Parent Teacher Associations
Jonathan strode proudly towards the classroom door. He was a wealthy, powerful man, and his expensive suit highlighted that he hasn't let his frame slide far into "dadbod" despite entering his 50s. None of the other parents waiting in the halls for parent teacher conferences could compete with his aura; and he noticed more than a few mothers eyeing him hungrily and fathers comparing with envy. Not the smallest difference was that Johnathan was on the move. He didn't wait, didn't waste his time. He made meetings with you, and you better be ready when he arrived. Even the senior French teacher his daughter constantly complained about. Well, that ended today. Normally school affairs were the purview of his wife (part of the arrangement the power couple struck when she sold her most recent tech startup for a healthy 2mil), but Annalise had been surprisingly cagey about this "Ms Demoux". Waffling back and forth, making excuses to avoid confrontation, pleading with him to trust the teacher; all very strange behavior for a driven visionary like his wife. He considered letting it go, everyone had annoying teachers after all, but when their daughter complained that Ms Demoux had given her yet another detention for "back talk", Jonathan demanded action. Annalise's oddly simpering questions about whether their daughter deserved the punishment forced him to do it himself. He treasured his daughter's bold, creative spirit. His career in business had been built on the back of shocking disruptions, on embracing ideas from outcasts, and he wasn't going to have his daughter be a follower just because some teacher wanted an easier job!
Jonathan slammed the door to the classroom open, a demand for explanations already on his lips, but he was shocked into silence.
Perched on the edge of her desk, in an outrageous outfit, the surprisingly young Ms Demoux eyed him with amusement. Before he could react to the surprise, she made a small gesture for him to close the door. Still flustered, he was glad of the excuse to turn away and close the classroom from potential watchers. When he turned back, one set of perfectly manicured nails played along her tawdry stilletos, and a predatory grin made her face even more beautiful. As she ran a single fingertip seductively up the egde of her sheer-clad leg, a matching blush crept up Jonathan's face for the first time in years. He cleared his throat, and Ms Demoux giggled, and rose to her feet. She strode across the classroom, and he got a whiff of vanilla, lavender, and a hint of warm leather from the intoxicating perfume she wore, even halfway across the room.
"I thought," Ms Demoux purred, "what I did to wifey would be enough to solve the last problem student in my classes this semester. But when I saw you make a personal conference appointment, I knew I'd have to break out the big guns..." She trailed off as she stepped a stride closer to him than he'd expected. Barely inches away, her face only coming up to mid chest height despite her towering heels. A beautiful face, he couldn't help but observe. Redolent with the sensual scent of vanilla and leather, wide expanse of tawny cleavage visible from above, heart shaped pout to her lips-- Jonathan abruptly released he was utterly hard. Up close, what had been trashy and provocative across the room transmuted into pure, gorgeous perfection. He opened his mouth to ask what she meant when she cupped his crotch, hand wrapping around his already rigid cock. She laughed.
"Oh wow, working already! This is going to be easy," Ms. Demoux stuck her chest out even farther, and he grunted as his eyes dropped down, "You like breasts, mister businessman? I suppose that makes sense, wifey didn't have any other assets, did she?" He began to pushback, to demand an explanation, some kind of sense to this wild encounter. It didn't bother her at all though. In a single deft motion, Ms Demoux slipped a small perfume bottle from the top of her skirt, brought it up to his mouth, and squirted a blast into his eyes, nose, and throat. The whole world exploded into cascades of lavender, vanilla, whiskey, rose, and warm leather. Something primal and hungry awoke in him, shuttering all thought. Something awoken by the sights on display, but lulled and soothed by the complex scent. He was paralyzed, unable to marshall a thought, a will, anything but open hungry craving for the woman. She wafted away the fumes that weren't sticking to his face and lowered the hand with the small, hidden, respirator from her face. She looked very satisfied, and he suddenly wanted to satisfy her, to be with her, to drive raw joy for both of them. Taking a step back, she placed perfume bottle and respirator on a nearby desk, and began to heft her own breasts with both hands.
"That's right boobie boy, look right here. Take them in, the perfect breasts--" she said it and it was true. His scattered mind locked onto that word: perfect. They were perfect. Better than any he'd ever seen or wanted before. "Good. You want them, want me, want to please me, more than anything in the world. You'll do anything for them, for me. Won't you? Kneel," she purred and he obeyed. Instantly, without thought. She was right, so right.
"Now, I tried to make wifey embarrassed of failing me, ashamed of not bringing your kid in line, but clearly your wife is better at living with shame than I thought. For you, I'm going to be more direct," Ms. Demoux gave her breasts a squeeze, and he whimpered. "If you ever want to see these, ever want to enjoy these, ever want to enjoy any breasts on any woman ever again, you're going to solve my brat problem." She leaned in close, perfect cleavage filling his entire vision and her whispers in his ear. "Until you see these, you're never going to be able to get them out of your head. Pornography, models, your wife, any other time you feel attracted, the absences of these perfect boobs is going to bother you to the point of distraction," as soon as the whisper went in, he knew it was true. What was anything without these perfect tits?! He began to beg, pleading, almost crying with despair, needing to see them. She just smiled.
"That's the easy part. All you have to do is go home and teach your daughter the value of authority. Teach her respect and obedience to teachers and other authority figures. You do whatever it takes to break her of this habit of constantly asking questions, correcting people, and arguing for more points, and their yours. I give students the grades I think they deserve, scores be damned, and if you get her to calmly accept the C I feel she deserves, get her to do all her homework for the next month without a single backtalk, and I'll pay a visit to my most obedient couple and give them thekr rewards. Understand?" He nodded eagerly. He would do it. He would do anything. Mistress Demoux wiped the last of the hypnotic perfume from his face, and escorted him to the door. He stumbled out into the hallway, before heading home with a purpose.
Six weeks later, Jonathan and Annalise waited patiently by the poolside as Mistress Demoux enjoyed their pool. The French teacher (whose name they both moaned during sex) was satisfied with how they'd finally managed to turn their daughter into an easy, unquestioning, student, and had come to finally show them what they couldn't stop dreaming about. All the weeks of tears, angry teenage recriminations, and threats of running away would be worth it to finally see the teacher nude. Mistress Demoux hasn't yet told them about the way extra perfume in her bag...
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