The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Debbie was amazed.

She could hardly believe what she was doing. She couldn’t believe she was sucking off one of her students in the middle of the school day. Yet there she was, on her knees before an eighteen-year-old boy, with his rigid dick sliding wetly between her pursed lips. She was wet. She could feel her hard nipples pressing against her bra.

Johnny, the student she was blowing, was groaning his appreciation above her. “Wow Ms. Dearling that feels, unh! so wonderful. Yes, like that, use your tongue.”

He was going to come soon. Teenagers were so short-fused. The compensation was he could get it up again amazingly quickly. Debbie notched up the pace of her sucking. Her hand jacked his prick below the reach of her red lips. She made a happy sound deep in her throat.

Debbie Dearling was not a woman who would normally engage in oral sex, or indeed any sort of dalliance, with one of her students. Not to say that many of her students didn’t fantasize about that. Debbie was a very handsome woman. She was still in her early twenties, a mere handful of years older than her horny, hormonal students. Debbie took her work seriously. She always kept a detached demeanour and a poised distance between herself and the wide-eyed adolescents that filled her classroom.

But there was something different about Johnny. Though he seemed like a typically reticent, awkward teenager, he could be uncannily persuasive when he wanted to talk Debbie into something. Debbie always found herself agreeing with him.

It had started out innocently enough. He had come up to her one day after class and asked for an extension on the deadline for his English essay. Debbie never granted extensions. It was her one firm rule. She figured extensions excused laziness and were unfair to the rest of the class. For some reason she found herself smiling and assuring Johnny he could hand in his assignment three days late.

Afterwards she wondered why she had acquiesced. Johnny hadn’t even offered an excuse, like being sick or something. He had simply asked for an extension, and she had given it to him. He must have caught her in a moment of weakness.

A few days later Johnny had asked her what kind of questions would be on the next exam. Students asked that all the time, trying to ferret out intelligence that would make studying easier. Debbie’s standard recommendation was to study the material they covered in class and they would do fine. She didn’t like giving hints.

Her answer to Johnny was: “Well, there’s a series of short questions about the poetry and short stories we did last month and the big essay question is about Hamlet. About the progress of his maturation through the play and how his indecision is rooted in reluctance to face adulthood.”

“What about Wuthering Heights?” he had asked.

“There won’t be any questions about that,” she answered, smiling. “I’m saving them for the final.”

He thanked her and walked away. Debbie sank back in her chair and stared into space. She had given away the whole exam in response to a simple question. What the heck had come over her?

Johnny did very well on the exam.

Debbie leaned her head forward, trying to take more of Johnny’s hard cock into her mouth. She wasn’t very good at deep throating, but she was working on it. The groans she heard from overhead rewarded her efforts. Her little silver necklace rocked back and forth in time with the bobbing of her head. Loud slurping sounds filled the back office.

“Oh god, Ms Dearling, that feels so good!” Johnny babbled. “You’re so wonderful. I—I’m going to come, I’m going to... oh AAAAAHHHHH!” He was coming, jerking and twitching while big spurts of hot come erupted into Debbie’s mouth. She sucked hungrily, slurping down the jism like some sort of sacred nectar.

It gets better every time, she thought dreamily. She absolutely loved the taste of Johnny’s come. Johnny had told her so, when she had trouble swallowing the first time. Ever since then she couldn’t get enough of it. She could almost feel the potent man-juice sliding down into her stomach, warming her like a strong drink.

Debbie had been a little bit nervous the next time she saw Johnny approach her desk. Better be careful with that kid, she warned herself, he’s a crafty one. He seldom said very much in class. “Johnny, I am not going to give you an extension on your book review,” Debbie said, taking the offensive. “Don’t even ask. I expect it on Friday, like everybody else.”

“Of course, Ms. Dearling,” Johnny said affably, “that’s not a problem. “You’ll mark mine leniently, won’t you?”

“Certainly,” she replied, smiling.

What?

Before she had a chance to wonder how that concession happened, Johnny was speaking again. “Ms Dearling, do you mind if I ask you a personal question?”

The answer was absolutely no, of course; she made it a rule never to discuss her personal life with students.

“Sure Johnny. What’s on your mind?”

“I was wondering—I know this sounds silly—but I was wondering, well, how long is your hair?”

She was taken aback. “My hair?”

“Well, yeah. You see, you always wear it up in a bun, and it looks really nice, but I can’t guess how long it really is. You have such pretty hair, Ms. Dearling.”

“Johnny, I don’t think—”

“Couldn’t you, well, let it down for a minute. So I can see how long it is? I just want to see. Please?” He looked at her imploringly.

“Johnny,” she said sternly, “this is not at all appropriate.” She reached up and pulled the wood and leather bob out of her hair. It burst free, tumbling down in long locks of chestnut brown.

“There, can you see now?” She swung her head a little, letting the glistening locks swing.

He was impressed. “Wow, Ms. Dearling it’s really long. You have beautiful hair, you know.”

It was hard not to smile at the artless sincerity of his admiration. “Thank you, Johnny,” Debbie replied. “Now you’ve had your look.” She started to bind up her hair again.

“Oh, don’t put it up!”

She stopped, looking at him.

“I, I’m sorry,” he said at once. “It’s just that, well, it’s such lovely hair, it seems like a shame to bundle it up again. Couldn’t you leave it down for a while? Just for a little while?”

“Oh, Johnny,” Debbie laughed, dropping the bob, “you really are too much.”

“Leave it down for the rest of the day, OK?” he entreated her. “Until you go home? You can wear it up again tomorrow.”

Debbie couldn’t bear the woebegone look on his face. “OK, OK Johnny,” she conceded, still laughing. “You win. I’ll leave it down for the rest of the day. Now run along to your next class.”

He left her then, calling back, “Thanks Ms Dearling” as he trotted from the room.

Debbie sat down in her chair as the next class filed into the room. I shouldn’t have done that, she reflected. She ran a bit of hair through her fingers. I do have beautiful hair though, she decided with satisfaction. She was smiling all the way through the next class.

The incident with the hair was disquieting. The next morning Debbie arrived at school with her hair up, as usual. Johnny approached her after class and politely asked her to wear it down again. Debbie complied, feeling foolish, yet flattered by the attention. That was a Friday. By Monday she had decided Johnny’s infatuation with her hair had gone far enough. She wore her hair up, and intended to keep it that way.

Johnny did ask her to let her hair down, but he said he understood when she refused. He looked at the floor, clearly trying to hide his adolescent disappointment. Debbie’s heart went out to him. She relented for a moment, so he could see her hair down one more time before she put it up for good.

Later, she wondered why she had done that. Her chestnut locks swirled about her shoulders. She had promised not to put it up again that day.

So it went. Every day that week Debbie came in with her hair in a bun. Every day Johnny gently persuaded her to let it down. Every day Debbie’s resolve not to let him manipulate her grew stronger. She went home every night with her tresses lifting in the breeze.

By the next Friday she gave up and went to work with her hair down. Johnny was very pleased. Debbie was pleased too, though she had no idea why.

Things got weirder shortly after that. Debbie made a point of avoiding Johnny when she could. He didn’t stay after class to ask questions for a while. Once, when she was getting into her car to go home for the day, a friendly voice said, “Hi, Ms Dearling!”

Debbie turned to find Johnny smiling at her. He was an ordinary-looking kid, medium height with short brown hair. He reminded her of Jimmy Olson from the old Superman comics. Debbie tried to deflect him before he got started. She said, “Johnny, I haven’t got time—”

“There’s scuff marks all over the bottom of your pants,” Johnny said. “On the back.”

“What? Where?” She turned to look over her shoulder. She was wearing a long black jacket and matching trousers.

“Right here,” Johnny said helpfully. “It looks like you backed into something really dusty.”

Debbie was turning her leg this way and that. At last she found the marks Johnny was talking about. They stood out on the black material. She had just had the suit dry-cleaned. “Oh, will you look at that,” she said, irritated. She bent over and tried to brush some of the dust off.

Jimmy said, “Yeah, pants like that are really bad for picking up dirt. You know, you wouldn’t have that problem if you wore a skirt instead.”

Debbie was still brushing her pants, only half listening. “Uh-huh,” she murmured.

“Why don’t you try wearing a skirt tomorrow instead of pants,” Jimmy said, “You’ll see how much easier they are to keep clean. They look nicer too.”

“Good night Jimmy,” Debbie said, climbing into her car. She would have to get her pants dry cleaned again. She hadn’t paid much attention to what Jimmy said.

