The Rival
Staring at that tantalizing photo, Ma Jun froze. He hadn't expected Li Wen to actually snap a close-up of her pussy and send it to him. He quickly shut off his phone screen, afraid someone nearby might catch a glimpse. But deep down, he found it odd. Did Li Wen secretly get off on showing her private parts to strangers?
Ma Jun quickly figured out her game, though. She was just teasing him, trying to hook him enough to meet up in person—where his identity would be exposed.
Ma Jun chuckled to himself. Just as I thought. Li Wen was luring him out. Any hot-headed guy might've jumped at the chance, but Ma Jun had already fucked her tight little hole. No way was he falling for that.
The game was getting fun. Ma Jun slumped over his desk, grabbed his phone, and fired back a text.
He tossed the phone into his desk drawer and cracked open his textbook. Moments later, it buzzed—Li Wen's reply, no doubt. Ma Jun ignored it. She had to be pissed as hell by now, which was exactly what he wanted. He'd already scared Feng Kun off from school; Li Wen deserved her punishment too.
In the Chinese teachers' lounge, Li Wen sat at her desk, face twisted in fury. Her delicate white hand clenched her phone, eyes blazing with rage. She couldn't believe it—this trap she'd so carefully set, and the guy brushed it off like nothing, even mocking her body. Li Wen was damn proud of her figure.
Sure, her tits couldn't match Liu Yan's massive jugs, but her slim waist you could wrap your hands around, her perky full ass, her long shapely thighs—they were flawless. And her pussy? She babied it, keeping it pale and tender. Feng Kun went wild every time he saw it, dying to slam in and pound her senseless. Yet this asshole had the nerve to call it ugly.
Li Wen wanted to hunt the bastard down right then, make him explain face-to-face what was so "ugly" about her slit. The sheer audacity!
The more she stewed, the madder she got. She bombarded him with texts demanding answers, but they vanished into the void—no reply. Class time loomed, so she grabbed her lesson plans and headed out. Today she'd skipped panties under her skirt; the fabric rubbed directly against her ass and pussy, teasing her sensitive spots with every step, stirring a weird thrill.
By the classroom door, her slit was already drooling with excitement. If class wasn't starting, she'd dash to the girls' bathroom and finger herself off. That pervert had to be behind this—probably sitting in class, waiting to watch her squirm.
Li Wen steadied herself with a deep breath and strode in. A boy in the front row shot up: "Stand!"
The class rose in a clatter. "Good morning, Teacher!"
"Good morning, class. Sit down."
Li Wen mounted the podium, signaled them to sit, and scanned the room stone-faced, hunting for the creep hidden among them. Those innocent young faces gazing up all looked suspicious now.
"Alright, flip to page fifty-eight. Today we're studying a classical text."
She opened her plans and dove in. Truth be told, her teaching couldn't touch Zhang Li's—dry as dust, no flair. But with her killer body, the boys ogled her curves anyway. How much they absorbed? Debatable.
Li Wen had joined San Zhong thinking teaching was easy street—long vacations and all. She pulled strings to get in. But high school gigs were grinders: packed schedules, even holiday trainings. Not the dream. That's why Feng Kun was transferring her out.
Still, school had perks—simple social circles, just teachers and kids. Education was booming; pay kept rising. Under Principal Li Jianjun, San Zhong thrived, even building staff apartments this year. Li Wen wavered on leaving after years here. Tough call.
After the text, she assigned homework and sat flipping her plans, sneaking peeks at her phone. No word from the mystery guy. Had he seen through her?
She hated feeling played. What did he want? If he was after leverage with her and Feng Kun, why not blackmail her into meeting? She was the desperate one; he toyed with her like a seasoned hunter.
"Teacher Li, I didn't get something."
A boy raised his hand. Li Wen approached. "What part?"
"This section—these lines. No clue what they mean."
He pointed to the trickiest passage—tough to unpack.
"Oh, that. Here, let me explain."
