With making breakfasts, getting the kids ready for school, and the flurry of necessary pedestrian activity after a late night, it was hard to believe it had really happened. Simon had already left for work and nothing more had been said. Was it just a dream? It seemed so unlikely and bizarre in the bright light of day. I quickly prepared myself for school, checked myself in the mirror: yes, there I was, sensible Mrs Sanders, skirt not too short, heels not too high, nipples under control—well, sort of, I couldn’t control the ambient temperature and what happened through my favourite filmy bras. All the same, I thought, as I slipped on a jacket—pretty fucking Milfish!
My upper-sixth class, all eighteen young men, were already in the classroom when I walked in, their chatter quietening to a Good Morning, Mrs Sanders in response to my greeting. As I glanced at the whiteboard I noticed that it was covered in examples of irregular French verbs, obviously from the last class yesterday. My back still to the class, I was opening my briefcase when I saw the sentence Is bukkake best for a MILF complexion? written in a different coloured marker at the bottom of the board. I froze. Immediately my hands began to shake and my mouth felt parched. I leaned forward, holding the table for support, I mustn’t collapse. It’s got to be a coincidence—none of them could know. I pretended to search for something among my documents; yes, that was it—I knew what I had to do.
“Sorry, guys,” I said, turning to them. “I’ve forgotten something in the staff room.” I scanned their faces, not a sign of a snigger or suspicious smile. They probably hadn’t even noticed it themselves. Just a coincidence. “I’ll just be a couple of minutes so just chat quietly among yourselves till I’m back.”
I closed my briefcase and left the room, closing the door behind me.
I didn’t go as far as the staffroom. I stopped at the general office, behaved as though I was just popping in to use the bathroom, and lifted a disposable plastic cup that I filled with iced water. I’m just over-reacting I told myself. There was no way any of them could know anything about me—no-one could.
It had been all so unlikely that even I was finding the events of last evening hard to believe. But, except for a strange, not unpleasant, sensation around my anus I felt physically the same as every other working day. No, I must just return to the classroom, stop being so paranoid and ignore what was written on the board. After all, I wasn’t the only female teacher in the school. Quite a lot were younger than me. For all I knew one of them was the target of the graffiti; damn it, it could have been written at any time yesterday. Think logically! Maybe it was targeted at one of the young French assistants. Yes, that’s probably it.
As I was approaching the classroom door I saw a flash of movement, obviously one of them on lookout. Yes, it was hard to creep up unnoticed when wearing high heels. I went in and didn’t even look at the board, just took my seat and commenced the lesson. It proceeded quite normally and when the bell went for the mid-morning break, I packed my briefcase and stood up, preparing to slip on my jacket. But the class wasn’t moving with its usual alacrity. They seemed to be dawdling, waiting for something.
“Excuse me, Mrs Sanders . . .” a young pupil of oriental extraction spoke. He was a tall, handsome young man, sometimes a bit of a joker in class, but never a problem.
“Yes, Mark, what is it?”
“While you were away we were discussing something that’s written on the board.” The room became profoundly silent. I felt my throat constrict.
“It’s a foreign word that none of the class knows, but because of my family background I have heard it. However, the others don’t believe me. Could you clear it up for us, please?” His smile was wide and he was pointing at the board. I had no choice. I had to turn around.
There it was: Is bukkake best for a MILF complexion? glared at me. But that wasn’t all. Underneath it someone had added Can also be taken internally. My face felt on fire.
A voice from the class asked, “How would you pronounce that Mrs. Sanders? The first sentence, that is . . .”
I heard my disembodied voice pronouncing the words, finishing the sentence right up to the last word.
“What’s bukkake, Mrs, Sanders?” another voice asked, to a giggle from the class.
“What’s a MILF?” another anonymous voice asked.
Jesus, they must know. They wouldn’t be doing this unless they had something on me. I didn’t know what to do.
Mark’s voice came to my rescue. “Bukkake is a Japanese technique of dashing or heavy splashing of warm water onto noodles, isn’t that right, Mrs Sanders?”
I turned to face them. Jesus, I could see they were in charge. Gooseflesh prickled all over me. I felt exposed, virtually naked before them. I glanced down to see my nipples protruding like thimbles through my bra, straining against my summer blouse for them all to gawp at.
