Tights of a Teacher Ch. 01

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Adam finds love in his teacher and her tights.
6.9k words
4.63
56.1k
49

Part 1 of the 2 part series

Updated 06/08/2023
Created 09/16/2017
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My name is Adam Donnelly, and for as long as I can remember I've had an obsession for ladies wearing tights. Like a lot of guys with this fetish, it began with my mother, Sarah. She was a gorgeous woman in her youth, and remained attractive up until her mid-forties, when three pregnancies and the stress of managing a freelance financial consultancy agency caught up with her. Up until that point, Mom often wore form fitting outfits that combined professional length skirts, high heels and opaque tights in a way that was both professional and highly attractive. As she got older, she stopped wearing high heels on the advice of her podiatrist, although the tights remained during fall and winter months.

As a young child, this obsession wasn't really a fetish since I knew nothing about sex, nor did I have any sexual desires. I just preferred seeing females wear tights. As I matured and went through puberty my love of seeing women in tights did become sexual, and I would flip through print and online fashion catalogues with glee.

I never really let my fetish get the better of me, though. Not until my last year of high school, when Ms. LaBelle came to teach English at my high school. Right away she was distinct from the other female teachers. The other female teachers at my school were plain looking, or fat, or middle aged, or some combination. Ms. LaBelle was none of those. She was only twenty seven, and beautiful enough to have been a model when she was in university. Her figure was gorgeous-having enough weight on it to give her some lovely curves, but not fat by any stretch of the imagination. Her hair was shoulder length, sometimes worn loose but often tied in a braid, and was rich brown in colour without any dye. Her eyes were violet, always containing energy and kindness. Her thin lips were a light pink, going perfectly with her skin, which was fair, smooth and unblemished even though she never wore makeup. Her teeth were gleaming white and arrow straight. Her face was perfectly round and symmetrical. She was five foot six inches tall, tall enough to not be abnormally short, but short enough to not be freakishly tall when wearing heels.

My favourite thing about her was how she dressed. Ms. LaBelle always wore clothing that was conservative and professional but highly attractive, neither frumpy or sluttish. For tops, she always wore blouses and sweaters with full length sleeves and necklines that exposed no cleavage, but were tight enough to outline her figure. For bottoms, she wore skirts and dresses that were knee length at their shortest and medium length at their longest, revealing plenty of her long, curvy legs. Her footwear always had a heel between three and four inches high.

But best of all were her tights. Ms. LaBelle always wore tights, thick opaque ones that amplified the beauty of her legs to a level I found irresistible, even in the start of the school year when summer weather still reign. Just looking at her legs, clad in the tights that gave them nearly supernatural definition and were doubtlessly as soft as silk, was enough to get me hard, and thinking about her even lifting up her skirt, let alone having sex, gave me fuel for many a session of masturbation, wearing old pairs of my mom's tights I had fished out of the laundry.

So one day, a month after school resumed after summer break, it was with great interest during English class that I saw Ms. LaBelle's nyloned thighs the first time. I had just turned eighteen right before school started, and still a virgin. I never had a long term girlfriend, only a brief relationship in tenth grade lasting two dates over the span of a month. A big part of it was because I was shy around girls, but by this time it was mostly because the girls my age available paled in comparison to Ms. LaBelle.

It was Friday and the class was a standard one. Ms. LaBelle was talking about the classes reading assignment, some great work of literature I would never bother with again after I graduated high school. I wasn't really focusing on her lecture, but her legs, as usual. I disguised my lustful staring as paying attention to the lesson, like we were all expected to, by jotting in my notebook and occasionally looking down at my disorganized notes and the textbook.

As usual, Ms. LaBelle was wearing very proper, yet attractive, clothing. She was wearing a long sleeved white blouse with the collar done up, along with a light grey A-line skirt reaching just below her knees and matching vest. She was wearing black leather pumps with four inch high heels and ankle straps, and shiny black tights. I absolutely loved watching her walk around the classroom, her ass made nice and firm by the heels, the muscles in her legs beautifully defined by the shimmering black tights, perfectly opaque so that none of her skin showed through. She was perhaps her most beautiful yet.

