Teachers Subterfuge Chapter 2
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Teacher's PetChapter 2 free porn video
Charlotte told the school secretary that Malcolm Wilcox would be checking into the office. “Give him the message that I will see him in my room at 3:45”
She was in a dither all day, stammering in class and making mistakes on the blackboard. One of her students said, “Are you alright Ms. Speaks?” Placing the class on their honor she went to the teacher’s lounge for a few minutes to collect her thoughts and try to get her erratic breathing back into synch—she was a very popular teacher with all of her students. When she got back, they were concerned that she was OK. The boys of course fantasized about having sex with her. The girls looked at her as a mentor, an older sister figure. Looking quite young for her age none of them expected that she was over thirty.
Nervously waiting at her desk when Malcolm Wil cox walked into the room, she couldn’t imagine what kind of question he would be asking her. Typically, it would have to do with his curriculum requirements for college. As a sophomore, he was a bit young to have questions about college so she sensed that whatever it was it had to do with her. “Why have I led him on,” she asked herself.
She had grown accustomed to male students ogling her. Usually defusing that by returning the student’s gaze in an aggressive, stern manner, though she loved being thought of in that way. But with Malcolm, even as a ninth grader, there was something deeper about this young man; his ogling coming out as deep analysis. Though she knew better she would sometimes allow herself to swim in the pools of his eyes. I wonder, she would think if he even realized what he’s doing to me. She never experienced these exchanges without feeling moisture seeping between her legs. And that POEM. Castigating herself for jokingly calling him Mallory she thought of the words, “Are the peaks I seek as worthy ... As those holding G. H. Mallory?” she wondered, is he referring to my breasts? Of course, he is.
She jerked with a start as “Ms. Speaks. Oh I ... I didn’t mean to startle you,” came from the boy standing suddenly beside her desk.
Her voice was tight as she said, “You didn’t Malcolm. I was wrapped up in a difficult calculus problem.” JESUS, my panties are soaked. Why did he have to come here TODAY? “Sit there,” indicating a chair in front of her desk.
“So,” she said, trying to segue into some kind of comfortable dialogue, “Did you have a good summer?” The conversation was choppy, each telling something they did.
Just when she was ready to query what the Wilcox boy had come to ask her about Malcolm asked, “Did you get my poem Ms. Speaks?”
“Um, yes I did Malcolm.” The silence was awkward before she said in a threatening, discouraging way, “Why on earth did you send that to me young man?”
“You called me Mallory Ms. Speaks.” Clearing his throat, he went on, “I ... I wanted to let you know that I knew who George Mallory was. And I wanted you to know that I ... I write poetry.”
“Have you been writing poetry for a long while?”
“It’s the only poem I have ever written.”
When she peremptorily quoted: “Are the peaks I seek as worthy ... As those holding G. H. Mallory?” Malcolm’s face turned red.
“By peaks, I was referring to your superior intelligence Ms. Speaks.”
It was her turn to blush. Either this young man is very quick, quite sincere, or both. Whatever, I have to put a STOP to this. “I apologize for misreading the intent of your words Malcolm. But it’s not appropriate for you to write poetry for a teacher that could be construed by the administration or the PTA as romantic.” Giving him a sincere but brief smile she said, “Personally Malcolm I loved the poem. But there will be no more of these. Do you understand?”
Gathering papers on her desk to indicate that the interview was over she expected to see the disappointment on his face. But he kept his seat, his eyes gazing intently into hers. His expression was neither hangdog nor challenging. “I apologize for making fun of your name Malcolm,” she said, “It won’t happen again.”
“Mallory?” he asked. She nodded. “I loved how you called me the name of that great man. The guys were asking me what you meant. I told them you were joking. I wrote the poem that night.” Subtly lowering his eyes to her breasts he murmured, “I wrote it as a way of praise, not disrespect.”
She couldn’t keep from blushing as she said, “Never again Malcolm. Have you GOT that?” He didn’t respond. “I guess we’ll call this meeting over.” Expecting him to get up and leave she was intimidated by his refusal.
Any other boy his age would have lowered his eyes in defeat and would have gotten up to leave. Malcolm’s were still swimming deeply in hers when he said, “My mother calls me Malo. Dad says it’s too soft, like a marshmallow. But I like it. I really love Mallory though. It’s not soft in any way. He died there ya know—George Mallory?”
“Yes, yes,” she answered trying to rush the meeting. “I think...”
Interrupting her he said, “But the reason I asked to meet with my guidance counselor, Ms. Speaks, is that I have a very serious problem that I need your help on.” All summer long he had prepared for this meeting and vowed that he would follow through with it no matter what the consequences. He knew Charlotte Speaks liked him, really liked him.
Courageously he plodded on. Having gone through puberty he had been masturbating in his room every day, often as many as three times. The feelings he had for Charlotte were the same ones that had grown in him for his mother. Both women were strikingly attractive. Both related with him in a mature almost confidential way. Each of those times he went to his room to masturbate he left the door open a crack in hopes that his mother would walk by and catch him in the act. He was eventually rewarded with the knowledge that his mother had peeked through the crack and had watched. “You might think this is weird Ms. Speaks,” he said in frustration, “but I have been um ... I have been um ... I don’t know who else to talk with this about it but um...”
Morphing immediately into her professional role Charlotte’s attention became riveted. She wondered if the boy might have been molested or something. “Don’t be embarrassed Malcolm. Just tell me what it is that you are trying to say.”
