Ms. Morgan, An Obsession

When I was a senior in high school I had a class with Ms. Morgan, and Ms. Morgan was attractive. Unusually so. Or at least she was to me. Alyssa Morgan was her full name, and she didn't show a lot of cleavage or wear high heels or anything like that but was attractive in a subtle way, in a sort of way she couldn't help, and had long, dark, hair, almost black, which she nearly always wore down, and it was long enough to fall down nearly to the small of her back which curved inwards from her ass in a fit and athletic way and seemed to be almost permanently arched, so whenever she turned to write on the board her hair would swing and land right on that spot and it was immensely sexual in its own way. I found almost everything about her sexual. She had a small, tight, athletic frame and smooth looking tan skin. Her face had delicate features, with an upturned nose, which held up dark-framed glasses that seemed to accentuate her green eyes. She wore skirts often, colorful, flowing skirts, and although they were never very short, in warmer weather they'd get a little bit shorter, to just above her knees.

When she turned to write on the board, I would imagine her moving her hands down to the waist of her skirt and slowly wiggling herself out of it, bending over, moving her hips from side to side and arching her back even more than it usually did. Then I would imagine a black lacy thong coming into view, and the waist of the skirt would slide slowly down her ass and drop to the floor, and she'd stand back up and continue writing on the board, her ass making slight movements as she wrote.

And her ass. My god, her ass. She didn't even show it off on purpose. The skirts she wore were loose and flowing, but when she walked I could see the way her ass worked the movement of the fabric. The skirt would sway outwards at the hips, back and forth, ever so slightly. The outline of her ass came through these skirts too, even though they were loose. Each cheek would press against and slightly tighten the fabric, and it left two prefect round humps with a slight indentation in the middle, where her ass crack was. Her ass wasn't big, just perfect. It curved out form her body underneath the arch of her back and widened out in a muscular way that seemed to suggest she had been a runner in college, or maybe a gymnast.

She wore thongs, too. I know she did. Nothing but thongs. In class, a kid sat in front of me and constantly raised his hand for help, and though I'm sure he was just trying to get a good view of her, he had no idea what he was missing from my angle. She would come over to his desk and lean over at the waist and, no matter what she was wearing, the sight would make my balls heavy and my cock ache.

As she bent over, her skirt would press against her ass and her legs and I could see just how muscular it all really was, and she'd shift her weight from one leg to the other and it looked like she was moving her ass back and forth, just for me. Often I could see the faint outline of a g-string, and one time, as she bent over, I even saw the two thin, pink lines of a thong rising up on her hips. Then, as I watched, she bent over further and her skirt fell down just enough to reveal more of her panties; a third pink string lightly attached to the first two that fell straight down onto the curve of her ass. I nearly came at the sight. My dick grew unbearably hard and became so sensitive that at even at the slightest movement I could feel the fabric of my briefs brush up against the length of it, and this felt good in such an unexpected way that I accidentally let out a small moan and had to concentrate on holding back my cum. Then she dropped a pencil off the side of the desk and bent over over at the knees to get it, and the waist of her skirt opened up enough for me to see that thin, pink string fall into the top inch of her ass crack. The sides of the thong rose up even more, and sat up above her hips. I think she realized she was showing then, because she straightened up and pulled her skirt back to its normal spot, and I even saw her run her thumb along the inside of her waist to tuck the thong back down.

By some miracle, I managed not to cum at the sight of her ass filling up her skirt again as she pulled it back to her waist, but I remember getting home from school and jerking off immediately. I came so forcefully that my cum shot onto the wall behind me with a soft splat, and I stroked my cock to the image of that skinny pink thong all night, cum spilling onto my stomach over and over.

This may all seem a little excessive, but I was an eighteen year old kid who had just discovered sex, and I wanted to know how good it could really be. I had had sex before, but it had been awkward and uninspired. In my mind there wasn't another female that compared to Alyssa Morgan, who was a goddess. Everything she did drove me crazy, and everything I did was to impress her.

