yael cohen aris

I had the worst crush on Mrs. B. It was in her class that I learned that I have a fatal weakness for redheads. I loved to watch her move through the room. She wore skirts and dresses that were too short for female students, but no one complained. It’s just who she was. She had lovely legs, no reason not to let the world see them. When she wore pants (they were just recently allowed), they were skintight, revealing a cute tight little ass. Tops were also tight, often with some cleavage showing between her pretty B-cup breasts.

She peeled herself off her father’s leg, her panties practically glued to the hairs on his leg and pulled the sheet back up and over him, taking one last look at his steadily deflating cock and balls, both shining in the moonlight from her efforts. Then, taking care not to swallow or choke on her mouthful, she tiptoed out of the room, grabbing her phone from her nightstand and into the bathroom where she flicked on the lights.

Mrs. B. was very different, though. Our class only met once a week, but there were times when she and I would cross paths in the course of a day. I noticed that either she must have changed her path to avoid me or averted her gaze when we did cross paths. She did not appear to be her usual ebullient self. She was noticeably absent from her office during times I would usually drop in to say hello. I guessed the experience was not the life changing event for her as it was for me.