Teacher's Dirty Cheat

**Instagram DM Scene – Explicit Rewrite** Your phone buzzed—*Mrs. Sharma sent a message.* Just her name made your pulse jump. You’d spent years pretending you moved on after high school, but the truth was simpler: no one compared to her. *Hi, how have you been?* That casual tone. That little purple heart. It was all so *her*. You could see it now—the way her blouse clung just right when she leaned over your desk in computer science class, how her saree slipped off one shoulder when she served you chai at her house. You’d been obsessed since the moment Rahul first introduced you to his mom and you realized she was *your* teacher too—your secret to keep. *I’ve been good, Aunty! So nice to hear from you,* you typed, thumb hovering. *How are you?* She replied fast. *I am good. Yeah, it’s been long. Are you and Rahul still friends?* Your chest tightened. Rahul had been your excuse for years—the alibi that let you linger in her kitchen, watching her hips sway as she cooked. But college had pulled you apart, and the only thing that kept you checking your phone was the hope she’d text. *Yeah, Aunty. Why, what happened?* *It’s been some time since he started college. I’ve never seen him bring friends home.* A pause. *And you’re not in town. He’s always alone.* Guilt twisted low in your gut—not for Rahul, but for how hard you got imagining her voice, thick with false concern. You’d jerked off to worse fantasies: her bent over your homework, her nails digging into your thigh under the dinner table. *I didn’t know, Aunty. We talk, but… I didn’t realize he was struggling.* Then the message that made your cock throb: *Can you check on him next time you’re here? I don’t mind if you stay a few days.* **Stay.** In her house. With *her*. You’d spent years replaying every glance, every accidental brush of her fingers. Now she was inviting you back. *Sure, Aunty. I’ll be there next month.* The typing bubbles appeared. Disappeared. Then— *Don’t tell him I said this though.* Your grip on the phone tightened. That was the game, wasn’t it? The way she’d bite her lip when you called her *Aunty* like it was filthy. The way her eyes dropped to your chest when she thought you weren’t looking. *I won’t,* you replied, already imagining her perfume when she opened the door. The way her waist would feel if you *finally* stopped pretending. --- **One Week Later** The PlayStation controller clattered onto the bed. “Your turn,” you muttered to Rahul, grabbing your phone. Two hours of FIFA was enough. As he took over, you scrolled—then froze. A notification lit up the screen. *Arkot: New message from RP_Queen.* Your stomach flipped. You hadn’t roleplayed with her in weeks. Grinning, you snapped a pic of the TV—*Look what I’m stuck doing*—and hit send. Across the hall, a phone pinged. Silence. Then— *Turn back.* You frowned at the screen. What kind of response was that? A creak behind you. You turned. There she stood in the doorway, phone in hand, lips parted. Your Arkot messages glowed on her screen. Her eyes locked onto yours. “So,” she murmured, stepping closer. “*You’re* the one who likes fucking his best friend’s mom.”

Describe the setting in more detail, more thoughts, action, reaction and ofcourse presence of your son... And let me reply for the boy now... Let's continue again from your msg "turn back" What kind of response is this, i am surprised, smilling and then turn back to get shocked

The PlayStation hummed softly, the glow of the screen casting jagged shadows across Rahul’s bored expression as he mashed buttons. Your fingers tightened around your phone, the text still burning in your vision—*Turn back.* A prank? A wrong message? But then— A breath. A shift in the air. The slow, deliberate *click* of heels on hardwood. You turned. Mrs. Sharma stood in the doorway, one hip cocked against the frame, her phone clutched in manicured fingers. The screen was still lit—your DM, your username, your filthy, *filthy* fantasies laid bare between you. A silk blouse clung to her curves, the top buttons undone just enough to tease the swell of her breasts. Her dark eyes gleamed—not with shock, but something hotter. Something hungry. Rahul groaned, controller clattering. “Ma, seriously? Can’t you knock?” She didn’t even glance at him. Her lips curved. “I *did* knock. Twice.” You swallowed hard. The room suddenly felt too small, the air thick with the scent of her perfume—jasmine and something darker. Your pulse hammered as she stepped closer, her hips swaying with each click of her heels. “You two,” she murmured, tapping Rahul’s knee, “should take a break. Dinner’s almost ready.” Rahul rolled his eyes. “In a sec.” She leaned down—*right between you*—her hair brushing your shoulder, her cleavage inches from your face. Her voice dropped to a whisper, just for you: “*And you…* we should *talk.*” The heat of her breath on your ear sent a jolt straight to your cock. Then she straightened, smooth as a predator, and sauntered out—leaving you achingly hard, Rahul oblivious, and the weight of her threat hanging in the air like a promise.

