In a sequel to the story about art teacher Abigail Fontane, both Thomas and Bruce learn the sexy supervisor of the chess club has bedded each of them–twice!

Introduction

This is the second part of a story about a reasonably young and attractive art teacher, Miss Abigail Fontane, who volunteers to take over a high school’s chess club when Mr. Durban, an English teacher who had passionately run the club for a dozen years, suddenly retired due to failing health. She knows almost nothing about the game. The 33-year-old art instructor had previously helped out with the boys’ wrestling team when they needed a teacher with a van to drive them to meets at other schools. While doing that, a rumor circulated that Miss Fontane had gotten more than a little bit friendly with at least a couple of the school’s wrestlers.

The chess players were aware of this unsubstantiated gossip. Upon returning from a successful chess tournament, when everyone else dispersed, Miss Fontane told 18-year-old Thomas Maguire that his best-ever result at a chess tourney was cause for a celebration dinner at her apartment. Thomas correctly anticipated what was in store for him, so he readily agreed. Sure enough, Miss Fontane admitted to being sexually attracted to teenage boys. Accordingly, she and the very willing Thomas had a wonderful time fucking in her bed.

As he did in the first part, Thomas narrates the second part of this story.

Part One

My one fabulous sexual romp with art teacher Abigail Fontane in late October seemed to be the only one we were going to have. I saw her regularly at the chess club where, to her credit, she continued to learn more about the game by the month. Frankly, I was afraid to press the issue of another sexual dalliance myself, but if she ever brought up the subject again and opportunity presented itself…

Mr. Durban died suddenly in mid-December. His funeral was on the final Thursday before the Christmas Break. Thus, many of his teaching colleagues attended the rites. Students could take the afternoon off school to attend, too, if they informed the school secretary in advance. They were warned that someone from the school would be at the funeral parlor to keep track of those who actually attended and those who used the funeral as an excuse to dodge school for an afternoon. A few knuckleheads indeed got caught and were punished. Most of the serious chess club members attended the sad affair.

After hearing all the glowing eulogies, I returned to school just in time to hear the final bell ring. I was sad and angry that someone so young—Mr. Durban was just 56—and who had such a positive influence on so many students had been taken away from us. Oddly, in confronting death that day, I had a new regard for life—and I started thinking about and desiring sex. (Apparently, according to psychologists, this is a common reaction to death among young males. In a way, they are trying to replace the loss of a member of the herd.)

I was about to leave the school with a few books I had collected from my locker, when a sexy image of Miss Fontane naked popped into my head. it occurred to me that she had lamented after our fucking session in October, that I was not one of her art pupils, otherwise we could sneak in an occasional fuck once school had concluded for the day. I now was fighting an erection, so I decided to venture to where the school’s art classes were located, see if Miss Fontane was still present—and still agreeable to some impromptu screwing with me.

I thought it was odd that I would be graduating from my high school in seven months, but I had never been in this part of the school before. Still, I had no trouble finding the art room. I could see Miss Fontaine, still quite eye-catching, through the window of her door. She was alone grading student’s works. Perfect!

I knocked on the door, opened it slowly, and asked, “Miss Fontane, are you alone?”

“Thomas, what a delightful surprise to see you in this part of the building!” she joyfully stated. Then she suddenly realized where I had probably just returned from.

“How was the funeral?” she asked. “I couldn’t attend because there was no art teacher available to replace me if I went. Besides, I didn’t really even know Mr. Durban. We only spoke that one time two months ago when he brought me that info about the chess tournament where you did so well. I know he was held in high esteem.”

I told her that no one really expected her to be there and that the chess club was well represented.

“That’s good to hear. So, what brings you to my humble classroom this afternoon, Thomas?” she asked me.

I paused for a few seconds to make sure no one else was inside the art room and no one in the hallway could possibly hear what I was about to suggest. Nevertheless, I lowered my voice and said, “Abigail, after we had sex in October, you told me you wished I was enrolled in one of your art classes so we could occasionally fuck in this classroom afterward. Well, I’m still not an art student—and never will be one—but here I am, ready to fuck on a moment’s notice. For some peculiar reason, I’m extremely horny right now and I have a tremendous desire to fuck your pussy. What do you say?”

At first, Miss Fontane said nothing at all. She got up slowly from her chair, walked to the door, shut it and locked it. Then she put her fingers to her lips to indicate I needed to be as quiet as possible. Then she led me to a secluded corner of the art room that could not be seen easily from anywhere else in the room, never mind through the window in the door.

