On Monday morning, Teacher Wang walked into the classroom wearing a fitted white shirt and a pencil skirt. The shirt buttons were undone below the collarbone, faintly revealing the edge of her bra. She habitually looked up at the blackboard, ready to start today's class.
On the blackboard, written in very small chalk letters in the very center, was a single word:
penis
Teacher Wang's face instantly flushed red. That word was like a fine needle, directly piercing the most sensitive spot in her mind. She turned sharply, her gaze sweeping sharply over the more than thirty boys in the class. But everyone sat upright, their expressions unnaturally calm, with only a few pairs of eyes wandering between her chest and thighs.
Biting her lower lip, she quickly walked up to the podium and picked up the blackboard eraser. While erasing, her movements were a bit forceful, the eraser rubbing back and forth over those two syllables, emitting a faint rustling sound. She could feel someone behind her staring at the curve of her buttocks, at her waist slightly tensed from the effort.
After cleaning up, she forced herself to calm down and began the lecture. But throughout the entire class, her mind was elsewhere. Whenever she looked down, it felt as if she could still see the lingering shadow of that erased word, like something not yet fully softened, stubbornly remaining in her line of sight.
On Tuesday, she deliberately arrived at the classroom ten minutes early.
In the same spot on the blackboard, 'penis' appeared again, the font larger than yesterday's, the strokes thicker and more forceful.
Teacher Wang was clearly more flustered this time. She stood at the doorway staring at that word for several seconds, images uncontrollably surfacing in her mind. She took a deep breath, walked in, and once again turned to scrutinize the class. The students remained composed, but a few boys' Adam's apples noticeably bobbed.
She walked up to the podium and picked up the blackboard eraser. This time she erased more slowly and carefully. The eraser rubbed repeatedly over the two syllables of 'penis,' as if performing some highly suggestive action. She could feel her breathing becoming a bit ragged, her ears growing hot. Towards the end, she even subconsciously erased a few extra times until that part of the blackboard was polished shiny.
An extremely faint sound of inhalation came from behind.
Wednesday, Thursday... the situation became more excessive day by day.
Every day, the word 'penis' was written larger, thicker, and more eye-catching than the day before. From the initial tiny handwriting, it slowly grew to palm-sized, then to an exaggerated half-blackboard size. Teacher Wang had to 'serve' that word over and over with the eraser in front of the whole class every day.
She started noticing her own bodily reactions. Every time she picked up the blackboard eraser, her fingers would tremble slightly; while wiping, the inside of her thighs under her short skirt would unconsciously tighten; after wiping and turning around, she could feel a dampness slowly seeping out. The students' gazes also became increasingly undisguised, some deliberately sitting with legs spread, some looking down but secretly adjusting their crotches.
Teacher Wang knew she had fallen into a trap, yet she couldn't stop. The harder she rubbed, the more that word seemed to truly grow and harden in her hand.
Finally, Friday arrived.
Teacher Wang deliberately wore more concealing clothes today, but she still felt extremely guilty. Pushing open the classroom door, she was already mentally prepared to clean it again.
On the blackboard, in the same spot, 'penis' had disappeared.
Instead, there was a line of large, neatly written words:
“This thing is like that: the more you rub it, the bigger and harder it gets...
Teacher, you've been wiping it very diligently these past few days. It's already hard and painful.'
Teacher Wang froze in the doorway.
The classroom first fell into dead silence, then erupted in suppressed, extreme roaring laughter. Some laughed until tears streamed down their faces, some bent over clutching their crotches, and others adjusted their noticeably bulging parts right in front of her.
Teacher Wang's face turned from red to deep crimson. She could feel her heartbeat racing uncontrollably, and her lower body was a complete mess. Her teaching plan fell from her hands, her lips moved, but no sound came out.
She finally walked to the blackboard and picked up the eraser. This time, she erased slowly and forcefully, as if performing a forced ritual. As the eraser rubbed over the words, the class was so quiet you could hear breathing.
After wiping, she turned around, her voice trembling but striving to remain calm:
“Today... class.”
But her legs were trembling, and the view under her short skirt was almost about to be exposed completely to the students sitting in the front row.
