Every day in class, I fight the urge to please myself. I clench my fist and place it between my warm, wet legs. As I gaze into my teacher’s eyes, I feel myself start to sweat, my heart begin to pound, and my body throb. Chills run up my thighs and spine as I observe the way she messes with her hair, how she twirls her curls in her fingers playfully. I watch carefully and with a deep carnal hunger in my eyes how she bites her lip, adjusts her glasses, and opens her legs up enough to get a peep up her thighs. She makes sure we can see just enough of her pushed out, C-cup chest. God, I’d give anything to touch those thighs and breasts of hers. If I could, I’d sit her on an empty desk and eat her out, stroking her thighs, and listening to her soft, sensuous voice as she’d moan. It’s so hard not to release my built up tension. I’d dream of how she’d pull my hair, and push my nose and tongue in her. She’s just so warm, s***, and motherly, yet commanding and dominant. I’d do anything to please her s*******.
