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One day she definitely knew the effect she had on me, even if she hadn’t before. I was writing an essay on The Grapes of Wrath and asked Mrs. B when she came by if a word was spelled correctly. She leaned over, her silky red hair brushing against my cheek and her breast lay against my left shoulder. My cock stiffened instantly—and uncomfortably. Without thinking, I reflexively reached down and maneuvered my throbbing dick into a more comfortable position. It did create a sizable tent pole in my pants that I tried to push down and hide, which only drew attention to my crotch. Mrs. B blushed noticeably, stood up while stifling a laugh and muttered an apology.

Mrs. B smiled up at me. “Well…?” She put her hand behind my neck, pulled me closer and gave me the best, most sensual kiss I’d had to that time. Definitely in the top three kisses of my life. I pulled her closer and reciprocated as best I could. I felt her naked leg slip between my legs, and she rubbed her thigh against my tortured shaft through my jeans. I so did not want to cum in my pants at that moment. Mrs. B. saved me. While still kissing me hard, Mrs. B. ran her hand down my bare chest and moaned softly.

“Well, Jim, that’s about to change.” I could feel her hand searching for my fly. The zipper made a soft ripping sound as she slowly opened my pants and reached inside for my stiff dick. “I am going to take care of this problem for you. You can’t recite Shakespeare with a boner like this.” She kept her gaze fixed on me as she slowly dropped to her knees while gently rubbing my cock. Once she got face-to-face with my member, she swirled the head with her tongue.