𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Desk Sex, Blow Jobs, Fantasizing, Moaning, Spanking, Pet Names, Young Paul McCartney, Top Paul McCartney, Classroom Sex, Love Confessions, Masturbation Confessions, Sexual Fantasy. 𝐒𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: 1970
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
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You walked up to the school in your formal attire at a steady pace- you were seemingly, the most behaved student at school. You were always early, you always dressed appropriately, and most of all, all of your teachers were treated with respect. Your English teacher was the one you respected the most, because admittingly, you fancied him. You took in a sharp breath as you entered the doors of the school, mainly because the usual feeling that you associated with the English teacher started to rise within you again.
You were the first to arrive at the front door of the ELA classroom, and you stepped inside. It was about 6 minutes before the bell would ring for the first time of the day, and the teacher wasn't even inside the room yet. Once you reached your seat, the teacher came in not too long after you and looked at you. He had his bag over one arm, and a stack of papers and a cup in the other. Once you both made eye contact, you both smiled, you, as usual, did it first. You always tried to hint to the teacher that you fancied him, but you don't think he ever got it.
"Good Morning, Mr. McCartney."
"Good morning, (Y/N), how are things ?"
"Oh, they're great. As for you ?"
"Brilliant, thank you for asking. I'm surprised to find you in the classroom before me this morning."
"The bus was early."
"Ah. You're a good fellow, always behaving yourself and such. Let's make this a great day !"
A bright smile found it's way onto Mr. McCartney's face, and the sight made you giggle and grin. You sat down at your desk (which was located in the front, of course), and watched Mr McCartney as he was unpacking and settling himself at his own desk. You found yourself staring at one moment, and shook out of it. The teacher looked at you in alarm, and then when he realized everything was alright, he looked back down at his papers.
If you loved anything about Mr. McCartney's appearance, it was his eyes. You loved the way they looked at you, and the way they lit up when he was happy. You also loved his hair, it always looked amazing, and occasionally, you imagined doing rather vulgar things to it. Once this thought crossed your mind, you began to get wet, so you tried to push it away for now, and rubbed your thighs together for a bit of relief. The bell rang shortly after you snapped out of your little fantasy, and your pupils started pouring into the room. Mr McCartney stood up and shouted enthusiastically,
