The female teacher controlled by lust

On a quiet night in April 4, 2018, during my "Appreciation of Classical Novels" class, I happened to see a copy of "Xiaolin Guangji" on a student's desk. I flipped through it for a while, and a satirical poem using the metaphor of a man masturbating to mock someone with the surname "Ni" caught my attention. It read: "There's an old poem about masturbating, mocking those with the surname Ni. I'll record it here for a laugh: Sitting alone in my study, my hands make a wife, a feeling I don't share with outsiders. If I switch my left hand to my right, it's like abandoning my wife and remarrying. One stroke, one stroke, and another, my whole body itches, my bones feel numb. Drops fall to the ground, and my descendants will all bear the surname Ni (mud)." My cheeks flushed, and I chuckled softly. The student probably guessed that I must have seen some dirty joke in the book, and he smiled shyly too, flustered. I put the book down and gently comforted him, saying, "This book is very good. It records many of the ancient people's interests and jokes. Reading it after class can really soothe your mood. I like it too." He took the book and stuffed it into his desk, nodding with a red face. I still couldn't quite remember his name, but looking at his handsome face, I felt a genuine sense of familiarity. The sunny, healthy, youthful, and artistic aura he exuded seemed to bring me back to those happy and unforgettable times from over a decade ago... I turned and walked back to the podium. That familiar feeling of pride and secret joy at being stared at from behind with excited, even hungry, eyes spread through my body again. I was certain that, apart from that boy, all the other boys' eyes were fixed on my lower body: my round buttocks encased in a black tight-fitting short skirt, my long and firm calves, paired with a pair of sheer, slightly oily flesh-colored stockings. The rhythmic clatter of high heels, like a jarring alarm clock, jolted a few daydreaming boys awake. The mature allure before them was fleeting; they needed to refocus and savor this captivating sexiness. I increasingly enjoyed this feeling, what men called "voyeurism." It possessed a soothing, delicate stimulation unlike anything experienced during intercourse. Every pore, every inch of skin, every erogenous zone was on high alert, tense and ready, afraid of disappointing a pair of hungry eyes. My tone remained unchanged—elegant, approachable, professional, and earnest—but every movement seemed meticulously staged, sometimes noble, sometimes suggestive. The students' eyes followed suit, sometimes dreamy, sometimes yearning. Each gaze felt like an invisible penis, forcefully penetrating my pores, which were even more thirsty than theirs. The originally serious and refined classroom was always imbued with an aura of lust because of me. But this lust was something only the sexually awakening freshmen and I, a young female teacher deeply mired in desire, could truly understand. Every time I stepped out of the classroom, a sudden heat would surge in my groin, and a gush of fluid would flow, soaking the delicate peony on my underwear. Rain or shine, heat or cold, this heat had never ceased since the moment I became a teacher at this school. At this moment, the panties adorned with peonies lay to one side. Dragging my limp body after the climax, I wiped away the splattered bodily fluids, especially a stain on my diary, which had precisely soaked the poem from *Xiaolin Guangji* (a collection of humorous anecdotes). I silently recited it again, and suddenly inspiration struck. I tried to compose a limerick about female masturbation. Since boys call it "hitting a plane," then we girls can call it "watering flowers." Okay, let's tease girls about masturbation. Here's a poem about watering flowers, mocking female masturbation, recorded for your amusement: Alone in my empty chamber, my hand becomes my husband; what is the hidden meaning behind this feeling? Left hand pulls out, right hand thrusts, like a penis going in and out. One touch, two rubs, three thrusts, a feeling of intense pleasure seeps into my bones. Suddenly, my delicate body trembles like a sieve, hot, lustful fluids splatter all over the floor. In this quiet night without my husband by my side, this enormous dildo is my "husband." It's cold and hard, but it has given me countless warm nights. I'll stop writing now, I'll hug it and go to sleep, waiting for tomorrow's "real penis" that can replace it and make my soul yearn for it! April 5, 2018. Reflecting on the drizzling rain after dinner, my lustful thoughts are overwhelming. A corner of my apricot-yellow long trench coat is slightly lifted by the wind, revealing a red tight-fitting dress underneath.A glimpse of her round, shapely buttocks flashed across the dark street, adding a touch of ambiguous brightness. Male