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One day she definitely knew the effect she had on me, even if she hadn’t before. I was writing an essay on The Grapes of Wrath and asked Mrs. B when she came by if a word was spelled correctly. She leaned over, her silky red hair brushing against my cheek and her breast lay against my left shoulder. My cock stiffened instantly—and uncomfortably. Without thinking, I reflexively reached down and maneuvered my throbbing dick into a more comfortable position. It did create a sizable tent pole in my pants that I tried to push down and hide, which only drew attention to my crotch. Mrs. B blushed noticeably, stood up while stifling a laugh and muttered an apology.

I started to laugh. I couldn't help it, closing my eyes and laying back against my table, feeling the hot, sticky gift she'd just given me pooling inside my ass. The irony was just too perfect.

Sophia smiled and blushed. “It’s like a dream. We can finally live our lives true to each other, no longer having to hide, no longer kept apart by family or obligation. Every night, I get to fall asleep beside her in our warm bed, and every morning, I open my eyes, and she’s right there with me. We get to spend our days and nights together, talking, laughing, whispering. If not for you, I don’t think we ever could have been blessed with such a life, with such freedom and happiness. Thank you for everything.”