The weekend

Friday night is quiet, but your mind won’t stop spinning. The events of the day replay over and over, swirling through your thoughts in a confusing haze of humiliation and arousal. You lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to make sense of what happened. Did you really do that? Stand naked in front of all of them, fully exposed and hard, with every single girl’s eyes glued to you?

It feels surreal, like something out of a dream—or maybe a nightmare. You shift uncomfortably in your bed, the sheets sticking to your skin as you try to shake the memory, but it clings to you. Ms. Fox’s voice, calm and authoritative, echoing in your mind. The way she whispered in your ear, telling you how much you loved being watched. How much you wanted to perform.

A knot tightens in your stomach. You shouldn’t be thinking about this. It was humiliating, not arousing. You try to convince yourself that’s true, but your body betrays you. Your cock twitches under the sheets, and you know exactly why. You can’t stop thinking about Madison’s wide eyes, the way her cheeks flushed when she looked at you, her full breasts rising and falling with each nervous breath. Or Ruby’s wicked grin, her teasing, unapologetic gaze traveling up and down your body as if she owned you.

Your hand drifts down, almost on its own, and before you can stop yourself, you’re gripping your cock, the memory of the day’s events sending a jolt of arousal through your body. How did you end up here?

You think about Ms. Fox, her voice soft and teasing as she whispered all the things you didn’t want to admit. That you loved being exposed, that you wanted to show off for them. You didn’t want to believe it then, but now, as you stroke yourself, her words feel more and more true.

Your thoughts shift to Madison’s touch, the way her hand felt wrapped around your cock, soft and tentative at first, then more confident as she stroked you under the watchful eyes of the class. The memory sends a pulse of pleasure through you, and you stroke yourself faster, imagining it’s her hand again, her innocent, nervous expression changing to something more curious, more eager.

Ruby’s voice cuts through the fantasy, her mocking words ringing in your ears. “Oh, he’s loving this.” You picture her leaning over you, her smirk deepening as she teases you. She would love to see you like this, wouldn’t she? Completely ****.

It doesn’t take long before the pleasure builds, your breath coming in short, shallow gasps as you work yourself to a quick, shame-filled climax. You come hard, your body trembling as you spill into your hand, the release flooding through you in waves. But as soon as it’s over, the guilt washes in to replace it. Why did you enjoy it so much?

You wipe your hand on a tissue, trying to push away the memory, but it lingers. You shouldn’t feel like this.

Saturday morning, the world feels too quiet. You wake up groggy, the events of yesterday still fresh in your mind. You’re supposed to feel humiliated, and you do... but there’s something else lurking beneath the shame. Something you can’t ignore.

Blinking groggily, you grab your phone and swipe the screen. There's an email from Ms.Fox

Subject: Monday's Class: Attire

You sit up in bed, the knot in your stomach tightening. Ms. Fox’s email is brief, and the ambiguity sends your mind racing.

Hi John,

Please remember to come to Monday’s class in the right attire. This is an important part of the lesson.

See you soon,

Ms. Fox

You spend the morning pacing your room, trying to distract yourself, but your thoughts keep circling back to the same place. The class. The girls. The way they stared at you.

No matter what you do, you can’t escape the image of yourself standing there, fully exposed, your cock throbbing in your hand as they watched. You feel a fresh wave of embarrassment wash over you, but with it comes a familiar tightness in your chest, that strange, undeniable pull toward the memory.

By midday, you’ve had enough. As if on queue your phone beeps.

[Sara]: Party at Zach’s tonight. U coming?

Part of you wants to decline, avoid everyone, and hole up in your room for the weekend. But maybe you need a break. Maybe seeing people in a normal setting—away from the classroom—will help distract you from the shame and arousal lingering in your mind. Before you can overthink it, you reply.

[You]: Yeah, I’ll be there.

The night air at the party buzzes with energy, but you can’t shake the weight that’s been sitting in your chest ever since class. You walk in, hoping for a distraction, something to push away the memories of standing naked in front of everyone, your cock betraying you, fully exposed, while every girl’s eyes lingered on you. But even the music and laughter can’t drown out the memory.

Then you see Michelle, leaning casually against the kitchen counter, sipping from her drink with that same calm confidence she always has. Her fitted top clings to her toned body, and her dirty blonde hair is tied back in a tight bun. She spots you before you can decide whether to approach her or hide, raising her eyebrows and giving you a small nod.

You make your way over, heart pounding. “Hey, Michelle.”

“Hey, John,” she says, her voice cool and steady. “I wasn’t sure if you’d show up.”

You shrug, trying to keep your voice casual, though the tension between you is impossible to ignore. “Needed a break from everything.”

She tilts her head, a smirk tugging at her lips. “I’m sure you did. After today’s performance... I’m surprised you can even look us in the eye.”

Your stomach drops, but Michelle’s smile only deepens. “Relax. It’s not like we’re going to forget any of it. You, standing there, naked in front of all of us, trying so hard not to show how much you were enjoying it.”

