Info Cydia
24 Nov. '18

As illustrated in the figure above, in the frame xOy, we have a line l :x-y-2=0 and a parabola C:y²=2px(p>0) 

I let my pencil whirl around the knuckle of my thumb and re-read the sentence for the third time, try to make sense of it in connection with the figure that shows a sideways parabola on a nearly blank coordinate system.

Then I swallow the yell that’s bubbling in my gut, press my lips together just a bit harder, draw my eyebrows together, and try to focus on to the first actual task.

Given that l is a tangent of C, find the equation and throw the pencil against the wall, then ball up the sheet of paper in front of me you and throw it as well, get up, sing, shout, possibly throw up your breakfast all over the professor’s desk and then cry.

I clench my jaw so hard it hurts my molars.

I know I can absolutely ace this test. Math has always been easy for me, it came as naturally as dancing comes to other girls. But I feel like I’m unable to breathe in this room, let alone think or find a bloody equation.

The professor looks at me over the rim of his glasses like he knows I’m about to implode, like he can hear the ticking clock counting down inside of my head. Or maybe he is merely waiting for my whirling pencil to clatter onto the desk or the floor.

His words are still echoing through me.

“The next one to make a single peep will be banned from this examination!”

Three other students have been caught cheating. The first one had a crib written on her thigh – high on her thigh. Everyone giggled and some boy catcalled when the teacher called her out, and then there was chaos. The other two were competent enough at talking without moving their lips, but couldn’t manage a whisper low enough. As the two culprits were leaving the room with their shoulders hanging, a murmur rose among the other examinees.

Professor Montgomery went off like a gun.


His hand had come down on his desk with a deafening smacking sound.

“No one will make another sound! No one will leave this room! None of you gets a hall pass! If I hear you breathing too loudly, I will fail you. Do not test me on this!”

Montgomery has had it, someone behind me had murmured derisively into the silence between his sentences, and the professor’s gaze had swung over into our section of the classroom, causing people to duck their heads and hunch their shoulders.  

Fifteen minutes later, I can still feel the professor practically boiling behind his desk, waiting to explode like a volcano himself. His sharp eyes are zipping across the room, not missing a thing, ready to pick up the source of every sound, howsoever small.

Not allowed to make a single sound, and therefore almost unable to move, I, too, feel ready to combust. This examination is the most important one of my life, I know that, but I just can’t focus, can’t get over the tension that--

In the chair directly to my left, the student shifts his legs around and his chair creaks.

Professor Montgomery and I both look over to him – Brad or Matt, I think, his name is – but the teacher’s eyes travel onwards when nothing else happens.

My eyes stay glued to my classmate, though. Matt, I think. Matt Keane. Upper middle to top of the class. He’s the quiet and calm sort of guy, always carries a book.

I can see underneath his table.

I can see the tent in his pants.

Matt Keane has a boner, I think.

My mouth goes a little dry and I feel a hot flush of embarrassment rising from my chest to my neck to my cheeks, but I can’t look away.

I can see movement in Matt’s pants and can’t take my eyes off it. His… his cock is moving. Nudging upwards against the jean fabric, like some animal. Like a snake. I didn’t know they did that. Crazy, how much I don’t know about men even at 22 years of age. Maybe I’ve been too sheltered. Or too uninterested.

I examine his profile. He keeps wiping his upper lip with the knuckles of his index finger. His breathing is a little fast. He seems… agitated.

Matt has his hands and elbows on the table and his face is tilted downward, apparently focusing on the exam paper in front of him. But his upper body seems tight like a bowstring and as I watch, I see him shift in his seat and slowly, so slowly pump upwards with his pelvis.

Once. Twice. Three. Four times.

He’s thinking about fucking someone, I think.

Or fucking something. Of shoving his cock into a hole.

All at once I realize that I would love to see Matt doing that, and inhale slowly and steadily to cap some of the sudden heat inside that has nothing to do with embarrassment.

Matt is not classically handsome, not obviously sexy. That doesn’t mean that he doesn’t have a lot of fire and passion – maybe even a bit of hate and anger for having been overlooked for so long?

I can imagine him so greedy for pleasure that it might turn him just a little ruthless, even.


It’s the quiet ones you have to look out for – that’s how the saying goes, right? They’re bottling stuff up and hiding it, and God have mercy on you if you’re there to see that stuff unravel.

I finally avert my eyes and look down at my parabola again, but my mind is wandering at breakneck speed, rushing into the gutter as I try to intuit Matt’s thoughts.

I don’t know him. He could be straight or gay or bi or have any one of dozens of other preferences – I just know that he would be on top. Or behind. Or in front.

In charge.

Would he be loud? Would he grunt and groan? Or talk? Talk dirty?

Would he talk about the hole he’s fucking? How hot and wet and tight it is?

I faintly remember the one porn movie I saw, years ago, a tentative – and abortive – foray into that topic that everyone seemed so interested in. The movie clip, the people in it, the music, the lighting, everything seemed so harsh to me back then.

Would Matt be harsh?

Would he call me a whore?

His good… little… fuckpet?

I cross my legs, which makes it worse, and then do not dare uncross them again because the movement caused a noise – my shoes scuffing against the floor – which has drawn Professor Montgomery’s wrathful attention. I can see his face turned right towards me in my peripheral vision.

If I uncrossed my legs now, the professor would be able to see underneath my skirt. 

He’d see the wet spot. I’m wearing my sensible gray cotton panties. I know that every little drop seeps right through them and shows up as a deep glossy black.

