The school bell rang announcing the start of the next period. I have English next, which has quickly become my favorite subject. Knowing this, there is a bit of pep in my step. I get to my classroom and sit down in my seat. Despite my love of this class, I'm not doing well in it. This year my English class is being taught by Ms. Jackson, and to put it plainly she's very distracting.
The second bell rings and the rest of the class takes their seats and I get a clear view of the angel in front of the whiteboard. Ms. Jackson is turned away from the class giving me a good view of her backside. She's dressed in relatively conservative attire, a black pencil skirt that shows off her nice peach-shaped butt, black high heels accompanied by stockings that travel up her long slender legs, and a white blouse that fits tightly over her shapely chest. She wears practically the same outfit every day, but it suits her so well I can't complain.
After she finishes writing on the whiteboard, Ms. Jackson turns around and then begins class. Her dark hair is up in a bun and her red glasses frame her face perfectly. She has a stern look on her face, and at the corner of her mouth is a singular beauty mark that just adds to her appeal. Ms. Jackson always has such as serious look, it makes her kind of scary to approach. So instead I take to just admiring her from afar. Besides as a student, there's not much I can do when I'm hot for teacher.
As the class goes on I start to daydream as I stare at her. My mind wanders trying to picture her naked. With her perfect curves like hers, I can only imagine how sexy her body would be. I can feel myself getting turned on the longer my imagination runs wild. As I am lost in my delusions, I fail to hear my name being called over and over.
"ANON!", Ms. Jackson shouts finally getting my attention.
I'm completely caught off guard and snap out of the daydream and respond with, "Yes, Mommy?"
The rest of the class erupts into laughter and my heart sinks. I can't believe I just called my teacher 'Mommy'. I don't even call my own Mom that. This feels like the worst day of my life. Ms. Jackson doesn't even address me, she simply sighs and pauses until the laughter dies down before continuing class. I bury my head in my desk for the rest of class while enduring the faint snickering from those around me.
***
When the bell rings, I feel a little weight taken off my shoulders. This is at least the last class of the day and I can go wallow in my own depression at home. The rest of my classmates gather their things and start to leave the room. I get up and I'm about to join them when I'm interrupted by Ms. Jackson.
"Anon, can you stay after class?" She asks with the same stern expression.
I was afraid she'd say that, but I have no choice but to respond, "Yes, ma'am," and sit back down.
After all the other students are gone she turns to me and says, "I wanted to talk about your grade. I've talked with your previous teachers and you've never done this poorly in English before. Yet, your grades are struggling and you almost failed your last writing assignment. Do you know why?"
"Um, because I don't use enough commas?" I ask trying to come up with an excuse.
"No," Ms. Jackson responds with the same stern look. As she gets up to close the classroom door she adds, "I think it's because you're distracted."
As she turns back around there's a slight smile on her face. Her eyes look at me like a predator as she waltzes back to her desk. She leans back on it giving me a good view of her figure. I can't help but stare again.
"That right there," Ms. Jackson says breaking my thought process. "You give me the same look every class."
I blush and quickly respond, "I... I don't know what you're talking about."
"Yes, you do. You aren't very good at hiding it, young man. I know hormones dictate a lot of young boys' actions, but I have to draw the line when it starts affecting your grades," Ms. Jackson lectures.
"Yes, ma'am. I'm sorry ma'am," I say trying not to die from embarrassment.
"Don't worry I know a good way to motivate you to pay attention in class... Oh, and please don't refer to me as ma'am," She adds.
"Yes m... Ms. Jackson," I reply.
Ms. Jackson giggles and then walks closer to me. She bends down over my desk giving me a nice view of her cleavage down her blouse. My eyes dart between her face and her chest as my face gets redder. She gets even closer and my heart starts beating faster.
"I prefer you calling me Mommy," Ms. Jackson whispers in my ear.