Get her support

“Sure this is a good idea on a teacher’s salary?” you ask coyly, locking the door. You walk up to her, quite close. She wasn’t ignoring your body before, but now she can’t. A minute ago you were embarrassed by your pokey nipples, but now? Not so much.

“I haven’t even said anything yet,” she replies.

“You don’t have to. I know what you’re here for.” You pull off your t-shirt and drop it with a splat.

She leans back in her chair, licking her lips nervously. This situation is outside her comfort zone, but she put herself here.

Her chair squeaks as you climb into her lap, slipping your arm around her shoulders. Your damp chest is pressed against her.

“Tell me the truth,” you say. “How much of the school’s money did you blow for these boobs?”

“Not as much as you’d think,” she replies, trying to stay composed. You have the feeling she came here to say something, but now she can’t. You look at her hands, which she’s reflexively holding out so she doesn’t touch you.

“You can put those down,” you tell her, and she hesitantly rests one on your legs. The other is just hanging awkwardly, but there’s no graceful way for a grown woman to sit in another grown woman’s lap. She’s only a little taller than you are.

“You smell like beer,” she notes.

“Somebody thought water wasn’t interesting enough.”

Mavis is doing so well at not staring at your breasts. She’s staying on your face. You lean closer to her and brush a few stray hairs aside.

“Is there something on my face?” you ask.

“You should’ve known better than to wear makeup.”

She’s right. “Nobody’s perfect.”

“Wasn’t there supposed to be some dancing involved? A lap dance, not a lap sit?”

“You want me to get up?”

She hesitates and that makes you smile. “How much is the fine for lewdness?” she asks.

“You can afford it.” You go in and kiss her, keeping it gentle at first to check her reaction. She was already stiff, but she goes with it… although her lips betray her lack of practice. You make it good, and only pull back when you feel her other hand on your back, and her warm body moving toward yours.

She is so red in the face. This woman is almost twice your age, but she hasn’t spent that time having as much fun as you have. Now she’s burning up, reminding you of Roxy’s raw passion for you. It’s flattering, but it’s not that you are so amazing. You’re just good at being a manipulative tease. So many women have had to hide this part of themselves. It’s not difficult to tap into those hidden pools of lust.

“What part of the body do you use for dancing?” you ask her, lowering your voice to a sultry whisper. She is completely wrapped around your finger, hanging on your every word, and all but begging you with her eyes to kiss her again. You thought that her composure would hold for longer than this. She’s so ambitious, such a success story… you would have expected her to have more self-control. Or maybe you’re just that pretty. No, you’re just letting Roxy’s lovesickness go to your head.

“Hips?” she says hesitantly.

You stand up. “We can have a lap dance without hips.”

She nervously tries to correct her posture, her eyes darting to the door, which you already locked. Not to keep her in… you just don’t want any interruptions before you get what you want from her.

Her gaze follows you as you sink to your knees, resting your hands on her bare knees.

“You aren’t cold, are you?” you ask, rubbing the smooth skin. “What kind of razor do you use? You’re so smooth,” you say, rubbing a little more. Your fingertips brush under the hem of her skirt. A little at a time, you go higher and inward. She starts to reflexively close her legs, but you look at her questioningly.

Looking embarrassed, she parts them for you. Now your hands are under the skirt, but you take it slow and don’t go too far yet.

“Your razor?” you prompt.

“Oh. Um. Daisy,” she says huskily. Her inner thighs are damp, not that there was any doubt. That kiss was enough to get any honest lesbian naked and dripping.

“OK,” you murmur. “I spoke to Alex. About our witness.”

“Oh. Right,” she says, letting out a little gasp when you reach her underwear. You draw back, massaging her thighs.

“It’s an outsider. Not as respectable as you, but good enough to get us away from the idea that it’s just us dykes out to get the school,” you say conversationally, squeezing her flesh.

“OK,” she says, nodding. “I understand.” What an awkward reply.

“It still might not hurt to have help in there if I need it,” you muse, gazing into her eyes.

She stares back. The seconds go by. She’s breathing hard.

“I can count on you, right?” you say.

She seems to understand. Is she so turned on that she wasn’t keeping up? She nods wordlessly.

Holding her gaze, you pull the crotch of her panties aside. Everything is hidden by the skirt, but you feel every detail. Her hairy mound is soaked, and her body goes rigid when you touch. You use your fingertip to collect her juices and bring it out into the light. She watches you lick it clean before you slide it inside her.

You could have her screaming in seconds if you touched her clit, but this is better. Her walls squeeze your finger as you firmly explore her. Her legs are steadily closing, pressing on you, but you don’t mind that. The smell of her is now stronger than the smell of beer from you.

You tease her with your finger until she makes a noise: half gasp, half moan that makes her body jerk. You stretch it out for as long as you can, but she’s too easy. Less than five minutes later you’re on your feet, bent over and kissing her as you skillfully finger her to orgasm and she cries out into your mouth. She clutches at your body, and you hold her as she shakes all over. The kiss is getting a little weird, but you have to keep her mouth covered.

When it’s over she’s in a daze for only a moment before she realizes what’s going on and tries to put herself back together. She’s fast, and her composure comes back easily. She’s a little disheveled and still a little red in the face, but recovering nicely.

She avoids eye contact.

“I can see why you’re so popular,” she says, pulling out her compact to check her makeup.

“Another satisfied customer,” you reply.

“What are you doing tonight?” she asks, now looking straight at you. Did the orgasm embolden her?

Give her a teasing answer?

Or tell her the truth?