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Summary: Teacher is seduced by a cute nylon wearing student.
Note 1: The story idea, and even a few lines of dialogue, was from a friend of mine Jeremy.
Note 2: Of course all participants are of legal age.
Note 3: Thanks to MAB7991, Robert and goamz86.
Note 4: Of course, all characters are at least 18 years old.
Note 5: This will, I hope, be the beginning of a long running series starring myself as a character. Being a writer of erotic fiction, many of my stories are, of course, based on my fantasies…things I would likely never do, yet spend hours writing about and pleasuring myself to.
With that in mind, I have released stories like Taking Jasmine Walker and Shemale School that star myself as the main protagonist of the story, and I find writing such fiction to be both therapeutic and sexually stimulating.
Without further ado, here is one of my longest running fantasies: being seduced by a female student.
As a teacher in a high school, there are many temptations to take a bite of the forbidden fruit. Yet, although I have many fantasies of being seduced by a student, boy or girl, I have resisted the temptation because I love my job and would hate to be caught in a compromising situation that could cost me my career.
That said, when a young lady comes to school dressed in a skirt and pantyhose, when the cheerleaders come to class in their skimpy cheerleader outfits and pantyhose, or when the girls continue to showcase their breasts and asses with tight clothing, it can be difficult…leading to me occasionally pleasuring myself in my classroom by, writing stories on my iPad or laptop or fantasizing about submitting to a student while my husband and I have sex.
The temptation was never greater than this past semester when I had a student named Sarah in one of my classes. The first couple of weeks of the semester Sarah stood out not in a sexual way, but in an intriguing one. She was a unique mix of nerd and cheerleader, an odd combination of studious overachiever and giggly school girl.
To explain this further, she sat in the front row, took notes and asked questions. She made it clear she was determined to get an ‘A’ in the class…which was very ambitious because of my reputation of being the hardest assessor in the school.
Although she spoke with confidence, she also wore her heart on her sleeve and seemed insecure about her own abilities…often asking questions that she knew the answer to but wasn’t positive she was right.
Lastly, her fashion sense was a roller coaster of styles as if she had fashion deficit disorder. I didn’t notice this at first, but as the semester progressed I looked forward to seeing what she would wear each day. One day it might be jeans and a t-shirt, the next a longer skirt and a blouse, the next a mini skirt that was borderline breaking dress code (although I didn’t call her on it) and the next day sweats and a sweatshirt. Of course, as anyone reading my stories knows, I have a nylon fetish. So I am easily distracted by the rare girl who wears pantyhose to class. Sarah wore them once a week at first, and as the semester progressed, she began to wear them more often. It got so bad that I was disappointed on the days she didn’t wear any. Also, all her shoes, even with jeans, were two inch heels or more (boots or high heels) and always very fashionable.
Although a brunette, her hair was dyed blonde which brought out her crystal blue eyes and dazzling smile. She was not pretty in a drop dead gorgeous way, yet her beauty resonated in a much more memorable way. Her hair, eyes and smile drew you in and captivated you, even while contradicting her slightly high pitched valley girl voice. In every way, she was an oxymoron which drew me to her more than most girls I found attractive over the years in my classroom.
The past couple weeks I had noticed a new shift in Sarah’s dress and demeanour. She wore skirts or dresses every day, her breasts seemed to be accentuated by her dresses, blouses or tight sweaters, her large breasts, something I hadn’t noticed before, plus she wore nylons every day. Unknown to her, or so I thought at the time, she had become a constant distraction to my teaching and the constant focus of my masturbation sessions.
She would dangle her heels on her toes, distracting me as I watched it like a hypnotist’s watch. Or she would slide her stocking-clad foot in and out of her heels which would cause me to lose my focus mid-sentence and stammer as I tried to teach.
I had twice in the past three days masturbated at my desk at lunch, my desk thankfully hidden from view from the classroom door, each time imagining submitting to this sexy, sweet, intoxicating young woman.
In the end, she was an intriguing enigma, just thinking of her kept my pussy constantly wet, but I never thought it would go any further until the casino siteleri day it did.
