Miss Bixley Lends a Hand

"Yes, ma'am," Ralph softly replied and sighed deeply as he felt the fingers of Miss Bixley tenderly and affectionately stroke his cock. He had only once before felt the fingers of a woman on his dick, and that was so long ago. Well, actually, just the previous year, but it had only been once. It was a night to remember, an experience he would never forget, but it seemed to now melt away in his distant memory as he basked in the present moment, the wonder, of being stroked by the lovely Miss Bixley.

He breathed in the scent of her perfume and felt against his cheek the softness of her lacy womanly pillows, rising up and down with her full, heavy breathing. He rubbed and cuddled his face in deeper. This was indeed so much more than he could have possibly hoped for, and he knew that it would not be long before his dick exploded.

"Ralphie," Miss Bixley said softly, stroking his hair with her left hand while she stroked his cock with the other.

"Yes, ma'am," he said into her breast.

"Would you like to play with Miss Bixley's vagina?" She couldn't get herself to say cunnie. It just seemed so very inappropriate from the mouth of an instructor.

He pulled his face away from her boobs to look into those pretty round chestnut eyes. They usually were twinkling with enthusiastic gaiety. They were now misty with lustful arousal. "Could I?"

It was an unusual step for Miss Bixley, with any man, let alone a young man, a student. But, perhaps because it was a student is what made it alright, made it more innocent and harmless. She was not letting some guy use her, take advantage of her. She was the one in control, in command. And, she was, after all, helping the young man get a better grade on his next test. She would have to admit, though, it was also taking care of her increasing frustration and unrequited arousal. At least she should no longer have those disturbing dreams and fantasies.

Miss Bixley momentarily released her hands from Ralph to again step back and reach down for the hem of her skirt and pull it up to her waist. It wasn't that easy to pull it up high enough, as it was rather tight and long, a bit past her knees. But, the sight of her wiggling her hips and bottom left and right as she worked the skirt up her thighs was itself rather fetching, particularly with her boobs already half exposed, boobs clearly wiggling inside her brassiere. It would be so nice, Ralph thought, if all teachers were as considerate and helpful as Miss Bixley. He would certainly vote for her as Teacher of the Year. Miss Nishida had won it this year, but Ralph could not imagine Miss Nishida being any more deserving than Miss Bixley (see "Miss Nishida motivates the boys").

His eyes opened with increasing urgency and lust as the lacy top of her thigh high nylons came into view, followed by a bit of entirely naked lily white thigh and then, as she hesitated for a moment, perhaps a moment of doubt, the very cusp of her womanly mound appeared, just a little round white lacy pouch was peeking out from beneath her blue business skirt, and then she went further to bring entirely into view her white feminine panties, a match to her brassiere. "Oh man, Miss Bixley," Ralph gasped, "those are really great!"

"Do you really like my panties, Ralphie?"

"Oh yea, ma'am, I really do, very much so."

She knew it was the compliment of a rabidly aroused undergraduate, but it did still sound so nice. No man had ever yet complimented her on her panties, as no man had yet ever seen them. She felt very pleased to show them first to a student, hopefully inspiring him to further complete his studies and someday become a professor himself.

Miss Bixley reached under her skirt with her right hand to slide her panties to the side so that he could see, and get to, her vagina, although she now realized that vagina really wasn't the best word for it, not anymore. "What do you call it, Ralph?"

Now, that was a really tough question. Not likely to be on the next test but nevertheless one with potentially far worse consequences. What do you say at a moment like this? What is the correct word for your teacher's thing? He really couldn't say vagina. He knew that was probably the correct word. It was the word she had used herself, but it was so clinical, so boring, so sexless. It was not at all complimentary. But, cunt was probably way too derogatory and disrespectful. Pussy wasn't bad, but that also seemed rather disrespectful, certainly not the correct way to be speaking to one's professor. Cunnie seemed too childish and infantile. Miss Bixley was much too old to have a cunnie, or at least he felt that way. But, now realizing her age he did have a thought. It's not that Miss Bixley was an old woman, or anything like that. He was himself probably half her age. He figured she was in her thirties. But, when he read the older pornography, perhaps the pornography of her generation; well, at least the pornography of the Victorian age, the true age of romance literature, he often came across another word, one that she would probably appreciate. "Quim," he said proudly. "I like to call it a quim."

