The Lesson Plan Part Two Supply Teacher Episode Three
- 2 years ago
- 25
- 0
The Lesson Plan -- Part Two: Supply Teacher (Episode One) free porn video
The Lesson Plan -- Part Two: Supply Teacher
Author's Foreword: This is a unauthorized "part two" to Tiffani Andrews'
excellent The Lesson Plan Part One: Endless Summer
(https://fictionmania.tv/stories/readtextstory.html?storyID
=1431653814505060881). The characters, the setting and the setup were so
wonderful, I felt inspired to continue in my own way. Thanks to Tiffani
for setting the scene so well. I hope you don't mind.
For Stephen.
Saturday: Foundation gender studies
Chapter 1
Aunt Ellen claps her hands together, laughing. "Oh Kevin, you're too
much!"
"What?" I ask, holding the little black dress against my prosthetically
enhanced curves. "I just want your advice. Does this say cocktails with
the girls?" I switch the dress with the red one in my right hand. "Or
this?"
Ellen sits at her antique vanity in her massive walk-in closet, enjoying
herself immensely. The same seat she had sat in during all our hours of
fashion tutorials. The same seat I had sat in practicing my makeup. All
of that seemed a long time ago now that I looked like her; now that I
stood in her closet, holding up two of her dresses, wearing nothing but
her panties and her Dolce & Gabbana perfume.
"Why don't you talk me through which one you think I'd wear?" she says,
amused. "I'm leaving in a couple of days, Kevin. Soon you'll be on your
own."
"Well," I reply, turning away from my aunt to face the full length
mirror. The reflection still unreal, no matter how many times I had seen
it. "I like the red, it's flattering and sexy and would be great for
Miranda to be her wing.... Woman. But," I swap it for the little black
dress. "This is classy, and the red would mean I might get more
attention than her. Although I don't know if I have the right bra for
it," I drift off, looking at the cut out shoulders and the keyhole bust.
I turn back to my Aunt. "I guess the red?" I ask, hanging the black
dress back on the rail.
"Except you wore it the time before last you went out for drinks with
her," she says, a playful smile on her lips. "And you did get more
attention."
"Well, how am I supposed to..." I sigh, putting the red dress back as
well and flicking through the racks of clothes.
"This is so great," Ellen stands, walking towards me and giving me a
hug. "I have my own living mannequin. I should have done this years
ago!"
Chapter 2
Create a character from the outside in.
My acting teacher was full of short snappy sayings in her lessons. One
of her pieces of early advice when trying to find the character was to
find something, anything, that that put you in their shoes, and work
from there. We had one class where we picked up items from a dressing-up
box and had to quickly find the truth of that person -- use that item,
whatever it was, to inform their character.
Mrs. Scheider would be proud of me now, I think, walking into the lion's
den of a trendy cocktail bar on a Saturday night, waving at Miranda with
a beaming smile.
"Hon, you look gorgeous!" I gush in my best Ellen voice, giving her a
tight hug and two air kisses. I mean it too -- her normally lifeless red
hair was glossy and full of body, artfully piled high; her eyebrows
shaped; her lipstick a femme-fatale red. No glasses tonight either. She
wore a simple flowing red dress with spaghetti straps that fit her
slender frame perfectly, stopping at the knee. The history teacher had
been left at home.
"Vicki," she answers simply with a satisfied smile sitting back down at
the high table.
"I love her so much, she's an angel," I agree, sitting opposite her and
laying my clutch purse on the table as I cross my knees at the thigh,
nylon rubbing against nylon.
My Aunt Ellen always looked put together because she loved fashion, she
knew how to dress to flatter herself, and she enjoyed every minute of
it. That's the reason we spent so long going over her closet; practising
walking in her shoes, in her skirts. My first way into being Ellen was
her fashion. And lucky for me, everything about the clothes she loved
were constant reminders that I was a stylish feminine woman in her early
forties.
My dress was black and white, with a large floral pattern, and it was
tight. It didn't so much hug my curves as squeeze them. There was
nowhere to hide, stretched tight across my bust and hips, and clinging
to my thighs down to my knees. I'd never worn anything like it. Never
mind the plunging neckline, which felt strange and too low on my chest.
Or the nude pantyhose, sheer against my smooth legs. Or the brassiere,
the band snug around my ribs and carrying the weight of my breasts (my
breasts!). Or the tightness of Ellen's panties, fitted to my flat crotch
and curvy hips. There's a lot to choose from to get me into her
character!
"How was Joe with you coming out?" I ask, fixing my posture and resting
my elbows on the table as I'd watched Ellen do countless times. "Any
trouble?"
"He's fine!" She reaches for the slender stem of her martini glass and
takes a graceful sip of her drink. "You know, couldn't wait for pizza
and xbox. How's your cute houseguest?"
