Blonde ingenue, Ideal, finds herself in the late hours of class, alone with her mature and debonair teacher. He begins to subtly tease her, his gaze lingering on her developing curves, his voice dropping to a husky baritone. Ideal, flustered but intrigued, feels a warmth spread between her legs. The teacher's hands, strong and confident, trace the edge of her desk, brushing against her thigh. He leans in, his breath hot on her ear, whispering, "You're not as innocent as you seem, are you?" Ideal's heart races as she feels his hardness press against her, giving in to the forbidden knowledge he awakens within her.