French Lesson

Posted by: Author: Age: 39 Posted on: 0 comments
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I went to a old-fashioned boys' school where female teachers were thin on the ground and even thinner on sex appeal. So Mrs S, my French teacher, was a revelation. She must have been in her mid to late-30s and seemed incredibly sophisticated, with something of the Sophia Loren about her. She was about 5'6', with a slim but womanly figure, glamorously if decorously made up, and always immaculately turned out in tailored skirts and jackets.



Somehow the fact that she was Mrs just added to the attraction. She had the air of a woman who had lived a little, who knew what she wanted, and who likely got a damned good seeing to when she got home. Her manner in class was totally professional and somewhat disciplinarian, but again that just added to the appeal.



I was at an age where I was just beginning to explore masturbation, and in the privacy of my bedroom favoured the humping method. In the more constrained environment of the classroom, I developed a new technique. I discovered that if I placed my feet slightly apart and moved my knees rhythmically apart and together, the action of my thighs rubbing and compressing my balls would get me aroused, until I could eventually bring myself off without using my hands.



The first time I came that way was a bit of a surprise, and I was very anxious in case I was found out. But at that age my cum wasn't profuse enough to soak through. I was very careful to control my breathing and facial expressions, and since I was quite a fidgety person anyway, the leg swinging probably just looked like a nervous tic.



As time went by I became increasibly bold, and began masturbating every French lesson. We sat at double desks, and the idea that I was cumming just inches away from my oblivious classmate turned me on even more. Our textbook had some cartoon drawings of a fictional French family, and I remember staring at pictures of 'Marie France' in her swimsuit. And of course I would watch Mrs S, padding up and down the classroom. I would imagine her unwinding after class, her stockinged feet, her perfume. Perhaps she might ask me to stay behind, come over to me, put her hand on my shoulder. I imagined her lying back on her desk, her skirt rucked up around her silky thighs, her breath coming fast and urgent...



I would generally try and time it so that I came right at the end of the lesson, so that I could enjoy the build-up for as long as possible. Occasionally I didn't get the timing right, and had to stay behind 'collecting my books' until the release came. I often wondered if she suspected what I was doing, and half-hoped she did.



When I was 14 I moved to a different class, probably just as well, as the emissions were becoming harder to conceal. But I've often thought back to Mrs S. I can't have been the only boy who had a crush on her. Were there other boys doing what I was doing? Was she aware of the effect she was having? Did she get off on it too, that feeling of power? Did she ever think of me as she fucked Mr S?



I've just tried the technique again after 25 years. I can tell you it still works, and how...

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