She finally replied, “Thomas, I’ve had a long and trying day. I truly believe the best thing for me is to have you shove your big, hard dick into my pussy over and over again until we both come. That’s what I say!”

We both quickly disrobed and set our clothing on a shelf that held samples of students’ sculptures and pottery. My dick became erect very quickly at the sight of Miss Fontane’s tremendous set of tits and their sexy nipples. Our space was limited so it made for some interesting fucking positions. My favorite part was fondling Abigail’s juicy jugs while she merrily sucked on my throbbing penis. It wouldn’t take much more stimulus to set me off. I instructed her to stand up and lean forward onto a table and elevate her behind. She complied without questioning me. I got to my feet and promptly thrust my manhood into Abigail’s hot vagina. There was nothing subtle about my fucking. I rammed my dick hard into her, making a smacking noise as my groin collided over and over with her cute butt cheeks.

The rough sex seemed to be a turn-on for this art teacher as she began to moan at a level of loudness that worried me.

I stopped my vigorous fucking for a moment to admonish her. “Shh! Abigail. Thanks for the indirect compliment, but someone lingering in the hallway could certainly hear your ecstatic moaning and figure out that we aren’t discussing famous artists. If you value your teaching career, knock off the noise!”

“Yes, Thomas,” she said meekly. “I got carried away. I’ll stay quiet until we’re done—but please resume your fucking. It’s marvelous!”

I did what I was told, and Abigail kept her promise. After about five more minutes of the most intense sexual activity I had ever experienced in my rather sheltered life, I strongly ejaculated deep inside her pretty pussy. I gave her at least four shots of my warm sperm. The sensation pleased me greatly. Long after the last drip had left my shaft, I continued to thrust my rod as far as it could go. I jokingly whispered to her, “Let’s make a baby, Abigail! Let’s make a baby!” It had been an erotic fantasy of mine since I had hopped into bed with Miss Fontaine two months earlier.

She found the idea amusing. Abigail broke her silence long enough to giggle and say, “Nope, Thomas. Sorry, that’s not going to happen. My special pills are good at keeping me out of the maternity ward. Nevertheless, that was a first-rate fucking you gave me. I liked that you took charge and just rammed your big dick in me like you did. We must do this again sometime.”

Part Three

My nemesis at the school’s chess club was and always had been Bruce Mahoney. He was the only club member I could not beat—and I hadn’t really come close to doing it. He was just at another level that I was starting to realize I would never reach.

One day just after school resumed in early January, I saw Bruce in the school library. He saw me at the same time and excitedly waved me over. “Look at these.” He showed me four books about chess strategy and theory that were new additions to our library. That raised the number of chess books there to four.

“Wow!” I said. “The club has a decent chess library, but I never thought I’d see the day when there would be any chess books available here to the proletariat.”

“There’s a reason for it!” Bruce said. He opened the covers of each of them where there was a prominent inscription that said, “This book is one of four chess tomes that were bought and donated to the school’s library courtesy of the estate of the late Mr. Steven Durban, a beloved English teacher who loved chess.”

“That almost chokes me up,” I admitted to Bruce. Then I asked him, “How did you know about them?”

“The librarian alerted me to them,” he said. “They arrived just yesterday. They likely won’t be borrowed very much, but who cares? That’s a nice way for Mr. Durban to be remembered. We’ll have to tell everyone at the club when it meets after school today.”

“I certainly miss Mr. Durban at the club and his wit and wisdom about chess,” I noted. “Miss Fontane’s stepping in to volunteer saved the club, but she’s no Mr. Durban. That’s for sure.”

Bruce surprised me by replying, “Mr. Durban certainly is no Miss Fontane, though. I can attest to that!”

“You can? What do you mean by that?”

An expression came over Bruce’s face that seemed to indicate he had said something he should not have. He shrugged his shoulders and whispered to me, “No one is supposed to know about this because if word got out it could cost someone her teaching career. Can you keep a secret?”

“Only if you can keep the similar secret that I’m going to tell you!”

Bruce and I moved to a distant table in the rear of the library where we could converse in relative privacy. We both learned that each of us had bedded Abigail Fontane twice (or she had bedded us). In both cases it had happened days apart. In late October I had fucked Miss Fontane in her apartment immediately after the tournament where Bruce got to the semis and I got to the quarters. He shared the same bed with her one day after Halloween. I had fucked her in her art classroom the day before the Christmas Break. Two days into the Break, Bruce had bedded her at a motel.

