hornyprogrammer
Experienced
- Joined
- Sep 30, 2012
- Posts
- 76
I'm not sure why this got deleted over in the story discussion forum, but I'd like it if someone were to finish this story which used to be on the old penthouse forum but which now floats around the net:
"When I was a senior in college I was quarterback on the college football team, but what I was most interested in was my English teacher, Mrs. Miller (not her real name), who I spent many nights dreaming about. As well as teaching English, she also happened to be the wife of the college president. At forty, she was some kind of sexy woman, usually coming to class in a two-piece business suit, with a skirt that ended halfway between her knees and her crotch. Beneath it she always wore white silk panties, and every so often I would get a glimpse of them under her desk as I sat in the front row. She was six feet tall, about a hundred and thirty pounds. She had long black hair, 36D breasts and the most beautiful legs I had ever seen. I was no slouch myself, being blond, six feet four and all muscle, and being a football star I could just about have my choice of the college girls. But I could not get over Mrs. Miller. In class the words she said were a blur to me, but looking at her I would have a hard time covering up my hard-on.
As a result of this, my grades suffered. Usually I averaged at least a C in most of my classes, but in English I was getting Ds and even worse. This quickly became a concern, because if I did not keep my grades up to at least a C average, I would not be eligible to play on the team any more.
Since I had taken over as quarterback the team had not lost a game, and we were hoping to get to the state championships. Thus the whole college was worried that I might be disqualified because of my English grades. The football coach spoke to me about it, and he also must have spoken to Mr. Miller, the college president. Winning the state championship was something they wanted more than anything, and it soon became evident that Mr. Miller, at least, was willing to do whatever it took to accomplish that.
One Monday morning Mr. Miller walked into my English class just as his wife was finishing up. When she dismissed the class, Mrs. Miller asked me to stay behind, saying that her husband would like to talk to me.
When the other students had left, Mr. Miller cleared his throat. "John," he began, "you know that we need you to continue to quarterback our team if we have any hope to take the state championship this year. The coach feels that we have a good chance if you stay on as quarterback, but you know that if you do not get your English grades up the Conference will disqualify you from playing." He paused. "With that in mind," he went on, "I have asked Mrs. Miller if she thought some private tutoring might help to bring your grades back up. Mrs. Miller has told me that she believes she knows what the problem is, and that she can help you with it if you are willing to make the effort. Would you be willing to have Mrs. Miller tutor you four or five nights a week during the rest of the season?"
"Yes, sir," I said. "I will be glad to do that, and I'll try as hard as I can to do better. After all, I want to win the state championships as much as anybody in the school."
"Thank you, John," Mr. Miller said. "I know you will try your best, and I'm sure you will succeed. Susan, I'll leave everything to you two." And with that he went out.
Mrs. Miller shut the door behind him, then locked it and pulled down the shade. She then came to stand in front of me as I sat in my chair. "Now, John," she said, "the first thing we have to do is to clear the air between us. All year I have watched you trying to look up my skirt whenever you could, to see my panties. I have let you get a glimpse of them every so often, just to keep you happy, and I will admit it made me feel good to see how I could turn on the big football stud. Yes, I saw you trying to cover up the hard-ons I gave you." I was too embarrassed to say anything, but I was also getting turned on, wondering where this was going. "But, John," she went on, "this game-playing has caused both of us to forget why you are in my class in the first place. You have stopped concentrating on your studies, and I partially blame myself for letting this game go on so long. But for the next four weeks we will stop playing games. I know you are capable of doing better work. I also know that sometimes it is much easier to accomplish something if you have a goal to shoot for--just like in football. Your goal should be winning the championship for us, but now I'm going to give you an additional one. John, if you bring your grades up to a B, which I know you can do, and if the team gets to the championships, this will be your trophy from me."
And with that she pulled up her short skirt, hiking it high enough so that I was looking at the most beautiful bush I had ever seen. There, between two wonderfully shapely thighs, was a very large patch of shiny black hair as big as my hand. And it was only about twelve inches from my face."
I think the best way to go about it would be for them to meet and start fucking in her office at first, and then later they progress to fucking in the house when the husband is out, with him leaving cumstains on the bed in the master bedroom where both the professor and her husband the president sleep. Then they start fucking loudly while the husband is in the room next door. Finally, after the game is won, it somehow gets out that he was having an affair with his professor and the wife of the college president with the president's knowledge (I have a couple hot ideas about how this could happen.) The professor and the president both get in trouble for ethics violations, with the president forced to resign in humiliation. The professor somehow avoids trouble after speaking privately with a few of the senior swinging dicks on the ethics committee and goes right back to teaching. The player, of course, becomes the most famous bull in America overnight, with all that entails.
