The Lesson Plan Part Two Supply Teacher Episode Three
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The Lesson Plan -- Part Two: Supply Teacher (Episode Eight) free porn video
The Lesson Plan -- Part Two: Supply Teacher
Monday: Drama
Chapter 41
"Morning Ellen!"
Miranda waves towards me, breaking off a conversation with a colleague.
I walk over to join her, pouring myself a cup of coffee from the
machine. She looks great in black pants and a white button down and I
tell her as much.
"Oh shut up," she replies with a roll of her eyes. "That's a cute dress
though. Work appropriate," she adds with a teasing wink. I'm happy with
today's choice, in that it hasn't felt like date-wear the moment I hit
the school parking lot: a comfortable and grown-up black and white
striped knee-length sheath dress, nude hose and black heels. "How was
your weekend?"
How was my weekend? Transformative. Exciting. Terrifying. Educational.
Humiliating. Erotic. I tell her the version that skips reconciling with
my dad and having sex with our boss. I tell her about the wedding, the
gorgeous bride and happy bridesmaids. I tell her about my quiet night in
as a domestic goddess. I tell her about the gym. "How was yours?" I
finish, hoping she won't ask follow up questions.
"Do you remember Nick?" she asks blushing.
"From last week? The divorcee?"
"We had a date," she smiles, and I notice for the first time she has the
cutest dimples.
"Aw honey," I gush. "How was it. Dish!"
"You first! Tell me about your sexy dinner," she nudges me, just as the
first bell goes off. "Smoke at recess? I want details!" I giggle and
give her a hug and we both speed off our separate ways.
I considered not coming into school. I considered running away. But I'm
not running away any more. I'm Ellen Bennet. Schoolteacher. I'm falling
into a rhythm now, happy that my lesson plans are not too crazy, and
that the kids just expected me to know what I'm doing without me
actually having to know what I'm doing. I'm even starting to remember
some of their names. My day looks pretty great: Creative writing first,
then poetry -- Emily Dickinson, be still my romantic heart. Public
speaking after recess, then Shakespeare and Fitzgerald to close the day.
Not a class to dread yet, we're all still too new and green, and not a
subject too dull. Things could be worse. I just hope I don't see Wayne
today. Or ever again.
"Happy Monday!
Proud of you xx"
Shayna's messages glow up at me from my phone as I check it quickly
walking to class. I dash off a quick response:
"Happy Monday!
I miss you xx"
"Good morning Miss Bennet," the class chorus as I walk in.
"Good morning."
Chapter 42
You've been waiting for this all day. All weekend really. She's so
beautiful. You can't help but watch her every movement, so graceful as
she wiggles up and down the desks in the classroom, so sexy when she
hops up on her desk and crosses those amazing legs at the thigh. If you
look long enough, maybe one time you'll catch sight of her panties
between those round thighs.
The dress she's wearing is hot too, really showing off her figure. That
ass, mesmerising as it jiggles when she walks, turning to the
blackboard, and you can see the panty line. She's wearing nude pantyhose
today too, and you catch sight of the seam across her painted toenails
when she slips off her shoe and dangles it from her foot talking about
Gatsby or something.
You try and focus in case she asks a question. Something about the love
of his life and choosing his house on purpose. That it's all for this
girl Daisy. He must have really loved her. You take down notes, but you
keep getting distracted, and at one point she's so close you could reach
out and touch that dress. Touch those hips. You take a deep breath and
wallow in her perfume. The same perfume that's on the dress you stole.
You're wearing her panties, but they didn't smell of her.
You're rock hard, your cock bursting out of her panties. You were so
excited to wear them to school, you even thought about wearing her bra,
but were worried you'd get caught. Worried the other boys would find
out. It's in your bag though, the lace feels so nice to touch.
You watch as she bends over the desk of some lucky guy, those big round
fake breasts just hanging there, and you're staring. You know what size
they are from the tag on her bra. You could look at your phone and see
the photo. You wish she was naked again. You wish you had those tits.
That ass. Those hips.That face.
"Andrew?" She asks. Shit. You weren't paying attention.
"Yes?" You reply. Stalling.
"I wondered what you thought about Daisy crying about the shirts?" she
says.
"She likes .... shirts?" you say, and one of the girls titters.
