CRUSH ON TEACHER (Fantasy story--CHAPTER 4) Thursday, 05-Feb-98 17:35:55

152.163.207.140 writes:

Thanks for all the positive response on the story so far. Here's another chapter. Hope you like!

After they had gotten the upper, hard-to-reach shelves in order, they took a short break down in the teacher's lounge and returned to their work in Mrs.Mosher's classroom closet. A fair-sized, walk-in closet. As they re-entered the closet, Mark casually guesstimated maybe 8-10 adults could stand comfortably inside--so the two of them had roughly the workspace size of an average elevator (since trampling was always on his mind, he looked at every place he went for it's trample potential). It had shelves all along the 3 interior walls, leading up to the ceiling. Mrs.Mosher directed Mark to pull out the old magazines and workbooks on the lowest shelf, down near the floor, and reorganize certain publications while tossing the others. As they worked, they talked. Small talk stuff. Where'd you grow up? How many brothers and sisters, etc. And even though they'd taken care of the highest shelves, Mrs. Mosher still had to tiptoe to reach a couple of the shelves. From his seat on the floor, Mark found it almost impossible to keep from stealing glances down at the Vision's legs and feet. She was standing right there beside him. Her light, cotton dress hung down midcalf, and stretching out beneath it were two golden brown legs with silky smooth skin. And each time she went up on tiptoe, Mark felt his breathing grow more rapid and shallow. On tiptoe, her rounded, muscular calves showed hours of time spent at the gym. Her ankles looked so perfectly formed. Her rounded heels looked round and smooth, perfect for pounding on very sensitive parts of a male's anatomy. The heels of her sandals dropped just low enough for him to see her wrinkled soles showing the dirt she'd acquired from walking around in sandals in a dusty old school all day long. Peering around her feet a little he saw her perfectly rounded toes spread wide under the weight of her tiptoeing body. Mark secretly wished some part of his anatomy were now between the dusty wooden floor and the cool, hard leather of Mrs.Mosher's sandals. After his experience a little earlier with the "clasped hand orgasm experience" he was feeling a little brave. So while calmly continueing to engage her in conversation, he slowly reached down and placed one hand flat on the floor, sneaking it closer and closer to her tiptoeing feet. He was impressed with how long the Vision could stay up raised up on tiptoe-- minutes at a time-- what strength. She seemed to be almost exercising them, and it made him wonder what other physically miraculous things she could perform with her legs in bed. At one point when Mrs.Mosher went way up on tiptoe, Mark went for the gold and quietly slid his pinky and the finger next to it as far in under her shoe as possible-- touching the sole of the sandal just back of the ball of her foot. Wouldn't you know it. It was just at that moment that Mrs.Mosher unexpexted took a half-inch step backwards, crunching down all that beautiful weight right on his fingers. Even though she didn't look very heavy, pain shot up his fingers and all through his hand. He'd not expected it to hurt like this-- but then, she was more muscle than fat, so she probably was actually a lot heavier than she looked. This got him thinking about the cheerleaders who'd promised to come down and "help" after their practice-- how many of them were mostly muscle. He may be biting off more than he can chew. He wondered if he should come up with some reason why he should leave now. He was yanked out of those thoughts by the sensation of Mrs.Mosher twisting on his fingers. She was moving items from one side of the shelf to the other, and the turning movement caused her to twist back and forth, grinding Mark's fingers this way and that, this way and that, into the floor. He could feel his "privates" starting to throb again. What drove him crazy the most is how Mrs.Mosher seemed to be reading his mind. She seemed to know exactly what to do to him with her feet to drive him just short of losing his sanity. When something new and exciting popped into his mind, without a word she seemed to pick up his thoughts and act on it. Like this fingergrinding. His fingers were getting numb, and he was only starting to feel the sensation of his fingers being pulled this way and that under her moving foot. He was no longer feeling the individual pieces of grit that ground into his fingers when she first stepped on them. Just as Mark was thinking how the thrill of the crush sensation was starting to lessen, Mrs.Mosher took a slight step to the left, crushing his thumb and the two fingers next to it. Damn, how could she read his mind like this? It was unnerving. But he didn't spend too much time wondering about it-- he was enjoying the new sensation of feeling this beautiful creature's weight crueling smashing the other fingers on the same hand. Oh, he could do this all day. His thoughts were interrupted by Cindi, the cheerleading captain, and the tallest of the team. She was in her street clothes-- tight-fitting