The Latina

"Now girls" you make your presence known as you step into the makeshift arena they've set up between desks.

"There's no need to prolong this any further!" You choose to act like you had been elected judge over this competition from the getgo. Knowing this Universe, simply by pretending, you'll be right. And really, the two stop their dancing and, panting and sweating turn to you expectantly. The latina pushes a hand to her waist and stats tapping her foot nervously, evidently excited and uncertain about your decision. The black girl, no less nervous, sooths herself in a different manner. She's got two of her fake-fingernailed fingers slid under her midrif-bearing top which is not long enough to cover all of her plastic tits, instead revealing a significant portion of underboob. Evidently, she is squeezing her nipple, calming herself with the sensation.

Your dick twitches.

"There was only one of you who actually did any twerking." you continue. "And that was you..." you point at the Latina, who lights up, jumps on the spot, making her boobs jiggle and gives her name: "Lola!"

"Yea. That was Lola. You..." you point at the chocolate girl, who has realized what's happened and crossed her arms angrily under her tits, pressing them up and forcing her crop top off them to the extent her areolas are visible. "Shantana..." she pouts.

"Yea, Shantana, you didn't so much twerk as you flicked yourself off. No technique. If you want my advice," she perks up as you say that, clearly she actually does. "If you want my advice, become a prostitute. I don't think you're good for anything else, really. And try to keep your prices as low as you can."

Shantana, now beaming, nods enthusiastically and whips out her phone, perhaps to tell her parents of her new career decision.

"Now," you begin and turn to Lola, but the perky Latina has already jumped up to you, thrown both hands around your neck and pressed her soft lips against yours. You'd have gasped in surprise if your mouth wasn't blocked by her kiss. A long, curious tongue forces apart your lips and starts exploring your mouth. Lola is breathing heavily as she presses her whole body against you, grinding her groin on yours, bringing you back on mast so that you end up with a clothed erection between her thighs.

You gasp for air as she finally finishes up the passionate kiss. A strand of spittle still connects your lower lips.

"Thank you!" she exclaims with the euphoria of someone who has been gifted relief for a life long debt. "Oh thank you so much for choosing me as the best twerker! This is the best day of my life!"

She lunges forward again for a kiss, a shorter one this time, but even more sensual for you as you now realize what's happening.

Before you can say anything, her hand is at your groin, running along your hard cock. Her expression, still one of undue jubilation, has taken on a mischivieous aura.

"Let me thank you for it." she grins.