She bent over, lecturing seriously. Her round ass thrust out for the back-row boys to devour with their eyes, along with her plump white thighs. They itched to grope her. Li Wen's classes were their wet dream—the school's sluttiest, sexiest teacher in their class. Pure pride.
The boy half-listened, eyes darting to her heaving tits. He slipped a hand into his desk, pulled out his phone, snuck it under her skirt, aimed at her inner thighs, snapped a pic, and stashed it—all in seconds. Not his first rodeo.
Li Wen didn't clock the "good student" filming her crotch. She patiently explained, ignoring his tit-stares. She knew what randy teens craved. No harm, no foul.
That was most female teachers' vibe: hormonal boys were bold yet fragile. Botch it, and you'd scar them. Unless they crossed lines, best steer clear.
Done, she returned to the podium, rattled off homework, and the bell rang. No lingering today—she bolted.
Class erupted into chatter. The sneaky photographer checked his album; back-row buddies crowded in for the goods.
The blurry shot hit the screen. Jaws dropped. They'd hoped for panty flashes—instead, a fuzzy black bush and a fat pale slit. No panties. Li Wen had gone commando.
"Fuck, fu-u-uck! Li Wen's such a slut—pussy out in class! Bet some dude railed her before, forgot her panties."
The boy drooled, tenting his pants, thrilled.
"Who you think she's banging? Some male teacher?"
"Our PE coach? Word is his cock's huge. Slut like her loves 'em big."
"Big dick my ass. Mine's plenty—why ain't she begging me?"
He shook his head. "Nah, Principal's fucking her. That big-tit 56-class teacher too—how else they snag promotions?"
His uncle in admin spilled secrets; he sold exam keys to slackers. Class oracle—everyone bought it.
"Principal life's the dream—fuck whoever. I'll be one, railing Li Wen's pussy daily in my office."
"Dream on, loser—with your grades?" The crew sneered. Bottom of the class, obsessed with her ass, always "asking questions." She never glanced his way.
They trash-talked her hole shamelessly. Nearby kids winced but stayed mum—these punks were class terrors, brawlers even the homeroom teacher dodged. No one poked the bear.
"Hey, watch it. Don't be dicks."
A clean-cut boy ahead stood, voice shaky, face flushed with fury.
They blinked, then cackled. One sneered, "Tang Feng, we ain't sayin' shit—just Li Wen's lesson. You're rep, right? C'mon, fact-check us?"
He waved the phone tauntingly.
Tang Feng balled his fists, itching to deck them. But these thugs had rap sheets; fighting meant he'd lose. He glared, sat, seething.
Tang Feng was Chinese rep, midterms' top scorer school-wide. His folks wanted him out of chaotic 55-class to Zhang Li's, but he refused—claimed he liked it here. Secret? Li Wen.
From day one, her sexy allure hooked him. To get her notice, he aced Chinese—memorized texts cold, topped every test, snagged rep duties. Boys envied him; some offered cash to take his spot. No dice.
Her entrance spiked his pulse. To him, she embodied perfection—mature allure in every move, those full tits, perky ass, toned thighs firing his teen hormones.
Unlike the others' lust, his was puppy love. Her smiles melted him; he yearned for her heart. Impossible, he knew—so he buried it, watching silently.
Rumors painted her slutty, teacher-seducer. He rejected it—her style was charm; haters slandered out of envy. I'm the one who gets her.
Office visits were bliss—alone with her, homework chats felt intimate. Gazing, inhaling her scent—he was content.
Those crude words pushed him over. Family was strict—no fights. He swallowed rage.
After school, Tang Feng packed up. At the door, two outsiders: one whispering with the class punks, the other—a tall guy—watching coolly.
Tang Feng knew him: Ma Jun, 57-class rep. Killer Chinese, essay star—his rival. Unaware Ma Jun had claimed his dream girl with that monster cock.
What's Ma Jun doing here? Curiosity flickered, but nah—proper kid like him wouldn't slum with thugs. Must be something else. Tang Feng glanced at the second-floor lounge, eyes hungry, then trudged to the gate, reluctant.