Ms H. – My Teacher.


It’s interesting. I love coming here and reading the first-time stories.. I know some at least are fiction, but at times, I can’t help but feel that some are at least rooted in truth. Mine is true.

Let me start with the formalities…I was 18 when this happened…

I wasn’t a great student in High School, but one subject I was very good in was Spanish. I’d taken it my freshman, sophomore, and junior years, and by my senior year was advanced enough that the school made me a teacher’s aide for one of the new Spanish 1 teachers. Strangely, I don’t even remember her name, but I definitely remember how important she was in my young life.

I was scheduled to be with her during her free period, and so for an hour, I would sit at the desk behind hers, facing the wall, doing whatever she asked me to do. She was teaching the very basics (el/la/los/las, etc.), and often had me grading tests or quizzes. At first, she would let me grade them, and then when I was done, she would take the pile of tests and review what I’d done. After 3 or 4 weeks, she’d deemed me smart enough to not bother reviewing my work. When she didn’t have me grading work, she’d let me sit and do homework, draw, whatever. I always felt a little bad just wasting time, so I usually ended up taking care of homework, and for the first time in my life I was actually getting decent grades…strange what a little study time will do for you.

She wasn’t conventionally pretty, but she had beautiful eyes, and was very kind and patient.

When I seemed agitated or frustrated or melancholy, she would take an interest and talk with me about life; about being a stand-up-guy, about trying to be patient when the world isn’t how I think it should be. She had such a sweet voice. Very gentle, a little quiet, and a little throaty. I started hearing her voice when I’d get annoyed about things.

We all know how it is when a female pays attention for even five minutes…in our minds we sort of lay claim to her. We start to think of her as “my girl”. I did this. I’d think of her when she wasn’t around. I’d find excuses to pass her class when I was on my way someplace and I’d poke my head in the door and say hi. We became friends.

Things went normally for a few months, but I’d started to see her as beautiful, sexy even. Looking her up on the web today, I see that she is now 49. That would have made her 33 at the time. Usually wore flower-pattern dresses with low black Mary-Jane shoes. Very light on the makeup, with curly hair to her shoulders. Fairly plain, but every day, she got increasingly more beautiful in my eyes.

I just pulled out my yearbook and looked her up. She’s still beautiful to me. Her name is Ms. H.

Anyhow, enough romantic reminiscing…here’s the meat of the story:

A few months into the year, around XMAS, I had gotten into trouble the period before I normally went into her class. I’d spent an hour or so in the school office waiting and getting lectured and sentenced to a month of Saturday school. I was about 30 minutes late when I finally did show up. I had my note from the office out and ready to present. I approached the door at a trot, swung it open, and walked in. As soon as I walked in, she jerked up from her desk all flush, winded, and started smoothing her dress down. She took my note, read it quickly and sent me to my normal seat. I tried to talk to her but when she responded, I remember so clearly how her normally smooth voice was trembling, and her hands were shaking.

It wasn’t until later that night that I figured out what she’d been doing…thinking I’d been out for the day, she’d taken her free period to masturbate.

That sent me into a frenzy that night. I had new fantasies. All the ones you see in the porn flicks.

I didn’t say anything but from that point, I’d begun to see her as a sexual being, and I wanted to be near her. So I’d asked my own Spanish teacher for new projects—anything for extra credit—anything I could ask Ms. H. for help—any reason to sit next to her and smell her, look at her, maybe touch her.

Then it started. One day she had to go to the office. She locked the door behind her and said she’d be back in about 20 minutes. I immediately got up and went and sat at her desk. I pulled my pants down and noticed that the seat was still warm from her. Excited, I went through her desk.

I found a small bottle of hand lotion that smelled like her. I didn’t actually use the lotion when I masturbated, but just smelled it. I came on the floor under her desk.

She walked in a bit later and sat at her desk. I noticed that she looked confused about the hand lotion still on her desk. She put it away. At some point her shoe slipped on the fresh cum on the floor and she leaned down to look at it. She touched it with her finger, not knowing what it was. When she smelled it, she looked over at me with a surprised and slightly scared look. She wiped it on a napkin, looked away, and didn’t speak to me for a week. She knew.


The Bakırköy escort whole week was pretty tense. She kept finding reasons to send me away. It was frustrating and after about a week I finally told her.

