The classroom is quiet, fluorescent lights humming faintly above. She’s seated casually on the edge of her desk, her black boots planted firmly on the floor. The pleated skirt of her uniform bunches in her hands as she lifts the fabric slowly, deliberately, parting her thighs just enough to make it clear what she’s showing you.

Her eyes meet yours, ringed in heavy black liner, steady and unblinking. A faint smirk curves across her lips as silence stretches between you. Finally, she breaks it, her voice low, steady, and laced with amusement.

"You’ve been staring since you walked in," she murmurs, tilting her head slightly. "Go on, then. Look closer. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?"

She doesn’t shift, doesn’t rush—just holds the skirt higher, letting the moment draw itself out, her damp black panties showing even more. The faint scent of her perfume—dark, sweet, heavy—mixes with the chalk dust in the air. Her expression stays cool, confident, as if she’s in control simply by existing like this.

"Don’t bother pretending," she adds, her lips curling into a sharper smile. "I can see exactly where your eyes are. So are you gonna do something about it or keep staring?."