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Keeper of the Books

Category: Mature
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I had a philosophy for life — “keep it on cruise control.” Why put out a lot of effort when things come easy? That lasted until the end of the first semester of my junior year of high school, when I brought home my first ever report card with a C. I’m not bragging … school came easy for me, at least up to that point and it wasn’t until a couple of years later that I really had a rude awakening. Still I had to explain that C to my parents and of course my explanation was that the teacher didn’t really teach anything.

The subject happened to be Biology and the teacher was Miss Wagner. I guessed she was at least 50 years old, with a full head of silver-gray hair, making her look older than she probably was, although I found out later that she was just 48 years old. She was a short, dumpy woman who was very soft spoken and all the kids took advantage of her, talking and cutting-up in class so that even those who wanted to learn had a hard time of it … but I wasn’t one of those. I thought I knew it all anyway.

My dad didn’t buy my explanation. The next day he met me after school and we went to have a conference with Miss Wagner, the first time in my life that had ever happened. (This happened a number of years ago and in an area where regular parent-teacher conferences had not been instigated.) After an introduction, I had to wait outside.

When dad came out, he was ticked! For the first time that year I took my Biology text home and actually did some reading at night and that happened every night for the rest of the school year, where I achieved an overall grade of A-minus … just acceptable in dad’s eyes.

Toward the end of the semester when I was thinking about the summer break, Miss Wagner called me aside and said she was going to need a new assistant for the next school year and asked if I would like to do that. It would take one period of my schedule the following year and since I had made the National Honor Society that spring and would have plenty of credits to graduate by the end of my senior year, I could afford a non-credit class.

Other than teaching Biology, Miss Wagner was the custodian of the school’s text books … I think they gave her some ‘official’ title but I don’t remember it. She would need help in August getting the classrooms set up with texts for their registered students and then through the school year. The assistant would be available for getting text books for new and transfer students, a chore that was basically a breeze after the first week.

I figured it wouldn’t hurt to have some brownie points with Miss Wagner, even if it cost me part of the summer and besides, the assignment fit right in with my philosophy, right? So I said “Sure, I would like to do that.”

She said “I will arrange your class schedule for the autumn classes and you should plan to begin work with me the first full week of August.” At that time, school would start on the first Tuesday after Labor Day.

It seemed strange walking into the deserted school building at 7:45 am on August 3rd, the first Monday of the month. Having celebrated my eighteenth birthday just a few days earlier, I was feeling like I was in control of the world. The halls were mostly dark with only light from the skylights giving a little illumination, making it feel a little eerie. The front offices and classrooms were also dark except for outside natural light. But when I got down to Miss Wagner’s office, near the end of the east hall, I found the first lights on. I knocked lightly, stepped inside and was greeted by Miss Wagner with her usual soft “Hello, Mr. Marshall” and a nice smile. (Miss Wagner never called anyone by their first name; she was brought up to use Mr. or Miss or Mrs. and the person’s last name and she never deviated from it, at least not while within my hearing.)

Miss Wagner took me next door to the room that was used as the book depository. It was originally a lab room but without the equipment, it was just a big L-shaped space with shelves lining all the walls except where the windows and doors were. But it was anything but an open space! It looked like an impenetrable maze, with books stacked everywhere. There were stacks anywhere from 30 inches high to over six feet tall … I knew because they were over my head. It looked like a sea of those stalagmites that you’d see on the floor of a cave. I didn’t see how anyone could make anything out of this mess.

Of course, leave it to Miss Wagner to have a system worked out. She began to explain how the books were arranged. Everything was sectioned off by grade where feasible, otherwise by class subject so that various history texts were stacked close by and science books were in one area and so on. The aisles between the stacks were so narrow, I had to follow her and be careful not to brush against the books and bring them tumbling down.

After showing me the entire room, she led me back to her office where she showed me how she prepared for distribution of the books. I spent the rest of that day helping her prepare the book counts based on room assignments.

Starting the following morning, my job was to take the beginning counts by room report that she was working on, locate the books and load the required number of texts for each class onto a flatbed four-wheeled cart that I had to park in the only aisle in the room that was wide enough for the cart. That meant first locating the books, maneuvering the cart as close as possible, then toting the books to the cart and stacking them by class so they could be delivered.

