My Student's Dirty Lessons

I teach English at a night school for adult men.

Most of my students are working professionals. But tonight, they cornered me in the classroom.

"Teach us something different today, Miss."

My name is Isabella Roscente.

By day, I'm a yoga instructor. At twenty-nine, I've never had a boyfriend—never even been intimate with anyone.

Lately, though, I've started craving that kind of connection. My curiosity doesn't go much further than secretly watching certain kinds of films, but the desire is definitely there.

Besides yoga, I also teach English at a night school for men. Facing a classroom full of guys every evening—all of them young, strong, and watching me with bold, unguarded stares—it's hard not to feel something.

As a yoga teacher, I pay close attention to physique. I take pride in my own body—slim waist, toned curves, a figure that draws attention. Men often call me stunning, and I'd be lying if I said it didn't affect me.

Lately, my dreams have been… vivid.

Today, I was running late and came straight to class in my yoga clothes—a pink tank top under a fitted white cardigan, buttoned just below my chest. Evenings are usually quiet, with only a handful of students showing up.

But tonight felt different. Every one of them was watching me—intently.

Under their gaze, I could feel my cheeks grow warm.

"I'm sorry, class. The teacher is late today."

I stood at the podium and opened the textbook, trying to focus. But their eyes were all over me.

The guy in the front row was staring so hard I could almost feel it.

I loved this outfit—it hugged me in all the right places. But having rushed over, I was still catching my breath. With every inhale, my chest rose and fell, and I knew they noticed.

"Open your textbooks!"

I grabbed a piece of chalk, a little annoyed, and turned to write on the board.

"Look at the teacher's outfit… so pretty."

"Her figure is insane."

I heard their whispers, low and teasing. A flush crept up my neck. To my surprise, it stirred something deep inside me.

"Ahem—you! Come up and solve this problem."

I pointed at a random male student.

He bounded up to the podium and took the chalk. I moved to step aside, but he shifted with me, trapping me between his body and the blackboard.

I tried to push him away, but he didn't budge. Instead, he leaned in closer.

My mind went blank. Scenes from last night's dream flashed behind my eyes.

A tight heat pooled low in my belly. My legs felt weak.

I reached out to steady myself—my hand landed on his chest—but I pulled back just as quickly.

I held the English book in front of me, but it did nothing to hide what was happening below.

I could feel him—hard and hot—pressed against me. Unmistakable. Bold.

He wrote on the board with heavy strokes, his body rocking into mine with every movement.

I swayed with him, my whole body warming.

"That's enough! Why are you taking so long?"

The class started heckling, urging him to hurry.

He scribbled the last of it, gave one final press against me, and slowly stepped down.

Freed, I sucked in a sharp breath.

But once again, all eyes were on me.

Luckily, only five or six students had shown up today—any more, and I would've been completely exposed.

Remembering the feel of him, I lost all interest in teaching. I handed out worksheets, hoping they'd work quietly.

But tonight, they were unusually eager.

I caught pieces of their whispers.

"So soft…"

Hearing their snickers, I sat at the podium and crossed my legs, trying to hide my restlessness.

"Teacher! How do I solve this one?"

I walked over and stopped beside a male student in the front row. Leaning down, I looked at the question in his book.

One of my hands rested on the desk—close to his arm.

My clothes clung even tighter in that position.

"Teacher! His nose is bleeding!"

Someone shouted.

I looked up. The student was staring straight at my chest. A trickle of blood had reached his lips, but he didn't seem to notice.

Startled, I grabbed a tissue and handed it to him. In my rush, I kicked the desk leg.

I yelped and tumbled right into his lap.

He was seated, leaning back against the desk behind him. His arms wrapped around my waist, holding me there.

I was straddling him, my hands clutching his collar so I wouldn't fall.

I could feel the heat beneath me. My face burned.

I tried to push up, but he held my waist firmly, pressing me down.

A warm rush swept through me.

I bit back a sound and forced a stern tone. "Let… let me go!"

Seeing my anger, he reluctantly loosened his grip.

I scrambled up, steadying myself against a nearby desk. I pressed the tissue to his nose.

"Go clean yourself up!"

I turned away, flustered.

His classmates looked jealous, playfully punching his shoulders.

"Teacher, I have a question too!"

Seeing their hungry eyes, I didn't want to keep teaching. But they saw right through me.

"Don't worry, Teacher—we won't report you."

Report me? That stung.

Just then, a student in the back raised his hand.

Reluctantly, I walked over.

They were all acting strange tonight.

And so was I.

This time, I stood straight while looking at his book.

Suddenly, a large hand gripped my backside.

I flinched, but the hand slid upward along my thigh.

Instinctively, I clenched my legs, but his touch continued—slow, teasing.

A tingling pleasure spread through me. My hands braced against the desk.

My clothes felt even tighter now.

The student in front of me was breathing close—his warmth brushed my skin.