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Reaching The Teacher free porn video
Carol Anne Anderson taught history and social studies. The job, the profession for her had placed her in the midst of a life time love. She loved teaching. She was fairly laid back with the high school kids in her classes and around the school but she was, for all of her basic niceness a ‘no nonsense’ type of teacher and was treated that way by her students. She was popular and was the advisor of the year book committee and the student council.
At a lovely 28, Carol Anne was not particularly a lonely woman but, admittedly, had very little social life. She’d cared for her invalid mother for most of her adult life from her immediate post college days, when her strong willed but loving father had died in an auto accident, from which her mother never seemed to recover, nor wish to recover.
She lived with her Mom on a small farm outside of town, which had been her Dad’s fancy. A successful businessman, he had left his wife and his college aged daughter well off, fairly independent.
Carol Anne never complained about ‘her lot’. She loved her mother and was eternally saddened by the fact that her Mom never seemed to try very much, after Dad was gone. She took care of her Mom until the time when the cancer, which had occurred in the past year and a half, finally took her too.
Carol Anne was lovely, of medium height at five foot four inches, not over weight, though she thought that her butt was too big. In reality she was proportioned very nicely, with a 37c inch bust line and her generous hips. She never had a super abundance of ‘romance’ in her life, since the time when she began to take care of Mom. But Carol Anne never complained. She never really dated, although she’d had overtures from various married faculty men, which she never honored. A life as ‘the other woman’ was simply not what she was going to allow herself.
She tended to dress in a conservative fashion, favoring straight skirts, keeping the pleated minis in the closet for days, when she was feeling braver than usual.
Getting used to a ‘free’ life, a life alone in the lovely old farmhouse was taking some time for her. At first she tended to mope at home and her brightness was mainly found in her activities at work, at school. Time alone, as the first half year after her Mom’s death passed, seemed to make her more at ease with herself at home.
One of the ‘romantic’ things that entered her life, and she began to allow, after she started to live alone in the family home alone, was masturbation. She was always ashamed to be ‘pleasuring’ herself, when her Mom was at home and sick, so she very rarely ever did it, though she loved the sensations of it.
These days she would fill herself, her mind, with tales from online story sites, favoring, for reasons she’d not taken time to analyze or understand, those romantic kinds of stories where women would give themselves over to a man, to be ‘used’, as the stories called it, and be fulfilled by being someone’s kind of property.
Those were delicious stories. She thought that she should take time soon to sit and think about this tendency within her, which seemed to go back, maybe, to the constant ‘yes, Daddy’ attitude of her teenage days and her college youth.
She was, for all intents and purposes, ripe for life, which seemed to be passing her by: a fact that she didn’t rage against and tried not to allow to bother her.
Her bastion, her refuge, her place of freedom and joy, these days, was in subjects such as the Civil War, which this year she was teaching to a group of select senior honor students. It was a teacher’s delight and Carol Anne reveled in this, almost as an alternative to a sex life.
Having been ‘missed’ didn’t seem to bother her, as she spun around herself this world of the joy of teaching, of making the past re-live, and the steamy sessions that her night time ‘finger wandering times’ were providing.
That changed for Carol Anne Anderson in a way that she simply never anticipated. It was a late in the day double period with her honor students. The first part of the hour was spent leading a discussion of General Sherman’s war aims. The second part of the long period was then to be devoted to each student writing an essay on the subject. They all were busy with their laptops, and Carol Anne sat for a few minutes.
Then she got a message notification on her own laptop, sitting on her desk. It went this way:
Carol Anne Anderson,
I want you to know that you are the most gorgeous, sexy woman alive.
I’ve waited until I got past my 18th birthday to send you this message. I don’t want it written off as the ranting of callow teenaged mind, which is not the case.
Please don’t try to trace this e-mail, I’ve made sure that it’s sent via blind addresses and is not traceable.
What I do want is for you to think of what I’ve said, think of it all week long. Let it be your mantra this weekend for silent, and possibly sweet personal moments.
