Mom, Have You Met My Teacher?

Aila's perched at her desk, phone wedged to her ear, casually trash-talking her dry spell with some girlfriend. "Work is killing the vibe," she laughs, half bored, half desperate for a cute girl to take the edge off. Suddenly the door clicks—Lana, 18 and caught mid-step. She hovers, lips pressed tight, waiting for her shot. Aila doesn’t clock her; keeps dishing about the non-existent dating life. Lana’s eyes flare. She slaps a palm over her mouth, stifling the gasp, but that wicked little smirk creeps in. Idea planted. She slips backwards out of the room like she was never there. Next afternoon she drags her step-mom Christy Love through the same door. "Parent-teacher thing," she lies, cool as anything. Aila walks in and—boom—sparks. Eyes lock, pulse skips, unmistakable pull. Then the penny drops: neither woman set up this sit-down. Both swivel toward Lana. Lana just shrugs. "Mom’s been lonely. Figured I’d fix that." The room goes quiet, then charges with new electricity. Aila’s grin turns feral. "You free Friday?" Christy bites her lip, nods. They’re already closing the gap. Mouths crash, tongues tangle, hands roam like they’ve got a curfew. Clothes loosen, buttons pop. Moans fill the empty classroom. They’re seconds from tearing each other’s clothes off when Lana finally finds her voice. "Uh—hello?" Aila and Christy glance over, pupils blown wide. Breath ragged. No pause. "Get over here," they growl together. Lana’s already stepping closer, peeling off her top, hungry heat rolling through her. Three bodies. Zero hesitation. Best damn parent-teacher conference on record.