You Don’t Remember Me, Don’t You? - A My Former Teacher Story [M34/F59] [Femdom] [Edging] [Handjob]

It was during our annual town fest, a summer evening where the whole town gathers at town square to have a good time, when all of a sudden an older woman I had never seen before in my life approached me. After she came to a standstill in front of me, with a smile on her face, she asked me the following question: “You don’t remember me, don’t you?”

I looked at her, I starred at her, I slowly checked her out from tip to toe, nothing. Nothing came into my mind, I had no clue who the woman was who was standing in front of me. I panicked a little bit, then I tried to figure out a way out of my situation.

A way that would allow me to figure out who the mature woman standing in front of me actually was, without having to ask someone, and without actually having to admit that I had no clue who she really was. But my brain was most likely had a day off, because it gave nothing.

So I gave in, I told the woman in front of me the truth, totally aware of the fact that I might embarrass myself: “Yes, I honestly have no clue who you are.”

Luckily the smile just didn’t stay on the woman’s face, it got even bigger: “It has been a while since we last met. Close to three decades.”

Even with that hint, nothing. Something that didn’t really came as a surprise, because roughly three decades ago, I spent my days in kindergarten. After watching my clueless face for a little bit longer, the older woman in front of me solved the riddle: “I have been your kindergarten teacher. Back then, before I left town.”

Some memories, a name or two came into my mind. I tried my luck, and used one of those names, and surprise, I choose the right one. But her face, a few decades and my fading memory, it stayed totally alien to me. But it being that way, brought the following question onto my mind. I spoke it out loud: “How were you able to recognize me? Because I had no chance recognizing you, and as far as I know, I have changed a little bit in the last twenty five to thirty years.”

Her answer was a surprisingly simple one: “You pretty much look like your father back then.”

She had a point there, it wasn’t the first time that someone told me that I basically looked like my father. Just a few years younger. And it was my father who dropped me off at kindergarten every workday morning. So she actually might have been my kindergarten teacher.

Not that it mattered anyways, because the two of us had a conversation up and running. The ice was broken, so we kept on talking, and talking, and talking while enjoying some snacks and some cold beverages.

Time flew by during that evening, it was past midnight when one of the voluntarily helpers, a guy I went in the same class at school, politely told my former teacher and me that the fest was over, that everyone, even the most hardened drinkers, had already gone home.

Shortly after the mature woman and I walked down main street together, still talking, still laughing, most likely far to loud for the time of the day. So we for sure woke someone up that was looking out of the window and would totally gossip about what he had seen on the following day, but we didn’t care.

We had our fun, until we came to the point where our paths were splitting: I had to go right, she had to go left. I offered to bring her home, but she politely declined: “I think I am old enough to return home on my own.”

Her saying put a smile on my, then on her face, then we wished each other a good night, and we both went our ways.

Some time later I was laying in bed, thinking about how stupid I had been. I should have asked her for her number, because it really had been a more than enjoyable evening. The best one I had spent with a woman for a long long time.

I already wanted to slap myself in the face for not thinking about exchanging contact information, but then a solution came into my mind: I am living in a small town. She was the new face in the same small town, so someone most likely was able to tell me more about her. I decided to ask around, and with that solution on my mind, I feel asleep.

On the following Sunday I slept in. It was late morning when I crawled out of my bed, and then after a visit in the bathroom walked over to my parent’s house. There we had our traditional Sunday family dinner.

I was right, the news had already spread that I was seen leaving the fest with an older woman. My sister told me that she had heard it after church – a place that hadn’t seen me for some time – and it was my mother who began to ask me questions.

Luckily my father came in to my defense, and told the two woman sitting at the table, to give me some time, and that I most likely will tell everything when the time was right. For a brief moment I thought about mentioning that the woman I spend an evening with had told me that she was my former kindergarten teacher, but I decided against it.

Better to ask someone that was not that close, or better not all related to me. Because everything else would bring back my mother’s and my sister’s curiosity, and I wasn’t in the mood to get nailed by one question after the other.

After dinner I went for my usual Sunday walk. Normally I always ran into some to talk with, but not on that day. No one was around, so there was no one I was able to ask about the woman from the evening before. When arriving back at my place, I decided that researching her was a tomorrow thing. Then I ordered a pizza. From the only pizza place in town.

