Sent To The Principal's Office

Shyla Jennings sits behind the principal’s desk like she owns it. She’s scrolling through India Summer’s phone when the first half-naked photo hits her. Heat pools between her legs. Her fingers slip under the waistband of her skirt and find her clit, rubbing in slow, greedy circles. The door bangs open. India stalks in, heels sharp on the floor, and her eyes narrow at the sight. “Out,” she snaps. Shyla scrambles, knees weak. India claims the chair, spins it toward the younger woman, plants her hands on her hips. “You’re here because you don’t belong.” Shyla tries to blink innocent. India slaps a transcript down on the desk. Twenty-five years old. Already graduated. Shyla’s face drains. India leans in until their faces are inches apart. “Tell me why.” Shyla’s shoulders slump. She tells the truth in a small voice: she’s never kept a job, never left home, never felt wanted—until she came back and the boys looked at her like they’d eat her alive. For the first time she feels pretty. Wanted. Special. India’s jaw tightens. “And you’re stealing that feeling on the school’s dime.” Shyla wets her lips, lowers her gaze to the lace beneath India’s blouse. “Maybe there’s another way I can pay.” She rises, steps close, fingers already busy at India’s buttons. India swats at her hands once, twice, but the third time she groans instead. The blouse opens; sheer black bra, hard nipples pushing against silk. Shyla smiles, small and wicked. They strip each other in hungry pulls. Shyla hops onto the desk, knees spread wide, glistening cunt on display. India drops to her chair like it’s an order, drags Shyla’s hips to the edge and buries her mouth—tongue flat, then pointed, lapping and sucking until Shyla’s head falls back and every breath leaves her in soft, broken moans. Fingers slide inside, curling, stroking; India’s chin shines with slick as she feasts. Shyla comes with a sharp, helpless cry, thighs trembling around India’s face. When the tremors ease, India stands, lips wet, eyes dark. “Agreement,” she says, voice hoarse. “You stay. We negotiate terms after every detention.”