But Ms. Morgan never even showed a remote interest towards me, or any of her students. Why would she? She was in her twenties, smart, beautiful, and we were all overexcited, underdeveloped teenage boys who practically came at the sight of her. We wouldn't have had a clue on how to handle her, and she knew it.

Still.

Every once in a while, if I got a question right or did good on a test, she would give me a quick little smirk, a smirk I imagined to be the exact same look she might give me as I pushed my cock into her for the first time, with her legs spread wide open, her pussy dripping wet on the sheets of my bed.

In the winter she wore sweaters that fit her form well. Her breasts, though not overly large, stood out obvious and perky from her slim upper body. When it was warmer, along with her shorter skirts, she would wear button up blouses that rarely showed any hint of cleavage. They were short, though, and when she reached up to grab a book off the high shelfs in the room I could catch a quick glimpse of her slender waist, with a piercing on her stomach, and the rest of her body would stretch out and the blouse would tighten and outline the shape of her tits. And even though I never saw much of them, I knew exactly what they would look like. She would wear a lacy push up bra, black maybe, and her tits would be a perky tear drop, slight at the top and heavy on the bottom, and when I pulled her shirt up and over her head they would fall out and shake a little and then return to their usual, perky form. Her nipples would be small and pink, and they would bounce and stay hard as she rode me.

Most of my senior year was like this. I would sit in math class, thinking of ways to impress or approach Ms. Morgan, following every little movement she made and allowing my mind to run wild with fantasy. She'd bend over in front of me, and in my mind I would pull up her skirt and her tan, beautiful ass would be out in the open. Sheâ'd spread her legs out a little, pull her thong out of the way and shift her ass slowly from side to side, inviting me to fuck her. And I would fuck her. Right there, in front of the other kid who had tried so hard to get her to notice him, in front of all the other guys, and they would all be jealous and furious as she worked her ass back into my cock and moaned quietly to herself. I would slide in and out of her cunt until I couldn't take any more, and when I pulled out my cum would spill all over the small of her back, right where it arched, and as my dick throbbed, jizz would race down the side of her, down the crack of her ass, and all over her skirt, and she would continue to circle and move her hips just as she had done while I was inside her. After I was done she would, using a single finger, wipe some of my cum off of her ass, put it in her mouth, and smile.

Then she'd keep teaching. She would pull her skirt down, walk to the front of the room and continue her lesson, the back of her skirt still covered in my some of my cum. The other boys would sit there quiet and horny, still jealous, groins aching. As she wrote equations on the board the rest of my cum would slide slowly down the backside of her leg, and I would see some of guys cringe from orgasm and small, wet spots grow on their crotches.

Fantasy. All of it. A good one though, and there were countless others just like it.

At first I hid the erections that came from these daydreams by putting books or papers on my lap, but after about halfway through the year I stopped. I didn't care. I wanted her to see.

If she ever did see, though, she paid no mind. She seemed to be the perfect model of professional. Never once did I see her pick favorites, and while she would joke with kids from class in the hallways and after school, she would never let it get too personal. But I didn't think she couldn't be as perfect as she let on. There were clues. The belly piercing, for one. And sometimes when she was working at her desk and the class was quiet she'd get this far off expression on her face, and she'd close here eyes and bite her bottom lip, and something about the way she looked made me think she was remembering or anticipating some sort of wildness in her life out of school. Maybe she had just met someone. Maybe his cock was big and thick, and she was planning how she wanted to fuck him the next time she saw him. Maybe she was considering using the vibrator from her desk to masturbate in the bathroom down the hall, or maybe she was thinking about how every guy in this class would fuck her, right now, if she wanted, and her panties were turning damp as she sat there. Maybe I was just imagining it.

The way I constructed who she was in my mind was probably unfair to her, but I had no choice. The only way I thought she would ever fuck me was if she was some sort of closeted sexual maniac, a woman who had only become a high school teacher because of the pleasure she got from making students bulge in their pants. So that's who she was to me.