“I suspect our lovely Miss Fontane is bedding us for the purposes of comparison,” Bruce determined.

“I couldn’t care less why she’s doing it,” I replied, “I just want to keep on doing it. Having sex with her is terrific. I could fondle her luscious tits forever and never get tired of it.”

Bruce generally agreed with me, although he was transfixed by another part of her desirable body. “I swear that sexy pussy of hers reaches out and pulls my dick inside her. Now I know why one of the nicknames for a vagina is ‘a snatch’. Be that as it may, it’s quite fabulous to experience.”

After a few seconds of suppressed chuckles, Bruce suggested, “Perhaps the two of us should linger a while after the chess club ends today so we can have a little private chat with her. It might work out to our mutual benefit.” I concurred.

I put up a decent fight, but Bruce still beat me for the umpteenth time at the chess club that afternoon, running his winning streak against me to some ungodly number that I didn’t really want to know. Minutes later I crushed a newcomer to restore a bit of my pride. Bruce and I were the last players still at the club when Miss Fontaine said it was time to pack up the chess sets and leave the school. Bruce and I both looked at each other. Bruce took the initiative.

“I think we need to speak to you about something, Miss Fontane,” he said firmly.

“Is this about an upcoming tourney you want to attend?” she asked. We both shook our heads.

Miss Fontane’s suddenly became attentive. She already knew what the topic of discussion would be before Bruce said a word. “Let’s put the chess materials away and have a conversation in the school’s parking lot next to my car,” she advised us. “There won’t be a soul anywhere nearby to hear us.” We both nodded this time.

When we got to the car, Miss Fontaine, busily placed some art materials into her trunk, then Bruce spilled the beans. “Today we found out, quite accidentally, that you’ve fucked both of us—twice.”

Still focused on her art supplies, without looking at us, Miss Fontane said, “You both know that you were supposed to keep our little flings a secret, but I guess teenage boys talk about sex as much as teenage girls do. Congrats to each of you for staying silent for nearly three whole months. I sure hope you’ve told no one else.”

“No,” I interjected. “We only came to that realization this morning. Bruce made an indirect comment about his sexual history with you. It rang a bell with me—and we both opened up about it.” I paused and said, “Abigail, I have no intention to tell anyone else.”

Bruce agreed with me on that point. Not wanting a good thing to end, he also added, “I love having sex with you, Abigail. I want to keep doing it…and do it more regularly than every couple of months or so.”

“I agree,” I stated. “I’d fuck you here in the parking lot right now if we could get away with it.”

Miss Fontane paused for a moment and said, “Okay, I forgive you two for not keeping our secrets forever. Nothing too terrible has happened because of it…yet. So how about we do some serious fucking tonight at 8 p.m.?”

“Which one of us are you talking to?” Bruce inquired.

“Both of you!” she replied. “You both know where my apartment is. Be there at 8 p.m. for a threesome. Tell your folks we’re having an emergency meeting of the chess club at my apartment. That isn’t totally a lie.”

We eagerly agreed. Miss Fontane quickly drove away from the school, waving to us with a smile on her face as she turned left to exit the property.

“Well, that worked out as well as could be expected,” Bruce said with a tremendous amount of understatement.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “It certainly could have turned out worse for everyone involved.”

Then we both broke into huge smiles and high-fived each other.

Part Four

Bruce got a ride in his father’s car to Miss Fontane’s apartment complex. He later told me he pretended he wasn’t exactly sure where it was located to avoid giving his dad the impression he had been there before for illicit sex with a teacher. Myself, I rode on a municipal bus that stopped about 20 feet from Miss Fontane’s building. The bus driver didn’t care how many times I had screwed a comely art teacher there.

Bruce and I arrived in the apartment building’s lobby within seconds of each other at about 7:55 p.m. “Bruce, are we still in agreement about what we’ll do tonight during this threesome?” I asked.

“Yeah, I think it’s a great idea,” Bruce responded. “Now we just have to convince Abigail it’s a great idea, too.”

“I don’t think that will be a problem,” I stated. “Perhaps you’ve noticed that she’s kind of wild sexually.”
“I’ve only screwed her in her bed and a motel bed,” Bruce said somewhat enviously. “You’ve seen her at her sexual wildest, screwing you in the art room. That must have been awesome.”

“It was definitely better than making pottery,” I said.