After about half an hour after class started, Ms. LaBelle, perhaps tired from walking around in heels all day, sat down on the teacher's desk. This wasn't unusual for her to do; however what was unusual was that she lifted her skirt up to about mid-thigh as she sat down. I was four rows back, and my desk was at the right angle to see from a sideways angle. I got to see right up her skirt, just below where her panties would be. Even from where I was about five metres away, I could see that her tights were just as opaque on her thighs as they were on her calves. The nylon gave perfect definition to perfect thighs, thick enough to avoid being skinny and slender enough to avoid being fat. I think I stared at those thighs of hers for about ten seconds, which is when I noticed her looking back at me. There was something in her eyes. I couldn't tell what is was from my seat, but I knew it was probably anger. I looked back down at my notes, hoping she would forget about it or brush it off.

The class continued for another forty minutes after this. Ms. LaBelle continued with the lesson as though nothing happened, and I continued to pretend to care. Right before the class ended, I put my notebook and textbook away in my backpack, ready to hurry out before she could accost me.

When the bell rang, I was the first one up. "And your essays are due on Monday!" Ms. LaBelle shouted at several students hurriedly leaving, glad the most boring class of the day was over. "Five pages, double spaced! If you have any trouble, you can call me at home for help!" I speed walked towards the door, escape in sight. "Stay here, Adam. I need to talk to you." She told me right before I left the classroom, her voice kind but firm. Defeated, I turned around to face her.

She was standing with her legs together, moving her braid to her left side before clasping her hands together. "So, Adam, there's something I need to know before I let you go for the day." Her face, lovely as it was, was held in a poker face that betrayed no emotion, although I saw something in her eyes. Interest, it seemed like.

I put my backpack on my shoulders. "Can you make it quick, miss? I need to go to the library to pick up some research material for World History." That was a lie. The last major assignment for World History this month was handed in this morning. But the teachers were, as a rule, unaware of what the different departments were up to.

Ms. LaBelle pursed her lips, and the look in her eyes was replaced with a flash of anger. "That's a lie, and I know it. The way Mr. Gordon handles assignments, you don't have any big projects until the end of the semester. Do you really think I don't talk to the other teachers? And I know you go straight home from here. You're on your spare right now, and like any high school student you hate it here."

I shrugged. I was caught in the lie, but I didn't really care. "So ask your question and let me leave. You're right, I hate it here. So I want to spend as little time here as I can."

"I want to know why you were looking up my skirt today, Adam." She said, matter of factly. "Don't try to weasel your way out. I saw you, looking right up there. Now, so did most of the other boys, but they had the decency to look away almost immediately. You looked right up there until you realized I had caught you. And it's not the first time I've noticed you looking at me like that. Do you believe that I don't notice that you gaze at my legs when I'm teaching?"

I turned around and put my hand on the door handle, ready to leave. "If you don't answer me right away I will tell both the principal and your mother about this. I'm not about to let this go."

I froze. My mother was heavily involved in the local church, and while she was always encouraging me to get a girlfriend she despised dishonest lust like any good Christian. And the principal, Mr. Myers, was an incredible hardass. The year before he had two students expelled for kissing in the hallway, and had enjoyed every minute of it. I turned around, and stared at the floor, avoiding looking at Ms. LaBelle.

She pulled out a couple of chairs from her desk. "Look, sit down and tell me the truth. I don't want to ruin either your home or academic life with this, but I can't have my students ogling me openly. Tolerating disrespect is death to teachers."

Both of us sat down beside each other. "...I looked up your skirt because I find you incredibly beautiful," I mumbled out, embarrassed. Ms. LaBelle tilted her head sideways and put her hand on her left cheek. Her anger was gone, and the tone in her voice was much kinder. "I know I'm beautiful, Adam. From my junior year in high school to my last year in university I worked as a model, and even won a few awards from beauty magazines. I also was the victim of some extremely cruel sexual harassment from people in the fashion and beauty industry, which is why I left that line of work even though some of the opportunities would have made me both rich and famous.'

