The Art Teacher and her Student [FM]

I was an 18 year old high school senior with a gift for art. I also had a huge crush on one of my art teachers.

She was in her mid 20s, pretty with red hair and emerald green eyes; incredibly to me, she was single. But those were side notes to the fact that we just clicked. So much so that I took shit for it from class mates.

We were discussing the issue I had with hyper realism painting after class on a fall Friday evening. She told me I had no idea what it took to make a painting look like a photo. I thought it was stupid. She questioned my intelligence. Finally, I think in frustration, she wrote her address on a piece of paper and told me to come to her place Saturday evening.

Yes, I had thoughts of sex, fantasies about her had already been a regular part of my mastubratory life. I was 18, she was pretty and we “got” each other.

I get to her second floor apartment and see at least 12 masterfully painted hyper realistic pieces of art in the front room. One on an easel underway. Led Zepplin Houses of the Holy was playing on the record player.

For her part she was cute, bib overalls COVERED in paint from chest to knees, white tank top, and blue bandanna holding back her voluminous red hair.

After plesantries I started looking at the paintings while she stood there drinking wine and commenting, trying to cement the thought that hyper realism was art. I came across one of a breast, perky light pink nipple on alabaster skin. Excruciating detail. Honestly, amazing. I knew it was her, she knew I knew it was her. The room got thick. I turned to make a comment and she was on me. On her tip toes she kissed me with full tongue, hands on both sides of my face.

I took control and pushed her to the door (there was no furniture in the room) and returned the favor, hands hunting and finding their way inside the bib and under her shirt. My mouth was on her neck and we were both breathing hard. I pulled her to me and let her know with my hard cock that I wanted her. Our eyes locked as we fought to remove each other’s clothes.

It was almost like two fighters after they have sized each other up. Both of us stood there naked, clothes puddled around our feet, Robert Plant prying his way through the album amid ticks and pops. She was stunning. The alabaster skin, b cup breasts with nipples that looked like small pink grapes, hair still tied in the bandanna, an unruly tuft of red hair on her mons.

My cock was raging hard and I was on her tiny 5 foot frame, lifting her from the floor and pulling her to me, filling my hands with her cute bubble butt. I kissed her hard and we slammed into the front door again. I was rutting, trying to find her opening amid the slippery wet of her crotch. Her hand touched my chest and she looked into my eyes and shushed slowly, chest heaving, arm around my neck; I eased off and slowly let her down. She knelt in front of me, never breaking eye contact until her hot mouth engulfed my cock. I almost came. I had no idea what deep throating was accept what I’d seen in VHS porn tapes. I was now getting a first hand experience. She built up speed. Used her hands and saliva. Wet, slippery sounds filled the room replacing Robert Plant but sincing nicely with the records end tick on side one. I came, a lot. She coughed and teared up. “God damn,” she rattled as she stroked my cock lazily, “is there always that much?”

Honestly I didn’t know what to say. She stood up and I kissed her. I tasted cum and smelled her saliva. Later she told me I was the first guy that would kiss her after head.

She grabbed my hand and lead me to the bedroom, but not before turning the album over and removing her bandanna from her beatutiful hair.

We fell into the unmade bed together, a tangle of limbs. Mouths pressed, hands reached. I was surprised at her wetness, my fingers were slippery as I palmed her mound and slid a finger in. She schooled me on how to do it right. I had to learn later that was different for different women. Somehow in my fumbling attempt at masturbating her she came.

As I played with her pussy and tried to touch her how she liked, my tongue and lips found her nipples. I love nipples, and these were perfect. The combination of mouth and hand sent her again.

She was a tiger now. She grabbed my cock, pushed me to my back and mounted me in one motion, her tiny frame shuddered and she moaned about it being so long. I thought then it was my cock she was talking about. More likely it was just about a dry spell in the life of a busy teacher and artist. Her hands were on my chest and she slowly rose until just the tip was inside her. She stopped, head back, mouth open, and then dropped like a stone onto me, fell forward and began to hump. She told me to hold her tight, I did. Tighter, I did.

The orgasm began with her pussy grasping at my cock, followed by shudders and her gasping over and over into my shoulder as tiny orgasms wracked her. At some point she said oh, god, fuck and shook then went limp and slid off of my cock and nestled into me.

I was still hard. She chuckled and said “wow” and slowly began to masturbate me, spitting on my cock to keep it lubricated. Ever since then, when a woman does that it drives me crazy. She knew cock. Her concentration was all in and the tease went on for 15 minutes. Tongue, lips softly on the head. Throat, then suddenly hand tightly around the shaft. Honestly, the best hand job I’ve ever had. I came so hard I roped cum onto her back and the nightstand. Just less of it.

We slept. Her body spooned into mine. I woke at 11:30 and began to play again, my fingers woke her. I got a seductive if sleepy “wow” from her and slid down her body to go down on her. Between her legs, I could toy with her nipples while I learned what she needed from my lips and tongue. Two orgasms later she was begging for my cock. I obliged, it was far better than rutting the bed. This time I was on top and the control felt great. I pounded her pink pussy hard, she matched me stroke for stroke. When I came in her she didn’t even slow down until she had her last cum of the night, rubbing my poor cock raw in search of her orgasm. I slumped off of her and fell asleep again.

I woke up at 3:30AM and told her I had to go.

Monday was weird. She was cold to me. As I left class she handed me a note in the guise of a paper she needed signed:

The note:
It was amazing. I don’t have words. You are a natural Lover. I’m just not sure this is a good idea. I could get fired, and I need this job. So, I don’t know what to say or do.

I shambled through the week. She was back to her old self by Wednesday as was I–mostly on the outside. I understood what it meant for her career, but I was left wanting more. Friday, she handed me another paper that “needed signing”. All it said was we need to talk this weekend.

Weirdly, I still have both notes 40 years on. I found them when going through old papers and letters from the period…what can I say, I’m a packrat.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/xjp3m5/the_art_teacher_and_her_student_fm