Mrs Harding was my teacher at college, (senior year if you’re an American). There’s no two ways about it, she was a total bitch. We felt like she would fail students on their assignments for no valid reason at times. There used to be many arguments between her and the students, and, man, she always seemed to have an attitude. There was a joke between the guys that she was not “getting it” at home which was the reason for her constant moodiness.
Mrs Harding was fairly slim, under five feet tall, with medium-length, brunette hair and, a pretty face with blue eyes. She kept herself in good shape and looked in her thirties when she was teaching us. She was actually quite hot if you could subtract her bitchiness.
Fast forward five years, I went into a popular pub in town to watch football with some mates during the Euros. As the football finished and people started to clear out I saw Mrs Harding on a table drinking with some friends. I knew it was her as she looked the same and heard her loud, teacher’s voice. I wasn’t sure if she recognised or still remembered me. I thought I’d say hello when I saw her alone at the bar; she went to buy a round for her table. It seems she remembered my face but forgot my name. We got chatting and she was actually quite a cool person outside the classroom. She was wearing a white top, a knee-length skirt, and some strapped black heels—much sexier than her usual classroom clothes that I remembered her in.
As time went by, our groups mixed. We laughed about college times and she did get a little flirty at times and so did her friends with my mates. It was mostly harmless banter, as many of us took sides from watching the football earlier and the losing team was being made fun of. She kept putting her hand on my arms and asked if I was working out. I was a skinny boy in her classroom, and I did put on some weight and did a lot of gym workouts since she last saw me.
Later on in the night, Mrs Harding went out for a smoke break; I was out for some fresh air. She came near me and got very touchy with me. There was an alleyway on the side of the pub where all the empty barrels were kept. She looked in that direction and then looked at me. She started walking there so I followed her. In between all the barrels, there was a space. I pinned back her small body against the wall and planted my lips on hers.
Once we stopped making out, she was ready to go back over to her friends. I wanted more. While she started to walk away, I grabbed her from behind and started exploring her body. My hands wear feeling her boobs over her clothes and she seemed to be enjoying it. We went back to our spot in the little empty area in between the barrels, her back was against my chest.
I lifted her skirt and put my hands down there. She undid her panties which fell to her ankles. Her pussy felt wet. I started rubbing her between her thighs and casually inserted my fingers in her. She was breathing very heavily; she was backing into me pushing me against the wall. She put one foot on a barrel to give me better access between her legs and her hands were on my neck.
“Keep doing that,” she whispered, and I complied.
Mrs. Harding was not satisfied easily, I had to switch hands after a while as you requested I didn’t stop. She then let out a moan, and her grip on my neck loosened. Her phone suddenly started to ring; it was in her handbag which was on the floor. She took her phone out and looked at her screen. Mrs Harding lifted her panties, adjusted her clothes, and went back to the table with her friends again.
We smirked at each other the few times our eyes came into contact later that night. We met once more at the bar where she was apologetic.
“I’m sorry, it was my husband. He called to check what time I’ll be back home,” she said.
“Maybe I can return the favour another time?” she smirked as she walked away