David Ingram - Swinging Teachers

Barney uncoiled from the chair and put the glass on the desk. "No, Mac, Leslie just wouldn't go for it. She's a very old fashioned girl, believes in fidelity. She's just not that wild for sex, anyway."

"It's not possible, Barney, not with her looks and figure."

Barney was getting angry. He didn't like Lancaster's inference. "You can't always judge a book by its cover," he snapped.

Mac winced again. Jocks are all alike, he thought, absolutely no imagination.

"Well, you are coming to the teacher's banquet tonight, aren't you?"

"Oh, yeah, that's a school function. Always make school functions; you know, school spirit and all that."

"Yeah, all that," Mac said. Center High always held a dinner for teachers after school had been in progress for a month to get the teachers together, now that they were all acquainted. Mac felt uncomfortable himself, now, afraid that he had jumped the gun with Barney. He should have waited before making his pitch. He kicked himself for misjudging so badly. He hoped the bastard didn't make waves.

"I better get going," Barney said. "Time for practice."

"Yeah," Mac said.

Barney stepped into the hall and saw Dan Henry. "Hi, Dan, going to the bash tonight?"

"Yeah, if Vera's up to it." He grinned. "She's pretty pregnant, you know."

"Yeah, I noticed," Barney said, grinning himself.

Dan was tall and slim, not athletic at all, but Barney liked him. He was shy and minded his own business, not a pushy ass like Lancaster. It was Dan's first year at Center, too.

In his office, Mac poured another Scotch. He wished he hadn't been so presumptuous; he could be in trouble, but it had done his heart good to see the jock-bastard squirm, even if did mean he wouldn't get a crack at the luscious Leslie Thorn.

Somehow, he still found it difficult to believe that a woman as sexy as Mrs. Thorn could be the frigid prude her husband painted; he could have sworn he'd seen a come-on look in her eyes. Maybe Barney protested too much.

Winnie Lancaster sat pensively drumming a pencil on her desk. She wondered why she had consented to teach again this year; God knows Mac made enough bread without her income. Actually, Mac had needed her and talked into it, and now she wished she hadn't agreed. She was bored, was at loose ends, and she had that nagging unfulfilled feeling. She was forced to cram American History down a bunch of little bastard's throats that didn't give a shit about American History. She didn't either… really.

Winnie was a very pretty woman at thirty-three. She had soft brown hair, worn short, and huge, brown bedroom eyes, cow-eyed, Mac said. Her body was slightly plump, shapely, her breasts round and soft, almost too big.

She wanted a cigarette, a drink, a man, especially a man. She loved her husband and they had an outstanding sex life, but she attributed much of it to their free wheeling attitude. She was one of those women that one man couldn't satisfy; she craved a certain amount of variety.

She got up from her chair and went around to the front of her desk. When she lectured, she had a habit of half sitting on the corner of her desk that revealed a great deal more of her thighs than she realized, especially from certain chairs in the room. Arnold Meeker sat in one of those chairs. She eased into her favorite position and opened her book. The class was almost over, the last class of the day, and time for tomorrow's assignment.

"Now for tomorrow…" she said.

She was in a bad mood and laid it on heavy; the students groaned. Arnold Meeker had his notebook open, but he wasn't writing; he was usually quite busy in the notebook whenever Winnie stood before the class, so much so that she often wondered just what he was doing. He seemed to be daydreaming now, and he had his hand in his pocket. Winnie noticed a slight movement of his arm and wondered. No, he wouldn't be, not in class.

The bell rang and kids leaped to their feet. "Arnold," Winnie said loudly, "remain in your seat. I want to talk to you for a minute."

He looked up, a confused, almost frightened look on his face. He stammered something, but she couldn't hear over the student's din.

Arnold was a strange boy, a good enough student when he paid attention, but very quiet. He was outstanding in art class. He was a very tall, very skinny boy, and he slouched when he walked.

When all the other students were gone, she went to the door and pushed it shut, and went to Arnold's desk. He was almost trembling.

"What were you doing back here, Arnold?" she said.

"No, nothing, honest," he stammered, "just listening to you."

She saw his notebook protruding from under his text and reached down and snatched it up. "Let me see that," she said.

"Oh, no… God, no," Arnold gasped, grabbing at it.

She pulled back, retaining the book. She opened the cover, and closed it quickly. "You just sit right where you're at, young man," she said, and returned to her desk and sat down.

She flipped open the cover and stared at the drawing of a naked woman; it was an excellent drawing, almost photographic. The next two pages were similar, and the fourth was unmistakably Julie Riley. It was more lewd than the others, showing puffy nipples and the split of her cunt. She gasped at the next one; it was of Julie again, sitting in a chair with her legs far apart, and there was a man standing in front of her holding his cock in his hand. His cock was long and hard. She leaned back, a feeling of excitement in her belly, and glanced at the boy slumped in the back of the room. His eyes were downcast; he didn't move.

The next pictures brought another gasp; it was herself and she was propped on the corner of her desk. She was dressed, but her blouse was open and one huge tit stuck out; her skirt was high and her open cunt was visible; it was covered with a wad of curly hair.

"Arnold, come up here," she said. The boy got slowly to his feet and came forward. "Bring a chair and put it here beside my desk." He put the chair beside her desk. "Sit," she ordered.

She held up the picture. "A very good likeness, Arnold. You're a talented artist, but you flatter me," she said. "My figure isn't that good."

Arnold's face was red; he gritted his teeth and said nothing.

Winnie turned the page; it was another picture of her. She was completely naked this time, standing in half profile. In the next, she was sitting, her knees up, her hairy split wide open.

"Your guesswork is pretty accurate, Arnold, but still you flatter me," she said.

She lifted her handbag from the floor and fumbled until she found her cigarettes. She took a small ash tray from a desk drawer and lit up, even though it was against the rules to smoke in a classroom. She turned the page and coughed, the smoke catching in her throat. She was lying on her back in the picture, her legs open, and Arnold – it looked exactly like him – stood naked holding his dong. It was huge, the head bulbous. She held it up for him to see.

"Do you flatter yourself, too?" she asked.

Arnold swallowed hard, but didn't answer.

The next page revealed Arnold on top of her, his huge cock half-way in her pussy. It was an outstanding drawing, the perspective perfect. Her belly tingled. She wondered how big his cock was. It couldn't be that… no, not possible.

"You were looking at these pictures while I gave tomorrow's assignment… right?"

He looked beaten. "Yes," he said softly.

"What else were you doing while you looked at my… at your pictures?"

"Nothing."

"Oh come now, Arnold. You had your hand in your pocket; I saw you. Were you playing with yourself?"

"No," Arnold cried.

"Did you have a hard-on, Arnold?"

"No, no… please Mrs. Lancaster, let me go."

"Perhaps we should discuss this matter with the principal, and your father and mother, of course."