CRUSH ON TEACHER (Fantasy story--CHAPTER 3) Friday, 30-Jan-98 16:18:53

152.163.205.106 writes:

(The first 2 chapters are further down the page. Hope you like!)

The last few minutes of Biology Class found Mark squirming in his desk, half-staring at his watch. He was getting antsy. He wanted class to end so he could rush to the boy's room. He had a stomach full of butterflies dying to get out. He was so excited about what Mrs.Mosher might have in store for him after school that he wanted to vomit. He was stressed, excited, anxious, nervous. She was just so beautiful. From the crown of her raven-black hair to the soles of her golden, sandaled feet. He felt like a toad around her. As Mr.Yates droned on about the exciting world of information to unfold in chapter one of the 3-inch thick textbook, the bell rang, bringing relief to the bored, bedraggled students. The first day of school's tougher than the last one. Mark bolted to the bathroom down the hall and hugged a toilet. No woman had ever had this effect on him. Maybe it was the day this day had begun, with Mrs.Mosher assaulting his senses by perching her perfectly-formed feet, with red-polished nails, wrapped in stringy sandals, on the edge of his desk. Maybe it's because she confiscated his notebook and almost read aloud to the room his year goal of getting trampled by at least 3 different ladies. Maybe it's just that she knew his "secret"-- that he's a "foot guy." Maybe it's the way he saw her, in an almost magical moment, accidently step backwards and smash Freddie Fraley's dropped snack cake on the floor of the lunchroom. Maybe it's because she led the varsity cheerleader squad in trampling his fingers on the steps during lunch. It wouldn't be too long before those girls let the word get around. Even though he'd exchanged only a few sentences of conversation with the Vision, he felt already as though he were her slave. What frightened him was his lack of control. He'd always been the one who called the shots. Now he felt helpless to do anything Mrs.Mosher asked of him. And for Christ's sake, it was only the FIRST day of the schoolyear! Never in his wildest imagination. . . . He wiped his mouth, washed his face in the sink, and headed down the hall. Inside her classroom, Mrs.Mosher was standing in the doorway of her open storage closet. It was a large, walk-in closet, lined with deep, built-in shelves that stretched all the way up to the ceiling. As Mark walked up behind her, without turning around, she spoke softly. "Mark, I don't know. This closet's going to need a lot of work. Um. . could you give me a hand here. I want to see what's on these upper shelves." Mark moved into the closet to join her. She continued her one-sided conversation. "You look like a strong boy. Here, could you cup your hands and give me a lift-- as though you were helping me mount a horse?" Mark spread his stance a little for balance, then with his back perfectly straight he cupped his hands tightly together directly in front of his groin. Mrs.Mosher, her attention directed upward as though trying to imagine what might lie on the unseen shelves above, began lifting her incredibly sexy, sandaled foot to find his hands. Mark, noticing that she wasn't looking where her foot was going, watched with full focus as she lifted her foot, her perfectly rounded toes curling upward. He moved his hands up and out of the way a little to allow the front of her sandal's sole to brush against his bulge. She looked down, laughed sheepishly, and apologized. "Let's try that again, okay Mark?" Mark laughed too. This time her foot found his hands. The idea that this filthy, flexing, dirty sandal sole was crushing into his clasped hands-- knowing he was taking all her weight; the look of how her perfectly chiseled left foot looked as it rested on top of the right one that he was holding; the way her incredibly edible toes were shoved hard and moving against his member; the smell of her perfume; the closeness of her privates to her face; it all made him drunk with pleasure. As he stood there in sensory overload, not quite believing the reality of his good fortune, he began wondering if he would become so overstimulated that he would faint. He could feel his heart beating all through his body. Suddenly Mrs.Mosher grabbed one of the upper shelves and stepped from Mark's handhold onto one of the shelves just a little higher. As quickly as she moved to the shelves she was trying to move back. "Sorry, Mark, I was afraid I was getting too heavy for you" she apologizied. "No, no, not at all. No, you weren't too heavy. Not a problem. It felt great!" Damnit, why did he have to say that? It felt great, yes, but to actually tell her that might've been just forward enough to question whether or not he should stick around and help her further. Even though she turned him on immensely, he didn't want to SOUND like he was turned on immensely. "Do you mind if I--" she was reaching with her foot back for his clasped hands. Fortunately, she wasn't looking down at Mark because unfortunately he was doing the quick-fix grab into his pants to unbind the thing that was uncomfortably bound--pointing Southeast. He pulled it Northward, with the head resting just behind