Cute? "Kevin?" I affect what I hope is a carefree laugh. "He's fine,
housetrained, you know. It's nice to have him around to be honest."
Acting is terrifying, and the only way is to deal with it.
I doubt that pretending to be your own aunt in a cocktail bar two feet
from one of her best friends was really what Mrs. Scheider had meant
with that advice, but those words sprung to mind just at that moment. I
don't want to be found out. Thankfully, just at that moment a young
handsome waiter in very tight black pants walked over to our table.
"Ladies, what can I get you?" he asks, looking down at Miranda, then at
me.
"Martini please!" Miranda replies in a sing song voice.
"Me too!" I flash my best bright smile, gently resting my fingers
against my cheek and watching as he taps the order into his tablet.
"Martini, Ellen? Really? No cosmo?" Miranda asks surprised. She's
distracted instantly however, watching the young man walk away. "God
he's got a cute ass."
"We would blow his mind honey," I say, also turning to watch him go.
Well, I definitely would, I think. I try not to let the little slip of
the drink show. "So what's new with you? Tell me all your stories."
Chapter 3
Maybe it was the cocktails, but I was having fun. I could see now why
Miranda and Ellen were such good friends; they shared everything. I had
only seen one side of her, probably because Kevin had been around. Now
it was just the girls, she was much louder, more relaxed and more open.
I had relaxed too. Not so much that I wasn't acutely aware of my role,
but enough that I wasn't second guessing myself with every gesture.
Keeping the voice going was the hardest part, the most tiring, and this
was only after a couple of hours. The thought of keeping it up for a
full school day was scary, although the thought of accidentally dropping
down an octave even scarier. That was why, even though it was a little
out of character, I was letting Miranda do the lion's share of the
talking. It also stopped me making any silly mistakes. But after 2
rounds of drinks and an hour, I couldn't help but feel that maybe I was
getting away with it.
"Here you are ladies," the waiter gracefully put down two more cocktails
on our table, interrupting Miranda.
"Thank you, but we didn't..." I begin to say.
"From the two gentlemen over there," the waiter finished with a
professional smile, gesturing over to the crowded bar. We both turn to
look and meet the gaze of the two men who had paid for our drinks.
"Oh we can't..." I begin again.
"That's so nice!" Miranda says beaming, laying a hand on my wrist as the
two men started to walk towards our table. "They're cute," she stage-
whispers, her smiled fixed. "Good for a couple of drinks anyway."
"Hi!" The taller of the two men approaches our table first, trailed by
his shyer friend. Miranda was right, they were both ... handsome, I
suppose. Both dressed well, in dress pants and open-necked shirts, both
obviously fit with broad chests and the hint of bulging muscles. The
taller was bald, with a close-trimmed beard; the shyer was clean shaven,
with a short but expensive haircut. Gym buddies? Work friends? Either
way they were men. Older men. I was acutely aware of their cologne,
their hard bodies, the inverted triangle of their figures, the space
they inhabited fully, and their total masculinity.
"I'm Nick, this is Tom," he says, full of confidence and swagger,
looking from Miranda to me and back again.
"I'm Ellen," I reply, shifting my weight on the chair, "and this is
Miranda. Thank you for the drinks."
Everything is an opportunity to practice.
"Why don't you both join us?" I ask, tucking a dangling curl of hair
behind my ear with what I hoped was feminine grace, my wrist loose,
flashing my manicured fingernails. "What do you think Miranda? Would you
like Tom and Nick to join us?"
"Sure, that'd be nice," she replies with a conspiratorial wink, which
made me giggle. Now we were both playing roles -- teenage girls.
The two men wasted no time, finding two chairs from nearby tables and
sitting between us -- "boy girl, boy girl" Nick joked as he sat next to
Miranda.
In the last hour with Miranda I'd almost forgotten about my tightly-
fitting dress and the whole physical transformation as I'd focused on
being Ellen, her friend. Watching Tom's eyes as he brazenly checked me
out brought it all back. His gaze flicked between my boobs, my legs and
my thighs before meeting my eyes in the space of less than a second. Any
worries in my disguise were put to rest a moment later as he smiled,
drawing his chair closer still.
The two men were, it turns out, childhood friends, who were out
celebrating -- if that is the right word -- Nick's divorce coming
through. Even though talking about exes is, I always thought, forbidden
when getting to know girls, Miranda and Nick launched into divorce war
stories almost at once. I guess the rules don't apply when you get
older.