'I've also been teaching high school for four years, and believe me, you're not the first student I've noticed look at me like that. I know that during these years everyone, regardless of sex or orientation, begins to look at people differently. But this is a twelfth grade class, and all the other boys here either have relationships or have one night stands at house parties with girls their own age. You're the only one still taking an interest in someone a decade older than you. I know that you're single, and have been since I got here, but that was only this September. Have you ever had a girlfriend?"

I breathed in, trying to muster my courage. "...Yes. In tenth grade I and Sophie Blaine dated briefly. Only twice. One trip to the movie theatre and one dinner at an Indian place. The next day I caught her making out with Dennis McCaulay in the locker room before gym class and it was over."

Ms. LaBelle folded her arms together and raised an eyebrow. "And why haven't you dated anyone since? I shouldn't be saying this, Adam, but you are a handsome young man. Much more attractive than Dennis and the rest of those football idiots. I know you're shy, but with a bit of time you could have any girl in the school, and some of the girls here are very pretty. Wanda Duncan is already embarking on a modeling career herself, and she's gone through three boyfriends already."

I looked right up at her. There wasn't any malice in her face, just an active interest. And the look in her eyes and the tone in her voice was kind. But I was still nervous. I had never told anyone about my fetish, and here a gorgeous older woman was almost asking outright. After threatening to ruin my life, of course.

Ms. LaBelle began tapping her foot. "Tell me. Now, or I tell the principal and your mother." Her voice had gotten hard, but there was still some kindness in her eyes.

"Because you wear tights." I blurted out. "I've loved looking at women in tights since I was little. None of the girls here wear them-just leggings and shorts when it's warm and sweatpants and jeans when it's cold. Hell, even the other female teachers only wear them a few days a month in the fall and winter. You wear them every day, even in September when it was still hot out, and you pair them up with heels, and nice skirts and dresses, and pretty blouses and..." I trailed off, my face red with embarrassment, and stared back down at the floor.

Ms. LaBelle brought my head back up to meet her eyes, gently. She was smiling kindly, and there was a look in her eyes I couldn't immediately recognize. "It's okay. I understand completely. And I'm not angry anymore. I just wanted to know the truth. That's the basis of any relationship."

We were interrupted by a hard knocking at the door. Ms. LaBelle got up and opened the door. It was Mr. Myers. He scared the shit out of me. He had been in active military service with three combat deployments, and had only left the military for medical reasons. He had a massive frame that his ugly brown suit couldn't fully conceal, and he had a look in his eyes that gave the impression he would snap at any minute. This wasn't helped by his fierce beard and the constant snarl in his voice.

"What are you still doing here? The period started five minutes ago and your class in here just ended, LaBelle." He growled out. While his question was directed at Ms. LaBelle, he was glaring straight at me. He thought all the students were pieces of shit, other than those involved with cadets or about to join the military, and relished in any opportunity to prove it.

"Adam had some questions about the current assignment and reading material, Mr. Myers. He's on his spare right now and the only work I have left today is marking the homework the grade nines handed in. I can do that at home this weekend." I liked that about Ms. LaBelle. She had no tolerance for bullshit from students, but at least she would stick up for us if we needed it.

"I don't know that for sure. And you will address me as 'Sir', LaBelle." Mr. Myers snarled. Even from where I was, I could see the froth on his mouth.

I spoke up. "I am on my spare period, sir. I just needed a few things from Ms. LaBelle, and I'll be going home." I made myself sound as confident as I could. I was telling the truth, but sometimes the principal didn't care about such things. He glared straight at me like I was something to be crushed. "If you don't believe me, you can check my schedule." I offered, wanting him to go away.

With a glower he closed the door and stomped off. Ms. LaBelle turned around. "I can't stand that man," she muttered. "He should have taken the pension and spent the rest of his life drinking cheap whiskey and going through PDST flashbacks."

