hgoo

Still, she made me nuts. When the class would be working on an in-class assignment, she would float around the room, answering questions and offering advice. She always paused at my desk, squeezed my shoulder or rubbing it a little and ask if I needed help. I thought she kept touching me longer than she did with the other kids, massaging my shoulder or sliding her hand down to the middle of my hunched over back. I would break out in a sweat whenever she touched me, and my cock, which was in the teenage stage of always being semi hard, would become rigid and strain against the fabric of my underwear and pants.

Mrs. B. was a great teacher for 10th grade English. Funny, engaging, personable—and a bit flirty. She was in her late-20s, just a couple years out of The University of Michigan, cute, nice body and flaming red hair that cascaded over her shoulders and down her back. She knew the boys all lusted after her and she did nothing to discourage our interest. Students even gave her a nickname, “Bubbles.” The administration was not pleased, but Mrs. B. didn’t seem to mind. She liked the attention. Oh, and I think that we actually learned a lot of English Lit between the horsing around.

He said something else and paused, shit, he was waiting for her to respond.“Sorry, what was that, daddy? I’m still pretty sleepy.”“I said, I guess we’re in the same boat today. I got my sleep in but I’m still feeling a bit tired. I guess I had a restless night as well.”