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From: Shakes Peer2B <shakespeer2B@yahoo.com>
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NNTP-Posting-Date: Fri, 11 Jun 2004 14:02:06 EDT
Subject: {ASSM} (New)Teacher, Teach Her (Ff nosex)
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Date: Fri, 11 Jun 2004 18:10:03 -0400
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________________________________
This is a story about a sexual FANTASY written for consenting adults. If 
you're not both of those, don't read it.  Characters in a FANTASY don't 
get sick or die unless I want them to. In real life, people who don't 
use condoms and other safe-sex techniques do get sick and die. You don't 
live in a FANTASY so be safe.  The fictional characters in my stories 
are trained and experienced in acts of FANTASY - don't try to do what 
they do - someone could get hurt.

If you think you know somebody who resembles any of the characters here, 
congratulations, but you're wrong - any similarity between the 
characters in this story and any real person is purely coincidental, 
since all of these characters are figments of my dirty little imagination.

This is my story, not yours. Don't sell it or put it on a pay site. You 
can keep it and/or give it away with all of this information intact, but 
if you make money off of it, you're breaking the law and pissing me off.
_________________________________
Teacher, Teach Her (Ff nosex)
(C)Copyright 2004 - Shakes Peer2B
shakes_peer2b@NONOsbcglobal.net
(remove 'NONO' from the above address to contact me)

http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Shakes_Peer2B/
http://storiesonline.net/  (go to the Author's page under 'S')
________
Her scent washes over me as she bends, once more, to peer over my 
shoulder at the sketch I'm working on. The thunder of my pulse drowns 
out other sounds as her soft, warm hand rests on my shoulder. I cannot 
breathe as her silky hair brushes my cheek. She smells... clean. Clean 
and fresh, with just a hint of lavender and something else...

"Very good, Justine!" I can barely hear her whispered compliment over 
the pounding of my pulse!

I sigh with relief and longing as she drifts away, murmuring 
encouragement to other students as she passes.

Why, oh why did I take THIS art class! Even as the thought enters my 
head, the answer niggles at the back of my brain: 'Because, Justine, you 
have a stupid schoolgirl crush on Ms. O'Connor!'

Yes, I have to admit that I took the class because I wanted to be close 
to her. Never mind that every boy in school wants to get into my pants, 
never mind that I could have any of them I want, and have, from time to 
time. I had to go and fall in love with a TEACHER - a FEMALE teacher, 
for God's sake!

But God! I never dreamed of the torture being in her class would heap 
upon me! Every day is like a knife twisting in my guts as I wander, 
oblivious, through the rest of my schoolday, living only for third 
period. For art class. For HER art class! Then I'm there, and it's even 
worse!

Her face, her presence, her voice, her scent permeate the atmosphere 
around me, and I can do nothing about it! To top it off, I'm cursed with 
a modicum of talent! This invariably brings praise and soft touches that 
cut my soul to the quick! Oh, how I wish they could be for me, not my art!

My chair feels like the seat is lined with broken glass.  I can't keep 
still! Of their own volition, my thighs rub together, trying without 
success to satisfy the itch that grows, unbearably, in my nether regions.

"I would like to discuss something with you after class, Justine." I 
didn't hear her! Again she surrounds me! Did she notice? Can she tell 
that I was thinking about her like THAT?

"Can you stay behind for a few minutes?" she asks, as my panic threatens 
to undo me.

"Uh, sh..." I have to clear my suddenly dry throat before the sounds 
will come out right, "Sure, um, Ms. O'Connor."

'You have such beautiful red hair, Ms. O'Connor! May I call you 
Kathleen?' my mind toys with the idea of continuing, but of course, I 
can't, 'Would you like me to eat your lovely pussy, Kathleen? May I call 
you lover, Kathleen? Oh, thank you so much, Lover!'

Delicate fingers rest on my back. Is it my wanton imagination, or is she 
playing with the sandy curls at the top of my neck, making shivers chase 
each other up and down my spine? Could she see my blush? Were my 
petrified nipples poking through my bra as far as I thought they were? 
I'll never survive 'til the end of this hour!