"Okay, and she likes them because?" Miss Bennet is so nice, she doesn't
make fun of me. She's looking at me like she really likes me. God I want
to fuck her. Him.
"She's crying because he's so awfully rich," Melanie says. "She's not
crying for her lost love. Like, this whole chapter is about what happens
when you get your dream. It's never as good as you think."
"Good Melanie," Miss Bennet says, and her whole face lights up. Jesus,
do you think her and Melanie? You've seen her with another girl. Fuck
that would be hot.
You keep sneaking glances at Miss Bennet's crotch, looking for a
telltale bump or bulge. Something that isn't right, but of course
there's nothing. Just smooth flat hotness. She wouldn't be so stupid as
to get caught out though. She's a fucking master of disguise. She's
flawless. You want to see her naked again.
Now she's talking about some drama after school class on a Friday and
your hand goes up almost instantly. Yours and Melanie's. Miss Bennet
looks at you and gives you one of those big dazzling smiles and it feels
so good. And more time with her alone. Maybe she'll teach you her
secrets. Maybe she can help you be more like her. The bell goes. You
pack up your stuff and take a sneaky photo on your phone of her in that
dress.
"Hey Melanie! Wait up!" You call after her in the corridor and she stops
to wait. Maybe that you're both drama club has softened her up. Not that
you trust her. Not after last week. "That's pretty cool, about the drama
club right?"
"Yeah," she says, and she looks at you, not at the ground or at
something else, but at you. And it's weird, so you take a step back, but
she laughs, rather than walks away. "Yeah Miss Bennet told me about it
yesterday at swimming. It's awesome. She said we can pick what we do."
Swimming. You let the thought of Miss Bennet and Melanie in swimsuits
fill your mind. Holy fuck. You have to see that.
"Yeah that's awesome," you say back. "What do you want to do?" Lycra,
skin-tight, slick wet naked legs, hips, ass, tits, nipples.
"I was going to say maybe A Midsummer Night's Dream," she says. "Or
Spring Awakening if we can do a musical."
"Yeah, wow, they'd both be great," you say.
"Cool, well, tell your friends. We need people to sign up," she says and
walks away. Her ass isn't as nice as Miss Bennet's, but she's wearing
this black mini skirt and purple leggings that make her look sexy, in a
teenage girl sort of way. You stand there and watch for a while and it's
only when you go you see that Miss Bennet has been watching the two of
us with an odd smile on her face.
"Mr McCallister." You turn and see Principal Chalmers walking towards
you, towards Miss Bennet. "Don't you have somewhere else to be?" he
asks. You nod, walking away from the two teachers, but you hear
something as you leave. "Miss Bennet. My office," he says. Maybe she's
in trouble?
Chapter 43
I've been dreading this, but I knew it was coming. I'd thought it would
have been first thing, or at first recess. Or over lunch. But he'd
waited, letting me worry all day; ignoring me all day. The last time I
was in this office circumstances were a little different. This time I
sit in front of his desk, crossing my long legs and playing every inch
the forty-something woman. The difference this time is I'm not worried
about being caught: I just want to know where I stand.
"Yes Principal Chalmers," I say sweetly, watching him round his desk and
sit behind it. He looks tired. Old. What was I thinking? He isn't
looking at me. He can't look at me.
"I was hoping," he says, looking down at his desk. "You would have
resigned. But, you leave me no choice."
Well, here it is. The moment you've all been waiting for.
"Your firing me?"
"I think, given the circumstances..." he's still not looking at me.
Can't look at me.
I think about the circumstances. I think about how far I've come this
summer, from drafting a lesson plan to taking five classes a day. From
dropping out of college to teaching these kids. From failing as an actor
to playing a role every day and killing it. I think about what Ellen
said to me. What Shayna said to me. What my Dad said to me.
"Which circumstances?" I ask him. "The ones in the classroom or in the
bedroom?"
He looks at me then. He lifts his head and sees me for the first time.
His eyes drink me in. Ellen Bennet. In the flesh. He looks like he wants
to be anywhere else.
"That's not fair," he says.
"Firing me isn't fair. I'm a good teacher. I've been a good teacher."
"You're not a teacher. You're... " his voice drops to a whisper. "You're
a guy in a dress. A college kid. You're not her."