On a Friday, a day when teaching was at a minimum, the weather finally becoming nice and the May long holiday about to start, my life changed forever. Fifteen minutes after the bell rang, the school would be like a ghost town as students and teachers alike headed to the lake for the beginning of summer in Canada.
To my surprise, Sarah asked in the morning if she could meet me after school to ask a couple questions about the psychology essay she was writing. Her topic was women in positions of authority and the psychological impact of it…something very intriguing I thought.
I joked, glancing down at her red painted toenails in beige nylons out of her heels, “Shouldn’t you be going to the lake with your friends for the weekend?”
She shrugged, wiggling her toes, “I’m staying home this weekend to test my psychological theory.”
“How interesting,” I said, curious what kind of testing she planned to do.
As she stood up, sliding her feet back into her heels, which I watched too intensely, she added, her tone ominous, unlike any I had heard from her before, “Oh trust me, it is VERY interesting.”
“I can’t wait to see where you’re going with your theory,” I said, expecting a thoughtful paper from her.
“Actually, you are a test case,” she added, slipping her foot out of her heel again, as if knowing she was distracting me.
“I am, am I?” I questioned, playfully, curious how I fit into her paper, as I glanced down at her nylon-clad feet.
“Oh, in a big way,” she smiled, slipping her foot back into her heel, before saying, in her usual cheerful bubbly manner, “See you after school.”
“Sounds good,” I added, deciding to text my husband that I may be late and for him to be home when the children arrived home from school.
The rest of the day dragged by, like the last day of school before a break always seems to, students and teachers alike restless and ready for a long weekend away from school.
I was at my desk packing up a few papers to grade over the weekend, although only if the weather ended up keeping us in the house, when Sarah came in. Oddly, she closed the door.
I asked, “So, what can I do for you, Sarah?”
I need you to answer a few questions for me very honestly,” she said, sitting at a desk in the front row, directly in front of me.
“I’m an open slate,” I smiled, not remotely ready for the questions she was about to ask.
She pulled open a pad of paper and asked, “When was the last time you masturbated?”
“Pardon! Why would you even ask such a question?” I gasped, surprised at the question and embarrassed to admit it was actually at lunch today, while thinking of submitting to her in my classroom. Strangely, many of my fantasies started just like this…alone in my classroom with just a student and me.
“My paper really shifted in focus the more I researched. I know it theoretically isn’t appropriate for high school writing, but all my research led me to look into the role of women in authority and the natural role of sexual submission that often correlates with positions of authority,” she explained, slipping her stocking-clad feet out of her heels.
“Really?” I asked, hearing her, but staring at her feet.
“Yes, for example, most women in positions of authority at work, like lawyers, doctors and teachers,” she continued, stressing the word ‘teachers’, “look for and crave sexual submission outside of their professional life…needing to let go of the high levels of stress that impact their lives during the work day.”
Oddly, her words were definitely true for me. I am very firm and have a reputation as an excellent, no-nonsense teacher who is also compassionate and dedicated to student learning. Yet, at home in the bedroom, I am very submissive to my husband and my writings on Literotica are predominantly stories of submissive women. Still, my response back was to feign denial. “That seems like a rather ludicrous conclusion.”
“Oh I have a lot of evidence,” she said confidently, stretching her legs out and wiggling her toes.
Again I was distracted by her stocking-clad legs and feet, not yet catching on that I was being played like a puppet…Pavlov’s dog theory working in her favour. “Like what?” I asked, curious, even though I should have ended the conversation right then and there.
“Interviews with professional women, professional test studies and my own personal case tests,” she continued.
“Well, I look forward to reading your paper,” I said, curious as to where her research went…maybe would help explain my own contradictory persona from the classroom to the bedroom.
“So when did you last masturbate?” She repeated.
“I’m not comfortable with answering that type of question, Sarah,” I said, suddenly uneasy with the conversation and her tone.
“Jasmine, you’re one of my test cases I need an answer,” she revealed.
“Excuse me?” I slot oyna asked, although it had become shockingly clear that she was playing me.
“I know how you look at me, Jasmine, and I know exactly what you want,” she revealed, a confidence in her unlike any I had seen before as she stood up.
Trying to remain in control of the situation, even as I could feel it slipping away, I said firmly, “You shouldn’t call me Jasmine, Sarah. I am Mrs. Walker to you.”
