Even Monkeys in the Trees Do It


As the senior biology class filed off the bus for its Spring field trip to the city zoo, 18-year-old Brian Swinford found himself surrounded as usual by adoring female classmates. Tall, handsome, athletic, the blond high school student smiled indulgently at the swooning girls; but Brian had a surreptitious eye on someone else. Miss Katherine Limestall stepped carefully down from the last high bus step on her inappropriately high heels, close behind old Mr. Wilde, for whom she was student teaching this term.

Brian stopped in his tracks as Miss Limestall strutted by – that was the word that entered his mind, strutted – chin up, back ramrod straight, sleek chestnut hair pulled back into a businesslike bun, little wire-rim glasses perched on her pert nose, and a pair of the biggest tits Brian had ever seen, jutting out proudly at the front of a pink cap-sleeve boat-neck sweater.

The student teacher, looking straight ahead, passed by his crowd, and Brian’s cock began to swell, as not for the first time he admired her. Today she was also wearing a tight black knee-length skirt that hugged her round hips and showed off the firm twin globes of her ample ass. Her calves below the skirt’s hemline were curvy, their muscles rippling as she clicked by on those outrageously sexy heels. He had to have her. Miss Limestall was his new purpose in life. As he led his now-forgotten entourage through the gates of the zoo, Brian Swinford silently vowed to devote all his time and energy to bedding the student teacher.


However, being a teenager, Brian’s attention span was limited. Outside the Monkey House, the boy was soon engrossed in the attentions of his flock of admirers, who all stood as close as they could to him, rubbing their breasts against his arms, or their denim-sheathed butts against his crotch.

It was hard to ignore such intensity of devotion, equally hard for Brian to pay attention to the lecture by the zookeeper on the mating habits of primates. Surrounded as he was by the young, willing flesh, only the top of his head could be seen by those standing outside the group. Knowing this, one of the girls behind him ran her hand up under his ass and between his legs, seeking out and finding his hard cock through his jeans.

The action surprised Brian momentarily, but he quickly adjusted and grew to enjoy the massage. He wasn’t sure which one of the girls it was.

The unknown hand ran itself up and down the length of his erection, which seemed to the boy to be stretching toward his knee! Gripping and releasing, sliding, gripping and releasing, whoever it was seemingly wanted Brian to come in his pants, and before he knew it, he almost was.

Not having any desire to walk around the zoo with a big wet spot in the front of his jeans, Brian quickly disengaged himself from the mystery masseuse and the rest of the crowd, making a mumbled excuse that he needed to find the restroom.

His cock was so hard that he walked with a half-limping step, keeping his eyes to the ground as he made his way to the little thatch-roofed hut marked “MEN”. So intent was he that he failed to see another person in his path. Before Brian knew it, he was lying on top of that other person, who was none other than Miss Limestall! Anyone looking at them would think he was trying to hump her, right there on the zoo path: his legs were between hers, and his face was buried between those pink angora-covered mountains of flesh.

If Brian had not had an erection before, he certainly had one now, and it was – for the briefest of moments – pressed against Miss Limestall’s panty-clad pussy. To her credit, she didn’t scream, but she did push Brian off her quickly, with a strength the boy hadn’t expected.

“What in the world were you thinking, Mister Swinford, not watching where you were walking?” she scolded. An exasperated look was on her pretty face, but Brian, stealing a glimpse of her silk-covered beaver as she struggled to her feet, didn’t notice.

He sat there on the tarmac, smiling dazedly, his cock swollen more than ever and making an obvious ridge along the leg of his jeans. He gazed up at the student teacher, now looking pleasantly disheveled with strands of hair escaping from her bun, her eyeglasses knocked awry, her skirt riding up her hips and exposing more of her tantalizing legs.

Miss Limestall wasn’t looking directly at him anymore, but was staring with amazement at the lump straining the seam of his left pants leg. Her decorum was late in returning, but it did return: she averted her eyes from his crotch, straightened her clothing, tucked a stray lock of brown hair behind an ear, and hoarsely advised Brian to be more careful, before turning and striding away.

Brian watched her twitching ass with a renewed lust and finally made his way to the men’s room. Releasing his painful erection inside a stall, he jacked off to the memory of the student teacher’s hooters against his face. As his pent-up load spewed Ankara travesti into the toilet bowl, he knew with a certainty that Miss Limestall would be his in time.


