Dorm Room Education

Demi Hawks spins in a slow circle, taking in the cinder-block walls and crisp sheets. Shay Sights smooths the last wrinkle from the bedspread, then feels her stepdaughter’s small hand slip into hers. “Stay tonight?” Demi asks, voice soft, eyes bright. “Just until I know the room doesn’t swallow me.” Shay’s throat tightens. She nods. They climb onto the narrow mattress together, knees brushing. Conversation drifts from class schedules to late-night pizza runs, then slips, unguarded, into sex—first kisses, first touches. Shay admits her own freshman year was one long, delicious blur of learning. Demi bites her lip. The admission slips out: she’s barely been touched at all. Shay’s eyes darken. She cups Demi’s flushed cheek. “Then we fix that,” she murmurs, sliding gentle fingers under Demi’s loose T-shirt. The thin cotton rides up; small, pert breasts lift free, nipples already tight. Shay’s mouth follows her hand—slow kisses, wet heat—and Demi arches with a startled whimper. Shay moves lower. She hooks thumbs in Demi’s waistband and peels the panties away. Blonde curls, delicate and damp, greet her. One fingertip parts those soft folds, finds the slick pulse beneath, and circles once, twice. Demi gasps, hips twitching, small tits rising fast. Shay smiles against her thigh, adds another finger, and begins a measured, curling rhythm that makes the girl’s whole body tremble. Time stretches. The dorm room fills with soft, wet sounds and the low, ragged music of Demi learning what her body can do.