Near the end of my senior year my body began to develop. I had always been a skinny kid, but the motivation to get Ms. Morgan to notice me led me to exercise regularly and build up muscle. My sexual appetite was out of control, and my balls seemed to be an endless supply of semen. I wasn't dating anyone, but had sex with several different girls on a regular basis. My friends and I would throw parties in our basements and invite girls over to drink with us, and almost every single one of these parties would escalate in some sort of sexual frenzy.

One night, each girl picked a guy and tried to make him cum more than all the others, but without actually fucking him. This was all done out in the open where everyone could see. I remember watching a girl named Chloe, with a cute face, short dark hair, big tits and a nice ass, put my dick in her mouth for awhile, and then turn around and slide it up and down the length of her ass. She used one hand to rub the underside of my balls and the other to reach around and keep my cock in place as she moved her hips up and down and to the side. The saliva on my cock, left over from her mouth, made her ass glisten as she worked, desperately, to make me cum for the sixth time.

This night was the first time I felt the pleasure of actually making other men jealous. They all had their own girls, sure, but none of the the girls seemed to enjoy the game or get creative in the way Chloe did. That night I came all over her body - her face, her tits, her ass, her stomach, wherever I wanted, and as I did her pussy gleaned wet and she moaned with pleasure. I looked across the room and saw all my friends watching, their faces sick with jealousy. One of them told me later that he only came for a third time because he was watching Chloe finger herself as cum ran down the side of her face, down her neck and onto her tits.

At the end of the night, when the game was over and I had won, Chloe took me into a separate room and forced me down on the bed. She rode my dick as hard as she could while I rubbed her clit and, even though I was raw and exhausted, I came into her as her face tensed and her body shook with an orgasm. Afterwards she lay her head on my chest, and I think she might have even told me that she loved me.

Another night we reversed the game, and as Chloe spread her legs and rubbed the top of my head while I flicked her clit with my tongue, I thought about how it was all just practice. I hadn't taken my mind off Ms. Morgan, and I was still desperate for her. And she was changing.

Gone were the conservative dressing days of earlier that year. In my last month of high school she decided to drop her professional image. Her longer skirts were replaced with shorter ones that failed to meet the dress code, I'm sure, and she wore tight, high waisted jeans, yoga pants, and all kinds of shorts that showed off her ass in ways I find difficult to describe.

But I'll try.

Her jeans perfectly detailed the change in figure from her waist to her hips, and were tight enough on her ass to outline the bottom curve of her cheeks. When she walked in these jeans she must have exaggerated the movement in her ass, because the way the back of her tensed and moved didn't seem entirely natural.

The black yoga pants she wore were so tight that I could see the definition of the muscles on her thighs and ass when she stood up and lectured, and I no longer needed to struggle to make out the line of whatever thong she was wearing, as her pants were nearly see through. From my seat in the second row I could see the color of her panties right through the fabric covering her crotch. Pink with white polka dots one day, yellow and lacy the next, and it wasn't just the front of them I saw, either. When she turned to face the board I could see a perfect outline of what she was wearing, circling her hips and plunging down into her ass.

And the shorts she wore. Alyssa Morgan wore shorts that no teacher has ever dared wear before. They were different materials, jean, cotton, even tight, volleyball spandex, and they all came to the exact same place, directly below the bottom of her ass. They were so tight and did such a terrible job of covering her that one of her cheeks always seem to peek out, and a full bottom portion of her ass would be exposed. A part of her ass would hang out, ever so slightly, as she wrote on the board, and would make slight movements when she wrote, just as I had imagined they would.

It was the skirts she wore, though, that made me cum when I stroked my cock at night. Whenever she turned around, or sat down, or even just walked too fast, the skirt would fly up and reveal her upper thighs. When she bent over it got out of control.

