Biology with Ms. Alfred

I was a senior in high school when I found my biology teacher masturbating in an empty classroom. It was after hours, and my poetry club was done for the day. She was bent over, drooling onto the table as her body moved to the motions of her arm. I saw her with a reflection in the glass of the door slightly ajar, making soft moans that barely escaped the room.

The feeling of hearing and seeing something I was not meant to was electric, making me tight with excitement. I felt the blush on my face as the breathing in the silent room reverberated to my heartbeat. Ms. Alfred was really getting into it, and I remembered the times when she wore no bra in class. Her nipples poked through her shirt when teaching, as her breasts swayed side to side at every motion. I felt my mouth go dry from anticipation, making no sound to break this moment.

Though the school was empty, I knew some students had clubs after lessons. If someone came by I would step in to warn her, but in that moment, she was mine. She played a song of desire right into my ears, something I would remember for the rest of my life. I felt magnetized to walk in, enact some sort of fantasy, but held my eyes locked on her face against the desk, tongue out like a mess, wet against the wood.

I really wanted to touch myself, feeling the youth of my mind build poetry from the sounds and her open mouth heaving gently, keeping her moans silent. I felt the underwear moisten under throbs of what I would release too quickly with just a few hungry strokes. I wanted to cum, then sit at my desk remembering her sound, to write it into poetry, to immortalize her long after I graduated and left the school behind.

Her body shook in the reflection, speeding up her gasps of breath, and I craved to stroke off, but stood there as her guardian. It was the first time I held myself back from dashing off to a bathroom to release the feelings into the toilet bowl. She was my first restraint, holding me hot and bothered. I enjoyed this new feeling.

When she got louder, I started worrying someone might stop by, but just one look at her face opening wider, as if she was hurt, as if she reached... and then a louder moan that sent a shiver down my spine, between butt cheeks, and right into my taint, building up a tickle, throbbing in the slick line inside my underwear. I would cum from even a touch now, edging to perfection at the sound of her orgasm.

I saw it all, her mouth, her face getting scrunched up in pain and pleasure, relaxing afterwards as I resisted the climax. I felt my hand travel there subconsciously when she sighed loudly enough for me to hear. It just grazed the tip of the clothed erection, but it sent me into the sky. I grit my teeth as my mind sent my dick into that drooling mouth to soak. I already turned eighteen, after all. I could fuck her.

I felt the spill, coating the head inside my underwear, but it felt too good to be ashamed. I saw her sit up, and changed angles to no longer see her in the reflection. I hid quickly, as she hurried out of the classroom. I did not want to, but I needed to. I wanted to have more of her than just the sound, more than just her tongue out against the wood of the desk to fuel my poetry.

I stood beside the wooden chair with the wet spot she left behind. I tried to resist it, but I needed to smell it, still hard even past the accidental climax. I set my nose to it, inhaling deeply, then laying my tongue on the wood for one more sensation. I had the full experience in my mind now, needing only to release the feelings into paper, then to write of her.

When I got home, I rushed to my room and jerked off three times to her, before sitting at my desk to write about her. When I was done, I gave it to her as a gift, thanking her for teaching me biology. She only smiled, as if she knew that I was there that night, watching her getting off.