That left Tom and I talking, which seemed to have been the plan all
along. Kevin would never have talked to a guy like Tom, he was too
intimidating. Ellen, it seems, didn't have to do much talking -- Tom was
desperate to impress her. He couldn't help slipping into the
conversation how important he was at work, that he owned a Mercedes, and
how much he could bench press. All this while sneaking glances at my
legs and my breasts any chance he got. It was incredibly validating that
he took me as an attractive woman, and I admit to using the opportunity
as a chance to practice.
My Aunt Ellen loves to laugh, and looks beautiful doing it. Her face
lights up, her eyes bright, her perfect white teeth dazzling as she
does. It's a laugh of a confident, worldly woman. It's a laugh I've
practiced. As Tom ramped up a fairly amusing story to its punchline, I
prepared a punchline of my own: I re-cross my legs, causing him to
glance down at my thighs, shift my weight to lean forward, my loose
wrist rising to my chin, fingers elegantly touching my (fake) cheek. As
he speaks my lips part, curving into a slight smile until he says "I
couldn't walk for a week."
I deploy my Ellen laugh, tossing my hair with delight and reaching down
to gently graze his forearm as I do so. It sounded pretty good I think:
Light and tinkling, carefree and feminine. It's not an exact copy, but
it's not bad at all. I look over at my audience of one, and am taken
aback by his expression. I have never seen anyone look at me with sheer
animal lust before.
"Hey Ellen, smoke?" Miranda's question tears me away, and I turn as her
fingers paw at my bare smooth arm.
"Sure," I reply, hopping down from my stool, wriggling down my dress,
and taking my clutch purse from the table next to my empty glass.
Miranda and I lock arms as we walk away, hips swaying, towards the
outside tables and I think, just for a second, "I hope he's watching".
Chapter 4
As part of my practice sessions with the real Ellen, I smoked exactly 2
cigarettes. Both tasted absolutely foul, but I had at least learnt to
copy her without turning green. Still, as we walked out into the cool
night air and lit each other's cigarettes, I'd never wanted to smoke
more.
"Are you OK?" Miranda asks, tilting her head as she takes a long slow
drag of her cigarette before exhaling. "You seem a little... different
tonight."
"I'm fine," I reply, hugging myself with one arm under my breasts,
fingertips resting against my other elbow, copying Ellen's smoking
posture. "Why... why do you ask?"
I look down as I put the cigarette between my bright red lips, my shaped
and painted fake nails glistening in the street light. I inhale, briefly
enough to feel the tug of the smoke and hear the crackle of the tip,
flushed with air. The acrid smoke curls into my mouth and down my throat
while I withdraw the cigarette with practiced grace, pouting with open
lips ready for the exhale. I hold the smoke for a second before
exhaling, closing my eyes and enjoying the moment.
"You needed that huh?" Miranda asks when I open my eyes.
"I guess so," I reply. "I think I'm stressed about this new role. Maybe
that's why, I'm different."
"Teaching? Oh you'll be great Ellen. And you know Chalmers, he's carried
a torch for you since you were both kids. And you'll get to see me every
day."
"Thanks lovely," I say. I feel overcome in that moment; maybe it's the
cocktails, but I want to hug her. And then I remember that Ellen is a
hugger. I reach out and squeeze her tight, pressing her slender warm
body to mine and taking a deep breath before kissing her on the cheek.
"Thanks lovely," I repeat in a whisper.
"Any time," she whispers, giving me a squeeze before we part and taking
another draw on her cigarette. "Besides, if you wanted to de-stress I'm
sure Tom in there would oblige. If his wife will let him."
"Really?" I laugh, taking another drag. "I should have known."
"Nick told me. When he wasn't talking about his gorgeous ex wife."
"Oh I'm sorry."
"It's fine. Not really my type anyway, but it's nice to be flirted
with," Miranda smiles.
"Honey you look gorgeous, every guy in there wants a piece of your ass,"
I say, and meant it. "Why if I was twenty years younger, and a man, I'd
flirt with you like crazy."
Chapter 5
The lights are off in the house when I stagger home, heels in hand, some
time and a couple more cocktails later. I wave to the taxi containing
Miranda as it pulled away before fishing in my purse for the house keys
among the lipstick, perfume and mascara. As quietly as I can, I unlocked
the door, padding into the foyer in my stocking feet.
The heels are dropped once inside, thudding on the carpet, the purse
left on the table as I creep into the kitchen for a glass of water.
Waiting for me on the countertop is a letter.
Dear Kevin,
I'm sorry to leave so suddenly, but I think it's for the best. I've
taught you all I can in such a short space of time, but you really are
acclimated now, sunshine! You'll be great as me, and I know you'll be
great with those kids. Michelle called me last night and things have
gotten worse with her ex husband -- he's been threatening all sorts of
things, and she needs me there. I've left you my phone, and bought
myself a new one. I'll call you as often as I can. Call me and tell me
what I'm up to!
