There have been multiple occasions on which, during class, I have headed for the bathrooms to quickly rid myself of rising urges. This post is not about those occasions. This post is about the one time I didn’t.

It was the Friday morning after a sliiiiightly too tipsy after-work party. It was hangover perfection. Unshowered, wearing last night’s undies, lazy sweatpants, two different color socks, hair in a sloppy bun, and no make-up.

Ahead was a two-hour class that very few were attending, but because I had already missed two classes that semester, I had to be there. Which I was, physically, but definitely not mentally.

I was bored. The few others in the classroom were bored. Even the teacher was bored! He spent 20 minutes explaining some random theory and then gave us time to catch up on homework, whether it was for his class or for another. And I was just sitting there, at the back of the classroom, scrolling through an infinite amount of pictures on my phone. Until I stumbled upon a series of pictures I thought I had deleted long ago, but clearly hadn’t.

They were pictures of me. And one of my favorite toys. And very few clothes – at first, there were none later. I remembered the day I took them. They were meant for a boy I used to chat with a lot, but never got to send the pictures.

I hated the fact that I wasn’t sitting at home with the toy, but was caught at school instead. In a more or less empty classroom. Wearing lazy sweatpants. With no one looking at me. DINGDING. Idea!

I turned around and leaned against the wall. I obviously couldn’t start with carressing my boobs or touching my neck, like I usually do, ‘cuz they were all in plain sight. I just had to dive in. And so I did.

While scribbling some random words on a piece of paper, I put my other hand in my sweatpants and pulled my thong to the side. I don’t want to brag, but boy, was I wet! Playing with myself is usually the first thing I do when I wake up with a hangover, but there had been a massive lack of time for that this morning. But my body was used to it, so it was ready.

In fact, it was too ready. My finger got pretty much sucked in, I barely felt a thing. Which proved to be a problem, ‘cuz there was no way I could speed it up. People would have noticed. I had to think of a new plan.

The new plan had two parts. First: no more insertion, just rubbing. Good start. Second: stimula. Luckily, Mr. James was cute enough for that. Staring at him both made me ticklish, and took care of the only risk that might become a problem: him looking at me in an unattended moment, catching me doing stuff that might get me expelled.

But hey, risks are hot, right? Uhuh. So I called out to Mr. James. Sir? Could you maybe help me out with this? As Mr. James got up and started walking towards me, I realized I had no follow-up whatsoever. I considered going for broke and whisper in his ear that he could have me in the bathroom, but somehow, that didn’t seem all that appropriate. Just before he arrived at my desk, I looked at my notes and faked an epiphany. Never mind, Sir. Found it! I watched him walk back to his desk and get on with grading papers, preparing his next class, or whatever it was he did.

I kept looking at him and started to fantasize. Thoughts of him and me after class entered my mind. No, Sir, I didn’t do my homework. Yes, Sir, I know I should have. No, Sir, I don’t know what we can do to make this right. Oh my, Sir, that’s a biiiiiiiig dick you got there.

Imaginary Mr. James fucked imaginary me on every desk in the room. An imaginary coworker, who had just walked past and had caught us, joined in. I took several of their imaginary loads all over my imaginary body before I was ready to cum as well.

Not imaginary. I was ready. I was so tempted to take the easy way out and just go for a bathroom break, but I couldn’t get myself to get up. Not this time. This had to be the place.

I held my breath and tried to breathe out with as little sound as possible. Everyone else was just doing homework or playing on their phones, and Mr. J was still looking at his laptop screen. No one minded me. I kept rubbing and looking around for wandering eyes. When I was more or less sure I had a window, I went for it.

If Mr. James had looked at me over the course of the next 20-or-so seconds, there would have been no way for me to hide it. My face looked like I was trying to bite through a brick, only to keep any sounds from escaping my throat. All the way through my orgasm, I prayed that no one would look my way. And my prayers were answered.

I played with my phone until the bell rang. Freedom, at last. As I greeted Mr. James, I couldn’t help but imagine one last time what would have happened if he had caught me. But he hadn’t. If only he knew how close he had been.

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