I was surprised, shocked and afraid, she was strict teacher, mother of Rahul, she knows my parents and I have shared those filthy desires with her I tried hard to smile but failed and only nodded and said "okay ma'am", hardly a whisper

Your throat tightened. The playful smirk she’d worn in your fantasies was gone—replaced by something sharper, more dangerous. That familiar chill of being called out in class slithered down your spine. Rahul snorted. “The hell’s wrong with you? You look like you saw a ghost.” Her gaze didn’t waver. “Go set the table, beta,” she ordered, snapping Rahul to attention. He groaned but obeyed, stomping out with the controller still in hand. The door clicked shut. Silence. She stepped closer, heels sinking into the carpet. “*All those messages…*” Her fingers traced the edge of your phone, still clutched in your trembling hand. “You called me *Aunty* to my face while typing how you’d bend me over Rahul’s desk.” A low laugh. “And now you can’t even speak?” Your pulse roared in your ears. This wasn’t the game anymore—no screens between you, no deniability. Just the heat of her stare and the terrifying thrill of getting *caught*. “Ma’am, I—” “*Don’t*.” A nail dug into your chin, forcing your head up. “You don’t get to stammer now.” Her other hand slid down, grazing the obvious bulge in your jeans. “Not when your body’s *begging* to prove those messages true.” The contact burned. You jerked—but she held firm, her grip tightening. “Dinner’s in twenty,” she breathed, lips brushing your ear. “Be late… and we’ll *finish* this conversation.” Then she was gone, the ghost of her touch lingering like a brand.

Make it more passionate, add dialogue and her inner thoughts and don't speak as me.... That would I do... "What do you mean aunty" I asked taking paused, stammering "I am sorry ma'am"

Her eyes darkened at the apology, fingers tightening around your chin. "*Sorry?*" She scoffed, leaning in until the heat of her body pressed against yours. "You weren’t sorry when you described how you’d spread me open with your tongue. When you said you’d make me scream so loud Rahul would hear." Her thumb traced your bottom lip, dragging it down. "Don’t lie to me *now*." The air between you crackled—every ragged breath you took only drew in more of her scent, spiced and heavy, flooding your senses. She could *feel* your pulse racing under her grip, could see the way your pupils swallowed every flicker of light as she leaned closer. A thrill shot through her. *Pathetic. Delicious.* "You stutter like a boy," she murmured, "but your cock doesn’t lie." Her free hand slid down, palming the rigid outline through your jeans, her nails scraping just hard enough to make you twitch. "Tell me—were you thinking of me when you typed that filth? Picturing my hands on you like this?" Her touch seared through the denim, deliberate and slow, circling the head until your hips jerked forward. A smirk curled her lips. *Exactly as I thought.* From the kitchen, Rahul’s voice cut through the haze—*"Ma, where’s the salt?"* She didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just let her fingers tighten, squeezing until your breath hitched. "Answer me."

What about you ma'am I bring the confidence and asked You also wanted to take dick of your student, and friend of your son, and neighbour boy Who would you thinking about? You also had desires, you still have, you wanted to spread your legs and get breeded, remember

Her fingers stilled against your jeans, nails pressing just shy of pain. A slow, dangerous smile curved her lips—the kind that made your stomach flip. "Stupid boy," she breathed, voice husky. "You think I don’t *know* what I want?" Her grip shifted, dragging the zipper down with one sharp tug. The sound tore through the room. "You think I didn’t *plan* this?" Cool air hit your skin as she freed your cock, her thumb stroking the wetness already beading at the tip. A ragged groan escaped you, but she cut it off with a glare. "Shut up," she ordered. "You don’t get to talk anymore." From the kitchen, Rahul’s footsteps neared—closer, then fading again. She didn’t flinch. Her fingers wrapped around your shaft, squeezing just enough to make your thighs tremble. "Every time you walked past my window in those tight shorts," she murmured, "every time you *pretended* not to stare at my cleavage when I bent over—" Her hand moved, a lazy pump that had you biting your lip. "*I noticed.*" Her other hand fisted in your hair, wrenching your head back. "And tonight," she whispered against your throat, "I’m going to ruin you for anyone else." The door handle rattled. She released you with a shove, stepping back just as Rahul barged in, scowling. "Ma, the food’s getting cold—" "One minute, beta." Her voice was serene, but her eyes burned into yours. *Remember my promise.*