Rias was the kind of professor who made people forget what course they'd signed up for. Every step she took across the lecture hall commanded attention—the rhythm of her heels was practically hypnotic.
She dressed with effortless precision: tailored skirts that tapered around her hips, silk blouses that hinted at softness beneath strict professionalism. Her crimson hair—rich, impossible, almost royal—spilled over her shoulders like it refused to obey academic formality.
Every time she leaned over a desk to correct a boy's paper or wrote on the board, the room held its breath. The younger males, especially, had trouble keeping their composure; even those who pretended indifference found their eyes drawn toward her. To them, she wasn't just a lecturer—she was an event.
What none of them knew was that Rias noticed everything. The darting glances, the tight throats swallowing guilt, the stolen sighs of awe. And though she carried herself with the poise of someone above their infatuation, deep down she thrived on it.
The idea that an entire room wanted her but would never dare touch—there was a private power in that. It was her secret drug.
So, as she wrote equations on the board one particular afternoon, she let herself enjoy the invisible current of desire behind her. Chalk tapping rhythmically, voice even, but her skin was alive with awareness.
That's when a small flash broke her rhythm—a silver wink of light reflecting off the glass of her spectacles. She turned, eyes immediately finding the culprit.
A boy froze mid-motion, phone half-lowered, expression bordering panic. Rias's gaze locked onto his, calm but razor-sharp.
The room went dead silent except for the hum of the ceiling fans. Slowly, she walked toward him, heels announcing each step with deliberate weight.
She didn't raise her voice. She didn't need to. "Give me the phone."
The boy obeyed, mumbling, face pale. She glanced at the screen—her suspicion confirmed.
"Stay after class," she said simply, sliding the device into her desk drawer.
A ripple of muffled laughter spread through the room. They assumed a scolding was coming. Detention. Maybe humiliation. But as Rias returned to her notes, back once again to the lecture board, there was something new in the air.
Rias waited until the soft echo of heels and chatter faded down the hall. The door clicked shut, sealing her and Algernon in the fading light of the empty classroom. Silence stretched between them—heavy, pressing, almost sentient.
She turned to him with a sly smile, her crimson hair cascading over one shoulder. "Hey, what's your name?" she asked, her voice a soft purr that sent a shiver down his spine.
"Algernon," he replied, his throat suddenly dry as he watched her lean against the desk, her uniform hugging her curves in all the right ways.
"As punishment you need to copy all the notes" she said, sliding a notebook across the table.
She shouldn't have enjoyed this. That thought drifted lazily across her mind as she leaned back in her chair, legs crossed, watching him dutifully copy her notes.
His pen scratched the page with nervous urgency, yet his posture betrayed him—a certain stiffness in the shoulders, the way his hand trembled just enough to betray awareness. He knew she was watching.
She shifted in her seat, fingers idly toying with the top button of her white blouse. With a deliberate flick, she popped it open, the fabric parting just enough to reveal the swell of her full breasts straining against a lacy black bra.
The cool air brushed her skin, and she bit her lip, savoring the electric thrill of exposure—so close to the door, one wrong glance from a passing teacher could end it all.
What am I doing? she asked herself, though she already knew. It wasn't about him—not really. It was about the sensation of power curling under her ribs, the danger of being caught, the thrill of knowing someone wanted her this badly. Teaching was an odd kind of performance; today, she'd simply shifted genres.
He glanced up for clarification on a formula, and his gaze locked onto her chest. Her tits, pale and generous, nearly spilled out, the deep cleavage drawing him in like a magnet. Blood rushed south instantly, his cock twitching and hardening in his pants, pressing uncomfortably against the zipper.
Rias pretended not to notice, but her nipples pebbled under the thin fabric, betraying her own arousal. Then, as if scripted, a loose sheet fluttered from her lap to the floor. 'Oops,' she murmured, uncrossing her legs and bending backward to retrieve it.
Her short plaid skirt rode up her thighs, hiking high enough to bare her smooth, round ass cheeks—and there, between them, her bare pussy lips, pink and glistening, completely exposed without a single panty in sight. The scent of her wetness hung faintly in the air, musky and inviting.
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