A confession

The room feels like it’s closing in around you, the weight of Ms. Fox’s presence pressing harder with every second. She steps back to her desk, her heels clicking against the tile, and turns to address the class. Her tone is as calm as ever, but there’s a sharpness beneath it, a blade hidden in silk.

“John,” she begins, her hands clasped in front of her as she surveys you like a bird deciding whether or not you’re worth eating, “it’s clear that your... oversight will not go unaddressed. You will be punished, in due time" Her ruler smacks against, her palm

"But since we’re a class dedicated to empowerment, fairness, and, of course, education, I believe in giving second chances.” Her lips curl ever so slightly, and your stomach twists in response.

“However,” she continues, her voice taking on a sterner edge, “let me be perfectly clear: forgiveness is earned, not given freely. Women are often tasked with balancing forgiveness while never forgetting—and this lesson will be no exception. To prove that you’re worthy of a second chance, you’ll need to earn it with honesty and a willingness to confront yourself. Do you understand?”

You can only nod, frozen under her stare, your jaw clenched tight. The tension in the room is suffocating, the gaze of every girl fixed uncomfortably on you.

“Good,” she says, sitting gracefully on the edge of her desk, her pencil skirt riding up just enough to make you shift uncomfortably in your jeans. She taps her ruler against her thigh in rhythmic beats as she speaks, keeping time like the tick of a clock. “I’m going to ask you three questions. You’ll answer them honestly, here and now. No hesitation. No evasion. If you’re truthful, I may consider allowing you a second chance to prove yourself. If not, well…” She leaves the threat dangling, her smirk unmistakable. “Let’s begin.”

Her gaze locks onto yours, unrelenting. “First question: Do you have a fetish?”

The words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating. You can feel your skin flush as the girls murmur softly behind you, giggles and whispers buzzing like bees. Madison shifts slightly in her seat, her braids bouncing as she looks down at her lap, but her gaze flits back up to you almost immediately, curiosity shining in her wide eyes. Ruby leans forward in her chair, propping her chin on her knuckles, her grin positively gleaming with anticipation.

You swallow hard, your mouth dry as sandpaper, but there’s no way out. “Yes,” you say finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

“What was that?” Ms. Fox asks, her eyebrows lifting ever so slightly. “Speak up, John. You’re addressing the class, after all.”

“Yes, I have a fetish,” you repeat, louder this time, the heat crawling up your neck as the words leave your mouth. The girls erupt into giggles, the sound loud and teasing, making your skin prickle.

“Excellent,” Ms. Fox says, like a teacher praising a child for their first steps. “Now, the second question: What is it?”

Your heart pounds in your chest. You want to lie, to make something up, but her eyes pin you in place, sharp and unyielding. The truth bubbles up before you can stop it, and you hear yourself say it before your brain fully registers. “Exhibitionism.”

The room falls silent for a moment, the weight of the confession sinking in and settling heavily over the classroom. Then Ruby lets out a loud laugh, smacking her palm against her desk. “Oh my God, that’s perfect! No wonder you’ve been so hard this whole time.”

Sara snickers, swinging her legs over the edge of her desk. “And here I thought you were just really dedicated to the lesson plan.” Her smirk widens, her blue pigtails swaying as she tilts her head at you.

Even Madison’s eyes widen, her cheeks flushing a deep pink as she clutches her notebook tighter against her chest. You can see her lips part slightly like she’s about to say something but then thinks better of it.

Ms. Fox gives a small nod, her smirk growing. “How fitting,” she remarks, her voice laced with amusement. “There’s nothing wrong with that, of course. We encourage the exploration of one’s desires in this class. But I can’t help but notice how... appropriate it seems, considering your recent behavior.” Her eyes glint with something you can’t quite place, making your stomach churn.

“And now, for the third and final question,” she says, her tone shifting back to calm authority. “How fast can you dress up as your fetish?”

Your blood runs cold as the question hits you like a freight train. You hesitate, the gears in your brain grinding uselessly as you try to think of an answer. Your stomach twists painfully, dread curling around your insides like a vice.

“Well?” she prompts, her patience fraying. “I asked how fast. Don’t make me repeat myself, John.”

The words tumble out before you can stop them. “Thirty seconds,” you say, your voice shaky.

Ms. Fox’s expression sharpens, her smirk vanishing as she narrows her eyes at you. “Thirty seconds,” she repeats slowly, letting the words hang in the air. “Very well. Your second chance, John, is to demonstrate your answer. Right now.”

Your heart stops.

“W-what?” you stammer, your voice catching in your throat.

“You said thirty seconds,” Ms. Fox says, her voice firm. “So demonstrate. Strip. Quickly.”

The room explodes in whispers and giggles, the girls leaning forward in their seats, eager anticipation lighting up their faces. Ruby twirls her crop between her fingers, her wicked grin stretching wider. “Oh, this is gonna be good,” she murmurs, her green eyes gleaming with glee.

You hesitate, frozen in place as the seconds tick by, but Ms. Fox’s sharp tone slices through the noise. “Now, John. Or we’ll add to your punishment later.”

There’s no escape. Your hands move on their own, trembling as you yank off your shirt and toss it aside. The girls’ whispers intensify, their teasing laughter filling your ears as you undo your jeans, shoving them down your legs with clumsy urgency. Your boxers are the last to go, and before you know it, you’re standing there—completely naked, your half-hard cock twitching under their scrutiny.

You stare at the floor, your face burning as the weight of their gazes pierces you. You can feel Madison’s wide eyes locked on your body, the red creeping up her neck as she clutches her notebook tighter. Ruby lets out a low whistle, crossing her legs and tilting her head as she smirks at you.

“Well,” Sara pipes up, her voice dripping with amusement. “I guess he really can dress up as his fetish in thirty seconds. Who knew?”

“Wow,” Sage drawls, leaning back in her chair with a lazy smile. “I mean, not bad, but…” She gestures vaguely toward your crotch. “Shouldn’t you be a little more, you know, committed to the role?”

Ruby lets out a sharp laugh, her grin nothing short of predatory. “Yeah, John—how can you claim to be a real exhibitionist when you’re only halfway there?” She snaps the riding crop against her thigh with a loud crack. “Maybe you need some help getting into character.”

The girls chime in one by one, their teasing comments blending together and wrapping around you like a noose. Sara giggles, swinging her legs. “Honestly, I think he’s getting there. Look—any second now.”

Michelle, cool and composed, crosses her arms and smirks. “You’re only pulling it off now because we’re watching. That’s the whole point, right?”

And sure enough, as their words sink in, your cock betrays you once again, rising to full attention under the weight of their teasing. The room erupts into laughter, the sound ringing in your ears as you stand there, humiliated but undeniably aroused.

Ruby grins, her eyes glinting with mischief. “There we go. Now he’s dressed for the occasion. Guess that took more than thirty seconds, huh?”

Madison stammers, her blush spreading all the way to her collarbone as she glances down at her notebook. “I-I think he, um, did okay. I mean, i-it’s very… accurate.”

But then Sara pipes up with a devastatingly casual tone. “And to think,” she says, her grin widening, “you could’ve just worn clothes today and saved yourself all this trouble. I mean, we’re not complaining, though. Imagine hiding all of that from us. What a waste, right girls?”

“Well done, John,” Ms. Fox says smoothly, her voice cutting through the noise like a blade. “Consider your second chance granted. Now take your seat—and don’t keep us waiting. We’ve got a lot more to cover today.”

You stumble toward your seat, your head spinning and your body burning with shame. But somewhere, buried under the embarrassment, is that familiar heat—the undeniable thrill of being seen.