Miss Bixley had to stifle a giggle. She would never imagine a college student using that word. It seemed a rather strange choice, but this wasn't the time to be judgmental or critical. "Quim, what a pretty, pretty name, Ralphie. Come here then, young man, and diddle Miss Bixley's quim." Her face again reddened at referring to his fingering as diddling. That had just inadvertently slipped out.

Ralph did step right up but he first paused to again just admire the sight of his teacher, her luscious lacy boobies thrusting out from her opened blouse, her skirt pulled up to her waist, her long shapely nylon clad legs all in view all the way up to her thighs and, best of all, her panties pulled aside so that he could ponder, admire, and feast on the sight of her womanly quim.

Miss Bixley did have a very wonderful quim. She had a bit of growth, but not so much that you couldn't see her feminine lips, which were really quite slim and dainty, not thick or fleshy. They were rather modest, perhaps even reserved, which did in fact befit her rather demure demeanor. Ralph was ecstatic. Her lips looked simply wonderful to him, so mysterious, so provocative, so inviting and, in fact, so moist. He could see her arousal glistening in the stark light of the classroom. Miss Bixley was actually sexually aroused, and aroused simply by the fact that he had been feeling her boobs and she had been stroking his cock. This was so, so cool. He really did wish he could tell his friends about this, but he knew he wouldn't. He wouldn't violate the trust of Miss Bixley. He stepped forward to place his fingers, for the first time, on the soft, wet lips of a woman's cunt; well, actually, her quim.

Miss Bixley gasped when she felt the boy's fingers touching her, down there. A little whimper of arousal escaped her lips and she rested one hand on the boy's shoulder as she brought the other back to his erection. "Yes," she whispered in Ralph's ear, "finger my quim, Ralph, finger Miss Bixley's warm, wet quim." Her face flushed with her use of such obscene language, as well as with the fiercely fervent excitement she was now feeling.

Now that he was there, however, Ralph didn't know exactly what to do. He had read enough pornography that he did know that he could and should do a lot of things, but he also knew that he had himself very little time left. With the feel of her hand stroking his cock, this tutoring session would soon be over. He quickly fingered within and around her wet moist lips, working his fingers, exploring, until he found the entrance to her hole.

It was really quite amazing: the wet, slick hole of Miss Bixley. What boy in the class would ever think that he would be poking around there? As he felt Miss Bixley again sliding her fingers, or actually her tightly clenched fist, up and down his shaft, he carefully, slowly skewered his index finger up inside her quim.

"Ralphie," she gasped into his ear. He was not at all adept at manually pleasing a girl, let alone a woman, but it wasn't like Miss Bixley had experienced any better suitors. And, besides, the fact that Ralph was so inexperienced, so unfamiliar, so fresh, added considerable spice and pleasure to the experience. "Slip your finger up inside. I so much like it when a man fingers me," she added, a bit dishonestly, given the absence of such experiences, but she didn't really want Ralphie to know that. It's not good for professors to let students know how inexperienced and ignorant they might in fact be.

She gasped with zealous lust as she felt the young man's finger screw its way up inside. "Yes, Ralphie," she gasped, "finger me, finger Miss Bixley. She wants it so bad."

Miss Bixley was surprising herself with how obscene her language was becoming. It was more bestial than romantic, not befitting her academic specialty, but was that not always the case within the romance novels, at least the dime store ones: the prim, proper, and priggish schoolmarm turning into the wanton, lustful woman of the street.

She wasn't actually an awful lot better at jerking off a man than Ralph was fingering a woman, but she did have a bit more experience than him. It was at times necessary to get a date off quickly with her hand before he tried to do more with her, before he tried to get under her skirt. This time, though, she was using her hand with more endearment, sincerity, and affection, as she gripped the young man's taut stiff cock tightly, sliding her soft feminine fingers up and down the shaft, at times pausing at the tip, briefly, to slip and slide her thumb and the tips of her fingers along and around the soft, curved, round, slick crown.

"Miss Bixley," Ralph gasped, surprised in part by the teacher's words, the ferocity of her fist, as well as being confused and lost within his own passion, his own salacity. He buried his face in one of Miss Bixley's soft round boobs and began to thrust his hips, fucking her fist with his dick as he skewered his finger up into her hole. He wanted to cum so, so bad, and he was only just seconds away.

