I woke early that morning, before the alarm clock could ring.
My heart pounded, and my body trembled with nervous shivers.
It felt as if I’d spent the night wandering through restless dreams I couldn’t recall.
Laura’s plan haunted me—a wild idea of wearing revealing clothes to lure my class boys to attend.
The memory of Sergei’s hands on me on the dance floor tangled with the sharp gazes of the boys at school.
I lay in bed for a moment, feeling the silky beige nightgown bunched around my thighs.
The air in the room was heavy with Los Angeles’ morning humidity, creeping in through the open window.
“Am I really going to do this?” I thought, my stomach churning with anxiety and shame.
The decision wasn’t final—it felt wrong, like I was deceiving them with my presence.
Yesterday, I’d seen only nine out of fifteen boys, and guilt gnawed at me.
“What kind of teacher am I if I can’t even get them to show up?” I asked myself, my thoughts spinning like a whirlwind I couldn’t stop.
I rose slowly, stretching my slender frame.
The bed creaked beneath my movements.
My blonde hair fell in a messy cascade over my shoulders, clinging slightly to my neck.
I shuffled toward the kitchen.
Laura was already awake, holding a coffee cup.
Steam rose, blending with the vanilla scent from the candle on the table.
Her eyes sparkled when she saw me, and she flashed a sly smile, as if she knew I’d already half-fallen into her scheme.
“Good morning, teacher!” she called, her voice light and amused.
“Today’s a big day—three hours with your wild boys, two before lunch and one after. Decided yet?” she asked.
I blushed, grabbing a glass of water and avoiding her gaze.
My hands trembled slightly as I raised it to my lips—the water was cool, soothing my throat but not my nerves.
“I… I don’t know yet,” I mumbled, my voice barely audible, as if I feared admitting my thoughts aloud.
“It feels so wrong, Laura. I’m a teacher, not some… I don’t know, temptress,” I said.
She stepped toward me, setting her cup on the table with a soft clink against the wood.
She pulled me into her room with firm, almost commanding movements.
“Come here,” she said, her voice calm but authoritative.
She retrieved a black dress from her closet, slightly too large for me.
“Try this. It’s perfect—open neckline, especially for tough cases,” she instructed.
I held the dress, my heart beating faster than I cared to admit.
The fabric was soft and light in my fingers, faintly scented with her lavender fabric softener.
“Laura, I can’t…” I began, but she cut me off, raising a hand.
Her nails gleamed red in the morning light.
“It’s a strategy, Stella,” she said, her eyes gleaming, her voice persuasive, almost hypnotic.
“This dress is loose—the shoulders slip down, showing your bra strap,” she explained.
“When you move, it might reveal a bit more, but you don’t have to do anything intentional,” she continued.
“They’re 18-year-old boys—they’ll be drawn in. You want results, don’t you?” she asked.
“Give them a reason to come, and then you can teach them,” she added.
I blushed even deeper, my face burning, but I slipped the dress on.
I felt it fall over my body—lightly, almost like a second skin that was too big for me.
I headed to the bathroom, stopping before the mirror.
The worn tiles’ reflection was hazy, the faucet dripping slowly, creating a soft rhythm.
I looked at myself: blonde hair fell in waves over my shoulders.
The dress was loose, the straps slipping too easily off my shoulders, revealing the black lace bra that contrasted against my pale skin.
The fabric was thin, clinging to my breasts and waist, accentuating my curves.
When I leaned forward slightly, the neckline dipped, exposing the tops of my breasts and the lace underwear visible.
My face burned with shame and wonder.
“I look like… someone I don’t know,” I thought.
My slender figure, long legs barely covered by the short dress, and the way it left my shoulders bare made me feel almost foreign.
“Will this bring them in?” I asked myself, my heart racing, breath quickening.
“It’s dangerous—but what if it’s my only chance?” I wondered.
“It’s perfect!” Laura called from behind the bathroom door, her voice cheerful and confident, echoing through the thin wood.
“Wear it today—and don’t be afraid to own it,” she said.
“You don’t have to deliberately reveal anything, just be yourself, and they’ll come,” she added.
