Multiplication Tables

Liz Jordan sat at the dining table with her mother, Silvia Saige, waiting for the tutor to show. Silvia folded her arms and glanced at Liz’s latest report card again. Grades slipping, excuses piling up. She was ready to cancel the sessions entirely. Liz shifted in her seat. “Mom, please. Haley’s just hard to understand at first.” Silvia exhaled through her nose. Against her better judgment, she relented. The doorbell rang and Haley Reed walked in, all smiles and notebooks. Silvia made brief small talk, then left the room to give them space. The moment her footsteps faded, Liz reached under the table. Haley slid her chair closer, already tugging at Liz’s waistband. They both sank lower, tongues meeting damp skin while their eyes stayed fixed on the doorway. Every creak of the floorboards made them freeze, then resume with quick, wet strokes beneath the lace of panties pulled to the side. Silvia returned twice to refill her water glass, oblivious. Each time the door swung open the girls straightened, pencils hovering above blank pages, thighs pressed tight together. As soon as she left again, the cloth concealed frantic fingers and parted legs. The front lock finally clicked shut. Silvia’s car pulled away for errands. Free of interruption, the girls shoved books aside and climbed onto the table. Skirts hiked, thighs spread, they buried faces between each other, saliva glistening on flushed skin. They worked tongues deep, fingers gripping hips, soft moans mixing with the occasional scrape of chair legs. No equations, but their hips rocked and slid with dedicated rhythm until both came hard against searching mouths.