My teacher was the kind of teacher everyone liked. He was smart, approachable, and had this effortless charm that made his history lessons feel like stories from an old friend. But it wasn’t just his teaching style that captivated me; it was the way he carried himself, the way he spoke with quiet confidence, and the way his eyes seemed to see right through me.

I waited until the classroom had mostly cleared out before making my move. “hey,” I said, my voice a little softer than usual, “do you have a minute to go over the essay I submitted?”

He looked up, his expression softening as he recognized me. “Of course, Emma. Come on in.”

I walked to his desk, feeling the flutter of nerves mixed with anticipation. I handed him my paper, and he began to scan through it, his eyes focused and intense. I took the opportunity to study him, admiring the way his shirt stretched across his shoulders and the hint of stubble on his jawline.

“Your thesis is strong,” he said, breaking the silence, “but you need to support it with more concrete examples.”

I leaned in closer, pretending to look at the paper, but really wanting to be nearer to him. “Could you show me which parts need more work?”

He nodded, pointing to a few paragraphs, his arm brushing against mine. The touch sent a shiver down my spine, and I bit my lip, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

“I see,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “Thanks for the feedback. I really want to get better at this.”

“You’re already doing well,” he replied, his eyes meeting mine. “Just keep working at it.”

There was a pause, the air thick with unspoken words. I decided to take a leap. I began, my voice barely above a whisper, “have you ever had a student flirt with you?”

He looked startled for a moment, then a slow smile spread across his face. “Why do you ask?”

I shrugged, trying to appear casual. “Just curious. You’re very... approachable.”

He chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “It happens occasionally. But I always make sure to keep things professional.”

“Of course,” I said, a playful glint in my eyes. “But hypothetically, if a student did flirt with you, how would you handle it?”

He tilted his head, studying me with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. “I’d remind them that there are boundaries that shouldn’t be crossed.”

“And if they kept pushing those boundaries?” I asked, my voice daring him to acknowledge the unspoken tension between us. I sat on his classroom table and started to spread my legs so he can see under my skirt “If it’s you, then I guess I can make an excuse. You just turned 18 right?” As he closed the door. My hand touched the outside of his jeans as his hands caressed my breast. We began undressing one another. He sucked and played with my breast, pounced on it right away, saying, "You promise you won't kiss and tell." For as long as he wishes, he can continue. He really knew how to make my tits tingle, so he was making me wet.

I took his cock out of his shorts and began using my hands to give him a blowjob. It was becoming more and more difficult to refuse. He lifted my skirt and seated me at his table. Every second, I was becoming drenched. My clit was well known to him. The necessary gentle attention and care was being given to my pussy. He was fingering my now-wet pussy and sucking on my clit. He fucked me with his cock in no time at all. As he was sucking on my tits, he began fucking me. He had an intense and powerful fuck. He entered my pussy to prevent a mess, but I can't squirt at the workplace. "You would like to study with me one-on-one at my place?" I nodded in agreement. YES!