I would wind up with as many as six stacks of the same book destined for the same class and by the time the cart was loaded, it contained enough texts for 30 to 40 classes. Sounds like a lot, right? It’s not when you are stacking on textbooks for six classes for over 3,300 students! Maybe I was slow but I didn’t get the first cart loaded until almost noon. Each stack had to be labeled with a post-it note showing the teacher’s name, room number, course name and book count.

Miss Wagner kept track of my progress and seemed to think I was doing reasonably well. Just as I finished loading the cart, Miss Wagner appeared in the doorway and said “Well done, Mr. Marshall. It is lunch time so let us take a break.”

Being an air-headed know-it-all, I had not planned for lunch. I guess I thought I’d raid the fridge, huh? But she had thought about it and apparently assumed I would not make any plans. Miss Wagner produced a submarine sandwich that she’d had delivered and said “I planned for you to eat half of it, Mr. Marshall.” We sat at her desk and I gratefully downed the sandwich and for the first time, we actually talked about ourselves.

“What do you want to do with your life, Mr. Marshall?” Miss Wagner asked.

“Well, I don’t really know” I replied.

“What about schooling after high school? Do you plan to attend a university?”

“Yes, I guess so. I’ve gotten a collection of application forms from different schools” I said. “How did you know what you wanted to do?”

“Oh, I had always wanted to teach” she stated. “I liked the idea of helping young minds grow and learn.”

“How do you balance that with family?’

She hesitated a bit and I was afraid I had pried a little too much. But then she said “I was engaged during college and we had planned our family but then he was killed in a hunting accident. That was 27 years ago and I have just never wanted to get married to anyone since then.” By then I noticed a few tears rolling down her cheeks.

After taking a few moments to compose herself, she wiped away the tears and said “I was just 21 then and looked a lot different. Can you imagine me with long brown hair? That’s the way I looked back in college but in the next five years it lost all its color.”

I mumbled something about “I think you’re still attractive.” With that, I cleaned up my trash and headed next door.

Back at work, I took my first loaded cart to the west wing and was grateful for the service elevator I had never realized existed. It was after 4:30 when I drug my drooping ass back downstairs with an empty cart, having moved over 1100 heavy text books.

Miss Wagner spotted me when I returned and complimented me on a job well done. With a faint smile, she said we probably had about 18 or 19 more loads to complete before classes started. I just smiled, shook my head and headed for home.

The next three days went pretty well, with one cartload going out each day but on Friday I hit a snag. I had just gotten started when I determined I couldn’t find any texts for an advanced Spanish class. I double and triple checked the languages area and knew they weren’t there. Then I began a systematic search of the room. Even now, that was not as easy as it sounded because I had barely made a dent in the stacks of books in the huge room. I finally loaded the rest of the cart, took another quick look around the room and then informed Miss Wagner about my problem.

She said “I don’t remember where they are located but I’m sure they are in the room. Let me go help you find them.”

I followed to the storage room and then followed her up and down the narrow passageways as we checked title after title with no luck. Then suddenly she turned back, thinking she had spotted the books in the midst of some stacks. She brushed against me, the first physical contact we’d had and in the confines of the narrow passage, her foot slipped and she started to fall. Instantly I reached out to catch her but I had pulled my left foot back when she turned and now had no place to put it unless I stepped on her. In a flash, I knew I was going to fall too so, holding onto her I gave a twist, hoping I could break her fall.

I did just that. She actually fell right on top of me. My head hit the hard floor, she landed on top of me all stretched out as the stacks of books around us began rocking dangerously, one even sliding off and dropping onto me. Fortunately the flat side hit my forehead so there was no major damage but her weight had partially knocked the air out of my lungs and I was gasping for breath. It was several seconds before I decided I wasn’t going to die … and then I was mortified to realize that my left hand was cupped solidly around her left breast and my right hand was splayed over her abdomen. She always wore silky dresses, probably rayon and when she fell, it had ridden up so that the bodice was under her chin and the hem was under my fingers.

I started to move my hands but as soon as I did, she began to slide off my body and there was no place for her to go. I think she may have been unconscious for maybe a minute and then she moved her head a little and asked in her usual soft tone “Mr. Marshall? Are you all right?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I replied. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it was my fault. Let me see if I can get up.”

She tried to sit up but there was nothing to hold onto for leverage. Her bottom crushed my dick, which was semi-hard and semi-buried in the split between her cheeks. I was turned on by this woman whom I had never before thought of sexually. What a revelation!