The next morning, when she arrived at work in a long black skirt, Debbie was beginning to get worried. She had spent the previous evening grading book reports. Johnny’s was mediocre, barely meriting a C. Remembering her promise to be lenient, she gave him a B+. It was unfair to the other students. Yet for some reason it felt... nice.

“Miss Dearling,” Johnny said diffidently, standing in front of her desk that day, “can I... can I... uhm, can I just say...that uhm, you look, er, nice... in a skirt?”

Debbie stopped putting notes into her briefcase. It was after class, and the rest of the students were filing out.

“Why thank you, Johnny,” she replied, smiling. Why did Johnny’s compliments make her feel so warm? “But you know I didn’t wear this for you. I simply felt like wearing a skirt today. Now run along.”

“Yeah, OK,” he said, looking at his shoes. “But anyway you do look really pretty. It would be so nice if... like, you could wear a skirt tomorrow too.”

Debbie picked up her briefcase. “I’ll see what I can do,” she replied. “Now get to your next class before you’re late.”

It took her five seconds to realize she had capitulated again.

Debbie did wear a skirt to school the next day, a grey one that formed part of her grey suit. She had said that she would, after all. It looked sharp with her dark brown hair tumbling over her shoulders. She had decided, while getting dressed that morning, that it was time to have a firm talk with Johnny. She would put his infatuation to rest for good. She rehearsed the things she wanted to say as she drove to school.

“Johnny I would like to see you after class,” Debbie told him as he strolled into her English class along with the other students.

“Sure thing Miss Dearling,” the young man replied respectfully. “By the way, that’s a really fine dress.”

Debbie smiled in spite of herself. “Thank you, that’s very kind. It’s not a dress, it’s a suit. See, it has a blouse and a skirt, with a jacket over it.”

“Oh. Gosh, I didn’t know that. So, you could wear it with or without the jacket, right?”

“Well, I suppose, but it’s not really intended—”

“Would you mind leaving off the jacket for this class, so I can see the difference?” He looked at her earnestly.

“Johnny this is English, not fashion design,” his pretty teacher responded. She was already unbuttoning the jacket. Her smile grew wider as she peeled it off. “There. Just for this class. Now sit down. Don’t forget that I want to see you at end of class.”

She hung the jacket over the back of her chair. She wished she had worn a heavier blouse. She wished she hadn’t made yet another concession. She wished it didn’t feel so warm and satisfying. She really needed to talk with Johnny.

Debbie proceeded through the class with a keen awareness of how much her students could see through her silk blouse. Many of them were taking full advantage of the opportunity. She was relieved when the class ended and all the students left except Johnny. “Come into my office,” she said, gesturing toward the back of the classroom. She picked up her jacket and started to put it on. She caught a glance of Johnny looking at her entreatingly. Sighing, she slung the jacket over her arm.

“Johnny,” the shapely teacher said sternly, when they were seated in her back office, “this pre-occupation with my appearance has got to stop. Do you understand?”

He looked cowed. “What... what’s a pre-occupation?” he asked meekly.

Debbie tried not to roll her eyes. “Look, Johnny, I’m your teacher and you are my student. My job is to teach you English, nothing more. My personal habits and private life are none of your affair. In the classroom and out of it I expect you to treat me with respect and good manners. Your personal preferences about my appearance and style are neither here nor there, and had best be kept to yourself. Do you understand?”

He was studying the floor again. “I understand,” he said in a low voice.

“Come now, Johnny, you mustn’t take this so hard,” Debbie said, more kindly. “You’re a young man, it’s only natural for you to feel attraction to women. But you can’t expect to make time with your teacher. Tell me, aren’t there any girls your own age that you like?”

Johnny didn’t look up. “Well, yeah, I guess so. But...”

“But what? Tell me.”

He flicked her a shy glance. “They’re none of them as pretty as you, Ms Dearling,” he blurted.

Debbie’s heart sank. This was going to be more difficult than she had expected. She drew a deep breath. “Look, Johnny, I’m flattered that you find me attractive, I really am. It’s... sweet. But I can’t let you speak to me about my clothes or my hair any more, is that clear? No more.”

He nodded his head sadly. “Can I go now?”

“Sure. That’s all I wanted to say.”

Johnny got up to leave, gathering his books under one arm. He paused at the door, turned back for a moment.

“Ms Dearling?”

“Yes Johnny?”

“I do appreciate what you did—like, wearing your skirts for me and everything.”

She smiled. “I know.”

“Could you wear a skirt again tomorrow? One last time?”

“Certainly Johnny.”

No! Wait! What was she saying! Just when she finally had this kid straightened out she turned around and undid her whole speech. “Hold it, Johnny, wait a moment—” she called.

Johnny was gone.

The young teacher sank back in her chair. Debbie you big idiot! she shouted at herself. Now you’ll have to start all over again. This was so frustrating.

So why did she feel so peaceful all of a sudden? A wave of calm contentment was washing over her, like the first drowsiness of a pleasant night’s sleep. Relaxing in her chair, she idly toyed with a strand of long brown hair as she contemplated her problem. It didn’t seem as serious as it had a moment ago. She flicked a bit of dust off her skirt. Well, I do have dynamite legs, she decided.

Exactly one week later Debbie was in the school office, picking up her mail between classes. “Hey Deb, I like your dress,” said Harmony, the principal’s assistant. “You’re raising the sartorial standards around here, you know.” Harmony was slender and cute. She radiated a friendly good nature that could turn to thunderbolts in an instant when confronted with a wayward student.

“Thanks, Money,” Debbie replied, feeling a little self-conscious. “I, um, put on a few pounds so some of my pants don’t fit.”

“Uh-huh” Harmony said dubiously, looking over Debbie’s svelte curves. “Well, red suits you. You look wicked good.”

The conversation made Debbie uncomfortable. As an English teacher, phrases like “wicked good” gave her pains. Besides, she didn’t want to dwell on the fact that her slacks had all gone the way of her hair pins: present but unused. Every time she swore she was going back to pants, Johnny somehow persuaded her to wear a skirt again, “one more time”. Eventually Debbie didn’t even bother arguing. Giving in was unaccountably easy.

Debbie said, “That reminds me, is Gerald in?” She referred to the school’s guidance counsellor.

Harmony jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “He’s in his office. If you can make him smile I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.”

“Keep your money, Money,” Debbie said over her shoulder.

She knocked on the open door of the counsellor’s office. “Gerry? Can I talk to you for a moment?”

The guidance counsellor was a trim, middle-aged man with more hair in his beard than on his head. “In point of fact you are already talking to me,” he said, studying some papers on his desk. “All you have to do is continue.”

Debbie closed the door and seated herself in front of his desk. Her sleek red dress was calf-length, with a demure slit. “Gerry, I have a problem. With a student.”

He did look up then. “Oh? What’s the problem?”

“Well, he’s a senior, in my English lit class and, well... he’s soft on me.”

“Do tell.”

“Excuse me?”

“Deb, look in a mirror some time. Nine tenths of the boys in this school are soft on you. The rest are probably gay. Most of the staff are soft on you. Hell, I’m soft on you. It’s part of the price you pay for being gorgeous.”

“Gerry, this fellow goes way beyond watching me dreamily from the back of the classroom. He’s... well, he talks to me about personal things. He makes comments on my clothes. Politely mind you, but still. And he asks me to, well wear things he likes, and...” She trailed off, gesturing helplessly. How could she explain that she always ended up cheerfully agreeing to wear whatever Johnny wanted?

“I see,” Gerald responded evenly. “I’m about ready to call the cops on this kid. Who’s the student?”

“The new boy. The transfer student. Johnny—”

Gerald said his last name at the same time.

Debbie raised a delicate eyebrow. “How did you know?”

Gerald’s manner turned serious. Her rose and walked over to a filing cabinet. “Deb, do you know where Johnny was before he came here?” He pulled out a thick file and sat down again.

“He was with his parents, in Spain or something. They only recently moved back.”

“That’s the official line. Johnny’s parents died when he was three. He was raised by distant relatives who moved around a great deal. Because of that, the authorities only recently became aware of what they were up to. They were members of a highly secretive, religious society that worshipped”—he pulled his reading glasses on and scanned a page from the file—“a pantheon of ancient Sumarian gods and goddesses. They were convinced that Johnny had special powers from the god of—oh what does it matter, the point is they thoroughly screwed up the poor kid’s head.”

