Tom lay beneath the heft of his teacher’s toned rump, aware that his limbs were now numb enough they might as well have floated into a void. Certainly he couldn’t even see the rest of his body, as Ms. Evans had only allowed his head to poke out from beneath her as she sat comfortably upon him as extra padding in the desk chair.
The compulsive liar had hoped once the next class started, his teacher would be on her feet for the remainder of the period, leaving him to ponder his sins in peace. While she did rise several times to scribble something on the board at the front of the room, the majority of the period was presented through a slideshow, which Ms. Evans conveniently had stored on her desktop computer, allowing her to remain with most of her body weight centered over her shrunken student for much longer than he was anticipating.
Each time she returned to her seat after a brief lap around the classroom to give the evil eye to gum chewers, she deposited her butt back onto Tom with full force, bouncing the swivel chair lightly and causing it to groan in protest. A few times she even spun lightly from side to side, providing an additional trouncing into the barely-bracing seat cushion that ensured Tom felt her weight anew each time on every square inch of his body.
Her student, of course, dared offer no such rebellion himself upon each return. It would’ve been difficult anyway, as every time Ms. Evans sat down on his foot-length body, the firm curvature of her ass squeezed the air from both his lungs in a single instant. He’d hardly had time to re-inflate them with a few calming breaths as he was exposed to the cool air again. These were always only the briefest of recesses, though, as the teacher would return quickly to her seat. Without even acknowledging the boy, she’d turn around, smooth her skirt out along the back of her thigh, and promptly bury Tom under her robust tush once again. A puff of bracing air would escape his lips, and that would be the end of his break.
Certainly it wasn’t something Tom minded, per se. Ms. Evans took care of herself, a fact he now knew with tactile experience as her cheeks would occasionally flex through the fabric of her clothing, compressing him at varying levels of strength into the seat below. The cushion below Tom’s back offered very little padding itself. No wonder she needed the added support of his body to sit on, though he suspected she had other reasons for using him in this way, namely to make a profoundly potent statement without even having to open her mouth. Indeed, as Tom had experienced multiple times in his life from several “teachers,” academic or not, sometimes a robust pounding under someone’s butt said all that needed saying.
Not that Tom would’ve listened, of course, to whatever it was Ms. Evans’ rear end was saying. He was simply too deep into this way of life now; his lips had a mind of their own, where the truth was a rare treat, and trying to explain that was difficult in a world where needlepoint Biblical verses of lying as the eighth deadly sin were plastered over many a kitchen stove. His only course was to take his lumps, or in this case, two lumps, provided courtesy of Ms. Evans’ body.
She wasn’t exactly rail-thin, which Tom appreciated, as he’d served as a seat cushion for several particularly skinny individuals, and their legs always tended to be bonier and made him feel like he was sleeping beneath a rickety sofa mattress. His teacher had just enough muscle and flesh to make it at least bearable for him to camp out here, and over the course of the period, he became well-acquainted with every angle of Ms. Evans’ underside.
Idly, Tom noted that he was learning far more about anatomy here than if he’d been allowed to report to his next class which, boringly enough, was in fact anatomy rather than the extra English lesson he was receiving here now from beneath his teacher’s ass.
On the final time she sat down, with only minutes left before the class ended, Ms. Evans really made sure to roost comfortably. She stretched her legs out under the desk, kicking her heels off and freeing her dark stocking-clad feet against the carpet fibers. Her hands slid delicately along the armrests of her swivel chair, and her long fingers curled possessively around the handles, gripping them for relief from the stiffness of the morning.
As her whole body began to relax and settle in to a more familiar position over Tom, Ms. Evans’ taut cheeks softened as well over his body. More and more of the fabric of her skirt rolled its way over his face, covering his mouth and nose until all he could do was peek up from under the curve of her thigh.
The cloth was scented sweetly of fabric softener and possibly a hint of mango body wash from her skin, which Tom was grateful to have there. Not every person who borrowed him for seat cushions or other useful accessories had the courtesy to clean themselves before exposing him to less desirable areas of their bodies, which Tom totally understood. It wasn’t like he deserved to be treated like a king when he’d lied so much. Nevertheless, it was a pleasant surprise.
In fact, Tom couldn’t imagine he’d mind so much if Ms. Evans were to get even more comfortable now in her solitude. With little else to do, his imagination immediately began concocting something almost too wild to conceive of if he didn’t already have the muscle memory of his teacher’s ass squashing him into the chair as a reference point.
Maybe she’d decide the room was getting a little too hot and, with no students or administrators there to admonish her for poor dress code, casually allow her skirt to slide down the toned pillars of her legs and collect around her stockinged ankles. Maybe she’d sit back down, then, not even with a second thought (a rarity where Ms. Evans was concerned regardless of how clothed she was). Tom couldn’t help but shiver to let himself play out the sensations of the pale, silky skin of her cheeks molding themselves atop his meager frame. As long as he was imagining, he decided she might as well be in a black lacy thong. No, red. Like the deadly crimson lipstick she’d suddenly be wearing for the convenience of his increasingly steamy fantasy. It might get a little itchy positioned under the nearly bare bum, with Ms. Evans’ crack positioned just over his crotch, but it was a small price to pay to experience the warmth of her flesh and an even more personable sampling of that haunting mango scent infused into every skin cell. The heat would eventually foster a little sticky dampness between Tom and the unrelenting ceiling of his teacher’s ass, of course, but he supposed it wouldn’t be so terrible to put up with. Perhaps even enjoyable, if enough of it had infused with that wafting hint of flowery perfume. “Enjoying the view?” she might ask him ironically, and God help him, it would take every ounce of strength not to answer and reveal that, yes, he was very much enjoying the view, thank you very much. If he gave the answer she wanted, he might well shrink down far enough to become stranded in the tangle of her thong’s fabric, moist with perspiration, and sink even deeper into the crescent valley above.
Lost in himself for a moment, the little liar couldn’t help but drool.
Tom was snapped out of his arousing reverie as his teacher’s butt came crashing back down upon him to readjust itself in the seat. Hey, a boy could dream.