Check out how Mrs. Kunt fared.

I looked down at the teacher’s hand, moving up and down along the length of my rod, hardly able to concentrate from the ecstasy she was administering. It was a mostly young hand, smooth, without blemish. She couldn’t have been older than thirty, as I’d estimated in the past during far less eventful homeroom periods. I looked from her hand, to her wrist, to her once-white sleeve. The fabric was now yellow and nearly transparent, a freckle clearly visible through the damp cloth. I followed her arm up to the woman herself. I only now noticed just how soaked to the bone she had managed to get during the earlier ordeal. Beads of urine were sprinkled across the lenses of her wire frame glasses, and her engorged nipples were clearly visible, poking out beneath the now-malleable from wetness layer of fabric.

She saw were my eyes were going, and she looked down at her own chest, and used her free hand to gently tweak her nipple through the urine soaked fabric. Fabric soaked with MY urine.

“I guess I forgot to wear a bra today,” she said distantly. She looked back up at me, and smiled when she saw I was still staring at her chest. The eye contact made me blush, and I turned away hurriedly.

“It’s okay to look, John. I’d say with your condition, with the measures you have to take, I’d say nobody is in a position to tell you anything otherwise. Look all you want.”

Still embarrassed, but not wanting to seem ungrateful for her permission to gawk, I glanced once more at her soaking wet breasts, quickly looked back up at her face, and **** a polite smile out from my burning red cheeks.

She chuckled at my obvious embarrassment. “Listen, John, I can tell you’re obviously very embarrassed by all this, but I assure you, you have nothing to be ashamed of, and we all are more than willing to put up with whatever it takes to get you better. We are GLAD to help. Right class?” She looked up for confirmation, received a few murmured agreements, but mostly the students seemed occupied with their own affairs. “But if you’d LIKE, I could stop… this…” she gestured at her still-working hand with her other one, as it worked up and down my shaft. “You’d still have to do it yourself of course, but either way, your choice. I’ll stop if I’m embarrassing you.”

I seriously considered this for a moment.

“Well?” she asked.