His finger within her was such a fucking tight fit. His cock was not at all large but he could not imagine getting it up inside this slippery yet snug, cramped, clenching hot sluice cunt, but he did his best to fuck her hole, screwing his finger around and around as he slid it out and jammed it up inside, as her equally firmly clasped fist worked comparably hard on his cock, sliding up and down its length like she was trying to make fire through the friction of flesh.

If anyone walked in at this point the two of them would be surely caught. They wouldn't even notice the arrival of a whole class of new students as they were both lost in their lustful giving and receiving, Miss Bixley now lewdly humping on Ralph's finger as he pounded and fucked her tightly gripping fist. It would not be good for them to be caught as they were indeed a very, very obscene sight to behold.

Miss Bixley knew that she was acting terribly profane, humping the boy's finger like a dime novel whore, but dignity was being discarded for prurient animal satisfaction. "Finger me like a fucking slut, Ralphie," she gasped, her body suddenly twitching and shivering, engulfed by her climax, her legs trembling, her head dizzy and faint.

And with that foul entreatment Ralph as well felt that sense of inevitable explosion. "Miss Bixley," he warned, sort of, and felt his knees go weak as his dick twitched in her hand and a big wad of globby cum surged through his cock and spewed out the tip like a momentarily stuck paint ball, splatting against Miss Bixley's skirt with comparable force and damage.

Miss Bixley, though, did not seem to mind. She didn't even try to shift out of the way. She simply received the young man's seed. In fact, she gripped him more tightly against her, pulling his cock closer as it continued to gush and spray his stuff. "Yes, Ralphie, such a good boy, so much spunk, so nice, so nice," she whimpered as her own body was wracked by her climax, her own fluids now seeping, perhaps even squirting from her quim, wetting his fingers, his hand, with the sticky juice of her feminine fruit, although much of it as well sliding down her thighs and onto her nylons.

Miss Bixley had been a bit troubled about leaving all of Theodore's wet cum on the gym floor. The janitors are not really your indentured servants, devoted to cleaning up whatever mess you might make, whatever fluids you might release onto the floor. She was always amazed, and disappointed, when she noticed students, even faculty, spilling a drink onto the floor of a college hallway and then just leaving it there, leaving it for a janitor to eventually clean. Would they do this at home? Would they leave their spills for their mother, for their servants, to clean? It just seemed so irresponsible, so disrespectful, and so she pulled Ralph's penis, his cock, to her body, to her thighs, panties, and skirt, to spray on her his viscous, gloppy masculine gism. And, frankly, she didn't really mind. It seemed to be such a befitting ending to accept the squirts and sprays of this boy onto her clothes and body.

Nor did Ralph at all mind. In fact, it added to his pleasure to realize, to appreciate, that not only had Miss Bixley jerked him off, but she had done so onto her, that he was gushing and spewing globs and ropes of cum onto his teacher's clothes, her body, her creamy thighs, her lacy panties, and even her exposed cunt. He had never had a better orgasm in his life, and wondered if he ever would again.

When it was done, when Ralph's cock was done, Miss Bixley stepped back to consider the damage. She was indeed quite a mess. Her skirt was not that badly splattered as it had been bunched up at her waist. Much of Ralph's cum was on her thighs, nylons, and panties, which did now feel, and look, rather shameless, all decorated with globs, drops, and ropes of cum. Miss Bixley, feeling a little embarrassed, pulled her skirt back down, hiding the evidence of Ralph's sticky sloppy spunk.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Miss Bixley did not go back to her office. She went straight to her car, doing her best to avoid bumping into anyone she knew. Fortunately, the parking structure was near the classroom building in which she had held her tutoring session.

However, once home, she did not immediately wash her skirt, nylons, and panties. On the contrary, she held the panties up to her nose, where Ralph had squirted a big glob of cum, and she enjoyed for some time the fresh, fruity scent of the boy's cream.

Nor did she harbor any regrets over what she had done. In fact, it was apparent that it was the right thing to do, for Ralph in fact obtained the highest score on the next test.