I love you.
Ellen xx
"I love you too," I say out loud as I fold the letter and replace it on
the counter. "Huh," I continue, realising I was still using my Ellen
voice, in her house, in the dark, on my own. "In my house," I add into
the darkness.
Suddenly, the phone lying on the countertop buzzes -- sounding ten times
louder in the quiet. A text from Miranda illuminates the screen.
"Thanks for a lovely night, just what I needed.
Am very drunk. Love you x"
I smile, reaching for the phone and texting back after several attempts.
"Me too! I love you too. Xx"
I need to practice with my new nails, I vow silently. I finish my glass
of water, leaving my bag and heels where they fell and climb upstairs.
The door to my room was closed, the door to Ellen's was slightly ajar. I
don't even hesitate to step into her bedroom, turning on a bedside lamp
after fumbling for the switch in the darkness. In the light, I see my
reflection clear as day. Ellen's reflection. Her hair, her face, her
hourglass figure, her dress.
"Still unreal," I whisper to myself, fixing my posture and turning this
way and that. "Welcome to the other side -- that's for sure."
It's always the same after a successful show: the adrenaline is coursing
through your body, making you high and giddy. I felt thrilled with how
well it had gone and excited with the possibilities. I had gotten away
with it, no, more than that, I was convincing! To her best friend and
strangers!
"I am one hell of an actress," I compliment myself aloud, tasting the
last unfamiliar word on my tongue with a beaming smile. I think I might
be a little drunk.
Find the joy.
"People create from different places," Mrs. Scheider had said. "If you
want to create a character from a tortured place, that's ok. But if you
love your role, that's when you'll be happiest."
I love my aunt Ellen. I want to be the best damn aunt Ellen I can be.
But the joy, well, that comes from being her with other people. An actor
on an empty stage is no fun at all, and I feel the thrill of the night,
of the performance, leaving me.
With a grunt I reach behind my neck to the neckline of my dress and pull
the tiny zipper down to between my shoulder blades. Contorting myself, I
reach up and grab a hold of it, tugging it down my back to the top of my
padded backside, the dress loosening as the zip travels. I push the
dress down off my hips with a wiggle and step out of it, leaving it in a
heap on the floor. "There," I say triumphantly. "That wasn't so bad."
Maybe because I was a little drunk, maybe because I was still on a buzz
from the night's duplicity, but I resolved to stay in character. I keep
using her voice, happily noting that the stress of keeping it up was
lessening every time. I keep walking like her -- heel-toe, one foot in
front of another -- over to her bed, sitting down to carefully take off
my pantyhose, bunching down one smooth leg and then the other, and
tossing them towards the laundry basket.
"Now what would I do next?" I ask out loud, turning to face the mirror
and taking a deep breath. My aunt, in her underwear, reflected back at
me. I watched as one gentle hand slowly reached up to cup her generous
breast through the soft fabric of her brassiere and felt my body
shudder. Even on my own, with no witnesses, it felt wrong to make my
aunt perform for me. But I couldn't deny that she -- I -- was an
attractive woman. From the mirror I turned and looked down, facing again
her curvy body, breasts jutting proudly on display. I reach behind my
back and, carefully not to damage my nails, unhook the brassiere,
genuinely sighing with happiness as the tightness of the thick strap
lessens immediately, and feel the unfamiliar weighty tug on my chest.
I reach up and cup my breasts with both hands, the slick glossy red of
my shaped nails reminding me these were Ellen's hands. Ellen's boobs. My
thumb slowly moves over a raised nipple. "Oh Tom," I whisper softly to
myself. "You missed one hell of a show."
I know I should be a good girl and take off my makeup before bed. I
force myself into the huge dressing room, sitting down in front of the
vanity and carefully removing my makeup, starting with the false
eyelashes and ending with wet wipes to clean off the foundation. I peer
at the reflection in the mirror. "Amazing," I whisper, still astonished
by how good the mask was even when denuded of lipstick, powder and
paint. Which reminds me, I'd have to call Vicki tomorrow and find out
how to take care of it.
"Now, what would I wear to bed?" I ask myself, moving back into the
bedroom, and trusting my instinct to look under one large pillow. "This,
I guess," I say, pulling free a black silk top with thin straps and
matching cami knickers. I take off my own panties, leaving the gaff in
place, and put on Ellen's scented night wear, soft and unfamiliar
against my own skin and lie down on the duvet, the scent of my aunt's
perfume filling my nose as I drift off to sleep.
Josephina
- 18.11.2021
- 13
- 0
The Lesson Plan Part Two Supply Teacher Episode Seven
- 2 years ago
- 22
- 0
The Lesson Plan Part Two Supply Teacher Episode Five
- 1 year ago
- 21
- 0
