I woke up early, before the sun rose over Los Angeles, my heart racing as I stared at the ceiling. The night had been restless—Laura and Marcus’s voices drifted from the next room, their bed creaking, and my secret release haunted me.
My body felt tense, as if the night’s act hadn’t brought relief, so I pulled the blanket to my chin. The silky beige nightgown bunched around my thighs, the fabric clinging to my skin from sweat and restlessness.
My cheeks flushed as I recalled my moans and the bed’s creaks.
“Did they hear me?” I thought, panic rising.
I imagined Laura and Marcus whispering, laughing at me, their eyes full of knowing.
“Oh God, what do they think of me?”
I prayed they’d slept too deeply to notice, but the thought gnawed at me, refusing to let go.
I rose slowly, stretching my slender body, my blonde hair cascading over my shoulders, tangled and sticky. Today was my first day at school—my first real day as a teacher—and I wanted to be ready.
My mind was foggy, my heart beating too fast, as morning light streamed through the window. Golden streaks crossed the wooden floor, and Laura’s plants on the shelf sketched soft shadows on the wall.
I headed to the bathroom, letting cold water splash over my face, which sprayed onto the worn tiles. A faint echo filled the room as I looked in the mirror, my pale skin flushed, eyes dark with anxiety.
My blonde hair framed my face like a veil.
“I need to pull myself together,” I whispered, voice trembling.
In the kitchen, Laura was up, a coffee mug in hand, steam rising and mingling with the vanilla scent. Her hair was carelessly tied up, dark brown curls spilling onto her neck.
“Morning, teacher!” she called.
She smiled slyly, as if she knew something. I blushed, remembering the night’s sounds and my moans. I took a glass of water, my hands trembling.
“How did you sleep?” she asked, eyes sparkling.
“Fine,” I lied quickly, avoiding her gaze.
The water felt cool and soothing in my throat.
“I’m a bit nervous,” I added. “First day and… I want everything to go well.”
“You’ll do great,” she interrupted, stepping closer, patting my shoulder with warm fingers on my skin.
“Those kids will love you,” she said. “Especially after how you looked yesterday.”
She laughed. The sound filled the kitchen, and my cheeks burned.
“Relax, Stella. This is your day.”
I nodded, but her words didn’t comfort me, reminding me of Tommy, wet and exposed.
Back in my room, I wanted to look cute and sweet, the perfect elementary teacher, I thought. I pulled a light beige summer skirt from my suitcase, airy and flowing, ending at mid-thigh.
A white T-shirt followed, a bit too tight, accentuating my curves more than I’d like. In the mirror, my heart raced as the T-shirt clung to my breasts, lace lingerie faintly showing.
“This is cute,” I thought, parting my hair into soft waves. “The kids will love it—sweet and friendly.”
But I worried it was too revealing, the T-shirt highlighting my curves, the skirt exposing my legs.
“It’s okay,” I reassured myself, slipping on white sneakers, their rubber soles squeaking on the floor.
Walking to school, anxiety grew inside me as the morning felt warm and sticky in Los Angeles. Palm trees stood still, reflecting the rising sun’s golden light, while cars sped by, tires screeching.
The sweet scent of churros wafted from afar, and the bus ride was torture with eyes on me. My face was red, hands sweaty when I reached the school, the building looming over the quiet yard.
Tommy waited at the entrance, hair tousled, smile charming and teasing.
“Morning, Stella,” he said.
His voice was warm, a little too soft, hiding something.
“Come, I need to talk before you start.”
I followed him to his office, heart in my throat, legs trembling, the room smelling of old paper. Coffee lingered in the air, walls covered with faded diplomas and yellowish photos.
He sat behind the desk, gesturing to a chair, its legs creaking as I sat.
“We have a change,” he began.
My stomach tightened, panic swirling.
“The elementary position was unexpectedly filled.”
“We have another class,” he said. “No one wants to take it. Mr. William quit—nervous breakdown.”
“What class?” I asked, voice trembling, dreading the answer, my thoughts racing with worse scenarios.
“Troubled teens,” he replied, gazing intensely. “Senior high, 18-year-old boys. A challenge.”
“Low academic performance, they don’t show up,” he continued. “Most will drop out—failures, Stella.”
“You’ll take them over for now, until we find a replacement,” he added, eyes locked on mine.
My eyes widened, panic rising like a storm.
“I thought I was teaching little kids!” I nearly shouted.
My hands trembled, clasped in my lap.
“I’m not prepared for 18-year-old boys! Troubled ones?”
