Ms. Stevens - Sex Stories

Ms. Stevens

... of quiet tension as the class waited for the inevitable class detention that would have been forthcoming with most teachers. But instead, she just unclasped her hands, gave a small smile and said "Thank you". She then turned to face the blackboard and began teaching the lesson. The class, surprised by her tolerance, were far too shocked to begin talking again. Once she began teaching the lesson, it became apparent that she was a genuinely great teacher. She cared about what she was teaching enough to actually make a real effort to engage people, and was patient enough to bring around those who might have taken advantage of her tolerance. The only problem was that Paul was so distracted by her voluptuous curves that he could barely focus, especially on a biology lesson. In the end, the bell rang and they moved onto other classes, but Paul's mind stayed with Ms. Stevens. A week passed, and Paul was getting used to the daily grind of school. Get up, Get ready, Drive to school, Listen to teachers go on about pointless crap, Try to pay attention, Go home. The only time this routine was ever really and truly interrupted was when he had Ms. Stevens. Paul began to anticipate biology with joy, excitement even. It was after one biology-less day, when he crashed onto his bed in the afternoon, sighing with the frustrations of school. His phone rang beside his bed and he picked it up and pressed it to his ear. "Hello?" Paul said "Paul", his mother said, "I'm going to be working late ...

... tonight, so you'll have to drive yourself to work." Paul groaned inwardly. He had completely forgotten he had work. "There's dinner in the fridge", continued his mother, "Grab yourself a plate and heat it up, I'll see you when you get back from work." Paul said goodbye and hung up, annoyed at the thought of work. Paul worked at a restaurant, washing dishes. It was shitty work and shittier pay, but Paul needed the cash and his mom pestered him until he finally got a job. Paul dreaded every minute of that shift. Sighing, Paul got up and got changed into his work clothes before trudging downstairs to make his dinner. Work was, predictably, pretty shit. He washed dishes seemingly endless amounts of dishes, stacked endless plates, and was abused by the cooks all night. At the end of the night, Paul walked out of the kitchen, taking care not to slip on the newly mopped floor, and told the manager his shift was over. The manager thanked him in a default, monotonous tone and handed him his cash. Paul was paid in cash, which was vaguely dodgy, but he didn't earn enough to have a taxable income anyway, he supposed. He was sure they listed his pay as donations to charity to get out of paying tax, but he didn't really care. Paul stepped out of the car park and looked down at the meager bills he held in his hand. It surely didn't seem like much for four hours of his life. As Paul walked towards the car park, he noticed a figure making a their way towards it a little further on. Every now and ...