She watched for a few seconds as some of the girls moved their wool, then her attention was drawn back to her copy of ‘Woman’s Own’ – a knitting pattern for a waistcoat had caught her eye – something to occupy her time on the weekend. The wool she would require was plentiful in the classroom, she could easily smuggle some home with her, no need to spend her hard earned money in the town. As she read, she gently massaged her temples as she noticed that the headaches that had been plaguing her for days seemed to be getting worse.
A sudden groan distracted her from her reading.
She glanced up. Jennifer Turley sat directly in front of her, a shiny pink tongue poking out between her pretty lips as she concentrated on rectifying a dropped stitch. As if sensing the teacher’s stare the girl looked up, her sparkling blue eyes making contact with Miss Simpson’s grey, weary orbs for just a second before the pupil turned away.
Miss Simpson continued to study the girl: her beautiful sapphire eyes; her blonde hair tied back in a ponytail revealing a slender neck; her grey dress stretched tight over breasts that were far too large for her petite, youthful frame. She dropped her scrutiny below the desk, subconsciously licking her lips as she admired the teenager’s silky smooth and shapely calves, tucked into pristine white ankle socks. The teacher let out a breathy sigh before raising her eyes to the girl’s chest once more, her young breasts straining against her pinafore dress. She couldn’t help but admire the full, pert mounds before looking down at her own chest, the flow of her dress barely disturbed by the tiny bumps that she had been blessed with.
The good Lord must have been in a cruel mood the day he created me, she thought.
While he had not seen fit to endow her with a pin-up girl figure, he had not left her lacking as far as her libido was concerned. She was hot and horny most of the time but the Almighty, in his infinite wisdom, had made her only to be aroused by the curvaceous charms of the female sex and then, with a perverse understanding all of his own, had placed her in the role of a girl’s teacher.
A hand-bell rang, its metallic tones echoing around the building.
“Alright, girls. Put your work away tidily, needles returned to the pot on my desk and leave your chairs and desks straight.”
Miss Simpson watched as her class filed out through the door.
“Jennifer!”
The girl turned at the sound of her name.
“Could you stay behind please, Jennifer?”
The teenager turned to her classmates, confusion in her eyes as to why she was being held back. She stood silently by the door, head down, as the other girls made their way out.
“Close the door please, Jennifer.”
The girl did as she was told then walked slowly to the teacher’s desk as Miss Simpson gestured her forward.
“What’s the matter, Jennifer? You look uncomfortable.”
“I need to go to the toilet, Miss.” The girl stared down at her shoes as she spoke, afraid to meet her teacher’s gaze.
“Is that all it is, Jennifer?”
“I don’t understand what you mean, Miss.”
“Well, you seemed to drop quite a few stitches today. Are you having trouble concentrating?”
“No, Miss. I’m sorry, Miss.”
“There’s no need to apologise, Jennifer. I was just concerned about you. Is there something on your mind, perhaps?”
The girl shifted her feet, her discomfort plainly evident. “I really do need to use the toilet, Miss…”
Miss Simpson moved from the desk to stand behind her pupil, pressing herself close against her back. “Perhaps, someone on your mind?” she whispered into the girl’s ear.
“No, Miss.”
“Oh come on, Jennifer…” The teacher placed one hand on the teenager’s hip, her other gently pressing her belly, exerting pressure on her bladder. For some reason, the thought of the girl wetting herself, a trail of warm urine trickling down her legs, suddenly excited her. “I’ve caught you staring at me in class, averting your eyes as soon as you make contact with mine, the coquettish look on your face…”
“That’s not true, Miss!” The girl tried to step away from her teacher but Miss Simpson grabbed her, pulling her face to meet her own.
“Liar! You’re in love with me, aren’t you? Admit it, girl!”
“No!”
The woman thrust a hand behind the girl’s neck, stroking her soft skin for a second before brushing a cheek with her thumb, allowing the digit to press its way between her trembling lips.
“There’s no need to be shy, child, I feel the same way.” She stared deep into the girl’s blue eyes, ignoring the tears that flowed from them. “I love you, Jennifer! I want you – and I know you want me.” Miss Simpson pressed her mouth against the girl’s, kissing her hard.
Jennifer pulled away, pushing Miss Simpson from her. The teacher glared at her. “What’s the matter, girl? Don’t pretend you don’t want this. You’ve been dreaming of this moment for as long as I have.”
“No…that’s not true, Miss.”
“You love me, Jennifer…you love me. As I love you.”
“No, Miss. I don’t love you…I don’t even like you! None of us like you!” Jennifer’s hand slapped hard against her mouth, but too late to stifle the words that echoed in her head as she saw the colour of Miss Simpson’s face turn raging-red. “I’m sorry, Miss. I didn’t mean to say it…” The girl took a step back. “Please, Miss. I really need to go to the toilet.”
The teacher leapt at the terrified teenager, taking her to the floor with ease. Hitching the girl’s dress above her waist, she roughly tugged at her underwear, yanking the garment down her legs and over her shoes. Her fury subsided