“I . . . er . . . I don’t know, Mark.”
“You’ve never had bukkake, then?” a voice asked.
“No, not that I was aware . . .” I stammered.
“You should try it, in that case,” Mark continued. “It’s a Japanese speciality. Very popular with women . . .”
“What’s a MILF, then?” I could see the questioner now, a school rugby player. One that I had suspicions about in the past.
“I don’t know, Robin.” I said, striving for some authority.
“That’s slang for an attractive more mature woman, Mrs Sanders,” Mark informed me in a helpful tone. “I suppose you could say you were a MILF, in fact.”
Even as I said the words, “Thank you.” I knew I shouldn’t have spoken. I felt trapped.
“Maybe, in a couple of weeks when the exams are over, and before we head off to university or wherever, perhaps you would join us for a farewell bukkake evening, Mrs Sanders? The evening will be on us, we’ll provide everything necessary. It would be a night you wouldn’t forget.”
Robin, the rugby player, added, “And they say it’s great for the complexion, especially for a MILF like you.”
I began to feel faint. I put my hand down to steady myself and stumbled. Mark grabbed me and stopped me falling. I felt hands on my legs as I was laid on the ground. Someone put a blazer beneath my head. Another jacket was thrown across me as I saw Robin push his way through.
“I’ve got First Aid training,” he announced as I felt his hands scrabbling, unbuttoning my blouse, pushing my bra up, and sticking his ear to my chest, between my breasts.
Above me, all I could see was a circular mess of faces, though I could feel hands all over me. Hands were fumbling under my skirt now, I could feel them pushing the hem up to my waist. Robin blatantly sucked on a nipple, while someone else, black-haired, Mark perhaps, was suckling on another. My legs were being parted, I could feel tension around the gusset of my tights, before release—they had been ripped. Immediately, I felt fingers enter me, before I passed out.
I don't know how long I was unconscious, possibly only minutes, but maybe longer, before I came to. I was being given water and was now seated at my desk. Somehow, I was wearing my jacket again. I looked down. My blouse was buttoned, though my bra felt a little uncomfortable.
“Maybe you should take the rest of the day off, Mrs Sanders,” the vice-principal, standing in front of me, said. “I’m arranging for your remaining lessons today to be taken over. We’ll have you accompanied home.”
What’s wrong with me? Did I just imagine all that? Did I collapse from the strain of the past twenty-four hours and hallucinate the whole thing. I looked at the boys and saw nothing but concern on their faces. I glanced to the side; the whiteboard had been wiped of the offending sentences. Had they ever been even there? Am I heading for a nervous breakdown? Yes, I will! I’ll take the rest of the day off.
Once I finished drinking the water and stood up I felt a lot better, but still the VP insisted I go home. He assigned Mark and Robin to accompany me; Mark carried my briefcase while Robin kept a secure hold of my arm. Once at my vehicle, I thanked the boys profusely, told them I’d be okay from here—but no, they had been assigned to ensure that I got home safely. So, despite my protests, Robin helped me into the passenger seat, took my keys, and drove my car, while Mark followed in his own.
It was still a daze to me: had there been nothing on the board? Was my imagination going crazy? Was I on the verge of a nervous breakdown? I couldn’t really ask Robin. As he drove he behaved perfectly normally, constantly asking me if I was still feeling okay.
They both accompanied me into my house and closed the door behind them. Robin suggested that I should perhaps go to bed for a couple of hours. Maybe, I should. After all, I’d had a hell of a night. But was it all just a stream of hallucinations, maybe even last evening didn’t happen? I almost laughed to myself: last night, becoming a biker-slave; this morning being invited to an end-of-term bukkake party. How crazy. Of course, it didn’t happen.
Maybe, you’re right, I agreed. When he helped me off with my jacket I noticed my blouse was misbuttoned—had he checked my heart-rate in that inappropriate way after all? I grabbed the bottom of my bra and pulled it down. Yes, it must’ve been pushed up—had they both really been sucking on my tits as I’d sort of dreamt? I was being guided up the stairwell, still in Robin’s firm grip, while Mark followed, placing what was no doubt meant to be stabilising hands on my hips as we climbed. I pointed out my bedroom and Mark closed the curtains while Robin sat me on the bed and took my pulse.