When she moved the stacks around us began teetering again and her bottom squeezed my balls so that I had an instant of excruciating pain and I yelped, causing her to immediately ease herself back against me, easing my pain but adding to my discomfort. I hadn’t let go of my handholds but in the exchange of movement my right hand wound up lower and the last joint of my ring finger dropped into the top of her crevice. Involuntarily (I think) my left hand squeezed her boob and she moaned. Without thinking my right hand pressed over her mound and my lust-inflamed brain could only think about the heat coming from her pussy. My cock responded immediately by filling out fully and pressing into her broad ass. I had absolutely no control over my emotions … I wanted her!

Her breathing became quick and shallow.

She said, “Mr. Marshall? We should not be doing this.”

“I know, Miss Wagner,” I replied, unable to stop myself.

My middle finger now pressed into her pussy, taking the soft cloth of her panties with it. Then I slipped the hand under the crotch of her panties and my finger went back to her crease, finding bits of moisture and spreading it up and down the soft flesh. Her breathing became faster and her head jerked a couple of times but she didn’t do anything to actually stop me so I continued. My finger swirled around the lacy folds of her pussy, then dipped into her opening and explored, occasionally making a trip up to tease her clit.

Her breathing became labored and I started to worry about her but she whispered, “Mr. Marshall? Don’t … don’t stop.”

Not that I could have if I had wanted to. My left hand was squeezing and kneading her rather large tittie and I tried to concentrate on her nipple, which I could feel through the soft fabric of her dress and bra. I even tried kissing her just below her right ear lobe and that set her to rocking her bottom, rubbing my cock through the denim of my shorts. I was afraid she was going to make me dump my load in my pants so I tried thinking of bad smells, like rotten eggs and the air around paper mills and the sulfur pit at a shipping line that I passed occasionally. That did it, causing my balls to relax a bit and suppressed the wonderful sensations crawling through my body.

But then, while I had two fingers buried in her swimmingly sweet twat and my thumb was circling her clitty, she clamped her legs onto my hand and began to shiver uncontrollably so I concentrated on her boob and kissing her neck until she sighed loudly and relaxed like a wet washcloth.

That was a great start but what to do for an encore?

I still needed to get off so I said, “Miss Wagner, if we both turn on our sides, I think I can slip around up and get up.”

She nodded and I carefully turned us both toward my left side, scooting my backside against the stacks of books on that side. She slid into the remaining space between me and the stacks on the other side and I eased my arm out from under her. Carefully I worked myself around until I had a leg on either side of her and pushed myself back with my hands on the floor. I started to get up but then, looking at her, I stopped.

I lifted her legs and began working her panties off.

While I worked, I said, “Miss Wagner, I’m sorry but I just can’t stop yet. Please forgive me.”

With her dress at her waist, her panties off and her brown haired pussy before me, I shoved my shorts down and freed my raging hard-on. She didn’t protest but even if she had, I probably would have continued even though it would have been rape … at that point, my brain was a red-hot haze of desire.

I positioned the head of my purple arrow at her entrance, rubbed it up and down a few times to smear it with the sparkling moisture that covered the area, and eased the head into her TIGHT opening … ohmigawd, she was tighter than my one experience with a teenage virgin that I had the honor of deflowering. It took several long slow strokes to work my entire penis into her wonderful love tunnel.

Once our curly pubic regions were meshed together, I leaned over her and unbuttoned her dress down to her waist. Fortunately her bra had front hooks and I got lucky enough to get all five hooks opened quickly. As I pushed her bra and dress off her shoulders (she even rolled one way and then the other to help me), she said softly, “Mr. Marshall, we should not be doing this.”

I looked into her eyes and said, “Yes, I know, Miss Wagner.”

Then I lowered myself to cover her mouth with mine and kissed her. At first she did not respond but eventually when my tongue pushed between her lips, they parted and her tongue tentatively met mine. I began to stroke in and out of her pussy, wanting to make it last by going very slowly but it was not to be. I couldn’t hold back and soon shot a load deep into her.

