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     A short erotica chapter I wrote for fun over the course of a month. I tried to come up with an interesting scenario and deliver it in a humorous and dead-pan tone. I'm not sure how well it comes across. My taste in women might be a bit unconventional, but I encourage you to give it a try. All persons fictitious, etc.
Around 1400 words.
Tags: straight shota, teacher, milf, mature, smoking, and age gap.

Chapter 1

     Her low cut, sleeveless shirt exposed a wide mural of parched skin, which was often the target of his wandering gaze. Just above the high waist of her tight black pencil skirt, halfway down her chest, two wonderfully rounded and heavy breasts were hanging on for dear life. Seemingly threatening, at any moment, to slide past her stomach and settle somewhere around her knees. She was much too old to be a beauty, but she had an imposing way of looking at you, arms crossed and stern creases in the corners of her narrow eyes, that gave her an aura of unquestionable authority. Mrs. Brown was alluring and sexy in a mature and motherly kind of way, that entranced the boys in her classroom. More often than not, their eyes were glued to the graceful arches the outline of her underwear traced all the way across her wide hindquarters.
     He felt her gaze and feigned a yawn. Looking up, a pair of heavily painted eyes met his. With a stir in his groin and a pang of light-headedness, as if he had stood up too fast, the blood in his body flowed to places where it was more sorely needed. He collected himself, tried on a nonchalant smile, and asked "So what have I done this time around, Mrs. Brown?". The sound of his voice seemed distant, as if it came to him through a long, long tunnel. She crossed her nylon-covered legs, tugged at the waist of her skirt, adjusted the loose bun at the back of her head. The home-made bracelets of green and red and pink wooden pearls around her wrist rattled softly with every movement. Enough time passed for him to start second-guessing his words, before she finally looked him straight in the eyes and spoke. "I've heard concerning rumors from your PE teacher, Mr. Lee. He informed me that you and your friends are way too caught up in gossip about girls and women, and not paying attention during his lessons."
     He had bragged and boasted to his friends in the locker room after practice; "Dude, I'd fuck her so hard, you don't even know." He tried to look her in the eyes, but the blush creeping up his neck betrayed his guilt. "Jordan, look at me!" Her tone was firm and almost sharp enough to cut him. His own stupid and juvenile voice echoed in his head: "You know, people call them cougars because they are like feral cats in bed. One guy I know totally got his back scratched until he bled when he tried fucking one." They were aiming for her as well, and he steeled himself by conjuring up images of their smug faces in his mind. He couldn't bear the thought of sharing her.
     Standing up, he took one step closer. She was leaning back against the desk in front of him, arms crossed, waiting for a reply. "You're right. I guess I could use some advice, though" he quipped, and took another small step. "Oh, I don't doubt that." She leaned forward slowly, effortlessly commandeering the situation by poking his chest with a outstretched finger. "I'm your teacher. What you could use is some humility."
     He could feel the heat radiating from her as he carefully touched her thigh. Any higher would have felt a little too daring - just a little too close - but maybe... Slowly he let his hand wander up her leg, a little bit left, then higher again following the checkered pattern of her pantyhose. Closer this time. The tip of his fingers reached the hem of her skirt and slipped underneath the edge. Caressing her thighs, his hands worked their way higher and higher up. A hand, soft with age, touched his ear. Adorned with five long purple nails, it slowly traced its way through his buzz cut to the back of his head. Suddenly there was strength in her arm, mercilessly pulling his face forwards and down, down and forwards. Plunging head-first into the pale and clammy depths of her bosom. His senses drowned in the scents of sunscreen, sweat and salvia.
     Decades of marriage had left her once flat stomach bloated and pudgy, and he could feel its weight pressing against his crotch now. His body urged him to answer her passionate advances in kind. And so he did, with an urgent thrust that slammed the desk against the opposite wall and nearly lifted hefty Mrs. Brown off her feet. Grabbing at her body, he didn't care what part of her he . He wanted all of her, to inhale her and be inhaled. Her nipple, stiff and wet under the palm of his hand. Her naked arm, warm and covered in soft wrinkles. Her rear, heavy and overflowing. Their mouths met. At first a tentative nudge, but soon he was exploring every part of her face and shoulders and chest with his lips. He could not get enough of the taste of her suntanned and freckled skin. Her tongue entered his mouth, or his hers, the distinction seemed inconsequential. The boundary between their mouths did not exist, and he almost felt like he as drowning.
     Gasping for air, he pulled away from her embrace and took a step back. Looking, he realized her stockings were in a pile on the floor, and she was leaning back on her desk with her legs spread wide. In the fumbling frenzy, her skirt had somehow gotten hiked up high above her waist, laying bare a salient pair of purple, fullback panties. Drinking in the sight of her body, he let his eyes wander. A small horizontal scar just below her navel, a dark spot on the crotch of her underwear, the obvious outline of an unkempt bush under the slick satin. A snap of her fingers brought him back. "Hey, Jordan? Focus." For a second he stood dumb-founded, before he realized she was waiting for him to make the move. A surge of adrenaline flowed through his body from his hairline down to the very tip of his extremities.
     Suddenly the button of his pants seemed to be welded shut, he wriggled, struggled, pulled. He could not tear his eyes from her, and his fingers had turned fat and bone-less like the pale sausages they served down in the cafeteria. Even the damned zipper would not co-operate, he could have sworn it caught on every single notch on the way down. Quickly, quickly he pulled the jeans down to his knees, no time to undress any further. Without looking he could feel his white boxer briefs pitching a proud and mighty tent, and he allowed himself a quick gaze. So hard it was almost painful, so eager, so greedy, rubbing against the rough fabric just waiting to be unleashed upon her, grabbing at his... gra... hhhhh... hh... haaaaaa... the start of a sigh and a warm rush filled his head as he tapped into the primal part of the brain that reigns over pleasure.
     As fast as it came, it left him. The warm slimy goo was already starting to pool in the creek between his legs, and he could not move. His knees felt weak, and his arms heavy as a ton of bricks. Heaviest of all was the silence. A thick nausea creeping down his mouth and nose and throat threatening to make him vomit at any moment. He could feel it dripping down his leg now. His clothes felt sticky, the air, her body, the whole room. Disgusting and unbearable.
     The silence lay undisturbed for what seemed like an eternity, before reality caught up to his incapacitated mind. Mrs. Brown gave him a pitying smile, a sigh, and reached for a pack of baby-wipes from the top drawer of her desk. "Don't worry, Jordan. It happens." He could sense the disappointment beneath her apologetic tone. Standing there, pants around his ankles, bitter tears started welling up in his eyes. "English class starts in ten minutes!" she shouted after him as he made his escape out into the hallway, pants unbuttoned. "Don't be late!"

Posted: 2021-07-17
Edited: 2021-08-22