I grinned. I had never seen her display such a sense of humour before. She looked at me, a smile on her face and that look in her eyes. "I need to be going now, Adam, but there is one thing I would like to do for you." She walked over to her desk, pulled out a pen and notepad, and wrote something down. "Go to this address once you leave. Once you get there, go to the alleyway in the side and wait there. At three thirty, I'll come there, and show you something you never would have believed." With that she ripped off the note and gave it to me. "If your parents are expecting you, tell them you went to the bookstore." I looked at the note, and immediately recognized the address. It was an old industrial warehouse, abandoned when the factories here closed down in the nineties.

Without a word, I left the classroom and the school. The warehouse was only a fifteen minute walk away, but the location wasn't what was on my mind. I was wondering why she was meeting me after school, especially after that talk. Regardless of what she told the principal I never had any problems with understanding her assignments or the reading material.

I was convinced of something else. She was trying to seduce me. It would not have been the first time a teacher did so. I couldn't think of another reason why she told me I was more attractive than the jocks. And she was single, I knew that. She wore no wedding ring, and while the other teachers mentioned their spouses and partners from time to time she had never spoken of having a boyfriend or husband, even though she had frequently talked about her past.

Fifteen minutes later, I reached the warehouse. A giant, ugly building made from brick, it's lime-green paint peeling off. The main entrance faced west, but there was a single alleyway on the south side. That was where Ms. LaBelle had told me to go, and squeezing past a rusted dumpster I noticed a single doorway, the steel door corroded and practically falling off it's hinges.

I opened the door and looked inside. All there was in there was a flight of stairs leading up. The stairs were bare concrete, cracked and dented in many places, and the banisters were steel that was badly corroded. No one in their right minds would come here. Which is why Ms. LaBelle wanted me to come here, if she really was planning on seducing me.

I looked at my watch. Five to three. Another thirty five minutes. I pulled out the assignment sheet Ms. LaBelle had given us and read it over. It was the usual nonsense from high school English class-essay formatting and length, what material to read, suggested topics. Blah. I could do this in an evening. The book she had given us to read this semester wasn't much better. I'm into history, not fiction, and after a while all the novels English teachers give you to read just kind of blend together.

After thirty five minutes of reading mindless literary drivel, my watch beeped. Three thirty. As if on cue I heard the distinctive clip clop of high heels on a hard surface coming down the alleyway. She was right on time. She was wearing the same skirt, tights and shoes, but she had put a leather jacket on, and was carrying a black leather purse over her shoulder.

She waved right at me. "You're here. Good. I would have been displeased if you hadn't, I have quite a surprise for you." Before I could respond, Ms. LaBelle stepped right in front of the door and took something out from her purse. It was a key, made from gold and having no cuts. She put the key into the lock, turned it and opened the door. "Come with me," she said, and walked inside, taking the key out and putting it back in her purse.

I followed her. To my surprise, the stairs had changed. It was no longer a regular flight of stairs going up, it was a spiral staircase going down. The banister along the side was silvery, and the stairs themselves were white marble. Quite a big change from the rusty steel and cracked concrete from before. She began to walk down the stairs, and I followed her. I couldn't wait to see what she had in store for me.

After what felt like an hour walking downstairs-I checked my watch a few times, but it hadn't gone past three thirty by even a second-we reached the bottom of the stairs. It was a landing, covered in paisley carpeting, and a doorway seven feet tall. The doorframe was carved out of marble, and the door itself was mahogany, with a silver doorknob. Without a word, Ms. LaBelle turned the doorknob and opened the door, stepping inside. I followed.

What was inside was the most expensive looking place I had ever been in. The floor was covered in carpeting covered in elaborate floral patterns, having almost every colour imaginable but not looking tacky or gaudy. There was a three seated couch, made out of purple fabric, on the wall to my right with an end table on each side and a coffee table in front of it, facing a massive TV screen on the opposite wall. The wall ahead of me was covered in cabinets with glass casing and gilded handles, filled with books and DVD cases. On the left were two other doorways. One had a closed door similar to the one outside, the other had no door and looked like it led into a kitchen. There were no lights or lamps. Instead, light seemed to radiate from the walls themselves. The walls were painted beige, and covered in paintings that looked like they cost more than what Ms. LaBelle made in a year. The whole place gave that impression.

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