Hot For Step-Teacher

Right after the bell, Autumn waves the class out—except one. Kimmy stays planted in her seat. The room goes quiet; Autumn perches on the front desk and crosses her legs like she owns the place. “Gonna tell me why you’ve been acting like you swallowed battery acid for two weeks?” Kimmy refuses to look up until she blurts it out—every classmate’s still raving over Ms. Orchard’s tits, and they keep rubbing it in that she gets to see them at home too, half naked. The confession hits. Heat flashes under Autumn’s shirt. She walks around, grips Kimmy’s chin, tilts it till their eyes lock. Good news: the kid really is obsessed. Better news: the obsession two-steps on high-high-heel and invites a little after-hours appalachian lust. Kimmy ends up on the conference table, blouse open, school skirt bunched at her waist, while Autumn, proud-of-everything-on-display-ups.today, spreads her open legs apart, face circling in like Question-her-answer with repeats—a slurping-student_couch_suck.aes.map ❃?