Cram Session

Gia and Jane trade smirks over their laptop screens. Their notebooks lie open, but neither girl has glanced at the page yet. “Miss one, get buzzed,” Gia reminds her, thumb hovering over the app icon. Clothes slide to the floor. Both lean in, flashing a quick view of bare skin and the tiny jeweled bases waiting between round cheeks. The plugs slide home—smooth, snug—and each girl sucks in a small breath at the sudden, deep pressure. They rattle through the first few terms. Hits and misses. Each mistake earns a sharp throb deep inside; both gasp, laugh, then try to collect themselves before the next question. When the words begin to blur and fingers linger too long on the screen, the game tilts. Study gives way to show. Jane props the phone so Gia can watch her turn onto all fours. The little green dot pulses; the plug answers with steady waves that make Jane’s ass ripple. Across the miles, Gia presses her own toy to its highest setting, hips rocking while her breath comes in short, sticky hitches. Neither closes the call until the batteries run low and the room smells like sweat and sex.