She was still walking over frequently to help the kid at the desk in front of me, who at this point I was convinced was sincerely dull, and would bend over perfectly at the waist, with no bend to the knees at all, and would presented me with a ball-numbing view of her legs and ass. The entire length of her legs were before me and they were long, tan, and perfectly toned, and her panty covered cunt was obscured only by the the very end of her skirt. She still did the same movement as before, shifting her weight from one leg to the other, but now she also had a habit of placing one of her hands on the backside of her leg and rubbing it up and down, idly, on the backside of her thigh. Her long, dark hair would drape over her back, still falling right on the small of her back that seemed to naturally arch more and more away from her ass every day.

Unlike before, she seemed unabashed by her own exposure. Not only did she make no moves to conceal herself, she seemed to encourage it. The shorter the skirts, the tighter the pants, the more revealing the shorts, the more she would bend over. She'd bend over at almost every opportunity and sometimes for no reason at all.

During this time, I'd look over the room and watch all the other guys squirm uncomfortably in their seats, their cocks throbbing and growing thick in their pants. There was no avoiding it, for any of us. It was all too much. I watched their faces grow red and their expressions change, and dark, wet spots appear on the front of their pants as she bent over and the tan, tight flesh on the inside of her legs were exposed. It happened to me, too. When she bent over in front of me and traced her fingers up and down the back of her perfect thigh, I lost all control. I spent several of the hallway periods after her class in the bathroom stall wiping loads of cum off my cock and out of my underwear.

Cleavage made an appearance on her as well. She only wore one type of top now, a form fitting, deep-v collared t-shirt in black, always black. The black matched the color of her hair, intensified the green in her eyes and brought out the tan of her skin. Her cleavage was deep, with a slight freckling to the skin between her tits. The breasts themselves stood out especially perky and obvious from her body, and the tightness of her shirts drew out their round shape. She wore a necklace around her neck with a simple chain and a small, heart shaped pendent that fell right into the depth her cleavage and stayed there.

Her shirts were always tucked into whatever bottom she was wearing, and it did wonders for showing off the fitness of her stomach. I could see the lines over her muscled, but not overly muscled, abdomen, and the faint indent of her stomach piercing. Her shirts brought out the athletic arch in her back even more, and at one point during class, as I watched her hair fall perfectly again onto the small of her back, I absently reached down and gave my cock and my balls a short, tight squeeze, for the pleasure of it.

At some point, she stopped wearing bras. She probably didn't see the need to. Her breasts stood perfectly on their own and there was little difference between her appearance, with it or without a bra, except for her nipples. They were constantly hard, but small and difficult to notice unless you were looking. I saw them, though, and with her nipples prominent on her chest, her shirt tight and her skirt short, I could almost picture how she would look naked.

And when she walked her tits would bounce up and down, ever so lightly.

It was all becoming too much for me.

There's something deeply irresistible about a teasing teacher fantasy when you're a boy in high school, and when it comes true it's almost too much to bear, as I and all the others found out. The impossibility of it is what really drives the obsession, I think. And she was teasing, at this point, to be sure, and making me cum in unbelievable amounts as a result.

But I was tired of masturbating. I was more confident, and had reason to be. My body was well muscled, and, as Chloe and others had confirmed on multiple occasions, I was well endowed. My cock was long, thick, and smooth to the touch. And I knew how to use it. After Chloe and I had sex, as we were doing regularly now, she would fall back on my bed, sweating all over, legs shaking, and would mutter, quietly to herself, jesus christ.

So I knew I was good at pleasuring women, and I knew if I could just convince Ms. Morgan to fuck me once she would keep coming back for more. In reality, though, there was very little I had actually done to get her attention up until this point, having been too shy or too nervous about what to do. But Ms. Morgan took care of that for me.

It was the Monday of the last week of school, and she was wearing her hair up in a messy bun, which was rare, and wore a short, tight dark blue skirt that, once again, barely covered her ass. The skirt had an open seam in the front on one side and whenever she walked the top of the inside of her thigh would peak through the skirt. On her feet she wore, for the first time, a pair of heels. Modest, and of low height, but still, the heels made her legs and ass simply pop out, and it was impossible to look at anything else in the room.