I nodded, though my stomach churned with anxiety and reluctance.
I pulled on a light jacket to hide the skimpy dress from others at school.
“I don’t want anyone else to see this,” I thought, but I knew I’d have to remove the jacket in the classroom.
It was part of the plan, and I’d already given in, though I hated myself for it.
Arriving at school, my heart was still restless, my legs trembling as I approached the classroom door.
The morning Los Angeles air was already warm, the sun reflecting off the concrete school building.
Palm trees stood still, and somewhere a motorcycle’s roar blended with the city’s background noise.
“Will this work?” I thought, my mind racing.
“What if they laugh at me? What if it changes nothing?” I wondered.
The door was heavy, creaking as it opened.
When I stepped inside, I was shocked—all fifteen boys were there, seated at their desks, their eyes turning toward me.
Juan was up front, a mischievous grin on his face.
Leo was in the back, feet on the table, his intense gaze already on me.
The others, who usually didn’t bother showing up, were all present.
The classroom filled with the heavy energy of their presence.
“This might work,” I thought, a mix of joy and confusion swirling, my heart beating faster.
I slipped off the jacket, feeling their gazes stick to my dress.
The strap slid off my shoulder immediately, the lace bra peeking out.
I heard a faint whistle, probably from Juan, though the sound blended with the classroom hum.
“Hello,” I began, my voice trembling slightly, but I forced myself to stand tall.
My sneakers scuffed the worn floor.
“Today we have two hours before lunch and one after,” I said.
“We’ll start with math—open your textbooks to page 12,” I added.
I stepped toward the board, feeling the dress slip further off my shoulder.
As I wrote—a simple formula they needed to learn—the hem of my dress lifted slightly, revealing the tops of my thighs.
“This is embarrassing,” I thought, but I saw them watching me.
They were here, and that was a victory.
“They’re working,” I rejoiced silently.
“It’s working!” I thought.
“By the end of the first hour, write this formula in your notebooks,” I said, pointing to the board.
The marker squeaked softly against the white surface.
“And in the second hour, we’ll review them,” I added.
They opened their notebooks—slowly, some muttering, but they did it.
I felt a surge of pride that I’d gotten them to work.
But then Juan raised his hand.
“Miss, I need help here,” he said, grinning slyly.
I approached him.
I leaned over his notebook, corrected his solution, and returned to the board.
Leo raised his hand next.
“Miss, I need help too,” he said, his voice low and teasing.
I went to assist him as well.
I was proud I’d gotten them working and that they were engaged.
It wasn’t until the middle of the second hour, when they called me over for the fifth time, that I realized why they kept asking for help.
As I leaned over to correct his work, I caught Paul’s gaze lingering on my neckline.
It dipped too low when I bent over, revealing a view of my breasts.
They were taking advantage of it.
“Oh God,” I thought, my face burning with shame.
“This wasn’t the plan—I didn’t want this!” I thought.
How had I not noticed?
My body trembled, and I felt a heat rising within me—not just from shame, but from the attention I wasn’t used to.
A flicker of excitement stirred that I didn’t want to acknowledge.
After the second hour, I pulled on my jacket and headed to the teachers’ lounge.
The room smelled of coffee and old stacks of paper.
The window overlooked the schoolyard where some students played basketball, their shouts echoing through the glass.
There was the chemistry teacher—a handsome man, about 30, with dark hair and a wide smile.
His eyes were warm but probing, almost as if he could see through me.
“You’re new, aren’t you? Stella?” he asked, extending a hand.
“I’m Javier,” he said.
I shook his hand, feeling my skin flush.
His voice was deep, his scent faintly musky, and I feared he’d notice my reddened cheeks, my restless gaze.
“Yes, I’m… new,” I mumbled, nerves taut.
“Everything feels too much for me,” I thought, my heart racing.
“Tommy, the boys, and now him,” I worried.
I went to my office to prepare for the last hour, my body tense, heat building inside me.
The boys’ gazes on my body and Javier’s smile lingered in my mind.
The office was small, the desk scratched, the window letting in city noise.
I sat at the desk and opened my laptop.
The keyboard clacked as I made notes—algebra problems for the next hour.
