I read the little note – www.yourspace.com/prfctangel - for the eighteenth time, and took another sip of wine.

That web address had been written on a small post-it note and attached to the front page of Megan Ralleti’s final exam. It was clearly an invitation – but for what? Was she trying to extend a hand of friendship to me? It might seem a little odd for a student to invite her teacher to visit their YourSpace page, but considering it was Megan, it made sense.

Megan was the quietest student in fourth period Calculus, but she always had the answers. She was brilliant, but not terribly social. The few times I’d tried to talk to her one-on-one, she would blush profusely and trip over her tongue. But I always felt a sort of connection with her; I think that if we were able to talk, we’d find we have a lot in common. So perhaps instead of trying to approach me with small talk, Megan felt more comfortable going a slightly less direct route.

My hesitancy was based on a deeply ingrained personal policy to not get too familiar with my students. I had to be able to uphold a certain level of objectivity in the classroom. I certainly don’t have a stick up my skirt like some teachers do, though. I like to joke around with my students and make class as painless as possible, but I don’t let myself get involved in their personal lives. It just makes things messy.

This time it’s different, though, which has kept me from tossing out the note right away. This was the last class I’d ever have Megan in, so what did it matter? Besides, what would I find? That she enjoys reading science fiction and going to the library?

Draining the last of my wine, I set the glass down and typed the web address into my browser and hit ‘enter’. To say I was surprised by what I saw would be a major understatement. Though I suppose I probably shouldn’t have been quite so shocked. After all, did I really think that my students wore their school uniforms when they weren’t in class? That’s all I’ve ever seen Megan wear, though, so my mind automatically associates those clothes with her.

Even so, seeing the picture on her YourSpace page made my heart flutter. She had her silky brown hair down (she always wore it up at school) framing her innocent face that was colored with just the right shade of eye shadow, eyeliner, blush, and lipstick. Her lips were pouty and moist; I never realized how full and sensual they were. She was leaning forward in the photo, as if she were leaning in to kiss me, and she was displaying a considerable amount of cleavage – much more than I would have guessed. All of the more popular girls tried to “slutty-up” their uniforms, but Megan was always very conservative. Seeing her like this, so sensual and alluring, I couldn’t help myself from getting turned on.

I very much wanted to read her biographical information, but I was more intrigued by that picture. I hoped there would be more like that one. So I clicked the link to her photo album, and was not disappointed.

There were seven more pictures, all different poses and, to my delight, varying levels of undress. The pictures were obviously taken as a single set, and judging from the graininess, she was probably using her cell phone camera or the low-light settings on a digital camera. She was showing her hidden side; there’s a look on her face in all of her pictures, a look that was half fear and paranoia of being walked-in on, and a look of exhilaration.

Who would have known that beneath the conservative skirt and blouse that was the required wardrobe for our school, that there was such a breathtaking body? As I admired her firm, surprisingly large breasts, flat abdomen, long legs, and deliciously tight little ass, I noticed that it was getting warm in my apartment. I released the top two buttons of my blouse as I read through some of the comments people had left on her pictures; almost all of them were from guys wanting to meet up with her and do various things with her body. I was surprised at the attention she got from them. I don’t think I’d ever seen her talk to a boy during school, and now reading all these lecherous comments about her, it was strange. But arousing at the same time.

Going back to her main page, I read through her information – what kind of movies she liked, music, books, television, etc. I wasn’t exactly surprised by her tastes, but I was thrilled that we did indeed have a lot in common. I read through some of the comments her friends left her, but it was mostly well-wishing.

In the blog section, though, something caught my eye. One of the titles of her blog entries was “To my Calc teacher, Miss Wilcox....” My heartbeat doubled, but I can’t say why exactly. I had nothing to be anxious about, nothing to warrant the flood of adrenaline that was now rushing through my system. It was probably just a thank you note. I got those every once in a while from students. Even though I try to keep myself out of their personal lives, I do try to make a difference. There’s usually one student in every class that I really get through to, and that’s what makes my job worthwhile.

Something in the back of my mind didn’t think that was the case here, and it made me hesitant to click that link. Maybe it was a hate letter. That was very highly improbable. So that left one other kind of message. I clicked the link.

This is the exact text that I found waiting for me:

You told us on the first day of class that you’d prefer to be called Sara, not Miss Wilcox. I’m sorry, but I just can’t bring myself to do that, Miss Wilcox, because I have a confession to make. Ever since the first day of class, I’ve fought with this. I denied it as strongly as I could, but I could not win. I wanted to tell someone about it, but I couldn’t. I wanted with all my heart for you to find out about my feelings, but I was terrified. My mind tells me that you will think me a silly little twit, but my heart tells me that you would understand, that you would accept my feelings. For months now, my brain has overruled my heart. But no longer. Now I am letting my heart speak, and I hope that these words find your heart.

I am in love with you, Miss Wilcox.