Your face burns, but before you can say anything, she leans in closer, her voice dropping to a teasing whisper. “Especially when you finished. That part was the best. Watching you lose control, knowing you couldn’t hold it back with all of us staring? It was so hot.”

You feel the heat rise to your cheeks, your pulse quickening. She knows. They all know.

“Don’t be shy about it,” she continues, stepping in even closer, her eyes locked on yours. “You used to love how much we looked up to you. You were the big, bad senior, right? The guy who had all the freshmen girls crushing on him.” She lets out a small laugh. “I mean, you’re still big...” Her eyes drift down to your crotch, her gaze lingering. “Really big, actually.”

Your heart races, the heat flooding through your body. You try to act like her words aren’t getting to you, but the way she looks at you—like she’s in control now—makes it impossible to pretend.

“But now...” Michelle pauses, her eyes flicking back up to yours. “Now, we’re the ones in control, and it’s been fun watching you squirm. Watching you struggle not to show how much you love it. And let’s be honest—you do. You loved being the center of attention, didn’t you?”

You try to shake your head, deny it, but Michelle’s smirk widens. “Oh, please. You loved every second of it. You got off on it, John. On being completely exposed while we all watched. Seeing how hard you were—that wasn’t just embarrassment. You were enjoying yourself. And when you finally came? Well...” She trails off, biting her lip as if savoring the memory. “That was something else.”

You swallow hard, trying to keep your composure. But she’s right. You did get off on it. And the way Michelle’s looking at you now—like she’s in control, like she knows exactly how to push your buttons—makes it even harder to deny.

“You used to be so cocky,” she continues, her voice soft but dripping with amusement. “You’d sit in class, probably thinking about how lucky we were to be around you. But now, we’re the ones in charge. And you...” She gives you a playful tap on the chest, her grin widening. “You’ve never looked hotter.”

Her words hit you like a punch, each one making your skin tingle with a mixture of humiliation and arousal. You try to say something, but Michelle doesn’t give you the chance.

“I gotta say, it was nice to finally see you completely ****. All those times we’ve stared at you from across the classroom, wondering what it’d be like to see you... well, all of you. And now? Now we’ve seen it all.” She steps back, giving you a slow once-over. “And I’ve gotta admit, you didn’t disappoint.”

Before you can respond, she gives you one last look, her eyes glinting with amusement. “I’ll see you Monday. Hope you’re ready for what’s next.” Then she walks away, leaving you standing there, your heart pounding and your mind racing with everything she just said.

Back in your room later that night, Michelle’s words replay over and over in your mind. You lie in bed, your body tense, and no matter how hard you try, you can’t stop thinking about the way she looked at you—how much she enjoyed seeing you exposed, powerless, finishing in front of all of them.

Your hand drifts down, almost instinctively, and you start stroking yourself, imagining it all again—standing naked in front of the class, the girls staring at your cock, fully erect, and the way Michelle talked about how big you are, how much she loved seeing you lose control. You picture her watching you now, her sharp eyes taking in every detail, and your breath quickens.

You imagine her whispering in your ear again, reminding you of how much you loved being exposed, telling you to let go. Telling you to finish for them again. And this time, you don’t hold back. You stroke yourself faster, the tension building, and soon you’re coming hard, your body trembling with the intensity of it.

Afterward, you lie there, breathless, your hand still wet. But instead of guilt, there’s a new feeling that washes over you. Something you haven’t fully accepted until now.

Michelle was right. You did love it.

The next morning, you wake up to the soft buzz of a new email notification. Still groggy, you grab your phone and swipe the screen.

The subject line makes your stomach flip: Monday’s Class: Attire

It’s from Ms. Fox, and as you open the email, your pulse quickens.

Hi John,

Please make sure you come to Monday’s class in the right attire. It’s important for what we’ll be covering.

See you soon,

Ms. Fox

That’s it. No explanation. No hint of what “right attire” means. But your mind immediately jumps to the worst-case scenario: nudity. It has to be nudity. After everything that’s happened, after how much control Ms. Fox and the girls have had over you, it’s the only logical conclusion.

Your heart races as you sit on the edge of your bed, trying to figure out what to do. Do you show up already stripped down? Or will that make things worse?

All day, the thought gnaws at you. Michelle’s words, Ms. Fox’s cryptic email—it all swirls in your head, keeping you on edge. The idea of showing up and immediately having to expose yourself again fills you with dread... but also something else. Something you’re not ready to admit.

That night, lying in bed again, the tension becomes unbearable. You start stroking yourself, imagining the classroom once more—this time, more prepared, ready to follow orders. Ready to strip down as soon as you walk in. The thought sends a thrill through you, and you come quickly, breathless with anticipation.

You can’t wait for Monday.

By the time Monday morning arrives, you’re a bundle of nerves. You pick out your clothes carefully, still unsure what “right attire” means, but deep down, you suspect that no matter what you wear, Ms. Fox will have you out of them soon enough.

As you walk to class, Michelle’s words from the party echo in your mind. You know you’re walking into a situation where you’ll be fully exposed again—stripped of control, completely at their mercy.

And the truth is, you can’t wait.