Poor Little Shyla #02

June 6, 2012. She stepped into the main auditorium wearing next to nothing. A tiny strap bikini and heels. She strutted right up to the lectern, squared her shoulders and locked eyes with the head of the school. Then she dropped the bikini top and set her perfect tits free, her nipples standing out like they’d been waiting all morning. Not a word from the head. Not a single move. He just stared. She caught the greedy flash in his eyes, and that was all the permission she needed. Off came the bottoms. Two seconds later she had her knees on the podium, ass in the air, the tiny shoes still buckled on her feet. With two fingers she spread her wet slit and grinned over one shoulder. She ate up the way he still tried to look formal while his cock strained the front of his pants. Calm as ever, she drew her fingertips out, glistening, let the slick string stretch between hand and cunt for one breath before she slipped them deep inside again. Three fingers now, she started fucking herself on camera, moaning like nothing mattered but those tight walls squeezing around her knuckles. Every wet stroke sounded filthy in the empty auditorium, bouncing off the tiled walls. When the head finally freed his cock, fat and flushed, she crawled forward, tugged his belt loop and took him down to the root in one greedy swallow. She bobbed, choked, spit ran over his balls, and the idiot kept his tie straight until his knees buckled. Meanwhile the lecturer stayed back, leaning against the wall, pants around his knees, fist flying over his shaft, breath ragged while he watched the student throat the school’s number-one benefactor. She took the blunt smack of hands on her asscheeks like fuel, coming with a shudder so sharp her toes curled in those high heels. There’s nothing polite about the way she licked the mess from her chin, hopped to her feet, straightened her spine, and swiped the back of her wrist across her mouth before marching back out, empty bikini swinging from one finger.