“When the authorities finally got him away from the relatives they put him through deprogramming for a while and he seemed to respond. He’s still very shy. He’s living with an older cousin now, a long way from the reach of the cult. We decided it was time to get him back into the mainstream.”

“So you think he’s confused? Maybe he has trouble forming relationships with girls his own age?”

“I think,” Gerald said carefully, “that the fact that he’s stuck on you is entirely to the good.” He closed the file and folded his hands on top of it. “It means he’s normal.”

“Hi Ms Dearling,” said a friendly voice.

Debbie looked up from the tin of soup in her hand to find Johnny smiling at her from the other end of her grocery cart. “Johnny! What are you doing here?” Red Alert! Shields up!

“Picking up a few things for my coz.” He held up a loaf of bread like a hunter holding a dead rabbit. “Guess I caught you on your day off, huh?” He looked her over meaningfully.

“Teachers have to buy groceries sometimes too, Johnny” Deb replied, feeling oddly defensive. She scuffed the floor with one white jogging shoe.

“Yeah, I guess so,” the grinning student replied. “You work so hard, I can’t blame you for wanting to be extra comfortable on your day off.”

The brown-haired beauty twitched a little beneath her bulky sweatshirt. Something in Johnny’s voice suggested that he thought she was being sloppy. She decided to make a pre-emptive strike.

“Come now, Johnny, I wear skirts and dresses at school—sometimes—because I want to look professional in class. You can’t expect me to dress like that all the time, now can you?” She let a little condescension slip into her voice.

Johnny backed down immediately. “Oh, no no, Ms Dearling, I didn’t mean anything like that. It’s the weekend, you can let yourself go all you want.”

Let yourself go!

“Besides,” the youngster went on, “I think you look good in jeans, I really do. Even if they aren’t, uhm, really new or anything.”

Debbie’s discomfort increased. She did look rather sloppy to be out in public. “Look, Johnny, it’s not like I wear these old jeans all the time,” she said, almost apologetically, “uhm... today, for grocery shopping....”

Johnny said, “Gosh, I’m sorry Ms Dearling, I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I think you look fine, I really mean that. Besides, there’s not that much difference really, you know, between a pair of jeans and, like, a skirt that’s you know, like to the ankles or... you know, they both cover so much that...” he trailed off into a set of inarticulate hand gestures.

Debbie frowned, trying to follow his speech. “You think—you think my skirts are too long? Is that what you’re getting at?”

“No! No, I mean, not all... that is, not for grocery shopping I suppose, but, it’s just that, well, you’re so pretty and all, it’s like, I don’t know, like going to an art gallery with the lights out so you can’t see anything, and you know there’s all these really beautiful paintings everywhere, but its so dark you can’t see anything, so you sort of look at the frames and try to imagine the beautiful pictures inside. I mean, I don’t mean your legs are like an art gallery or anything, although I suppose they sort of are like a sculpture or something, a fine, elegant sculpture with lots of curves going up and up and up, but you couldn’t see any of them because it’s so dark and you have to try to imagine what the sculpture looks like with all those curves and—”

Debbie was laughing. “All right! All right! I get your point. Look, if it will make you feel better I’ll wear a shorter skirt next week. I don’t want you art lovers to suffer on my account.”

His face lit up like a condemned man granted a reprieve. “Really? You’ll do that? Thanks so much Ms Dearling. Short skirts can be really comfortable I’m told. In fact, you could wear one on the weekend instead of your old jeans, couldn’t you?”

“Yes, I suppose I could.”

“Gosh that’s great Ms Dearling. I gotta go. I’m sure glad I bumped into you!” He dashed off with his loaf of bread toward the checkouts.

Debbie didn’t move for a few moments. What the hell happened there? Not only had she promised to wear her skirts shorter at school, she had promised to wear skirts on weekends too. Strangest of all, she felt so warm and peaceful it was hard to get upset about it. She couldn’t stop smiling.

She looked down at herself, dismayed. She had to get home and get changed! Abandoning her half-full shopping cart, she turned and trotted out of the store. Johnny, she mused, you’re warping my warp core.

Debbie stood before the blackboard in her senior English class, coaxing the students through Act II of Romeo and Juliet. She was dressed very smartly, in a blue paisley top and matching skirt. The skirt stopped about three inches above the knee, long enough to be not inappropriate for a fashion-conscious young teacher to wear, and short enough to satisfy Johnny’s patient requests that she not cover her “pretty legs.”

Of course, Shakespeare’s figures of speech couldn’t compete with Debbie’s dazzling figure of teach. Every boy in the class was eagerly memorizing her nylons. At one time that would have bothered her. Today she was in such a fine mood that she hardly cared. In fact, she was rather enjoying it. She looked over to where Johnny was watching her from the back of the room and her smile broadened. She knew he approved of this outfit.

Something in the back of her mind kept reminding her that there was something very wrong with wearing miniskirts to class because a student asked her too. Debbie couldn’t help herself. At first, she merely set aside the long skirts in her closet in favour of one that was more knee-length. She had no intention of indulging Johnny’s hemline whims more than once.

Johnny’s approval was so unreserved, and his gratitude so apparent on his youthful face, that Debbie found herself agreeing to wear the same style again the next day. And the next. Pretty soon she found her long dresses moving to the back of the closet, while she considered a trip to the mall so she could have a bit more variety to choose from. Since she was wearing skirts on weekends too, a wardrobe update was definitely called for.

Somewhere in there Johnny wondered out loud if knee-length was the best compromise for a woman of her obvious charms. Below the knee was clearly too modest, that was established, but didn’t knee length sort of draw the eye to the knees themselves, rather than the sinuous flow of her graceful gams? So maybe a little bit above the knee would be better? Standing in the fitting room at her favourite clothing store, Debbie had decided he was absolutely right. Very perceptive for an eighteen-year-old kid. She bought several things in the new length.

Later that afternoon, marking papers in her back office, away from the admiring looks of her students, Debbie’s doubts returned. There was something unsettling in the way she always ended up conceding to Johnny’s guileless pleas. How could he be so persuasive? More to the point, why wasn’t she more upset about it?

She felt good about her new look. In fact, more than good; the sensation was almost visceral, and hard to describe. It was a carefree, relaxed serenity, like the warm fuzziness she felt after a couple of stiff drinks. It suffused her every time she acceded to one of Johnny’s requests. The feeling made it difficult to get angry, or to stay worried for very long.

The shapely English teacher tapped her pen against the desk. The sensation was so familiar; she knew she had felt it before. She crossed her knees and admired the glint of her nylons on her calves. She was wearing low-heeled white slip-ons. She gasped, and dropped her pen.

Now she remembered: sex. Or rather, after sex. This mild euphoria she was feeling was exactly like the peaceful relaxation she felt after a good orgasm, when she was snuggled in her lover’s arms and all was right with the world. Johnny was making her feel a moderated version of post-coital bliss.

It was getting stronger all the time.

There was a polite rapping at her door. Johnny stuck his head in. “Ms Dearling? May I talk to you?” he asked.

Debbie’s defense was automatic. “Johnny, if you’re going to try to talk me into shortening my skirts again you can forget it, OK?”

The young man looked wounded. “Gosh, no Ms Dearling, it’s not about that at all. I think you look marvellous in that dress. Really.”

That feeling again. A flicker. “What then?”

He stepped into the cluttered office. He looked nervous. “I was thinking about...what you said, a while ago. You know, that maybe I should... like, try to meet girls my own age?”

Debbie’s interest perked up immediately. This was progress. “Yes, Johnny, I remember. Please come in, close the door. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

He was still giving her that hang-dog look. “Well, it’s... this is kind of hard to talk about, you know, but... I don’t exactly know what to do.”

She smiled. “Do? Do about what?”

“Well, what if, say, I think some girl is really sweet and I decide I... well, what if I want to kiss her?”

Debbie almost laughed out loud. She caught herself when she saw how serious he was. “Johnny, it’s no big deal. If you like a girl and you want to kiss her, and she wants to kiss you, then you just do it. There’s nothing complicated about a kiss.”

Johnny looked even more uncomfortable. “But I don’t... I don’t know how.”

“Well, there’s nothing to it. You merely... put your lips together and... well, do what feels natural. Kissing is easy, you just... you mean you’ve never kissed a girl?”

He shuffled his feet. “Not really. I kissed my cousin a few times.”

“Oh. Look, don’t worry about it. When the time comes you’ll do fine.”

“I was wondering,” Johnny said to the floor, “if maybe you would show me how?”