“Nice shoes,” Mark commented to no-one in particular, lifting last-night’s black killer heels from the floor where I had abandoned them. Before I knew it he was holding up my skimpy black cum-stained skirt, then seconds later he was stretching out one of my shredded stockings which was still partially attached to my suspender belt. “Very fucking MILF-like, Mrs Sanders”
Did he just say that? I was confused. Robin was assuring me that my pulse was fine, was lying me down on the bed, and unbuttoning my blouse. Next, Mark was helping. Unzipping my skirt and pulling it down. I didn’t resist—you can’t resist a hallucination, I rationalised. As he peeled off my tights, I saw the tear in the gusset. It was true, it had happened—or that bit had anyway. I’ll have to ask. I’ll have to find out where reality ended and illusion began. I was now lying on the covers dressed in just my filmy bra and equally filmy thong. Both of them were standing above me; I imagined them virtually salivating. Two more Big Bad Wolves.
“Mark,” I said, trying to pull things together, with one hand over my vagina and my forearm covering my nipples. “Was there something written on the board that you asked me about? Or did I imagine that?”
“Maybe, Mrs Sanders,” he leaned forward, gently unfolding my arm from my breasts. Robin took hold of the hand over my thong and moved it to the side as well. “There’s not much point in concealing those at this stage, is there? We’ve become quite accustomed to seeing them pointing at us through your tops in class.
“What was it you think was written on the board?” He peeled my thong off, pointedly sniffed the crotch and threw it to Robin.
This was too surreal. I’ll just spit it out, I thought. “Bukkake! MILF! Were those on the board?”
Suddenly, I realised that Robin had my bra removed and was kneading my breasts.
“You’re right, Mrs Sanders. Those were the very words. We thought we’d better erase them before the VP arrived. We wouldn’t want you to have been compromised, writing stuff like that on a classroom board.”
“What!” I almost bolted upright, except Robin’s hands were restraining me. “I didn’t write those! You lot must’ve!”
“Don’t worry, Mrs Sanders, none of us would ever say anything. We’ve seen when MILF’s been written on the board, and you come in to class, then, after a while, erase it. It’s happened time after time, but only in your classes. We reckoned you were doing it on purpose, to tease us. Remember, we’ve watched you over the last nine months since your divorce, and you’ve obviously been getting hornier and hornier. Skirts getting shorter and shorter, nipples pointing like a porn queen. To tell you the truth, Mrs Sanders, we were worried you’d get into trouble with the school authorities dressing like that.”
Robin interrupted, “But, to a man, we all love it.” He leaned over to the floor and lifted last night’s top. “And we’d fucking love to see you coming into school wearing something like this.”
“Speaking for myself,” Mark said, standing up and producing his erect penis from his trousers. “I’d just like to see you cumming, period. Stick your fingers in and give us a bit of a show—as a reward for saving your bacon today.”
“Well, as part of the reward,” Robin said, now leaning naked over me, before he stroked his cock around my face.
“No! Let me, first,” Mark said. He launched himself on top of me, locking his face on mine, kissing me voraciously while tearing at my breasts.
I seemed to click into automatic mode, reacting as Simon had taught me in our fantasies. Breaking kissing contact for a moment, I slathered my cunt in lubricating saliva and grabbed his madly prodding cock and located him properly into my slippery slope. He just took off, yelling and pumping me, while still fully dressed in school uniform.
Yes, Simon had trained me well, this was so fucking erotic! I clamped him tightly between my legs as I felt him start to blow, holding him, making him fuck hard against me till my clit and cunt were chiming in unison.
I don’t wind down easy. Mark had finished, but hadn’t escaped. I had him firmly gripped and was still bucking against him to get the last final jags of pleasure when I noticed Robin, red-faced, and red-dicked wanking his big hard cock, aimed directly at my mouth. Mark saw my gaze and pulled away just in time as cords of semen shot onto my face. He rolled off me. Robin straddled my chest, still wanking the dregs of his balls, and I took the still stiff rod in my mouth and sucked him clean.
When they left and went back to school, I did as I’d been ordered, and went directly to sleep.