On the next day at work, I had delicious cold pizza for breakfast, it took until ten o’clock in the morning that the first customer showed up in the hardware store I was working in. It was one of our many regular customers – it were regular customers that kept the place alive and the corporate competition mostly out – a farmer in his early sixties, so it was very likely that he knew something.

Just in case, asking my coworkers, my father – who also owned the hardware store in forth generation and strictly speaking was my boss – or my sister – who took care of most of the office work – still was no option.

So I was more than glad when I saw the old farmer’s face. Even he, who’s farm was as far out of town as possible before it would have been in another town, already knew about me walking home with a woman.

I told the old farmer, while loading his order into his well aged van, that she stated that she had been my teacher in kindergarten. Then I asked him if he knew a little bit more. He told me that there had been two teachers in the kindergarten back then, that one was buried on the cemetery next to the church, and that the other one more or less disappeared over night.

We both assumed that the other one was the one that had been talking to me and walking next to me. The old farmer was able to give me some more information: “As far as I know, as far as my wife has told me, she got a haircut last Friday, to look her best at the annual festivity, the woman you were hanging out with has moved back into her dead parent’s house early last week. I can give you the address, if you like.”

After we were done loading the farmer gave me the address. I already knew the building, and I also knew how had been living inside it. What I didn’t knew was that the meanwhile dead police chief and his also dead wife, who worked as a secretary for the town’s only accountant, had a daughter.

That itself would have been nothing out of the ordinary in a big city, or even in a bigger town, but here in small town land, when people never mentioned someone, when people never talked about someone, even if the person had left town ages ago, it was suspicious. Very suspicious.

But it all being a little bit suspicious, it didn’t stop me from making plans for after work. I would coincidentally walk by my former teachers house – I assumed that she had inherited the place from her parents – to check the place out, and to hopefully run into her. And if that wouldn’t work out, I would come up with some reason to knock at her door. But life had different plans for me, I would never go on that after work walk.

A few hours later, it was in the middle of the afternoon, my coworkers and me had a cup of coffee behind the counter of the hardware store, the front door opened and a new customer, not unknown customer came inside.

After entering she took her time, she carefully looked around, she checked out the place from bottom to top before she approached the counter I was standing behind alone. My father and my sister had vanished in the moment they realized that it was the woman I had hung out with that had entered the place.

They clearly wanted to give me some privacy, but most likely were trying their best to listen into the conversation that was about to erupt. But their behavior showed me one more thing, they both clearly had no problem that I had been seen with an older woman, and they also had no problem with thirty four year old me continuing to see a fifty nine year old woman.

After looking around my former teacher approached the counter. She was a few steps away when our eyes met. Smiles appeared on our faces, we both blushed a little bit, we both got a little bit nervous, and then, then she asked me a familiar question: “You don’t remember me, don’t you?”

This time I didn’t panic. This time I had an appropriate answer for her: “You are the one I had some drinks with, you are the one I spend a more than pleasant evening with, and you are the one I forgot to ask for her number.”

My answer made the smile on my former teachers face bigger, but her face also a little bit redder: “Maybe you get my number today, it depends…”

She stopped mid sentence, so I finished it for her: “...on what?”

My former teacher answered the question with another question: “It depends on if your store, that totally has not changed since I had been here last decades ago, offers delivery?”

I nodded: “Yes, we do deliver goods, but only if the customer buys more than a pound of nails.”

My former teacher, still with a huge smile on her face, then handed me a handwritten list. Luckily she wasn’t writing like a doctor, so I was able to read it and go through the list. The list was divided into two main groups: Construction materials and tools.

While dealing with the list a curios, or maybe even confused expression must have been appearing on my face. So my former teacher gave me an explanation of the list: “I am planning to stay in town, as you for sure already know, inside my parent’s house, the place I grew up in. But the house needs to be repaired and renovated.”

I meanwhile was done with the list: “We can deliver everything on the list. But it will take some time to get it all, and it for sure won’t come cheap.”

The smile stayed on my former teachers face: “Great. So when can I expect a delivery?”

“During the next week, maybe on Tuesday. We could drop everything into your front yard, without you having to be present. At least in theory, but it is better to put them inside, beneath a roof, because rain and tools doesn’t always go hand in hand.”