When he got the grade it affirmed for Ralph that he had indeed been more proud of displaying his hard cock to Miss Bixley than getting an A. But, most importantly, his mind was no longer distracted by unresolved frustrations. It was instead filled by a wonderfully pleasant memory, and a secret they shared.

Whenever Miss Bixley bent over him to evaluate his work during class, pressing a breast into his shoulder, his back, the gesture now had a little extra meaning, and when she reached down to point out something in a text he was reading, her hand might go even farther, past the top of his desk and into his lap, to give him a little squeeze of encouragement.

Miss Bixley was proud of Ralph's significant improvement in class, and felt very good for his chances in the future, and for herself. It was so wonderful to discover, to realize, new ways to reach today's youth, new ways to inspire them, to help them grow as young adults, as young men.

Plus, she had to admit, it had been rather fun. Actually, it had been lots of fun. Perhaps it might not have been for a woman with considerably more experience or opportunities. But, Miss Bixley was neither of those. She was devoted to her pedagogical career, to fostering, enlightening, and cultivating the young men of Templeton, and she had discovered especial fulfillment, and satisfication, in her tutoring session with Ralph. Smoldering embers had been sparked within Miss Bixley, particularly within her panties, and she now needed more wood to stoke the fire.

Henry Limpet was having difficulty as well. Henry was a freshman, eighteen years old, and had started the semester off with an A on both of her first two tests. But, just as Ralph got the highest grade on the third test, so did Henry get only a C. As one boy improved his grades, another fell. A teacher's job was apparently never done.

She asked to speak to Henry after class.

"Henry, goodness, what happened? You got a strong A on the first two tests but slipped to a C on the third. What's the problem, dear?"

"I know, I know," he acknowledged. "It won't happen again. It was just a bad week."

"Oh my goodness, nothing serious I hope." Miss Bixley was genuinely concerned. She asked, "Nothing about your family, or anything."

"No, no, Miss Bixley. It was personal, just a tough week."

"Well my goodness, what? Please, perhaps I can help."

"Not with this, Miss Bixley. I shouldn't have let it bother me."

Miss Bixley knew how to draw out a student. No young man could resist that cute, adorable, sweet face. It almost looked like you might hurt her feelings if you didn't tell her your problems. Henry broke down and confessed.

"I just got dumped by Sally, that's all."

Miss Bixley laid her hand on the boy's shoulder and said, most sincerely and sympathetically, "Henry, I'm so sorry. Really, I am."

"It's not your fault, Miss Bixley." That was a bit of an understatement, but it did seem like the natural thing to say. "I'll get over it. I just had so much difficulty studying for the test. I kept thinking about her and how much I missed her."

Many a time Miss Bixley had heard an excuse from a student. It was either that or there was an ill relative, a loud party next door, a roommate who got arrested, or the notes got lost due to a most amazing accident. One time a student explained that he had just forgotten to study. Miss Bixley was typically quite sympathetic (well, except for that last excuse). The students might not in fact be lying and, even if they were, it just broke her heart to see them so upset. She would do most anything to help them, and now she could. "Henry, you come to my office Wednesday night, 7:30, and we can discuss this."

"What?"

"I will help you so that you will get an A on your next test and, if you do, we can just wave off that silly C."

Waving off the poor grade on his most recent test was a pretty good deal. "You want me to come over in the evening?" Wednesday was a great television night. He really didn't want to miss American Idol.

"I have a lot of meetings on Wednesday, Henry, and I'm pretty booked up until then." She didn't actually have anything after 5:00. Seven-thirty was in fact well beyond office hours, but it was a time during which they would have more privacy. Miss Edwards would not be in her office next door. Miss Bixley leaned in closer to Henry and said, quietly, "I think you'll find it to be a very productive session, Henry."

A student really can't turn down the offer of assistance by a professor, even if it is in the evening and interferes with television. "Well, if you think it would help, Miss Bixley."

"I'm sure it will, Henry. I'm sure it will. It will be very satisfying."

"Well, okay then. I'll come to your office at 7:30."

"Excellent, Henry!" Miss Bixley went home at 5:00 to get ready, and when she returned she was not dressed so modestly. Well, actually, it wasn't like she was wearing a teddy, a plunging evening gown, or anything like that. She was still wearing a business suit, but this time the skirt was shorter, much shorter, especially for her. It was well above her knees, rather than well past her knees.