“Johnny! I hardly think—”

“Please?”

This was going too far. Debbie decided it was time to put an end to this once and forever. She knew she had to be firm.

“Well, all right,” she said, “but only once.”

That was firm?

The curvaceous English teacher got to her feet and stepped up to Johnny. She was a couple of inches taller than him. “OK, now relax. Part your lips a little bit and let them rest on mine. Keep your teeth out of the way. Here, turn your head a tad. That’s right.” She leaned forward and pressed his lips with a gentle kiss. He fumbled for a moment, but then his lips seemed to discover the right motion.

“There. How was that?”

“Great. Can we do it again?”

She had said only once and she meant it. She put one hand on his chin and guided him too her. The second kiss was longer. Debbie found it unexpectedly pleasant.

“Well... there you go,” she said at last, a little shaken. “Johnny, you are a very good kisser. A natural. I don’t think your girlfriends will have any complaints.”

“Really?” He seemed tremendously pleased with himself. “Can we do one more, Ms Dearling? Like a long slow one where the girl puts her arms around me, and like, pretend you really enjoy it, so I’ll know what that’s like?” His face shone with eagerness.

Debbie was feeling eager too, more so than she cared to admit. Smiling, she slipped her arms over his shoulders, bringing her body close against his. “You mean like this?” she whispered. She tilted her head and kissed him long and thoroughly. She could feel the heat from his body. Her lips slid wet and smooth over his.

This kiss was much, much longer. It kept going long after Debbie thought it should end. She couldn’t bring herself to pull her lips away, not until she had savoured the feeling of him for another precious, lingering moment. She found herself stroking Johnny’s hair while she necked like a teenager, luxuriating in the sexy sensations he was bringing her. She bent one knee and slid her foot back and forth. She didn’t even notice exactly when her tongue got into the action.

When they finally parted Debbie was breathless. “J-Johnny,” she gasped, “I, I think that is about enough kissing for today.” She took a deep breath. Her head was spinning.

“That was wonderful, Ms Dearling,” Johnny said. “Please, can we do this again tomorrow?”

No no no no no, this has to stop, Debbie’s mind screamed at her. “Definitely,” she breathed.

He smiled winningly. “Thanks so much, Ms Dearling. You’re great. I’d like it even better if you wore something a little shorter too.”

“Of course, Johnny,” Debbie agreed, without really hearing him. She sank limply into her chair as Johnny strolled away.

Two days later Debbie strode down the hall toward the main office, trying to ignore the stares and whistles from the students as she passed by. In fact she was acutely aware of all the male attention. It was making her tingle pleasantly.

Of course they were looking at her. This outfit absolutely guaranteed it. Debbie’s black stretch skirt stopped about mid-thigh, and her orange sweater was distended by the press of her full, round breasts. She was wearing thick-soled loafers in white suede that perfectly set off the glossy, dark nylons on her legs.

She arrived at the main office and stepped inside, smiling at a cluster of young boys who were openly scanning her lithe curves. She threw back her long hair deliberately.

Harmony was at her desk, clicking away at her computer. She looked up. “Wow! Deb, you look wicked hot! That skirt is—”

“Money, how do I go about transferring a student out of my class?”

Harmony stopped short. “You want to transfer a student out? Usually students request transfers.”

Debbie flipped her hands. “I have—a problem student. I want him out of my class. Completely. I want to have no further contact with him whatsoever. How do I do that?”

“Let me see,” Harmony said. She put on a small pair of glasses and pulled open the top drawer of a filing cabinet. Debbie was a little surprised to see Harmony in a quite brief skirt herself, coupled with black fashion boots.

She handed Debbie a form. “Fill this out. We need the name of the student, the class, your name and the reason for the transfer. Then Herself signs it”—she gestured toward the principal’s office—“and that’s that. Who’s the student?”

“Nobody you know,” Debbie said shortly, taking the form. She walked over to an empty desk and started filling out the form right there. Her mini stretched tight over her bubble behind as she bent over the desk. “He’s a new student, in my senior English class. What’s a good reason for a transfer?”

“Insubordination?”

“Sounds good.” She signed her name on the bottom of the form. “Make sure Her Principalness gets this at once.”

Harmony looked at the name on the form. “Johnny? What’s the matter? He seems like such a nice kid”

“Make sure she signs it right away,” Debbie said. She tugged down her skirt ineffectually before striding out the door.

The end of the school day found Debbie sitting at her desk, or rather, sitting on top of it, with Johnny standing between her legs, practising his kissing skills. Johnny needed practice kissing like a nightingale needed singing lessons. Debbie felt dizzy.

“J-Johnny, please, we mmmmmmmm, we have, we have t-to oh! we mmmmmmmm have to stop this,” she pleaded, when he freed her lips for a moment.

“But, but I need to practise kissing, Ms Dearling. Don’t you like it?”

Oh god did she like it. “Yes, but Johnny, honey, this isn’t kissing, this is more like foreplay.”

He looked at her innocently. “What’s foreplay?”

Debbie groaned. “It’s what two people do before—look, Johnny, please, I’m your teacher, we shouldn’t be carrying on like this!”

“OK Ms Dearling, I’m sure you’re right. Can I have one more kiss before I go?”

“Yes!” she agreed instantly. In a moment their lips were locked together again, their tongues dancing a tango. Debbie had her arms around his neck, kneading her fingers into his shoulders.

He’s got a hand on my leg, she thought dreamily. I should stop him. He’s got a hand on my leg, on my sexy black nylons below my sexy black miniskirt and he’s probably going to try to sneak his hand up, up under my mini and onto my... but oddly, Johnny’s hand was going the other way, sliding lovingly down her long leg, that she automatically raised, bending at the knee to accommodate his reach. He arrived at her ankle and deftly slipped off her white suede shoe.

“What are you... my shoe,” Debbie sighed. She couldn’t manage anything more coherent. He was still stroking her leg. She looked down blankly at her discarded shoe. It was brand new.

“Ms Dearling you have such stunning legs,” Johnny offered. “You look fantastic in a pretty skirt like that one.” He lifted up her leg gently and began to kiss her along her calf and ankle.

Lying back on her elbows, Debbie tried gamely to rally the defense. “Johnny, I, I don’t think—”

“I really love it that you go to such trouble to look your best, just for me,” her amorous student pressed on. “Why, you’re such a classy woman, I bet even your underwear is sexy.” He smothered her foot in kisses.

“Johnny! That’s really none of your—oh! oh my, mmmmm (giggle) what are you doing! (giggle giggle). Stop that!”

Johnny had lifted her dainty foot to his face and was kissing her delicately, right behind the ball of her foot. It was incredibly ticklish and intensely erotic at the same time.

“Oh, I’m sorry Ms Dearling,” Johnny apologized, still making her squirm on the desktop, “You’re absolutely right. It’s none of my business at all what kind of sexy, feminine underthings you decide to wear. Why you could wear the skimpiest, slinkiest, kinkiest lingerie there is and its none of my never mind. Only you need to know what kind of flesh-flashing flimsies you wear under your street clothes. None of us will ever know, unless you decide to throw us a little tease.”

Debbie tried gamely to follow his discourse through the fog of sexual arousal surrounding her. “Johnny, I don’t wear... I mean, I, I could I guess... no one would ew! that tickles! no one would ever have to—”

Johnny’s lips and tongue abruptly stopped their maddening dance. “I had better go now,” he said, lowering her leg. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, OK?” He leaned over to give his teacher a quick, hot kiss that set off sparks in her head, then dashed out the door.

Debbie sprawled backwards on the desk, staring at the ceiling. Oh, fuck, what am I doing? she demanded. I have got to get this boy out of my class. I feel like I’m floating. She giggled foolishly. She slid limply off the desk and put her shoe back on.

Saturday Debbie went shopping. She wore a miniskirt and a half-unbuttoned cardigan sweater to the mall. She bought a lot of new underwear. When she arrived at school Monday morning, she was enjoying the sensation of pure silk against her skin.

It was raining lightly as Debbie stepped into her office. She folded up her umbrella and set it against the wall to dry. She shook out her long brown hair. She was late for school. Her lesson plans were unfinished and she was falling behind in her marking.

She looked sensational. Today she wore a sea-green camisole beneath a long, dark jacket. Her matching skirt was so short the jacket covered it completely. There was a delicate pattern of interlocking hearts woven into her stockings.

She sat down in her chair to take off her boots. “Oh, no, wait, leave them on!” cried a familiar voice.

