I gave a motivational talk at my son’s class and ended up with his teacher in my living room

I am an amateur marathon runner and a father of an elementary school kid. A few weeks ago, I gave a motivational talk at the school about goals, discipline, and what training for a marathon teaches you. The kids were into it, but one teacher stuck with me more than the rest.

She was in her mid-30s, soft and stacked, with thick thighs, wide hips, and curves that didn’t quit. A few days later, she messaged me asking if I minded her asking a few questions, saying she had been thinking about running more seriously.

One thing led to another. We had long chats where I gave her tips, beginner plans, and links to gear. I even helped her pick out new running shoes. The messages got flirtier quickly. She joked about being "sore in all the right places" and once told me that running made her think of my voice telling her to push harder.

Then came the Tuesday morning text. She asked if I was working from home because she had a weird pain in her foot and thought maybe I could take a look.

She showed up less than an hour later, still in her teacher clothes. She wore a modest skirt and blouse but was carrying a bag from my favorite running brand. That detail alone had my mind wandering.

She slipped off her shoes and pointed to where it hurt. I showed her a few drills, massaged the area, and gave her some mobility tips. Then she smiled and said it was kind of embarrassing, but she had another running issue.

"What’s that?" I asked.

"Chafing," she said, pointing at her inner thighs. "Bad."

I half-joked and asked if she wanted me to take a look.

She didn’t answer. She just stood up and pulled her skirt down, dropping it without hesitation.

She had a big, soft ass, thick thighs, and very unsexy cotton panties that looked more grandma than gym bunny, but the situation got hotter instantly. She sat on the chair with her legs slightly apart and pointed again.

There was a deep red patch high on her inner thigh. Without a word, I grabbed some cream from the bathroom and handed it to her, asking if she wanted to lotion herself.

"Why don’t you do it for me?" she said, her voice low and pouty.

I knelt, poured lotion into my hands, and started rubbing gently along her thighs. My thumbs worked in slow, deep circles. She moaned softly and said it felt good because she had been so tight lately.

Then she looked at me with a wicked grin and told me she had touched herself to my photos.

That stopped me. I asked her what she meant.

She said those warm-up pics I had her take for the school page were not appropriate, but they worked for her. She leaned back slightly, and her legs parted just a little more.

My self-control snapped.

I stood, stepped in front of her, and pressed my bulge toward her face. She reached for it, slowly stroking me over my pants. I asked if she wanted it in her mouth, and she said yes.

I dropped my pants and boxers. She wrapped her hands around my cock, which was half hard and growing quickly, and stroked until I was fully erect. Then, without a word, she leaned forward and took me into her mouth.

She wasn’t perfect at it. She used too much tongue and wasn’t great at rhythm, but damn if the moment didn’t make up for it. Watching her while she was still in her work blouse, knees pressed together, trying to please me, was a view I won’t forget.

I let her lead, but guided her rhythm with a hand behind her neck. She didn’t resist. In fact, she started to match my pace, taking me deeper.

"You’ll need better stamina if you want to improve your running," I joked.

She gave a muffled laugh, then sucked harder.

When I warned her I was close, she didn’t stop. I came in her mouth with a groan, my hands gripping the sides of the chair. She held me there, then pulled away and spat into a kitchen towel.

"Sorry, I don’t swallow," she said.

"Fair enough," I said, catching my breath. "We can work on your stamina and maybe your swallowing, next time."

She wiped her mouth and looked up at me, asking when she would see me again.

I hadn’t thought of it as a recurring thing, but without hesitation, I told her Friday, since I was working from home again.

"Perfect," she said, grabbing her bag. "I’ll train hard before I come."