As she sat on top of her desk, crossing her legs, her skirt riding up high enough to show that what I had assumed to be pantyhose were actually thigh highs, she continued, ignoring my protest, “For example, Jasmine,” she continued, stressing my name, “I know you have a fetish for nylons.”
“I do not,” I countered, even as I continued taking lengthy glimpses of her nylon-clad legs and feet, as I wondered how obvious I must have been for her to know that.
“Denial is another symptom of the women in my authority theory, their difficulty in accepting themselves,” she continued.
“How so?” I asked, both looking for a way to poke holes in her seemingly logical theory and curious to see if she could continue to be right about my split personality.
“Women like you are strong-willed, determined and passionate,” she said, her leg swinging back and forth like a pendulum, pulling my gaze away from her eyes constantly. She continued, “Yet, this work lifestyle is exhausting and once you’re at home you want to just let go, don’t you Jasmine?”
I shrugged with a playful smile, pulling my eyes away from her legs and back to her eyes, “Of course. A good bubble bath and a glass of wine does wonders.”
“Oh, that works for temporary relief of stress,” she agreed, uncrossing and re-crossing her legs in what seemed to be slow motion.
I tried not to watch, not to get drawn into the seduction I was now realizing I had become a part of. But the magnetic pull was impossible to resist…my fetish, my inherent submissiveness, overriding my morals and professional ethics.
She continued, her tone having a hint of amusement at my weakness, “But in the end, almost all these prototypical psychological women need sexual submission to become truly free of the intense pressure of their day to day lives.”
“I-I-I need to g-g-go,” I stammered, standing up, knowing I was no longer in control of this situation, my pussy wet with need and my own moral dignity weakening at the thought of submission to this beautiful, sexy, exotic, seductive young lady.
“Sit down, Jasmine,” she ordered, firmly.
Startled by her strong firm voice, so unlike her usual bubbly tone, I obeyed…pussy juice leaking into my panties as I sat.
“Good girl,” she purred, her tone not as condescending as one might think and yet making my pussy even wetter.
“This has gone too far,” I tried to protest.
“What has?” She asked innocently.
“This,” I said, not able to put into words anything more profound.
“You still haven’t answered my first simple question,” she pointed out.
“At lunch,” I admitted frustratingly.
“Was it about me?” She asked, her tone dripping with sexual intent.
“Yes,” I whispered, embarrassed that she seemed to see right through my hard exterior.
“Are you submissive in the bedroom?” She asked.
“Sarah, that is completely inappropriate,” I protested, although this whole conversation was inappropriate.
“Answer the question, Jasmine,” she ordered.
“Sarah, please,” I weakly protested, even as my cunt leaked and my mind wandered back to her long, nylon-clad legs.
“Do you want to see some of my research?” She asked, continuing to ignore my protests.
“I guess,” I shrugged, trying to act nonchalant.
She stood up, bent over, giving me a long look of her well curved ass and amazingly toned legs, grabbed a binder from her backpack and handed it to me.
She remained standing in front of me as, my hands trembling, I opened the binder. I gasped at the title: Mrs. Walker’s submissive tendencies. As I read the observations made about me by a student I felt my cheeks burn red in shame. Was I that transparent? Did others notice my unhealthy obsession with Sarah and my fetish for nylons? What was Sarah going to do with this knowledge? I could be fired.
May 5th-May 14th
1. Checked out my legs several times per class.
2. Looked at me more when I dangled my heel on my foot.
3. ALWAYS looked down at my feet every time I dropped my heel to the floor…even when in mid-sentence.
4. Seemed to attempt to not look down at my legs while teaching, but still took quick glances as she tried to maintain eye contact with the class.
5. Oddly, didn’t seem to really notice my breasts even when I wore tight fitting outfits that really accentuated them. However, in the past couple of days, she did take a second look when my cleavage became much more ample.
Ms. Walker has a canlı casino siteleri nylon fetish and although married will likely submit to a powerful young woman, particularity if the young woman is wearing nylons.
“Is my conclusion correct?” she asked, even though her tone implied she was already confident she knew the answer.
“It’s not that black and white,” I tried to counter.
