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**ONE:** *Bad Influences*
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The year was 1997. It’s late Spring, almost early Summer.
The way I remember it, with rose-tinted glasses firmly affixed atop my nose, that was the first truly gorgeous day of the Summer season.
And I was missing out on all of it…
I should have been outside with my friends, either skateboarding downtown, or swapping boot-legged music cassettes, or maybe just smoking a little grass; but instead, I was stuck inside, suffering through the longest detention sentence of my life. *(Two and a half hours, to be exact.)*
Those couple of hours spent silently brooding in detention gave me plenty to think about, kinda like how being locked-up in the slammer will make you comb through your whole life, searching for the mistakes that defined your downward path.
Now, I know what you’re thinking. What was *my* mistake? The one that landed me with two and a half hours of miserable detention time. Don’t forget, this was the hay-day of Bart Simpson, after all.
Well, I’ll tell you…
It was a friend of mine, actually; the proverbial *’trouble-maker’* kind of friend. I’m sure you know the type. You’ve probably even had a few of ’em yourself, back in the day. But we all cut ties with them eventually. They’re fun to have around, undeniably, but only so long as you kept them in some kind of moderation.
His name was Jeff. I wouldn’t call him one of the ‘popular kids’, exactly, but he definitely had a reputation that preceded him wherever he went. Jeff had seemingly fucked *every* girl, seen *every* R-rated movie, and tried *every* drug under the sun *(not to mention a few girls/movies/drugs I don’t believe ever existed).*
But, I think I’m getting a little ahead of myself right now. I don’t want you to go thinking I was anywhere near the same league of *school-yard bad-boy* as Jeff was. So, lets just back-up a bit, okay?
I’m sorry, I’m not really used to telling stories like this. And I failed a year of English class, so whatever.
Screw it. I’m starting this again…
***
It’s 1994. Either late Spring, or maybe early Summer.
I’m nineteen and these are my last months of being a senior in high-school. A part of me deep down suspected that I had wasted the *whole* thing: my *whole* high school experience. I was scared that I’d look back on those years one day and think: *Where was all the youthful ‘sex, drugs & rock n’ roll?’ I was promised by MTV?*
I was still a virgin. Marijuana and rap music were new discoveries in my world and I felt like Christopher fucking Columbus, even though in reality, I was irrevocably late to the party.
A few weeks before the detention sentence, I’d learnt that it was possible to see tits on HBO, so long as you stayed up late enough. In short, I was a late bloomer, to say the very least.
But recently, all that had started to change for me. I’d managed to work my way into a new social circle: *the cool kids*. Of course, they were mostly bad influences, but that’s *exactly* what I needed at the time: friends who’d be willing to burst my bubble…
And, that was my mistake: *making new friends*, I guess. But, like a hardened gang member, I was committed to doing my time and taking it on the chin. Of course, I wasn’t the one who had brought the flask of rum to school, but I *was* the one holding it when we were caught. *(It would have been my* very first *sip of alcohol, too, if Principal Roberts hadn’t of found us hiding-out in the boy’s room and confiscated it…)*
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**TWO:** *High-School Black Market*
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I sat, hunched-over in my chair, staring forward at the black-board in front of me.
A list of offending kids — and their corresponding dismissal times — were scribbled across the board in Mrs. Lefebvre’s signature chalk writing:
> **~~Chris~~ – 3:30**
>
> **Jeff – ~~4:00~~ ~~4:30~~ 4:45**
>
> **~~Martin~~ – 4:00**
>
> **Sam – 5:30**
I’m *Sam*, by the way; the one who’s stuck here till 5:30 tonight…
Chris and Martin were some of those ‘bad influences’ I mentioned earlier; oh, and Jeff was my *(recently acquired)* best-friend, who I had started buying weed from about a month ago.
…And Mrs. Lefebvre?
Well, she’s kinda the whole point of this this story. But I’m afraid you’re going to have to be patient. I’ll tell you all about her in just a few moments.
***
After Martin had been dismissed from detention, Jeff and I had a moment to talk amongst ourselves, while Mrs. Lefebvre scolding our friend in the corridor.
Jeff was the best connection to the high-school black market any kid could ever ask for. He had the *best* pot, yeah; but he also sometimes had his dad’s Playboy VHS’s; and, if my friend Jeff trusted you enough, then you could even buy the answers to any test or exam you needed. *All for a price, of course.* Hell, those cheat-sheets were the only way I had managed to keep my grades up since starting to smoke pot.