Debbie stopped with her hand still on the zipper. “Johnny, not now, please, I’m late for class.”

“Oh, I’m sorry Ms Dearling,” the young student responded, diffident as always. “You could save time if you left your boots on. They look super cool with that outfit.”

“I am not interested in looking super cool,” Debbie lied, zipping her boot back up. “I have to get to class.” She brushed by him, intent on ending the conversation.

“You should wear boots more often,” he called after her. “They set off your legs so well.”

At ten o’clock Wednesday morning, Debbie sauntered down the hall toward the school office. Though she would never admit it to herself, she had deliberately waited until class change, when the maximum number of students would be in the hallways. Now she was taking her time, walking a little slower than necessary, showing off.

What the fuck is wrong with me, Debbie wondered dimly. I’m lose lose losing my mind. Mmmmmm, look at them look at me look at me look at me boys. I’m wicked cool. I’m super hot. I’m ready to tango and hot to trot. She tittered happily.

Something had to be done. Debbie’s head was in the clouds all day. She couldn’t stop smiling. Boys stopped what they were doing and stared whenever she floated by. Their girlfriends glared at her, and that felt good too. She had taken to judging the success of her lessons, which were pretty much a jumble anyway, by the number of male students who had hard-ons within the first ten minutes.

Eventually she made it to the main office. Before stepping inside she stopped and carefully tugged up her glistening socks. The action pulled her velour mini high and tight against her perfect ass. Students stared from in front and behind. I’m fucking out of my mind, Debbie thought happily. She straightened, smiled warmly at her audience, and stepped into the office.

“I’m sorry hon, I’m not supposed to give you an excuse slip without a note from your doctor,” came Harmony’s voice. She was standing behind the high counter, talking to a student.

“Well, I was really sick yesterday,” the boy said, “and like, the day before too. I had, uhm, like a fever... and a really sore throat.” He coughed theatrically.

“Oh, you poor boy,” Harmony mothered him. “Here, we’ll give you an excuse slip for those two days. But remember to get a doctor’s note next time, OK sweetie?”

Debbie checked her mailbox while she waited for Harmony to finish. She was hoping some of the catalogues she had ordered would arrive soon.

“Wow, Deb, I am impressed. You are right bold, girl!”

Debbie turned to see Harmony beaming at her. She straightened up and put one foot forward, modelling proudly. “Do you think this works?” The curvaceous teacher was wearing a form-fitting velour minidress in forest green. She had a new pair of boots on her feet, funky black ones with oversized platform soles and tall heels. Under the boots she wore glossy black stockings that extended to above the knee, where her shiny nylons took over. The daring minidress was barely long enough to cover her garter clips, if she was careful.

“You look like you’re ready for a hot night at the club, Deb,” Harmony replied. Her voice held nothing but approval.

Debbie grinned. “Thanks, I decided to have a little fun. Hey, Money, what’s all this?” She made a gesture toward her throat.

Harmony giggled. She fingered her black choker. “Well, everybody calls me Money anyway, so I figured I’d go with the theme.” Dangling from her choker was a giant gold pendant in the shape of a dollar sign. It glittered in the cleft of her V-necked sweater. “Hey look here,” she said, throwing her hair back over one ear. “See? Those are Japanese yen,” she said, flicking one gaudy gold earring.

Debbie giggled. “But what about... those?” she asked, pointing at the other woman’s feet. Harmony was wearing enormous platform sandals with solid, square-cut soles finished in polished silver as bright as aluminum foil. They lifted her feet almost three inches off the ground in front, considerably farther in back.

“Don’t you get it?” Harmony asked, sliding one foot forward. “Those are pounds sterling!” Both girls erupted into a fit of giggles. In between the sweater and the shoes, Harmony was wearing a simple black skirt with a hemline higher than a loan-shark’s interest rate.

Debbie was having such a good time she almost forgot what she came in for. “Oh, Money, I was wondering, what happened to that transfer request I made. About Johnny.”

“Oh, oh yes. I have it here.” She tottered carefully back to her desk, keeping her arms out for balance. The bracelet on her wrist was hung with coins. She picked up the form. “She hasn’t signed it yet. She asked to see you.”

Debbie did not relish and audience with Herself. “Oh, all right. Can I go in right now?”

“Sure, why not.”

The principal was a stern, fortyish woman who ran her school with steely efficiency. Her hair was worn in a short cap on her head. Her suits were always black. She was standing by the window, looking out over the athletic fields when Debbie came in.

“Ah, Ms Dearling,” she said formally when Debbie entered the room. “Please sit down.”

Debbie sat, feeling the cool leather against her bare skin. Her red lycra thong slipped into the groove between her asscheeks. The principal sat down too. She looked Debbie up and down, but surprisingly she made no comment. She picked up the transfer form that Debbie had placed on her desk.

“I understand you want this new student, Johnny, transferred out of your English class.”

“That’s right. Immediately please. He is a major disruption.”

“Is he. I’m not sure I accept that, Ms Dearling. I have talked to the guidance counsellor about this student. I talked to Johnny, too.”

“You talked to Johnny?”

“Well of course. Several times. He is an earnest young man, and very polite. A little forward sometimes, but hardly what I would consider a trouble-maker. Did Gerald tell you about Johnny’s history?”

“Yes he did. But I thought he had gone through deprogramming.”

“We are no longer certain how effective the treatment has been. There can be long-lasting psychological damage from inculcation of that kind. Especially in a case like Johnny’s where he has been mistreated since childhood. His socialization may still be impaired.”

“Yes, but—”

“Ms Dearling, let me be direct. I understand from Gerald that this student has taken a shine to you. Is that correct?”

Debbie nodded. “Yes, it is. I did nothing to encourage it.” She flicked a lock of long hair over her shoulder.

“And that is the real reason you want the boy transferred?”

“Well, yes. I find his attention... disconcerting.” That, and the fact that she was creaming her panties all day long. She shifted in her seat.

The principal pursed her lips, considering. “Ms Dearling, the counsellor and I have discussed this at length. We feel that it would be unproductive for Johnny’s social re-integration for him to suffer a shock or embarrassment at this time. It would be better for him to have the comfort of familiar surroundings and colleagues.”

“But—but, what about me? The kid treats me like a love goddess.” He makes me feel like one too, she reflected, her temperature rising. She crossed her knees nervously, forgetting for a moment how her inadequate skirt slid up her thigh.

“I think this would be a great opportunity for you as a teacher,” the principal said. “The boy trusts you. He needs a confidant. You can help him redirect his interpersonal attractions in a more appropriate direction.”

Sure, Debbie mused, we all know how well that’s going. She had seen Johnny talking to a cute girl in his class the other day. Unexpectedly, she had felt a little pang of jealousy. The girl had her head down, smiling shyly at whatever sweet things he was saying. She wondered for a moment if other women felt the heady effects of Johnny’s guileless persuasion.

“No, you don’t understand,” Debbie cried, “it’s not a simple teenage crush. The boy is... infatuated. It’s making me crazy. You have got to get him away from me!”

“Ms Dearling!” the principal’s voice was stern. “You are a professional teacher, and I expect you to behave as one. That boy needs your help and you would turn your back on him? That is not acceptable. Johnny stays in your class. Work with him. Help him. Do your job.” She held up the unsigned form, indicating that the meeting was over.

Sighing, Debbie got to her booted feet and took the form. She headed for the door. “Oh, by the way, Debbie,” the principal said more gently, standing by her desk. “That’s a lovely dress. You look terrific.” She smiled benignly as Debbie left the office.

Outside the principals office, Debbie leaned against the counter trying to collect her thoughts. Something was going on here. Students were transferred all the time. Why wouldn’t she transfer Johnny? The principal seemed so firm about it. Yet she had only kind things to say about Debbie’s new outfit, which properly should have earned her an official reprimand and a trip home to change. Instead she got an encouraging compliment.

The vain thought wandered in that she did look terrific. Debbie tried to shake it off. She smoothed the soft material of her dress over her chest, admiring the way it showed off her blossoming titties.

She forced her mind back to the matter at hand. There was something else about the principal. Below the hem of her elegant black suit she was wearing shiny red, spike-heeled, platform sandals. Debbie tossed the transfer form in the rubbish and headed back to class.

Debbie was sitting in her office Thursday afternoon, going over her lesson plans. Or what passed for her lesson plans these days. She was seated at her desk, leaning her head on one hand, doodling flowers and hearts on the blotter. She felt like she was stoned.

