More horrifically than I could have imagined.

Part of the curse the sign has put me under seems to be that, even though I still hate it with all my being, I get off on being helpless and humiliated -- although not all the way off. So I regained far too much of the arousal I'd managed to lose when I could actually eat my lunch in relative peace, even with the damned sign on the table. I closed my eyes sat down in my comparative religions class, struggling not to moan or squirm. After gathering myself with a deep breath, I got out my notebook and pen -- Mr. Winters is so old school he makes his student take notes the old-fashioned way. At first I wanted to rebel, but then I noticed I remembered all his lectures better and started leaving my laptop in my backpack for all my classes. Said laptop is now propping up my sign on the table next to me for all to see, of course. I couldn't stop myself from doing it, dammit. Fortunately I arrived close enough to the classes beginning that no one has time to take advanatage of me ... again. Professor Winters does look at it for a long moment before beginning his lecture, however.

He says nothing about it, instead going back into Judeo-Christian vs. Moslem comparisons, picking up where he left off two days ago. As I take notes, I stop thinking about my predicament so much, until I notice I'm getting hornier. What the hell? I think. Then I realize I've pressed my legs together and started grinding in my seat. I'm fucking masturbating with my thighs! I immediately move my legs apart -- big mistake. I don't want to, but I drop my pen on the table, reach down to undo my button and zipper, and slide my left hand under my too-wet panties to start playing with my equally wet pussy. I can't stop!

"Miss Johnson, that's disgusting. Cease that immediately and get out of my class! And don't bother coming back." It's Professor Winters. He's furious, and I don't blame him. What am I going to do?

"I'm sorry sir, I lost a bet," I say. That is not going to help!

Except it does, sort of. His eyes flick toward my sign again, and he sighs, apparently in resignation. "Very well, just try to keep the class disturbance to a minimum?"

"Yes professor, I'll do my best," I respond, incredulous. I can't help but look around to see how everyone else is reacting. Most are trying to stop leering and go back to paying attention, but a few look like they are about to protest or storm out. I feel my right hand moving, my left being far to busy down inside my pants between my helplessly spread legs. When I show them the sign, because of course that's what I'm doing, the beging reacting like all of my classmates who must have already seen it. I'm not sure why I bother, but when I put it back down again, I pick up my pen. It's not like I'm paying the least bit of attention to the lecture now, after all.

I can't concentrate on anything but the fingers of my left hand down my pants, making slick motions against my sex. Everyone is trying to pay attention to Professor Winters, but I know they're keeping at least half an eye on me. I can even see the students in front of me turn to look. The way the tables are aranged each on their own individual step, some of them can look underneath mine at my hand and my open legs and pants. I try to move my hand, close my legs, but if anything, I spread them wider and move faster; I moan.

"Miss Johnson."

"Sorry Professor," I say, but it comes out breathless as I work two fingers into myself, also rubbing the balls of my knuckles on my clit while I do. I keep panting now, keeping my voice out of it the best I can do to control it. Just when I think I'm about to cum, I pull my fingers back out to make the lightest of circles over the tip of my clit. I look up at the clock and see the hands at 12:57, the second hand just passing the 5. Oh fuck, I suddently remember my bet with the old man.

"If I make you beg, when you masturbate, you will edge for at least half an hour instead of making yourself cum."

Apparently unconsciously grinding my thighs together to stimulate my pussy counted, and when I 'declined' to edge myself that way, assuming I could, I'd changed to doing it with my left hand. Even more desperate to stop, I make several quicker and harder movements on my clit to regain the arousal I lost at the burst of fear realizing what I'm going to do to myself until 1:27PM with the second hand on the five had given me. I quickly back off when my pussy starts twitching in preparation to cum. I can't stop. I'm so embarrassed that I slide down in my chair, spread my legs wider and shift my jeans and panties a little farther down my legs to give my left hand more room.

It -- it barely feels like mine with how little I can control it -- takes advantage of the room to move from my clit to rubbing my labia instead, or pushing delicately inside me again. Any time my proximity to orgasm lessons, I make a few quick, light, slick circles to leave my quivering in pleasure and torment again. I continue the cycle, tormenting myself, unable to pay attention to anything outside of my embarrassment, helplessness, pleasure and misery until I hear the class bell ring and yank my hand away ... at two o'clock. Fuck, he'd said at least, and I didn't even notice I'd gone past. I become acutely aware of how wet my ass and seat are, and I dread pulling up my panties and jeans over it, but before I do that I look down at my desk, and my notebook filled with perfect notes from the lecture I'm only now beginning to remember.