I keep my legs closed and feel the pulse of my heart in my nether lips, a hot, tingly, turgid feeling.

Matt sniffles once.

Oh, my God, can he smell me?

Or can he smell himself?

Do erections have an odor, like aroused pussies have one? Does pre-cum smell of anything?

I half-close my eyes and imagine sliding off my chair, onto all fours on the floor. Crawling over to him on my hands and knees, and under his desk. Rubbing my face against the side of his thigh and then burying my nose right at his crotch, trying to find out exactly what Matt’s fragrance is.

He would part his legs for me, I am sure.

I sometimes imagine a world where this is normal. Women on all fours, serving men – including men like Matt – without being asked, pleasing and pleasuring them without the need or expectation of reward or return of any kind. On ungracious days, when my mind is a darker sort of place, there is coercion and humiliation involved, sometimes punishment and pain, and I almost feel bad for getting off on such an idea. Almost.

If only I could touch myself right now, I could absolutely get off on the idea of crawling under Matt Keane’s table and rubbing my face against that big bulge between his hips.

Matt might reach down and open his fly for me.

Pull down the tab of his zipper. Get out his cock.

Murmur ‘suck it’, to me.

And ‘Don’t use your hands.’

And ‘Deeper.’

And ‘Open your throat.’

‘Hands behind your back.’

‘Good girl.’

‘Yes, choke on it.’

I lock my muscles against the tremble that runs through me like a current and clench my jaws again.

I might choke and Professor Montgomery would hear me. He would come over and investigate.

He would look underneath Matt Keane’s table and see my big, round backside sticking out, sloppily draped with my short skirt, my pussy peeking out between my cheeks, the gusset of my panties soaked with my juice like dark ink, clinging to my puffy lips and outlining the swollen nub of my clit.

He wouldn’t even bother crouching down to my level and using a hand. He would stand up and lift one foot and rub the toe cap and the flat instep of his shiny black leather shoe against my swollen crotch.

‘One more noise, Miss Evershaw, and I will ban you from this room.’

His voice would be low and dangerous and I shiver on the inside even as my stomach contracts in fear and apprehension. You don’t want this, you don’t really want any of this, I reassure myself, and yet I imagine myself grinding my middle against his shoe, leaving the leather just a little damp, feeling the ridges of the laces and eyelets and tongue as they rub against my most tender parts. I would moan, but I couldn’t, not with Mr Montgomery’s dire warning in my head and Matt’s big cock in my mouth.

I would be caught and utterly helpless.

‘Don’t move,’ they would both demand, and Matt would press my face down into his middle, filling my mouth and throat to overflowing with his hot flesh and his cum, my nose with his obscene scent even while I couldn’t breathe. Professor Montgomery would tap my clit with the toe of his shoe, just a little roughly, just hard enough for me to want to flinch away, but I wouldn’t, I would be a good little fuckpet, I would--

“Ten more minutes.”

I flinch hard enough to nudge my table forward half an inch. The screeching sound of the feet against the linoleum floor pull Professor Montgomery’s gaze to me like a prison escapee pulls the searchlights.

We make eye contact and I could swear he can see my thoughts.

I could swear in that moment we share a vision of him coming to my desk, pulling me out of my chair by my ponytail, bending me over my table, flipping up my skirt and pulling down my panties and then feeding his cock into my sopping pussy.

‘I told you to be quiet.’

And then he would wrap my hair around his fist and cause my table to make that screeching sound, rhythmically, over and over and over again.

The other students would look on and gape and do nothing. Too shocked. Scandalized. Aroused.

Matt Keane would sit right in front of me and his cock would jump in his trousers every time my ass jiggled from Professor Montgomery’s thrusting.

Meanwhile, I would not make a single sound. My eyes and mouth would be so wide open but I would be silent because he had told me so, even though I would want to scream every time he bottomed out against my cervix and his balls slapped against my pussy lips – but I’m a good student, I’m a good student, I’m a good student-

Professor Montgomery looks away and I blink out of my vision, momentarily stunned. My pelvic muscles are fluttering like they always do just before an orgasm, and it aches. It aches so badly.

I drop my pencil, hold on to the table’s edge and clench my muscles, roll my pelvis forward and press my pussy into the edge of my chair.

Once, twice.

The climax bears down on me so hard it almost feels like a cramp. My insides vibrate and pulse. My heartbeat swells and drums in my chest, filling me out. My head feels ready to burst with the orgasmic moan that I keep inside. A fat spurt of wetness soaks my panties and the crack of my butt, no doubt leaving behind a wet stain on the seat of my chair.

I sag in something like relief when it’s over, dizzy, momentarily exhausted, quivery and weak, but also high on the endorphins and giddy with pride.

Not a single peep. I hadn’t made a single peep.

I grin to myself and bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing out loud in triumph and glee.

And then my eyes stray sideways and meet with the knowing look of Matt Keane.

He sees me as my gaze inevitably, involuntarily slips downwards and to his erection – more prominent than before.

“Five more minutes,” Professor Montgomery announces.

Underneath the table, Matt spreads his legs just a little more, all the while not looking away from me.


This one goes out to all the inappropriate thoughts I’ve ever had (and never had the opportunity to enjoy properly) in the most inopportune moments, featuring the most unlikely, unsuspecting non-participants. Sorry, not sorry? Die Gedanken sind frei, y’all :P
Leave a comment to make my day!
xo cydia
P.S.: Sorry for any and all math class flashbacks.