“I don’t know how to stand in front of them!” I gasped, imagining laughter, indifference.
Tommy stepped closer, his presence filling the room, his scent masculine and faintly smoky.
“You’re new and fresh,” he said softly, gaze sliding over my T-shirt, lingering on my breasts.
“They need someone to shake them up. You have something special—I saw it yesterday.”
He was too close. His hand on my shoulder seared my skin, heat radiating through the fabric.
“You can do this,” he whispered, fingers squeezing lightly.
My skin flushed with shame and heat.
“This isn’t fair,” I thought, heart pounding. “Why does he look at me like that?”
I stood quickly, nearly tripping, and rushed out, his gaze burning into my back as I fled.
I calmed down and headed to my classroom, my legs trembling as I walked the empty hall. My steps echoed off the concrete walls.
“This is my first job,” I reassured myself.
I passed windows showing Los Angeles—palm trees, a hazy horizon.
“I have to try.”
But inside, I screamed, “I can’t face them! 18-year-old boys—almost my age!”
“What if they don’t listen?”
My breathing quickened, hands sweaty by the door. My heart pounded so loudly, I feared it echoed. The door was heavy, creaking as I opened it.
Chaos greeted me—boys laughing, a pencil thrown against the wall, clattering to the floor. The classroom smelled of old wood, windows half-open, the city’s morning hum drifting in.
Fifteen boys were expected, but only nine were present, all big, 18 years old. Tall with broad shoulders, their clothes sloppy, faces hard-edged, Juan sat in front.
His dark hair was messy, a mischievous smile on his face, eyes glinting with naughtiness. Leo lounged in the back, feet on the desk, his intense gaze cutting through the room.
Some had tattoos, one smelled faintly of smoke, all seeming indifferent to everything. A brief silence fell as I entered, then Juan whistled.
“Wow, new teacher!” he shouted.
The others laughed, a low, rough sound that burned my face. I stood tall, heart racing.
“I need to get their attention,” I thought, taking a deep breath, the air feeling heavy.
“Hello,” I began, voice trembling, stepping forward, my sneakers squeaking on the floor.
“I’m Stella, your new teacher. Today we’ll set up the schedule and hand out textbooks.”
I wanted them to see me as caring.
“I want us to work together,” I added, smiling.
“This isn’t just my job—it’s our chance to make a difference,” I said, hands trembling.
Leo raised an eyebrow, feet still on the desk.
“Do you have a boyfriend, miss?” he teased.
The others snickered, and I felt heat from their stares. I ignored it, stepping to the board.
“If they start doing something, they won’t look at me like that,” I thought, grabbing a marker.
Its plastic cap smelled sharp as I wrote the week’s plan, the board squeaking under my hand. I raised my arm, and my skirt lifted—too high, revealing my thighs near the lace lingerie.
The T-shirt rose, exposing my lower back. I heard a whisper—Juan’s voice, then laughter.
“Oh God,” I thought, panic rising. “These clothes—I wanted cute, but this is wrong!”
I blushed, face burning, and lowered my arm, tugging the T-shirt down, the damage done.
“I’ll hand out the textbooks,” I said, voice steadying, moving between desks with the books.
They smelled of old paper and dust. I felt their eyes—not curious, but something more. Juan’s gaze lingered on my T-shirt, clinging to my breasts, leaning over, he eyed my neckline.
Leo watched my skirt as I approached, his finger brushing mine, handing him a book. My skin flushed, heat rising from my chest.
“This isn’t okay,” I thought, stepping back.
“Why am I feeling this? I’m supposed to teach them,” I panicked internally, retreating.
“Open your textbooks to page 10,” I said, returning to the board, the air feeling thick.
“We’ll start with a simple algebra problem,” I announced, writing a formula.
Raising my arm again, the skirt lifted worse this time, and I heard Leo’s quiet whistle. Juan snickered as the T-shirt exposed my back.
“I can’t control this!” I thought, panicking.
“These clothes show too much!” Their gazes burned my skin. “I’m too inexperienced.”
I gave them a task—copy the formula in notebooks. They moved slowly, whispering.
“Miss, this is boring,” Juan said slyly.
Leo added, “You could do something fun.”
I blushed, breathing quickening—nerves and a confusing heat growing inside me.
“I don’t want this,” I thought, but my body responded to their gazes and voices.
I hated myself for it as the class ended. I stood before them, heart pounding. I wrote on the board, “My goal—everyone finishes with at least a passing grade.”
Turning, I said, “I believe in you,” blushing. “If we work together, it’s possible.”