passersby, jogging to avoid the rain, would occasionally steal glances back. I thought, who could bear to miss a beautiful, slender woman on such a dreary rainy day? I was once again immersed in the secret pleasure of being watched, and I quickened my pace, my hips swaying more seductively. The hissing sound of my black stockings rubbing against my thighs and the light tapping of my high heels were like the moans of a cat in heat, arousing the lust of every male cat that brushed past me. As I turned the corner to enter the hotel, two workers who had been sheltering from the rain stared at me with gritted teeth and fierce eyes, like two hungry wolves ready to pounce on a lamb. If we weren't in a busy area, I think they would have been unable to restrain themselves and rushed over to gang rape and ravage me. Thinking this, I felt a surge of excitement. I folded my umbrella, glancing sideways at their lecherous stares. Then, smiling, I brushed the few raindrops from my chest and, like playing a guitar, plucked at my firm breasts. The slight sway of my large breasts seemed to drop a bombshell on the two workers' hearts. They swallowed hard, their hands frantically scratching at their chests, their erections rising. I glanced at them again, offering a triumphant laugh, then quickly walked into the hotel. I felt my lust spiraling out of control. If it weren't for my partner waiting to "rape" me in the room upstairs, I fear I would have lost control and let those two workers rape me. Reaching the room door, I took a deep breath, trying my best to immerse myself in the "role" my partner had requested, to perform this seductive act well. Anticipation and excitement made my body tingle and flush. I took out my room key and trembled as I opened the door. The room was dimly lit, with only a few rays of light streaming in from the window, creating a soft, diffused area of light on the carpet. I hung up my trench coat and stood in that light, peering out the window towards the hotel entrance, excitedly and anxiously awaiting the appearance of that figure. After a moment of blank staring, I listlessly drew the curtains, making the room even darker, the atmosphere quiet and somewhat oppressive. Just as I was about to sit down, a soft "snap" broke the silence from inside the suite. A small fire flickered, and behind the flame, a serious, cold face appeared and disappeared, his eyes piercingly fixed on me. I gasped softly, leaning against the windowsill, trying to calm myself. A slow, gentle smile appeared on my face as I looked at him without speaking. We stared at each other like that, like a hunter and prey locked in a standoff. He took two deep drags on his cigarette, then opened his pack and gestured for me to smoke. I adjusted my tight skirt and walked over with stiff but slightly provocative steps. I gently pulled my short skirt up a little, then straddled his crossed legs, my soft buttocks rubbing against his thighs. I reached for his half-smoked cigarette, lightly touching the butt to my lips, leaving a red lip print. I licked and rubbed the cigarette butt, still carrying his wild scent, with my tongue. I could feel him, like a balloon inflated to its limit, brimming with power, ready to burst. The muscles in his thighs contracted and trembled rhythmically, making my buttocks quiver. Suddenly, he reached out and wrapped his right arm around my slender waist, his left hand gripping my buttocks tightly. He stood up, pressing his strong chest against my breasts, then looked down at me with an unyielding gaze, intimidating this "lamb," and growled in a low voice, "Is it that hard?" I threw away my cigarette butt, shook my head to avoid his forceful lips, and hurriedly replied, "Do you like this? Sit down." Hearing my words, he paused for a moment. I gently pressed his shoulder and said softly again, "Sit down." He slowly sat down again, his breathing heavy, his face still bearing that stern and cold expression. I turned and walked to the sofa by the window, sweeping my long hair to one side, leaning lightly against the armrest, my legs crossed. The tight red dress I wore was like a paintbrush, outlining my already voluptuous and mature body even more alluringly. The dark, deep opening at the hem of the short skirt was the most subtle blank space in this watercolor painting of me. My eyes never left him. I knew exactly how to seduce a man with my gaze—a look that was both affectionate and seductive. After years of navigating the seas of desire, I was too adept at using this kind of gaze. Then, I grasped my ankles with both hands and slid them down my thighs. The short skirt was pushed up to my buttocks, creating layers of wrinkles that formed a striking visual contrast with my smooth, shapely buttocks encased in black stockings. I slightly lifted my buttocks, continuing to push my skirt up to my waist. Then, I used