Mrs. Horny

“Heaton? Paul Heaton?” My assistant addressed the class of sixth-form boys.

“Here, Miss.” The teenage boy nonchalantly raised his arm.

“When this class is finished Mrs. Horner wants to see you in her office. I’ve already informed Mr. Rotheray that you’ll miss his lesson.” She handed him a slip of paper and left the classroom.

I’m the Head of Sixth Form at a Private School in the North of England. I’ve been married to Jim, a policeman, for 22 years. We’ve never had children of our own. Perhaps our jobs have put us off!

My nickname among the pupils is Mrs. Horny! Obviously a play on my surname, but I also because I like to dress ‘nice’. I usually wear stockings under my skirts, (hopefully not too obvious) and I like to show a little bit of cleavage too. I’ve taught at this school for 7 years.

Paul Heaton is the 18 year old Captain of both the rugby and cricket teams. He was very bright but had recently lost interest in his work and was becoming a bit of a troublemaker.

Dave Hemmingway, the Gym teacher had once, crudely, told me that all Paul needed was a ‘young tart’ to empty his balls into and he would be fine.

“Come in!” I called out when Paul knocked on my door.

“Sit down,” I told him, as I read the final few paragraphs of a report that some of his teachers had written about him.

I looked at him over the top of my glasses.

“Do you know why I want to see you?” I asked him.

“No Miss.” He replied, his eyes flicking around my office.

I walked around my desk and perched on the front as I began my lecture to him about ‘working hard’, ‘making more effort’, ‘curbing his temper’, etc, etc.

He looked sheepish and kept nodding his head.

I turned and leant back across the desk to pick up the report. If I did it just right I was sure that he would be able to see my stocking top. When I sat upright again I waved the report at him.

Paul was grinning from ear to ear.

“What are you smiling at?” I demanded to know.

“Nothing Miss.” He lied as he shuffled in his seat, sliding down so he could get a clearer look up my skirt as I crossed my legs.

“Paul!” I waved the report again, “I’ve spent all afternoon reading this! It’s about you! What do you think it says?”

He shrugged his shoulders and didn’t take his eyes off the lace at the top of my black stockings.

“Three of your teachers want me to expel you!” I lied, “What are you prepared to do to make me change their minds?”

Paul suddenly looked shocked, “Anything Miss! I’m sorry! Don’t tell my parents please. I’ll change…honest!” He rambled.

“Well,” I smiled at him; “there may be something that you can do that will convince me that you want to stay at this school.”

“What’s that Miss?” he began to relax; now looking at my ample bosom as I leant forward.

I put the report back on my desk and stepped towards him. I was pleased to see a bulge in his trousers.

“Stand up!” I told him as firmly as possible. Paul stood eye to eye with me.

I stroked his crotch.

“MISS!” He gasped.

“So do you play with yourself?” I cheekily asked him.

“No Miss. Sort of. Oooohh Miss!” He nearly choked as I squeezed his balls.

“What do you think of when you play with yourself?” I chuckled as I lifted his hands and placed them on my large 34d breasts.