Her classes were steering away from the conventional. The day before she had told her astonished senior class that Romeo and Juliet was about sex. Hot, feverish sex. Forbidden sex that shocked both families, which only made it more appealing. She had strutted in front of the class in a hyper-abbreviated pinstripe suit with no blouse, but with sleek, seamed stockings and her favourite leather boots. The boots were tight and black, with big heels that were still high even after subtracting the height of the exuberant platforms.

“The play is all about lusty lust lust,” she explained, enjoying the sound of the word. “Lust and more lust. Lust or bust. Juliet and Romeo are so hot for each other that nothing can keep them apart. Not their stupid parents or their hidebound society or even Juliet’s pretended chastity. They’re so hot ‘n’ steamy for each other’s bodies that they’ll do anything to ‘consummate’ "—she lingered over the word deliciously—“their affair. Sex is what it’s all about. Sex and more sex is what Romeo wants, and what Juliet wants to give him. If it weren’t for the perversions of their twisted families they’d both be humping happily ever after.”

She leaned back against her desk, crossing one ankle over the other. Her impressive cleavage was spilling out of the cleft of her one-button suit jacket, aided and abetted by the red velvet half-bra beneath it. She looked around at the class, smiling. It looked like she had achieved a new personal best for the number of boners. Even some of the girls were looking turned on.

Debbie’s reverie was interrupted by the sound of a voice at the door. “Ms Dearling! I need to talk to you.”

Debbie looked up to see Johnny standing in the doorway, looking worried. Oh no. She felt her pulse jump a little. “Johnny, can’t this wait? I’m terribly busy with teaching right now and—”

“Please Ms Dearling. This is really important.” He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

“What is it? What’s so important? Johnny, for heaven’s sake, stop pacing.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “Ms Dearling, you remember how we talked about me getting to know some girls my age? And how we were, like, practising kissing so I would know how to do it?”

Debbie’s voice softened. “I remember.” Remember? She was still recovering. Debbie’s pulse slid up another notch.

“Well, you see, the thing is, I’ve been talking to some of the girls in my class, like you said, and I met this girl who’s like, real pretty and we got to, you know, kissing, and, well...” He was talking to the floor. He scuffed one shoe along the tiles.

“What is it, Johnny? What happened when you kissed the girl?” Debbie found his confession keenly exciting. What had the girl felt when Johnny kissed her? Was it that cute thing she had seen him talking to the other day? Hadn’t she come to class yesterday wearing tight hip pants, looking peaceful and spaced out?

Johnny was acting even more bashful than usual. “Well, the thing is, Ms Dearling, we were kissing and all, and it was real nice, I liked it, but, well it got to be embarrassing.”

“What? Embarrassing how?”

“My... my thing. It started to get all stiff in my pants. I, I couldn’t help it. I’m pretty sure she could feel it, and I didn’t know what to do.”

Suddenly Debbie understood. “Oh. You mean, you started to get an erection? Well, Johnny, honey that’s perfectly normal when you kiss a girl you like. Especially at your age. I’m sure the girl understood. Did you take her home after that?”

He looked perplexed. “Uh, no, you don’t understand, Ms Dearling. We weren’t out on a date. This happened, well, right here. A few minutes ago.”

“Here? In school? Johnny, for heaven’s sake you know that sort of thing is strictly for—” Wait a minute. What was she saying? She could hardly criticize Johnny for making out with some lucky classmate after the way she and he had carried on. Nor could she blame him for spouting a hard-on when she was coaxing up a dozen or more in every class. She felt herself growing warm. Johnny had been in the room less than five minutes and she was already turned on.

“Oh. OK, OK, whatever. What, what do want me to help you with?”

“I was hoping, er, I was uhm, thinking that, uhm, maybe you could help me... like, make it go away.”

Debbie was becoming concerned about the turn of the conversation. She said: “Look, Johnny, if you’re afraid somebody will notice, the best thing to do is to calm yourself down for a few minutes. Think about algebra, or particle physics or something like that.”

“I did!” her student responded, “I mean I tried that, see? I started thinking about history, cuz it’s like, kinda boring, but then I started thinking about Queen Elizabeth and that got me thinking about Shakespeare and Shakespeare got me thinking about English literature... and that got me thinking about you, Ms Dearling. Then my thing came right back up again.” He hung his head, abashed.

“Johnny! Do you mean to say... oh.” For the first time she realized where Johnny’s gaze was directed. The hem of her stretch-fit minidress had ridden up to the tops of her stockings again. The thin dress flowed lovingly over Debbie’s curves but refused to cover more than a few inches of her legs, as if it couldn’t bear to hide anything so beautiful.

“I’m sorry, Ms Dearling,” Johnny mumbled. “You’re so pretty, I... I get all excited.”

“Well, Johnny, honey, I, I, uhm, that’s understandable but, but you mustn’t... you mustn’t... you... oh my.” Her gaze fell to his crotch, where the bulge was unmistakeable. “Oh, dear me Johnny, you do have a problem, don’t you? Maybe you should, you know, stimulate yourself until... well, until this goes away.”

“I was hoping,” Johnny said shyly, “that you would do it for me.”

“Me! Why Johnny that’s shocking. I, I’m your teacher, I couldn’t possibly take your stiff cock—I mean, your p,penis in my hands and... and well, stimulate you until you... oh fuck.” Debbie’s head was whirling. She was breathing hard. She felt like the air was laced with aphrodisiacs and she was drawing them in with every breath.

He took a step toward her. “Please Ms Dearling. I know you could do it way better than I can myself. If you do it, I’ll know what to expect from other girls.”

The rationalization was thinner than tissue paper, but Debbie leapt on it as if it were a trampoline. “Well, yes, OK,” she agreed, trying to hide her eagerness. “I suppose, I could, just once of course... so you’ll know what to expect.”

She reached for his zipper. Johnny wasn’t wearing any underwear. His youthful member almost sprang out of his pants and into her hands. A little “oh” of surprise escaped Debbie’s lips. She began to stroke him lightly, as if she were petting a newborn kitten. Johnny twitched gratifyingly.

“There, you see, honey, it’s simple. The girl strokes you, like this, nice and slow at first, just enough to let your excitement grow and make you feel good. That does feel good, doesn’t it, Johnny?”

“Mmmmmph, oh yes, yes Ms Dearling, it feels wonderful!”

“Good. Now I’ll start a little faster, and you’ll feel even better.” Her delicate hands slid lovingly up and down his shaft.

Debbie’s mind was a whirlwind. The sensation of sexual euphoria that she had been basking in for weeks returned stronger than ever, surrounding her soul in a blanket of featherdown that soothed and smothered any attempts at rational thought. My god look at me, she thought wildly, I’m jerking him off. I have a class if five minutes with no lesson plan and I’m jacking off one of my students in the office behind the classroom.

There would be students filing into the classroom any moment. Debbie heard Johnny groan above her, and she smiled wantonly. She was pumping him earnestly now, leaning forward in her chair with her heavy boots flat on the floor, legs spread wide and tight dress rucked up to her hips. She was certain Johnny could see her thong panties now but she was too high to care.

A drop of pre-cum appeared on the tip of his penis, hanging there like dew. Debbie stared at it, fascinated. Her hands never slowed. Johnny was beginning to groan and sigh above her. She leaned forward a little and stuck her tongue out to lick up the drop on his glans.

I had better not do that, she scolded herself, I had better not even let my tongue touch him, because (lick) there just to clean that up but oh, there’s another one, I shouldn’t be doing this (lick lick) it’s too much like I’m kissing his cock, kissing his big hard cock, his beautiful big cock that I’m stroking behind my classroom and mmmmmm, there’s some more (lap, slurp) and if I keep (lick lick) using my tongue and, and my lips (smack) on Johnny’s heavenly cock he’s (lick, slurp slurp) oh fuck I am so hot I feel like I’m going to cum myself, and it’s like I have already too, I feel so weightless, there’s nothing keeping me from floating away but this adorable, perfect pecker in my hands, but if I don’t stop (kiss, lickity lick, sluuuuurp) using my mouth on him Johnny is going to expect me to to to slide him right in and down my throat and suck suck suck! until he comes and I (kiss, suckle, slurp) really mustn’t do that because because becuzzzzz mmmmmmmm yummy yummy yummy!

“Oh gosh Ms Dearling, wow that’s fantastic!” Johnny enthused, as his member slid in and out of Debbie’s red-painted lips. Her long hair flew about as she bobbed her head rapidly up and down on his cock. One hand continued to stroke him below the reach of her lips. The other slid around to his ass, fiercely pushing him further into her.