On Monday give me your reaction. Make it known by the first thing that you say to our class on Monday. If you choose to ignore this, so be it. But I have made my statement, and I assure you, Carol Anne, that I’ve never been more serious about something in my life.
Think about this for the weekend: that is your task.
Me
Her breath caught in her throat. She, of course, looked out at the students in the room but no one was looking at her in any way. There was no obvious hint about who it might be that sent the message.
After the initial shock wore off, she tried to get her thoughts and, she realized, her emotions under control.
Her first reaction was kind of a reality check one. She realized, almost right away, that she wasn’t taking this as a prank nor as the work of an adolescent. Carol Anne thought that she detected some real adult emotion in what was said in the e-mail, which she made sure to print out and send along to her home computer, after which she deleted it from her school computer.
The very next thing that happened to her was the weight of what he actually said settling in on her.
‘. . .the most gorgeous, sexy woman alive!’ she whispered to herself. ‘It’s what he said.’
She stopped and thought about it, it had in effect stopped her cold, and she found herself mumbling with some wonder:
‘No one has ever said that or anything like that, not to me!’
She let it fill her mind, and knew that this compliment she’d keep with herself, even if this note was only a fluke and whatever promise there was with it went away.
Then her mind went on to his instructions for the following Monday:
‘What. . .what am I. . .should I say on Monday?’ she mused. ‘He said it needs to be the first thing that I say to the class on Monday. I need to. . .uh think about this and make sure that I say the right thing.’
She laughed at that point and talked to herself:
‘Girl, this little note certainly has you rattled!’
She laughed at the truth of it: ‘It sure does!’ she admitted, the smile not moving from her face at all. She came to a decision, at least about her night, then:
‘Up, girl,’ she said to herself, ‘Even if nothing comes of this, we’re going to celebrate tonight.’
She swept her stuff to take home into her brief case and left the room, putting the lights out as she went. There were still students in the hallways and she got smiles and nods from all sides, she was a popular teacher. She wondered with each intended greeting: ‘Is he the one?’ At times she winced at the prospect of some of those she encountered being ‘the one’.
She also found that her constant asking the question had her giggling to herself, by the time that she was leaving the building. (Our Carol Anne is a giggler really!) Before she had arrived at her car, she had another world shaking thought:
‘What if it’s a. . .a woman?’
The answer came quickly: ”Now you’re being j
ust silly, it was certainly a man.’
But the only reply to that thought was a moaned: ‘Oh my!’
Carol Anne Anderson was, to the best of her knowledge, a very contented woman. She loved her teaching. She had, had no time for romance, except for some torrid happenings during her college days. Her devotion to her Mom had combined with the teaching job to fill her time, her days, her years, her life. This message was a significant crack in all of that wall of self built protection and contentment.
The more she thought of it, the more she rationalized that it was precisely because she’d been so careful about her world and the parameters of the world that this ‘assault’, as she chose to see it at times, was getting to her.
‘Girl,’ she said to her self, later that night, sitting in the dark, wearing a floor length white nylon gown, that was slinky and clung to her hips, butt and breasts, ‘this is Mr Normal living knocking at your door.’
She giggled at that thought, and once the giggle was over, she lapsed back into the mantra that ‘he’ had dictated for the weekend: ‘.the most gorgeous, sexy woman alive!’ She allowed it to run through her mind, and capture her thoughts, imagination and emotions.
‘You must be really hard up,’ a nasty inner voice said to her, ‘If this is all that it takes to get you smokey hot!’ But she pushed the voice away and wouldn’t let that side of her be the dominant side. She was going to, determined to, spend her time doing what he’d told her: think about that mantra, ‘.the most gorgeous, sexy woman alive!’
She sat in the late dark night. She had a screened back porch-like, patio, an indulgence which she allowed herself. She loved the way right then that the nylon gown, with its spaghetti straps and all, made her feel, and she admitted to herself that, though she’d worn it before and felt good in it, this night was different, with ‘his’ mantra floating in her mind, this night she felt like pure sex appeal, sitting in a soft cushioned chair in her screened in patio and drinking a sweetish, lovely Rhine wine.
