You walk into the room and see me sitting in the front row. I don't know if you were aware how just seeing your confident smirk and long, thin fingers wrapped around the wooden pointer you use to emphasize your point can get my nipples hard, but today you will be, because I didn't wear a bra to class today. I can feel your eyes resting on my fairly impressive cleavage, shifting and slipping out of that translucent white button down I'm wearing, it's a couple sizes too small and my nipples are pressing against the fabric. I took the liberty of popping open the first three buttons too, and I know you noticed – I saw your Adam's Apple bob in surprise and lust before you got a hold of yourself – you have a class to teach after all. I know you think of me as tits on legs – all the boys do. I'd feel self-conscious, too, of how my tits are heaving and all the other kids in class, especially the boys, are looking; but you know that this is a show simply for you. Just in case there was any doubt, however, I wait until you've turned back after writing something long and complicated on the blackboard before I spread my legs under the desk, inviting you to take a look. I can see the bulge in your pants and it's making me wet, and the tiny little silky black thong I have on under this short little pleated skirt is hardly any protection at all.