I asked Jeff if he could get me the answers to the math finale and he shrugged. “That one’s hard”, he said. “It’s a final, y’know? It’s, like, all locked-up n’ shit. ‘Cause the Government writes it, yeah.”
I frowned, suddenly feeling hopeless. I’d been depending on this.
Then, out of the blue, Jeff made me a proposition: “You know my uncle, Donald?”
“Yeah”, I said. “What about him, dude?”
“He’s a hypnotist…”
“You mean, like, in those fucking *Looney Toons* or something? What is that even? Like, what’s an *actual* hypnotist?”
Jeff looked over his shoulder, checking to see if Mrs. Lefebvre was coming back yet. “It means what you think it means, man. And apparently, right… Listen up…”
“Mhmm.”
“So, my uncle had Mrs. Lefebvre as, like, his patient… No lie, dude. Serious.”
“I don’t believe you”, I said; but secretly, the implications had already begun to make my head reel. *What would a person do with that kind of power?* The only thing more intoxicating to me than that question was the obvious answer which followed it: *Anything they wanted. Anything at all…*
***
“I’ll give it to you for a hundred and seventy-five bucks, *okay?*”
“That’s fucking crazy”, I protested.
Jeff held the piece of folded paper in his hand, tauntingly waving it back and forth.
“What’s crazy is not getting in on this… *C’mon!* For that money, you get your A+, alright; but also, you get…” Jeff paused, checking his watch. “…fifty minutes with her, so long as you start right after I’m let out.”
I shrugged, starting to consider this whole thing seriously for the first time.
“I just… don’t have that much on me”, I said.
“Then pay me later, next time you buy some weed. Look, we’re friends now, Sam.”
“Hmmm…”
“That means if you skate and leave me out nearly two hundred dollars, I’ll know where to find you. And I will beat the shit out’ta you. No offence.”
“Maybe…”
“It’s, like, only fifty-something bucks a word. And those three words add up to a lot. Don’t over think this. Or I’m gunna sell the second trigger to Chris, instead.”
“There’s two of them?”, I asked.
“Yeah. It’s a one-time use. Stole them from my uncle’s dresser. He had a whole notebook full of ’em. That’s how I figured out how this worked.”
“How does it work?”
“Agree to pay up later, pony boy, and I’ll tell you…”
***
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**THREE:** *Mrs. Lefebvre & I*
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I guess now is a good time to talk about Mrs. Lefebvre, huh?
She was my French teacher, then my Drama teacher for a little bit, before became my French teacher again for Senior year.
In eighth grade, during the first French class of my life, Mrs. Lefebvre leaned over my desk, while I tried hopelessly to stutter out: *”Juh ney parl quuin pu le franchaise.”*
“Repeat after me”, she’d say, in a patient voice that only made my erection harder to keep under control. “Je ne parle– par*le*– yes, just like that– *Je ne parle qu’un peu le français*.”
In drama class, I got to know Mrs. Lefebvre *a lot* better. She became far less intimidating to me, too.
Whenever there was any down time during class, she had this tick of whistling to herself. Sometimes, you could make out her whispering the words to the song under her breath: *”Oh-oh, oh– Lollipop, lollipop! Oh-oh, oh–“* I think it was some pop song from the 50’s. But regardless, you’d never hear Mrs. Lefebvre whistle any other song.
This one time, I was staying in during lunch to help Mrs. Lefebvre prepare for the Christmas play coming up. We’re both sitting on either side of her desk, going over our binders and figuring out what we needed to photocopy. Then, she drops her pen ono the carpet.
I like to think I’m a gentleman, so I quickly bent down and picked it up for Mrs. Lefebvre before she could. I swear, that was my only intention: *to be a gentleman.* I was far too naive then to have even considered using that as an excuse to look up her skirt. But whatever my intentions were, that was the result.
It only lasted milliseconds, but the image of Mrs. Lefebvre panties were seared into my imagination for months after that. The guys got tired of hearing about my story pretty quick, but I never tired of thinking about it.
When Mrs. Lefebvre became my French teacher again in Senior year, it made it hard to focus on anything she attempted to teach me.
And, well, that pretty much catches you up. Back to the story, I guess.
***
I’m sitting there in detention and I’m bugging out.
*Even if this works,* I thought, *what the Hell am I going to do next? Ask for an A+ and tell Chris I got a hand job out of it?* My mind was still reeling. My hands were sweating so bad, it was beginning to soak into the piece of paper I was clenching tight. *This is stupid. It’s reeaally crazy. And it’ll never work.*
*In fact… It’s probably all some huge practical joke being played on me by the guys, because I’m the one who’s gullible enough to believe in something like this…*
I choked back my nerves temporarily, just long enough to blurt out: “Mrs. Lefebvre?”