‘If only he were here now,’ a tiny voice said to her. Then, of course, came that contrary, argumentative voice whispering also, seeking a tinge of malice in its thoughts and what it said, and not really achieving the effect, due to Carol Anne’s message induced euphoria: ‘Or if only she were here now!’
Carol Anne’s reaction to that was to giggle, and say to herself wonderingly:
‘I’ve never done that, never actually even been tempted but I might, I just might.’
The truth of the weekend and her life over the weekend was that she’d been taken by surprise and bowled over by the simple phrase: ‘.the most gorgeous, sexy woman alive!’
She constantly dismissed the insinuations from the dark side of her mind that it might be a geek or someone who is fat and ugly and all. This led her to do a mental ramble through that class and face the ‘likelies’, as she called them. It was one of her weekend projects, pushed by the mantra but it didn’t work out because she found herself eliminating people based on intellectual criteria alone.
‘This isn’t working,’ she said and stopped the efforts. She’d gone inside to do the look through of her class book but then, when she didn’t think that it was working for her, she went back to the screened in patio and sat with another glass of Rhine wine, just letting her mind wander with it.
She was certainly angry with herself in the morning, letting the dark voice dominate her thinking about how much of a ‘silly ass’ she’d been with it, and what a giggly girl she turned into by one damn message on the computer.
She put her sulking body into a hot tub of water and wallowed, discovering that the relaxing water washed away the morning fog that, she was sure, had been produced by too much Rhine wine on the patio the night before. The relaxed into the water and let the mantra sweep over herself again, and determined that she would enjoy having the message in her mind for the day, just enjoy it.
It was that kind of day, without a lot of further inner debate. She did speculate, at times, on who it might be, and the possibility, slim possibility, she thought, of it being a girl still produced a spate of giggles from her.
The next day, however, the thought hit her that she had to decide to respond or ignore the request. She realized immediately that she liked this ‘little adventure’, as she termed it, and was certainly going to respond to the message. She used the balance of the day to try to think of how to deliver the message.
She went shopping in the afternoon and bought a few new skirts, and a blouse, on a whim, while in the store, she also bought a number of new panties and bras. She didn’t ‘need’ those as much, but the struggle with the ‘mantra’ kind of determined her to ‘spruce up’ her wardrobe.
‘What if. . .’ she said to herself, and giggled a response.
On Monday she was ready. She wore one of the new sets of panties and bras, a beige set and, liked the way she looked. She had also worked out her message to the unknown e-mail sender.
She was nervous, when she was first in the class room. She had the same group for ‘homeroom’ that she had for the Civil War honors seminar. She said to herself:
‘So, he will be there.’ (Or ‘she’ that voice chimed in and the giggles that followed that suggestion tended to settle Carol Anne down a bit.)
They were all there and ready for her to begin their day. She faced them and smiled and said:
‘I want to thank you for the kindnesses I had from some of you, when my Mother recently passed away. I appreciate what you’ve done, and wanted you to know that.’
It was her declaration. It was simple and held the message that she wanted to send to the ‘sender’. (She no longer was even assuming that it was a guy.)
The day went fine for her. She felt at ease with the fact that she’d made her response, and was sure it would be understood. The last double period of the day arrived and they continued the discussion about General Sherman. Toward the end of that time period, she gave them an assignment and the class fell silent.
It came a few minutes later, the next e-mail message:
Gorgeous Carol Anne,
I can see that your weekend was productive, though, I assume busy. Having observed you and your ways for a while, I am sure that you had a debate about whether you’re on the verge of making a fool of yourself. I assure you that you’re not. Nothing that I do that ‘we’ might do or will do shall ever jeopardize your standing at this school. I promise you that.
As you can imagine, or have already decided, I am not a typical prankster teenager out to bait the teacher. So, dismiss that from your mind.
I want to assign you a task, or tasks that will show to me that you know how to follow orders. I am interested in plumbing what I think is an innate nature in you to do as you’re told. It’s that part of you that I wish to appeal to, but I need to know that you are serious about what is going on here and that you can indeed follow directions from me.
