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One day she definitely knew the effect she had on me, even if she hadn’t before. I was writing an essay on The Grapes of Wrath and asked Mrs. B when she came by if a word was spelled correctly. She leaned over, her silky red hair brushing against my cheek and her breast lay against my left shoulder. My cock stiffened instantly—and uncomfortably. Without thinking, I reflexively reached down and maneuvered my throbbing dick into a more comfortable position. It did create a sizable tent pole in my pants that I tried to push down and hide, which only drew attention to my crotch. Mrs. B blushed noticeably, stood up while stifling a laugh and muttered an apology.

Don't you worry about it I'll save some room for your last words After I do this, do that, and the third Disturbing the peace Look into my eyes Now tell me the things You're blabbing about behind my back The tenacity I hold It's hard to break down It's too late for apologies It's going- Some things may break me But always get back up New perspective gained From all the pain and stress And when I do come back I'm stronger than ever before So, kneel down Disturbing the peace Look into my eyes Now tell me the things You're blabbing about behind my back The tenacity I hold It's hard to break down It's too late for apologies It's going down.

“I haven’t had a good fuck buddy since college. If you think this felt good, it will only get better. I’m a teacher after all. Just don’t tell a soul anything about this and I will fuck you as much as you want.” She paused. “But I’d like you to do something. Maybe you don’t want to.” She looked guilty.