“This is our chance—my first class, your last year,” I added, voice trembling.
Juan smiled, Leo’s gaze was intense, and others nodded slowly. I felt proud despite my burning cheeks.
At home, I collapsed on the couch. Laura came with coffee.
“How did it go?” she asked.
“Hard,” I replied, voice trembling. “That class… they’re wild.”
“I want them to show up—that’s the first step,” I said. “If they don’t, I can’t help.”
I reflected on Tommy’s gaze, the boys’ attention, my clothes, the heat inside me.
“I need to learn more,” I thought. “Especially about clothing and my feelings.”
“I’ll try harder,” I decided. “I’ll manage them, but I must get them to show up.”
Laura turned, eyes sparkling.
“To get them to come, give them something,” she teased.
“They’re 18-year-old boys—full of testosterone. Revealing clothes will draw them in.”
“No!” I exclaimed, face red. “Today was embarrassing—I felt naked!”
“The T-shirt lifted, the skirt showed too much,” I recalled, their gazes burning me.
Laura laughed softly, touching my shoulder.
“Not every day—just a few times at first.”
“It gives hope, something they won’t miss. They’ll come, then you can teach,” she urged.
“This is wrong,” I thought, heart racing. “I’m a teacher, not a lure.”
“But what if she’s right?” I wondered. “The only way to get them here?”
“I don’t know, Laura,” I mumbled, hands clasped. “It feels so wrong.”
Laura lifted my chin.
“It’s strategy, not wrong. Just until they show up.”
“Then use your skills,” she said, eyes steady.
My resistance crumbled, though I hated it.
“Fine,” I relented, voice trembling. “I’ll decide tomorrow. I need to think.”
Laura smiled triumphantly. My stomach churned with shame and anxiety.
The doorbell rang, and I jumped.
“Who’s that?” I asked, startled.
“Marcus and Sergei,” Laura said casually. “Dinner, then a dance class for you.”
“Oh no,” I thought, heart racing. Sergei’s touch from last night lingered in my mind.
I hated letting others pull me along. The door opened—Marcus, relaxed, and Sergei, intense.
“Hey, Stella,” Sergei teased, voice low.
My cheeks burned as I nodded awkwardly.
“We’ll eat quick and go,” Laura said, heading to the kitchen, pans clattering, olive oil scenting the air.
“Change—it’ll get hot!” she called.
I stood, legs trembling, and went to my room. I pulled the curtain closed—thin and beige, barely hiding me, their voices near.
I removed my T-shirt, let the skirt fall, my heart racing, exposed in lace lingerie. The heat grew inside me as they were so close, only fabric between us.
Light shadows played through the curtain, revealing my slender figure, blonde hair, curves accentuated. My nipples pressed through the delicate lace. I felt vulnerable, skin flushing.
“What if they look in?” I thought, breathing quickening, heat rising, mixing with anxiety.
Laura’s voice broke through.
“Hurry up! Wear something lighter!”
I shook off the feeling, choosing a short, flowy spaghetti-strap dress, slightly sheer, deep-necked.
“This will do,” Laura had said, and I slipped it on, blushing at its revealing fit.
In the mirror, I blushed, finding it too revealing, but I let it be.
Dinner was quick—pasta with garlic and basil—Marcus talked, Sergei sat close. His knee brushed my thigh, his gaze on my neckline.
“You look good,” he whispered.
My skin flushed with shame and heat. I nodded, thoughts on his hands from last night.
At the dance class, the room pulsed with music, warm and sticky, sweat and perfume filling the air. The floor creaked under dancers’ feet, and Sergei grabbed my hand.
“Let’s dance,” he commanded.
He pulled me to the center, his hand sliding to my waist, pulling me close—too close. My strap fell as he spun me, the neckline dipping, showing lace lingerie.
My face burned as he stared. I pulled the strap up, but it fell again on the next spin. The music slowed, bachata rhythm taking over, his hands sliding down my back.
He squeezed my backside lightly. I gasped, knees weakening.
“This is too much,” I thought.
Panic and arousal mixed as his breath grazed my neck.
“You’re too good at this,” he whispered.
My body responded, heat growing, and I let him lead, though my mind resisted.
The session ended, strap still down, neckline open.
“Dangerous dancer,” he smiled.
I nodded, breathless, unable to reply. Home, I couldn’t sleep.
Laura’s plan, Sergei’s hands, the boys’ gazes—all too much. I knew I had to decide tomorrow.
“Am I going to do this?” I wondered.
It scared me as much as it excited me.
