Busty professor tell Ella about the extra work she can do to improve her grades

The black hair older vixen stands before their table with her hands on her hips. A black leather pencil skirt hugs her hips and thighs in a way that makes your mouth go dry even through the haze of pleasure. Her white silk blouse is unbuttoned just enough to offer a tantalizing glimpse of the lacy edge of a red bra. Her age is hard to pin down, old enough to be authoritative, young enough to be devastating. She looks from Ella's smiling face to your own, a picture of stoic, controlled agony. Her eyes don't miss the way you're leaning slightly to one side, the unnatural rigidity in your posture.

"Ella," Professor White says, her voice a low, pleasant purr that doesn't match the sharp intelligence in her eyes. "Your display in the combat simulation yesterday was imaginative." The word choice is deliberate. Imaginative, not effective. "However, imaginative won't save you when you're staring down a real villain."

She casually leans a hip against the table, the slight jolt traveling right through the wood and into Ella's foot, which presses directly against your prostate. A strangled gasp escapes your lips, which you quickly muffle by clearing your throat.

Professor White's gaze flickers to you, a glint of something unreadable in her dark eyes. "Are you alright, John? You look a little warm." She knows. You're certain of it. She knows, and she's savoring it.

"He's fine, Professor," Ella answers smoothly, not missing a beat. Her heel begins a slow, methodical circling motion on the base of your cock.

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