battle for dream island cringe

After my boner mishap, either she was getting more daring, or my imagination was running wilder. One day Mrs. B. was wearing one of her short short skirts, no stockings, just muscular shapely legs. She couldn’t help but notice me watching her move around the room. She stopped at the desk of the student in front of me and bent at the waist to look at her paper. When she slid her hands between her thighs and bent a little farther, her skirt raised exposing her panties. They were red. And lacey. I thought she gave me a sidewards glance to see if I noticed. Maybe not. It really didn’t matter, though. As soon as I glimpsed those skimpy panties, I came in my pants. Right then. In class. I’m not proud, but I was only 15, I could cum at a good card trick. I had it bad.

“Little sissy girls with tiny little sissy-clitties never get to fuck!” I echoed, wincing my eyes closed in shame. “I only deserve to get fucked by big, thick-cocked girls like you!”

This was many years ago, back when teachers could lay an encouraging hand on a student’s shoulder without being labeled a sex offender. Teachers could sit close by a student to help them with a hard concept, and no one thought anything of it. The boys flirted back with Mrs. B. and the girls got valuable lessons in how to attract boys’ attention and drive them crazy. It was fun. And, Mrs. B was married with a couple of young kids, not that it mattered. It was all just innocent fun.