During the next few days, Katherine Limestall was the recipient of bushels of flowers, quarts of perfume, several pounds of boxed candies, and a dozen or so romantic cards signed “Your Secret Admirer”, all delivered to her desk in Biology Class, and strategically timed to coincide with Brian’s class period.

Miss Limestall was nonplussed each time a delivery man presented a gift to her; her chin down as she signed the clipboard, her blush was nonetheless evident to all and the subject of much tittering in the classroom.

Brian would sit at his desk with what he hoped was a poker face, taking it all in quietly, noting with pleasure her flustered demeanor and planning his next move.

As the bell rang at the end of the period, Brian lingered a moment as his classmates filed out. Miss Limestall was erasing the chalkboard with a sweeping motion of her arm, unaware that it caused her sweet round ass to swing back and forth provocatively. Brian licked his lips as he leered.

Mr. Wilde, the teacher, made a sound like he was coughing up one of his lungs, and gasped, “Mr. Swinford, is there something we can do for you?”

Miss Limestall stopped rubbing the chalkboard and turned around. Brian noticed that she had white chalk marks on her blue blouse, where her enormous melons had rubbed against the slate. He gulped, then turned to Mr. Wilde.

“Ah, no sir,” he said. “Just wanted to compliment Miss Limestall on the beautiful rosebuds she got today.” He grinned at her, and she stared at him with a puzzled look on her pretty face. She cocked her head just a little, suddenly thinking.

“Yes, they are very nice buds, Brian, very nice,” Mr. Wilde said absently.

“They sure are, sir!” the boy agreed, staring directly at the chalk-coated behemoths. Miss Limestall took a sharp breath and gave a little cry of embarrassment, then turned away, red-faced once again. Brian chuckled quietly as he left the classroom.


The final phase of “Operation Big Limes”, as Brian had named it, was about to commence. He noticed one morning a flyer pinned to the bulletin board outside the biology classroom, announcing that Miss Limestall would offer tutoring sessions to those students who were experiencing difficulty with the curriculum.

The flyer announced further that said sessions could take place any weeknight, in any location convenient for the student.

Although Brian had had very little difficulty with biology, and in fact was close to getting an “A”, he took it upon himself to come as close as he could to failing, so he could be tutored by the delicious Miss Limestall. Homework assignments were turned in with incomplete or purposely wrong answers. Tests were handed in with doodles in the margin and few blanks filled in.

It worked: he was soon held after class one Thursday for a conference with Mr. Wilde and Miss Limestall.

It didn’t last very long. After hearing Brian’s pleas to be tutored by the student teacher, and the student teacher’s pleas to have someone else tutor him, Mr. Wilde mulled it over for a while and said, “Set something up with him as soon as possible, Miss Limestall. Brian is a valued student, and only you can keep him from failing.”

Miss Limestall’s face fell as Brian’s dick rose, but old Mr. Wilde didn’t notice. He struggled to his feet and shuffled out of the classroom, leaving the other two to plan a schedule of sessions.

The young woman gave the student a hard look, her full lips twisted into a grimace, that expressed her full distrust of the boy. Brian pretended not to notice as he came around the desk to stand behind her. He placed one hand on her chair and leaned over her shoulder to point at her datebook.

“This looks like a good day,” he said quietly, nonchalantly pressing his crotch against the back of her arm. She moved the arm away as if bitten, and looked at the day he’d suggested. Her face flushed a deep red from her brief contact with his teenage erection.

“That’s Friday,” she said, not looking up at him. “That’s tomorrow night. Don’t you have a game to play in, or a date with one of your many girlfriends?” Her voice got a little bitchy, which he took as encouraging.

“No, ma’am,” he replied, oozing sincerity. “I’ve cleared my schedule. Nothing’s more important than getting help with my, um, education.”

Without waiting for an answer, Brian hustled out of the room, saying, “My house. Seven-thirty PM. I’ll throw some cokes in the fridge. See ya!” Katherine Limestall sat there for a full minute with her mouth open in amazement.


