Monday, 10:07 a.m.
I’m in the front row before the first student even walks in.
Notebook open, pen aligned perfectly, legs spread just enough that the ache in my balls is constant. I didn’t sleep. I edged five times last night exactly like she ordered, each one worse than the last. By the fifth I was crying into my pillow, c**k purple, hips f*****g the air, begging out loud for a woman who wasn’t even there.
I’m wearing dark jeans today. The wet spot won’t show as fast.
The room fills. I don’t look at anyone. My entire world narrows to the doorway.
10:09.
She walks in.
Same heels. Different skirt. This one is black leather, tight as sin, ending just above the knee with a zipper running the full length of the back. White silk blouse, two buttons undone. I can already see the black la