neon green t-shirt, very wide-legged jeans, and . . what? . . a pair of Dr.Scholl's sandals? Her tanned toes ended with nails the color of fire. "Aren't you two finished yet? Do you still need help?" Cindi sniffed. "Hey, Mark, why don't you take a picture-- it would last longer!" Damn! She'd caught him checking out her feet. Mrs.Mosher casually stepped off Mark's throbbing fingers and into the doorway. Mark tried inconspicuosly rubbed his fingers to get the blood flowing in them again, trying to appear dignified after being caught with his fingers underfoot AND staring at Cindi's feet. (He wished desparately he had a camera. He'd LOVE to get lotsa lotsa shots of her mean feet. "Yes ladies," Mrs.Mosher began, "I think we've got most of it. But here's where we could really use your help. See that uppershelf near the ceiling in the back? There's a small storage bin built into the wall behind it, and there's a bunch of magazines and other stuff we won't be using anytime soon that needs to be stored up there. I've talked to Mr.Hammond, and he told me the school, believe it or not, has no ladders. So I thought maybe we could build . . . um. . a sort of human ladder. How does that sound to you?" She finished, waiting for Cindi's input. Mark, in the meantime, had been trying his best not to look down at anyone's feet. He didn't need any further embarrassment this early in the schoolyear. Even though these girls had each trampled his fingers on the steps outside during lunch today, he hadn't the guts to look down and see what kinds of shoes they were wearing. Cindi had a sharp tongue, and he didn't want to provoke her needlessly. When he finally shut off the sweet memories of how good it felt having them crush his fingers there on the steps, he glanced over to notice Cindi staring at him. Damn, she's not psychic too, is she? he wondered. "Mark, we'll need you to help us, is that all right?" Her tone had sweetened. He was skeptical. "We're gonna need to make some kinda human ladder. Mark, you look pretty solid. Could we have you kneel down on all 4's, there at the base of the shelves," Cindi purred. Mark obliged. For some reason he felt he was about to be humiliated. Cindi walked over and stood in front of him, her feet just a couple inches from his fingers. He didn't look up, and he didn't look at her feet. He was afraid to. Suddenly, Cindi said rather curtly, "Um, on second thought, Mark, we'll need you to move about 2 feet out from the shelves." She said "feet" a little too deliciously, as though she knew that was one of his favorite words. He was waiting for her to move first, but when she didn't she grew impatient with him and gave his arm a little playful kick, adding "Come on-- while I'm young!" He quickly moved. There he was, on all 4's. In a closet. With several cheerleaders and one fine-looking teacher standing around him. Cindi quickly directed the girls in what they needed to do. One of the girls, wearing a pair of angry-soled high tops, climbed onto Mark's back. Placing one foot sideways on his lower back, she raised her other leg and planted her foot on the shelf directly across from her. Then, another girl, wearing flipflops, climbed onto Mark's upper back. His arms were starting to feel a little wobbly. He'd never had two teenaged girls standing on his back like this. All the while Cindi stood directly in front of Mark and barked orders. He couldn't resist. He had to catch some more of those beautiful toes, peeking from beneath the jean cuffs. He didn't even care about anything she said now-- he just stared. The flip-flopped girl put one foot on the other girl's propped up leg and planted her other foot on the next shelf. Then, another girl, a little smaller than the others, wearing some white strap-ons (she had big, tanned feet for such a small cheerleader-- and a coral orange nail polish) climbed onto his upper back and climbed up the others till she was balanced on a pair of shoulders and the second shelf from the top. Mark's arms and shoulders were feeling the weight. And that damned hi-top was cutting its treadmarks into his back. The relay action then began. Mrs.Mosher, Cindi, and a slender African-American girl named Keisha-- in black, lace-up the ankle sandals (light pink nailpolish)-- began the paper brigade. They'd been instructed by Mrs.Mosher which piles should be passed up to the others for storage. There were a good 15-20 stacks, one of them remarked. What got Mark's attention was how they were picking up the material in half-stacks, and walking over just past his hands-- where they'd stand and pass the materials up to the girls above. Mrs.Mosher carried the first stack. "Okay, ladies, please watch out for Mark's fingers." Cindi was the second in line. She quietly snickered at Mrs.Mosher's comment, then stepped squarely on Mark's fingers. OWWW! Those Dr.Scholl sandals were rough on a guy's already-bruised and scraped up fingers. He could have sworn something cracked. But man, did those toes look delicious as they flexed and gripped the toe of the sandal as they passed over.

What happens next? Find out in Chapter 5!

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