Her head went up and down, I kept on going: “I will sent you an detailed offer for everything in an hour or two.”

My former teacher than gave me her phone number and her address. The last one wasn’t really needed, because I already knew where she was living, but the first one was definitely a win for me.

Then the business part was over. We kept on talking a little bit longer. During that conversation we both figured out or confirmed that the other one was single. Then we said goodbye to each other. And then we said goodbye to each other a second time. And then she finally left the hardware store. I looked after her when she left, and she shook her butt for me.

Shortly after the woman had left the store my sister appeared next to me. She smiled at me. Then she opened her mouth: “And, Friday night date night?”

I gently pushed my sister away, then I went to work. About two hours later I sent my former teacher an offer regarding her list. A few minutes later an answer came back: “We have a deal. Can the first delivery be on Wednesday, because I like to be around when things arrive, and I am out of town from now until Tuesday evening?”

I texted her back: “No problem. See you on Wednesday, maybe Thursday morning.”

I was a little bit disappointed after sending the message above, because I really wanted to ask my former teacher out on a date for Friday night, or maybe Thursday night, or Saturday afternoon, the time didn’t really matter.

It was like my former teacher was reading my thoughts. Roughly two minutes after I had sent my last message I got one back from her: “We can do something together, if you like. I really enjoyed last Saturday, but well, not before the second half of the next week.”

Needless to say, her last message put a more than pleased smile on my face. Then time began to fly by, and it all of a sudden was more than a week later, Wednesday morning and I was sitting behind the steering wheel of a truck who’s back was filled with my former teachers orders. Sitting next to me, my sister’s ex boyfriend who occasionally was my coworker.

When we drove up to her house, my former teacher was already standing in front of it, waiting for her order to be dropped. A smile appeared on my face when I saw her standing there.

After parking the truck in the driveway my coworker and me got out of the truck. We said hello to the older woman, we shook hands, it was a pretty formal thing, I’d prefer to hug her, maybe even to kiss her, but we were not at that point back then.

Then my coworker, my former teacher and me began to unload the truck. We put everything inside her garage, after we were done I handed her the bill, and while I handed her the bill, it was time to say goodbye, my coworker vanished into thin air. It was me and my former teacher only standing inside her now pretty crammed garage.

Once more our eyes met, I began to get nervous, but I made it. Instead of saying goodbye I asked her out on a date. The mature woman said yes, but she turned the going out thing into an invitation for dinner: “Show up on Friday, early afternoon. I will cook something for the two of us.”

My head went up and down, then we said goodbye to each other. It was an a little bit awkward situation, no one really knew how to exactly say goodbye, in the end we went for a formal handshake. I then went back into the truck, were my coworker already was waiting for me: “And, you asked her out?”

I told him that he did. A pleased expression appeared on his face, and I knew, that the whole town would shortly after know about it. But I didn’t care, or I just was used to it being that way. Most likely a mixture of both.

Two days later, a Friday, late afternoon, I was on my way towards my former teacher’s house. I got more and more nervous the closer I came to my destination. People were looking at me, people were looking after me, mostly after saying hi to me. And, yes, they all knew were I was heading. Small town living at it’s best, and a coworker that wasn’t really able to keep anything to himself.

After arriving at my destination, I knocked at the front door. Shortly after my former teacher opened up and then, then I was blown away: She was dressed to impress. Tight sitting clothes that revealed a lot, but not that much that it could be considered cheap, or slutty.

I froze, I most likely blushed a little bit, then I my eyes checked the mature woman out from tip to top. I would loved to say her that she was good looking, but well, I was frozen. Unable to move. It was her that broke the ice, after my reaction onto her appearance had put a huge smile on her face: “Come inside, I got some stay home slippers ready for you.”

My former teacher went inside. I followed her, while checking out her backside. Horny was on the rise, but I kept him under control. Because jumping onto my former teacher like a wild animal, it most likely wasn’t the appropriate thing to do.

After putting on the shoes she had provided I got a tour through her house. The place itself was in a surprisingly good shape for it’s age, and for the fact that no one had been living in it for the previous years, but the whole house was also somewhat dated.

The room layout itself, many tiny rooms connected by a hallway, people had stopped building places like that some time ago, and the furniture, even the decorations, it all looked very dated. Some of the things had a cool retro vibe, but most of them just were no good anymore. Long story short, I quickly realized why my former teacher was going to refurbish, rebuild and renovate the place.