Ever since I first heard you speak, I’ve been lost. Your smile wrapped my heart around your finger. With every word you’ve spoken to me, no matter how trivial or insignificant, my heart has been wound ever tighter. The way you sat at your desk, you looked like a masterpiece of sculpted marble. The way you tilted your hips as you wrote equations on the board made my heart flutter. Surely you could hear my heart beating from the back of the room?

Every instant I spent in that class, if my eyes weren’t on you, my mind was. I would steal glances up at you while we did our assignments and bask in the radiant glow of your beauty. If you were hard at work grading papers, I would follow the contours of your breasts with my eyes, wondering what your skin would feel like against my lips. The times you sat in the empty desk next to me, discussing my last test or answering one of my questions, all I could think about while I watched your lips caress and fondle the words was what it would feel like to have your tongue in my mouth, groping mine. As I would watch you write out an equation in my notebook, or show me how to work a problem, I would imagine those delicate but strong hands reaching up to unbutton my blouse. I’ve always wanted you to see my breasts, Miss Wilcox; I think you would like them, since you seem to enjoy discretely showing off yours. What would your hands do to me? Would you melt me with a single well-placed caress, or would you make me squirm for hours?

Oh, Miss Wilcox, I could go on and on about what you’ve done to me during our semester together, but thinking about all of this has made me rather warm. You will be in my thoughts tonight when I find my release, just as you have been every night this semester.

Love,

Megan

527 West Oak Street

I didn’t realize what I was doing until my car purred to life. Even then, I didn’t let myself think about it. I just went. I just drove the seven blocks and didn’t stop to think about anything. My rational mind was shut off; it must have been, otherwise I would have rebuttoned my blouse. The next thing I knew, Megan’s front door was opening.

When I saw her, my heart stopped. She was wearing the same white a-shirt and black boyshort panties she’d been wearing in her YourSpace pictures. She must have just taken those photos after school today. Her eyes were wide and emerald green, and her moist lips sparkled.

“Miss Wilcox,” she said, surprised to see me. “what are—“

“Are you here alone?” I heard myself asking as she let me in.

“Yeah.”

I spun around and pulled her against me. Our lips met and the tension in her muscles melted away. Her lips were just as soft as I’d imagined them. I carefully parted her lips with my tongue, tasting every bit of her flesh as I did. Our breasts were crushed together, and I desperately wanted to shed my blouse and bra. I wondered what those luscious lips would do to my nipples. When her tongue timidly came out to meet mine, I moaned.

“That must not have been easy for you, putting that note on your final,” I said, momentarily breaking the kiss. My fingers worked the rest of the buttons free, and I shed my blouse. I was very glad that I’d chosen to wear one of my lacy pink bras, instead of my unsexy functional ones.

Once my blouse was gone, I locked my lips to hers again and began gliding my hands up her sides, gathering the a-shirt as I went. “No, it wasn’t,” she breathed between wet, hungry kisses.

“I’m glad you did, though.” I broke the kiss again, this time to look into her bottomless green pools. My thumbs had found the bottoms of her breasts and I moaned again. “I never would have guessed you to be so sensual, Megan.” I smiled warmly, then dropped my eyes to her chest. With a small maneuver, I lifted her shirt over the swells of her breasts, exposing them to the warm air of her parents’ house. I cupped her heavy breasts in my hands and passed my thumbs over her nipples. They responded instantly, swelling to a remarkable size. Each was about the size of the tip of my pinky finger. I sighed in pleasure as they reached for me, and bent to take each one softly in my mouth.

The moan I heard from Megan made the knot in my lower belly twist and pull on my growing arousal. Her breasts were amazing, firm and soft at the same time. I could have spent hours kissing and fondling her breasts, but the silk of my bra was beginning to feel like sandpaper against my own aching nipples.

Megan carefully pulled my mouth from her breasts. She looked into my eyes for just a few seconds, but I felt months’ worth of pent up emotion swirling behind her eyes. Then she gently cupped my face and kissed me again. The passion in this kiss made the others feel like pecks on the cheek. She somehow managed to kiss me with her whole body, and I felt her heart being poured into it. My knees almost buckled, but she pulled her lips away before my legs gave out. I was left panting while she deftly unclasped my bra and eased it down off my shoulders.

She attended my breasts just as I’d done with hers, softly caressing, daintily suckling my small, tight nipples. “Oh, Megan,” I gasped as I ran my fingers through her silken brown locks. Without realizing it, I was being guided over to her couch. I felt despair when her mouth left my breast, but it only lasted a second until her mouth closed on mine again. Her kisses were more confident every time, and I could feel that strength vibrating through her body; it was in harmony with the buzzing ache between my legs.