Johnny was beginning to tremble. “Ms Dearling, I think, oh gosh, I think I’m going to...”

For a moment Debbie hesitated, uncertain about taking his seed. Johnny must have noticed, because he said: “No, please Ms Dearling, let me come in your mouth, just this once, please. I’ve heard some girls say it’s really fun, you might like it... oh please...oh...”

Then it hardly mattered because Johnny was coming. Debbie felt him stiffen, his cock jerked against her lips, and a moment later he was spurting warm semen into her waiting mouth. Debbie swallowed it all obediently. It felt warm and soothing going down her throat, not the sensation she had expected at all. She sucked him happily then, staying with him until the last drops were gone.

Sighing, Johnny pulled out of her. “Thank you so much, Ms Dearling,” he said. “You were a big help. Zipping up his pants he leaned over to give her a warm kiss on the lips. Debbie felt tingles up and down her spine.

“Can we do this again sometime? Maybe tomorrow?” he whispered.

“Yes. Sure. Tomorrow,” his teacher replied, savouring the kiss.

Debbie slowly leaned back in her chair, panting for breath. She would have agreed to just about anything at that moment. She hardly even noticed that Johnny was gone.

The stunning brunette looked at her watch. She was late for her next class. They would have to wait another minute or two. She was in no condition to teach. She slipped her hands downward, under the hem of her tight minidress and up underneath her soaking wet thong. Her fingers began to tease and stroke eagerly. This wouldn’t take very long.

When Debbie strutted into class a few minutes later, her smile was broader than ever.

Debbie’s little red car veered into the parking lot. It skidded to a halt across two parking spaces. The occupant giggled loudly. “Whoopsie!” she said out loud. Driving was a special challenge in her new platform boots. She hummed along for a moment to the rock music blaring out of the stereo.

It was another Saturday afternoon. Debbie was at the Uptown Plaza again, continuing her endless quest for sexy clothes. She liked this place because it had lots of stores with wild fashions—fashions she would never even have looked at a few weeks ago. Now they were her whole wardrobe. She was buying a new pair of boots about every three days. It was costing more than she could afford, but Debbie couldn’t bring herself to be worried about that.

Debbie could hardly bring herself to be worried about anything. She looked down at the preposterous boots gracing her feet. They were suede and light tan, knee-high, with totally unnecessary buckskin laces up the front. The boots had enormous wedge heels, curved upward at the front so she could walk, rising smoothly higher in the back until her heels were elevated more than half a foot above the floor.

The boots were so exaggerated that they were more bizarre than purely sexy. And that, Debbie thought with another giggle, is what made them so sexy. These boots were utterly impractical, useless for any purpose aside from decoration. Hence, anyone who wore them must be so obsessed with appearance and sex appeal that nothing else mattered. The boots announced to the world: here is a woman so hungry for male attention that she will sacrifice comfort and convenience and even common sense to make you stare at her. When she slipped them on, Debbie knew, she intrinsically accepted that she was a sexual ornament, made to tease and please men. Maybe that was why the boots felt so fucking good.

Everything felt good these days. Look at this dress, the brunette schoolteacher thought to herself. It’s barely decent. She smoothed down the soft material, delighting in the feel of her body beneath. The shimmering dress was sleeveless and rust-red, with a big black zipper down the front. The zipper was half-undone from both ends. Debbie ran her hand down one shiny stocking, then slipped it up under the short dress to play with herself for a moment. She shuddered in delight.

For the past week the shapely young teacher had been in a constant fog of pleasure and arousal. Her smile had become sexy, vapid, and permanent. She felt as high as the heels on her vampish boots. If she sucked off Johnny, which of course she did every day now, she was pretty much useless for at least the next hour. She played with herself while she marked term papers. Her classes were a burlesque show.

She should have been fired by now. Such outrageous behaviour ought to have led to her dismissal weeks ago. Maybe her continued employment was related to the candy-coloured, spike-heeled sandals the giddy principal was now wearing beneath her ever-briefer skirts. She would get no help from Harmony, who nowadays dressed only in silver, gold and black, the colour of money, and replaced every letter s in her memos with a dollar sign. Money was too busy fawning and flirting with every boy who entered the office to have any serious interest in discipline.

Debbie was confident that nothing she did would get her fired any more. That was settled the day she sat carelessly on the desk with her legs uncrossed, forgetting that she had removed her tiny panties after a head session with Johnny left them all wet.

The class had been shocked. One girl, a plump, serious student who had been frowning for weeks at Debbie’s new attitude, had bolted from the room in disgust. Debbie was concerned that she might register a complaint. She remembered seeing the girl having a heated argument with Johnny in the hallway, and a few days later another, less violent discussion in an empty classroom.

Fortunately, the girl never complained to the school board. In fact, she started showing up in class without a bra. She looked bewildered.

Reluctantly, Debbie pulled her fingers away from her needful pussy. She licked off her fingers, then pulled on a pair of lacy pink gloves, carefully adjusting the band of frill around each wrist. She checked her hair and make-up in the rearview mirror; her pink lipstick exactly matched her gloves. Only then did she attempt the womanly art of walking in her new boots.

Debbie was shuffling carefully out of the third store, already burdened with bags and packages, when she almost ran into Johnny. “Hi Ms Dearling!” he said, as bright as ever.

“Why Johnny, what are you doing here?” Debbie asked. She felt her temperature rise. She hoped he wouldn’t ask her to do something weird, here in public. She was certain she would do it.

“Oh, my cousin wanted to go shopping,” Johnny replied, sounding uncomfortable. “She asked me to come along. Hey, Ms Dearling, you look marvellous this morning.”

Debbie beamed. “Thank you, Johnny. I like to look attractive, even if it is Saturday.” She toyed with the zipper on the front of her minidress. Maybe Johnny would take her back to her car for a blowjob. She licked her lips.

“Oh, Ms Dearling, I almost forgot. This is my cousin Vanessa. I live with her now. Vanessa, this is Ms Dearling, my English teacher.”

Debbie had hardly even noticed the woman standing beside him. She shook hands. “Hi Vanessa,” she said, “I hope we’ll see you at the parent-teacher...uhm, I mean... at school...uhm... functions.”

She faltered when she realized what the woman looked like. When Gerald had said that Johnny was living with a older cousin now, she had assumed a middle-aged woman, someone who could fill the role of surrogate parent. This woman had yet to see her thirtieth birthday. She was tall, elegant and poised, with curly red hair and tasteful jewellery.

She was dressed from head to toe in slick, tight leather.

“Delighted to meet you, Ms Dearling,” Vanessa said formally. Her bosom heaved beneath the confining red dress. Somehow Debbie knew that she was wearing a corset beneath it. “I hope Johnny isn’t too much of a handful in your class.”

Debbie laughed. A handful? More like a mouthful. But she said: “Oh no, he’s no trouble at all. A model student. I wish I had more students like him.” Sure, and she would be completely insane in two weeks.

“That’s so good to hear,” the other woman sighed. She smiled softly. Her eyes were half-closed and shiny. She looked to Debbie like someone who had taken one too many of a very effective tranquillizer. “I do so want Johnny to fit in. He’s had such a difficult life.”

“Well, we have to be going,” Johnny interrupted. “It was nice to see you again Ms Dearling. You can find some really cute outfits in that store over there. Don’t forget to cancel English lit on Tuesday.” He laid a hand on Vanessa’s shoulder and gently turned her around.

“I won’t forget,” Debbie called after them. Wait! Why had she....

She watched the couple recede down the corridor. Vanessa was a head taller than her cousin. The tight dress and tighter corset squeezed her into an overtly sexy, hour-glass figure. She walked with slow, hip-swaying steps, amplified by a restricting, long skirt and stiletto heels. Debbie watched Johnny’s hand slide down from her shoulder and onto her leather-clad ass. Fuck I’m horny, she thought to herself. She giggled helplessly.

Now, three days later, here she was, on her knees in her teacher’s office, zealously giving Johnny his daily blowjob, which somehow satisfied her every bit as much as they did him. She ran her tongue around his cockhead, licking up any remaining cum. Finally, when she was sure she had extracted every last delicious drop from Johnny’s marvellous prick, Debbie reluctantly let him slip out of her lips. He fell back against her desk, panting. He looked faintly ridiculous with his pants down around his ankles.

