Cougariffic: Wrong Homework

Jeni Angel leaves the classroom grinning, assignment delivered. Then the summons comes. Cherie DeVille wants to see her after class. The office is small. Too warm. Cherie opens the folder and begins to read, her voice cool and precise: "As I looked up at her dripping bosom, mine became damp—moist at the thought of her licking, moist at the thought of her breath in my face… As her heaving breasts bounced above me, I could feel her clitoris pressed onto mine, rubbing, grinding, over and over as the passion built." The words land like a hand on bare skin. Jeni freezes. That page was never meant for a teacher. She admits the swap, stumbling, ears burning. Cherie waits her out, then says the writing itself shows talent—given the right subject matter. The silence changes temperature. Cherie’s eyes darken. She stands, steps close, touches Jeni’s cheek. "Would you rather read the rest aloud, or perform it orally?" Jeni’s answer is a shaky breath. Cherie pulls her into a kiss, tongue slow and sure. Buttons give. Skin meets skin. Jeni’s mouth finds the weight of Cherie’s breasts, the salt of her nipple, the soft, heated seam between her legs. Cherie returns each stroke with patient hunger—fingers sliding, tongue pressing, coaxing Jeni open until the fantasy she wrote unfolds, real and wet and urgent. By the time they finish, the paper lies forgotten on the desk. Jeni has her grade, and the proof of it still lingers on her lips.