my hands to hold the edges of my stockings, slowly and steadily pulling them down. My pale purple, narrow-brimmed lace panties were gradually exposed to the suffocating, erotic air, like a lit fuse, finally igniting his lust all at once. Just as I pulled the stockings down to my buttocks, the man I had thoroughly "enraged" rushed over. With a scream from me, he roughly grabbed my hair and shoved me against the opposite wall. Before I could turn around to beg for mercy, he used his left hand to firmly hold down my neck to prevent me from turning around, while his right hand tore at my stockings like a hungry wolf tearing at rotting flesh, loud "ripping...ripping" sounds echoing throughout the room. I felt that my stockings were already torn to shreds, hanging helplessly in mid-air. Then he suddenly reached under my crotch, grabbed the strap of my underwear that protected my private parts, and yanked it outwards fiercely. With a loud "snap," the underwear was torn in the middle, becoming two tattered strips of cloth hanging around my waist. I immediately felt a chill down my crotch, and my vagina tightened sharply. A small stream of heat involuntarily flowed out. His large hand roughly rubbed and kneaded there, and in no time, my entire private parts were covered with vaginal fluid. I subconsciously gasped twice more, but this only reignited his lust. He grabbed my shoulders, dragged me to the bed, and then shoved me hard, sending me crashing onto the bed. I felt gusts of cool air sweep over my buttocks and genitals, my head buzzing from the impact. My heart was filled with fear mixed with a hint of excitement and anticipation, but before I could catch my breath, I felt two sharp slaps on my back. I turned around in a panic and saw him brandishing his belt. A burning pain instantly spread throughout my body. He then jumped onto the bed, slapped my face again, and then tightly bound my hands behind my back with the belt. I immediately lost the ability to resist, tears of pain and humiliation welling up in my eyes. I felt like a lotus flower battered by autumn rain, delicate and pitiful, but I knew even more that the more pitiful I felt, the more it fueled his desire to conquer me. The real "torture" had only just begun! After tying my hands, he unzipped his pants. Although I couldn't see, I felt a powerful, rough aura surging up from behind me. I knew that his imposing, robust member had been unleashed. My tender little hole trembled twice in a seductive manner, and my thick labia, flushed with vaginal fluid, parted like little mouths. The dignity and shame that should have remained within me as a wife and mother were instantly overwhelmed by the lust that had been suppressed for days. I struggled symbolically a couple of times, waving my most prized buttocks back and forth at him. I remembered my husband once holding his plump buttocks and exclaiming: "Holding it feels like lying in my mother's arms when I was a child. Your buttocks are full but not greasy, smoother and softer than the skin on your face. Touching them feels like melting my whole body, Lennon."The video, titled "Domestic Young Woman's Crying Cry is Playing Online," is described as surpassing any massage equipment ever used. A blush, like a shy young girl's, always lingers on her buttocks, never fading. "Dying beneath her delicate buttocks, even as a ghost, I'd be a romantic!" The person behind me isn't my husband, but I believe that when he sees my waving, seductive buttocks, he feels the same way as my husband. Sure enough, with his left hand, he roughly spread my buttocks, and with his right hand, he guided his penis, thrusting it into my already eager flower bud. I couldn't catch my breath; my mouth opened wide but I couldn't make a sound. Suddenly, I raised my upper body, arching my back into a large arc. He covered my mouth with his hand, thrusting his hips like a pestle, taking possession of my body in the most brutal and savage way. It was the most humiliating form of rape, yet I felt pleasure, even a touch of gratitude, because I had achieved my goal… After fucking me over a hundred times, he slowed his pace slightly. My virginity, untouched for days, was like parched land receiving rain; waves of intense pleasure surged through my body, reaching my core and spreading throughout my entire being. He untied the belt binding me, turned my head, and launched into a frenzied kiss, giving me no time to breathe. His hot, powerful tongue broke through my lips, forcefully swirling inside my mouth. Simultaneously, one hand slipped inside my collar, ripping off my bra and kneading my breasts. This was a merciless, unreserved kneading, each stroke a declaration of conquest and possession: You're a slut, everything you have is mine, don't even think about escaping or resisting! After kissing me for a while, he pressed my head down again, displaying