Debbie sat back on her knees. She could feel the leather of her white boots pressing against her pantyhosed behind. “Johnny honey,” she said, between gasps for breath, “I think you had better run along to class now.” So I can spend a few minutes fingering myself before my next class, she thought but did not say.

He bent over to pull his pants up, moving sluggishly. Debbie understood how relaxed he felt. “Ms Dearling that was... sensational,” he said. “But we don’t have to rush. You cancelled senior English today, remember?”

Had she? Oh yes, she had. Johnny asked her to cancel the class so of course she had. With an effort, she got to her feet long enough to slide loosely into her chair. “Why... why did I cancel class?” she asked dully. She didn’t really care. She felt so good.

“Ms Dearling,” Johnny said, still respectful despite everything they had done, “there was one more thing I was hoping you could help me with.”

“Course, honey. Anything.” Clever of him to ask her now, when her resistance was at its lowest ebb. Not that her resistance ever made any difference. She admired the little butterflies on the side of one glistening boot.

Johnny hadn’t pulled up his pants completely. “Well, it’s just that, you see, if I start going out with a girl, and like, we really like each other, well, eventually we’re going to want to... well, you know, be intimate.”

“Mmm-hmmm.” Debbie wondered idly who the lucky girl would be. Maybe one of the cheerleaders, who had all started coming to class in their uniforms, sans underthings? Or that brooding goth girl, who was obviously mortified that her all-black wardrobe was being steadily eroded by pink, magenta and canary yellow? Or the smiling, plump girl with the lovely big breasts, whose sweaters seemed to get tighter and shorter ever day?

Johnny said: “You’ve shown me how to kiss her sweetly, and, well, I know what to expect now if she... kisses me, like, down there, but shucks I don’t know anything about... you know, making love.”

Debbie forced her sated brain to focus. “You, you want me to teach you about sex?” Why not? She was his teacher, wasn’t she. She tried to remember if there was something wrong with that.

“Well,” he said, red-faced, “Not exactly teach me about it, but maybe you could like, show me how... to do it right. Like I know basically what to do, I guess, but... there’s so much difference between thinking you know what to do and actually doing it, you know?”

Debbie made a valiant effort to object. “Johnny, no,” she said, almost pleading. “We, we can’t do that. Please, I’m still your teacher and you’re my student. We shouldn’t be doing any of this. Besides, we just finished... I mean, your... thing will need a rest.”

“No it doesn’t,” he contradicted her brightly. “Not when I’m around you, Ms Dearling. Look, he’s coming back already.” He hung his head for a moment. “Cuz you’re so beautiful.”

Debbie let out a helpless whimper. Sure enough, Johnny’s spring-loaded member was already at half-mast, and coming up fast. He was looking her over with open admiration. Debbie belatedly realized that her proudly displayed curves were having the same effect on Johnny as they did on the rest of her students, and the staff.

“Johnny,” she demurred, “I, I don’t know if this is a good idea.” He was well past half-mast now. Debbie was already tingling in anticipation.

“Look, Ms Dearling, her student said, “You hardly have to do anything. Here, sit up here on the desk, OK?” He took her by the hand and, over her feeble protests, hoisted her up onto the desktop. She ended up with her long legs spread, stretching her white vinyl miniskirt, with Johnny standing between them.

“Johnny, no,” she protested again, sliding her arms around his neck. “This is not a good idea. I’m your teacher. We can’t go around mmmmmmmph.” He silenced her with a long, tender kiss. The sandcastle of Debbie’s resistance crumbled in the riptide of sexual bliss that swept over her.

“Oh fuck, Johnny,” Debbie mewed, when he let her breath again.

“Show me what to do, Ms Dearling,” Johnny whispered. “Does it help if I touch your breasts?” His precocious hand was already slipping down into her white vinyl half-top, forcing the zipper apart. Debbie’s bra was a transparent bit of gauze, hiding nothing.

“OH! Oh yes, yes, that—that helps a laaaaawwt,” sighed Debbie. She basked in the sensations as his fingers adored her chest.

She heard his voice in her ear. “What comes next?” He gently pinched one nipple.

“What comes—OH! What? Oh uhm mmmmmmm, nice, so nice so nice, well, now comes, if you’re good and ready—oh shit are you ever.” She looked down at what her hand had discovered. “Geez Johnny you have got to fuck me with that.”

The lust-intoxicated schoolteacher spread her legs wider, drawing her eager student close. Dark nylons glistened in the overhead lights. “N-now, it’s easy darling, no, you see, there’s a slit, now push aside my little thong, there you see, all wet and ready for you, let me get the head lined up and now push in... that’s right, slide right into me... oh, oh yes, deeper, yes, all the way... oh oh yes OH!” Without warning an orgasm shot through her.

Johnny held her close as she stiffened, moaning against his shoulder. “Ms Dearling are you all right?” he asked.

“Glory fuck, I, I came already,” his teacher replied. Her voice was faraway. “Never...never come like that...before. So soon.”

“Do you want me to stop?” He started to pull out.

“Stop? No!” Debbie cried. She wrapped her legs around him to keep him in. The inlaid butterflies sparkled on her gaudy white boots. She kissed him hotly. “Just fuck me,” she demanded. “Fuck me until my brain turns to pablum.”

He slid back into her. “That’s right, darling,” the beautiful teacher encouraged him. “Push yourself in nice and deep. Now pull out, real slow. Now back in a-again, yes, like that, in and out forever.” She was thrusting herself off the desk, trying to deepen his strokes even further.

“Is this OK?” asked Johnny, “are you enjoying it?”

Debbie’s answer was a moan. She was damp with perspiration. Dimly, it occurred to her that Johnny’s fucking was not the clumsy, ineffectual strokes of a rank beginner. He seemed to know exactly how to please her. He gave her a little extra wiggle with his cock. A cry of delight escaped her.

“Ms Dearling,” Johnny said conversationally, still stoking vigorously, “Did the guidance counsellor tell you I was raised in the way of Elam and Ur, maintaining the religion of the First Gods?”

What? Debbie was in the middle of the greatest fuck of her life and suddenly Johnny wanted to talk about his childhood? “I... he... uhm... said something about...oh please, do that again... he said something...ah ah ah oh yes... about a c-cult.”

“Cult? It’s no cult.” He gave her a particularly vigorous thrust that made her head spin. “It’s the oldest religion on the planet, rooted in the great civilization of Sumer. We worship the First Gods, and raise our ziggurats in their honour. The Way almost vanished, but a chosen few have kept it alive.” He slid one hand under her left leg, lifting it up for better access, while his other hand supported the small of her back.

“Oh god, Johnny, you are so good,” Debbie blathered. “I, I’ve never had it like this.” She could feel another orgasm building inside her.

“I know,” Johnny said evenly. “I have the Gift of Adhafozma. The capacity to bring pleasure to others. My protectors recognized it in me, and raised me to share it, for the glory of the First Gods.”

Debbie was sliding back and forth on the desk, her long hair flying. “That’s nice Johnny,” she sighed, “that’s so fucking Nice.

Johnny changed position. Without losing her he grabbed both Debbie’s legs and lifted them high, sliding his hands down onto the shanks of her boots and forcing her down on her back. Papers and books tumbled to the floor but Debbie didn’t even hear them. Her boobs bounced wildly as Johnny plunged into her. Her giant heels pointed at the ceiling.

“You have been blessed with the pleasure of Adhafozma’s Gift,” Johnny explained, pumping faster now. “I, I need you to help me now, to, to bring the gift to others, many others, so that they may know... know the way of Elam and Urrrrrr.” Debbie realized he was on the brink of coming himself.

“Please, Ms Dearling,” Johnny gasped, “Will you, will you help me?”

Debbie felt her peak boiling up inside her, sweeping away any thoughts or reservations she might have had in a cascade of inexpressible bliss. “Yes, Johnny, yes, darling of course,” she babbled. “Anything for you. Anything you want. Any... any... ANYTHING.”

Johnny groaned and came explosively. The added sensation was too much for Debbie. Her own orgasm consumed her. In the throws of sexual ecstasy she felt the full, mind-altering force of Adhafozma’s Gift.

Later, as she drifted down from her celestial climax like an autumn leaf wafting on the breeze, Debbie wondered what she would have to do for Johnny. Screw other students? Seduce her fellow teachers? Lie to parents and the school board when they got too inquisitive? Maybe she would quit her job altogether and devote herself to being Johnny’s sexual plaything.

It didn’t matter. Whatever Johnny asked of her, she knew she would be happy to do.

So happy.