley?" he mumbled, while looking down at his roster.
"Ashley G," I responded in my most pleasant tone, while running my hand through my hair. It always worked with guys.
Honestly, I was more worried about the cracked French tip on my index finger that what this math-whizz had to say. As I made my way to my desk, he kept staring. When I sat down, he was still looking at me, smirking. I am sure he did not mind my skirt riding up.
"Ms. G., would you mind explaining to me why you are late today?"
I was getting rather annoyed with his questioning and responded, "I am actually rather punctual today, Mr..."
"Siegel, Rolf Siegel. You can call me Mr Siegel. Ms G., my class starts at 07:45 not 08:10. As you can tell, most students are in their seats trying to comprehend the material I am teaching. Until you decided to grace us with your presence that is..."
'How dare he put me on the spot like that,' I thought.
"I am sorry Mr. Siegel, it won't happen again."
"I hope so," he responded, still staring at me.
He started to turn around, then hesitated and looked at me again.
"Ms. G., I am pretty sure this school has a dress code. What I am not so sure about is, if you are dressed in accordance with it..."
I was outraged, embarrassed, and turned on at the same time. Usually, when I said jump, guys would ask 'how high?' Not this guy. Not ever had a man talked to me like that before. However, he did notice me and my outfit and it occupied his mind enough to comment on it. And it seemed like since I had stepped in the room, that bulge in his pants had grown in size by just a tad. I'd call that a win.
There was some muffled laughter, which directed his attention to the back of the room.
"Enough," he shouted. "Let's get back to Algebra," he exclaimed as he turned back to the board and continued writing nonsense.
I couldn't quite point my finger at it but something about this guy made my freshly Brazilian-waxed, tight little pussy tingle.
'I am going to turn his world upside down,' I thought to myself as I was twirling my tongue piercing.
'We will see who wins in the end...'
Throughout the remainder of the period, I caught him steal a glance several times as I was biting on my pencil. When the bell rang, I was not in a hurry to get out. As the room emptied, I walked up to the front of the room, splaying my hands on his desk while pushing my chest out in the process. He looked up, his eyes darting between my face and my tits, finally meeting my gaze.
"Can I help you, Ms. G?"
I lowered my eyelids and bit my lower lip before responding, "Please, call me Ashley. I am sorry about the interruption this morning. Won't happen again."
I couldn't help but steal a glance at that bulge. I did not feel too bad about it since he was obviously staring at my juicy rack.
"Great," he said as his face lightened up.
"Ashley, you can call me Rolf. Our year together should be pleasant for you as long as you don't forget one thing," he said, his eyes still darting.
"What's that?" I responded in my most breathy, flirty voice.
"That I am in charge," he declared.
There was that tingle again and I could feel my lips getting creamy.
"I am sure you will remind me if I ever do forget..." I responded with a smile.
As I turned to walk out of the room, I 'accidentally' dropped my pencil. I slowly bent over to pick it up, making sure he had a perfect view of my juicy booty and the pink lace thong I was wearing under my skirt. I may have stayed in the position a little longer than necessary, but the pencil was so damn slippery. As I stood back up, I looked over my shoulder and noticed that I had his full attention.
"Have a nice day," I purred as I left the room, making sure to sway my hips, shaking that hot ass of mine.
Math seemed a lot more fun, all of the sudden.
Exam day, and I was hopelessly unprepared.
'I should have skipped the pole-fitness class and studied.' I thought to myself as I got out of my car.
As I walked into class at 7:40, Mr. Siegel was already sitting at his desk. I noticed him noticing me as I walked in. I relished those moments. As a matter of fact, I picked my outfits with him in mind.
My low-rise black leather pants were on the tighter end, but made my ass look great, exposing just a hint of my lacy red thong. Who am I kidding, my ass looked good no matter what. The tight button-up blouse I was wearing gave a hint of the red-lace push-up bra I was wearing underneath. I had left just enough of the buttons open to give him a nice view of my perky, voluptuous rack. I was wearing my dirty blond hair in piggy tails today. My ex had mentioned that it drove him wild when I did my hair like that.