“Look, I only did what you were doing. I shouldn’t have made a mess, but you can’t be upset when you did the same thing.”

She went beet-red. Embarrassed isn’t even the word for it. In a flash, she knew that I knew she’d been masturbating under her desk that day. A few starts and stops as she tried to figure out how to talk her way out of it.

And then she laughed. She laughed. And I laughed. We were both terribly embarrassed, but this thing between us would be okay.

“Alright, then no more of it, okay? Either of us. Agreed?”

“Okay, Ms. H. You’re the boss. No more.”

A week or two passed. I spent a lot of time watching her, imagining her curves beneath her dress, listening to her breath as she graded papers or planned a lesson.

I would find excuses to sit next to her at her desk, with my knees near hers, my face near her shoulder so I could smell her hair or feel her warmth. She would sometimes look over her shoulder at me while I sat at my desk and catch me staring at her—my pencil would stop writing and my breath became ragged, giving away my desires.

One day, a Tuesday, she asked me if I could look at a paper she was looking at. The penmanship was terrible and she was having trouble deciphering what was written. So I stood over her left shoulder leaning down, pointing at things with my left hand. I’d put my right hand at the top of her back, between her shoulders. The tip of my thumb just above the neckline of her dress. I was touching her skin. I leaned close and smelled her hair. She noticed. She stiffened up.

Standing there close, with my thumb at the base of her neck, smelling her hair, we both were silent. I moved my hand slowly upward so the whole hand was on her skin. She was warm. Stiff, and scared. But warm. I stood straight up and pressed my right thigh to her left arm. She did not pull away.


I didn’t move my body; only my thumb, across the back of her neck. Gently through the fine hairs where the neck met her head.

“Jason. Please. I’m…”, She left it hanging there in the air.

A few moments like that, in silence. I was half drunk with excitement. My young fool’s penis hard in my pants.

She let her hand drop to her side and rubbed my calf next to her with the back of her hand. I took this as my invitation. I leaned down again and put my face next to hers. I smelled her scent. I felt her nervousness. I moved my fingers up, into her hair.

I wasn’t a ladies-man. But I thought I had moves…and I had a flair for the dramatic. I stood her up, moved my hands to her hips, and leaned in close behind her, breathing warm on the side of her neck. I pulled her hips back, into me, my penis hard, pressing her left butt cheek. She didn’t move. I kissed her neck. Released her right hip and moved her hair from behind her ear and nuzzled up close into her, kissing, moving my lips and warm breath along the length of her neck, up in behind her ear. I touched her bare arm, sliding the tips of my fingers along its length. She got chills. The goose bumps raised on her neck and shoulders, and she wiggled just a bit.

When she gave the shake from the chills, her largish bottom wriggled against my stiffness, and I grabbed her hips again, and pulled them close. I fully pressed into her back side and began to move my hips. She reciprocated.

She leaned forward at the hips and placed her hands down on the desk to steady herself. She was enjoying this. The taboo of it, the excitement that a young man wanted her.

I moved my hands on her hips, sliding them up and back, down to her thighs, pulling at the skirt of her dress. Moving it upward, exposing first her calf, then her knee, then the lower part of her thigh.

She began to vocalize; a small, high pitched chirp almost. Then a throaty groan. Her knees were shaking, her hips moving, and my hand finding its way up into the skirt of her dress.

She wore tights, so when I found that sensitive spot at the top of her thigh, but not quite her wetness, the heat was amazing. She was burning up down there. My hand snaked up, under the very top of her skirt to the top of her tights. I pulled at it and snaked a few fingers under the seam.

When she turned around and grabbed my wrist, it was fast. There was desperation in her eyes. She grabbed my hand, and stopped it moving. She kissed me fully on the mouth, with her tongue darting this way and that. She pressed herself into my body, with her stomach against my dick. She moved my hand up to her neck and cupped her cheek with it. Kissing with so much passion. Rocking her hips against me.

She took my other hand, and moved it back to the waist of her tights, and began to push it into the top seam.

“Touch me please..” in breathless, Bakırköy escort bayan wonton abandon.