“This needs to be simple,” I thought, fingers moving quickly.
“If they manage a few problems, I can keep motivating them,” I decided.
I finished faster than expected, leaving me with time to spare—half an hour before the lunch break ended.
“What do I do now?” I wondered, my gaze wandering the room.
Old posters hung on the wall, a worn chair sat nearby, and a dusty shelf stood in the corner.
I opened a browser to pass the time.
I surfed aimlessly—news, weather, some article on math.
A thought struck me.
“No,” I thought immediately, my face burning.
It was that—naughty thought, spurred by yesterday’s dance lesson with Sergei’s hands on me and today’s boys’ stares.
“I shouldn’t do this,” I told myself, my heart beating faster.
“It’s wrong—I’m at school, I’m a teacher!” I insisted.
But the thought wouldn’t leave, the pent-up tension begging for release.
It was like an itch I couldn’t ignore.
My fingers trembled as I typed into the search bar—something I knew I shouldn’t.
“Just for a moment,” I reassured myself, clicking a link.
There it was—a sex video, a woman and a man, their movements filling the screen, the sound low but clear.
“I need to close this,” I thought, my face burning with shame.
But I couldn’t—my eyes were glued to it.
The heat that had been building inside me all day rose further.
“This is too dangerous,” I thought, standing quickly and locking the door.
The key clicked in the metal.
My gaze drifted to the frosted glass panel beside the door.
“If someone looks closely through the frosted glass, they’ll see through,” I thought.
But the heat was stronger—too tempting—and I couldn’t resist.
I sank back into the chair, my breathing already heavy.
I let my hand slide down, fingers moving slowly over the edge of my dress.
I lifted it until they found their way under the lace panties.
My fingers slid deeper, feeling how wet I already was—too wet, almost embarrassingly so.
My breathing grew ragged as I moved them slowly, exploring the warmth growing inside me.
I let two fingers slip in, slowly, feeling my body welcome them.
I sighed—a soft, trembling sound escaping my lips, though I tried to hold it back.
“What if someone hears?” I thought, my gaze on the frosted glass.
Shadows moved in the hall, and I imagined Javier, Tommy, someone standing there, peering through the haze, seeing my movements.
That danger made my heart race even faster, but I didn’t stop.
My fingers moved quicker, deeper, and I felt the wetness increase, my thighs trembling slightly.
“I need to be quiet,” I thought, but I couldn’t fully control the moans.
My mind screamed no, but I couldn’t stop—it was like a wave carrying me along.
I moved my fingers faster, deeper, feeling my body tense.
My hips lifted off the chair, the chair creaking softly.
I was so wet I felt it cling to my fingers, and that only made me blush more—shame, excitement, all blending.
“I shouldn’t be doing this—not here,” I thought, moving my fingers in and out faster, feeling it fill me.
I moaned louder, trying to stifle it but failing.
“This is dangerous,” I thought, my gaze on the frosted glass.
I imagined someone stopping, looking through, seeing my movements, my face, my trembling legs.
That thought drove me wilder, and I moved faster, fingers sliding in and out.
My body shook, my breathing almost a cry—deep, trembling.
I bit my hand harder, teeth leaving a mark on my skin.
“I need to stop,” I thought, but I was too far gone.
It came, quick and intense, my body tensing, legs shaking.
I moaned one last time, a loud, uncontrollable “Ahh!” that echoed in the room.
I collapsed, panting, my body damp and exhausted, heart racing, shame washing over me.
I tried to calm down.
“It seemed no one noticed or heard,” I thought, my face burning with shame and fear.
I pulled myself together, straightened my dress, though it still slipped off my shoulder.
I headed to the last hour, my legs trembling.
In class, the situation was the same—Juan snickered, Leo stared intensely.
As I leaned over their notebooks again, the top dipped, and I saw their gazes.
I was hot, trying to hold back a bit while leaning, but I was also glad they were cooperating.
I finished the hour, proud that they were present and working.
But on the way home, my mind was a mess.
“This strategy works, but at what cost, if it affects me like this?” I wondered.
“I can’t handle their stares and this tension—and what I did… what will become of me?”