his belt buckle. Much better! It was all one quick, half-second adjustment, and just as his hand slipped from his jeans to reclasp with the other hand, Mrs.Mosher's foot found his hands. However, this time as she stepped into his waiting hands, her toes overshot the edge of her sandal just a little. And with the adjustment Mark had just made, his untucked shirt had been inadvertantly tucked in behind everything. She placed her foot a little too forward into his hands, and caught the top edge of his jeans and belt buckle, pushing them down a little when she stepped into his hands. The resulting sensation was not something Mark had anticipated. He thought about how implausible this all seemed: Here he was, the first day of school, standing in a dusty, dimly-lit closet after hours, hands clasped, an incredibly beautiful teacher's feet in his hands, with her chilly toes and the front of one sandal pressing down his jeans and belt buckle so far that they were resting on the head of his hard-on. It felt great to feel her cool toes against his heated head. He wondered if she could feel what her toes were touching. She began chatting enthusiastically about what she was finding on the upper shelves. As she became more and more excited she began shifting her weight forwards and backwards and wiggling her toes. That's when Mark became aware of his throbbing. He was now terrified. What if?? No, there was absolutely no way he could allow himself to come to orgasm here and now. How would she react, what would she do? What would HE do? How would he explain it. All thisand more raced through his brain. She was talking, talking, talking, but he didn't hear a single word she was saying. He was only aware of how it felt having the front edge of her sandal starting to cut it's way into the head of his erection. Mrs.Mosher's weight in Mark's clasped hands wasn't even registering. He just felt her sandal starting to cut. Her toe wiggling continued. Her foot slipped forward a little in his hands. The sandal's edge was now starting to cut a little more, but now her foot was so far forward and against him that her golden brown, red-polished big toe parted from the one next to it and was gripping his head. Her toes kept wiggling. Mark slowly became aware he was now arching his back a little, lifting his pelvis up and forward a little, letting his hands down a little so that more of Mrs.Mosher's toes and sandal were against him. He was trying to bend his head over to face the action as closely as possible. The sensation, combined with the sight of her toes and sandals against him was too much. Like a deeplydrawn breath fighting it's way out, his load came hard and full. Through it all, the Vision carried on her one-sided conversation with no one, seemingly totally oblivious to it all, even though now two of her toes were splattered with cum. For the first time in about 5 minutes, she finally addressed Mark. "If you'll excuse me a second, Mark, I need to go 'tinkle.' I'll be right back, so please don't take off, okay?" And with that, she hopped down out of his hands, landing both feet on the floor facing away from him and toward the open closet door, and walked out of the classroom. Mark thought she jumped like a cat, graceful. She must also have been a gymnist. Mark stood there, breathing heavily, suddenly feeling very naked and vulnerable. Damn! I could get kicked out for this!! He quickly grabbed an old rag off the bottom shelf and began wiping off his mess. He tucked his shirt in because it was stained. Then he noticed the floor. Where Mrs.Mosher had walked away, there was c-- from the sole of one sandal every few feet leading almost to the classroom door. He grabbed the rag and began wiping up each stain. Just as he'd finished wiping up the last place on the floor, Mrs.Mosher waltzed back in, smiling. "I ran into the cheerleaders down the hall, on their way to practice. They said they'd love to come by and help us afterwards. Is that okay?" She teased. Mark just smiled. "Oh," she continued, "the tallest one, Cindi, wanted me to ask you if you break very easily." Then she patted his chest and said "So I lied and told them how you were bragging earlier about how that face and chest of yours could handle anything a bunch of bubblebrained, lightweight cheerleaders could dish out. Ooh, they liked that one! You could almost see the fire in their eyes. Then Cindi replied 'Oh yeah? With or without shoes??'" At this, Mrs.Mosher reached down and untied one of her sandals, letting it drop from her soft, sexy, golden foot. She picked it up and then held it up along side of Mark's face, as if trying to take some sort of measurement. He got the idea she was trying to see how much of his face her feet could cover. "Ya know, Mark, this could be fun!" With that, she grabbed his chin with her free hand and said "Say 'Ahhh.'" Mark complied. With his mouth stretched wide open, she took the sandal she was still holding and shoved it as far back into his mouth as she could. His mouth closed on it. He could taste its dusty bottom. He stood at attention. Mrs.Mosher, though, turned and walked back into the closet. Could life get any better?

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