Somehow, glacially, the time passes. I sit nervously at my drawing table 
while the others file out of the room, some snickering over speculations 
about what I might have done to be detained.

She crosses to the door and locks it as the last of the students leave. 
  Settling her petite frame gracefully into the chair opposite mine, 
smiling her teacher smile.

"I'm not quite sure how to approach this, Justine." she seems almost as 
nervous as me! "Your other teachers are, well, concerned."

My face flushes. Of course they would notice the change in me! I've 
practically been a zombie outside Ms. O'Connor's class! How stupid of me!

"They tell me you've been... distracted." she says softly, "I think I 
know why, but I'd like to hear it from you."

Oh God! She can't possibly know why, can she? Dumbfounded, I sit, 
stricken, unable to reply.

"You have been throwing yourself into your artwork so much that it 
distracts you from your other studies," she continues, "isn't that right?"

Relief floods through me! She doesn't know! My head falls forward to 
hide the expression on my face, and I nod dumbly.

"Justine, look at me..." her crooked finger, so small and delicate, 
lifts my chin, "You have such innate talent that, should you choose to 
do so, you could make a very good living as an artist.  I know the real 
thing when I see it. But even as an artist, you need the foundation 
provided by your other studies! You can't concentrate on art alone..."

Suddenly she breaks off. "...there's something else, isn't there?"

My face must be giving me away, but her restraining finger won't let me 
turn away! My heart pounds and I can't draw breath!

"Of course." she says softly, releasing me. "I should have seen it. 
It's not like it's the first time. I'm just not accustomed to seeing it 
from a... female student. Oh, my!"

Trembling, on the verge of breaking down at the discovery of my secret, 
I wait for the dreaded words to fall like an axe on my heart...

Instead, there is a long, long silence. My body holds itself in 
suspension, stiffly waiting, dreading, knowing.

"How long have you been in love with me, Justine?" she asks, not unkindly.

At least she didn't use words like 'silly' or 'schoolgirl' or 'crush'. 
She called it what it is. I don't know whether to laugh or cry!

Hesitantly, still afraid, I mumble my reply into my chest, "Since I 
first saw you last semester, Ms. O'Connor."

"I see..." she says, studying me, "Well, Justine, I shall have to think 
about this. Boys are easy. At this age their emotions are all in their 
pants, and those are easily dealt with.  We girls, I think, are a little 
more fragile, emotionally."

"I KNOW it's silly, Ms. O'Connor!" I cry, in a rush, "I KNOW there's 
nothing you can do about it! I never even wanted you to know! I - I just 
can't HELP it!"

"So you sit here, day after day," she murmurs tenderly, "torturing 
yourself, but unable to stay away?"

My anguished nod is my only reply.

"I remember what that was like, Justine," she almost whispers, "but 
there is one big difference between my crush and yours."

I look up, expectantly, feeling the tears run down my face, not 
thinking, yet, about the tracks of mascara that follow.

"My teacher only liked men," she says solemnly, "and she was very 
un-sympathetic."

At first, they are just words. I'm supposed to be smart, but it takes 
forever for the meaning of those words to penetrate the jumble of my 
thoughts.  I stare at the wet smears of makeup on my palms, wondering 
where they came from, and slowly, slowly, the words become a concept, a 
theory, a thought, then, incredibly, a spark of hope!

Mouth agape, I raise blurry eyes toward my teacher. Blinking to clear my 
vision, I see a tentative smile on Ms. O'Connor's face. Is it my 
imagination and desire tricking me again, or is that invitation I see? 
Can it possibly be?

Holding my breath, I see a tiny nod, followed, wondrously, by another, 
firmer nod! In dazed disbelief, I fall into the open, welcoming arms of 
my teacher!

"I think, Justine," she whispers feathers into my ear, "that you should 
come by my house each day after school, for some special instruction in 
a different art form. Don't you agree?"

I nod happily, contentedly, into her chest.  The fog, finally, has 
cleared for me, and I see only sunshine through my closed eyelids!

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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