"When I was a senior in college I was quarterback on the college football team, but what I was most interested in was my English teacher, Mrs. Miller (not her real name), who I spent many nights dreaming about. As well as teaching English, she also happened to be the wife of the college president. At forty, she was some kind of sexy woman, usually coming to class in a two-piece business suit, with a skirt that ended halfway between her knees and her crotch. Beneath it she always wore white silk panties, and every so often I would get a glimpse of them under her desk as I sat in the front row. She was six feet tall, about a hundred and thirty pounds. She had long black hair, 36D breasts and the most beautiful legs I had ever seen. I was no slouch myself, being blond, six feet four and all muscle, and being a football star I could just about have my choice of the college girls. But I could not get over Mrs. Miller. In class the words she said were a blur to me, but looking at her I would have a hard time covering up my hard-on.
As a result of this, my grades suffered. Usually I averaged at least a C in most of my classes, but in English I was getting Ds and even worse. This quickly became a concern, because if I did not keep my grades up to at least a C average, I would not be eligible to play on the team any more.
Since I had taken over as quarterback the team had not lost a game, and we were hoping to get to the state championships. Thus the whole college was worried that I might be disqualified because of my English grades. The football coach spoke to me about it, and he also must have spoken to Mr. Miller, the college president. Winning the state championship was something they wanted more than anything, and it soon became evident that Mr. Miller, at least, was willing to do whatever it took to accomplish that.
One Monday morning Mr. Miller walked into my English class just as his wife was finishing up. When she dismissed the class, Mrs. Miller asked me to stay behind, saying that her husband would like to talk to me.
When the other students had left, Mr. Miller cleared his throat. "John," he began, "you know that we need you to continue to quarterback our team if we have any hope to take the state championship this year. The coach feels that we have a good chance if you stay on as quarterback, but you know that if you do not get your English grades up the Conference will disqualify you from playing." He paused. "With that in mind," he went on, "I have asked Mrs. Miller if she thought some private tutoring might help to bring your grades back up. Mrs. Miller has told me that she believes she knows what the problem is, and that she can help you with it if you are willing to make the effort. Would you be willing to have Mrs. Miller tutor you four or five nights a week during the rest of the season?"
"Yes, sir," I said. "I will be glad to do that, and I'll try as hard as I can to do better. After all, I want to win the state championships as much as anybody in the school."
"Thank you, John," Mr. Miller said. "I know you will try your best, and I'm sure you will succeed. Susan, I'll leave everything to you two." And with that he went out.
Mrs. Miller shut the door behind him, then locked it and pulled down the shade. She then came to stand in front of me as I sat in my chair. "Now, John," she said, "the first thing we have to do is to clear the air between us. All year I have watched you trying to look up my skirt whenever you could, to see my panties. I have let you get a glimpse of them every so often, just to keep you happy, and I will admit it made me feel good to see how I could turn on the big football stud. Yes, I saw you trying to cover up the hard-ons I gave you." I was too embarrassed to say anything, but I was also getting turned on, wondering where this was going. "But, John," she went on, "this game-playing has caused both of us to forget why you are in my class in the first place. You have stopped concentrating on your studies, and I partially blame myself for letting this game go on so long. But for the next four weeks we will stop playing games. I know you are capable of doing better work. I also know that sometimes it is much easier to accomplish something if you have a goal to shoot for--just like in football. Your goal should be winning the championship for us, but now I'm going to give you an additional one. John, if you bring your grades up to a B, which I know you can do, and if the team gets to the championships, this will be your trophy from me."
And with that she pulled up her short skirt, hiking it high enough so that I was looking at the most beautiful bush I had ever seen. There, between two wonderfully shapely thighs, was a very large patch of shiny black hair as big as my hand. And it was only about twelve inches from my face."
I think the best way to go about it would be for them to meet and start fucking in her office at first, and then later they progress to fucking in the house when the husband is out, with him leaving cumstains on the bed in the master bedroom where both the professor and her husband the president sleep. Then they start fucking loudly while the husband is in the room next door. Finally, after the game is won, it somehow gets out that he was having an affair with his professor and the wife of the college president with the president's knowledge (I have a couple hot ideas about how this could happen.) The professor and the president both get in trouble for ethics violations, with the president forced to resign in humiliation. The professor somehow avoids trouble after speaking privately with a few of the senior swinging dicks on the ethics committee and goes right back to teaching. The player, of course, becomes the most famous bull in America overnight, with all that entails.