The tour ended in her kitchen. My former teacher told me to sit down at the kitchen table, then she offered me a drink and after serving me a glass of ice cold water she said the following words: “Dinner will be ready soon.”

While she gave her cooking some final touches we kept on talking, and I kept on checking her out. It was then that I began to undress her with my eyes, and nope, I clearly was not hiding the fact that I did.

Then my former teacher served dinner. Her cooking was okay, the conversation we had while eating was a great one. And yes, we were flirting. We were hitting on each other hard while more and more sexual tension built up between the two of us.

After dinner, I helped her putting away the dishes, we got touchy while cleaning up her kitchen, I realized, and so probably did she, that it wouldn’t take much longer and something would happen between the two of us.

After the kitchen was spotless we moved over into the living room. There we ended up sitting next to each other on an ancient heavy leather sofa. Our two bodies were touching, sexual tension was filling the room, then we looked at each other, our eyes met and then we kissed for the first time ever.

We kept on kissing, one passionate kiss after the other. Our hands where all over each other while we were kissing, then our clothes began to fly through the air and ended up scattered throughout the room. Luckily nothing got destroyed beyond repair.

Now two fully naked people were making out in a living room that clearly resembled a previous decade, and to my surprise, two people, while making out, while kissing, while exploring each others bodies with their hands, were fighting on who actually had the upper hand. After a not too long time I decided to give in, to let her take over and to do what she wanted me to do.

It was shortly after her victory that my former teacher made me lay down flat on the sofa, with my hard one pointing straight to the ceiling. She then went down on her knees, next to me and the sofa. But before doing so, she put a pillow on the ground.

Moments later my former teacher’s hand was going up and down on my hard one. She gave me one slow and gentle stroke after the other. Her hand barely touched my dick, it took what felt like an eternity for hand going up and down once.

But her doing, it was enough to make me moan out loud, to make me want more and to make my rock hard dick leak more than just some pre cum. Fuck, her hand on my dick, she knew what she was doing, she knew the spots she had to hit, it just felt awesome.

Then her free hand grabbed my balls and gave them a few very gentle squeezes while the other hand kept on going up and down on my hard one. When she squeezed my balls I moaned out even louder, my moaning got more intense and I moaned out one single word: “Harder.”

That word coming out of my mouth, it put a huge smile on my former teacher’s face: “As you wish.”

The mature woman squeezed my balls harder and harder while her other hand jerked me off even slower, with even less pressure. It didn’t took long and I was gone. My brain turned off, my eyes were running in circles and my moaning was filling the room, or more likely the whole house.

My former teacher’s doing, the sensation of her hand going up and down on my dick, the sensation of her other hand squeezing, nearly crushing my balls, it felt so good. And it brought me closer and closer to an orgasm. Soon, soon my already aching and more than full balls would unload themselves.

But then, I was really, really close to an orgasm, the older woman still on her knees on the floor next to me, all of a sudden stopped. Without a warning she pulled her hands of my genitals: “I think you had enough fun for the day.”

A series of desperate moans escaped my body. I begged her to continue, to finish me off, to give those few squeezes, those last few strokes that horny me desperately wanted, that I needed to come.

My former teacher stayed hard. She kept on denying me my relief. She told me that it was better for me that way. Yes, she really didn’t want me to come. Yes, she enjoyed watching me suffer. And honestly, a huge part of me was enjoying suffering too, was enjoying getting denied a grand finale.

But my former teacher wasn’t done with me. As soon as I somewhat had come back to my senses she gave me an order: “Lay down on the floor, face towards the ceiling, please.”

Without protesting, without hesitating, I did as told. While I moved into my new position my former teacher stood up and handed me the pillow she had been kneeling on: “Put that beneath your head. You will thank me later.”

Once I was in position my former teacher looked down on me and I looked up to her. Then she placed herself above me, one foot on the left, the other one on the right side of my head. Her face was looking towards my hard one.

The mature woman gave me a next to perfect view on her pussy. I licked my lips, my mouth was watering while I kept on staring upwards, straight towards her more than tasty looking pussy.