“Um I have been um,” he hesitated just like he had practiced so many times. “Having...”
“Go on.”
“I’ve been having thoughts of having sex with my mother.” He said it as if the sentence were all one word.
Blown away by what she thought she heard Charlotte said, “Can you say that a little more slowly Malcolm?”
“Geez Ms. Speaks this is so hard. Um ... I’ve been having fantasies of having sex ... with my um ... mother.”
She had one such conversation with another boy in the past that presented her with the same dilemma. Like now it was incredibly hard for her to deal with. She thought of the woman she had met in parent/teacher conferences, the woman she had seen at the supermarket, Agatha Wilcox. She thought she was very attractive. But she seemed so prim and proper. How could a woman like that have any thoughts of illicit sex with her son? Malcolm had said it bold-faced, gazing deeply into her eyes. She wanted to crawl under the desk. At the same time, she realized that her nipples were tingling.
“Should I tell my mother Mrs. Speaks? My father is a minister, what if he were to find out?”
Taking a deep breath she eased it out and said, “It is not uncommon for children to have taboo (she wanted to make sure she used that word) feelings toward their parents.” She wasn’t prepared for what crashed down next.
“I think my mom wants to have sex with ME.”
She knew this conversation was way above her level of expertise. It went deep into the dialogue about teenage boys and their raging hormones, and how surreal thoughts sometimes flooded their brains. She spent the next half hour telling him about exercising more: taking cold showers, positively denying the feelings ... and incest’s taboo implications and illegality. Finally, she said, “I hope the conversation has helped you, Malcolm.”
“It’s good to get it out in the open with someone you admire and trust,” he replied. Thank you for being so understanding. GEEZ, Ms. Speaks I thought I would never work up the courage to tell you THIS.”
When he disappeared beyond the door she gasped, “Phew! That was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.” For the first time she realized what the intensity of the Wilcox boy’s magnetic gaze was all about, “And the little bastard has been undressing me all the time,” she uttered.
After school, she met Jim Giordino for a drink and told him about what had happened. He laughed and said, “The little bastard is a calculating son of a bitch, isn’t he? He knows you’re getting hooked on him.”
“I’m NOT Jim,” she said, her voice seething with anger.
“From your mouth to God’s ears Charlotte,” he said with a chuckle.
“Can I come over to your place Jim?”
“Later you mean?”
“No; now ... I’ll stop and get a pizza. Do you have beer?”
When she got to Giordino’s house she set the pizza on the table, dropped to her knees, and unzipped him, sucking him fiercely until he came in her mouth. It was midnight when they reheated the pizza and cracked the beer.
“That boy’s really got your number Charlotte.” He said. “We’ve never made love this fiercely unless you consider the time you showed me that poem. Looks like ole Mallory is going to assault your peaks, Ms. Everest...”
Please accept my apology for the discussion we had today. Having always been a deliberate kid it just isn’t like me to act this way. But I have to tell you how strong my feelings are for you. I know you were uncomfortable with me, especially when I confessed to having fantasies for my mother. I felt relieved when you assured me it is not unusual for a boy to have these feelings, even though you were uncomfortable doing it. But I must confess Ms. Speaks; I have them for you as well and don’t know what to do with them.I am going to ask Mr. Walters to assign me to another counselor, preferably a male teacher. I will explain to him that I have inappropriate feelings for you. Though it is not entirely true I will tell Mr. Walters that I told my father, the Reverend Phillip Wilcox, of these feelings and that it was Dad’s suggestion that I take up the issue with him. I will tell Mr. Walters that when I told my father I was afraid I might get Ms. Speaks into trouble, he said I wouldn’t if I made a clean breast of the matter.
I am afraid, Ms. Speaks, that I could get you into trouble. I want to talk further with you about it before I go to Mr. Walters.
With scary feelings, I am Malcolm Wilcox (Mallory).
After the wild night of sex with Jim Giordano brought on by her meeting yesterday with Malcolm Wilcox Charlotte felt wiped out. From the time she got to Jim Giordino’s last night, it was a marathon without stopping to eat. Kicking back for an hour at midnight they had pizza and beer then went back to bed. Still horny, Charlotte was unable to sleep. She awakened Giordino with a blow job and resumed the sexual onslaught ‘til just after two a.m. Failing to awake Giordino with her hand she sucked him to no avail. Still limp he awoke from his deep sleep and cried “uncle,” telling her she had not only worn him out, “You’ve made my balls feel like they’ve been pounded on all night with a hammer.”
For years Charlotte had been content in her situation with Giordino. She loved him. But having sworn off marriage for herself, he was safely married to a woman who was in an Alzheimer’s home. They each lived in their own homes, Jim in a condominium in the middle of town and Charlotte on the small farm her parents gifted her before moving to Florida. She always had eyes for good-looking men but since establishing the relationship with Jim she had no serious desire to become involved with another man.
One exception was a total aberration that developed along the way. She knew a number of her male students had crushes on her. While never encouraging any of them she always got an ego boost from their admiration. But the Wilcox boy turned her on in a way she could barely understand. Going about it in a different way than any of the others “Mallory” piqued her interest. She couldn’t quite call it stalking but he was going about it in a way that caused a continual itch demanding to be scratched. What made it even stranger was that the boy was only a freshman.
Angelica
- 02.02.2021
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