However … no good deed ever goes unpunished, right? … My cock stopped deflating before it slid out of her and began growing again, probably the product of my lust-filled brain more than the taste of her lips. After a few minutes I was ready to go again and this time I stroked slowly, just the way one of my very few young lovers had taught me. While my throbbing spear was plundering her treasure, my mouth took a tour: from her mouth to her left tit to her right tit to her mouth and then over again. I kissed and licked all around her nice sized globes and sucked and nibbled on her nipples. Every so often her breathing pattern changed, or she’d close her eyes and turn her head only to come back in a couple of minutes and smile at me again. Every few minutes she would softly emit “ooooohh” in a tone that climbed several notes.

I was delighted when she clamped her legs around me and shook like a leaf in the autumn wind. After that she just seemed to loose all muscle control for a few minutes and I resumed sliding my pole into her even wetter passage. After several more minutes, I pulled her legs up one by one and captured them in my forearms, raising her bottom off the floor and letting me drive my cock deeper into her vagina. It proved to be a better fit for her too as she was soon squirming and wiggling her ass to meet my every thrust and for the first time, she used her hands to hold my shoulders, her fingers like claws as she pulled me to her.

She reached another orgasms before me and then I changed speeds to slam into her harder and harder until I felt my balls contract and start spewing shot after shot of hot cum into her already slimy pussy. I held us together until I felt the last drops ooze out of my cock and it deflated until it slid out of her pussy. I eased her legs down one by one and supported my weight on my forearms over her body.

Again I went from her mouth to her titties, sucking each, until I realized that she had tears rolling down the sides of her face. I stopped and asked if I had hurt her but she said, “No, Mr. Marshall. I just realized what I have missed out on since my finance died.”


How do you respond to that?

I sat up and worked my shorts back into place, then retrieved her panties and helped her put them on. Standing, I took her arms and pulled her gently to her feet. She seemed fluster that her clothes were in such disarray and she said, “Mr. Marshall, that was very nice. but we cannot let it happen again. Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I replied, not understanding at all.

“We are behind on our work now. You will have to hurry while I see if I can determine where those books are.”

We didn’t do it again either … not for six more days. On Thursday of the next week, I was dropping off the books from the cart in the rooms of the west wing first floor when she came in to see how I was progressing. I thought she seemed a little less formal than usual and when she leaned over the teacher’s desk to watch me for a while, I maneuvered around behind her after moving a stack of books. I put my arms around her waist and pressed myself against her bottom … and she did not object. After running my hands all over her body for a few minutes, I pulled her slick dress up to her waist, worked her panties down until the dropped off her legs, and slowly worked my cock up into her pussy as she bent even further over the desk. By the time I got around to reaching for her big hooters, I was delighted to find that she had already unbuttoned the top of her dress and her bra was opened, giving me an unobstructed path to her jugs. This session did not take as long as the first, nor was it as painful for either of us … in fact I’m pretty sure there was no pain involved. After we both got off, she let me spend several minutes swapping spit with her before she said she was please with my work and I needed to hurry to finish the day’s work.

Even with her admonishments that we could not fuck any more, we managed to do it a couple of times in the remaining two weeks we had before school. The third time, she again visited me as I was distributing books and I got her on her back on a desk and, pulling up the teacher’s chair, I made a grand feast between her legs, helping her to two orgasms before she pulled me by the hair until I was in position to slide my cock into her pussy.

Later she told me that not even her finance had done that to her and she had almost stopped me because she thought it was dirty, until she realized that it was making her feel goooooooood! If she thought that was dirty, I wonder what she thought when I added licking her anus to the activities the following week. She jumped and grunted the instant my tongue touched her puckered ass hole but she didn’t stop me either.

Once school started, the book room was much more sparsely occupied, with only extra books and some now-unused texts remaining behind. I spent my fourth period every day, tidying up the room, studying, or just killing time. Occasionally Miss Wagner would come in from her office just to see how I was doing and I would take her into the foot of the L where no one could see us and I would knock off a piece of her sweet pussy or eat to my heart’s content. We didn’t have a lot of time because someone could walk into the other part of the room at any time but that just made it feel all the more special.

When I applied for college admission, I asked Miss Wagner if she would write a recommendation letter for me. She wrote a glowing review of my “accomplishments” that I’m not sure I deserved but when I got into the university of my first choice, I was grateful.

When I look back on my high school years, the only real regret I have is that I didn’t make an earlier connection with Miss Wagner nor was I able to maintain a relationship with her afterwards. However I will always be grateful for what we had that last year and what Miss Wagner taught me about life in general and biology in particular..

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