his power. His thick, hard penis continued to churn and churn inside my tender hole. Each thrust was like a tonic, relieving the insatiable lust that had plagued me for over a decade! I knew that after he finished, there would be another long period of hunger and endurance, but I was already used to it. I just wanted to enjoy the pleasure of the moment. I had tried time and time again to break free from the control of lust, but each time I was thwarted. I had lost my beloved and fallen into a fatal trap because of it. Slowly, my will was worn away. So, as a certain celebrity said: since you can't resist, then enjoy it to the fullest. I can still be with my lovely son and do the work I love. It's just that a part of my life has been given to lust and sex, and I have an extra layer of desire and shame buried deep in my heart. A part of me has become the person I once despised. But time has passed, I have compromised, indulged, and accepted my fate. I am still an excellent teacher, just with the prefix "lustful." What difference does it make? He was unaware of my deepest, most private thoughts, and continued his wild thrusting. My vagina grew increasingly hot, tightly gripping the enormous penis that didn't match its size. Despite being thoroughly ravaged, it clung to me with reluctance each time his penis withdrew, as if afraid of losing it forever. He felt the contraction and sucking of my clitoris, the intense stimulation causing his penis to tremble noticeably. He straightened his back, thrusting into me dozens more times without pausing, then suddenly pressed down hard on my shoulders, his lower abdomen slamming forward, slamming into my buttocks with a loud "smack." The large penis throbbed rapidly twice inside my vagina, and I felt a torrent rush towards my cervix. Instantly, waves of tingling, itchy pleasure spread throughout my entire vagina, starting from the most sensitive area around my cervix and spreading throughout my body. I bit down hard on the sheets to relieve the overwhelming surge of orgasm, closing my eyes to savor every second after the climax. It had only been three days since the last time, but to me, it felt like three years. I wanted to remember every moment of pleasure and ecstasy because I wasn't sure if I would have to endure another "three years." He turned back to his chair and continued smoking, but his gaze softened. I felt a chill, so I curled up on my side, staring blankly at the semen stains on the sheets, a smile on my lips that should never have appeared after being "raped." He finished his cigarette, stood up, picked up my trench coat, and tossed it at me, saying in a low voice, "Your clothes." He then went into the bathroom. A minute later, he emerged naked, his head peeking out, his gaze meeting mine. We stared at each other for a few seconds, then suddenly burst into laughter. I jumped out of bed, ran to him, hugged him tightly, and gave him a French kiss, giggling, "Brother Jun, how was my performance?" His hands caressed my buttocks, praising, "Wow, that was fantastic! Zhiyi, much better than Tang Wei's performance in the movie, and besides, your figure is ten times better than hers! You must be tired, baby, does your back still hurt?" I playfully complained, "Of course it hurts! You always have so many mischievous ideas, even imitating a scene from a movie! But it was really exciting, I almost burst out laughing." He pinched my buttocks hard twice and laughed, "Zhiyi, your brother has many more exciting ideas for you. As long as you serve your 'second husband' and 'third husband' well, you'll have plenty of fun later!" He then took my hand and guided it to his still-erect penis, which, even when limp, still exuded a powerful aura. I laughed and playfully hugged him, and we took a passionate bath together. The phone on the bedside table was playing Ang Lee's "Lust, Caution," showing the first sex scene between Wang Jiazhi and Mr. Yi. But we didn't have time to rewatch it because we were acting out the second sex scene in "Lust, Caution." The man on top of me wasn't my ideal partner; he was average-looking, only slightly taller than me, but I was becoming increasingly dependent on him. In that decadent and compromising phase of my life, only he could give me enough satisfaction and healing. He possessed a powerful sexual ability that captivated me, along with occasional bursts of sensual and creative sexual ideas. I never loved him, and he probably never loved me either. We simply lived in a shared world of indulgence, depending on and admiring each other, each satisfying our own desires and cravings. And all of this was done with my husband's support. Every time I think about it, I feel utterly absurd and ironic… [The End]

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The female teacher controlled by lust

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