“It isn’t?” She asked, moving around to my side of the desk, before sitting on my desk and crossing her legs, her right stocking-clad foot now a couple inches from me.
“I just was always intrigued by your diverse fashion sense,” I defended, which was true, as I desperately tried to not look at her foot.
“So you don’t have a nylon fetish?” she asked.
“My husband does,” I explained, the temptation strong to touch her foot and see if it was real silk like I thought it was.
“I don’t think he is the only one,” she assessed correctly.
I had no good answer to her words so I remained silent, finally glancing down at her nylon-clad foot.
“Go ahead, Jasmine, massage my foot,” she offered.
My mind on cruise control, I took her foot in both hands, instantly confirming I was correct…the nylons were expensive silk.
“Good girl,” she purred.
I couldn’t believe how soft her nylons and foot were, a fantasy many years in the making now finally occurring.
After a moment, she offered, “Go ahead and kiss my foot, Jasmine.”
I hesitated. I wanted to obey. Yet, I knew this was crossing a line, although drooling over her in class and massaging her foot had already clearly crossed the moral line between teacher and student.
“Now, Jasmine,” she ordered, her tone shifting from soft and sweet to firm.
Feeling completely at her mercy, my will power non-existent, instead of resisting, my submissive DNA to obey and serve took over. I leaned forward and kissed her foot.
“Good girl,” she again approved, which only enhanced my eagerness to obey. I continued kissing her foot, then I began taking each toe in my mouth and sucking it like a tiny cock. After sucking each toe, I licked the sole of her foot, the taste of nylon and her natural sweat a salty treat.
She laughed, “That tickles. Does my pet teacher want my other foot?”
Being called ‘pet teacher’ sent a chill down my back as I briefly recalled actually writing a story called “Pet Teacher”, which became my first popular lesbian series (well, that and “Bedding the Babysitter”). I looked up, my mind preoccupied with pleasuring her foot, and I briefly lost where I was. “Yes,” I whispered, coming back to reality, and wanting to replicate the same thorough attention to her other foot…equilibrium or balance being important to me. For example, if my husband sucked my left nipple, he sure as hell better suck on my right nipple too. I would obsess with the neglect if it didn’t happen and not be able to enjoy myself.
I waited impatiently as she crossed her legs. She began to change legs, but then said, “Stand up, pet teacher.”
“Okay,” I obeyed, standing up, nervous yet curious where this was going.
She got off the desk and moved her hand under my dress and directly to my really damp panties. “Look at you Jasmine. You’re soaking wet; you are a teacher slut. You want it badly, don’t you?”
I moaned, her words, name-calling and touch driving me crazy, “Oh, God, Sarah, we can’t do this here.”
Ignoring my feigned protest, she kissed me. My knees wobbled on contact and I melted into her, kissing her back with the reckless hunger of a teenager kissing for the first time.
Breaking the kiss, she said, her tone showing disappointment, “For such a nylon lover, I am surprised you wear pantyhose instead of thigh highs. An eager submissive slut like you should always have her cunt easily accessible, don’t you think?”
Being called a slut by my best student should have been a slap in the face, but instead only enhanced my natural desire to please. I answered, “I often do wear thigh highs to school. But today’s dress was a little too short to hide them.”
“Starting Tuesday, I expect my pet teacher to always be in thigh highs,” she said, her finger tracing my pussy lips through my panties and pantyhose.
“Okaaaaaaay,” I agreed in a moan, her fingers teasing me relentlessly.
Removing her hand from underneath my dress, she sat in my chair. “Ooh, this is very comfortable. Is this the chair you masturbated in today?”
“Yes,” I admitted, my cheeks already so red with shame and excitement, I doubted they could get any redder.
“On your knees, Jasmine,” she ordered.
I had heard these words many times…although for the past twelve years it was by my husband and it always meant I was about to suck cock and swallow a load of his cum (except on the rare occasion when we were in a different city or country, when he liked to give me a facial and have me walk around the bar, restaurant, mall or beach with his cum on my face.
I had also written these words in the majority of my stories at the key plot point where the prey submits to her or his predator and to his or her own submissive tendencies.
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Telefon Numaram: 00353 515 73 20