Before I knew it, my skirt was suddenly pooled around my ankles. Again I was thankful that I’d chosen to wear some of my more sexy undergarments today; the matching pink thong was one of my favorites. As our tongues danced, Megan’s hands firmly, but gently caressed my hips and butt. She gave the back of my thong a soft tug that sent a bolt of burning need from my crotch to my brain. I broke the kiss and sat down on the couch.

Megan wasted no time. I don’t blame her one bit, considering how long she’d been waiting for this. She dropped to her knees before me with a look of wonder on her shyly beautiful face. My legs didn’t need much coaxing to open for her. She caressed my thighs, squeezing the tight muscles as she drew closer. I felt her hot breath on my damp folds an instant before the tip of her tongue drew a searing line along my nether lips. I gasped at the soft touch. There was wariness in the gesture, but so much desire beneath it. I very nearly grabbed the back of her head and shoved her face in my pussy, but I resisted. This was something she had to do on her own, and I was sure I wouldn’t be disappointed.

I have to wonder if Megan had practice before her time with me. The way she navigated my body, the way she lifted me up so close to my peak only let me drift back down, I found it hard to believe that this was her first time with a woman. That didn’t matter, though. We were there in the moment, and she was doing things to me I never thought possible.

She found my clit quickly and sucked it into her mouth, causing me to scream her name. As if that wasn’t enough, she eased one finger, then a second, and finally a third into my slippery cleft. Writhing on the couch, I found my breasts in my own hands, being squeezed almost painfully. I was so close, so very close – but she wouldn’t let me come. She kept me on the edge, but wouldn’t let me fall. When I felt the finger press against the puckered hole beneath her waggling three fingers, the sensation cascaded through my body, carrying me with it. The orgasm was short, but very powerful. It left me gasping on the couch, whimpering and shuddering as Megan slowly removed her fingers.

With a grin, Megan stood up and looked down at me. I was fighting exhaustion, but managed to sit up on the couch. She went over to the stereo next to the television and turned it on. The house was filled with a thick, languid, sexy beat. I didn’t recognize the song, but that didn’t matter.

Megan strolled back over to where I sat, still breathing heavily. She hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her panties, and began to belly dance to the smooth groove. Again, I was taken by surprise. The lines of her body were so well defined that all I wanted to do was trace every inch of her body with my tongue. As I admired the way she moved, rocking her hips in figure-eights and turning as she did, she nudged her panties down over the full curves of her hips and backside. It was the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen. Every inch of her body was perfectly sculpted, and she knew how to move in order to invoke the desired effects. I didn’t know just what kind of effect she was having on me until I felt my middle finger slip into my slippery cleft. I wouldn’t have thought it possible so soon after that phenomenal orgasm, but I was getting turned on. A lot.

“Good god, Megan,” I whimpered as a wave of ecstasy shuddered through me. When her panties and shirt were gone, she turned to face me, stroking my desire with every tilt of her hips. Still dancing, she climbed up onto the couch and maneuvered so that the smooth, silky flesh of her mound was right in front of my face. My hands glided up the backs of her legs, gripped her tight little ass, and pulled that glorious pussy down onto my mouth. The taste and scent of her sexuality made me light-headed. The sheer vastness of her desire was staggering. My tongue glided over her already moistened folds, dipping in for a taste every once in a while, but I mostly focused on the small metal ring I found dangling from her swollen clit.

“Do you like it?” she asked breathlessly from somewhere above.

“You’re just full of delicious surprises, aren’t you?” I giggled before sucking the piercing back into my mouth. Her body shuddered above me. It must have been hours that I spent playing with her clit ring. I’d seen a couple before, but I’d never been able to play with one. “How long have you had this?”

“I... got it.....” She struggled for breath as I gently slipped a finger into her cleft. “Oh..... I got it.... on my... eighteenth birthday... couple months ago.....Ooh, mmmmm......” I’d snuck another finger into her and was gently massaging the inner walls of her surprisingly tight sheathe. “I got it for you.....”

I paused, surprised by what she said. She’d gotten her clit pierced for me? Was I the only other person that knew about it? The thought thrilled me. “I love it,” I said, giving it a sharp tug with my teeth. “It suits you.” I tugged it again, but this time I didn’t release it. I held it taut as I gently scissored my fingers inside her. Her breaths were becoming shorter and faster, and her legs were beginning to tremble – she was close. I moaned and released the ring, then swirled it around with the tip of my tongue.

Megan screamed and drove her hips down, plunging my fingers deep inside her as she climaxed. Her body buckled above me, and I had a hard time keeping her clit ring in my mouth. I helped ease her down from her peak, and welcomed the warmth of her release on my hand and mouth. She nearly crumbled into my lap, panting and whimpering.

“Oh Miss Wilcox....” She kissed me again, passionately, her way of saying thank you. “That was so much better than my dreams.”

“That was better than I could ever have dreamt.” What a pleasant surprise this had been. “I hope we can do it again.”

“Definitely,” Megan said breathlessly. “I didn’t have a chance to use my toys.”