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At last the truth comes out.

Bad news from home perhaps? Jim presumed it must be. He couldn't think of anything else that could cause his teacher to look so uncomfortable.

Finally the bell sounded and the class began its usual mad rush for the dinner halls. Mrs. Spritz stayed in her chair. Looking closer he saw that her pupils were blown wide and the pink blush hadn't left her cheeks. Was she high? Snorting Jim left to meet up with Sebastian and his girlfriend Kate. At least now he had something vaguely interesting to think about.


At home that night he thought about Mrs. Spritz and the flushed, dazed look on her face. He imagined his hands running over her pussy and into her tight little hole. He imagined, wherever she was right now, that she could feel his hands on her and as his orgasm hit, that she would be coming with him, knowing it was he who was sending her crashing over the edge into orgasmic oblivion.


A week had passed and Jim's fantasies about Mrs. Spritz had become more and more involved. Click went his ring. Jim sighed and looked through the fogged glass of the classroom door. He could see Mrs. Spritz's outline and he braced himself for yet another day of tedium.


"Jim," said Mrs. Spritz "can I have a word please?" The class had finally ended and he was at last free to go check his email, but no, Mrs. Spritz had to 'have a word' with him. Plastering on his most patient smile he turned to her.

"Sure, what would you like to talk about Mrs. Spritz?"

She didn't meet his eyes as she said, "Whatever it is you're doing to me please can you stop? It's interfering with my work and people are starting to ask questions that, frankly, I can't answer. Please, stop, OK?"

"What?" She'd lost him. "Sorry, I have no idea what you are talking about." Maybe she really was on drugs?

"The," she sought for words "the, every night, you, every night I have these...feelings...and I know it's you that's making me...and I haven't been able to wear...please stop it OK? It's not funny and it could potentially get me fired."

"What? Are you going mad?" What the hell? He didn't even know where she lived never mind understand what she was talking about. It had to be drugs. No family crisis could send anyone this far over the deep end. "Look Miss, I have to go. I really don't know what you're talking about. Yeah, OK, I have to go." Jim turned and headed for the door, on the other side of which relatively sane people lived.

"Wait! Don't you dare go anywhere!" Her outrage made him pause but he didn't turn around.

"Fine" Jim said, "What the hell are you going on about, because, frankly, you sound like a lunatic." Jim turned to face her. "I recommend therapy."

"Well, this is going to make things even better. Fuck." She ran her hands through her hair. "Fuck, you have no idea do you? Look, whatever it is that you're doing is causing me to, well, have orgasms, OK. I can't go anywhere. Every night I can feel your hands on me and you're doing...things to me. Please. Stop."

Jim turned. Had she just said that? This time when he asked the question it was with genuine concern. "What?"

"You heard." Mrs. Spritz flushed again. "I'm not going to repeat myself."

"Orgasms. I'm giving you orgasms? Every night? With my hands? When I'm not there?"

"Yes." Mrs. Spritz' voice was quiet and very embarrassed.

"How?" was Jim's first reaction, closely followed by "You know you sound like you're on drugs right?"

"I don't know!" Mrs. Spritz was getting angry again. "If I knew, do you think I'd be here with you right now? For heaven's sake, I could lose my job for even talking with you about this, but what other option do I have? And now, apparently, you have no idea how you're even doing this and think I'm on drugs. Maybe I have lost it, who knows?"

"Are you wearing any underwear?" It was, in the circumstances, a bit of an odd question but something she had said earlier had caused some sort of light bulb to turn on in Jim's mind.


"Are, you, wearing any underwear?"

"How is that any of your business?" She hadn

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