Man was she ever nice. Her name was Tamara and she was maybe five foot ten and a-hundred-thirty pounds. She’d been a dancer on Broadway up until she’d injured her knee and opted for a career in teaching. Her face was beautiful, large brown eyes, a perfect nose, and shoulder length dark brown hair. But her demeanor was something you wanted to see. It made me think of some auxiliary S.S. bitch, and this impression was only accentuated in winter when she wrapped herself in a black, leather trench coat. Her hands were long and soft and her glare was ice.
I’d knock lightly on her door after school to see if it was alright to come in and vacuum the place. She’d look up from her desk and see me peering in through the partially ajar door and either wave me in or shake her head. That meant come back later. She always worked late. When I’d come in, she’d keep working steadily at the papers in front of her. No chit chat ever. When she looked up in response to whatever it was I might have said, her expression was always fixed. Goddamn she was gorgeous.
I couldn’t believe my eyes when she arrived at the school one day with her husband in tow. I mean this guy was sixty-five if he was a day, and she was forty-four.
But, she was attracted to me. Her eyes had given her away when she’d seen me in a tank top one day. For a split second her eyes got all dreamy and she took a quick little breath. All I could think of while I vacuumed her room was how fine her pussy must be. I’d be vacuuming away, imagining that it smelled like that fine lemon spray that foxy women dust themselves with down there. And she could feel the vibes, too. She knew I wanted her bad; it was all thick in the air and my cock would be stretching out in my pants in response to the pheromones she gave off.
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