The next day, friday, was a scheduled teachers’ conference day, so no students were in class. Miss Limestall was unable to Antalya travesti hold Mr. Wilde’s attention long enough to attempt to persuade him to assign another tutor to Brian Swinford, but she was unwilling to call it off herself.

The boy had it in for her, she didn’t know why. He seemed to be trying to get her in trouble or something. Was he behind all the mysterious gifts? The flowers, the perfume, the candy? People were talking, and it could lead to a bad evaluation. She went home that afternoon frazzled and no less confused about the Swinford boy’s motives.

Entering her apartment, Katherine looked at the clock and saw that she had a couple of hours before she needed to be at Brian’s house for the tutoring session. A shower would do me good, she thought, pouring herself a glass of wine from the fridge. She kicked off her shoes and walked toward the bathroom, unbuttoning her straining silk blouse on the way.

As the shower heated up, Katherine finished undressing and tossed her clothes on a chair, then went to examine herself in the fogging mirror over the sink. It was good to get some fresh air on her boobies – that was always how she thought of her breasts: boobies.

She lifted them and squeezed them together, flattened them against her ribs and then let go, watching them in the glass as they swayed back into their full, round original shape. She liked her boobies, always had, ever since seventh grade when she first started showing. It suddenly occurred to her that, perhaps, Brian Swinford liked her boobies, too.

The thought caused an unbidden tingle in her pussy. She wondered if the boy had a nice dick. Katherine! she scolded herself mentally as she stepped under the spray. He’s a high school student! The next thought was, however, that he’s also 18 years old. The thought after that was the memory of the long bulge in his pants that day at the zoo.

The water felt good as it ran over and down her smooth skin. The hot water made her nipples pucker, or was it the thought of Brian Swinford kissing them?

He is 18, after all, and it would be legal. Not exactly ethical, but definitely legal. Katherine worked the soap into a thick froth as she rubbed her curvy body clean, then took down the showerhead to rinse her aching pussy.

She adjusted the spray to “massage” and brought herself to a delightful climax as she imagined the young student’s tongue deep inside her. She giggled. Not so much younger than I, she reminded herself.

Katherine turned off the water and toweled herself vigorously as she strode to her closet. Tonight, she thought, I dress for success. Brian Swinford will not know what hit him.


In the Swinford home on Harris Avenue, young Brian was congratulating himself on how he’d maneuvered things in his favor to get Miss Limestall to come to him. His parents had left that morning on an extended weekend trip, admonishing their son not to wreck the house with wild parties while they were gone.

Brian had promised them solemnly – and truthfully – that he would abide by their instructions. Hell, the only thing he wanted to wreck was his parents’ king-size bed! Well, not exactly wreck it, he laughed, but give the springs a good workout, at least! He made a final check of the house in advance of the student teacher’s arrival: white wine chilling in the silver ice bucket; mood music on the CD player, low, soft and romantic; lights down low throughout the place; and, to at least give the illusion that some tutoring was going to happen, his Biology text, notebook paper and two pens on the dining room table.

He dabbed some of his dad’s favorite cologne on his cheeks and rubbed some of the excess off into his pubic hair, then he got dressed. Brian had decided to dress normally, but for good luck, he was wearing the jeans he’d had on that day at the zoo. The doorbell rang just as he was tying his shoes.

* * * *

“Welcome, Miss Limestall, welcome!” Brian called as he swung open the door. He was about to say something like, “Won’t you come in,” but the sight of his tutor made the words freeze in his throat.

“Thank you, Mister Swinford,” purred Miss Limestall as she brushed past the stunned boy into the foyer of the Harris Avenue home. “I hope you’re ready to get right down to work!” She turned toward him and, putting her fist on her right hip, smiled at him brightly.

Brian couldn’t believe his eyes. He’d never seen Miss Limestall looking like this before. Time seemed to slow down as he took her in: no make-up, her hair piled up under an old baseball cap, wearing black thick-framed eyeglasses, oversized, a faded college track sweatsuit, and paint-spattered Reeboks!

The semi-erection he’d been sporting in anticipation of her arrival now went completely limp in Brian’s jeans.

Katherine saw the boy’s face fall in reaction to her appearance and knew that she had won complete İstanbul travesti control of the situation. She took a step closer to him and gripped his chin firmly in her hand.

