“Stay after class.” Your professor says, staring straight at you.

It’s the only thing you hear before blood rushes to your ears and you feel faint. People are smirking, chuckling to their friends.

You’d been doing everything right in her class, you keep to yourself—well, you’re kind of snooty sometimes, but you get your work done. You’re pretty sure that you’re one of the top students.

Well… maybe she’d caught you staring blatantly at her chest. With no shame, by the way.

You’ve always had the hots for your prof. anyway—the way she chastised you for dozing off during lectures, or praised you when you got a very good grade. Her good girl—student, good student.

—

Your face flushes when everyone snickers, as they walk past you to leave the classroom—immature morons.

“My cleavage,” Maria says, with finality. “You stare at my cleavage when you should be listening to my words.” *Her palms flat on your desk, her blouse slightly open—freckled flush skin staring straight at you.

If you glanced down, you’d be face to face with your profs’ tits.