Finally their passion subsided. They were breathless. Mr. Maxwell took his hand out.

"Guess you better wipe that goo off," he said.

Missy took the fresh, crisp hankie and worked it over her belly, thighs, her pussy, and cleaned off the thick scabs of drooping cream.

"I guess we better go to class," he said.

"Okay," she answered, pulling her panties up.

"Wait," he said. "Lemme have your panties, Missy."

"Huh?"

"I want those panties."

"I don't know what you mean."

"I can have 'em in my pocket while I lecture, and you can sit there in the front row knowing I'm playing with your panties while I'm up there in front of the class. I'll get all hot and cream my shorts."

This suggestion thrilled Missy. "Yeah, but sir. I'll have to go around without any panties on."

"Yeah, I know. Don't you love it?"

"Oooooooh, you want my panties?"

"I better not, sir."

"Here, I'll give you twenty dollars, okay?"

"Well. I guess it's okay," she said, taking the money.

She wiggled out of her panties, then handed them to Mr. Maxwell. He took the white undies and put them in his sports coat pocket.

"Sir, should we be doin' all this stuff. I mean…"

"You like it, don't you?"

"I love you. Don't you understand that? If a man loves a woman, like I love you, anything is permissible. Men and women should always have excitement in their life, Missy. That's what's wrong with most relationships, most marriages. They deteriorate into mindless, boring exercise."

"Well…"

"See, I love you, Missy. I really love you. I'd like to marry you, take you away, be with you forever."

This statement overwhelmed the darling schoolgirl.

"Jeez!" she mumbled.

CHAPTER THREE

In class, Mr. Maxwell paced in front of the room, his hand in the pocket of his sports coat, jiggling, playing with Missy's panties. She sat in the front row, her pink skirt riding high, all hot and gooey thinking about it, watching her teacher fondle her panties.