The confession of a teacher
"I'm a teacher, and I've got to get something off my chest. The way some of the boys in my class look at me, it's like they're undressing me with their eyes. I'm no stranger to that hunger in their gaze. It sends a rush through me, sets my body on fire. I haven't felt the "| stand at the front of the class, chalk in hand, but all I can think about are their eyes on me. Those hungry, eager
boys, devouring me with their gazes. l can almost feel their hands where their eyes linger, tracing the curves of my body. It's been too long since I've felt a man's touch, and my body aches for it.
At night, I find myself replaying those looks, imagining their young, hard bodies pressed against mine. I picture them watching my online lessons, hands wrapped around their thick cocks, stroking in rhythm with my
voice. I think about those illicit snaps they send, the videos of them coming undone to the sound of my teaching.In my mind, I'm not just their teacher, l'm their fantasy.
I'm the star of their late-night sessions, the object of their desperate desires. I imagine them whispering my name they climax, their bodies shuddering with release.
It's wrong, I know, but it's so incredibly hot. I find myself touching myself to the thought, my fingers circling my clit, mimicking the rhythm I imagine them using. I come
hard, biting my lip to keep from crying out their names. l'd never act on these fantasies, never cross that line. But in my mind, in the dark of night, I indulge. I let myself be the object of their desires, the star of their dirty dreams. And it feels so damn good.
