Professor Vance’s lecture hall was silent, save for the soft rustle of her starched white shirt as she shifted on the edge of the desk. Her wavy red hair cascaded over her shoulders, framing the deep cleavage where three buttons were deliberately undone. Her medium, firm tits were bare beneath the fabric, her hard nipples poking visibly, begging for attention. The round black frames of her glasses slid down her nose as she looked out, not at faces, but at the focused gaze of two students in the front row.

“Today’s module,” she said, her voice a low, husky command, “is tactile. Visual. Unfiltered.”

Her gray skirt was already hitched up over her wide hips, bunched at her waist. Her panties—a scrap of lace—were down around her knees. The classroom air was cool on her exposed skin, making her long legs tremble slightly. But it was the heat between them that mattered. With a deliberate slowness, she used both hands to spread the plump lips of her pussy, putting herself on full display.

Her cunt was already glistening, wetness coating her inner folds. The scent of her arousal—musky and sweet—hung in the air. Her clit, a swollen, pink nub, peeked out from its hood, throbbing with every heartbeat. She traced a finger around it, not touching directly yet, letting the two students—a guy leaning forward, mouth slightly open, and a woman biting her lip—see the delicate anatomy sketched behind her on the board come to life.

“This,” Professor Vance breathed, her own excitement making her voice shake, “is the