“Yes, Sam?”
“Uhm–” I balled my fists up tight inside my pockets, uncertain if I had the guts to go through with it. Then, I realized I had forgotten the string of words Jeff had given me. After pulling my fist out of my pocket, I found the note I had scribbled smeared.
“Sam, what is it? Tell me.”
“Uhm…”
Mrs. Lefebvre hesitated for a short moment, frowning at me. Then, she seemed to reconsider, because her expression softened. “Is there someone wrong at home, Sam? You can talk to me, you know that.”
“No, Mrs. Lefebvre.”
“Well…”
*Do it.*
*Do it right now…*
And that’s when I spoke the three words Jeff had sold to me: “Soumate et servor”. Or tried to, at least. The confused look on Mrs. Lefebvre’s face was enough to know I’d mispronounced something. *Shit, I’m screwing this up already…*
“Are you trying to say something in French, Sam?”
“Uhm, yeah–” Sweat began to pour down my forehead. I tried again, focusing every fibre of my body on remembering what Mrs. Lefebvre had taught me: “Soumattre et servoir?”
Still, *nothing*. So I tried a third time, suddenly coming to terms with the notion that Jeff had pranked me. *The boys were probably out behind the school now, smoking a joint and laughing it up at my expense.* But still, I tried again. *Third times the charm, right?*
*”Soumettre et servir…”* The words tingled on my tongue as the tumbled out of my mouth, even though I couldn’t have told you what they meant.
She was smiling steadily at me, without wavering – or blinking, for that matter. I let a few moments pass…
“Do you feel okay, Mrs. Lefebvre?”
She cocked her head to one side. “Fine, of course.”
“Uhm– Would you, ergh–”
“Yes, Sam? What would you like?”
“Mrs. Lefebvre…”
“Yes, Sam?”
“Could I– Just, like… *Leave?*”
“Of course, Sam. You may do whatever you’d like.”
“…Really?”
I could feel my heart racing inside my chest. *Is this actually fucking* working *right now? …For real!?* After taking a deep breath, I went beyond the point of no return.
“Can you take a step toward me? Please…” To my astonishment, Mrs. Lefebvre obeyed. “Uhm– Now, turn around.”
“Yes, Sam.”
“And–” *Gulp…* “–lift up your skirt for me…”
Without hesitation, Mrs. Lefebvre obliged. She reached backward with both arms and gripped onto the brim of her skirt. Then, she slowly rolled the fabric up, peeling it over the curve ass. I held my breath, leaning back into my chair…
Mrs. Lefebvre’s panties were made of some semi-transparent black material, with a delicate looking lace trim. Through them, I could see the vertical horizon of her ass-crack, leading down to the ghosty shape of her trimmed bush. At the very bottom of her black panties, I could see what looked like a set of lips, hungrily sucking the fabric inward. *That’s her pussy*, I realized. *That’s what a pussy looks like…*
Clenching my breath, I ordered Mrs. Lefebvre to “let her panties fall to the floor”. Then, I added: “Slowly, though; real slow”.
Just like me previous demands, she complied without a moment for second-thought.
…And that’s when I *finally* let the air out of my lungs. “Oh, Jesus”, I whispered, feeling my eyes bulge out of my sockets. There was an instantaneous tightness in the crotch of my jeans, which I adjusted my posture to account for. *Is this what being in a strip-club feels like?*
I watched as Mrs. Lefebvre’s black panties slid down her long legs, which were the pale, yet rich colour of brown sugar. My eyes followed the panties slow descent, until they came to a rest on top of her austere looking high-heels, then my sight immediately rubber-banded upward, toward Mrs. Lefebvre’s exposed cunt.
What I saw then made my mind spasm for a short moment. But my transfixion was jarred abruptly, when Mrs. Lefebvre suddenly asked: “And now, Sam?” She spoke those words with a robotic purr in her voice, which stirred something inside my stomach. It reminded me of the one *(and only)* time I’ve been on a roller-coaster.
***
I’ll be honest with you. This is a part of the story I never confessed to Jeff or Charlie.
So, Mrs. Lefebvre asked me: “And now, Sam?” And then, I just *froze*. For like, five minutes, at least; maybe even ten. Although, it felt like fucking *hours*. An eternity, spent staring at Mrs. Lefebvre’s pussy.