Think of this. Take two days to have your inner debate, and on Wednesday give a quiz. In that quiz make sure there is a statement in question number ’10’ that answers my question about your willingness to undertake the next task and do as you’re told. I anticipate your answer.
Me
Carol Anne was stunned! Any stray thought that she might have had about this being a prank was simply gone, banished by the almost driving insistence of the new note. It caused her to sit back in her chair and sigh, although she knew right away that such a reaction was certainly showing ‘him/her’ that the message was getting to her.
Then there was another note:
Carol Anne, lovely Carol Anne,
You may now ask me one question. Only one.
Me
It surprised her, and what surprised her even more was the sense of relief that his permission
about asking one question brought to her. She let that word sit in her mind for a moment: ‘permission’, and she discovered that she liked the word. She thought a bit and sent her message:
‘Thank you for your messages, and for the permission to ask one question, one among my many, many! This is so strange! But my question:
Are you male or female!’
Carol Anne
She sat back then regarding the class but everyone was working and most were typing on their computers. It wasn’t possible to guess who it was. She got a reply.
Carol Anne, Lovely Lady,
You are so delicious. What a marvelous question. I never would have selected it as the first thing that you’d ask. But my answer: I am male.
I will follow with one question of my own, and allow you to answer:
Would it matter?
Me.
She had t think about that, for that was part of her inner debate during the past weekend, and she decided to be totally honest in her reply:
I think it would but am not totally sure!
The next message came quickly:
Grand, simply grand! You are lovely beyond lovely and conflicted about bisexuality! I like that. With this note, this connection will be closed and dead. Think about what I’ve asked you to do. On Wednesday, during the class quiz, I will expect question number 10 to have your answer: are you ready to undertake the task that I will set and do as you’re told?
Me
She didn’t even try to respond to this one, indeed, it was obvious that ‘he’ didn’t want her to. She tucked the question away in her mind for her next round of thinking.
She discovered that this one was much more difficult. ‘But he knew that!’ a voice within said.
She had been happy to respond to the outrageous complement that he’d given but now this was different: he was, in effect, asking her for obedience. That made it a completely different thing.
She had an early dinner and retreated to her screened in sanctuary, limiting herself, on this occasion, to one glass of wine, which she sipped.
‘Obedience!’ she said to herself, enjoying the darkness that wrapped itself around her, as she sat there. She sat and let her mind wander a bit before taking up the issue seriously, and was jarred out of her reverie by an inner voice that whispered a soft: ‘Robe.’
‘Oh,’ she thought to herself but the voice went on, ‘Why else, my girl, did you bother to put the robe on, after your shower with only a pair of panties on?’ Then it uttered another insistent: ‘Robe!’
Carol Anne obeyed and slipped the robe off of her shoulders, sitting back then on the swing but now wearing only her pretty panties.
‘Obedience,’ she thought, ‘I don’t know.’ And then she giggled:
‘Girl,’ she said softly to herself, ‘You were already obedient to that voice telling you to take your robe off, and isn’t this delicious?’
The very word ‘obedience’ sent her back to those college days, before she left the two year college for the university. They were her ‘reputation days’, as she always called them. It was only in her later teen aged years, having lived in very strict surroundings, with a dominant Father and an insistent Mother, that she broke out in any way. It was all down to her friend Jackie Quinn, who was the one to introduce Carol Anne to ‘oral sex’.
She’d been adamant with him that she wasn’t about to give away her virginity to him, nor did she ‘give it away’ for another number of years. But he’d asked about oral sex.
It became a constant topic with them and one that she finally, almost to shut him up, but with a truthful growing sense of being ready, willing to do what she was told to do. It was just like the home environment slopping over into her ‘sex’ life, if those brief ‘reputation years’ could be called a sex life at all.
But yes, the truth of the matter was that she gave Jackie Quinn his blow job, her first, but not, he made sure, her last.
And the ‘reputation’ thing? Jackie had bragged to his buddies and for the rest of those two years at that local college, Carol Anne was the one to go to for a blow job. It was rebellion time for her, and this was the form that her rebellion from her Father’s strictness and lack of any attempt to understand her took.
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