"That didn't matter until yesterday," I counter.
"It mattered when I found out. Yesterday was... a mistake."
"Wait," I say, uncrossing my legs and sitting forward. "You didn't find
out yesterday?"
He breaks eye contact again, looking around the office. Looking like any
of the countless little boys he's berated in here for God knows what.
"Ellen called me on Saturday," he says. "She called me and told me
everything."
Ellen. Ellen? My aunt Ellen called Wayne and ... I think back to our
phone call. She must have called Wayne straight after. Decided this was
too much, or something. Ellen. Sold out by my own Aunt. I guess my Dad
was right about that too.
I didn't screw this up.
"She was worried I was going too far," I say. "She was right. But,
that's nothing to do with how I've been in the classroom. I can do this.
I am doing this. And you... you still ..." I shake my head, lowering my
voice. "You went to bed with me."
"That was a mistake."
"I don't remember you being all that reluctant."
"I'm sorry." He says it so softly I almost don't hear it. It's more of a
mumble than an apology.
"I'm sorry too," I say, reaching across the desk with my hand to take
his. It's what Ellen would do. She's a tactile person. To my surprise he
doesn't flinch.
"When you came back this week, of course I hoped that maybe... over time
you might ... we might have rekindled what we had. And then on the first
day you kissed me! What was I supposed to think? And it was all an
illusion. An act. And I thought... well... if it hasn't bothered me up
uptil now. If the fantasy is... "
"I was just reacting to you. Giving you what I thought you wanted. I
didn't know."
"You're like her in technicolor. You know? You're dialled up to eleven.
Friday night... Jesus."
Friday. The date. The dress. The taxi. The blow job.
"I'm sorry."
"I thought yesterday that... why not? If you wanted to. Why not. But I
couldn't do it."
I squeeze his hand.
"Ellen will be back soon," I say gently. "The real Ellen. Just let me
teach until she does. You know I can. I won't tell anyone if you don't."
He pulls his hand away and looks up, looks at me. His eyes meet mine.
"Why did you... sleep with me?" he asks, his voice low. "Why did you do
all those things that you did?"
Why do I talk like Ellen even when I'm alone in the house? Why do I wear
her sleepwear and sleep in her bed? Why did I go to the Gym yesterday?
Why did I kiss Wayne? Go on a date with him? Have sex with him? Why am I
doing this at all? Why am I wearing this dress, this makeup, this mask?
Shayna thinks it's to help Ellen: that I'm doing all this for my aunt in
need. Ellen thinks it's for the money: earning her paycheck however I
can. Wayne probably thinks I'm a pervert.
They're all wrong.
"Can you imagine what it's like to be someone else? To step completely
into their shoes? It's ... " I smile. "I can't explain it. The smell of
the greasepaint. The roar of the crowd."
Wayne looks at me, his expression confused. His gaze flickers down my
body, taking in my curves, my dress, my legs, my hair, my eyes. Is he
looking for flaws, or just looking?
"I don't know what you're talking about. That might be the most Ellen
thing you've said yet though. Okay, fine. You can stay here and teach
until Ellen gets back. But I'm assigning you an assistant. And no...
drama. Okay?" He sits back in his chair.
I think he loves her, really loves her. Maybe he never really got over
her.
"Okay," I say, leaning forward and extending my hand to shake his. "No
drama."
Chapter 44
Presenting as a feminine woman like Ellen is a lot like being a swan.
There's an elegance; a glide in motion. A perfection in her
presentation. She is always well dressed, immaculately made-up and
perfumed. I'm discovering a lot of what goes in to making that happen
also explains her lack of other hobbies. Her hobby is being Ellen.
Because, like the swan, under the surface she's swimming like crazy.
I am not a domestic goddess. Tonight I am more of an ugly duckling. My
hair is washed and in a towel. My legs and underarms are shaved and
moisturised. My toenails have been cleaned and polish re-applied. I'm
thankful that due to the mask I don't have to pluck my eyebrows.
Clothes have been ironed and laundry put away. A whole night devoted to
activities Kevin would never give a second thought to. The other side
indeed.