I just didn’t know what to do… I wasn’t scared anymore, not really — the hypnotism gig clearly worked. But the possibilities in front of me seemed endless. *Where do I start?*
While my mind processed my options, I just continued to stare. Over time, I watched as Mrs. Lefebvre’s cunt-lips began to gather wetness, collecting it like morning dew drops. Her asshole started to wink at me slowly, pulsing to the rhyme of her breathing.
*My God…*
*…Where do I start?*
***
And then it hit me.
I stood up, walked over to the empty chair Jeff had been sitting in earlier, then dragged it beside my own. After, I sat back down, then placed my fist flat on the empty seat beside me. At which point I stuck my thumb up, like an eager hitchhiker.
“Do you understand, Mrs. Lefebvre?”
Wordlessly, Mrs. Lefebvre spread her legs and began slowly lowering herself toward the empty chair. Just millimetres before her pussy touched the tip of my thumb, Mrs. Holloway paused. “But Sam, which hole?” Mrs. Lefebvre raised her ass up, presenting both to me.
Her asshole looked like the tight, brown bud of a flower; her pussy, the lone pink petal, still dripping with dew. I thought about it; I thought *really* hard. I’d never even considered putting anything inside a woman’s asshole before, especially not a thumb! The concept struck me as entirely foreign, but obvious in retrospect. *Of course people put things up there,* I thought. But now that I had been enlightened to the concept, the allure of it seemed irresistible.
“Your asshole.”
Smiling, Mrs. Lefebvre began to lower herself onto the tip of my out-stretched thumb. I tensed every muscle in my hand, keeping my thumb as rigid as possible, braced in anticipation for the moment of contact…
***
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**FOUR:** *Lollipop, Lollipop*
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And, *it happened…*
I watched the delicate flesh around Mrs. Lefebvre’s asshole blink in response to my touch, then she began to lower herself further, disappearing my thumb-nail from view.
“Sam?”
*”Uh, y– yes?”* I didn’t think she could ask questions while in this state… It shocked me to hear the inquisitive tone in her tranced voice.
“Do you remember our first French class together?”
*I did*, of course. Hearing her mention it now, my heart sunk down to my sneakers…
…And at the same time, I felt Mrs. Lefebvre’s asshole continue to slide down the length of my thumb. Right then, it was just about as deep as my knuckle. Already I could feel my own heart-beat pulsing inside my thumb.
“Yeah, of course. What about that day?”
*”I liked you, Sam. You made me happy that day.”*
“Mrs. Lefebvre…”
…She came to a rest, have swallowed my thumb whole.
“You stuttered. You’re not the first young man to get lost staring down my cleavage, but you were by far the cutest.”
Then, Mrs. Lefebvre began to slowly bounce up and down, without being prompted to… I felt the wetness gathered on her pussy lips begin to drip down onto my fist. It glistened, pooling in a puddle under my hand. Suddenly, I had an uncontrollable urge to taste it…
I let my legs fall forward, landing on the floor in front of Mrs. Lefebvre chair. She slide her ass to the edge of the seat, brining my fist with her. And then, I began to eat her out, while she continued to slowly ride up and down on my thumb, continuing to soak my hand.
“I’ve always liked you, Sam”, Mrs. Lefebvre purred, while my tongue explored foreign territory for the first time. She tasted sweet, in a way that startled me a little. While I lapped away at her cunt, Mrs. Lefebvre whistled to me, as if reverting to habit. I don’t know how much time passed, but it was a long while.
“I’ve always liked you, Sam”, Mrs. Lefebvre repeated. “Ever since you got tongue-tied looking at my tits”. And with that, she pulled her colossal breasts out of her shirt. They hung above my head, swaying from side-to-side gently. “That’s why I let you get away with this stupid joke…”
“Wh– *What?*”
That’s when I saw them: Jeff and Charlie, leering in through the tiny window in the classroom’s door. *Fuckers*, I thought.
“Go away!”, I called out, waving my hand frantically toward the door. *”Go!”*
“Ssshhh”, Mrs. Lefebvre whispered, never glancing toward the door once. “I’m not dumb, Sam. I heard what Jeff said to you. It was bull-shit. I’ve never even met his uncle.”
“What’d you mean?”
“I mean…” Mrs. Lefebvre rocked her cunt forward while speaking, separating her lips against my nose. “…You just became the stuff of school-yard legend, Sam.”
While being suffocated by Mrs. Lefebvre’s pussy, I saw the two boys dart away from the window.
“…Just don’t let it go to your head, okay?”
***
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Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/65y1m0/mrs_lefebvre_i_mf_hypnotized_teacher