I moved my hand in, I found her hair. God there was so much hair. Still kissing, my hand moved lower toward the heat. Her lips were soaking, so slippery, so warm. My index finger slid right in—fell in is more like it. She groaned deeply as it entered her. Its length finding its way inside. Between kissing, she whispered, “two. Use two.”

I complied.

She sat back onto the desk with me leaning over her, my hand down the front of her tights, kissing me, eyes closed, focused completely on her pleasure. My first two fingers deep inside her, rubbing and probing, rocking up and down, in and out.

She used one hand to touch my cock outside my pants, rubbing its length, squeezing it. Unzipped the front of my pants, and the top button. She reached into my boxers and held me. This was the first time a woman had ever touched me. The warmth of her just holding me spurred me on, and my fingers in her cunt started moving so fast, fully pumping her, and pounding away. She started getting tighter, her breaths shorter and faster, and her grip on my cock tighter, more frantic—tight enough to start to hurt. Her forehead tightened up, her eyes shut, and she gave a breathy stutter that was one of the most beautiful sounds I’d ever heard.

As she came on my fingers, her grip loosened on my cock. She stood there, gathering her breath, simply holding my dick in her warm, small hand.

After the longest ten or twenty seconds of my life, she looked up into my eyes, and stretched upward to kiss me. She hadn’t lost any passion. She kissed me so tenderly, so eagerly, and began to move her hand on my dick. She slid it up and down, cupping my balls, and as I began to approach orgasm, she slid her hand out, grabbed my dick from outside my boxers, and I came inside my boxers. The hot, sticky mess, seeming to fill my pants, down my leg, on my balls, everywhere.

She slowed her kissing, and looked into my eyes. She gave a nervous laugh, which I returned.

As we stood there, both of us looking a mess, breathless, giggling in that un-self-conscious way, she just looked at me and said, “Well. Okay.”, and began to flatten the front of her dress down.


The rest of that day, I spent in sort of a daze. None of my friends would believe me. I couldn’t tell anyone what had happened. I’d fooled around with my teacher. She came on my hand, and of course, embarrassingly, I came in my pants.

That night, I spent mostly in my room. After my parents went to bed, I jacked off, thinking of this woman—not a girl, a woman—who let me touch, kiss, and invade her. I dreamt of it over and over. I was hooked on this woman. The weekend passed painfully slowly, Monday just wouldn’t come.

Finally. Monday. Fourth period. I had heard from a friend once that if you jacked off once before you had sex, you would last longer the second time, so I did that. I’d excused myself from the previous class and had a little private moment in the bathroom—in hopes that Ms. H and I would continue where we’d left off on Friday. As I made my way eagerly to Ms. H’s classroom toward the back of the school, a friend stopped me on the way there and asked why I’d dressed so nicely and teased me about trying to impress a girl. Who was it? Did she like me too? Did she already have a boyfriend? Was I gonna fuck her? All the stupid normal teenage boy things to say—ignorant and puerile.

Ms. H’s classroom. There were two students in there with her. She was talking to them about test results or homework or something. She looked up at me as I entered, smiled a very big and genuine smile, and looked back at them, still talking. Feeling satisfied, and anticipating the moment we would be alone, I slid into the desk behind hers.

She had her back to me, and was leaned over the desk. I’m convinced she was teasing me, the way she swayed her hips back and forth as she talked with these young girls. I looked at her calves. No tights. Usually, there were tights. Now, none. I immediately began imagining what was at the top of those legs, the plumpish hips, the panties, and the heat beneath them. I looked at the girls. So young. No hips. No tits. No character in their faces. No meat on them. I found, for the first time, that I didn’t care for younger girls. Strange feeling.

Ms. H kept looking back, past her shoulder at me, smiling seductively. Swaying her hips. Bending her leg at the knee, lifting one foot up and toeing at the ground.

Eventually, after what seemed like a longish while of my staring, her flirting while talking to these other students, the girls left for their next class. Ms. H followed them to the door and closed it behind them. She watched them through the window as they walked away and when they were far enough away, she locked the door.

She came straight to me, leaned down, and kissed me right on the mouth. Hard. So hard. She bit my tongue. escort Bakırköy She probed my mouth, hungry and eager. I kissed right back. I fumbled, clumsy from inexperience, but we made it work. She reached for my hand and pulled me to my feet.

