Teacher's Tramp

Carmen Caliente stretched on her bed, phone pressed to her ear, telling her friend about the weekend that still made her thighs ache. She’d gone through girls like shots at last call. Tonight’s beers just made her hungrier for more fresh pussy once school started. Her friend mentioned a new massage place. Carmen perked up. “Wait—the one with Maddy O’Reilly?” She grinned when she heard yes. The line went dead. Carmen’s mind flashed to that old teacher, the body she used to sneak looks at in class. Eighteen and legal now. She planned to get under Maddy’s hands—and then under Maddy. The bell above the door jingled. Carmen found Maddy behind the desk, towel in hand. Recognition flickered when she said her name, though the older woman wasn’t sure. Carmen clarified: former student. Maddy’s eyes lingered, a silent confirmation that this girl was old enough, then led her back. Carmen kicked her shoes off, then her top. Maddy started to speak, but Carmen’s shorts dropped next. The towel stayed untouched; she lay bare on the table. Warm oil slid over her skin. Maddy’s palms worked firm lines down her back, thumbs dipping close to the cleft of her ass whenever Carmen asked for “lower.” She arched when the thumbs brushed between her cheeks. The flip came quick. On her back now, breasts rising, Carmen guided Maddy’s hands inward until slick fingers grazed her slit. A low moan slipped free. Carmen caught those fingers and pressed them harder, showing her the exact place and pressure. Heat pooled. Maddy climbed onto the table. Her mouth took over—tongue working slow circles, then faster thrusts. Carmen’s hips lifted to meet each stroke until the first sharp orgasm rolled through her. She repaid the favor the second Maddy turned. Tongue flat against the woman’s cunt, Carmen licked until Maddy’s breath came ragged. Knees braced on the padded table, the older woman shuddered and finally cried out, her own slick taste on Carmen’s lips. Later that night Carmen laughed into her pillow. Come the first week of classes, she already knew the cure for any bad day—same address, same hands, same older woman waiting to undress her again.