Daniel.
My knees dig into the cool tile as I stare up at her, Ms. Harper’s thighs trembling on either side of my face, the red lace thong now dark and plastered to her swollen lips, coffee and her own slick arousal mixing into a glistening mess that drips slow down the inside of her leg.
The scent of her—sweet, musky, desperate—fills my lungs like the richest drug, and my c**k throbs painfully against my zipper, begging to be freed.
But not yet. First, I’m going to worship this p***y until she forgets every rule she ever taught me.
I lean in, nose brushing the soaked lace, and drag my tongue flat up the center in one long, deliberate lick.
The fabric is rough against my tongue, but beneath it her heat pulses, her clit a hard little pearl straining for direct contact.
She jolts, a