I'm sitting cross-legged on Ellen's bed, cotton wool between my toes,
wearing just her panties, bra and a camisole, painting my nails --
refreshing the color on the acrylics with a nice coral shade that will
go with the dress I'm planning on wearing tomorrow. My phone is by my
side, dull and lifeless. I keep looking at it, daring it to glow with an
impending caller, wondering who is going to call first.
And hoping, right this second, that no one does. I don't want to mess up
my nails.
It could be Shayna. After last night I want to hear her voice. I want to
tell her about my day and hear about hers. It could be Wayne, having a
change of heart after thinking things over. This is preposterous, he'd
say. I can hear him saying it. The phone remains dull. It could be
Miranda, wanting to arrange a double date for this weekend. I'd need to
find a man to go with, and, I'm not sure I want to get back into that
farce all over again so quickly. Diane and Chantelle? I've not heard
from them all week. I wonder if Ellen told them too? Did she tell
Miranda? Does everyone know that I'm a man in a dress?
God damnit Ellen, fucking call me.
I have to admit to being relieved, when Wayne first confessed. I hadn't
messed up! I hadn't failed. My performance was good. But, well, after
that I will admit to getting pretty pissed off pretty quickly. How could
she? How dare she? I was doing fine! And she just... ruined.. Well,
ruined and saved I guess. It feels like a betrayal. It feels like she
doesn't trust me. This was her idea all along after all. We had a deal.
Because, when it comes down to it, being Ellen isn't a nine to five job.
There's no way I can just put her on in the morning and take her off at
night. I wouldn't even if I could. Shayna's right, being able to be a
woman with other women is amazing. It's hot. I guess I can admit that to
myself. To you. It's hot. And I want to be the best Ellen I can be, even
if that Ellen is a man's version of what a woman is.
My Ellen is a woman who wears tight dresses, even though there's plenty
other options in her closet. She wears matching lingerie and stockings.
She's always fully made up, always wearing perfume and with perfect
painted nails. Always smiling, always gliding, swaying her hips for
anyone that's looking. She'll say hello with a kiss, and suck your cock
on your second date. She likes being looked at, loves the attention of
men and women and wants you to fall in love with her. She's always
flirting, touching... teasing. She's Blanche DuBois and Daisy Buchanan.
She's Marilyn Monroe and Ingrid Bergman. She's my aunt, naked in my
teenage bedroom, source of my wet dreams for years. She's every woman
I've ever wanted, mine to command.
"There," I say out loud, admiring my finished nails. I uncurl my legs
and pluck out the cotton wool between my toes. The phone refuses to
ring. I refuse to call her.
The doorbell goes instead. RIght on cue.
"Fuck," I swear, pulling on a pair of floral pyjama bottoms and leaving
my phone behind to go down to the door, careful not to catch my nails on
anything incase they're still wet. The bell rings again, impatiently as
I turn on the light to illuminate the gloom. It's not super late, but
it's late. After nine last time I checked. I'm so surprised and
irritated by having to pull on pants, and answer my door I forget to
worry about who it might be.
"Good evening, Miss Bennet."
Andrew McCallister stands on my porch in jeans and a t-shirt, carrying a
shopping bag.
"Andrew," I say, cocking an eyebrow. "It's late. What can I do for you?"
"Can I come in, Miss Bennet?" He asks.
"I'm not sure if that's... what's happened Andrew?" I ask again,
transforming a little into a school teacher before his very eyes.
He looks me up and down. Obviously. Salaciously. "I need... a private
tutor." He says, meeting my eyes again. "I want you to teach me."
"I do teach you Andrew. Four times a week. I don't think you have to
worry about ... let's see what happens with your first exams, but..."
"Not English, Miss Bennet."
He's nervous. Sweating. Scared. What the hell?
"Can I come in?" he asks again, lowering his voice. Looking around. The
street is empty. The night is dark. I fold my arms under my breasts and
adopt a stern pose.
"Andrew. Whatever it is it can wait until tomorrow unless it's an
emergency."
"I know," he says quickly. Blurting it out. "I know your secret."
Maybe it's because I'm tired. Or because I've been on edge all day
waiting for Wayne to fire me. Or because I've been on edge all night
waiting for Ellen to call me. Maybe it's because I'm out of practice.
Maybe. But so help me I take a deep breath.
"I know and... I want to be just like you."
End of Part 2
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