Mom's After School Special

"It's miraculous, Mrs. Johnson. The way Tommy has turned things around," Betty Marnes gushed.

"I don't understand. This says he has a... B?" Mrs. Johnson replied tersely.

The English teacher blinked, caught off guard by the lack of reciprocated warmth. "Well, a high B. But considering where he was..."

Mrs. Johnson scowled at her son, who bowed his head subserviently. Her hand slid from the armrest to his knee, manicured nails digging into denim.

"Well, Tommy is just going to have to focus a little harder."

Betty felt the friction. The slight woman oozed ferocity in her chic blazer and dark nylon pantyhose--an outfit more appropriate for a boardroom takeover than a parent-teacher conference. No wonder she'd been able to tame the class troublemaker.

After some pertinent cordial discourse, the meeting wrapped, but Betty couldn't help but ask:

"What's your secret? We get so many boys lacking focus. And in his senior year..."

Imposing amber eyes bore back at her, as if the question was so stupid Mrs. Johnson was considering ignoring it.

"Boys aren't that complicated," she remarked eventually. Then she was gone, leaving only the waft of her expensive perfume, which eclipsed the classroom stench.

**********

Mr. Goran, the science teacher in the adjoining room, had left his lights on again. All packed up, Betty jostled over to flip the switch but hesitated, hearing the screech of a sneaker on vinyl tile.

Frowning, she opened the door and peeked inside.

Perched on the edge of a black slate lab table sat Mrs. Johnson.

"You could have come with your father had I known," the refined woman chided.

"Come on, Mom." Tommy waved his progress report. "You know the drill. B's still count."

"Don't remind me." She snapped her compact. Even from across the room, the fresh coat of gaudy red lipstick flashed under the fluorescent light.

"Let's make this quick." She whipped off her blazer, discarding it on a stool. Betty followed the mother's gaze as she looked over her shoulder.

The main door, the one leading into the hallway, had a chair fixed under the handle. Satisfied with their privacy, Mrs. Johnson dropped to her knees.

"Oh, this floor is cold."

Betty restrained a gasp.

Tommy smirked. The power dynamic inverted. The strict matriarch was now looking up at her teenage son, unzipping his pants, pulling out his cock. She licked the underside of the veiny shaft. Tommy's fingers tangled in her straight, inky-black hair. She opened her mouth to swallow his girth when he tightened his grip.

"Fuck, Mom. Stand up so I can take you over the table."

"No. B's get blowjobs. You have to earn--" she scolded, though she allowed him to haul her back up.

"Mom, seriously. You're wet, I can smell it."

Tommy hiked the tight skirt up and tugged down the nylons, presenting her naked, peachy behind.

"Tommy!"

"I'll fucking do the dishes for a month... AND, I won't tell Dad who bent the fender."

"You brat," Mrs. Johnson scoffed, but her resistance crumbled as he pressed against her entrance. "Fine. But keep that thing away from my butt."

"Seriously? I'm practically at straight A's!"

"It's the principle!" she rebuked. "If I let you cum in my ass, what incentive do you have for finals?"

Tommy rolled his eyes and thrust forward, burying himself deep inside his pretty mother. Mrs. Johnson was so short, her heels hovered off the floor, kicking in the air as her boobs pressed into the slate.

"What did you think of my teachers?" Tommy grunted, finding a rhythm.

"Mm, do you... uhhh... have a favorite?" Mrs. Johnson stuttered, her head thrown back.

"Mrs. Marnes ain't bad," he said, gripping her hips.

"Isn't," Betty corrected under her breath, barely registering her own name. She'd never been turned on by a student. But then again, he was 18, and she'd never seen one fuck. Her pussy ached.

She stared transfixed as the pair consummated their taboo arrangement. Mrs. Johnson never so much as moaned, but her long eyelashes did flutter as her son came. Then it was all business as they dashed to clean up.

"'Kay, let's get home before your father worries." The woman adjusted her skirt.

Betty's heart skipped as Mrs. Johnson flicked off the lights. For a moment, she could've sworn the woman winked directly at her.

The dazed teacher made her way to the parking lot. She weighed what she should do: whether to contact the authorities, or ensure Tommy Johnson aced his final exam.