What Bruce and I were confirming was something we had discussed in the school’s parking lot not long after Miss Fontane had left. We had earlier mentioned to each other that we preferred different parts of Abigail’s lovely anatomy: I was mesmerized by her big tits, while Bruce was transfixed by her pussy’s seemingly magical powers. It occurred to me that we could both be totally content with tonight’s threesome if I focused completely on her breasts and receiving fellatio while Bruce could fuck her pussy until his dick fell off. Bruce approved immediately.

At 7:58 we hit the button that activated the intercom to Abigail’s apartment. She let us in without saying a word. We got on the elevator and rode it to apartment #312 on the third floor. When Miss Fontane opened the door, she was dressed in a sexy pale-blue nighty. There were two bottles of red wine and three glasses on the kitchen table.

We both stepped inside and fought over who was going to compliment her first about her choice of bedroom attire. Bruce beat me to it, hugging Abigail first and telling her she was “the sexiest thing on two feet”. I embraced her next, and said I never noticed her feet, but she had the best breasts I’d seen on any woman since the heyday of Raquel Welch. When I embraced her, I gave one of her tits a gentle, loving squeeze.

“Same old Thomas!” she exclaimed with a bit of mock anger in her voice. “Always transfixed by my breasts. I suspect you’ll never grow out of that phase.”

That was the perfect opening for Bruce and I to introduce our idea, where I had fun with Abigail’s top while he simultaneously had fun with her bottom.

“That sounds like a great plan to me,” Abigail stated. “Let’s have a few glasses of wine to loosen up before we begin.”

We did. I could tell Bruce was not used to drinking wine. He overindulged slightly and got a little bit tipsy. I simply sipped on my wine. I intended to keep my head as clear as possible to enjoy this experience. I knew something this sexually fabulous might never happen to me again.

At about 8:10 p.m. we adjourned to Abigail’s bedroom. Her bed was large enough to accommodate three people intent on having unconventional sex. We all disrobed at the same time. Of course, Abigail’s wardrobe was noticeably skimpier than either of ours. Bruce insisted on giving me a high-five before starting. I thought it was a little bit crass to do so; Abigail didn’t seem to mind, though.

Bruce and I quickly took our assigned positions on the bed. Bruce began licking Miss Fontane’s vagina with great affection and purpose. Meanwhile, I cupped her beautiful breasts and was quickly transported to something akin to heaven. My fascination with them was never-ending. I fondled, squeezed, licked and sucked on them to my heart’s content. When Bruce changed his method of pleasing Abigail from his tongue to his dick, Abigail suggested that She should start to suck on my rod while I happily played with her mammary glands.

It would have been a tremendous sight to an onlooker, had there been one: Bruce was merrily fucking away in a kneeling position, telling Abigail she undoubtedly had the world’s finest pussy. About two feet away, I was telling her she had the best tits in town and perhaps in the entire county. She could not possibly reply to either of us because her mouth was occupied with stimulating my stiff dick.

Bruce came first. He emitted a sharp groan and fired his load of semen inside the pussy of his dreams. I was not far behind. I pulled out of Abigail’s mouth, moved my penis between her fantastic boobs. With Abigail squeezing them together and me thrusting upward, our titty fuck caused me to shoot my load mostly on her wonderful set of breasts. I grabbed my penis in mid-ejaculation to spray a goodly amount of semen on her pretty face—just because I could.

Bruce and I both had similar ideas about dealing with the residue of our respective cum shots. I scooped up as much of my warm goo as I could with my fingers and deposited it directly into Abigail’s gaping mouth. At the same time, Bruce used his fingers to pick up cum blobs that had leaked out of Abigail’s pussy, ang manually returned them to her vagina. When we both realized the similarity of what we were doing, we broke into long laughter. Even Abigail did. Tired and verging on drunk, Bruce suddenly curled up near Abigail’s feet and slept for 30 minutes.

I remained wide awake, and Abigail gave me a hand job to revive my flaccid rod. Within a few minutes, it was hard again, so I decided to also deposit some of my DNA in the same place where Bruce had. Twenty minutes of fucking a pussy already filled with my buddy’s cum was a little bit weird to me and slightly off-putting, but it was worth it. I fired a substantially less impressive load than I had across Abigail’s tits and face, but unlike Bruce I had experienced a second orgasm
.
My chess buddy was sound asleep when Abigail proclaimed me to be “a far better bedmate than Bruce” as he had failed to come more than once in his three trysts with her. On the other hand, Abigail declared my dick “was like an unstoppable fountain” compared to Bruce’s.

“Hooray for me!” I said in a loud voice. “It’s not chess, but I finally beat Bruce at something—and decisively, too!”

Tags: The Rumor About Miss Fontane (Part #2)