“Brian,” she said quietly, her eyes gazing intently into his, “I know why you wanted me to come here tonight. Uh-uh!” She wagged a finger to stop his denial. “In spite of that, I’m here. But you are no longer in charge, do you understand? Good. Now….”

Katherine explained to Brian that if he wanted her, he was going to have to win her, by winning a game.

The game was called “Strip Study”: she would ask a series of Biology questions, and if he got the question wrong, he would have to remove an article of clothing. If he got the question right, however, she herself would be obligated to take something off. The first one to end up fully naked would be declared the loser. If Brian lost, Katherine would simply go home, if she wanted to. If she lost, Brian could do to her whatever he wanted. Katherine asked him if he understood the rules.

The boy, suddenly dry-throated, could only nod in response. But he did feel his limp dick once again rising to the occasion.

“Good,” she said. “Shall we begin?” She seated herself at the table and removed a folder from her briefcase. Brian sat down opposite her, stunned beyond words, as she opened the folder and read the first question aloud.

* * * *

About thirty-five minutes later, Brian was down to his boxers, while Katherine was still fully covered, albeit partially disrobed. She had stacked the chips in her favor, having worn two t-shirts and a bra under her sweatshirt and a pair of gym shorts and two pair of panties under the sweatpants. She sat opposite him now in the gym shorts and the last t-shirt.

Brian sat there goggle-eyed. Miss Limestall is in my kitchen wearing only a t-shirt and shorts, he thought excitedly. Jesus, that t-shirt is tight! Her nipples are really sticking out! I hope I win, I hope I win, I hope I win, he silently prayed, and nearly missed the next question the teacher asked.

“Brian, pay attention now!” she scolded, but she was having trouble herself. His body was really quite splendid, she noticed, finely muscled, and nearly hairless. She hated hairy men.

I wonder what his skin feels like, what it will feel like against mine, she mused. Wait a second, she warned herself, you’ve promised yourself you’re walking straight out of here once he loses those boxers! Well, it wouldn’t hurt to look at him a little more, she finally concluded.

“I’m sorry,” Brian said, “what was the question?”

She repeated it, and damned if he didn’t get it right! Katherine stood wordlessly and turned away from Brian, then wriggled the gym shorts down over her round, muscular butt, shifting side to side for the boy’s entertainment.

A whiff of pussy scent rose to her nostrils as she danced, and realized that her panties were very damp. She sat quickly and crossed her shapely legs under the table before Brian could see her arousal, and threw the shorts in his face with a giggle.

She suddenly knew that, win or lose, she would be spending the night with this young stud – it had been too long since she’d felt a nice, long, hard cock in her aching pussy! In fact, the last time she’d tried to have sex – more than four months ago with another student teacher – had been a disaster. The poor bastard had been overwhelmed, had gone completely limp in the face of her magnificent melons, and nothing she did could bring him back.

Katherine quickly formulated an idea, shut the folder and looked Brian directly in the eye. “I have two more biology-related questions for you, Mister Swinford,” she purred. “However, you will never see either of them on your final exam. Are you ready?”

Brian swallowed hard, even though his throat was dry. “I-I guess so, Miss Limestall,” he stammered.

“Good,” she said, rising from the chair. “My first question is,” she began, “do you think that the size of a woman’s breasts is directly linked to her sensuality?” Katherine turned her torso so the boy could see fully the jutting of her outrageous breasts.

“Yes! Of course! Definitely!” Brian nearly shouted. He gripped the edges of the table to keep himself in his chair.

“Very good,” she purred, “you got the question right.” Katherine reached under her t-shirt and unhooked her bra, then slipped her arms inside the sleeves so she could slip the straps out. Pulling the bra out from under the shirt, she dropped the frilly thing on the table in front of the boy, then briefly massaged her globes through the fabric.

She looked at Brian to see what effect it had had; his mouth was parted, his breathing irregular. She took that as a positive sign.

Katherine took a step closer to the teenager. “My last question,” she announced, pausing for effect, “my last question is, do you think that the size of a man’s penis is directly linked with a woman’s pleasure?”

Her eyes bore into his fiercely. She glanced down quickly at his crotch, saw that his young cock was fully erect, the purple head peeking out from the leg of his boxers. Her tongue darted out of her mouth involuntarily.

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