From that day on, this story of "the more you wipe it, the bigger and harder it gets" became the filthiest legend in the school. Every incoming class of freshmen would have it told to them once by their seniors in all kinds of explicit versions. And afterward, Teacher Wang never dared to enter an empty classroom early again; every time before class, she had to first make sure the blackboard was spotless before daring to turn around and face that group of boys with shining eyes.
Once she was grading papers in the office and heard someone next door whispering in a low voice:
“Teacher Wang wiping the blackboard really looks like...”
What was said behind was drowned out by laughter.
Teacher Wang sat there, her legs unconsciously tightening, her ears burning red once more.
She knew that once something was written on the blackboard, it could never be wiped clean again.
And the process of her personally wiping it larger and harder over these past few days had been permanently etched into the most vulgar corners of every boy's mind in the class.
After that line of text was completely erased, Teacher Wang thought the matter could finally be put to rest. But she soon realized she was wrong.
From that day on, all the boys in the class looked at her completely differently. Before, at most they would occasionally stare at her chest or look at her legs a few extra times, but now it had become an unspoken, lewd gaze tinged with smiles. Every time she turned around to write on the blackboard, she could feel dozens of eyes falling on her butt and lower back, as if savoring the movements she had repeatedly made to wipe herself these past few days.
What's even more critical is that she herself began to lose control.
As soon as she picked up the blackboard eraser, her fingers would automatically recall the feel of those days—the fine chalk dust, the slight resistance of the blackboard surface, and a certain secret thrill as she wiped harder and harder. Sometimes halfway through a lecture, she would suddenly freeze, a thought flashing through her mind: “The more you rub it, the bigger and harder it gets,” and then her lower body would involuntarily clench, seeping out a little warm moisture.
The boys obviously noticed her abnormality.
Once she was looking down for her lesson plan on the podium, and a usually quiet boy in the front row suddenly whispered something; a few nearby immediately stifled laughs. When Teacher Wang looked up, she met his eyes. He didn't avoid them; instead, he deliberately adjusted himself under the desk slowly, as if reminding her: Teacher, we all remember.
Teacher Wang's ears instantly burned, but she could only force herself to remain calm and continue the lesson. After class, she almost fled back to the office. Only after closing the door did she realize a small patch of her underwear was already damp.
She started deliberately dressing more conservatively: shirts buttoned to the top, skirts switched to knee-length styles. But the more she did this, the more excessive the boys' teasing became. Some deliberately placed papers very low when handing in homework, forcing her to bend over; some whispered that phrase 'the more you wipe, the bigger it gets' as she walked by; some even wrote half a 'P' in very faint chalk dust on the edge of the blackboard, just waiting for her to notice.
Teacher Wang would angrily erase it every time, yet during the erasing, she inevitably recalled the sensations from those few days. The feeling of the eraser rubbing against her palm gradually overlapped with a more private motion. She found herself sometimes erasing a few extra strokes, her movements so slow it seemed less like cleaning and more like... soothing.
One night, she had an extremely vivid dream.
In the dream, she stood on the podium again, facing that glaring line of text. She held the blackboard eraser, wiping it over and over, with increasing force. The words on the blackboard not only didn't disappear, but actually began to swell, harden, and finally turned into a scalding, tangible object, pressing straight into her hand. She wanted to stop, but her hand wouldn't obey, only continuing to wipe and knead until her legs grew so weak she could barely stand...
She was awakened by her own moans.
When she woke up, the blanket was already tangled around her waist, and her fingers were still resting in a very wet, very warm place. She stared at the ceiling, her face flushed red almost to the point of dripping blood.
The next day when she entered the classroom, her steps were a bit slower than usual. The boys seemed to sense something, their gazes even more direct. Someone even deliberately moved their chair wider when she was writing on the blackboard, letting her catch glimpses of those already slightly raised outlines from the corner of her eye.
Teacher Wang knew she had been completely dragged into this obscene game.
The more she tried to forget, the more honest her body became; the harder she tried to scrub those marks clean, the more deeply they were etched into the minds of all the boys in the class, and into the corner of her own mind she least wanted to acknowledge.
Some things, once repeatedly rubbed, will never shrink again.
And she had become the one who personally wiped it larger.
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