Art of Foreplay: Final Grade

Kristen’s waiting at the desk, phone mashed to her ear. Her girl on the line keeps telling her, ‘Watch your back—Miss Rain fucks with students.’ The bell rings, and the second the door shuts, Romi catches the word ‘girlfriend’ and slams the laptop closed. Buttons pop down her blouse; those tits spill out inches from Kristen’s mouth. The teenager tries to pull away, but Romi grabs her chin and growls, “Confidentiality, hon. You want the grade, you spread.” Kristen’s barely got a protest out before Romi’s palms shove up under that little top and squeeze her handfuls like they’re hers. Fingers slip past Kristen’s waistband and find wet. Her phone lights up again—girlfriend calling back—and Romi ducks beneath the desk, tongue spearing her clit while Kristen stammers excuses to the ceiling. Romi drags the chair out, straddles Kristen, and starts grinding cunt-to-cunt until the girl’s legs shake and she’s coming loud enough the girlfriend asks what’s wrong. Still throbbing, Kristen gets bent over the counter; Romi drops to her knees and eats her ass, her tongue loud and filthy. Phone again—Kristen answers, tries to sound normal, cums anyway, breath short and shaking. Romi drags Kristen to her knees, shoves her down between spread thighs and presses the phone back to the girl’s ear. While Kristen’s licking, Romi chats sweetly to the girlfriend on the other end, all polite smiles and dripping juices on Kristen’s tongue. Last round—Romi’s fingers slam knuckle-deep, phone shoved into Kristen’s grip again. When the girlfriend asks how the paper’s going, Kristen screams into the receiver, ‘Fuck—almost fucking done!’