Still kissing, tonguing, groping at each other’s bodies, I stood. I walked her backwards to her desk and she sat her abundant bottom on it, and pulled me to her by my hips. We kissed and grabbed and prodded and groped each other for what seemed like forever. I was dying in my pants, and she groaned and moaned and encouraged me every time I accidentally did something she liked. The sides of her breasts, just below her collar bone, up under her chin, the back of her neck, these sensitive places, when I touched them, she would encourage me on with a moan or a hard thrust of her tongue into my mouth.

Meanwhile, she’d run her hands up and down my arms, or grab the sides of my belt and pull me and my hardness toward her crotch, reach around me and hold my ass. Her fingers got up under the waist of my pants, unto the very top of my boxers and ran the length around my waist.

I pulled her up to her feet and turned her around. I knelt behind her, running my hands from her fine ankles up her strong calves, up the back of her thigh—this made her flinch. The back of the thigh is so sensitive. I held her there a moment, and began moving the inside hand, up and around the inside of her thigh to the front. The warmth of her skin, and her scent this close to her ass and her pussy was intoxicating. I drank it all in hungrily. Finally, my hands reached her panties. I couldn’t see where they were, but at this point it’s all instinctual. One hand reaching around the front, fingers sliding under the seam of her panties, up the hip and down into the hair. The other on the inside, below her crotch, drenched in heat, rubbing gently and nervously up and back outside her panties, tracing the lines of her labia.

I lifted the seam of her panties from the front, and my fingers found her clit (although I didn’t know it at the time), and began to dig and rub it, and at the same time, my other hand snaked into her panties, and two fingers entered her easily. Her legs shook and her breath caught and became ragged again. She came hard on my hands again, groaning loudly. I kept in there, thrusting my fingers, and holding hard onto her clit. She reached down and touched my hand in that way that only a woman can that tells you without words, “calm down. Enough.”

I stood up slowly, looking deep into her eyes, my mind begging her to keep going with me, but daring not to say anything to ruin what was happening. My hands shook, my knees shook, my lips quivered, as she took my fingers that had been in her pussy, and slid them into her mouth, and moaned like you do when you eat a beautiful piece of cake. “mmmmmmm”. She looked me in the eyes the whole time.

She turned her back to me, and pressed back again into me, bent forward again against the desk. She began to grind against my crotch with her full ass, up and down and sideways. I thought I would die. She reached back to me and undid my belt, button, and zip without looking. She pushed my pants down to my knees and kept grinding.

Very suddenly, as I was dry humping my teacher’s ass against her desk, she turned around and advanced on me, in one motion she reached into my boxers and grabbed my dick hard, and pushed me back up against the chalkboard kissing me hard again. Her warm hand squeezing me and stroking me, her other pressed against my chest, she kissed me with her tongue. Her hand pushed up under my shirt to my stomach, to my chest, the other still holding firmly onto my cock.

Moving her hand down to my balls. Squeezing them. Hard. Hard enough that it hurt, but I didn’t dare complain. My teacher was squeezing my balls. What could I complain about?

Between kisses, she whispered into my mouth, “You’re lasting a little longer today. Good.”

That felt like a little bit of an insult and it stung. I grabbed her hand from my dick and took it out by the wrist. I held it for a minute, feeling a little angry. She smiled coyly. It felt like she was antagonizing me. I spun her around roughly and pushed her against the chalkboard where I had just been pinned, and leaned in and bit her ear. Hard. She gave a small, quiet should of pain.

I did not stop. She’d gotten me frustrated, she’d teased me—after I had just submitted myself to her and fingered her to orgasm. TWICE NOW. And she has the nerve to mock me? Fuck that.

I held the back of her head, pressing her face into the chalkboard. She pleaded, “not so hard. Don’t bruise me.” In a flash, I knew what was happening. It was a game. She wanted me to force myself on her.

I did. I lifted her skirt with my free hand and pulled her panties down. I finally saw them. Black. Satin. Pretty big. She stepped out of them and I reached around her front to play with her as I pressed into her. My dick wasn’t yet full-grown. Its much bigger now than it was at the time, but it was sufficient. I pushed it up, between her spread legs, against the wet opening of her pussy. She wiggled against me—later I learned that she was correcting for entry—and she said, deep and low and from her throat, “go ahead.” I pushed forward.

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