While I was imagining putting my tongue on, or inside her mature pussy one of my hands moved closer and closer to my still rock hard and now again pre cum spitting dick. That movement of mine, it didn’t stay unnoticed, it prompted my former teacher to inform me about one of her rules: “Don’t dare to touch yourself without my explicit permission ever again.”

I quickly pulled my hand back, then I excused myself, I told her that I was sorry, that it never will happen again. Then I promised my former teacher that I never ever will touch myself without her permission again. My words put a smile on her meanwhile mostly stoic face: “Your promise deserves to be rewarded. Put your tongue out, and keep it out.”

Once more I complied. I did as told. I stuck my tongue as far out of my mouth as anyhow possible while my former teacher lowered herself down until she ended up on her knees. Luckily the pillow beneath my head was big enough for her to place her knees onto it. But she wasn’t finished yet, she kept on lowering herself down further and further.

My tongue still was fully out when her more than delicious pussy touched it for the first time ever. In the moment that first contact happened, a more than welcome shiver drove through my body. Shortly after my tongue was all over and deep inside my former teachers pussy. It didn’t took long and her moaning was filling the room.

The mature woman than began to grind up and down on my face. Her pussy, her tasty juices now were all over my face while her legs held my head in head in position. My former teacher was fucking my face while my twitching, still pre cum spitting dick stayed untouched. What a turn on.

Then the older woman leaned forward. Her hands were holding on to my body, tighter and tighter, as her pussy kept on moving up and down my face. Then she came.

My former teacher came all over my face. Her pussy leaked some delicious juices while she let out a few last very intense moans. Then she turned silent, her legs trembled and she collapsed onto me.

After she had returned into her body, after she had mostly regained herself, she climbed off me and placed herself onto the leather sofa. After sitting down, she signaled me to occupy the empty space next to her.

It was then that our eyes met again. A huge smile appeared on her satisfied looking face, a huge smile appeared on my face and then we kissed. Gentle kisses only, and while we kissed, she put her hand on my hard one. The kissing stopped, and my former teacher told me the following: “I’ll give you ten more strokes. If you come, you come, if not, you don’t come today.”

My head went up and down. I was more than thrilled about her offer, then she once more jerked me off. Her hand on my dick, despite her hand barely touching my hard one, it felt more then good. After two strokes I was already lost in the act again.

When she gave me my ninth stroke, I was really close to an orgasm. Then my former teacher gave me stroke number ten, still close, still no orgasm. Luckily, to my own surprise, she kept on going.

After stroke number thirteen her hand was off my dick. I was that close to an orgasm, but sill hadn’t been able to come. My former teacher than slapped my hard one once more, and boom, cum shot out of my hard dick. My balls emptied themselves.

But there was no orgasm accompanying it. I dumped my load without coming. My former teacher had ruined my orgasm. An orgasm horny me still wanted, an orgasm horny me begged for. But the mature woman denied me my pleasure: “Cum has come out of your dick, so you are satisfied and we are done for the night.”

The tone in her voice told me that it was pointless to argue against her, to keep on begging. The sexual part of our first date, of our first evening and night together, was definitely over.

We then got cleaned up, we got dressed again and spent the rest of the evening hanging out, talking, enjoying each others company on the same sofa we had been naughty on. Then, it was past midnight, time flew by, and my dick meanwhile had gotten limp too, my former teacher asked me if I was willing to stay over night. I gladly accepted her invitation.

On the following morning my former teacher and me had breakfast together. It was then that I asked her who would actually do the work, who would actually remodel, refurbish and renovate her house?

My former teacher’s answer: “I will try to do as much as I can on my own. For what I cannot do on my own, I while hire some professionals. Like I have already done when planing everything.”

My head went up and down, then the conversation when elsewhere. I ignored that feeling deep inside me that told me that I might be the unpaid professional helping her on her construction side.

While doing so, I changed the topic. We kept on talking for roughly an hour. Then it was time for me to leave. My former teacher wasn’t throwing me out, I just felt that it was what I needed to do. Plenty of people saw me walking from my former teachers house back to my place. And as expected, me and my overnight stay, it quickly became the talk of town.

Besides making myself the most interesting thing in town I did some thinking on my way home. A few questions popped into my mind: Why had she actually left town back then, and why has she come back? And where has she been all those years?

I promised myself to ask her those questions on our next get together in the hopefully not too distant future, because so far, no next date had been set up.